by Jade Laredo
“No!” She cried. To her astonished surprise, her own voice sounded like a banshee’s wail rushing wild upon the wind. “For God Sake, please go back!”
He stopped then, and slowly turned. From behind his makeshift swathe, she sought his sea-spent eyes. They drew narrow, searching for the source of wisdom, which beckoned to his core. She watched his indulgent gaze harden when he realized what he had heard was only a teasing wind. Though his mouth did not move, she heard his thoughts loud and clear.
This is the last time, I promise you.
She saw him then, another man dressed in black, his face she could see was all too familiar. The smile, which perched upon his lips, was of sheer pleasure, like a cunning fox outwitting his prey.
Slowly, the menacing man reached for his gun. It only took one-shot. With his back turned, the silver bullet knocked the outlaw to the ground. In return, the other two riders whipped out their guns and shot their gang leader’s assailant. Two men lie on the dust-ridden street, one instantly dead, while the other quietly still as his life bled away.
“No!” She cried. Hovering above his motionless frame, he lied there like a crumpled scarecrow. The bandanna, which covered his face, slowly revealed the rugged outline of his face. He was beautiful just as she had imagined.
Arabella awoke in a panic.
With mouth ajar, she released a feverish breath before jerking her night rail to one side and settling her bare feet upon the grainy rise of the wooden floor. She felt a dribble of perspiration trickle down her forehead until it met with the tip of her tongue. Closing her eyes, she savored the salty moistness while her mind replayed the nightmare in which she just visited yet again.
This time she had seen his face. Clear as the vibrant moon peeking through her bedroom window, she knew without a doubt the identity of her outlaw lover. The realization of his ruse hit her full force like a steaming locomotive about to topple a brick wall. Feeling her hands begin to tremble she clasped her fingers and leaned forward, trying to stave off a round of threatening tears. She had trusted him, and in return, he had made a mockery of her by blindfolding and taking advantage of her and then knowingly from a distance relishing in his triumph over his use of the Sheriff’s daughter.
Arabella stared at the golden glow emanating from her bedroom door, which stood askance. Soft candlelight flickered against a shadowy hallway, reminding her of her father’s vigil over Jenny’s bedside. Did Jenny know? She had so many questions. She realized with dread those questions would just have to wait.
Jenny slowly opened her eyes. The entire room seemed to swirl in and out of consciousness until she finally managed to fixate on his face. Sheriff Gentry sat in a chair next to the fireplace with his head slightly bent, while cradling a tiny bundle. By sheer instinct, he lifted his head, and stared at her for a long moment, the quiet stretched between them was a deafening gulf. Finally, he broke the silence by clearing his voice.
“You have a son.”
Jenny managed a weary smile as she watched the sheriff rise to his feet. He carried the babe toward her bedside, and then carefully laid the infant in the crook of her arm. She peered at the tiny cherub face and then whispered hoarsely with wonder.
“He is beautiful.”
“Like his mother.”
Jenny caught the sheriff’s sincere gaze. His handsome face seemed unusually soft, not at all the wary creature she was used to seeing. As if suspecting her observation, he dipped his head, and then took a step back.
“The stitches will take some time to heal.” He murmured. “I’m sorry it had to come to this.”
Jenny shook her head. “I’m beholden to you.”
“I suppose you want some privacy now.” He returned. Nodding his head, he turned on his heel toward the door.
“Sheriff?”
He stopped at the door, turned his head and tossed his green eyes upon her. He looked almost impatient as he waited for her to speak. She wanted to tell him everything, beg for his mercy, but the words would not escape her lips. Instead, she returned a grateful smile.
“Thank you.”
Wyeth found Lena downstairs in the kitchen, boiling a pot of water. He took his usual seat at the head of the table and then bowed his head. Weary and bleary-eyed, he fought back an urge to yawn.
“I heard the two of you.” Lena murmured. “Figured I’d get a head start on the coffee before the sun rises. How’s she doing?”
