Barclay

by Charlene Raddon

  Her heart plummeting, she shoveled the conglomeration into the pillow slip, then lifted Connor from the bag he shared with Gage. Turning her back, she opened her bodice and let him suckle. She murmured soothingly and hummed a lullaby, swaying her body in what she called the mommy dance. When Connor fell asleep, she rearranged her bodice, returned Connor to his bed and fed Gage.

  The whole time, Dirk continued to ravage the beautifully furnished rooms, not caring if he ripped expensive, hard to replace laces or satin.

  As she followed him, Cynara paid close attention to the layout of the house and the positions of the various doors and rooms, knowledge she would need to escape. But how could she, with three babies to take with her? She had to find a way.

  Peering out a second-floor window, she noticed plentiful foot traffic; mothers pushing baby carriages, children playing, men carrying canes and wearing top hats. A boy in his teens walked five dogs at the same time. If he could do that, she could find a way to escape and handle the babies. By simply getting out of the house she could ask for help.

  As Dirk rummaged through a desk, scattering papers, she snatched up a scrap and a pencil from the floor and stuffed them into her skirt pocket, not sure what she'd do with them, but convinced they might help.

  By the time they returned to the ground floor, almost an hour later, the babies had full tummies and had fallen asleep. Cynara wished she could get them changed. The dirty diapers she'd jammed to the bottoms of the pack bags stunk and needed washing. The babies had good cause to fuss. She yearned to clean up, but, more than anything, she wished she could drop onto one of the beautiful soft beds and sleep without fear.

  "Sit on that sofa," Dirk said when they returned to the sitting room.

  "No."

  At his threatening glare, she added quickly, "Wait, Dirk. I need to wash some diapers. I'm running out, and the soiled ones smell. Can I use the kitchen?"

  His nose crinkled with distaste. "I noticed the smell." Exasperation crossed his face as he considered her request.

  "I won't try to run, I promise."

  She knew she'd won from the look of resignation in his eyes.

  "You'll have to hang the diapers over the furniture to dry," he said. "I won't let you outside."

  "I know." A glass and brass oil lamp sat on a side table, larger and heavier than the one she'd carried upstairs. Would it be heavy enough to knock him out if she struck him with it?

  Silently, she vowed to find a suitable weapon, maybe a knife. Maybe a rolling pin or steel pan. But she never got the chance. He sat on a chair and watched her the entire time she stood at a scrub board and hung the diapers over the dining chairs.

  "You done?"

  "Yes, but—"

  He pulled her into the sitting room. "Sit down."

  Using the rope he'd brought with him he tied her ankle to the sofa, leaving enough slack in between to allow her to reach the babies. Every time he turned his back, she worked at the knot to loosen it, but he had tied it too tightly. She'd already broken two fingernails.

  Her hand drifted again and again to the slight lump in her pocket. Paper crinkled. She made sure to be holding one baby or another continually. It kept them quiet and hopefully discouraged him from grabbing her.

  The light outside began to wane. Fewer people occupied the street.

  "Are the diapers dry yet?" she asked.

  Lounging in a large easy chair, with one leg thrown over the arm, he didn't even look up from the newspaper he'd found. "Find out."

  "I can't reach them, remember?" She slapped the rope against the floor to prove her point.

  With a foul oath, he went to feel the fabric. "Almost."

  Vella woke up. Since Cynara had nothing else to do, and because she loved doing it, she moved the little girl to her lap and played with her until night fell. Dirk freed her so she could fix them something to eat in the kitchen. She found cans of beans, peaches, and peas.

  "You want the beans and peas warmed up?" she asked.

  "Hell, yes. I'm sick of eating cold food from a can. Put them in a bowl." He went back to his paper, sitting now at the kitchen table.

  After they'd eaten and she'd taken care of the babies, Dirk asked if Cynara wanted to go upstairs and clean up. She eyed him with suspicion.

  He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. "I'm not that desperate for a poke. You're safe."

