by Elle Marlow
“It was dark. It was too dark. All I know is that there were several men, guns blasting, and…”
“What about a woman?” Cooper cut in. She looked at him with a scrunched expression like the question was crazy.
“No, I didn’t see no woman. But, I just told you it was dark! I want my baby! Just get me back my baby!” she demanded, and then her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she began slipping from the chair before he rushed over to catch her.
“Gunther, go fetch the doc.”
Gunther raced out the office door. Cooper held the woman as she convulsed in his arms. His anger over the whole situation heating his skin. Her knuckles suffered deep cuts and there was blood and flesh under her fingernails. “You’re a survivor,” he told her. Her response was a long wail crying for her son and her husband.
Doc Saunders gathered the Mrs. Lantham and assured him that she’d get good care. Cooper could only nod, staring at the empty chair she once occupied.
“Why does he kill some, and then let some live? She’s never going to be right again,” Gunther asked, flinging his arms out wide.
“I have no idea. I’ve sent several telegraphs to Silver City about Crow, but word isn’t getting out in time. We have to move on this pronto.”
Gunther’s expression paled. “It’s not going to be easy to round up a posse on this one. Word about the Hellfire gang and all their killing have spread like fire. People are scared, Cooper, just plain-out scared.”
***
Reasoning screamed that she should ignore the crying baby. Obviously, Crow planned on killing it. She shouldn’t risk herself over the life of a child doomed to death. Sweat beaded along her hairline and she couldn’t stop sucking in the night air as the baby’s wails cut into her soul. She took a few more steps but this time, the infant wailed so loud, she imagined Crow holding his blade to the child’s neck. Sophia exhaled her defeat as she turned back to face the big rock. She reached into the darkness, feeling her way along the granite that cut under her fingers. Miraculously, as she climbed, her hand landed on her gun.
“Sweet Jesus,” she breathed. Finding solid footing, Sophia managed to get back on the trail Crow had used, and headed toward the wailing with her gun held straight out in front of her.
When she cleared a thick growth of creosote, she found Jorge holding the child by his feet over the campfire. He laughed as he dangled the infant, swaying back and forth like a pendulum. She cocked the hammer as her gut rolled. “Put that baby down, Jorge or I swear by all that’s holy I will shoot one hell of a hole in you.”
Crow appeared emerging from the dark brush with a surprised look on his face. “What are you doing, Little One?” Sophia turned the gun on Crow. “You tell that son-of-a-bitch to give me that child or he’s a dead man.”
Crow considered her for a second and then nodded to Jorge. He reached out for the infant and Jorge reluctantly handed it over. When Crow brought the squalling babe over to her, his voice softened. “He’s not going to live out here. We can’t feed him, he’s going to starve. It would be best for him to die. The law will come looking for this babe,” he explained.
Sophia tucked the Colt back into the back of her pants and then took the baby from Crow. She placed the infant inside the warmth of her shirt as she cradled him. The child was shaking like a leaf and struggled to breathe. “I don’t care.”
Crow said nothing, but his expression darkened over to the point that she knew she’d gone too far with him. That’s when he reached behind her and roughly retrieved the gun.
“You don’t care? You don’t care that this worthless child might risk our lives? You can’t feed him. His cries will grow with his hunger. He will draw wild animals, and the law—and you don’t care?”
Crow unsheathed his knife. Sophia took a few steps backwards and stumbled. He chuckled a few sounds and then turned his back on her to talk to Jorge.
“Our horses ran off. They’re gone,” Crow shouted. “Instead of burning babies, you and the other men should have been watching the horses.”
“If you didn’t try and woo your woman so much, we’d have our horses,” Jorge shot back, and was met with a hard fist to his face.
***
By morning, the baby had settled into a deep sleep. Sophia held him throughout the night offering him drops of water. Crow watched her with interest, and never left her side. When there was enough light to see by, she found a birthmark on the child’s arm.
