Rancher's Hostage Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  Huffing her frustration with herself—wrong time for a pity party—Lilly finished her business, washed her hands and face and finger-combed her hair. Feeling markedly better even with the few rudimentary ablutions, she returned to find Dave and Wayne in a glaring match.

  “How’d you get your feet loose?” Wayne asked.

  “Tooth fairy.” Dave slid his feet to the floor and rose from the bed with a grunt.

  Wayne raised the revolver and aimed it at Dave. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Dave rolled his head from side to side, stretching his neck muscles. “Bathroom.”

  The testosterone-fueled staring match intensified for a few tense seconds before Wayne hitched his head. “Hurry up.”

  Dave arched one eyebrow. “Free my hands so I can go?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Then how am I supposed to—?” Dave clamped his mouth shut without finishing the sentence and glowered at Wayne.

  Wayne smirked. “Get the tooth fairy to help you.”

  As he moved toward the bathroom door, his shoulders back and squared, Dave sent Lilly an embarrassed look. She moved toward him, prompting Wayne to wag the gun as he barked, “Hey! Get away from him.”

  “No funny business. I promise,” she said, edging in front of Dave and raising her shaking hands to the button on his fly. Lilly held Dave’s gaze as she unfastened his jeans for him.

  A complex brew of emotions swirled in his dark brown eyes. Everything from gratitude and humility to the unmistakable spark of sexual awareness. Under other circumstances, her gesture could have been the prelude to any number of erotic acts, and the heat that zinged between them as she lowered his zipper left no question that they were both mindful of the implied sensuality. He continued staring in her eyes, the muscle in his jaw twitching for several seconds after she’d dropped her hands to her sides.

  “Not your girlfriend, huh?” Wayne said with a snide scoff. “Right.”

  Dave shot a lethal glare at Wayne and disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes.

  As she and Wayne were waiting for Dave to finish his business, Maddie appeared at the bedroom door and peeked in with a squeaking meow.

  “Coming, Maddie girl.” Lilly started toward the door, but Wayne raised the gun and stepped into her path.

  “Nope.”

  His movement sent Maddie scuttling quickly back down the hall.

  She frowned at him. “Really? I can’t even feed my cat without you pointing that thing at me?”

  “That’s right. I’d be stupid to let either one of you out of my sight while you’re untied. Are you saying you think I’m stupid?”

  Lilly fought for patience and composure. Slow breath in...and exhale. “No.”

  She had practiced showing a calm countenance when her nerves were shredded while dealing with panicked or unreasonable patients in the ER. Drug addicts faking symptoms to score a hit. New mothers who were sure their crying babies must be dying. Grown men who become combative when faced with the necessity of a needle stick.

  “We wait for Hero.” He used that excuse to bang on the bathroom door. “Hurry up in there.”

  “His name is Dave.”

  The doorknob rattled, and Lilly stepped over to help Dave open the door. She glanced down, and he gave her the same awkward grimace as she rezipped and buttoned his fly.

  “Thanks,” he said quietly.

  “All right, all right. Break it up.” Wayne wedged himself between them and stuck the gun under Dave’s chin. “You, sit on the bed where I can see you. You move, you lose a toe.” He waggled the gun to let Dave know how the toe extraction would be performed. Facing Lilly, Wayne nodded to the bathroom. “You, start doctoring.”

  When she glanced back at Dave, his hard stare unnerved her. He shifted his eyes to the gun, then back to her face with a lift of his brow. Get the gun.

  Lilly’s stomach somersaulted. She’d never fired a gun. Even holding the weapon yesterday had made her sweat. And what if, like yesterday, Wayne snatched the revolver back and, furious with her for her bold move, shot her, or Dave or Maddie or...

  Wayne closed the lid on the commode and raised his shirt. “Let’s go, Lilly.”

  She nodded to the gun. “Can you put that down while I work?”

  He rolled his eyes at her. “No.”

