A Stockingful of Joy

by Hannah Howell

  Maura just laughed as he tossed her onto the bed and came down on top of her. Now that she had taken that first step, now that there was no turning back. she found herself greedy. There was not much time left before they reached Paradise, and then her time with Mitchell would be over. Maura did not want to lose any time in his arms, did not want to forego any chance at pleasure because of ill-placed modesty, because she knew deep in her heart that she would never feel this way again. Being with Mitchell was like some sumptuous dream, and until she walked away from him for good, she intended to revel in it.

  Chapter Seven

  A SHIVER OF FEAR went down Maura’s spine as she stepped out of the mercantile store and did not see Mitchell. He had said that he was stepping out to enjoy a smoke as she looked for a Christmas gift for Deidre, but there was no sign of him. Maura hugged her packages tightly against her chest and wondered what to do, whether to return to the store, go to the hotel, wait where she was, or go looking for him. After he had made such a point of keeping a close guard on her, his disappearance made no sense, and she was sorely tempted to follow the last option. Only a certainty that Mitchell would not like it kept her where she was.

  They had been stuck in the little town for a week, the sheriffs scowl getting blacker and blacker whenever he saw them. Although Maura knew she did not regret one minute of the passion-filled hours she had spent in Mitchell’s arms, she knew that staying in one place too long was dangerous. Her only consolation was that the bitter cold, the snow, and the icy rain held everyone captive, and that would include the men trying to chase them down.

  It was taking them a long time to get to Paradise. Probably as long as it took the early pioneers, she thought as she began to tap her foot nervously. Despite the advances made, the roads, the stages, and the trains, certain places were obviously still hard to get to. And, bad weather had the power to bring all modern progress to a grinding halt. It had halted her and Mitchell for a week, and, despite how delightful their time together had been, neither she nor Mitchell had been able to forget that he had a very limited amount of time left to thwart the Martins.

  “So, where the hell is he?” she muttered.

  A filthy hand was suddenly clapped over her mouth. Even as she began to struggle, a strong arm was wrapped around her waist and she was dragged back into the alley next to the mercantile store. A screech of alarm escaped her, and she began to struggle more furiously when she was yanked past Mitchell’s prone body.

  “Ease up, bitch,” snapped the man who held her. “He ain’t dead. Just sleeping.”

  “You sure he didn’t have the papers on him, Roy?” asked another voice from farther behind her.

  “Real sure, but he’ll be giving them to us real soon, Mike.”

  “I feel bad leaving our boys in the jail.”

  “They won’t be there much longer. Callahan ain’t pressed charges yet and ain’t gonna be here to go up afore a judge. Kinda hard to send a man to prison when there ain’t nobody around to say he done wrong. Now, are you right ready to gag this bitch?” he asked. “We can’t have her screaming too much.”

  “I’m ready.”

  The minute the man removed his hand, Maura tried to scream, but had barely drawn a breath into her lungs when a short, squat man wrapped a filthy rag over her mouth, tying it tightly at the back of her head. Despite all her struggling, the two men soon had her tied up. The one called Roy slung her over the saddle like a bag of grain, the blow forcing all the air from her lungs. Gasping and struggling to breathe again, Maura was only partly aware of the man swinging into the saddle and placing one hand firmly on her back as he nudged his horse out of the alley. Moments later, he spurred his mount on to a faster pace and Maura was back to trying to keep her breath in her body. Even as she began to black out, she thought of Mitchell, and prayed he was all right.

  * * *

  A loud groan sounded in Mitchell’s ears and he realized it had come from him. Slowly, he sat up, his head pounding so fiercely it made him nauseous. Standing was far, far worse. For a full minute he had to press himself hard against the side of the building, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to black out. Spots swam before his eyes, his stomach clenched and roiled, but he held himself together through sheer willpower.

  As his wits returned, he suddenly realized the full implications of what had happened to him. Staggering slightly and keeping one hand on the rough side of the mercantile store, he moved toward the street. A scattered little pile of packages in front of the store told him the chilling truth. His enemies had Maura.