“They’re fine.” He replied his voice held a degree of warmth and concern. “And the boy?”
“Still asleep in my room.” She shook her head. “The poor mite was worried to death about his momma.”
“I reckon so.” Wyeth nodded, scratching a day’s worth of stubble his attention blind-sided by a knock at the front door.
Lena patted him on the back while placing a tin of coffee in front of him. “I’ll get it.”
A few moments later, the Parson Hanly meandered into the kitchen with an arresting creature in tow. He soon recognized the beautiful dark-haired woman as one of Belle’s newest girls he had seen pandering outside the bordello. Keeping this bit of information to himself, he focused on the Parson who seemed unusually preoccupied.
“Parson, it’s a bit early in the morning for house calls, don’t you think?”
“There’s something I would like to discuss with you.”
“Have a seat.” Wyeth returned his voice irascibly impatient. For some reason he suddenly got a peculiar feeling as if he were stuck in some sort of card game with deuces wild. Shaking off the foreboding feeling he shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of coffee. “What can I do for you?”
“I have no choice but to tell you.”
“Come again?”
“What the Parson means is he has no choice but to tell you the truth.”
Wyeth leaned back and narrowed his eyes at the dark-haired young woman who suddenly spoke in Parson Hanly’s behalf. Flicking his green-eyed gaze over her, he ignored her insistent tone and looked back at the Parson.
“Let me guess.” Wyeth smiled. Arching a caustic brow, he rolled his eyes and continued. “Bray Hanly is none other than the one and only Luke Shelton?”
“You knew?” Jude lifted his eyes and stared incredulously at the Sheriff.
“I’ve suspected for quite some time.” Wyeth replied calmly. “But what sealed the deal for me was when Miss Jenny called out for Cole Shelton in her delirium.”
The good Parson Hanly, otherwise known as Jude Shelton stared back at him, his expression stolid. The fire, which crackled in the potbelly stove, seemed to spit even louder over the silence, which stretched in those few awkward seconds. Finally, the Sheriff nodded his head and relaxed.
“Why don’t the two of you pull up a chair and let’s start from the very beginning?”
An hour later, Wyeth Gentry sat in his kitchen chair with an expression on his face nothing less than rock-strewn as he stared back at Jude Shelton. If being rendered speechless was something he was accustomed to then surely his utter silence would not have signaled ever so loudly.
“Sheriff Gentry.” Rosanna whispered. “You aren’t thinking of arresting those boys after what you’ve just heard?”
Wyeth looked down at his coffee tin and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Miss Putnam. No matter what the reasoning behind the hold ups, it still does not make the situation justified. Crimes have been committed, and sooner or later those boys have to answer to the law.”
“You can’t be serious!” Rosanna interjected.
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“He’s right.” Jude spoke up in the sheriff’s defense. Removing his Parson coat, he looked over at Rosanna and handed the dutiful garment to her. “Including myself.”
“What’s going on here?” She demanded.
“I’m turning myself in.”
Wyeth stood to his feet.
“I’ll spare you the indignity of shackles.” The lawman returned his voice strained. “I wan
t both of you to come along with me to the jailhouse. I have more questions, and I’ll need a witness to your confession.”
Arabella leaned forward in the shadows. Neither her father nor the Parson had seen her sitting on a settee in the parlor. She listened carefully to the astonishing revelation. Closing her eyes, she bit back a sob, which threatened to escape her lips. Shocked tremendously, she shook her head and closed her eyes. Thinking back to the day when Luke had held up her stage, and handed back her locket. The expression in his eyes had been nothing less than haunting. It was as if he had understood her pain, and now sadly she realized he actually did. She quickly conjured an image of a young woman lying on the ground and then of Luke, weeping for his lost love, lying sallied on the ground covered in her life’s blood. The enemy had slain his fiancée.
Arabella now understood his motivation.
