High Plains Passion

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  “Yes, sir.” The lad gulped and then straightened.

  “I'm going with you,” Jesse snarled. The skin around his mouth looked taut and white. His fists clenched so tight, his knuckles popped and his hands shook.

  Dylan laid an unsteady hand on the young man's shoulder. “Focus, Jesse. We need your cool head right now. We have to round up the posse. Rob can't get to everyone fast enough. I need you to be the deputy right now, not a husband, okay? You'll have a better chance of saving her if you do your job.”

  Jesse drew air deeply into his lungs. His hands steadied but the fiery fury in his eyes remained undimmed. “Go south,” he barked at Rob. “Knock on every door. I'll head north.”

  As Dylan raced for the entrance, he barely saw Rob's nod.

  In the street, the temperature had dropped from autumn pleasant to chilly, and the red light of the setting sun seemed to bathe the brick streets in blood. Long shadows, cast by the buildings lay low and cold over the town, and every window stared like a malevolent eye. Dylan ignored it all. In front of the mercantile, the sight of Lydia's handbag drew his gaze. He reached forward and lifted it slowly, heart breaking as he felt the undeniable weight of her derringer inside. She's unarmed. A basket of yarn, ribbon and licorice candy lay spilled nearby, the delicate reeds crushed in the shape of a man's boot. Dylan lifted his eyes to the dark, seedy alley, filled with dirt and bits of refuse, hoping against hope for some sign, but of course there was nothing. Slowly he made his way into the dim space between the two buildings, barely enough for two men to walk shoulder to shoulder. How could they have forced three unwilling women down here? Of course, Ilse is no fighter. She'd probably go meekly and hope for a rescue. Addie might fight, but she's tiny. But Lydia? He shook his head. She's neither small nor meek. They'd better watch out. Though he knew she would fight, he didn't know what the outcome would be.

  At the end of the alley, a dim shaft of scarlet light flashed on an object lying in the dirt. Dylan stooped and regarded a shower of abandoned hairpins, some black, some red. Good girls. Well done. The pins lay on the ground almost in a trail leading… “North.” Dylan heaved a sigh. Either this is a trap and they're lying in wait to kill me, or they're taking the women to camp to hold them for ransom. Time to summon the posse. “Please, God,” he muttered under his breath, “protect these women until we can get there.”

  He raced through the growing darkness down the street to the church, where the steeple cast a cross upon the ground. A shaft of sunlight beamed through the bell tower, falling on Dylan's face. The bell tilted from one side to the other, its musical toning urging the congregation into the church.

  He paused a moment, eyes uplifted, praying wordlessly for things he couldn't begin to articulate. Then, spurred by the urgency of the situation, he mounted the steps to the church and strode through the door, nodding at the sight of a room full of parishioners who awaited his instructions. At the rear of the room, Jesse paced slowly from one side to the other, muttering under his breath. His distress resonated with Dylan. This reminds me too much Justine and our son – knowing they're in trouble and not being able to help. I hope for Jesse's sake that the outcome is better.

  Making his way to the front, Dylan found Cody in his usual spot, trying to calm the crowd, though lacking information, he struggled to rein in the hum of conversation.

  “Reverend, if I may,” Dylan, who had never passed further than the communion rail, strode straight to the pulpit without a second thought. An instant, nervous hush descended on the church. “Folks, before too many rumors get started, here are the facts. Mrs. West, Miss Jackson and…” He gulped. “…Miss Carré were taken just now by what we can only assume to be a band of the train robbers who attacked Pastor and Mrs. Williams last December.”

  A murmur rippled through the assembled group. He could almost guess what they were saying. Everyone loves Lydia. Everyone. And Addie's expecting. Ilse is pretty in a way that makes men want to own her. This will arouse some powerful protective instincts. “Friends, we were already planning to amass a posse tomorrow and go after these…” he cut off the expletive in the face of several women in the audience, “scoundrels, but with three innocent women's lives on the line, we have to do it now. My deputies and I think we know where they're hiding, but we need every man willing to point a gun with us, and we need to go right away, before they have time to hurt the women.” Grimly he squashed down the obnoxious little voice that pointed out how much time had already passed, and how much more it would take to get everyone armed and ready. Can't think about that. Not if we want to succeed. “We're going on foot. If you have a rifle, shotgun or pistol at home, go get it and meet me back here in half an hour.” As one, the men of the congregation rose, their faces set in matching lines of grim determination and they all filed out.