“Look,” she pointed out to Crow. “He has a cross. See? He is holy.” The mark was shaped more like the number seven, but she remembered how strange Crow acted over the bible, and right now she was desperate and ready try anything. Crow stared at the infant’s arm with his brows squeezed together.
“That is nothing,” he argued, but his expression deepened with concern.
“Yes, it’s definitely a cross. This babe is a blessed child of god. They speak of this blessed babe in the bible, they call him Jesus. He has been sent from the stars to save our souls.”
“Get rid of him.”
“There is only one way. Jesus must go back to his godly home. I will go to town, leave this baby at a church where he belongs, and when I’m done, I will buy us more horses,” Sophia offered, hope burning that Crow’s crazy superstitions were stronger than his common sense.
“Just feed him and shut him up,” he snapped, rising from his crossed-legged position.
Sophia spent the rest of the day trying to find ways to feed the baby. She had never cared for a baby before, but out of desperation, she feverishly worked to pound meat into mush and then mix enough water with it that the child could swallow it from the tip of a leather glove. The child struggled with the feeding and then squalled. “Be still, angel,” she whispered.
“I said, shut him up!” Crow yelled.
“He is trying, Crow,” she told him. “Come on, drink from the glove,” she coaxed as she rubbed his cheek while placing the fingertip into his mouth. Finally, he suckled and quieted. Sophia let out her breath. But she had to figure out how to get this babe to town.
Crow came to sit beside her. He took out his gun and began the task of taking it apart to be cleaned.
“Crow, he will die. His death will haunt us all. Let me return him.”
“No,” he stated firmly, as he reached inside a saddle bag and removed a bottle of whiskey. Sophia watched him out of the corner of her eye. He started drinking large gulps that spilled out of the corners of his mouth. If he kept that up, he’d be asleep within an hour. Jorge and the other men had not forgiven her for humiliating them and saving the infant. She couldn’t sneak away, because Crow was now the only thing keeping her and the babe safe from the threats of his own men, who watched her every move. She also wondered if her hunch about Crow and his superstitions about religion was correct. Maybe she’d ask him why, maybe if he talked about it, he’d find some mercy for the child.
It took a bit of prodding, but eventually, Crow slowed down on his drinking while he recounted his memories of his childhood. She wrapped the baby snug, held him protectively against her chest and rocked him while she listened.
Crow’s childhood had been one of torment—he knew nothing else. As she listened, she encouraged Crow to tell her more, mumbling occasional sounds of sympathy. A coldness settled over her for deceit, but saving this child from what would only be a future resembling Crow’s past, now became more important than breathing.
When Crow finished talking, she leaned into him. “We’re trapped here if we don’t get fresh horses. It might be weeks before another wagon with horses come through,” she explained. He ignored her as he drank. Desperate, Sophia held out a hand and stopped him from tipping the bottle back again.
“If you drink much more, you will sleep all night and Jorge will kill me and this holy baby,” she told him. “Do you want us to die?”
Crow thought for a moment. “You should not have aimed your gun at Jorge. You have made an enemy of him and soon, his hatred toward you
will affect them all.”
“I fear it already has.”
Crow’s gaze followed hers to the men who huddled together at their own fire. Crow let out a derisive snort. “How do I know you will come back with horses and not stay there?”
“I promise,” she said, forcing herself to lift a hand and place it on the side of his face. A pang of pity crossed her. Crow’s face was unlike any other man’s, riddled with deep groves from cuts he sustained as a youth. The pity must have shown in her eyes, because Crow flinched and quickly moved out from under her touch.
“Your words lie, your hands lie. You do nothing but speak false words and move like a snake against me. Do you think I am stupid enough to believe you?”
“No, I…”
Crow snatched the child from her arms and the infant began to softly whimper. He then pulled out his knife. Sophia reached out for the baby. “No, Crow, please don’t kill him,” she pleaded. “I’ll come back!”
