by Candace Camp
They spent the afternoon talking, trying to describe their adventures to each other and to explain the men they had fallen in love with. Victoria knew she should send a telegram to her father to let him know where they were, but she held back. She told herself that she was too tired, that one more day wouldn’t matter, but the truth was simply that she couldn’t bring herself to face her father yet.
They ate their dinner in their room, neither of them wanting to face the other diners in the hotel restaurant. They went to bed early and slept late. The next morning, Victoria sent a telegram to her father and returned to the hotel to sit with Amy and wait. The day, indeed her life, stretched out in front of her, empty and sad.
Early in the evening, there was knock at the door. Victoria jumped up and rushed to the door, her heart leaping. Maybe it was Slater, come back for her. She flung open the door, and her face fell. “Oh. It’s you. What are you doing here, McBride?”
Cam McBride walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. Victoria gasped, indignant, and opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of his rude behavior. But McBride pulled a revolver from his holster and leveled it at her, and the words died in her throat.
The two women stared at him. Victoria thought with regret of the pistol wrapped up inside her bedroll. It had never occurred to her to take it out before she answered the door. She hadn’t thought about anything happening to them inside the hotel.
Cam slid over to Amy, keeping his gun trained on Victoria. When he reached the other girl, he grabbed her braid and jerked her closer. “Well, Brody’s woman.” He held the pistol to Amy’s temple. “Can’t see what he sees in you. Now this other one—” He cast a leering glance toward Victoria. “She’d be an armful, I reckon. But you—I don’t ‘magine I’ll get any pleasure out you. ‘Cept, of course, for lettin’ Brody watch me take you while he’s dyin’ slow.”
Amy gasped, and the blood drained from her face. “No!”
He chuckled. “That’s right. I’m gonna bring Brody in this time. An’ you’re the bait.” He pulled her roughly across the room. “All right, girls, let’s go. The three of us are takin’ a little trip.”
***
Slater took a last swig of water from his canteen and capped it. He stretched out on the ground, wrapping his blanket around him. He was dead tired, but as soon as he closed his eyes, his mind was filled with images of Victoria.
He’d ridden alone for years and liked it that way, but today he had been lonely by himself. All day he kept thinking about how he and Victoria had talked while they rode or laughed or just been companionably silent. He missed her presence; he missed her voice; he missed the way she always kept him on his toes.
And tonight he was missing her most of all. He couldn’t keep his mind off their lovemaking. He kept picturing her soft, sweet body, her face tender and slack with passion, that black hair spreading out like a cloud around her.
Eventually, however, he must have slept, for the next thing he knew, something was prodding the bottom of his foot. His eyes flew open, and he found himself staring into the barrel of a Winchester rifle. There was no hope of reaching his revolver.
“Don’t even think about going for your gun,” Sam Brody said. The sky was beginning to turn light along the horizon, silhouetting his dark form looming over Slater.
“I’m not.” Slater raised his hands slightly to show his lack of a gun. “So I was right to come this way. I knew Amy was lying.”
“Amy? She told you I went the other direction?” There was an odd tone to Brody’s voice.
“Yeah. But she’s no good at lying. I knew she was covering for you.”
“She would.”
“You planning to shoot me?” Slater asked conversationally.
“Not unless I have to. I’m here to ask you for help.”
Slater’s eyebrows rose. “Why the hell would I help you?”
“Sit up.” Brody moved the gun back, allowing Slater to rise to a seated position. Brody sat down across from him, his rifle still trained on Slater.
“I have a little trouble carrying on a conversation when somebody has a rifle aimed at my chest.” Slater told him.
“I think you can manage.” Brody’s lips moved in what might have been a smile. “I know how quick you are, and I don’t plan to give you an opportunity to grab that Colt.”
Slater shrugged. “What’s on your mind, Brody?”
“Dorette knew where I was going.”
“Now, she’s a better liar,” Slater allowed. “I only half-suspected her.”
