“Had to say something that’d get him riled up.”
Horn turned back to his captive. “You see, my dear, I don’t inflict harm to those who have not been condemned by foul deeds. But we see nothing wrong with elaborating on the facts to smoke a rabbit out of its hole.” He patted her leg. “Not that it matters now. We have you and before long we’ll have Mr. Fault.”
Relieved as she was that Devon’s family was apparently alive and well, she feared Horn was correct in the assumption that Devon would soon be trying to rescue her.
Horn stood up, flicking a match to relight his pipe. “Mr. Vasquez is dead, you say?”
Budd nodded. “Shot him in the gut.”
“The gut isn’t necessarily fatal. Unless of course you centered it correctly. Did you center it correctly, Mr. Little?”
“He’s dead.”
“You failed to secure a souvenir for me, however.”
“I didn’t have time to,” Budd answered. He avoided Horn’s glare, dabbing the blood on his shoulder with care.
“Then I must take your word for it,” Horn said. “Problem is, I don’t trust you enough yet to just take the incident on word alone.” He strolled around the fire, towering over his wounded recruit. “Your future health hinges on it, Mr. Little. Remember, your picture is on the wanted poster as well. If I am to make an investment in your talents, then I must know my return will be worth the effort.”
Budd glanced up, nervously. “I told you, boss, you can depend on me.”
“Um,” Horn droned, smoke puffing from the pipe like a steam engine. A hush fell over the camp.
Brandi followed his line of vision. She could make out the outline of one of the sentinels, rifle in hand. The group around the fire was relaxed--a few had even dozed off--but others had been posted in strategic areas, waiting for Devon’s arrival. Hope was draining. She again twisted her wrists to no avail. All she could do was wait with everyone else.
Never once did she believe Budd’s claim that Romy was dead. There was no more truth to what he said than that Cal had been shot down. Budd was a calculating liar, and he was saying anything that would keep him alive, like a frightened rabbit freezing on the spot in the hopes of becoming invisible to the eyes of a predator. Still, she couldn’t underestimate his maliciousness in kidnapping her to lure in Devon. He’d probably sell out his own grandmother if he could make a quick dollar. Or impress the local bully.
Dismissing Budd, she turned her concentration to Horn. The predator. Even predators had weaknesses. There had to be a chink in his armor.
He was egotistical, certainly, strutting about spewing fancy rhetoric. His crew was a captive audience, a group of yes-men feeding the ravenous ego. No one seemed willing to question or dared comment. He likely never had anyone challenge him. Physically he was big and that white suit ... to Brandi it made him look like an idiot. Even his revolver was white--or the handle at least. The threat of force accompanied with violence was always a good way to keep followers in tow. And yes, she could tell by his perpetual smirk that he did enjoy his work. He veiled his sadism with the illusion of justice. It was a putrid cauldron and Brandi was smack in the middle.
Power corrupts. Horn didn’t strike her as one who would continually settle for being a bounty hunter. That thrill would eventually dwindle. He’d need more control to fulfill his perversions, to say nothing of stuffing a wallet in another shiny suit. Paid to murder. In this case it was Victor Trilby. Of course! Trilby. Brandi cleared her throat.
“I suppose you think Trilby will reward you for all this,” Brandi said loudly for all to hear. “I’d even go so far as to bet you think he’ll be governor and when that happens you can worm your way into his political pocket.”
Horn stiffened, ever so slightly. He didn’t answer her but she could tell she hit a nerve.
“He’ll never be governor. In fact, history will never even record his name. If you think otherwise, big boy, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
Those who were still awake listened intently. Several of Horn’s crew turned amused expressions to their leader. He was being challenged, and they were anxious to see what sort of reaction would be the response.
“That so?” Horn said. “And how would you know that?”
“Because I can see into the future,” Brandi said confidently.
Horn chuckled behind the pipe. “Forgive me if I don’t put much stock in your witchcraft. If that were true you wouldn’t be a guest here.”
