“Got it!” she cried triumphantly. “I got it.”
Antonio kept his forceful position over Romy’s shoulders till she bathed the wound again with alcohol. Her patient winced and then fell silent. Mercifully, he had passed out.
Sara was in the process of swathing the incision when Maria rushed into the room, sobbing, and twiddling rosary beads between her brown fingers. She knelt near Antonio, whispering to him. He sat up and assured her that the worst was over.
Or, that’s what Sara assumed he said. It was going to be a long night, however. She would have to keep the wound as clean as possible, ward against infection setting in. That was the next obstacle, but she was hopeful and smiled to Maria, conveying that hope. Between prayers and the cleaning quality of the whiskey, Romy’s chances were very good. It was an optimism she couldn’t waver in.
Sara rubbed her forehead, the ache pounding anew. She washed her hands standing over the bowl, the water crimson. Her skirt and arms were splattered with blood--Romano’s blood. She lowered her head and wept, post trauma setting in. Maria wrapped her arm around Sara’s convulsing waist, waiting till the flow had ebbed.
“Senora,” she whispered. “You rest now. I watch.”
“I can’t rest,” Sara said. “I have to talk to Devon.” She turned, searching for him. Until now there had been no one in the room except her and Romy. But now she had to tell Devon what had happened, how Budd had betrayed them all and continued to do with his plan to lure Devon out into the open.
“He no here,” Maria said.
“What? Where is he?” Sara directed her question to Antonio. Startled by the question, he, too, glanced round, seeing Devon had disappeared.
“He go,” Maria said. “I see him when I come. He on horse.”
“Antonio,” Sara pleaded. “He’s riding into a trap. Budd is in cahoots with Horn. They’ll kill him.”
Antonio leaned to give his brother a quick kiss on the forehead and was gone.
The darkest night of Sara’s life had only just begun.
Chapter Ten
The horror of seeing Romy shot down burned in Devon’s gut. Knowing it was Budd who tried to kill him was intolerable. And try as he might, Devon couldn’t remember anything in Budd’s nature that might have indicated such blatant betrayal. Nothing.
Budd had struck Devon as quietly diplomatic, self-assured, and certainly reliable. When he and Romy stumbled across him playing cards at a run down saloon, Budd was in serious trouble. The owner was preparing to have him locked up for not paying a rather hefty bill. Yet Budd had managed to not only coolly talk his way out of paying the bill, but got invited to dinner. Of course, the owner’s daughter was helping to tip the plea-bargaining by fluttering her lashes and grinning to Budd, who capitalized on the flirtation. He had charm, a knack for sweet talk, and moody good looks. What he didn’t have was money.
His eagle eye soon noticed that both Devon and Romy did have money, and their bankroll had doubled in size after a few games of poker. Budd introduced himself and soon they were entranced with his clever though uncultured wit. He made them laugh, something they hadn’t done for days. An unfortunate altercation with another player who didn’t appreciate Budd’s brand of raw humor caused him to miss his dinner engagement. When Devon and Romy rode out of town, Budd followed.
He staunchly agreed with Devon’s quest for retribution and asked to ride along, for reasons of principle that Devon believed he shared. Never once did Devon glimpse the underlying current of greed and deceit. Yet now, in hindsight, he saw that Budd was an opportunist. He swayed to whoever had the most clout, or respect, or money. Not necessarily all three and not necessarily in that order.
Logic dictated that when Budd was laying low in San Antonio, Horn got to him, probably with an offer of money. Budd was too small a catch to be bothered with, but he was the ace up Horn’s sleeve, the ace that would coax Devon to show his cards. This was no longer just a friendly game of poker in a hot smoky saloon. It was a game to the death; lives were at stake. Unfortunately, Brandi’s was one of them.
How could Devon have misjudged so badly?
Budd had a ferocious appetite for the women. Every town they ventured near, he would find company for the night, mostly with whores and mostly without paying. He liked to brag about his ability to negotiate, fornicate and procreate. This, too, had made him and Romy laugh, especially when they saw what these particular women looked like. But that wasn’t a quality that pointed to the severity of this betrayal. Not between friends.