Brody ignored his comment. “Dorette sent me a telegram. It was waiting for me when I got in.”
“To tell you I was following you?”
“She mentioned that. But there was something more important. Cam McBride’s got Amy.”
“What?” Slater leaped to his feet.
Brody jumped up, too, raising his rifle. “Damn it, man! What are you doing? I almost shot you.”
Slater made an impatient gesture. “Forget your damn gun. Does he have Victoria, too?”
“Amy’s cousin?” Brody shrugged. “I don’t know. He told Dorette he had Amy. He didn’t say anything about anyone else.”
Slater ran his hand through his hair, willing himself to think straight. His heart was pumping like a steam engine, and his brain screamed that Victoria was in danger, maybe even hurt. “Victoria would be with her. She wouldn’t have left Amy by herself for even a second. McBride couldn’t have gotten Amy without taking Victoria too—unless he murdered her.” Slater grabbed his holster and strapped it on. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”
Brody reached out to grab Slater’s arm. “Hold it. What the hell’s the matter with you? Are you just angling to get a lump of lead in your chest? You can’t charge in there, guns blazing.”
“He has Victoria,” Slater said simply. “I’m going to get her back.”
“I see.” Brody’s smile was feral. “Good. Then I reckon I won’t have to beg for your help.”
“Help?” Slater showed surprise. “You’re going, too?”
“Of course. I’m the one he wants. He told Dorette to let me know that he’ll trade Amy for me. If I don’t surrender to him, Amy’s dead.”
“He’ll shoot you as soon as you show your face,” Slater said. “McBride doesn’t take anyone alive.”
“You don’t have to tell me how McBride works.”
“So you plan to walk in and let him kill you?”
“Better than him killing Amy.”
“I suspect he plans to kill her anyway. And Victoria. If they see him gun you down in cold blood, he won’t want them talking.” A faint smile, half rueful, half proud, touched Slater’s lips. “And there’s no other way to keep Victoria quiet.”
“That’s why I came for you. If he kills me, I want you there to make sure he doesn’t hurt Amy.”
“All right. Where are you supposed to make this exchange?”
“The old McEntire place on the road to Bandera,” Brody said.
“Then what are we standing around here for? Let’s ride.”
***
Slater and Brody rode in grim silence, making good time as the day wore on. Slater studied his companion. Brody had been traveling even longer and had gotten less sleep than he, but he showed no signs of slowing down. He was tough. But that was no surprise to Slater.
What had surprised him was Brody’s coming back at all, knowing he faced certain death at McBride’s hands. Slater had known Brody didn’t lack for courage, but he had never suspected him of such emotional depths. He could see in Brody’s eyes the same cold combination of fury, determination and fear for his woman that lay inside Slater himself.
If McBride hurt Victoria, if he dared to lay a hand on her, Slater would kill him. It was no idle threat; he would see McBride dead at his feet. If Slater had needed anything to convince him of his feelings for Victoria, this had. He’d never before felt this kind of mur
derous rage or heart-stopping fear. He loved her. Once he got her back, he would never let her out of his sight again. If the only way he could save Victoria from McBride was to give his own life in exchange, he would do it, just as Brody was willing to give his in exchange for Amy’s.
Slater couldn’t help but admire the man for it.
“Why are you giving yourself up to save her?” he asked.
Brody cut his eyes at him. “That’s a damn fool question.”
Slater nodded as if Brody had given him an answer. “So you love her.”
“I didn’t notice it taking you any time to decide to go after him when you heard he had Amy’s cousin,” Brody retorted.
Slater shrugged. “I’m a Ranger. That’s my job.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I thought maybe that was the way it was with you,” Slater went on. He wasn’t sure why he was pressing the outlaw on it, but Brody intrigued him. “But then you left Amy behind in San Antonio, so I figured I’d been wrong.”
