"Did you?" He walked over to Irish and nudged him with the toe of his boot. "You didn't have to shoot them."
"They were going to shoot you, Braxton," Etta said, sounding exasperated.
"Yeah. Looked that way, didn't it, from the window?"
"I've got rope on my horse out back. Why don't you get it, so we can tie these dead slugs to their horses?"
He stared at her a full minute before stalking down the hallway to the back door. Outside, he circled around to the parlor window Etta had fired through.
Inside, Etta asked, "Why do you look so scared still, Pris? You're alive."
"Yes, thanks to you," Priscilla said, but he heard the fear in her voice. Etta would hear it too. He had to find a way to get his woman away before Etta realized she'd lost his trusted.
"I guess you have the wanted posters on these two," Priscilla said.
Careful what you say, darlin'.
"Yes, they came in the last batch of mail."
Easing over to the window, Braxton saw Etta hadn't put away her gun. He had to disarm her.
"What about the one for Braxton?" Priscilla asked. "Did you see it too?"
Etta's gaze snapped to Priscilla and her finger eased toward her trigger. "How'd you know about that?"
"These two —" Priscilla motioned to the two outlaws dead on the floor "— showed them to Braxton. They said the stolen money in the saddlebag you took never reached the bank in Curdy's Crossing."
"Did they now?" Etta kicked at Logan's boot. "Garbage, that's what they are, and they lied about the bank not getting the money."
"Yes, you told Braxton you'd cleared his name too."
"That I did."
"Why then did the marshal in Curdy's Crossing put out those wanted posters for them, Etta?" Priscilla asked. "Why did they put one up for Braxton?"
Etta tipped her head, studying Priscilla.
Stop pushing her, Pris, honey. Don't back her into a corner. Dangerous animals don't like corners.
"What are you getting at, Priscilla?" Etta asked. "Are you saying you believe those half-pint bank robbers over me?"
"I don't know what to believe. Answer my question about the posters."
Damn. Braxton hustled back around the corner to the horses and yanked the rope from Etta's saddle. Making plenty of noise to distract the marshal, he stomped back through the kitchen into the parlor. He cut the rope into two pieces and tossed one to Etta. "You tie up Logan there and I'll secure Irish."
Etta caught the rope but dropped it to the floor. "I don't think so. Throw down your gun, Braxton. I have a warrant for your arrest."
"Is that so?" He stayed standing as he was, facing Irish but sideways to Etta so she couldn't see what his hand gun was doing.
"Etta," Priscilla cried. "No. You can’t shoot Braxton."
"How about I shoot you then?" She twisted, brought up her weapon and fired.
Priscilla screamed with pain and grabbed at her side where blood was staining her pretty, sky-blue dress, Braxton's favorite because it matched her eyes.
Spinning around, Brax fired at Etta but missed when she threw herself to the floor. She got off a shot from her hip, catching him in the thigh.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he raised his gun to launch another bullet her way.
Trouble was, Etta was no longer there. She'd moved over to where the woman he loved sat bleeding on the bottom step of the stairway, her gun muzzle pressed to Priscilla's head.
"Toss down your Colt, Braxton," Etta commanded. "Or she dies."
Inside his mind, he uttered every curse he could think of. How had he fouled up so badly? Now, Priscilla was in grave danger, and he could do little to protect her. The Walker-Colt hit the floor with a thud as he released it. With one hand covering the bullet hole in his leg, he eased himself to the floor hoping he'd get a chance to reach his gun.
Etta walked over and picked the weapon up, shoving it into her waistband. "Priscilla, get the rope over by Irish O'Malley. I want you to tie up Braxton."
Priscilla's frantic gaze shot to him. "But I'm shot."
"Do it anyway," Etta screamed.
"Go ahead, honey," Braxton told her.
While trying to hold in the blood seeping from her wound, Priscilla got up and walked to where the rope lay on the floor beside Irish's body. Her gaze flashed to Braxton as she picked it up. She meant to send him a message, he thought, but he couldn't tell what. The pain in his leg made his brain fuzzy. Simply thinking was the best he could do.
