“Pretty sure. Why?”
“Keep them busy trying to figure out who’s shooting at them from up here. I’ll sneak up beside them. Use the barn as cover.”
“Good plan. Bullets be popping from every direction, the barn, here, the house. They won’t know straight up from sic ’em.” She grabbed my wrist. “Don’t get killed, Dixie. Promise.”
“You either.”
I worked my way down to the barn praying to everything what wore a halo. The barn’s side door stood only a few feet away. I laughed at McCullough when he built that door. Told him I’d never use a side entry. If he were here now, I’d hug his neck. Did that make me a liar for saying I didn’t need him? No. A lawman trained in this kind of thing would just be a big help right about now, that’s all. I scooted inside and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.
I slapped both hands across my mouth to keep from gasping out loud.
Back turned to me, Whitaker stood not more than three feet away. A lit match in one hand and a torch in the other.
Son of a bitch was going to burn down my barn! Again!
Not this time, you lousy bushwhacker.
Could I shoot a man in the back? No. But I could a monster.
I shot.
I hurried my aim. The bullet went wide and splintered one of the stall gates. Thank God no horses were in the barn.
Whitaker jumped.
The match flamed out.
He dropped the torch. Reached for his gun and wheeled.
Nothing.
I’d scampered up the ladder to the hay loft before he saw me.
I willed my breath to slow. Steadied my gun hand. Ok. What now? It would be only a matter of seconds before he figured out where I was and came looking. Well, let him come. I’d shoot him dead before he placed a boot on the second rung.
I cocked the Colt and waited.
Taunt nerves burned. Sweat popped on my forehead.
A scream broke the tension.
Heart slamming against my ribs, I peeked over the loft’s edge.
Whitaker had Cinnamon in a choke hold. Her thin stiletto pressed against her throat. A crimson trial of blood tricked down her neck.
He laughed. Cruel. Feral.
Whitaker was loonier than a bedbug.
“Let her go, Whitaker, before I—”
“Before you what? Shoot me?” Another taunting laugh. “Dare ya.”
The knife’s sharp point nicked Cinnamon’s tender skin right below the ear. A thin red line appeared. Eyes squeezed tight, she whimpered.
“Drop your gun. Get down here.” His hold tightened. “Before I peel the skin off her pretty little face one inch at a time.”
The urge to kill burned hot and deep.
Pretty sure I could do it. Put a bullet right between his beady eyes. Only problem was pretty sure wasn’t good enough. I’d never forgive myself if I shot Cinnamon. Or worse. Missed all together. No doubt Whitaker would skin her alive.
Outside sounds of gunfire, cussing, yelling, and horses’ screams roared. Sounded like all the demons from Hell had escaped and descended on Spirit Dove Ranch.
“Don’t you count on those whores busting in here and saving your hide. My boys have big plans for them. And forget about that big buck nigger too. Left him flat out in a pool of blood.”
The soul taste of vomit crawled up the back of my gullet.
I dropped the gun to the ground below and climbed down. Stopped just short of him.
“Okay. You got me. Now let her go.”
A sneer so vile the devil would’ve cringed crossed his thin face.
“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. Or maybe I’ll jam this knife up and under her ribs and fling her to the dirt to bleed to death like you did me. I knew that wagon scout was lying. Knew all the time you were hiding out in Six Shooter. No other place you could’ve gone. Yes sir, I’ve had eyes on you for a long time.”
“Cody Daggett and Tom Ferrell?”
“Rutherford too. Idiots all three of them. Told Papa Daggett to burn you out. Made a mess of that. His addle-headed son couldn’t even manage to shoot a dog. Ferrell botched up the lynching and killing the wagon train scout too. Ah, well. You know the saying. If you want something done right, do it yourself.”
“Bet that pissed you off good.” My voice sounded so sure. So calm. Don’t know how. I was about ready to pee my pants. “Oh, and by the way…that scout is a Pinkerton Detective. Knows all about you and Cantrell’s little scheme. Knows you murdered Mama too. He’s gonna put the noose around your neck personally.”
