by Linda Broday
He turned her to face him. “Say your prayers, Tally Shannon.” Her old adversary’s chilling grin sent a shock cartwheeling the length of her body. She stared into his gun barrel. “You forgot about the tunnel underneath Creedmore. Now, I’m gonna kill you. Slow. One bloody scream at a time.”
His crazed eyes told her that this time it would be to the death. One of them would not live beyond this encounter, and right now, the odds were not in her favor.
Rebel moved into her line of vision, terror freezing her features. She should run, not stand there.
Tarver leveled his pistol and squeezed the trigger. Tally kept her eyes open. She’d meet her death like she’d lived her life—head-on with no apologizes.
“No you don’t!” Rebel yelled and raised the hoe she held that they used to chop weeds in the garden. She brought it down across Tarver’s shoulders.
“You worthless bitch!” Enraged, Tarver swung around. Two bullets struck the saloon girl in quick succession, ripping into her chest. Amid the spray of blood, Rebel crumpled to the dirt. Blood also splattered Tally’s face where she stood rooted in horror and disbelief.
Run! her mind screamed. But before she could move, Tarver grabbed her arm, reached for the reins of a horse he’d hidden in the deep evening shadows next to the dugout, and threw her over the animal’s back on her belly. She screamed Clay’s name as Tarver swung up into the saddle. She hung upside down across the horse, a panicked, ragged breath burning in her lungs. She squirmed, trying her best to get free.
She couldn’t let him take her—not again. Even if she fell to the ground and the horse trampled her, it would be preferable to Tarver’s torture.
The man she hated with all her being quickly kicked his mount into motion. They flew across the rocky, uneven ground, and he sent shots toward the men on foot racing behind.
If only she could get to the gun she wore strapped around her waist. But that was impossible in her present position. The running gallop jarred her with each impact, driving her teeth into her bottom lip. Agony and despair raced through her.
Ahead, men hurried to roll wagons across the entrance of the canyon, rifles aimed to block Tarver’s escape. They released a flurry of shots and one bullet tore into Tarver. At the moment, she couldn’t tell where, just heard his scream and felt his body tense.
Tally readied to slide off, but he didn’t slow down. Not until, with a yank of the reins, he swung around and reined up at the foot of the same bluff where a guard had kept watch—until yesterday.
The moment the horse stopped and Tarver dismounted, she slid off and ran, making it two steps before he grabbed the back of her dress. He jerked her against him, dragging her up against the rock wall of the bluff as though she weighed no more than a child. She struggled with all her might, trying to tear away, but his cruel hand dug into her arm.
He backed her against the rock wall, holding her with his body while he seized her gun and tossed it half a dozen paces away. Then, Tarver yanked her in front of him and released a volley of gunfire.
Clay raced forward, his Remington drawn. Fear gripped her and everything screamed for him to stop. After everything they’d survived, she couldn’t bear to watch him die at Tarver’s hand.
“Stay back or she dies!” Tarver yelled. “So help me God, I will kill her.”
“Do that and you’ll never draw another breath.” Clay’s bark carried a razor-sharp edge. “I can promise you that.”
The men formed a half circle around Clay, blocking off all escape. Tally’s heart ached for Rebel. She said a silent prayer that Rebel had survived the blast. But there had been so much blood. Thank God Violet didn’t seem to be anywhere nearby.
Bullet broke free of someone’s hold and darted through the circle of men. The dog bit down on Tarver’s leg but even that didn’t break his hold on her. Cursing and yelling, the killer shook the dog loose and kicked him hard over into some low brush. The dog let out three loud yelps as he tumbled, then lay silent.
Tally struggled against her captor, trying to breathe against the stench of him, to think, to devise a plan.
Tarver sucked in a loud breath and groaned, his body rigid, his face a mask of pain, his shiny gold tooth a symbol of heinous acts. He pulled her into a crevice in the wall that offered more protection, should anyone shoot.
In the small space, she was pressed even tighter to him. So much she could feel his thundering heartbeat.