A witch. She could manipulate that idea. After all, she did know the future, in part. Superstitious minds would fill in the blanks.
“The next governor is a man named James Hogg.”
Brandi caught some of Horn’s crew glancing to each other. Their amused expressions had paled. It must have been a name known to a few.
Capitalizing on her knowledge of history and the obvious unsettling twitches of some of the men, she continued. “Not for another five years, but it’s true. He’ll be the first governor born in this state and he’ll win because he’ll praise the virtues of honest, hardworking people and smash down the power of capitalists. Trilby’s an unscrupulous capitalist. Hogg will squash him like the bug he is, and you along with him. You’re doomed, Samson Horn. You and everyone associated with you.” Brandi swung her evil eye to each of the gaping men. “The end is near.”
She had everyone’s attention now. Even those who had been dozing were awake.
“He’ll go too far,” she said, deepening her voice to sound as ghastly as possible. “He’ll be called to answer for his crimes and he’ll point the finger to you and you and you.” She peered at the spooked men in turn. “He’ll sacrifice each and every one, take delight in watching your hanging, and then laugh because of your blind obedience. There are no favors returned when Satan himself is served.”
“Gag her,” Horn growled through grit teeth.
None wanted to approach her. Brandi held back a grin. They believed she was a witch. Horn was shaking with rage.
“The angel of death is close at hand,” she hissed with demonic glee.
Horn seethed. “Closer than you think,” he bellowed, losing control. His barrel chest shivered with fury. He kicked the man closest to him. “Get the noose.”
While he stumbled off to get rope, Horn ripped the stake out of the ground and yanked her up. “I don’t need to listen to this bullshit any more,” he said, spittle spraying against her cheeks. “Say your prayers, witch.”
Brandi squirmed but the cigar shaped fingers held her tightly. Horn frog-marched her to the nearest tree silhouetted black and foreboding against the sky, a sky that was only just beginning to grow lighter despite the gathering clouds of an impending storm.
“I’ll hang you myself,” Horn rasped directly into her ear. His breath was hot and sticky and stank of tobacco. She felt a long shiver trickle down her spine.
The rope swished as it was flung over the branch, the bravest of Horn’s crew holding the other end. Horn trembled with exhilaration as he pulled the noose tight around her neck, cutting off the air. She gagged, rising on tiptoes to breathe. Yet he lingered, enjoying his moment of victory.
A flicker of lightning silently snapped over the horizon.
“Such a shame,” he said, his voice dripping with perverse pleasure. The gloved hand moved down her throat, cupping one breast. “This isn’t quite what I had planned, but I am flexible to small changes, especially when the outcome is as scheduled.”
“I hex you,” Brandi rasped, the rope causing her voice to sound even more sinister.
“That so?” Horn mocked. “Now I’m really scared.”
“You should be,” she gasped. Stars sparkled white and the rope constricted more.
Horn pawed at her dress, lifting it, the glove stroking her thigh. It was a repulsive act by a sadistic creature and her stomach rolled. Instinctively she thrust her knee up, landing a hard thud in Horn’s groin. He wheezed and let go, staggering back a few steps.
It wouldn’t be long before he�
��d compose himself again and take out his full revenge on her. Brandi was certain it would mean death. Once the pain filtered from the man’s glare he’d pull the rope so tight she would no longer be able to breathe. Foolish bravery. How often had Devon chastised her for just such a thing? She closed her eyes and tried to think of him.
A rustle of feet and the clicking of guns swept through the camp. When Brandi opened her eyes she all she could see was Devon’s paled expression in her line of vision. Was she hallucinating?
“We got him, Mr. Horn,” someone said. “He came peaceably.”
“Devon,” Brandi whispered, although no noise came from her cracked lips. He looked so calm, so resolved, making no fuss when the others swarmed around him, taking his pistol and tying his hands behind his back. Devon kept his stare on Brandi, silently telling her over and over how much he loved her.