He tried to convey a message to her to stay calm and trust him, but he doubted she understood any better than he'd understood her.
"Now, tie him up," Etta said. "Good and tight. Don't think you can fool me with a slip knot or do anything foolish."
Priscilla blanched. "Tie Braxton up? Why?"
"Because if you don't, he'll be dead like these two outlaws." Etta aimed at Braxton now.
"Do as she says, Pris."
"But I don't know how to tie good knots." She went to him, fumbling with the rope in her hands.
"Wrap it around me several times so I can't move my arms and finish it with a figure eight knot."
I don't want to, her eyes said.
"I'll talk you through it." He taught her to make double-eight knots and make them tight.
"You sure are being cooperative, Braxton," Etta said, watching them. "I wonder what you have planned."
He sent her a scathing glance. "You think I'd tell you?"
Etta laughed. "Reckon not. You done there, Priscilla?"
She stepped away from him. "Yes. What now? Are you going to kill me?"
"I hadn't planned to. At least not yet."
Braxton snorted. "That's comforting."
"I'm not trying to comfort anyone." Etta checked Priscilla's work and nodded in approval. "I just want to get the hell away from here with all that nice money. If it makes you feel better, I do feel bad to have to treat you this way. You've been good friends, both of you."
"You have one devil of a way of showing gratitude," Braxton grumbled.
"All right. Let's get going." Etta gestured to the back door.
"Going where?" Priscilla asked.
"You'll see. I have something interesting to show you." The marshal shoved Braxton in the direction of the door and motioned for Priscilla to go with him.
Outside, Etta had Priscilla help Braxton mount one of the outlaw's horses then told Priscilla to ride the other one. Once they were all on horseback, the marshal led the way toward the mountain.
Braxton wondered if they'd ever see Wildcat Ridge again… alive.
Priscilla wanted to speak with Braxton, try and plan an escape. She couldn't believe Etta would do the things Priscilla had seen happen today. The chances of this being hers and Braxton's last day on earth should have her terrified, but when it came right down to it, she didn't believe Etta would kill them.
Was Braxton hurting as much from his wound as she was from hers? Every jounce of the horse's pace brought new pain to her side. He was losing too much blood.
"Where are we going, Etta?" Braxton called over his shoulder. He was in the lead, Priscilla in the middle, and Etta following with her rifle aimed at their backs while directing them where to go.
"You'll see soon enough."
Priscilla didn't know why she was surprised to see they were headed toward that almost invisible animal trail up into the forest she had recently seen Etta emerge from. It filled her with confidence and hope. She knew the place where the marshal intended to kill or imprison them — the cave. Surely that would improve their chances.
It struck her then why Etta had come here before and partly why they were returning now. She had hidden the stolen money here.
When Braxton came to the tree line, he stopped. "Where to now, Etta?"
"Follow the animal trail about ten feet to your left."
"What animal trail?"
Priscilla bit her tongue to keep from telling him. She couldn't let on she knew about the cave.
"You'll see it when you get closer," Etta told him.
"I found it," he called out a minute later.
Soon, they rode through deep forest growth. Priscilla smiled when she heard Etta cursing under her breath at a small branch that had smacked her.
Braxton stopped again. "Is this a fork in the road?"
Priscilla saw what he meant but knew it was only deer beds. More of the snow had melted, but she still recognized it.
"Just keep going straight ahead, Brax."
"What's up here?"
"You'll—"
"I know, I'll see," he grumbled.
At last they reached the cave, and Braxton halted for what would be the last time. Priscilla stopped as well.
"What is this?" Braxton asked. "A cave? It doesn't look natural."
Etta rode up beside them. "Natural, unnatural, it doesn't matter. It's going to be your home for a bit. Get off your horses."
They dismounted, and Etta searched through the grass and weeds until she came up with a lantern. She took matches from her pocket and lit the wick.
Braxton looked at Priscilla with a puzzled expression. She gave a slight shake of her head to let him know now wasn't the time to try to talk.