He was quick to fight and told Devon if bets were made to put money on him. He’d roll up his sleeves and weigh into a boxing match with the biggest, nastiest opponent possible and come out barely touched. Fast mouth and a fast fist. Devon considered that the fact Romy was still alive was because he must have disabled Budd somehow.
Maybe there had been an indication after all. Budd would share fanciful stories of his life, of outlaws he had ridden with, wealthy and beautiful women who shared riches for attention, places far and wide where he had been, none of which could be proven. Devon would chuckle as he listened to the constant chattering, thinking it was unlikely there was as much color on the canvas as was portrayed. A man who had to continually boast about his abilities was one who lacked a basic self-confidence. To exist within fantasy, believing his talent was far more acute than what it truly was, was a dangerous place to visit let alone live. Budd was a convincing liar. It had been amusing once, but now those lies had affected all of them in the worst possible way.
After riding his horse back to Antonio’s ranch, Devon packed extra ammunition in his saddlebag. He checked the harness, filled the canteen from the bucket, and patted the animal’s rump. “If I get knocked down, you come back here,” he said. The horse flickered her ears, listening. He couldn’t help but smile when she nodded, her brushed mane flowing like ripples in a stream. “Odds are against me, fer sure,” he continued to the attentive listener. “This got to end though, and my hand’s done been forced.”
Speaking out loud, if even to a horse, helped Devon clear his mind. He had no illusions about the seriousness of Brandi being held hostage. The best he could hope for was to convince Horn to let her go in exchange for his surrender. Surrender would ultimately lead to a hanging. He couldn’t fight all of them alone and he wasn’t going to involve anyone else, wasn't going to take the chance another would be hurt. There had been enough misery. Devon was going to see it ended, even if his life was forfeited.
He hopped on the saddle. As he got to the door Antonio barred his path, reaching out to grab hold of the harness. “Not alone, amigo,” he said.
Touched as he was by the term of endearment and the silent offer to help, Devon argued. “No, Antonio. Bad enough Romy’s fightin’ fer his life. I won’t have another put in danger on account of me.”
“Noble words. But your intention will secure your death and that of the girl’s. I will go with you. We shall fight these men together.”
Devon swallowed the emotion that Antonio’s kindness evoked. After all that had happened and still ... now more than ever Devon couldn’t let Antonio risk it. “I appreciate this,” he said with more sincerity than he had ever felt before. “But yer needed here more. Let go of the reins.”
Antonio held fast. He was a man used to giving orders and having those orders followed to the letter. That supremacy was etched across his stern expression now.
Devon was equally determined. He fingered the handle of his pistol. “Don’t make me threaten you,” he said.
Their silent combat of will was interrupted. Excited voices echoed through the courtyard calling for Antonio. Only when one of his rancheros raced up beside him, chattering with lightning speed in Spanish, did he unlock his icy glare from Devon.
“Gringos have been spotted,” he said to Devon. “It seems the intent is to rustle my cattle.” He continued to hold the reins. “I must see to this first.”
Good, Devon thought. Now he could ride out without any
further attempts to force cooperation.
“If it is a diversion,” Antonio continued, “I fear for my family. The women are with Romano. They are all vulnerable.”
Devon slumped. He knew exactly what Antonio was asking and precious moments were ticking away. Left with no other option he nodded. “Give me two of yer men. I’ll go to the cottage and wait fer yer return.”
“Two are still there now.” He let go of the reins and slapped the horse’s rump as Devon spurred forward.
“Damn it all to hell,” Devon cursed as he rode back to the cottage. Why was it that nothing went as he planned? Some force beyond his own will seemed to continually direct his path.
Rifles resting on the crooks of their arms, Antonio’s guards were stiff with anticipation. They acknowledged Devon with a quick dip of whiskered chins and kept pacing, close to the walls of the cottage. His Spanish wasn’t good enough to explain the possibility of a raid, but he sensed they knew. Their eyes darted everywhere and they jerked with heightened nerves. He was glad both were there.