“You have three days. Three turns of the sun to get rid of him and return with healthy horses. If you do not, I will find this child, and I will find you. I will dig my blade deep into both of your faces until you are matched pair. Do not doubt me on this. Betray me and you and this baby will always walk in shadows, ashamed of your faces.”
Her mouth moved but the words didn’t come right away. She was stunned that he agreed to let her leave. Crow mistook her silence as an act of rebellion and grasped her hair and twisted it within his grip. He held her pinned. “Three days,” he warned again.
“I just want to save this boy’s life. I will return to you,” she promised.
***
She’d cleaned up the best that she could. Dressed in the same clothing she wore when Crow had taken her captive months ago, Sophia wrapped the baby in flannel securely against her and then took off on foot toward Tucson.
Chapter Four
Sophia arrived at the mission in the dead of night. Despite the darkness that swallowed the desert, the large sun-bleached Spanish missionary building glowed like a shining beacon of hope in an unforgiving world. Sophia stared at the beautiful building in awe, and with an utter sense of unworthiness. She walked toward the steps and closer to the large cross that crowned the arched entrance. That cross saved, and she prayed that people who worshiped it, would find it in their hearts to save this boy.
At each side of the entry, black iron lanterns casted the foyer in soft hues of light. It brought her some comfort that the babe would not have wait in total darkness for his angels of mercy to find him.
She kissed the boy on the head, assured herself that he was snug and warm in his flannel blanket, and then gently laid him just in front of the doors. “I would have kept you, sweet baby. But I’ll be damned if Crow was going to influence your angel’s heart,” she whispered. “I hope you find your mama,” she said finally, before kissing him again.
With trembling fingers, she grasped the large iron loops that hung from each of the wooden doors and with all her strength, she knocked as loud as she could. She gave the child one last look, before fleeing into the safety of the darkness. Tears fell from her face as she left the mission behind her. She’d put the child in the Lord’s hands. What more could she do? At least, maybe, one soul might escape Comanche Crow and not have to live his life in hell.
The sun peaked over the large mountain by the time she made it the heart of the town. She had no idea where to even begin to find available horses. As she kept walking down street after street, her mind wrestled with the prospect of betraying her promise to Crow.
The more she walked in the sweltering heat down the dusty road, passing building after building, her steps began to falter. It didn’t seem to matter if Crow was next to her, or hiding several miles up a hill, because Crow still held her mind captive, and even though she still had two days to find the horses and return to him, she found herself looking over her shoulder, jumping at every snapping twig, for even thinking of going against the promise she’d made.
A few more streets and Sophia finally found a stable that sat next to a cantina. Maybe she could get some water and inquire about the horses grazing on hay in the back.
When she stepped into the small cantina, an elderly Mexican lady stood behind the bar busily grinding corn in a mecate. “Hola. You look hot, Señorita. Sit,” the woman instructed, moving her mecate out of the way.
“Can I please have some water?”
The woman gave her a pinched expression, but lifted a pitcher to fill a glass. She pushed it in front of her.
“I don’t think I know you. Are you new?”
Afraid to give away too much information, Sophia simply nodded and then took a long, slow drink. The water was cool, and soothing to her dry throat, but she didn’t like the way the woman kept studying her.
“I am wrong. I think I have seen you before,” she finally said, tapping her finger against her lips.
“Maybe. I’ve been around,” Sophia finally answered, placing the glass on the bar. Without even asking, the woman retrieved a bowl full of dried corn and placed them in front of her. “Eat. You look hungry. I must go out and check on a horse who refuses to poop. All this sand blowing around has not been good for any of them,” she explained, and then disappeared out the back of the cantina.
Sophia looked around. She was the only patron in the place, but she couldn’t get her nerves under control. She finally relaxed enough to grab a piece of corn to nibble on, and then took another drink of water. She stopped when she heard the Mexican lady speak to someone who had just approached the cantina on a horse.
“Sheriff Blackwater, you have taken too long to get here. Your horse refuses to poop, and he kicks at his belly," she heard the woman complain out loud. Sophia’s hand froze.
A sheriff?