Standing with the lantern in one hand, her rifle in the other, Etta pointed at the tunnel entrance. "Go ahead, Brax. I've got the light here."
"How do you expect me to find my way with you clear back there? The light from that lantern won't go far."
"Live with it and get going."
"Come on, Etta," Priscilla said. "This has gone far enough. You can't truly mean to harm us. We're your friends."
Etta laughed. "I told you not to trust everybody you meet."
Priscilla's heart settled somewhere near her ankles.
Muttering imprecations, Braxton edged into the opening, a bit small for a man his size. Priscilla followed, knowing exactly where they were going and dreading what might happen when they got there.
Time moved with the sluggishness one only sees when eager for it to pass as they pressed deeper into the cave. Braxton had been right; the lantern light didn't extend far.
"Stop just ahead, Braxton," Etta said, her voice echoing in the dark, close tunnel.
He turned, leaned against the wall and watched Priscilla trip on a rock, his taut mouth revealing his frustration at not being able to help her. She caught her balance, joined him and leaned into his strength, careful not to hurt his leg.
Braxton kissed the top of her head, a faint, feathery sensation gone too soon.
"All right," Etta said, joining them. "Make yourselves comfortable. You'll be here for a while." Somewhere along the way, she'd retrieved the saddlebag with the stolen money inside.
"How long?" Braxton asked.
"Depends on the two of you. I figure it will take Priscilla time to get that rope off you, if she can. Then you have to try to get out. Should give me plenty of time. By the time you see daylight again, I'll be halfway to Mexico."
"We'll see about that," he said.
"Yep, guess we will."
Her cheerfulness made Priscilla want to hit her. She prayed the marshal wouldn't tie her up too before leaving.
With the saddlebag over her shoulder and carrying the rifle in her other hand, Etta began backing away. "Maybe I'll see you again someday."
Her laughter infuriated Priscilla. So, did the fact Etta had so little confidence in her abilities she saw no reason to bind her up.
"I'll show her," she muttered, searching for a rock on the floor.
"What are you doing?" Braxton asked. "You need to get me out of these ropes."
"I will." She bent to pick up the perfect rock, ignoring the pain in her side. The stone was small enough to hold comfortably but hefty enough to inflict some damage. "In a minute."
When she headed after Etta, he called her back. She ignored him.
The light from the lantern made it easy to follow Etta. When she stopped to adjust her burden, Priscilla crept up behind her and threw her missile as hard as she could.
Etta cried out as the rock struck the back of her head. She dropped everything and tumbled to the uneven, rocky floor with an audible crack, and lay still.
Priscilla picked up another rock and waited for Etta to get up and attack her. Instead, the woman stayed as she was.
Priscilla crept closer and exchanged her rock for Etta's rifle. When Etta didn't move, she took the lantern, grateful the glass chimney hadn't broken in the fall. Emboldened by her good luck so far, she risked creeping near enough for a better look at the marshal.
Blood covered Etta's head and pooled beneath it. An ugly spot showed on one side of her head. Priscilla carefully rolled her over and saw a huge gash where her head had landed on the edge of another rock.
Priscilla felt for a pulse and found none.
Chapter Seventeen
Braxton heard Priscilla call his name and struggled harder to free himself. She sounded frightened. A hundred scenarios flashed through his mind — Etta preparing to dynamite the entrance, Priscilla attacking her and being shot, Priscilla wounded and bleeding to death waiting for him to come for her, a wild animal after her.
A fingernail ripped as he attempted to loosen the rope binding his wrists. Cursing, he tried to stand and hop to reach Priscilla sooner. Pain shot through his leg. The gravel on the floor scooted out from under his boots and he ended up on the floor again with a scraped arm.
"Priscilla!" he yelled.
"I'm coming," she hollered back.
Thank you, Lord. She can talk.