Luke did not hold up stagecoaches because he wanted money. Instead, she reasoned he was still fighting the war, trying to hold on to something, which no longer existed just as he still held on to his fiancée. Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes and blinked. The abrupt realization struck her full force.
Just as he still held on to her.
Was it possible Luke suffered the same anguish as she? Though not nearly as tragic, she had struggled for many years over the loss of Edwin Aberdeen. Killed in the line of battle, the young rebel soldier had died fighting the enemy, not at all a victim of murderous intent.
Arabella shook her head.
It was no wonder Luke lashed out in the way he did. Arabella rationalized he felt cheated and violated in so many ways, and his errant behavior was a reason for his continuous bitter resolve.
He would not stop until he exacted his revenge.
She realized with deafening clarity she had no choice but to help save the outlaw from the demons, which haunted him, but more importantly, she had to figure out a way to save him from no one more than himself.
Crickets chirped in unison to the sway of a soft early morning breeze filled with the scent of sweet magnolia and earthy fodder. Every now and then, the moon peeped through broken clouds, illuminating a portion of a wooded pathway.
Three men road in wary silence, one man in particular, hiding behind a battered hat shifted cagey eyes, peering into the secluded darkness. If the tail end of dusk could talk, it would reveal that before the war, the surreptitious man had once lived a privileged life of a cultured man, yet the bitterness of a brutal war had inevitably changed him. The battle-worn soldier exuded solidity, and moved with an effortless skill, which marked him as an expert cavalryman.
Now, as he crossed into familiar territory, memories beckoned to him like an inviting hearth on a cold winter’s morning. He imagined the scent of tobacco, drying on racks in the afternoon sun, or a hint of gardenia wafting into a candle-lit ballroom, while listening to the soft lilt of a feminine voice whispering seductively in his ear.
The sudden thought of her voice triggered an emotion he could not deny. Tiny shards of unfettered verve prickled at the back of his nape when he thought of his beautiful fiancée, Julia. She being the one and only reason he wore a damnable rebel uniform. Even now, after four long years he still risked his life to get back to her.
The war had cost him nearly everything.
He wanted to laugh, quite tactlessly, at his derelict predicament. His mother, God rest her soul, passed away after his father snuck off to join the war and met his demise at the Little Round Top in Gettysburg. Without a proper overseer to work the plantation, the family fortune lay rotting in ruin. His only remaining hope was his beloved Julia waited for his return.
Soon, he would know.
Down a steep ravine gushed a babbling creek he knew all too well. Another five hundred yards and he and his brothers would crest a hill opening to a wide expanse of barren tobacco fields. Past those fields was the looming remnant of a time long since gone, a white pillared mansion sheltered by a row of monolith oak trees, and a blanket of hanging moss.
Then he sensed it.
Something was wrong, all wrong.
Upon the rise, a large black plume of smoke spiraled into the air, and then a few shots rang out, echoing from the distance. He thought it strange. Throughout the war, he had never experienced a single hair prickle the back of his neck until now. The sudden fear, which struck a chord within him, was beyond anything he had ever felt before. He knew the enemy had been tailing his party but he never thought they would counter an ambush upon his home.
When they reached the oak tree drive, he could see the flames rising above the mansion. Then another shot rang out, followed by a terrified scream. He knew the voice, though it had been quite some time, he could not forget.
Through the heavy smoke and marauding chaos, there on the Bowling Green, overgrown with weeds was his beautiful Julia, lying in a grotesque heap. He dismounted, amid random fire and rushed to her side. His sixth sense told him she was already gone, but he longed to hold her once again. Even in death, she was still as beautiful as the day he had left her.
“Figured the little woman would lure you in.”
When he looked up, a pair of placated eyes stared at him without a hint of remorse within. The Yankee officer smiled, cool and cunning as he pulled out a pistol and aimed the firearm at his face.
Just then, a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed by nearly grazing the officer’s face. He watched the soldier rear back, diving from another round of fire he rolled away before taking cover.