Devon approached the door with the thought that maybe he could move Romy back to the compound. He soon discovered that idea was impossible. Romy, awake and shivering, was in no condition to travel. The bandaging around his torso was stained. A circle of blood had seeped through. Sara held his hand while dabbing a wet cloth across his brow with the other.
“How’s he doin’?” Devon didn’t like what he saw. His friend was sweating profusely, intermittently shaking with violent spasms.
“He’s going to be fine,” Sara said weakly. Her bravery made Devon shudder. She was clinging to hope, a hope Devon concluded was futile.
“Dev,” Romy croaked. Speech was a struggle. Romy was using up a great deal of energy to make contact.
“I’m here,” Devon said, keeping pessimism corked within his chest. He leaned close so it wouldn’t be such an effort for Romy to talk.
“Budd ... with Horn.” Romy rolled half-open eyes, wincing at the pain of another tremor.
“I know,” Devon whispered. “You rest, partner. You got to get better.”
“I am sorry.”
“You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry about,” Devon consoled. “We didn’t know.”
“I did,” Romy wheezed. “Bear warned me.” His lids closed and he lay still, exhaustion taking its toll.
Devon threw a worried glance at Sara. He had met Bear, once. The monstrous man had made Devon nervous. His size was one thing that was unsettling, but he also had a mystic way about him, knowing the unspoken. Anyone who could see through the window of the soul had power that Devon couldn’t understand or accept. All things unnatural made him recoil in fear. If anyone was to be privy to his secrets he wanted to willingly share them.
“It’s true,” Sara said softly. “And now he has Brandi. She figured it was a trap and had come to get Romy. Budd followed. They fought and then…” Her face screwed up at the memory of what had happened.
Romy lifted his hand, blindly groping. Devon took hold of his wrist. It felt cold and clammy.
“Dev,” he muttered. One eye cracked open and he smiled faintly. “Thank you for being my friend.”
Devon’s stomach dropped. These could be the last words they shared. He didn’t know what to say. Squeezing Romy’s wrist he swallowed the hard lump in his throat. “It ain’t over yet, partner,” was all he could think to utter. It sounded less than convincing.
The room suddenly closed in. A surge of emotion cut off his air. Anger, disgust, guilt, immense sorrow. Devon couldn’t breathe. He had to get outside.
Sara was at his heels. “Devon,” she cried, now that they were out of earshot. “I’m so scared.”
“Didn’t you get the bullet out?”
“Yes, but there could be infection. He has a terrible fever.”
Devon stole a glance over his shoulder. Maria hadn’t faltered in her prayers. At least they had her staunch belief in miracles.
“I’ll kill him,” Devon snarled, letting his anger take control. “I’ll kill the son-of-a-bitch.” He swung for the wall, smashing his fist into it; the venting of pressure releasing more pleasure than pain.
It helped, temporarily.
Gunfire echoed in the distance. Devon stiffened, listening, wondering. Nothing stirred near the cottage, except the guards. They were watching the horizon as well, their rifles cocked.
“What’s going on?” Sara whispered. “Is it Horn?”
Devon doubted it and said so. “Can’t be sure though,” he said. Now more than ever he was anxious to ride after Budd. God only knew what horrors Brandi was being put through.
“Devon,” Sara said. “I’m going back inside now.”
“Yes. That’s best I reckon.”
“What are you going to do?”
“You got a gun?” Devon asked.
Sara nodded.
He took hold of her trembling arm. “Bar the door. If anyone you don’t know tries to get in, shoot ‘em.”
“I can’t…”
“Yes, you can. Now listen. Those shots were a long way off. I figure it were cowboys tryin’ to rustle some of Antonio’s stock, nothing more. Budd rode off the other way and I think I know where Horn might be camped. I can’t waste any more time.”
“You can’t go alone, Devon.”
He hoisted himself into the saddle. “Better I do this my way.”