  Shoulders drooping, she carefully peeled back the bandage from his gunshot wound and set to work. The gash was definitely showing early signs of infection, so she recleaned the wound, coated it with antibacterial cream and replaced the bandage. As she finished, she heard Dave’s low murmur, and glanced into the bedroom to find that Maddie had returned and was on the bed, begging attention from Dave.

  “Sorry, cat. No hands.” He tried to give Maddie’s fuzzy cheek a rub with his elbow, and she responded with her trademark purr.

  “What about this?” Wayne asked, drawing her attention back to him as he pointed to his broken nose.

  “The two i’s. Ice and ibuprofen to fight the swelling.”

  “What about resetting it?” he asked.

  She pulled a face. “I don’t dare try. I’m not trained for that, and anything that close to your brain is risky. But if you see a doctor in the next couple weeks, he or she can set it.”

  Wayne’s expression clearly said he didn’t like her answer but he didn’t argue. “So...you got any ibuprofen?”

  “Your tramadol will help, too.” She cringed internally at recommending he add another of the narcotic painkiller when he’d just gotten the overdose out of his system. But if he was sleepy and slower to react...

  Wayne seemed to be considering. “Naw. Not yet. I need you loose to fix breakfast. I’ll take a pill once the both of you are secured again.”

  So...he planned to let her remain unrestrained while she cooked for him. Her heart raced as she considered the ramifications. With a poise that belied her fluttering pulse, she opened the medicine cabinet on the wall over his head and took down the bottle there. Lilly shook one out for Wayne, swallowed one herself for her sore muscles and offered one to Dave.

  When he nodded, she took the pill out to Dave with Wayne shadowing her. She dropped the pill on Dave’s tongue, and he swallowed it dry, holding her gaze the whole time. His impatient, raised-eyebrow look silently asked why she wasn’t trying to get the weapon from Wayne. Unable to verbally explain her concerns about the plan, she flashed an apologetic frown, hating the disappointment and frustration in Dave’s eyes.

  “Now,” Wayne said, “feed us.”

  She faced her captor, tilting her head. “What do you want?”

  “Anything. But I’m sick of peanut butter. I saw eggs in there, and other good options in the cabinets. Surprise me.” He waved the gun toward the door. “You, too, cowboy. Let’s go.”

  She considered a symbolic protest of his sexist demand. But since she and Dave needed a good meal, as well, and everyone’s temperament would be better with a full stomach, Lilly headed to the kitchen. She dug through the refrigerator and found eggs, the fresh vegetables she’d intended for a salad and bread. Helen likely had other potential delicacies stashed in her pantry, but Lilly had never been the gourmand her sister had.

  One large garden omelet, which she divided three ways, a pot of coffee and whole grain toast later—plus kitty kibble and canned salmon mush for Maddie—they settled in the living room and tucked in. Wayne claimed the recliner facing the sofa, and Lilly sat on the couch next to Dave. She forked bites to her fellow hostage, an indignity Dave obviously endured only because he was famished. But she could tell he held the humiliation against Wayne, who still refused to untie Dave’s hands.

  When he finished his breakfast, Wayne took the bottle of tramadol from the table beside the recliner and shook out a tablet.

  “When did you last take one of those?” Lilly asked, narrowing a concerned look o
n him.

  “Why do you care?” Wayne popped the pill in his mouth, washed it down with coffee, then swiped his upper lip with his sleeve.

  “Because you took too much last night and weren’t in your right mind.”

  “Case in point, my wrecked truck,” Dave grumbled.

  “Bite me,” Wayne snarled back.

  Lilly divided a peevish look between the sniping men. “Everybody chill.”

  Dave slumped to a more comfortable angle on the couch, leaning his head back on the cushions with a sigh.

  Setting aside the pill bottle, Wayne kicked back in the recliner and put the revolver on his lap. He said nothing for a long time, only stared at her and Dave for a few minutes before he flicked on the television, scrolled through the channels and turned it off again. “Will the chemo make me sick?” he said without preamble. “Will I lose my hair?”