  A clatter of boots on metal treads revealed Kristina Heitschmidt Williams hurrying down from the choir loft. She raced to her husband and threw her arms around him. “Are you going, Cody?”

  He nodded. “I have to.”

  She squeezed him tight, her eyes wild. “Come home again, Cody. Come home safe.”

  He kissed her lips. “I love you, Kris.”

  “Reverend,” Dylan said, interrupting their tender moment, “if you don't have a weapon, I can lend you one.”

  Cody nodded, looking a bit startled. He gave his wife one last squeeze, smudged her lips with his, and turned to join the sheriff as they walked down the aisle and out the door. “Do you think they'll be all right?” he asked.

  Dylan shook his head. “I hope so, Cody. I really hope so.”

  Chapter 11

  Lydia sank her teeth hard into the hand clamped over it. The cretin howled and shook his injured palm, fingers flapping. “Let me go, fils de putain,” she snarled in French, adding several expletives in both that language and Italian as she drove an elbow backward into his ribs. Beside her, Addie kicked back hard with one dangling foot, driving the heel of her boot into her captor's shin. He dropped her onto her bottom, and her breath whooshed out. Both hands flew to her belly.

  “Easy there, girls,” a sneering voice spoke. Lydia glared at a powerfully build man with a shiny bald head and a luxurious mustache. “Just cooperate and no one gets hurt.”

  “Cooperate with you bastards? Forget it.” Addie hauled herself to her feet and spat onto the soil in front of his boots.

  “Such language,” he scolded. “Do you plan to kiss your baby with that mouth?”

  “She presents a good point,” Lydia said, rage calming her to icy condescension. “There are only five of you. How far do you plan to get if we refuse to cooperate?”

  “Oh, you'll cooperate,” the man said, flashing tobacco-stained teeth. The sunlight cast a bloody red tone over them, and she shuddered. He pulled a pistol from his hip and aimed it casually at the side of Addie's belly. “She could very well live, but what about the kid?”

  From her place, stilled pinned by a man using only one arm, the other clapped over her mouth, Ilse's eyes grew wide.

  Defeated, Lydia lowered her eyes in submission. “Where do we go?”

  Jesse led the way out of town, his lantern mostly dark, save a thin shaft to illuminate the path ahead of him, and another that fell on his face, rendering him visible from behind. The wind picked up, whipping through the tall prairie grass and sending it swaying in all manner of noisy rustles.

  Dylan, his rifle cradled on his arm, moved close beside his deputy, longing to encourage him, to speak the words that would put Jesse's mind at ease, but he didn't dare. He had no way of knowing if they were true. It might well be that Jesse doesn't arrive in time to save his wife. Saying otherwise would be foolish. His stomach knotted. Lydia too. She's strong and smart, but I wish she had her gun.

  “Should I make some tea?” Kristina asked, regarding her friends, who sat on the sofa in the parlor of the vicarage. Allison looked up from staring into the eyes of her tiny son. Then she propped the little boy on her shoulder and shook her head. Melis
sa, perched beside her stepmother, leaned her cheek on Allison's arm, her eyes closing.

  “No thanks,” Becky said in a shaky voice. “I'd probably be sick again.” From her perch beside her sister on the couch, her hands rested on her belly, but not in the typical gesture one often saw pregnant women doing. Her face had turned deathly pale.

  “I'm sure they'll be all right,” Kristina pointed out.

  “No you're not,” Allison snapped. “Don't talk nonsense, Kristina.”

  “Take it easy,” her sister urged.

  Allison shook her head. “This isn't right. Something isn't right. Why can't I put my finger on it?”

  Kristina sank into an armchair adjacent to her friends. “What isn't right, Allie?”

  “Why didn't they kill them in the street?” Allison glanced sharply at the child beside her, and, noting Melissa had drifted off, continued. “If they wanted revenge by killing the sheriff's woman, why didn't they just shoot her?”