  She knew better than to believe him and locked the door securely to ensure her privacy. In a man's small travel case tucked in a cupboard, she discovered a prize—a straight-edged razor. Folding it, so the handle sheathed the blade, she slipped it into her pocket with the pencil and paper.

  Feeling more hopeful now than she had since this nightmare began, she filled a basin with water, added scented soap and removed her bodice to wash herself. The thought of baring herself completely was unthinkable with Dirk in the house. The soapy water felt heavenly. She wished she could climb into the metal bathing tub hanging on the wall and soak for an hour.

  When she emerged, Dirk waited, leaning against a wall. "You get all clean and sweet-smelling for me, honey? I don't like to sleep with women who stink."

  She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "You said I'd be safe."

  "You're a real smart ass, aren't you?" He raised a hand, and the sharp smack of his palm connecting with her cheek vibrated in the air. "I'll do whatever I damned well want to with you, Miss Uppity."

  She covered her flaming cheek with her hand. "You can't stay awake forever."

  With a half-laugh he dragged her downstairs to the sitting room. This time he tied her to the leg of a sideboard much heavier and unwieldy than the sofa. She had to sit at the end of the sofa and pull the babies closer to her. While she tended to them, he paced.

  Gage fussed continually and began crying. She tried nursing him, but he would have none of it. She stood and jiggled him, cooed and sang to him. Nothing helped.

  "Why doesn't that brat shut up?" Dirk yelled.

  "He has a sore tummy, I think. He needs some Paregoric."

  "Ain't you got any?"

  "No. Barclay may have had some but I can't go to him now."

  Dirk waved a hand in a vague gesture. "Well, look around and see if you can find any."

  "Am I supposed to take the sideboard with me?"

  Snarling, he stomped from the room.

  Wasting not a moment, she pulled the scrap of paper from her pocket and wrote five words; Being held prisoner. Please help. Now all she needed was a chance to put the note in a window.

  Dirk clomped down the stairs and she swiftly returned the paper to her pocket. "I didn't find any of that stuff," he said. "What'll happen if he doesn't get it?"

  "He'll get more and more miserable and unhappy, which means he'll be noisier."

  "Spare me," he muttered. "All right. The store should still be open. If you'll swear to be good and not try any tricks, I'll go see if they have this paregoric."

  "I swear," she said, while trying to comfort Gage.

  At the door, he peeked out until the street emptied. Then he gave her a warning look and went out.

  Quickly, putting Gage down and kneeling on the sofa, she leaned over the back, drew aside the curtains and placed her sign in the window as far from the door as possible in the hope Dirk wouldn't see it. Heaven only knew what he'd do if he did. She watched him cross the street and go into the pharmacy.

  Terrified he'd return before she could get free, she ripped the razor from her pocket and sawed on the rope. Gage cried harder. She talked to the babies to soothe them, but Gage felt too miserable for that. Every few seconds, she peeked out the window to look for Dirk. Finally, the tough strands of hemp separated and broke free.

  Cynara tossed the rope aside, picked up Gage to comfort him, and hurried to the front door. Locked, and the key was gone. It was the same at the back door. Taking a pin from her hair, she inserted it in the lock and wiggled it around, trying to get the mechanism to release.

  Shoot. It didn’t work. She wanted t
o crawl in a comfortable bed and bawl. But… No time for either one.

  In the sitting room, she checked the canvas bags to make sure the babies and bedding were securely tucked in. When she got outside, she'd have to find Old Glory and the pack saddle with its baskets. The bags holding the babies fit inside the baskets once the mule was saddled.

  Everything was ready to go. She needed only a way out of the house. She hefted the sling to test the weight and decided to try it for real. With the bags set side by side on the sofa, she lifted the connecting strap over her head and settled it around her neck as Dirk had done. Then she straightened slowly.

  Her neck muscles protested, along with those in her back and shoulders. Yet, she succeeded. She’d lifted the bag.

  Barclay and Jared rode along the back streets until they found an alley that offered a good view of the home in question and yet offered some concealment for them.

  "Seems a good place to watch and wait," Barclay said, dismounting. "We know Dirk is here or has been and he has something to do with that house where our mule is."