She made an attempt to smile to him, a final confession of her own admiration.
Horn was having difficulty composing himself. Once he did, however, he took his frustration out on Devon by thrusting a hard punch into his stomach. Devon buckled. Two men held him up for another vicious blow. It was so brutal they let go, letting Devon crouch to the ground, where he wheezed in agony.
Brandi started to cry. “You’re a coward, Samson Horn,” she shrieked. “Nothing more than a snivelling coward!”
“Did he come alone?” Horn said, ignoring Brandi’s taunts.
“Looks like.”
“Good. That’s very good.” Horn puffed up. “Look at me, you cur,” he demanded, the toe of his boot under Devon’s chin.
When Devon defied the order, Horn tipped his boot, slashing the spur across flesh, blood spurting from the deep gash in Devon’s cheek. “I said, look at me!”
“Let her go,” Devon said. His voice was faint but his streaked eyes shot deadly vehemence as he finally obeyed the demand.
“You?” Horn laughed without humor. “You in a position to tell me what to do?”
Devon clamped an icy stare on Horn. A steady ribbon of blood from the cut dripped from the gash in his cheek to his chin.
Horn shook his head. “Pathetic piece of shit. If there wasn’t such a price on your head this would be barely worth my time.”
“My head,” Devon glowered through gritted teeth. “Not hers. Let her go.”
“Isn’t that touching, boys,” Horn said with a cynical smirk. “He’s reckoned that by coming in all nice and quiet like that it’ll convince me to let his sweetheart go free. Why, I’ve gone all gooey with sentiment.”
“You got what you want,” Devon shouted, finding his voice. “Romy’s dead and I’m here now. It ain’t right to hang a woman.”
“You’re so correct. Hanging a woman would be an abomination. Let her down.”
The rope slackened and Brandi slumped to her knees, taking in air in huge swallows.
Rain had begun to tap the ground. Thunder rolled.
“I’ll let the boys have some fun with her first. Then I’ll put a bullet in her head.”
Devon winced, closing his eyes as though in prayer. It didn’t last long. He was being thrust into his saddle, under the tree, the noose slipped over his head. Despite Brandi’s threat of witchery, two of the men were already tearing at her clothes. And Budd was one of them.
Horn took his station at the horse’s rump. “Open your eyes, boy,” he said to Devon. “I want you to watch this first before you do your dance.”
Brandi was putting up a fight but it was useless. The men were too strong, pinning each arm. Tears flowed down her cheeks. This was it. They were both going to die. She locked her gaze on Devon.
The thunder was closer now. The horse beneath Devon grew fidgety.
“I love you,” he mouthed.
“I would have preferred better weather for this,” Horn bellowed, glancing up to the mounting black clouds. “But I guess anytime is a good time for a hanging!”
With that he snapped a crop into the horse’s shivering flanks.
Chapter Twelve
With what was available, Sara did everything medically possible she could for Romano. But it wasn't enough. The fever increased, his body weakened with chills, and his breath grew rapid. Infection was rapidly crawling through his bloodstream. Sooner or later he would go into shock and die, and there was nothing she could do except be there, hold his hand, and wait for the inevitable.
He was strong, his body once healthy, young, but the poison took its toll. It’d just take a little longer. Within hours, maybe even a day or two, the love of her life would be gone.
Through the tremors Romy squeezed her hand, a reaction to the pain that continued to tear at him. He was so brave, fighting with every inch of will power. It was a struggle he’d never win. The poison was touching his heart, starting to close it down, but with every shallow breath he fought to stay alive. He didn’t realize the perilous predicament of nature raging its worst.
Sara dabbed his forehead with a damp cloth, her only offer of comfort. It wasn’t much but without the facilities of a hospital and medication, the battle was futile. She cursed this place and time and her involvement in it.