It was then he felt a sudden searing pain, like fire spreading in the pit of stomach, the intensity brought him to his knees, weakness took hold and then blackness ensued …
Luke awoke, seeping with perspiration. The dream always ended the same way, he in an obscure void. Of course, he knew the rest of the story. With a steady breath, he shook off the nightmare, rose from his bedroll and drew himself near the warmth of a dying fire. Crouching on his hind legs, he stoked the embers, and then warmed his hands before checking in on his brothers. The sound of Jake snoring while Trig murmured in his sleep, alerted him to the fact all seemed well save for himself.
Already the first rays of morning filtered the starry-lit skies. In a few hours, he and his brothers would exact their plan to hold up the latest stage due to arrive in Adder Creek Station at noon. If all went as planned, he would wreak his vengeance for the last time.
Yes, he told himself quite confidently, for the last time.
When it was all over, he could go back home and woo Arabella the proper way. He would ask for her hand and give her exactly what she wanted.
Only there was one problem.
She wanted Luke Shelton, and not Bray Hanly. He shook his head over his predicament. The deception was necessary, but how would she react when she found out the truth?
If she loved him, she would forgive him.
He wanted to laugh at himself for thinking it simple.
Then another thought came to him. Perhaps she was in love with Bray Hanly instead. Luke felt his jaw clench. Jealousy over women was not something he was familiar with, especially when it pertained to competing with himself. Closing his eyes, he thought back to the day in the barn when he stole a kiss. He had not missed the bewildered pleasure in her eyes or the fire in her voice when she slapped his face. Though he was satisfied she remained true to her lover, she had no idea her resentful feelings for Bray Hanly only stemmed from her own confusion.
“You change your mind?”
Luke pulled away from his musing when he heard the sudden concern in his brother’s voice. Jake had caught him unaware. He always did.
“Nope.” Luke reached for a nearby tin, and poured himself a cup of tar black coffee. Taking a swig, he clenched his teeth as he swilled the bitter blend. “Nothing has changed since you laid down that pretty head you’ve got there.”
Jake ignored the sarcastic reply.
“Do you think he’ll take the bait?”
“We shall see.” Luke gave his brother a narrowed flickering
glance. Not much for talk, he stood to his feet and circled the fire. Pausing in front of Trig, he stuck out his boot heel, and then gave his youngest brother a quick nudge. From beneath his covering and swift as a snake, the wide-eyed kid whipped out his pistol and pointed with deadly aim.
“One of these days that tricky hand you’ve got there is gonna end up killing someone.” Luke grated his mouth set with annoyance. “Get up.”
Trig slowly lowered his gun as well as the terminal look, which pierced his haunted eyes. Luke turned away not wanting his brother to see the worry on his face. He knew the kid still carried his torment. How could he not being the sole survivor of a bloody massacre? It had been his fault. If it had not been for him, Trig would have never had to suffer the death and destruction he witnessed that long ago morning. The memory burned in him as if just yesterday. It would not let him rest, nor would it allow peace within his life, he knew at least until he could avenge his loved ones.
“We’d best get a move on.”
It only took a few moments to break down camp, pack the horses, and mount up. With the sun already breaking the horizon, and the rays of morning touching his face, Luke felt its inviting warmth. He suddenly felt tired, older than his years, and the very notion frightened the Hell out of him. From deep within an unsettling, almost foreboding feeling, this nagged at his conscience made his heart give way. Closing his eyes, he uttered a silent prayer, thinking of Arabella.
This is the last time, I promise you …
“Adder Creek Station.”
“You better be right.” Wade Coffee rumbled at the Parson with chary-eyed suspicion.
“They’ll be there.” Jude returned, frowning at the sheriff’s deputy. Mounting his saddle, he turned and waited for the Sheriff to finish packing his shotgun and saddlebags before replying. “I have good word on it.”