  "What's your plan?" Jared asked.

  "I just told you.”

  Jared stepped down from his saddle. "No. I mean when we find the bastard. What do you figure to do then?"

  "Kill him."

  Jared gave him a sideways glance. "Maybe we should talk to the marshal first."

  Barclay leaned against the building, arms folded over his chest, legs outstretched, one boot stacked atop the other. "Don't worry, I won't really kill him, though I sure do want to. The marshal's not a bad idea, though. He might be able to tell us something about who owns the place."

  Jared jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I noticed the jail a block back."

  "Let's watch for a while. I'd like to know if anyone is there." Barclay edged away from the opening of the alleyway deeper into the shadows on the other side. Full dark would be upon them soon and their vision wouldn't be as good.

  The Victorian house stood on a large lot with plenty of lawn and an iron fence at the front along the boardwalk. A tower stood at each corner, one two stories high, the other three. No curtains at the windows gave the top floor an unoccupied appearance.

  "Is that a light in the second floor on the east side?" Jared asked.

  "Don't see any."

  "I don't either, now."

  They stayed for half an hour before deciding to visit the marshal. With the streets nearly empty and most businesses closed for the night except the general store and three saloons, they took the main road. The few people remaining on the street paid little attention to the two strangers.

  At every door and window, they passed, Barclay paused to peer inside for Dirk. Three feet beyond a pharmacy, he came to an abrupt halt.

  "Wait!" Barclay grabbed Jared and yanked him backward. "Dirk's in there."

  Together they retraced their steps and peeked through a window. Dirk stood at the counter paying for a small vial, some sort of medicine, no doubt. For himself? For Cynara or for the babies?

  "We lucked out," Jared whispered. "I wonder who he's buying that for?"

  "I was just thinking the same thing. Thunderation. I truly do want to close my hands around that neck and squeeze the life out of him."

  "Rein in your temper, Barc." Jared pulled back and straightened, leaning against the wall. "Should we corner him when he comes out?"

  "No. I want to go tear that house apart where our mule is and find out if Cynara's in there, but I doubt we have enough time."

  "No, here he comes," Jared said.

  They ducked into the deep shadows of a doorway, breath held, waiting to see where the rustler went next.

  "Perfect," Barclay said. "He's gone into the saloon. I hope he's real thirsty."

  "The jail is just ahead. Let's see if the marshal would like to help catch a rustler and kidnapper."

  The office proved empty. Disappointed, they scurried across the street back toward the house where they'd seen the mule, gambling on the hope that Dirk would have several drinks before returning. When they reached the corner, they paused to study the house and grounds.

  "I don't see anyone lurking around, do you?" Jared asked.

  "I doubt Dirk has any sidekicks with him," Barclay answered. "All his friends are in prison. But let's be cautious just in case."

  "You go to the front door and I'll slip around to the back." Jared checked his gun. "If someone answers the door, you can say you're interested in buying the mule."

  "Good idea. Okay. Let's go."

  They darted across the road, Barclay pausing to give Jared time to get to the back of the house. His heart pounded. His palms grew damp. As he snuck closer to approach the door, he saw movement at a window. Someone leaned a sign against the glass. Being held prisoner. Please help.

  Cynara!

  Chapter Seventeen

  T he knob on the front door jiggled and turned. "Honey? Cynara?" Barclay called louder. "It's me."

  Cynara could hardly believe it. He’d come for her.

  "Barclay? Thank goodness. Oh, Barclay, please, get us out of here."

  "Are you all right?" The knob rattled again. He was trying to pick the lock.

  Hurry. Hurry.

  "Yes. Only eager to escape that revolting man and go home."

  "I'll be in there with you in a minute, sweetheart. I’m going to see if there’s a better way in."

  "Be careful."

  Barclay had come. Cynara's chest constricted as tears threatened. The silence now had her nerves rattling empty cages. She wanted to scream his name and beg him to return, terrified something would happen and she’d never see him again. She needed him, needed to know she hadn't imagined his voice. Her every muscle tightened like wet leather. Sensing her agitation, the babies began to fuss, and she gave her attention to them.