  Just as Mitchell reached the packages and slumped to his knees beside them, the sheriff arrived at his side, demanding, “What the hell has happened to you now?”

  A scrap of paper stuck under the string tied around one of the packages caught Mitchell’s attention. “What does it look like? Someone knocked me over the head,” he snapped, too worried about Maura and in too much pain to deal with the man diplomatically. “Are those three men still in the jail?”

  “Yeah, though I won’t be able to hold them much longer. It’s a week in jail for brawling unless you’re going to charge them with more.”

  “I can’t.” He eased open the note and, fighting to focus clearly on the nearly illegible scrawl there, he read: We got your woman. You want her back, bring the papers to the old drover’s shack on the southeast corner of the Bar T Ranch, west of town. Tonight. When the moon’s up. “How far is it to the Bar T Ranch from here?” he asked as he collected Maura’s things and carefully got to his feet.

  “About five miles, maybe less. You know old man Cox?”

  “Nope. I just have to get to an old shack on the southeast corner of his land. That’s where they took Maura.”

  “Your woman? That snippy little redhead?”

  “Yes, her.” Despite how sick he felt, the glare he sent the sheriff made the man take a step back.

  “Damn. More trouble. What the hell do you have that they want so bad?”

  “Some land. A mine. They want it and we won’t sell. Now they’re trying to steal it.” Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Mitchell started back to the boardinghouse. “Where can I get some horses? Saddles?” he asked the sheriff who was close behind him.

  “You finally leaving and taking all this trouble with you?”

  Mitchell paused in front of the door to the hotel and seriously considered hitting the man. The only thing that held him back was the knowledge that he would probably end up in jail and thus be prevented from helping Maura. He looked down at the smaller, plumper man, all of his contempt clear to be seen in his expression.

  “Yes, I will be leaving. First, I will collect my woman and then we will ride on to Montana. Horses?”

  “The stables, end of the street. Ed Jenko. Has good stock, fair prices.”

  “Good. You might want to wander over to that shack on the Bar T tomorrow to collect the bodies.”

  Before the gaping sheriff could say another word, Mitchell went inside the hotel. He was not surprised when the man did not follow him. Mitchell wondered how such a coward got the job. He just hoped that, if the man did go out to the shack to collect bodies, it would not be his and Maura’s he found.

  Taking only enough time to toss Maura’s packages on the bed, wash the blood from his face, and check his wound, Mitchell then went to the stables. Ed Jenko, a leather-skinned, bow-legged little man, kept looking at him as if he suspected him to keel over. Mitchell decided that he must look as bad as he felt. He bought three horses, one for him, an even-tempered little mare for Maura, and a sturdy packhorse, plus all the needed equipment. Telling the man that he would collect them in an hour or so, he went into the mercantile store and bought supplies, food, warm clothes, and blankets. It was with a hearty sigh of regret that he added some warm but plain underclothes for Maura.

  It was as he was packing Maura’s things that he realized he was soul-deep afraid for probably the first time in his life. He had no real idea of how he could save Maur
a. He did not know the lay of the land. He did not know how many men held Maura. He did not even know if she was still alive. Worse, he did not have the papers to trade for her even if he was fool enough to think that could buy them their lives. Maura had them and, unless she was killed before she could tell them anything, the kidnappers did not know that. And, if she was still alive, what were the men doing to her?

  Mitchell shied away from that thought. Maura was his. It was a blind, primitive possessiveness he felt. He would never cast her aside because she had been raped, but he would want to rip apart with his bare hands the men who had touched her. Rape could easily kill the passion in Maura, a passion he had only just begun to enjoy, and for that he would kill them.

  The sun was just starting to set by the time Mitchell rode out of town. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sheriff watching him leave and idly hoped the good people of this little town never came under any real threat. When Mitchell passed the church, he seriously considered going inside to say a prayer. If luck was not with him this day, he would not only lose all that mattered to him, but give three fine horses and a bundle of supplies to the very men who had killed him and Maura.