“You think it’d be loving her to make her live on the run?” Brody let out a short, mirthless laugh. “I don’t want her exposed to people like Cam McBride. I don’t want her to have to watch me die or kill people.”
“But you were going to Mexico. You wouldn’t have to run anymore.”
“Bounty hunters don’t respect national boundaries. As long as I’m alive, wherever I am, they’ll be after me.”
There wasn’t much Slater could say to that. Brody was right. But some time later, when they stopped to let their mounts drink and rest, Slater said, “You know, there might be a way to stop McBride without you getting killed.”
Brody searched Slater’s face. “Why? So you can take me back to prison?”
“Better than dying.”
“I can tell you’ve never been in prison.”
“You want Amy to have to live with knowing you died for her?” Slater asked.
“No. Of course I’d rather come out of it alive. But I don’t see how.”
“I might have a plan that could get you out with a whole skin.”
“You’re a strange one, Slater. You’ve been after me like a dog with a bone for two years. I wouldn’t think you’d care whether you brought me in breathing or cold.”
“Maybe I’ve killed too many men in my life. Do you want to try this my way or not?”
Brody shrugged. “Sure. Let’s hear it.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Victoria tugged uselessly against the ropes that bound her hands behind the chair. She had never felt so helpless in her life. With McBride holding a gun on Amy, Victoria had had no choice but to walk out of the hotel, saddle her horse and ride out with him. McBride had taken Amy up on his horse in front of him and had kept the gun jammed in her side, so Victoria had still been unable to escape, even in the dark and on horseback. Once they’d reached this old, dilapidated house, he had tied her up.
At first he underestimated Victoria and tied her hands in front of her, but after she’d tried for his gun and almost gotten it, he’d tied her hands behind the chair. That had been last night, and he hadn’t untied her except to let her eat or answer the call of nature, and then he’d kept a gun to Amy’s head the whole time.
Amy, of course, had been scared out of her mind by the abduction. She had shivered and cried all the way out to the farmhouse, and, ever since, she’d sat like a stone, staring at the floor. At first, McBride had tied Amy up as well, untying her only to make her cook a meal. This morning, after breakfast, he’d let her stay untied. It was obvious that Amy was no threat to him.
Victoria ached for Amy’s fear, but she couldn’t help but wish her cousin could remain calm in a crisis. If only McBride would leave them alone, maybe Victoria could at least get Amy to untie her bonds. But McBride hadn’t given them a second by themselves. He’d even crudely relieved himself right in front of them.
Time had passed agonizingly slowly, but it was afternoon now. Victoria knew she had to do something soon. McBride would be bound to realize before long that Sam Brody wasn’t going to come back and give himself up for a woman. Frankly, it seemed to her that McBride must not be very bright to have ever thought the outlaw would do such a thing. After all, Brody had dropped Amy in San Antonio and ridden off without a second glance. This was no man of honor like Slater, who would put his life on the line.
For the thousandth time, Victoria wished Slater was here. But that way of thinking would get her nowhere. She needed to find a weapon. A way out of her bonds. She twisted and pulled against the rope, as she had been doing for hours without success, and glanced around the small house. It was an old settler’s cabin, one room with one door and two empty window frames. If only some bit of the broken out glass remained in the frames—a shard Victoria could wrap a cloth around for a makeshift knife. But the glass was all long gone. The few bits of furniture inside were as dilapidated as the house itself. No handy fireplace pokers. Nothing sharp. The best weapon she could see was a turned-over stool that was missing a leg. But how could she manage to free herself, grab the stool and go after McBride before he could shoot her?
And she had no doubt he would shoot her. It was clear he was going to slaughter Sam Brody in cold blood.
She glanced over at McBride. He was watching her. When he saw her looking at him, he gave her a leering smile. Victoria wondered how long it would be before he made good on his threats to rape her. He obviously enjoyed building up her fear; she was sure that was why he had waited as long as he had. He found it fun to touch her breasts and make her flinch, or to describe what he planned to do to her and watch the revulsion and fear she couldn’t keep out of her face. But he was also getting bored waiting for Brody. If much more time passed without Brody showing up, Victoria suspected McBride would take his impatience and irritation out on her.
