Lydia approached and plucked his gun from its holster, aiming it casually in his direction. “Let's take a walk, shall we?”
“Don't shoot at random,” Kristina urged. “Make sure you have a clear target. Our supplies of ammunition are not unlimited.” Am I doing this right? Am I saying the right things? I have no idea. Though she felt like her guts were about to expel themselves, Kristina forced her face and voice to a certain expressionless calm. Around her, women jiggled fretful babies and hushed fussing toddlers. Pandemonium was quickly building up inside the church, which she felt certain would do nothing but distract the baker's dozen individuals crouched beside the windows, waiting for their chance to do something, anything to alleviate the situation.
Will Watson, who had insisted, despite being no more than twelve, that he was big enough to help, aimed a rifle through a broken image of the Garden of Eden and squeezed the trigger. A yell from outside revealed the child had hit his target, but to what end, Kristina couldn't know. A bullet whizzed back through the spot where Bobby had just been, flew across the sanctuary and embedded itself in the opposite wall.
Kristina bit her lip until the metallic tang in her mouth reminded her to ease up. She wiped the blood from her chin, not certain what to do or say next. God, please, help us!
“Those bastards,” Allison snarled. The men in front of the church seemed to be piling what looked like newspaper against the wooden structure. “I know what that torch is for.”
A shot rang out inside and one of the men stationed near the windows dropped to the street, clutching his shoulder. One of his companions returned fire.
Allison took a slow, deep breath and focused her attention on the torch. “You won't be burning up my babies.” With infinite care she squeezed the trigger.
The bullet flew straight and true, cutting through his thick, dark hair and lodging in his brain. He fell without a sound, the torch extinguishing itself as it rolled over and over the red bricks of Main Street, until it came to rest, harmless now, against the trunk of a stunted oak tree. The report of the rifle drew the other men's gaze her direction, and several weapons flashed in the moonlight. Only then did Allison realize her mistake. While she'd made herself hard to see, the front of the café offered little cover. She dropped to the ground under a hail of fire, only to see the flash of pistols and shotguns all around her. More robbers cursed and shouted, falling to the street.
Distracted by the sudden appearance of multiple shooters, the criminals didn't notice Allison inching her way back into the cover of the alley. From there she found another target, a tall man in a ragged leather vest, and sent him his just rewards… directly above the garment's top button.
Gunfire exploded out of the windows of the church. Now they don't know where to look, Allison thought with grim satisfaction. They'll be sorry they took on Garden City. We're no town of citified, civilized dandies.
A deeper shadow blocked out the moonlight and Allison rolled to look directly into the unblinking eye of a shotgun's muzzle, and beyond it to a bald head with a huge mustache. She gulped. So this is how it ends.
The look and smell of the robber camp made Lydia wrinkle her nose in disgust. What a bunch of filthy pigs. It seemed being disarmed and having two weapons trained on him had rendered their guard completely docile, though Lydia didn't exactly trust it. Neither, it appeared, did Addie. Though she'd stepped back to allow the man to move, her knife still flashed in the starlight.
“Oh, God,” Addie said, sounding revolted.
Lydia dared a quick glance and her stomach swooped at the sight of Ilse Jackson – or what was left of her – sprawled in the dirt with her skirt hiked up to her waist. Blood oozed slowly from a hole in her temple. The blue eyes, devoid of their usual sly animation, stared blankly into the night sky.
Addie gulped twice and then vomited. Lydia barely managed to suppress her own urge to retch. She quickly averted her eyes from her one-time rival's ignominious end.
“Randall, what on earth?” Blaylock limped out of his tent and approached the three. “Why are these women out? Have you lost your mind?”
“No, sir, Mister Blaylock,” Lydia replied, voice calm but hands shaking. “He's lost his gun. Luckily for me, I found it.” She waved the weapon his direction before training it back on his son. “Now, if you'd like your remaining family member not to die in the dirt, I suggest you step right over here into the house. He'll be joining you momentarily.”