“Don’t count on that. By the time he and that big Irish Mick get back from the wild goose chase I sent them on, I’ll be long gone. And you’ll be long dead.”
Before I could blink, he whirled Cinnamon around and punched her square on the jaw. She dropped like a stone and didn’t move.
Red. All I could see was red.
Fists flying, I charged at him. Raked my nails down his face.
He threw me off.
My back hit the barn wall. Hard. Knocked the breath out of me. He was on me like stink on a Billy goat. Pinned my arms over my head. The back of my hands skinned and burned from the rough wood. He stood so close I could smell his sweat. See the spit on his lips.
I kneed his groin.
He was too close to do any real damage, but I got enough of him where I tore loose from his grasp. A thin haze of dust, straw, and dirt swirled in the air. Gasping, coughing, I grabbed a pitch fork and jabbed at him.
He whirled. Headed for the door.
I threw the fork. The four prong spear missed his back by inches and clattered to the ground.
Quick as a snake he turned back. Grabbed me up by the collar.
I spit in his face.
He backhanded the injured side of my head so hard my teeth rattled. That did it. All the fight drained out of my bones.
The barn spun. Eyes blurred. Vomit and blood marched up my gullet. He dropped me. I sank to my knees and retched.
He would kill me now for sure.
Underneath the humming in my ears I heard a fierce growl.
Fang!
The half wolf-half dog shot across the barn and hit Whitaker square in the chest. Knocked him flat on his back. He kicked. Fang caught his boot. Shook it like a rat. Sharp teeth pierced leather and went straight to bone. Snapping. Tearing. Ripping. The savage wolf inside Fang broke free.
Whitaker yelled. Kicked. Cussed. His hand latched onto the pitchfork. He smacked the fire out of Fang. Rolling ass-over-teakettle, the dog gave a sickening yip and went silent.
Whitaker crawled toward the nearest stall. Pulling himself up by the gate slates, he managed to stand. Ears ringing, I lunged for my Colt. Shouldn’t have moved so fast. Dizzy, gagging on the oily taste of bile sloshing back and forth in my belly, I struggled to sit up. Flat on my butt, legs sprawled out in front of me, I gripped the Peacemaker with both hands and took the shot.
I hit his arm.
I pulled the hammer back.
He hobbled out the door.
Crablike, I made it to the entrance in time to see him jump on back of a horse and tear off. Other riders trailed behind him.
He was getting away!
Joe! Joe could out run the wind. I could still catch him. If only the room would quit spinning. Staggering better than any rum-guzzler, I made it to the side of the barn and Joe. I reached for the stirrup. Hell, which one? Three floated before me. I guessed. Picked the middle one. Wrong. I hit the ground. I sat in the dirt and cradled my pounding head with my arms. Just needed a minute. Then I’d try again.
“Dixie?”
Fancy knelt beside me. I blinked at her.
“Whitaker. He’s getting away.”
“Let him go.”
“No!” I rolled to my knees. She helped me to my feet. “I can still catch him.”
“Not today you can’t. Not in the shape you’re in.”
She was right. I knew it. But it hurt so bad to fail.
I gave
in, leaned against her shoulder. Arm-in-arm we walked to the front of the house. Sassy and the girls met us half way. I found the porch steps. My breath caught.
“Cinnamon! Oh my God. In the barn. Whitaker punched her good.”
“I am okay, Dixcee.”
With Rebecca Sue on one side and Mary Lou on the other, Cinnamon wobbled our way and eased down beside me. A bruise on her chin would be black by morning.
“Cinnamon. I am so sorry.”
“Is nothing. He did not cut me deep. No scars. No broke bones. The bruise will fade.”
“No. Not that.” My voice cracked. “Inky. I’m so sorry Whitaker killed him.”
“I ain’t dead.”
Inky’s voice never sounded so good.
“The bastard shot me in thigh. The bullet went straight through. Debbie Ann stopped the bleeding. Got me bandaged up and all taken care of.”
Sassy laid her hand on my shoulder. “All of us are fine. Bruised and battered. A little shot up. But we’re all good. Which is more than I say for you. Looks like you went a couple of rounds with Beelzebub himself.”