  Lilly perked up, seeing an opportunity to make the vital personal connection with Wayne she’d been seeking. “It depends. Some chemo meds cause nausea, but treatments are getting better. And there are things the doctors can do to minimize side effects. Did the treatments make you sick last time?”

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Didn’t do chemo before. Just surgery to take out the tumor. Couldn’t afford chemo then.” He flashed a sly grin. “But now I can.”

  Dave grunted. “You really think you can cover the cost of cancer treatments with the amount you stole from a small-town bank?”

  Wayne tapped his thumb on the arm of the recliner as he regarded Dave with disgust. “Not one small-town bank haul. But I’ll add my take from the other day to the haul from my last three bank heists and should be in pretty good shape.”

  Lilly jerked her chin up. “You robbed three other banks?”

  “In Indiana, New Mexico and Missouri. Not in that order, but...” Wayne chuckled at her startled look. “You didn’t think this was my first rodeo, did you? Hell, I’ve been robbing banks for years with my dad. Convenience stores before that. Since I was a kid. He taught me real good. Both what to do and, by his mistakes, what not to do.”

  “Your father? Wow. Model parent,” Dave said flatly.

  Lilly moved her hand to Dave’s knee, silently imploring him not to antagonize Wayne.

  “Where’s your dad now? Why isn’t he with you?” she asked.

  “One of those mistakes he made got him killed. Shot by a cop.” Wayne fingered his watch, and Lilly wonder if he even realized he was doing so.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it.

  “Are you?” Wayne tipped his head and narrowed his eyes on her.

  “Sorry you lost your father? Yeah. I’m not heartless. The manner of his death...” She twisted her mouth.

  “He asked for it,” Wayne finished for her.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He shrugged, then winced and put his hand over the freshly bandaged bullet wound under his arm. “I am saying it. He got greedy. I told him we should stick to small banks, and he wouldn’t listen.”

  “Tell us about the watch,” Dave said, surprising both her and, judging from his expression, Wayne, too. Especially since Dave’s tone sounded genuine and encouraging, not hostile.

  Wayne didn’t respond for a moment. His gaze dropped to the timepiece, and his gaze lost focus, as if he were deep in thought. Finally he said, “It belonged to my grandfather first. He picked it up in France while on leave during the Second World War. He called it his ‘lucky watch,’ because when he was wearing it in the trenches one day, the strap broke. He bent over to pick it up, and a sniper’s bullet whizzed right over his head. If he hadn’t bent over for the watch, he’d have caught it center mass.”

  “Wow,” Lilly said. “That is lucky.”

  “My dad got it when Gramps died, and he gave it to me on my birthday when I turned twenty-one. It’s the only thing I have from my gramps.” The way he looked at the watch and rubbed the face with his finger showed the sentimental value the watch held for him.

  “Has it been lucky for you?” Lilly asked.

  “Well, let’s put it this way,” Wayne said, still stroking the face of the watch with his thumb. “The first job we did after Dad gave me the watch was the one that got him killed. I was wearing it, not him.”

  Lilly and Dave exchanged a look, and she winced as she faced Wayne again. “Oh.”

  “And since I’ve had it, I’ve gotten cancer, twice, and this last job scored me this—” he pointed to the bullet wound on his side and sent Dave a scurrilous look “—and this.” He aimed a finger at his busted nose. “Lucky?” He made a face to reflect his skepticism. “But I don’t really believe in superstition much. I only keep it with me because it was my gramps’, and he was the one person ever really cared anything about me.”

  Lilly let the comment about who had or hadn’t cared about Wayne slide. That was a can of worms that could go sideways quickly.

  “You could say it was lucky for protecting you the day your dad was killed,” Lilly offered, trying to lighten the mood.

  “And the bullet I put in you could have been six inches to the right and hit your heart. It was lucky I was just trying to stop you, not kill you.” Dave gave Wayne a smug grin. “’Cause I usually hit what I’m aiming for.”

  Wayne returned a narrowed glare.

  “It’s always a matter of perspective.” Lilly infused her tone with as much cheer as she could. “Happiness in life is more about a good attitude than what happens to you.”