Someone entered through the front. Her breathing slowed as she concentrated on the bowl in front of her. The sound of boots stomping across the wooden floor came closer.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I just need to get behind the bar and retrieve some oil,” a smooth and low voice said. Sophia looked up and locked gazes with a man wearing a badge. He was as tall as Crow and equally intimidating. Only his appearance was strikingly handsome with almond shaped green eyes, chestnut hair that curled under his hat and with full lips shaded by a mustache. Even if he hadn’t worn a badge, Sophia had no problem recognizing that he was a man of authority—a man not to be trifled with.
He cleared his throat and she realized she was staring. Then she noticed that her bar stool was partially blocking a narrow entrance to get behind the cactus ribbed bar. “My apologies,” she whispered, as she scooted over so he could pass. His lips lifted at the corner as he continued to look at her even as he made his way forward.
“It seems as though I have a sick horse,” he explained, as he reached under the bar to lift a jug of oil.
“So, I’ve heard. I’ve often had to deal with colic with my horses. The oil should do some good.” He smiled, acted like he wanted to keep talking, but instead, he turned and exited out of the same door the Mexican lady had taken just moments before.
She watched the door long after he left, unsure just what to do. She couldn’t purchase these horses, they belonged to a lawman. It had taken her a full day to walk here, and it would take another day to get back. That meant she’d have only this day to hurry to find the horses Crow needed. She was about to get up and leave when the sheriff reappeared in the doorway.
“I hate to impose, but I was wondering since you’ve dealt with this before, if you could lend me a hand. Maya is too short to hold the horse’s jaw up so I can pour the oil into the mare’s mouth.”
Sophia must have given something away in her expression, because he tilted his head. “You alright, ma’am? You look a bit shaken.”
“I’m fine,” she managed to say. “Just a little unsettled by this ungodly weather.”
“Are you sure you’re alright to help?”
“Certainly.”
She followed him
out toward the stables, staring at his broad shoulders. Wondering if all his strength was as great as Crow’s. The direction they were walking was in view of the hills out in the distance, and a cold shudder pricked her skin. If Crow could see her walking with a lawman, if he could read her thoughts, he’d go mad.
“This here is Nugget. So, named by my late wife,” the sheriff explained, a he patted the mare on the rump. “Nugget tends to get a bit of colic when the winds pick up.”
Sophia looked over the buttery palomino, feeling a sense of wonderment and a sting of jealousy. The horse was beautiful, well-built and had large kind eyes. He’d probably given this animal to his wife as a gift. The pained expression on his face as he gazed at the animal, drew her attention away from the horse. Obviously, he was still mourning. “I’m sorry to hear of your wife’s passing,” she said softly.
“Adeline wasn’t happy that I gifted a horse on her birthday,” he said, with a catch in his voice. She preferred jewelry and paintings. I must have bought her dozens of paintings over the course of our marriage, and I guess I was hoping she’d see the beauty of a good horse.”
“This mare appears swift and sure footed. This is a living painting. I’m sorry your wife couldn’t see that.”
The sheriff exhaled. “You’ve got a good eye. When this mare is healthy, she’s fast and would have been way too much horse for Adeline anyway. Ah well, she won’t have to worry about it now. Ready to hold Nugget’s head for me?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves.
Sophia moved to the front of the horse and did her best to keep the nose tipped toward the sky while the sheriff used a tube and poured the oil in. The sheriff stood right against her side as they worked. The horse sputtered with the oil, but quickly managed to consume nearly half of the jug.
“That should do it,” he said, lowering the bottle.
“She needs constant walking. Do not let her lay down. You’ll need hours of exercise for her, sheriff.”
“Please, call me Cooper. Unfortunately, I don’t have hours to spare. I’ve got bigger problems at the moment,” he said, looking right at her. Sophia shifted under his gaze. Normally, when a man looked at her, she experienced a sense of danger, of repulsion, but that wasn’t happening now, and she felt as though he could see right through her.