“Release me and we’ll get the doctor to treat you.” A slight turn of her head let her see blood oozing from the hole in his shoulder. His shirt was soaked. Soon he’d be weak and then Clay would get him.
But could she survive until then?
“You and me—we got unfinished business, girl.” His words sent ice tumbling through her veins. “You’ll never be free.”
“Can’t you see I already am? You have no hold over me anymore. I’m not afraid of you. You did your best to break me, but you failed.” Her racing heart calmed. She realized the truth of what she’d said. Even though he held her in a grip of steel, she was free.
“Let her go!” Clay ordered.
Jack inched forward, his gun drawn. “You’re some man to hide behind a woman. Give yourself up.”
Looking at the former lawman, Tally could see why he’d been so good at his job. His face had turned to stone, and his determined black eyes snapped with the kind of hate that would make any man have second thoughts.
“Don’t even try it.” Tarver waved him back with his gun.
Tally spoke. “If you shoot me, you’ll instantly get a dozen more bullets in you.”
“Let’s bargain. What do you want?” Clay shouted. “Name your price. Anything—except Tally.” Clay took a step, then two. Tally prayed he wouldn’t do anything foolish. “Let her go and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
A trickle of sweat inched down Tarver’s forehead and into his eye. He pressed his gun to Tally’s temple. “Get the hell back or the next bullet goes in her brain.”
Everyone retreated, but the yells and cursing from the crowd grew louder. Tally stomped down on Tarver’s foot and jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. If only she could reach his wounded shoulder, where she could do more damage.
He grunted hard, but his arm tightened even more across her chest until she could barely breathe. Her gaze sharpened on her gun, lying in the dirt a few paces away.
If only she could distract him.
Tarver placed his mouth next to her ear. “I wanted to take my time with you, make your death slow. But I don’t mind killing you now.”
“Then do it,” Tally spat, tired of his threats. “Just get it over with, you bastard.”
Clay took a wide stance and removed a sack of Bull Durham and rolling papers from his vest pocket with his free hand. His loose body signaled a ploy of some kind. Maybe he was trying to ratchet down the tension, and there were plenty of other guns aimed at Tarver. “I’m waiting. What is it you want?”
“Money,” Tarver snapped. “You took everything from me. I want a stake so I can start fresh somewhere.”
Sliding his gun into his holster almost casually, Clay rolled his cigarette and lit it. “Money?” Smoke circled his head. That and the low brim of his trail-worn Stetson hid his eyes, but from the sound of his voice, Tally knew they would be narrowed on his prey. “What makes you think we have any?”
“You’re outlaws. Outlaws have loot, so don’t give me any cock-and-bull story.”
“I’ll have to consult my compadre.” Clay and Jack put their heads together.
Tally spoke. “Are you sure you want to end your life this way? Clay’s killed a lot of men, and he’ll enjoy adding your name to the list.” She gagged from the smell of Tarver’s putrid breath but kept talking. “You can’t have more than one bullet left. What will you do after you kill me?”
An angry grunt at her ear told her
she’d made him think. Maybe reasoning would get through to him. She couldn’t beat him by force, but maybe she could mess with his mind.
She dropped her voice low. “Outlaws know a million painful ways to make a man suffer before they kill him.” She moved a hand behind her to lightly pat his crotch. She gave a crazy cackle like she’d heard so often in the asylum. “I know how much you enjoy your manhood. Will you chance them cutting it off?”
“Shut up.”
“I shared some of your favorite games with Clay, so I can guarantee that you’ll be on the receiving end of a lot of pain before you die.”
Tarver shifted uncomfortably and yelled, “You’re taking too long, Colby. I reckon you’ll hurry it along if I make Tally Shannon bleed! First the legs, then arms. Maybe the sight of blood thrills you.”
Clay drew his Colt as quick as lightning and aimed it, his face a dark, fierce mask. Tarver jammed the barrel the gun under Tally’s chin, pushing her head back. She sucked in a breath. She wouldn’t give in to fear or she’d be done for.