  “Really?” Wayne lowered his brow and scoffed. “Is that what you told yourself when your sister was murdered?”

  His gibe hit its mark, stealing the air from her lungs and tightening her throat with a fist of grief.

  Dave tensed and sat up, growling, “You prick.”

  Wayne snatched the gun from his lap and fired a shot into the sofa, inches from Dave’s shoulder.

  Lilly screamed. Maddie raced down the hall to hide. Dave’s jaw tightened.

  “I’m getting tired of your mouth, Hero. Consider that your last warning.” Wayne angled the gun and flashed a gloating grin. “’Cause I generally hit where I’m aiming, too.” He cast a quick glance around the room, his attention stopping on a framed picture of Helen and Dave hanging on the wall over the TV. He aimed the gun again and fired, hitting the photograph where Dave’s face smiled. “See?”

  Lilly lifted a shaking hand to her mouth. She swallowed hard, struggling to keep her breakfast down.

  Beside her, Dave sat motionless, his jaw set and rigid with a dark glare pinned on Wayne.

  “So I’m guessing that’s your sister?”

  Lilly glanced to Wayne when he spoke and found him studying the picture he’d just shot. “Yes.” The word was no more than a rasp.

  “And she was Hero’s girlfriend?”

  When neither of them answered, Wayne glanced at Lilly, and she gave a small bob of her head. He continued staring at Lilly, then back at the picture for a moment. “Yeah, she was pretty enough. I’d have done her. But you’re hotter.”

  Lilly blinked, stunned by the crass comment. “What?”

  “You heard me. You’re hotter than your sister was. Hero shoulda been doing you instead.”

  Dave shifted forward, and she saw Wayne’s remarks for the provocation he’d likely intended. She put her hand on Dave’s thigh and squeezed. “Don’t.”

  Wayne chuckled and leaned back in the recliner. “Then again, now that sister’s out of the way, maybe that’s his plan.”

  She felt the tremor of rage that shuddered through Dave. She tightened her grip on his leg, her fingers digging deeply into his muscles. “Please, don’t,” she whispered under her breath to him.

  The mantel clock ticked loudly, counting off the tense seconds and keeping time with the anxious drumming of Lilly’s heart. The mutual hatred between Dave and Wayne was a powder
keg, and she had to find a way to keep it from igniting. The best way to do that, until she thought of a better idea to end this nightmare, was to keep them apart.

  She cleared her throat to loosen the muscles, which were knotted with fear and stress. “I think we should go back to the bedroom. I’m sure you’d probably like to rest.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Lilly. We were just starting to have fun.” Wayne folded his arms carefully over his chest, the revolver still in his grip.

  “This isn’t fun, Wayne. It’s cruel. Why are you being cruel to us?” The hoarse quality of her voice surprised her. She’d thought she was doing a better job than that of keeping her emotions in check.

  Their tormenter pulled his head back, angling his head, as if confused. “Cruel?” He waved the gun, motioning to where they sat on the couch. “You think this is cruel? Breakfast? A chance to stretch your legs and pee?”

  “Taunting us about Helen’s death is. You understand my sister was murdered—” her voice cracked on the word “—just a few months ago, don’t you?”

  Dave looked away, staring at nothing apparent in the adjoining dining room.

  “Yeah. So you said.” Wayne narrowed a speculative gaze on her, and he was quiet for a few moments, then asked, “Did they catch the guy that done it?”

  “Yes,” Dave said without looking at anyone. “He confessed.”

  Wayne snorted. “Idiot.” He paused, his jaw moving as if he was deep in thought. “Innocent until proven guilty, ya know. With the right lawyer, he mighta gotten off.”

  Dave turned his face toward Wayne, so clearly wanting to tear into their captor that Lilly feared for Dave’s life. One more heated comment could push Wayne over the edge. Especially now that he’d taken his painkiller, a class of drug known for muting a person’s inhibitions and practical reasoning, much like alcohol.