  What did it mean that Barclay coming for her meant so much? Anyone could have tried to help her, but it wouldn't have felt this wonderful, this special.

  Did she love him? Her emotions for him went beyond what she'd felt for Ward. She'd respected Ward and admired him, but he hadn't filled her with excitement just at the thought of him. He hadn't inspired the same intensity of desire, the same yearning to be close to him. Barclay made her feel young again. Young, pretty and desirable. And she liked it.

  Ward had been comfortable, pleasant. Barclay was inspiring, exciting, arousing. He made her feel safe.

  A noise came from the outer dining room door next to the kitchen. Barclay? Or had Dirk returned? She risked taking a peek out the sitting room window in time to see Dirk emerge from the saloon, another man behind him. No. No, she wanted to scream.

  Gage began to cry in earnest now. Connor and Vella joined in. She had no time to nurse them or change them. She had to leave NOW.

  Where had Barclay gone? And Jared, was he here? Could they get her out in time? If only she knew which door they would use, she could be there waiting. On a hunch she moved to the dining room door and peeked in, the babies still hanging from around her neck.

  The tinkle of glass breaking came to her. It had to be Barclay. Dirk didn't need to break in again. He had keys.

  "Cynara?"

  "Barclay!" She waited, weighted down by the two sacks full of babies, while he ran to her. "I'm so glad to see you. I knew you would come."

  He stood as close to her as possible, whispering, "You did, huh? I'm happy to see you too. With his hands braced on either side of Cynara's face he gave her a quick kiss. She shook violently from fear and excitement.

  "I love you, Cynara Stratton," he whispered.

  Her eyes blinked open. "You do?"

  "Yes. But we'll talk more about that after we get away from here."

  "Yes, we can’t talk now. I saw Dirk coming from the saloon just before you came in."

  "Confound it. Have to hurry then. Here, I'll take the babies."

  "No.” She backed away. “You need your hands free to defend us."

  "All right. Be careful now." He helped her down the ste
ps of the small porch. The mule stood twenty feet away while Jared fastened the pack saddle on its back.

  "Come on." Jared waved them over.

  They lifted the halter from around Cynara's neck and placed it on the mule.

  "Hurry. Get on." Barclay lifted her up and she swung her leg over the mule's back to sit atop the saddle, careful not to kick the babies.

  The dining room door had been left open. Now, from inside, came the slamming of a door.

  "Cynara? Damn it all to hell," Dirk yelled loud enough for them to hear. "Where are you? You better be here somewhere if you know what's good for you."

  She shuddered with fear and revulsion. "Barclay…"

  "I'm here. I won't let him hurt you."

  Jared brought Old Glory over. "Too bad we don't have our horses here."

  "They're only across the street," Barclay responded.

  "Yeah, but we could get out of here faster if they were with us."

  Motioning for his brother and Cynara to get going, Barclay shut the dining room door. "Go on. Dirk could come out that door any second. I'm going to wait here and knock the man out when he bursts from that door."

  Jared gave him a chiding look. "Barclay, you said you wouldn't kill him."

  "I won't. Getting Cynara and the babies somewhere safe is more important."

  "Come with us," Cynara cried.

  He stroked a finger down her face. "I'll be fine. We have to think of the babies first. They can't fight for themselves. Get going."

  "What if—"

  "I said go, Cynara. I'll be fine."

  She went, but the mule resisted their efforts to make it move. They urged it, begged it, even swatted its rump. Cynara glanced over her shoulder repeatedly, expecting to see Dirk come charging out of the house.

  "Hey, I have an idea." Barclay took an apple he'd bought from the café out of his pocket and tossed it to Jared.

  Old Glory snatched it up and, munching on it, followed him across the street. Jared practically walked backwards, his gaze on the house, gun ready in case Dirk showed up. The man must be inside the house by now.

  The horses waited a mere dozen feet away when a door slammed, and Dirk screeched Cynara's name.