“I’ll give you one hour to bring me five hundred dollars.” Tarver dug for his watch and flipped it open. “One hour.”
He’d dropped his grip on her. Could she take a chance and run? But the gun lodged painfully into the soft tissue under her chin told her it would be too risky. If she moved an inch, he’d pull the trigger. Best to watch and wait for a better opening.
Clay raised his hands. “All right, you no-account bastard. One hour. If you harm one hair on her head, all bets are off.”
“You’d best hurry, Colby!” Tarver slid his watch back in his pocket and lowered the barrel of his gun.
Tally watched the men flanking Clay. They were ready, if only she could do her part and stay calm. The ransom request worried her—they had no money to hand over. How were they going to trick him?
Tarver licked his dry, cracked lips and pus oozed from one of the blisters on his cheek. Infection had already set in and he had to be in enormous agony.
“Slade, I can see you’re in a lot of pain,” Tally said softly. “Let our doctor treat you.”
“Not until you pay for destroying my life.” He snarled and shoved the gun into the soft flesh of a breast. She bit back a cry. “You took everything I’d worked for. Everything.”
“What about my life? What do you think you did to me?” She tamped down her rising rage, the wild beast within her baring its teeth. She’d wait and bide her time, letting anger keep her alive.
“You?” Tarver snorted, his gold tooth an inch from her face. “You’re just a woman.”
And that sums it all up in his small mind.
She tried another approach. “The blame is all Lucinda’s. If she hadn’t put me in there, Clay wouldn’t have burned it down and taken everything. Lucinda has money, land, cattle. She needs to pay up and you’re just the man to make her.”
“I’ll deal with her later.” His rough hand moved down her body to her breast. He squeezed so hard it brought tears to her eyes and she bit back a cry. Like all those dark days and nights in Creedmore, she took the pain inward, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“You can deny it all you want but I know you liked it.” He licked her cheek. “You all did.”
She shivered with disgust, loathing, and anger. Desperate to get her mind off her situation, she turned her attention to Bullet, who lay in the brush, waiting for help. Her heart went out to the dog. Please let his injuries be treatable. Violet had lost too many friends already.
Clay and three others hurried toward the new town’s buildings. She didn’t know what they had in mind, but they had to have a plan. The ones remaining resumed watch with guns drawn, their faces grim. To a man, they must have been itching to put a bullet in Slade Tarver.
Time dragged and Clay didn’t return. Sweat and pus rolled down Tarver’s face. A fly buzzed around his head and he kept trying to shoo it away. It came back and landed on his nose.
“What’s keeping him? Where’s that money?” Tarver hollered. “Half an hour or she dies!”
Someone yelled, “It’s coming! Hold on to your shirt! We have to dig it up. It’s in a deep hole.”
“Make it fast.”
Tally still wondered what their plan was. This waiting was unbearable, and she had so many unanswered questions. The biggest in her mind, of course: Who was to say that Tarver wouldn’t kill her once he got what he asked for? Maybe Clay could trick him somehow, but Tarver wasn’t stupid.
Minutes ticked away. The coming night was darkening the sky and soon they would be unable to see. But maybe that’s what Clay was waiting for. That’s probably what she’d do. One thing she knew—he’d never abandon her. He was a good man and he loved her as much or more than she did him. That surety untangled a few of the knots in her stomach.
Susan and Belle lit lanterns, the light reflecting on their grim faces. Tally scanned the deepening shadows for movement but saw nothing.
A tall figure emerged from the darkness. Ridge Steele held up a bottle of whiskey. “Bet you could use some of this.”
Tarver ran his tongue across his lips, his eyes riveted on that bottle. Tally could’ve hugged the tall ex-preacher for this diversion. It had to be the start of whatever rescue Clay and the men had planned. Now, she had to be ready to act and get to her Colt before Tarver shot her.