Blaylock's eyes skated to Addie, who leaned forward weakly, hands on her knees, staring at the mess she'd just made. Lydia couldn't see the knife anymore. Hope she didn't drop it. We need every advantage we can get.
In a sudden explosion of movement, Blaylock whipped his pistol from its holster, fast despite the awkward fumbling across his body, and fired. The bullet tore through Randall's belly and out his back, grazing Lydia's hip as it flew. The youth crumpled with a groan. The young man's fall revealed her silver-haired nemesis, standing cocked at an awkward angle, his right arm in a dirty sling. His left hand wavered and wobbled with the unaccustomed weight of the gun, but at only a few paces, even the poorest shot would certain not miss.
“You bastard!” Lydia cried. “How could you kill your own son?” This ends now! She lifted the stolen pistol and took aim at Blaylock's head, knowing as she did so that she'd never get him before he got her. So we both die. At least Addie will be all right. Time seemed to slow as Lydia squeezed the trigger.
A flash of gold drew James' eyes to the alley beside the café. It only took a glance to reveal his sister-in-law's yellow hair and lush figure sprawled on the brick street. Another glance as he raced in her direction revealed a bald man aiming a weapon directly into her face. I'll never make it, he realized sadly. All around him, the rest of the returned posse fanned out. Strange women, armed with all manner of weapons, stepped from the shadows, drawing closer to a motley assortment of criminals huddled near the door of the church, back to back, still fighting to a man.
Ignoring the scene before him, James ran toward Allison, trying to aim his pistol while running. The stranger hovering over her laughed, shaking his head. He pulled back the hammer on the shotgun slowly, his sneer showing he was intentionally torturing her.
A sudden whir of movement came to an abrupt halt against the man's bald head. Something dull and blacker than the night connected hard with white, shiny flesh. The man seemed to vibrate from the blow, and his knees slowly buckled. Before he could even hit the ground, James finally managed to steady his hand and fire a shot. The man's throat exploded in a gush of red and he toppled to the earth, revealing the familiar features of Billy Fulton, a large cast-iron skillet clutched in both his hands.
“You saved me, Billy,” Allison said in a soft, trembling voice.
Billy lowered the frying pan and extended one hand to Allison, helping her gently to her feet.
“If you don't hit ladies, you shouldn't shoot them either,” the lad intoned in all seriousness. Allison smiled and then threw her arms around him in a tight squeeze.
“What's happening?” James asked.
“The kidnapping was a ruse,” Allison replied, her voice muffled in Billy's coat. “They wanted to lure you all away so they could attack us, and that was how they planned to get revenge on the town. I had a bad feeling, so I made everyone gather in the church where those of us who can shoot could protect more people.”
“You're a smart girl, Allison Fulton.”
“I know it,” she replied with her usual lack of subtlety, though with considerably less confidence than she normally displayed.
“But then, why are you out here in hand to hand combat? Why aren't you inside? Where's Rebecca?”
“James,” she said with a sigh, “I'm sure your wife is safe inside, but this is no time for telling stories. Nothing against Deputy Fulton, but he looks a bit out of his depth over there.”
James glanced and cursed. The young lawman had the knot of robbers at gunpoint, but the wild look on his face could be
seen from across the street.
“All right. Later, then. Get somewhere safe, Allison, would you?”
“You watch yourself, Heitschmidt,” she shot back. “We have no idea how many there are. This fellow here,” she waved at the corpse,” is proof we can't relax yet.”
He took the advice with a grim nod.
A clearing ahead showed once-ploughed land that had not fully reverted to nature. The decaying wreck of a small house sat moldering against the backdrop of the endless prairie, surrounded by a flock of patched and dirty tents. The wind blew through the camp, carrying the stench of unwashed bodies, rotting food and human waste.
“Looks like we found it,” Jesse said, his voice so tense it sounded ready to snap.
“Looks like it,” Dylan agreed.
“I don't like this,” Wesley commented. “It's too quiet.”
“It does seem abnormally still,” Dylan agreed. “Okay, everyone. Move forward but slow and easy.”
