by Linda Broday
The bowie knife would not misfire or aim crooked.
For a long heartbeat, he assessed the situation, figuring out each of the enemy’s location.
Finally, he began to move.
Within a few yards of the first shooter, he became aware of someone behind him.
He silently whirled with the knife raised, then relaxed when he stared into the hard lines of Cooper’s face.
“If you’ll take this man, I’ll move to the next,” Brett whispered.
“I brought rope.”
“Good. We’ll need it. Ready?”
At Cooper’s nod, they crept forward on the balls of their feet. Cooper clamped his hand over the shooter’s mouth and dragged him toward the horses.
Brett took the next man, striking the back of his head with the hilt of the knife, knocking him out. Knowing Cooper would tie him up, he left him where he lay and pressed ahead.
The firing continued around him as he took out the next two in similar fashion. Eaten up with hate and so focused on winning, the men never knew what hit them.
Only Oldham turned a second before Brett got into position. Fury raged in the former lawman’s face and glowed in his dark eyes as if they were red-hot coals.
“What does it take to kill you, half-breed?”
“More than you and all your men together have. I promise you that.” Brett readied for the fight, taking in the gun that Oldham leveled at his heart.
In a whirling motion, Brett knocked the weapon away and sent it flying into the vegetation. Then the kick of a moccasin met with the hard muscle of Oldham’s chest. He grunted and staggered backward, but the rocky wall kept him from falling. He picked up a piece of wood and came at Brett again.
A searching glance located a similar weapon. Brett grabbed it and held it in front of him, looking for an opening. They sparred, slamming wood against wood, the sound echoing off the rocks. Finally, Brett struck Oldham’s weapon with such force it splintered both pieces of wood.
Empty-handed, his adversary gave a guttural bellow and swung.
With a last burst of agility, Brett grabbed him under the arm and slung him against the rocks.
The man doubled over, struggling to breathe.
Confident the fight was over, Brett turned to pick up his knife that had fallen in the scuffle. In the next moment, he heard a loud grunt as Oldham’s shoulder plowed into him and sent him facedown onto the rocky terrain.
Shards of pain ripped through him, and he felt a sticky warmth soaking his shirt. The fight must’ve started his wound bleeding. The taste of blood filled the inside of his mouth and covered his tongue.
He had to finish this soon, or he’d be too weak.
Jerking to his feet, Brett braced himself against the throbbing agony and drove a fist into Oldham’s jaw. Even though his enemy’s head snapped back, he wasn’t done for.
Slamming Brett to the ground with his beefy hands, Oldham jumped on his stomach with his boots. The air left him with a whoosh.
Out of air. Depleted of strength. He had no more tricks.
“I got you now, savage,” Oldham cried.
Using his last bit of energy, Brett managed to grab one of Oldham’s legs. Gritting his teeth, he yanked it out from under him. When the man tumbled to the floor of the canyon, Brett crawled on top. Putting one arm under Oldham’s leg, he drew it up to his chest, pinning him.
Stay down, he willed.
Suddenly, he realized the shooting had stopped.
In the silence, he heard a child’s cries. Had one of the attackers shot Adam and Fletcher and gotten through?
“Adam, are you all right?” he called.
The deafening silence echoed inside his head.
Thirty-seven
The sinister man who despised and hated with a vengeance spat in Brett’s face, then threw back his head and roared with laughter.
“You just thought you won, boy. You’re gonna pay. If we didn’t kill that Injun nephew, he’s too busy to answer. All it took was my man’s quick thinking and one match. We planned somethin’ different, but this is a whole bunch better. You ain’t got much time, breed. Every last one of them murderin’ Comanche are gonna blast into a million pieces.” The bearded, middle-aged has-been smirked.
Brett’s eyes narrowed to slits. He couldn’t breathe past the intense pain and thunder of his heart. Whatever the heinous man had planned was too late to stop. “You just sealed your fate, Oldham. Whatever happens to them, I’ll deliver to you tenfold.”