  Kristina blinked. “I'm not sure. But what else could they want?”

  “Ransom?” Becky suggested.

  Allison frowned. “Not likely. They'd have to know that if they took the women, the men of town would be after them in force…” She trailed off and then sucked in a noisy breath. “Oh, dear Lord. They were counting on it.” She shot to her feet. “We have to go.”

  “Go? Where are we going?” Kristina stared at her friend, confused. The last thing I want to do is leave the house, especially in the dark. I already feel so exposed.

  “We're sitting ducks, all of us, alone and in pairs in our homes, and isolated. They didn't take Lydia and Addie to take them. They took them to lure the men away from the rest of us. Come on.”

  Her words caused Kristina's sense of unease to crystalize into outright fear. Her pulse began pounding in her ears.

  “What are we doing?” Becky demanded.

  “We're going to your husband's store and get every gun the men didn't take. Then we're going to round up everyone who will listen and get together in the church. There aren't many of us who can shoot, so we need to stand guard in a place where a few shooters make the most difference.”

  Becky gulped audibly. Kristina's blood pounded in her ears. Oh, God please protect the men… but please, protect us too.

  The horses thundered across the prairie, the rocking of their bodies mingling with Lydia's nerves until she feared she might either scream or vomit. A quarter of an hour north of town, and then a sharp turn to the west, into the thin scarlet ribbon of daylight that remained visible at the edge of the unbroken horizon. There, a string of tents sat beside the remains of a cottage, its windows fallen in, cobwebs clustered thickly on the eaves. The robbers reined their horses sharply and slid to the ground, bringing the prisoners with them. A crowd of rough, disreputable-looking men crowded around, poking at them and cheering. Then the mob parted and a familiar figure limped through.

  “Samuel Blaylock,” Lydia hissed with displeasure. “What the devil are you thinking?”

  He chuckled. “Should have come with me when you had the chance, Miss Lydia.”

  She snorted. “Not a chance in hell. I tried to be kind to you, Mr. Blaylock, but that doesn't mean I wanted to ride off into the sunset with you, and I'm sorry, but from where I'm standing, my café is much nicer than this band of ruffians in tents.”

  His laughter grew in volume. “This is temporary accommodations, my dear. Once we rid ourselves of a few unnecessary people, we'll move to a different location far from here, and set up a new life. My bride would live like a queen. Too bad that won't be you. I don't forgive easily, and a bullet in the arm is the last thing I needed.”

  Lydia raised her head higher. “I'm not sorry. You deserved to be shot. Besides, I have no desire to be a queen of crime, Mr. Blaylock. You've chosen the wrong side of this battle, and I refuse to stand with you.”

  His laughter gave way to a glower. “I can't imagine how that bumbling sheriff won your heart, my lady, but you're the one who's chosen the wrong side.” He gestured and the thug holding Lydia's arm tugged, urging her toward the decaying house.

  “I'll go with you,” a soft, sly voice spoke into the night.

  “Ilse, you're crazy,” Addie protested.

  “No,” the girl replied. “You are all crazy, standing by your notions of right and wrong. It's too late for that. Our only chance to survive is to cooperate. What do you say, Mr. Blaylock? Can your plans be altered slightly?”

  “You're mighty young.” He looked Ilse up and down. “People will guess you're my daughter, but no matter. Bring her to my tent. Lock up these other two in the house.”

  The pressure on Lydia's arm intensified until the man was nearly dragging her. Again she considered fighting, but with a dozen armed men standing around, there didn't seem to be much point. She allowed him to lead her to the door and shove her inside, Addie close behind her. The door slammed shut and the key clicked in the lock, the soft sound growing in volume in her overwrought ears.

  From the choir loft, Allison regarded the sanctuary. Busy mothers tried to urge overexcited tots to lie down on the pews and rest. Babies wept and fretted. Nervous children whined and milled around the room. At the windows, a handful of women and the remaining men, most of them ancient, crippled or otherwise too impaired for the posse, had taken up a position near panes of transparent glass, weapons cradled in their laps. She turned back to the window above the organ bench, staring out over the dark, silent town. The low glow of dim lamplight from below did not impair her vision. A gust of wind sent brown leaves tumbling down the empty street. I've done all I can, so why do I still have this itchy feeling between my shoulder blades? What have I forgotten?