Maria had dozed off, exhausted from fervent prayers. She sat, slumped over, shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders, the rosary beads still clinging to her fingers. Sara was exhausted as well, drifting to sleep, nodding into the damp bed sheets, then shaking to remain awake. What if she dozed off and woke to find Romy gone? She’d never forgive such a careless act.
“Little rabbit,” Romy would whisper. When she answered his call he’d try to talk. Another shiver would surpass any attempt at communication.
Hope springs eternal, but never during the darkest part of the night.
She had no way of knowing if Devon had rescued Brandi, if she’d ever see either of them again. And once Romy’s suffering came to an end, she’d be alone, a widow in a world she had grown to despise, with no way of getting home. The night was like a huge black hole and she was trapped inside. Why did this have to happen? What had she ever done to deserve such torment?
So encompassing was her growing grief she didn’t hear the rumbling thunder that spread over the night sky.
Sara rested her forehead on Romy’s trembling hand. She ached for the feel of his touch, to once more luxuriate in the caress of his lovemaking. How could she live without him? How?
“Janet Steeves.”
Sara bolted up. A figure loomed closer, shadowed by the flickering candles. Yet she was too numb to sense fear.
He pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t be frightened,” he said softly.
Sara glanced at the door. It was still barred. She had done as Devon said and blocked it securely so no one could get in. The table she had dragged across the threshold hadn’t been disturbed; the shutters on the windows were closed and locked. Yet an intruder had crept in. It was impossible.
He sat on the opposite side of the bed, peering at Romano with calm confidence. Then he opened a satchel he carried. Taking Romano’s arm he swathed a small section of skin. Working quickly, he removed a small vial and a needle, filling it before injecting the fluid into Romy’s arm.
Sara rubbed her eyes. She was seeing things. But when she looked again, the figure was still there.
“It’s going to be okay now,” he whispered.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “It’s you.”
He put the empty needle back into the satchel and snapped it shut. He sat for several seconds, peering at Romano. Broad shoulders lifted with a contented sigh before turning to Sara. Her heart fluttered erratically.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Your husband will live.”
Sara couldn’t take her eyes off him. “You’re the Professor,” she muttered.
“That, and more.”
“I don’t understand.”
He smiled. “This wasn’t meant to happen.”
“What wasn’t? My being here or you?”
“You’re meant to have a long happy life with your h
usband. I’m simply giving fate a boost.”
“Simply?” Sara said with the incredulous tone the whole situation deserved. “There’s nothing simple about any of this.”
“No, you’re right. But don’t go on trying to figure it all out. It’d be a waste of time.”
“But ... but,” she stammered, groping to make her many questions sound sensible. “The letter you left for me ... you hinted that I was your…” She couldn’t finish. It was all too surreal.
Romy stirred. His breath had become regular. Finally he was resting peacefully.
“It is just as peculiar for me, Janet,” the Professor said. “Not many can say they have actually met their great grandparents.”
Numbed by the comment, it was impossible to formulate a response. She and Brandi had picked through all the clues he had left them, coming to just such a conclusion, but to actually see the man sitting beside her and Romy... It was beyond belief for a logical mind.
Logic. The word simply had to be redefined.
“How can you do this?” she garbled finally. “How can you travel freely through time?”
He thought for a moment carefully piecing together the answer. “What happens from now on is up to you. After this, I will never be able to return.”
“That’s no answer. I need to understand.”
He reached across Romy’s blanketed legs, and took her hand. A shiver swept up her spine. “You need to be happy. The love the two of you share will be the source of novels.”
“Your name is Fault.”
“Yes. Anthony Fault.”
“You have Devon’s voice,” she said blankly.
“And his integrity, I hope,” he smiled.
“So Brandi is your family, not me.”
He winked. “Trust me.”
“She’s in trouble,” Sara said. “Budd took her. Devon left…”
“I know.”
Peace filtered through Sara’s drained body. She couldn’t begin to understand why, it just did. There was no further need to have questions answered. A profound understanding passed silently between them.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for helping us.”
Lady Outlaws Page 27