  * * *

  Maura groaned and tried to sit up, only to discover that she could not move. For a brief moment, she panicked, terrified that she had contracted some strange paralyzing disease, then her senses returned. She realized she could not move because her wrists and ankles were tied to something. Cautiously, chillingly afraid of what she might see, she opened her eyes. Despite the somewhat perilous situation she was in, she did feel some relief to see that, although she was tied spread-eagled to a rickety wooden bed, she was still fully dressed.

  She took a few slow, deep breaths to further calm herself. There was a slight ache in her chest, but she felt sure her rough treatment had not caused her any serious damage. Maura turned her head, looking toward the soft muttering she could hear. Two men sat on three-legged stools at a tiny table playing cards, a half-empty bottle of whiskey between them. She remembered the brief confrontation in the alley, carefully recalling each word spoken. This had to be Roy and Mike, or so she hoped. If not, that could mean that there were more men somewhere to deal with and that could pose a problem for her and Mitchell.

  It surprised her a little that she had no doubt at all that Mitchell would be coming to save her. She also knew, deep in her heart, that he would not be doing so because he thought she had the deeds. It was nice to feel such confidence in her lover, but it was also a little worrisome. Any bond between them that went beyond passion could seriously complicate their affair. She did not want Mitchell caring about her, for then he could easily persuade her to take a gamble on love. Such a gamble had such bad odds that even her reckless father would not have taken them.

  With a soft curse, she pushed such musings aside. Now was not the time for such puzzles. She blamed her meandering thoughts on a lingering grogginess, and forced her mind to the problem at hand. Somehow she was going to have to get those fools to untie her. Then she would be ready and able to help when Mitchell arrived.

  “I need a drink of water,” she announced in the most imperious tone of voice she could muster.

  “So? You won’t notice thirst where you’re going,” the taller, leaner man snapped back, then grinned when his companion laughed. “ ’Lessen, of course, you go to the hot place, eh, Mike?”

  “Such an amusing fellow you are,” she drawled, ignoring his scowl. “A true gentleman would ensure that the condemned prisoner had all the comfort he needed.”

  “Hell, she thinks you’re a gent, Roy.” Mike shook his head, his greasy blond hair swishing back and forth over his forehead. “Ain’t that a hoot.”

  “Shaddup, Mike.” Roy slowly got to his feet and walked over to the bed. “Do you really need some water?”

  “Yes, I really need some water.”

  He picked up a canteen from someplace behind her head and held it out to her. “Here.”

  She looked at the canteen, then up at him, wondering how she and Mitchell could have been snared by someone who obviously did not have a brain in his head. Brute cunning, she supposed. “I believe I will need my hands untied, sir.”

  “Ain’t sure you ought to be untying her, Roy,” said Mike, frowning when his companion started to undo the ropes on Maura’s wrists. “She’s a skinny little thing, but she’s real squirmy. Ned said she whacked him on the head with a shovel.”

  “She ain’t got a shovel now, does she?” muttered Roy. “And Ned ain’t got a scrap of brain in his head.”

  It did not really shock Maura to discover that these men were compatriots of the men who had attacked Mitchell in front of the church. And the man Ned must be a drooling cretin, she mused, if Roy thought he was stupid. The fact that Roy thought himself smart, probably even considered himself a leader, could prove useful. She was just going to have to figure out how, she thought, as, once her wrists were free, she sat up and begun to try to rub some circulation back into them. She had to bite back a caustic remark when Roy grunted and thrust the canteen in front of her face.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, fighting to sound polite and not sarcastic as she took the canteen, wiped the mouth of it off with her sleeve, and, barely touching her lips to it, took a long, slow drink.

  “That’s enough.” He yanked the canteen out of her hands. “We didn’t bring much because we don’t plan on staying long.”

  “You are not going to leave me stranded here, are you?” It galled Maura to do it, but she suspected that playing the dim-witted female would work with these two.

  “Your man’ll be coming for you soon.”