They surged ahead, cutting through the tall grass. Every rustle and snap seemed like an announcement of their presence. They crept into the camp, searching for signs of movement, listening hard for conversation, respiration, anything, but the eerie silence remained unbroken until…
“Randall, what on earth?” a familiar male voice snarled. “Why are these women out? Have you lost your mind?”
“No, sir, Mister Blaylock.” Oh, dear Lord, that's Lydia, and she sounds mad as hell, so she can't be badly hurt. “He's lost his gun. Luckily for me, I found it. Now, if you'd like your remaining family member not to die in the dirt, I suggest you step right over here into the house. He'll be joining you momentarily.”
The night seemed to take a deep breath, which then exploded into a gunshot.
Forgetting stealth, Jesse raced forward, Wesley and Dylan at his heels. They burst into the yard of the house, among a low stubble of half-grown prairie grass, just in time to see an unfamiliar young man crumple to the ground, leaving Lydia and Blaylock, pistols drawn, facing each other with matching expressions of grim determination. Though Blaylock's right arm hung useless in a sling and his left hand wavered, at this distance he still could not miss. As the two slowly took aim, another figure moved beside them. Addie, drawing up to her full, diminutive height. She thrust her hand forward. Silver flashed. Flashed. It revealed itself to be a slender blade as it landed and sank deep into the side of Blaylock's neck. At the same moment, Lydia fired and fell to her side, dodging a bullet that never flew. Blaylock released a gurgling howl and collapsed to his knees, his hand on his neck as a dark red stain spread across his snowy white shirt.
The men drew up short, staring in astonishment at Lydia and Addie, who both seemed unharmed.
Jesse broke through his surprise first, racing to his wife and crushing her in his arms. “Addie, Addie…” the wind carried his murmur back to the ears of the men.
Dylan stepped forward, approaching Lydia and extending a hand to help her to her feet.
“Dylan, you have to go. Get back to town. They've sent the band to attack…”
“I know,” he said softly.
“You do?” Her eyes gleamed in the darkness.
He nodded. “Wes figured it out. We sent half the men home to see what was happening.”
“Well, there's no one left alive here,” Addie said, her voice cold. “We should go back. See if we can help.”
“Ilse?” Wesley asked.
Lydia shook her head and Addie wriggled out of her husband's grasp and smoothed the dead woman's skirts down over her bare privates and legs. She murmured a few words Dylan couldn't understand over the corpse.
“We can come back for them in the morning, with horses,” Wesley suggested.
“Sounds good,” Dylan agreed. “Shall we get the ladies out of here?”
Nods greeted the suggestion.
“It's a bit of a long walk back to town,” Jesse pointed out. “Are you up for it, Addie?”
“Jesse, right now I'm so mad I could probably walk until I got to the sea without getting tired,” his wife replied. “I'm still not made of porcelain, you know.”
“Thank God for that,” her husband said. His laugh sounded a bit wild, but the relief in it echoed through the clearing.
Addie might be angry enough, but I'm starting to feel exhausted, Lydia realized, by the time they'd covered half the distance back to town. She wavered and Dylan wrapped a strong arm around her waist. Good thing he's so powerful. I'm far from light. Still, he offered no protest, merely helped her over uneven spots and other unseen obstacles until every step blended with every other. Lydia's feet went numb. She felt almost as though she were floating rather than walking. Without Dylan to support me, I'd probably lie down in the dirt and sleep until morning, the cold be damned.
Garden City appeared like a mirage on the horizon, bathed in a soft, pink glow. Lydia tried to smile at the sight, but her frozen, exhausted face refused to cooperate.
Main Street also seemed strangely quiet, but enough noise emanated from the church to render the scene less eerie. Or perhaps that's the sunrise restoring hope.
From their left, Rob Fulton ran out of the jail. “We got 'em, Sheriff,” he hollered, waving his hat in the air. “The women figured out they were coming and holed up in the church, and then Allison went and got the whores from the whorehouse. They almost had the lot rounded up by the time we got here. They managed to kill half, and the other half are locked up in the jail.”