As he got off and hauled the child killer to his feet, Cooper emerged between the rock walls. With a vicious yank, he twisted Oldham’s arms behind his back and turned to Brett. “Maybe it’s not too late. Go. Find out what he’s done. You can still save them, Brother.”
Without bothering to nod, Brett wiped the spittle off his face and raced to try to cheat death, scanning the ground, looking and listening for anything that was out of place.
A sizzling noise reached his ears a second before his eyes detected flames rushing along the ground.
Dynamite.
The man meant to blow up the canyon.
A scared yell came from beyond the rock. “Uncle Brett, I don’t know what to do.”
“Run, Adam! Get everyone as far back as you can, and take cover behind the rocks. They’ve planted dynamite in the canyon opening!”
Brett charged forward, pushing back the thin edge of fear driving into him.
He had to get there in time.
They couldn’t die.
Evil would not win. He wouldn’t let it.
The terrified faces of the children and his beloved Rayna swam in front of him.
The roar in Brett’s ears magnified the hammering of his heart as he dropped to his knees amid the low brush, straining to see the fuse and where it led, hoping to snuff it out before it reached the dynamite. But when he finally located the fire, he saw it was racing too fast.
Sweat trickled down his face and into his eyes, blinding him. The rate at which the fire gobbled up the fuse told him they must’ve packed gunpowder around the string. He desperately clawed the ground, but all he found was black, twisted remains.
The only way to stop the detonation was to get ahead of the fuse.
Scrambling to his feet, he planted himself in the box canyon’s opening, his frantic gaze searching for the explosives that would destroy everyone he loved.
Then he saw the dynamite wedged into a crevice of the limestone wall about six feet up. The bundle looked to contain at least ten sticks of destruction and raw power. He froze, watching the flame eating up the fuse at the rate of one inch per second.
His throat went dry. He was too far away. He couldn’t get to it in time.
Like Oldham said, he was going to make them pay. Though Brett was going to lose his life as sure as he stood there, he prayed his Wish Book woman, his family, and the little orphans would by some miracle live.
Still, until the force killed him, he had a fighting chance. Life had taught him that.
Rocks peeled back the skin on his fingers in one last frenzied gamble to claw his way toward the dynamite.
Then Adam appeared in Brett’s line of vision, straining for the explosives that were above his head in a crevice, just beyond his fingertips. Jumping, he kept trying to reach it.
The burning fuse grew shorter and shorter.
“Get back, Adam. Try to save yourself!” Brett yelled.
“No,” Adam insisted. “I can get it. I have to.”
The fuse had only a few inches left.
The chilling sizzle of the flame of destruction drowned out everything. Consuming. Devouring. Marching to its destination.
Within a second another inch was gone. Two inches remained.
Brett braced himself for the deadly force of the explosion that would hurtle him into the hereafter. But his thoughts were not for himself. Cold fear for Adam clamped around his throat, strangling him.
The boy who became a man would never know how it felt to kiss
a girl for the first time, fall in love…or discover pieces of himself in the eyes of a beautiful lady as Brett had done.
He couldn’t see through the curtain of blinding anguish.
One more second ticked by. Now the flame was out of sight, too short to see next to the deadly bundle.
He kept moving forward as fast as he could, praying for a miracle.
A half second before the flame set off the explosion, Adam grabbed the fuse, ripping it away.
Giving a cry, he sank weakly to the canyon floor. The brave new warrior had managed the impossible.
Rushing forward, Brett lifted him up. Laughing in breathless relief, he clasped Adam to his chest. “You did it! I don’t know how, but you saved everyone. I’m so proud of you, proud we have the same blood.”
Adam grinned. “I had to. I couldn’t let them kill these orphans. I didn’t care if I died saving them. Uncle Brett, they killed Fletcher.”
Pain of the loss pierced him. The ranch hand had given his life on account of him, loyal to the very end. “He was a good friend of Cooper’s, and I’ll miss him.”