“I was holding my own until he hit me upside my bruised spot. Hurt like hell.” I grinned. “But he paid for it, believe me. He’ll limp twice as bad now. Fang…oh God.”
“Fang is all right too, Dixie,” Mary Lou said. “Banged up some but with a lot of rest, he’ll be up and running in no time.”
“Good advice for both you and Cinnamon.” Debbie Ann clicked her tongue. “Let’s get you two cleaned up.”
“But Whitaker.”
“He ain’t gonna bother you for a long time, Dixie, if ever. Not after the reception we gave him and Daggett today. Reckon he thought a bunch of women would be easy pickings.” Sassy looked at the others. “Guess he found out different, didn’t he, gals?”
Like I said. Doves were hawks with velvet wings.
My gaze traveled the yard to the corral. A couple of Daggett’s men lay face down in the dirt.
“What are we going to do about those bodies?” I asked.
Sassy let out a low chuckle and winked.
“Choppy? Choppy?”
Chapter Fifty-Three
I slept until late afternoon the next day. The room closed in around me. I needed fresh air. A ride was just the ticket. Joe paced the corral. Guess he needed to run too. I’d just slipped his bridle on when I heard hoof beats.
Jackson!
He reined in but didn’t dismount.
My heart flipped and flopped. Overjoyed at seeing him, knowing he was safe, I slammed the corral gate shut and raced to the house only to stop short. Something was wrong. He sat stiff and cold in the saddle. I walked past him to the porch steps. Puzzled, I turned back to him.
“Jackson?”
“Damn it, Dixie. Why? Why didn’t you let me handle Whitaker and Daggett?”
“Well, it’s nice seeing you all safe and sound too.”
He ignored my sarcasm. I’d never seen him so angry. Not at me anyways. It scared me.
He stepped down. Brushed past me to stand by the rail.
“If you had only waited, Whitaker would be behind bars. Inky wouldn’t be shot full of holes. Cinnamon’s face wouldn’t look like a punching bag, and you would never have to look over your shoulder again. But no. You wouldn’t hand over the reins. You refused to trust me…again.”
My temper flared. I shot back at him. “What was I supposed to do? Let Whitaker kill Fancy? What makes you so cocksure you could’ve caught him anyway? And Inky wasn’t shot full of holes neither.”
Dark storm clouds swirled in the sky and across his face. I waited, afraid to know what he was thinking.
“You’re the talk of the town. Do you know that? All of Six Shooter is buzzing over the shootout. Wild and wooly Dixie Dandelion. She don’t need no body telling her what to do. No one fools with her. Guess you feel pretty good about that, don’t ya?”
Well, yeah. I did. Was that so bad?
He drew a deep breath. “Want to know how I feel? All the way back, with wind and rain beating my face and my heart pounding so hard it hurt, I kept picturing you at the mercy of Whitaker. Kept seeing you broken and dead. Do you know what your death would do to me?”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
“Put me six feet under too.” His voice softened. “Dammit, gal. I love you. Always have. Always will.”
In all my life I never thought a man would say those words to me with so much fire and passion burning in his eyes. Especially a man so gallant, so steadfast, and strong.
I stepped toward him.
He backed away.
My heart fell.
“No other woman will ever take your place, Dixie. Not in my heart or in my life. But I can’t do this anymore, darlin’.”
He gathered his reins and mounted up.
Panic froze me to the spot. “Where are you going?”
“After Whitaker. I’ll find him too even if I have to track him half way round the world. I’ll catch him because that’s what I do. That’s who I am. And because I once made a promise to a desperate young woman trapped on a wagon train that he’d hang for killing her mama. And I always keep my promises.” He threw a mock salute. “Congratulations, darlin’. You made it more than plain you don’t need anyone or anything. Even me.” His smile held no humor.
“I won’t be riding back this time, Dixie.”
He waited for the words to come. Waited for me to deny it. To say, stay.
I didn’t believe him.
I said nothing.
“You’ll always be my wild prairie dandelion, Dixie gal.” He touched the brim of his Stetson. “Take care of yourself, darlin’.”
With a touch of his spur, Thunder wheeled.