His eyes fell on Lydia and Addie, weaving like drunkards as they stumbled on the uneven bricks. “They okay?”
“They're both fine. Just tired.” Jesse chuckled. “What a couple of tigers. Say, Sheriff, do you think…?”
“Take her home,” Dylan replied. “I'm sure she's done in.”
Without a word to Rob, only a tip of the head Lydia's fatigued brain almost didn't take in, Dylan walked her across the street to the café, opened the front door, and guided her up to her apartment. Tenderly, Dylan unlaced her boots and tucked her into bed. Lydia dozed off the second her head touched the pillow.
Chapter 12
“Well, well, well,” a sly voice spoke into the fog. “Sheriff Dylan Brody asleep at his desk. Tsk tsk.”
“Shut up, Jesse,” Dylan muttered. “Why are you so wide awake?” Rubbing his aching eyes, he glared at the younger man, who seemed to be bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.
“You're getting soft, old man,” Jesse teased.
“Let me guess, you caught a few winks in your nice, warm soft bed, with your nice, warm soft wife in your arms. You didn't trek all night through the prairie and then sit your ass down on a rock hard chair and stay awake six more hours. If you had, I bet you'd be much less chipper right now.”
Jesse shrugged. “Semantics. Listen, boss, why don't you head out? As you said, I'm wide awake and ready to take over. If I'm not mistaken, you also have a warm, soft woman who could use some comforting.”
“We're not married yet,” Dylan grumbled.
“Didn't stop me,” Jesse pointed out. “Also, you're not fooling anyone. Get out of here.”
“Whippersnapper,” Dylan muttered as he hauled himself out of his chair. Ignoring Jesse's suggestion, he stumbled to his tiny, one-bedroom house and crashed into his bed with his boots still on.
Bang! Bang! Bang! “Lydia, wake up!” Becky shouted, her voice muffled by the door. “What's a lady to do to get some cake around here?”
Lydia groaned. “I'm staying closed today, Becky. Go away.”
“Not on your life,” her friend called. “Get up. I have a surprise for you.”
Only then did Lydia's foggy brain recognize that Becky's knock had come, not from the outer door of the café, but from her apartment.
Hauling herself to her feet, she confronted the grinning blond, who stood in her living room.
“Cake? Are you joking?”
“Not at all,” Becky replied.
“What are you up to, Rebecca Heitschmidt?” Lydia demanded.
“I told you, it's a surprise,” Becky replied, grinning until the corners of her eyes crinkled. “But you once told Esther spice cake was your favorite, so make up a nice big one, okay?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Lydia groused.
“Good,” Becky said, turning on her heel. Then she stopped and turned around to face her friend again, reaching out to grab the taller woman in a tight hug. Her rounded belly pressed hard against Lydia, the bump squirming between them. “I'm so glad you're home safe and sound. I was worried about you.”
“I was worried too. We overheard the robbers saying they were luring the men away to attack the town.”
“They tried,” Becky admitted, “but between Kristina keeping everyone safe inside the church and Allison coming after them from behind, they didn't stand a chance. And then James and Rob led half the posse back into town, and it was over. None of us even got hurt, except for Allison, who has some scrapes on her hands.”
“We lost one.” Lydia examined her stockings, noting a hole where her big toe protruded, her skin unusually pale against the black fabric.
Becky sighed. “I heard. Poor Ilse. I didn't like her, but I didn't wish her ill.”
“Me either. She was selfish and misguided, but not really a bad person. Is Cody preparing the funeral?”
Becky nodded. “For three days from now.”
Lydia's lips twisted into a sad frown. “I hope I can eventually remember her, pretty and sassy, putting her pert little nose in everyone's business. She made a pitiful corpse.”
“Don't think about it,” Becky urged. “Get dressed. Hurry. You have a cake to bake. Remember, make it big, and frost it up pretty.”
High Plains Passion Page 20