Adam suddenly gripped his arm. “I know there’s one more attacker here somewhere. I lost him in the scramble for the dynamite. Miss Rayna, the children—”
“Rayna!” Brett’s moccasins skimmed over the rocky terrain.
*
Rayna threw herself in front of the children, bracing for whatever came next, trying to shield their eyes from Fletcher’s body that lay a few yards away, and the killer who stepped over him.
“This time you got no one to save you.” Raymond Harper tossed his empty gun aside and advanced toward her, his deranged eyes glassy with bloodlust. “I wanted to make this last, to hear you beg for your life as it slowly drained from you. But this will have to satisfy. At least I’ll enjoy my hands tightenin’ around your pretty throat an’ feel you slip away.”
Chilling as the words were, concern for Adam swept through her. Maybe Raymond Harper killed him too. Grabbing a thick piece of wood, she tried to block out the sound of the crying little ones.
Inhaling a deep breath, she edged forward to meet him.
No more cowering.
No more trembling in fear.
No more looking over her shoulder.
Calm purpose rippled through her. This would be a fight to the death. One of them would not walk out.
Then, through the thick rock around her, came the blessed sound of voices—Adam and Brett. They would take care of the children if the crazed bone-picker won. With that worry gone, she steeled herself for what she must do.
Raising her club, she swung, barely catching the side of Harper’s head when he swiveled. He grabbed for her weapon, but she was too quick.
A cruel, twisted smile formed on his lips. “You’re draggin’ this out just the way I dreamed, girl.”
“Help is coming. They’re going to cheat you out of your pleasure.”
“They’ll never get here in time.”
Rayna tried to slow her pounding heart, to not miss even the slightest opportunity. “I don’t need them. I will do the job. You’re not going to win here. I’ll make sure of it.”
When he lunged for her, she struck him, this time landing a solid blow to the chest. He staggered back in disbelief.
“That’s right. I’m not scared of you anymore. You have no hold over me. I’m already the victor.” Rayna filled her lungs with air, shaking off the remaining bonds that had held her captive.
With an enraged roar, he flung himself at her. She tried to leap away but wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed her, throwing her to the ground like a sack of meal. She landed hard, next to Fletcher’s lifeless body. Dazed, with the breath knocked out of her, she couldn’t move. Her stick of wood lay several feet away. Before she could tell her body to scramble for it, Harper was on top of her.
The grimy hands that had dealt so much death and misery closed around her throat. Rayna gasped for air as she struck him with her fists.
Screams of the orphans filled her ears. She hated they had to witness this violence. At least Brett was near and would stop Harper from doing them harm once he’d killed her.
In a flurry, two of the children crawled onto Harper’s back and began pounding him with their fists.
He hollered and removed his hands from her neck for only a moment to toss them like rag dolls. Rayna’s heart broke. They lay so still and quiet. But she couldn’t help them, because Raymond’s hands returned even as she lashed out, and this time with an even more vicious grip.
Stars filled her eyes as the edges of her vision turned black. Her lungs cried for air.
In one last desperate moment before death claimed her, she groped for whatever she could find that might aid her. Feeling along, her fingers encountered hard metal and realized it was Fletcher’s gun.
Gripping it tightly, she jabbed the weapon under Raymond Harper’s chin, forcing his head back. His eyes widened, and he suddenly found it hard to swallow. He removed his hands from her throat, and she gasped, gulping in huge amounts of air.
“This is for my mother and father. For Elna and all the others you probably killed.”
“You won’t pull that trigger,” he gloated. “You don’t have it in you.”
Boots pounded the rocky ground then stopped. She didn’t glance up. Her eyes remained locked on the cruel face before her.
Calm washed over Rayna as her finger tightened on the slender piece of metal.
*
Brett stared transfixed at the scene, knowing Rayna needed this moment of victory to heal old wounds. No one needed killing more than Raymond Harper. But he thought of her words to him when he’d fought the overwhelming urge to do the same after he’d rescued her from the wagon of bones.