He wiggled around until he could see down the tunnel. In the distance, a wavering light inched closer. At last, he made out her form and relief flooded him. Damn. He'd been so scared. He doubted he'd ever been more frightened in his life than in the last half hour. If anything had happened to Priscilla, he didn't know what he'd do.
Oh, hell. He'd known he loved her, but not how much until now. He could think of nothing he wanted more than to spend his life with her. She was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman; kind, warm, strong, independent, and dependable. He admired her mind and the way she thought. She didn't act on impulse the way he did. She thought things through and made smart decisions. And she tasted sweeter than pure sugar.
"Braxton." She drew closer and he could see her fully now, when the wavering beam of the lantern allowed it. Lord, but she was stunning, almost ethereal with her pale coloring. He attempted to sit up.
"Priscilla, are you all right?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"Now that you're back, I am."
She set the lantern down and crouched next to him. "Why are you here on the floor? We left you leaning against the wall."
"I was trying to reach you."
"Oh, Braxton." She leaned over and kissed him. "I'm so relieved you're okay."
He wanted her to kiss him again. Instead, she jumped to her feet, horror written across her face. "I killed her, Brax. I killed Etta."
"What? How?"
"I threw a rock and hit her in the head. She fell forward, and her forehead struck another rock. I didn't know what to do. I had no idea my aim was that good."
"It's all right, darlin'. Just get these ropes off me, okay?"
She knelt in front of him, but tears spilled over her eyelids. "It's not all right. I feel terrible. I still can't believe she meant to kill us. I cared about her, Brax."
"I know. You did what you had to, honey." He wanted badly to hold her in his arms until she calmed down. Instead, he could only mummer soothing words. "Are you hurting? Can I see where that bullet struck you?
"Wait until we're outside in the light. What about your limb? Has the bleeding stopped?"
"I think so."
"I almost have the knots undone." With tears running down her face, she worked until she managed to loosen the knot. Seconds later, he broke free and pulled her into his arms.
They stayed that way until her tears were spent and she could stand.
"Now, let's go check on Etta."
Braxton stood beside her, gritting his teeth against the pain.
She took hold of his arm. "You are bleeding, Brax. Are you sure that wound isn't worse than you're admitting to?"
He stared at her. "You called me Brax. Twice."
Had she? Surely not. "No, I didn't. I wouldn't. You know how I feel about nicknames."
He laughed. "Yes, but you still called me Brax." He drew her closer and kissed her soundly on the lips. "We'll talk more about this later."
"But I couldn't have—"
"You did, sweetheart, and I love it. Come on." Taking her hand, he picked up the lantern and drew her down the tunnel until they reached Etta lying on the ground.
With a grunt, Braxton knelt, setting the lantern down, and checked for a pulse. "You're right. She's dead."
Priscilla crouched beside him. "What do we do now?"
Braxton picked up a bloody rock. "Is this what you threw at her?"
"I guess so."
He held it close to the lantern, studying it, then stuffed it into his coat pocket.
"Why are you keeping it? As evidence?" Priscilla cried, sounding near hysteria.
"Of course not, sweetheart. I have a good reason I'll explain after we take care of Etta. All right?"
She nodded.
"Okay. I'll carry her out and we'll use the horses to take her to the undertaker."
"What about Irish and Logan?"
"We'll tell the undertaker where to find them."
Priscilla hefted the heavy saddlebag to her shoulder as she'd seen him do, and, holding the lantern in her other hand, followed as he carried the marshal out of the tunnel.
At last, they found the horses. Braxton loaded Etta's body onto hers, hooked the saddlebag over the pommel then lifted Priscilla onto another horse. Mounted himself, he led them through the trees to the grassy hill beyond.
Every few minutes Braxton glanced over at Priscilla, worried about her. He had news to tell her. Good news. But now wasn’t the time.
What had gone wrong with Etta's thinking to make her change from a responsible lawman to a thief and killer? Was there anything he could have done to prevent such a transformation? Perhaps losing her husband had sent Etta over the edge.
One thing was sure — they would never know.
Priscilla (The Widows of Wildcat Ridge Series Book 1) Page 15