  “Are you sure? He was unconscious. How could he know where I am?”

  “Yup. Left him a note. Told him, if he wants you back, he’s gotta bring us them papers.”

  “Papers? What papers?”

  It was very hard to keep her voice light and her expression one of gentle confusion. They were indeed using her and the quest for the papers to lure Mitchell into a trap. Mitchell would be risking his very life for a packet of forgeries. It was an appalling situation and she could not help but feel that it was all her fault. She quickly shook off most of that guilt. She could not end this game by revealing that she carried a worthless bunch of copies. Once the Martins heard that, they would put all of their resources into getting Deidre. She could not throw Deidre’s life away just to save her own. She could only pray that her loyalty to her cousin did not cost Mitchell his life as well. Maura suspected that telling these men the truth or giving them the papers would not save her or Mitchell, either.

  “Your man has some papers my boss wants. He gives us those papers, he gets you back.”

  “Then I am sure he’ll be here soon with what you need. There is no need to keep me tied. I will wait quietly for Mitchell.”

  “Don’t think you oughta listen to her, Roy,” advised Mike.

  “Shaddup. There’s two of us, dammit. I think we can protect ourselves from one skinny redhead.”

  Maura fought to simply look grateful when he untied her ankles. She did not want him to guess at the sense of triumph that was coursing through her veins. Even if she could not come up with a plan to free herself, she would at least not be lying helpless when Mitchell arrived. She watched Roy as he walked back to the table and sat down. Covertly she measured the distance from the bed to the door as she rubbed her ankles to try to ease the return of her circulation. She was fast on her feet, but there was no way she could get to the door, unbolt it, and dash outside before either Roy or Mike got hold of her.

  “What are you playing?” she asked with a cheerful curiosity she did not feel.

  “Poker,” replied Roy as he began to shuffle the cards.

  “Oh, lovely. Might I play, too?” The way Roy rolled his eyes and cast her a contemptuous look told her that her ploy was working. Roy thought she was some empty-headed girl and no match for him.

  “Do you know how?”

  “Whatta
you doing now?” grumbled Mike. “She’s a prisoner. You don’t get friendly with prisoners.”

  Mike might actually have a brain, Maura decided, and that could make him dangerous. He was not being lulled into a sense of security by her sweet, dumb-as-a-post act like Roy was. Roy might even be getting a few lecherous ideas about keeping her for a little while after killing Mitchell and getting the papers. Mike just wanted her tied up and then gone.

  “It ain’t gonna hurt nothing to let her sit in on a game or two,” said Roy. “Get her a stool.”

  “Her man’s going to be here soon,” said Mike, even as he did what he was told.

  “I told him not to come until after the moon rises. ’Sides, he ain’t gonna try anything with her here.”

  As Maura sat down on the wobbly stool, she saw Mike roll his eyes. He obviously had wits enough to know Mitchell might not meekly do as he was told, but not enough backbone to argue with Roy. Mike was definitely the one to keep the closest eye on, she decided as she accepted the cards dealt to her and wondered if she could successfully fake a total inability to play the game.

  The secret pocket beneath her skirts brushed against her thigh as she shifted her legs into a more comfortable position. If worse came to worst, she supposed she could try to buy their lives with the forgeries. They were, after all, very good forgeries, done by an expert in his craft. Even the Martins might not be able to tell the difference between them and the real thing. She probably would not know if she had not been the one who had paid to have them done.

  She glanced at the men flanking her and inwardly shuddered. Even though they were acting almost friendly now, she knew they would shoot her dead without a qualm if the need arose. It was there to see in their eyes, cold, soulless eyes that told her they had no consciences at all.

  This trip was certainly broadening her horizons, she thought as she showed her hand and displayed a fluttering dismay when told that she had lost, that a straight flush did not beat three of a kind. Kidnappers, hired thugs, killers, and card cheats, she mused. A whole new world of people she never would have met at home. She would have preferred to have stayed blissfully ignorant in her little house outside Saint Louis.