Jackson McCullough was gone.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Stunned, I stumbled back into the house and sank onto a kitchen chair.
He’s bluffing.
He’ll come back. Always has.
But. What if he wasn’t fooling?
What if I never see that chiseled face again? Feel his strong arms around me? Smell his shaving soap? Never hear darlin’ ever again? Could I live without him to lean on?
Yes, damn it. Even if I didn’t want to admit it. Even if he doubted. I did need him. In the back of my mind, I knew no matter what happened, what foolish mess I got myself into, Jackson McCullough would be there to back me up. Be there to love me no matter what and never cast judgment. His strength fed my own. Gave me courage to keep on fighting. To pick myself up no matter how many times I fell.
But it was more than that. Crooks like Whitaker, Calhoun, and Daggett were yellow-bellied cowards. To make up for their lack of courage and confidence, they abused and destroyed. But Jackson was cut from a different cloth. He knew who he was. Stood firm in what he believed in. He was man enough to let his woman be who she was, even if that meant she was a wild and wooly horse rancher.
Did ye ever tell the boyo that, lass?
Even though I couldn’t see him, Papa’s presence filled the room. Goose flesh popped along my arms. I spoke out loud.
“No.”
“Why be that?”
“I didn’t want him to think me weak, depending. I didn’t want to be like Mama.
Daughter. That notion be only in your head. Ye’ve ridden that horse into the ground. Ye can’t keep blaming your sainted mother for your stubborn Irish pride any longer. Love as deep as Jackson’s comes around only once in a lifetime, lass. Don’t be a fool. Ride after the boyo or regret it the rest of ye life.
I tore out the door like the hounds of hell were nipping at my heels. Didn’t have time to slap a saddle on Joe or fool with corrals or gates. Without missing a beat, I leaped, tapped the top rail with my foot, and jumped onto the gelding’s back.
Spooked, Joe reared. Pawed at the air.
He broke into a lope. Circled the round pin and headed for open pasture.
He cleared the top rail with inches to spare.
I clung to him ti
ghter than a prickly-pear. Tears filled my eyes. But not from the wind that whistled past. I cried for Jackson. At the thoughts of losing him. For being so selfish.
“Jackson!”
I screamed his name and kicked Joe to go faster. Muscled legs chewed up the ground. A dust cloud came into view. Joe caught Thunder’s scent. Bit in his teeth, he lengthened his stride.
I let him run.
“Jackson!”
The wind stole my cry and threw it back in my face.
“Jackson!”
He heard me. Stopped. Turned in the saddle and watched Joe barrel toward him.
I didn’t check the little mustang one click. Closer and closer.
With only a few feet to spare, I pulled back on the reins. Joe tucked his nose, gathered his hind legs under him, and slid to a sliding stop so perfect and smooth every cowpony in Texas would be jealous.
I baled off his back. Stomped toward Thunder.
“Jackson Wayne McCullough! I got something to say to you.”
His jaw dropped. Gave me time to catch my breath. I lit into him with everything I’d kept bottled up inside far too long.
“You’re damn right I’m your wild prairie dandelion.” My throat tightened. New tears threatened. My voice came low but rang clear. “But Jackson, even the wildest flower needs the sun and rain to grow, to bloom beautiful. Needs strong, rich soil to hold roots deep enough to weather any storm.”
I paused. Gulped for air. I put my hand on his leg. His eyes, deep and wickedly dark, reached out and roped mine, hogtieing me with a stare so intense my knees shook. I wanted crawl into his skin, his soul, and brand my words forever in his heart.
“Don’t you understand, Jackson? You are my sun and rain. Without you I’d wither and die on the vine with nothing to anchor me…just an empty wisp blowing in the wind.”
He shifted in the saddle. Was he leaving? I grabbed the reins and tore them from his hands.
“We were destined to be together from the beginning of time. Spotted Owl told me that once. I believe it. And if you think I’m just going to let you ride off into the sunset, you got another think coming.”
He threw a long leg over Thunder’s neck and slid to the ground. We stood so close, I took a step back to see his face.
The Adventures of Dixie Dandelion Page 20