  A soft step on the metal treads alerted her and she met eyes with Kristina. “Melissa is asleep,” she said softly, “but I think this little fellow needs you.”

  She handed Allison's infant son over and the young mother sank into a choir chair and unbuttoned her shirtwaist. “Hope you don't mind.”

  Kristina shrugged. “Feed him. It's natural.” Allison complied as her friend continued speaking. “Anyway, do you really think they'll come against us?”

  “I don't know,” Allison replied. “I hope not. I hope, come morning, that the worst outcome of the night is some tired mamas and a bit of embarrassment.”

  “I agree,” Kristina said. She took up Allison's post, gazing out over the town. “Don't the shadows look so much like creeping figures?”

  Allison nodded. “I could have sworn they were, but when I studied each one, I found they were trees, or leaves, or a cat. But I still can't shake the feeling I'm forgetting something.”

  “No doubt it's just tension,” Kristina replied.

  “No doubt,” Allison agreed, taking the opportunity to gaze into her son's face as he nursed contentedly, one chubby fist waving in the air.

  “Do you think Lydia and Addie will be all right?” Kristina asked. “Oh, and Ilse, of course.”

  Allison closed her eyes. “No.”

  Kristina inhaled through her nose. Her breath caught halfway through in an unmistakable sob. “With God all things are possible.”

  “Pray, then,” Allison suggested. “Even if the men find them, the odds are against them being unharmed,”

  Kristina acknowledged the statement with a long moment of silence. “Will the men be all right?”

  “Kristina, you know I don't know,” Allison said softly as she switched her baby to the other breast. “Most likely some will and some won't, and all we can do is leave them in God's hands and hope for the best. I'm pretty sure there are a whole lot more of our men than there are robbers, so that's in their favor.” Allison studied her son again. “If something happens to Wesley, and to me, will you and Cody take the children? My parents are old and my sister has her own baby now, so…”

  Kristina didn't chide her. “Of course. You don't even have to ask me that.”

  She's the best friend anyone could ask for. I'm so blessed in my friends, my pare
nts, my sister… even my husband is so much better now. Please, God, don't take them away. Let us get through this. And help me remember what it is I'm forgetting. It has to do with Lydia. I know it does. With something that mattered a lot to her. “Kristina, what did my sister say Lydia was doing when she was taken?”

  “Confronting Ilse about something or other,” Kristina replied absently, her gaze on the window.

  Oh boy. “About what? Any ideas?”

  “I heard someone say Ilse had put all our names on the stupid saloon petition. Lydia was death on that thing. Maybe that's why.”

  Like the rolling of dice in Allison's head, the tumbling ideas clicked into place. “Oh, shit,” she whispered softly.

  “What do you think they meant by it?” Wesley breathed to Dylan as they made their slow way north toward the abandoned soddie.

  “To cause trouble,” Dylan whispered back.

  “Yeah, of course,” Wesley agreed, “but why take them?”

  “They hate me for hanging that kid last spring and they hate Jesse for breaking up their nest in Colorado. What more do you need to know?”

  “Blaylock threatened Cody as well, but didn't take Kristina,” Wesley pointed out.

  “So? She wasn't there.”

  “She was alone practicing in the church all afternoon. I heard it. It would have taken nothing to grab her, but they didn't.”

  “Are you trying to make a point, Fulton?”

  Wesley nodded, the movement barely visible in the darkness. “If they took anyone else's woman, you and Jesse would have sat down and puzzled it out. They took yours and made you react without thinking. I bet it was intentional.”

  “Would you shut up,” Jesse hissed. “We're almost there.”

  Wesley's words struck a chord with Dylan, but he couldn't quite fit the pieces together over the more pressing worry about Lydia's safety.

  Addie looked pitiful, hunched up on the floor, her arms around her knees as though to protect her unborn child from whatever evil these criminals intended to inflict on them. Lydia crouched beside her.