“Drop your guns and bring it to me,” Tarver ordered Ridge. “No tricks.”
Hope grew. She had one shot. One chance to get this right.
Ridge stopped two feet away. Every nerve taut, Tally closely watched the outlaw preacher’s face. When Tarver swung his gaze to some movement, Ridge mouthed the words, They’re coming. Be ready. She gave him a slight nod.
Tarver snatched the bottle. “Get back.”
“Mind if I take the dog? He needs attention,” Ridge said.
“Make it quick.”
Tarver waited until after Ridge had picked up Bullet and moved away before he turned the bottle up to guzzle the fiery liquid. Intent on slaking his thirst, he lowered his gun for a moment.
Tally tore herself from his grasp and scrambled to get away, but her feet didn’t want to work. They hadn’t worked right since Tarver had beaten the bottoms of them.
The women watching from a distance screamed, the men yelled encouragement. She closed her hand around the grip but couldn’t find the trigger.
Hurry. Hurry.
Movement from above drew her gaze for a split second. Clay and the three who’d left with him threw ropes over the side of the bluff from above and descended like silent spiders on slender threads of silk.
Tarver didn’t see them. He was too busy coming for her.
She made a diving lunge for the gun, found the trigger and pulled. Fire and smoke spat from the barrel.
At the same moment, hanging a foot above Tarver’s head, Clay fired his weapon into the cold-blooded killer. “Here’s your money. Shake hands with the devil, you ugly piece of shit.”
Thirty-eight
The other men fired simultaneously, riddling the killer’s body with bullets as Tally lay on the ground away from the line of fire, her heart pounding in a struggle to regain control. Tarver had to be dead this time.
Her breath came in harsh gasps, and she stood on wobbly legs. Clay picked her up and raced toward Dr. Mary’s brightly lit tent.
“Put me down, Clay. I’m all right.”
“Let the doctor decide that.”
Dr. Mary was bending over Rebel and only glanced up when they entered. “Put her on the other cot. Are you badly hurt, Tally?”
“I’m fine.” Tally shot Clay a scowl. “My husband thinks different. How is Rebel?”
“The bullets went in underneath her left bottom rib. If I can get them out, control the bleeding, and infection doesn’t set in, she’ll probably survive.”
“Tally?” Rebel weakly
called her name.
Tally could barely hear it. She rose and went to take Rebel’s hand. “I’m here.”
Rebel licked her gray lips, her breathing shallow. “I loved Clay too.”
“I know. Don’t talk. Save your strength.”
“He always loved you. Never me. Even before…” A coughing fit stopped her. Blood trickled from her mouth.
“Shhh. It’s all right. All of that is behind us.” Tally squeezed her hand. “We’re all going to have a bright future now, and all you need to do is get well so you can raise those children. They need a mother and you’re more than up to the job.”
“That’s enough for now.” Dr. Mary put an arm about her. “Let her rest.”
With a nod, Tally turned to Clay. “What about Bullet? Did anyone see to him?”
“Ridge is.” He ran a fingertip down her cheek, across the scar where her tattoo had once been. “If you’ll lay back down for a bit, I’ll go check on the dog. And Violet.”
Travis came through the opening and, without a word, went straight to Rebel.
Tally dragged her gaze from the tender way the man held Rebel’s hand. “I’m coming with you. There’s nothing wrong with me, and I’ll not waste the doctor’s time.”
He pressed his lips to hers. “Very well. I know better than to argue.”
She lightly traced his sensual mouth and counted her blessings. She’d survived the final blow in Tarver’s reign of terror, and Clay was the reason she was alive.
* * *
Outside the tent, Clay removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He gulped in huge draughts of air, trying to calm his stampeding heart.
He’d almost lost her, lost the person who held his world together.
“Are you all right?” Tally asked, rubbing his back.
“I’m good.” When his knees no longer threatened to buckle, he put an arm around her and strode toward the commotion and lanterns at the campfire. As he drew closer, he noticed the men were working on Bullet.