“What way?” Sara stepped away from the horse, looking pale and frightened.
“Go to Romy. He needs you.”
“Devon!”
He tried to smile to her. “I’ll get yer friend back.”
Devon spurred forward into the night. “I promise,” he whispered.
Chapter Eleven
Two men had dragged her off Budd’s horse and roughly jostled her to a stake in the ground near the fire. As intimidating as her captors appeared, Brandi decided offence was the best defense. She was going to let them know how disgusted she was at their brash treatment. "Get your hands off me you jerk-wad.”
The verbal assaults likely wouldn’t accomplish much, but their surprised expressions and dry laughs made her feel better, despite the dire situation.
Wrists bound behind her back, she sat in the dirt, the stake at her back, directing a glowering stare at the man in the white suit. He puffed on a pipe, grinning with success.
“Well, well, well,” he smirked, the pipe clamped between yellowed teeth. “So this is our little Lady Outlaw.”
Brandi wanted to spit on the ground but her mouth was too dry.
“I am Samson Horn,” he stated with over-inflated dignity. “And I have brought to justice more outlaws than any other hunter in the state.”
“Congratulations,” Brandi said, dripping sarcasm. “I’ll remember that if I’m ever on Jeopardy.”
“You are in jeopardy,” he said. Stabbing a gloved finger into the air at her he added, “I have plans for you, but not till your boyfriend gets here.”
Brandi twisted her hands. The rope held fast.
“I calculate we won’t be waiting long, will we boys?”
A low mutter of agreement rippled through the dozen men that stretched out around the camp.
Horn cast a sweeping glance over her body. “Nope. Mr. Fault will be wanting you back. Not that the attempt will get him anywhere, but I’m betting he’ll try.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Brandi ordered, despite the unsettled sensation that fluttered through her chest. The only female in their midst, she was very vulnerable and she knew it. “Come any closer and I’ll be forced to really hurt you.”
They all laughed, none louder than Horn. “I like a feisty woman,” he said triumphantly. “Shame we’re gonna have to hang you.”
“We could have some fun with her first,” someone said. Brandi suspected the voice belonged to Budd.
“Not yet,” Horn said with a wry smile.
Brandi shuddered. Not yet. What did that mean? She clamped her knees together.
“Once Mr.
Fault is here you boys can tear her from limb to limb as far as I care. The pleasure I’ll get is watching his face while you do so. It’ll be a little something he can witness before we stretch his filthy neck.” Horn chuckled. “God, I love my work!”
“I hate to break it to you, Slick,” Brandi shouted out with as much bravery as she could muster. “But you’re not the brightest bulb in the pack if you think Devon is going to just ride into a trap. And he’ll know what you’re up to.”
Horn squinted, a puff of smoke rising from the pipe.
“She says crazy stuff, boss,” Budd said. “Get used to it.” He was sitting to one side, nursing the gash in his shoulder and swallowing large amounts of whiskey.
“I don’t have to get used to anything, Mr. Little. No matter,” Horn stated. “I find the lady quite amusing.” He squatted in front of her. “Whether he thinks it’s a trap or not, he’ll still try. Judgment day awaits his mortal soul and those who might be foolish enough to accompany him.”
Brandi kicked, but he was just out of reach of her boot.
He grabbed her ankle and twisted. She squeaked before biting down on her lip.
“Be as sassy as you like, sweetheart. It won’t do no good. I always win.”
Brandi’s temper flared. “You’re the murdering bastard,” she accused. “You’re the one who should be hung, not Devon.” She jerked her leg, forcing the gloved grip to unleash its hold.
“Now, now,” Horn said passively. “Whatever might make you come to that conclusion?” He seemed interested in the bantering between them.
“Harassing his sister,” Brandi said. “Making her a widow. You’re the monster.”
His brow crinkled. Then beady eyes drifted to Budd. “Is that what you told them?” he smirked. “I like it. Maybe we’ll keep you on, Mr. Little. You are showing promise, young man.”
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