He stole forward on the balls of his feet and lightly placed his hand over hers. “This isn’t who you are, who we are. I don’t want you to add new scars to your soul.”
Hardness dulled her eyes. “He deserves it.”
“Yes, worse than anyone I’ve ever seen,” he agreed, taking the gun from her. “But seeing him hang will bring immense satisfaction. Justice will prevail, and you won’t have to live with the horror of dispensing it.”
Bob had been right. The greatest glory wasn’t in killing your opponent, but getting close enough to touch him and steal his power. With a gentle hand, Brett lifted her up and pulled her against him.
Adam, Cooper, and Rand rushed forward to take charge of the prisoner.
Brett held her near, feeling her heart beating next to his. The terror of almost losing her wouldn’t go away.
When she tilted her head back, he cradled her face between his hands and claimed her mouth with a slow, drugging kiss that he could probably make last until the first frost.
He had no wish to hurry. They had plenty of time. The reign of terror was over.
It was only the slight jerk of a hand on his trousers that broke the kiss. He glanced down into Flower’s small face.
“Thank you for saving us, Ahpu.”
He didn’t know what she’d just called him, but he knew it was something good. Kneeling, he pulled her onto his knee “You’re welcome, but it took everyone, most of all Miss Rayna. You’re free now. No more bad people. They’re gone.”
Picking her up, Brett put his arm around Rayna. “Let’s go home.”
“Wait!” Rayna tugged free and bent to pick up the feather that had dropped from his hat. “Not a barb out of place. A good omen,” she said with her slow, sweet smile.
After all this, who was he to say that it wasn’t?
*
Brett hardly recognized the camp when they rode up. It more resembled an army fort, minus the barracks. People and horses were everywhere. He particularly noticed the groups of men who were tied up and guarded by some of Battle Creek’s finest.
George Lexington, proprietor of the Lexington Arms Hotel, approached as Brett dismounted and helped Rayna down. “Might near took every bit of blamed rope in the state, but we got �
�em all tied up and ready for Sheriff Thorne.”
“You have my thanks.” Brett put his arm around Rayna’s waist and stared grief-stricken at the pile of dead who’d lost their lives fighting for the wrong side. Such a waste. They could’ve done so much good if they’d put their efforts into something worthwhile.
A second later, Potter Gray strode up as though he was a soldier reporting to a superior. “We’ll take the dead into town for burial. You’ll soon put this place back to rights.”
“I’m very grateful for your help, but how and why did you men decide to jump into this fight now?”
Joining them, Doc Yates answered, “Your sister can take a lot of the credit for that. After she told everyone about the desperation out here and your neighbor’s vow to eradicate the orphans, a plan came together. The next thing I knew, the whole town was riding out here with blood boiling and guns blazing, even the women.”
Mabel King broke in, “What do you mean, Doc? We were leading the march.”
“That’s right,” Jenny Barclay said. “We weren’t going to stand by and let innocent children die, no matter what color they are. Some are about my son Ben’s age.”
“Our women’s club, the Women of Vision, has decided to build an orphanage in Battle Creek for these kids, and we’ve asked your sister Sarah to run it,” Mabel said.
Brett’s chest tightened. This was the acceptance they needed. These generous people would welcome the Comanche orphans into their hearts. He had to clear his throat before speaking. “That’s nice, ladies—real nice.”
Rayna glanced up, her eyes glistening brightly. “Oh, Brett. This is what we’ve dreamed of, what we’ve waited for. Change is happening.”
“Yes, it is.” If there hadn’t been so many children and people milling about, he’d have kissed those moist lips that beckoned him.
It appeared everything was going to work out just fine.
At the sound of a galloping horse, Brett turned, tightening his arm around Rayna. Seeing the Indian rider aroused curiosity. Flower gave a happy squeal and ran to him. The Comanche grinned, scooping up the little girl.
Striding forward, the man stuck out his hand. “Are you Brett Liberty?”