Now she put on her coolest, haughtiest face to show him that he didn’t scare her, staring him down instead of turning away in terror. She noticed Amy behind him in the kitchen, making their meal. It took a moment for her to register how odd her cousin’s movements were. Instead of slowly, listlessly preparing the food, as she had been doing minutes before, Amy was tiptoeing all over the room, silently opening the cabinets and peering inside. Now and then she glanced back over her shoulder at McBride.
Suddenly it occurred to Victoria that Amy had been playacting. Why, that crafty girl! Amy wasn’t numb with fear; she had tricked McBride into thinking she was, and she was using the freedom she’d gained to search the place. No doubt she was looking for some weapon that was better than a broken stool.
Victoria was glad that she had rigidly schooled her face into a cold, haughty mask. Otherwise she might have given away the fact that something was going on with Amy. Now that she had caught on, she needed to keep McBride’s attention on herself to give Amy more time to search.
“He’s not coming, you know,” she said. It was the first thing she could think of that would irritate her captor. “Why should Brody risk his life to save us?”
McBride grinned. “’Cause he’s hot for your little cousin, that’s why. I heard him talking to her. He don’t want to see her dead.”
“Romantic nonsense,” Victoria scoffed. “Men like Brody don’t sacrifice themselves for a woman.”
Behind them in the kitchen, Amy heard her cousin’s words. She could have told Victoria that she was wrong. Brody would come for her. However unhappy she had been because he’d left her, Amy knew Sam had done it out of love. She had seen the love shining in his eyes, heard it in his voice, felt it in his touch. Brody would never let McBride harm her. He would come for her. Her first, instinctive reaction when McBride showed up had been fear. She knew that he had seen her unfeigned terror, had felt her trembling when he pulled her close to him, jamming the pistol in her side.
But later, when it became obvious that he intended to use her as bait to lure Brody to his death, her panic had changed into fear for Sam. And that had turned her cool and rationa
l, capable of planning and pretense. She had to come up with some way to overcome McBride before Sam arrived.
She had pretended to continue to be numb with terror, hoping to make McBride relax his guard around her. It had been obvious from the first that he was far less careful with her than he was with Victoria. The last time he untied her, he hadn’t bothered to tie her up again. He hardly looked at her while she fixed the food, which had given her the opportunity to search the kitchen for a knife. But she discovered that the people who had lived here had left no knives behind. The only thing she found to use against McBride was the cast-iron skillet in which she was cooking.
That would have to do. If she could sneak up on him and knock him over the head with it, the skillet would make a fine weapon. The only problem was she was afraid she couldn’t get close enough to him without him hearing or sensing she was there. If she tried and failed, he’d be onto her scheme, and she would never have another chance.
Amy set the sausage to fry in the skillet. If only that monster would leave her and Victoria alone for a few minutes! She could ask Victoria for advice. She could even untie her cousin’s hands, and the two of them could jump McBride when he returned. But Amy was beginning to think that he would never leave them alone.
“McBride!” A man’s voice called from outside in the dark.
McBride and Victoria jumped, surprised, and Amy went utterly still. Sam! Oh, no, Sam was already here! Amy dumped the meat from the skillet and curled her hand around the handle. She started forward quietly, holding the pan behind her back.
McBride jumped up from where he was sitting and grabbed his shotgun. He hurried to the window and peered out. The moonlight revealed a man standing in the shadows of the mesquite trees. He was out of shotgun range. McBride waited.
“McBride! This is Brody. I’m here. Let Amy go.”
“Not till I’ve got you tied up. You come in, then I’ll let her go.”
“I’m not that stupid,” Brody retorted. “You bring her out here, and we’ll talk.”
“No deal. Come here where I can see you. Hands up.”
