Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  She strained her ears for the crunch of footsteps.

  Nothing.

  A false alarm.

  She dropped the reins to wade into the water, boots and all, to quench her thirst, being careful to listen between gulps. But there was only the occasional hoot from an owl.

  She rolled up the sleeves of her gown to wash her arms, rubbing them vigorously.

  It felt so good to rid herself of the dirt and dust, she bent her head down to splash water onto to her face.

  That must have been why she didn’t hear him.

  She had no time to scream.

  Cruel fingers jerked her head back, twisting her hair.

  A strangled cry tore from her throat as she blinked back tears of pain, attempting to focus on the angry face above.

  “I got a powerful headache on account of you!” Billy’s lips twisted into a snarl. “Get movin’!” But before she could do so, he drew his hand back and slapped her so hard across the side of the face her ears rang. “I’d teach you a lesson right here if I had time, but I don’t.” The salty taste of blood trickled into the corner of her mouth as he hauled her to her feet. “The trail’s growin’ cold.”

  Her pain and fear bubbled into rage. “Good! I hope he’s already swinging from a scaffold when we get to Carson City!”

  “They ain’t headed for Carson, you stupid bitch! They’re headed for California.”

  • • •

  As they climbed higher and higher into the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, Christie’s fears grew. The further she got from civilization — the more desperate she became. After three days, every bone in her body ached.

  What if they never caught up with Nat Randall? Billy pushed on at a relentless pace, forcing them closer and closer to exhaustion with every step. Did he really know where he was going?

  It was difficult to believe you could track anyone over such rugged terrain. Footprints weren’t left in granite. Perhaps he hoped to catch up with them on the other side of the mountains.

  If they made it to the other side.

  At times, the elevation became so steep they had to walk. It grew cold. Christie became so tired and light-headed it took a great effort just to put one foot in front of the other. By late afternoon her legs ached. The growling in her belly distracted her. She tripped, stumbling forward to smash her knees against a rock.

  “Damn, you’re clumsy!” Billy grabbed her by the hair of the head to jerk her to her feet.

  Pain shot through her head like a blinding fire.

  Something snapped.

  As soon as his hand left her, she whirled around, fists flailing. She couldn’t help a grim satisfied smile when her knuckles connected with the side of his face. “Don’t touch me again!”

  He slapped her so hard, the blow sent her stumbling back onto the rocks.

  But she was so overcome with rage, she barely noticed the pain in her hip or the blood dripping where her tooth punctured her lip. She came to her feet with a snarl, hands outstretched like cat claws, ready to tear his face to ribbons.

  He caught her by the wrists, but not before one sharp nail raked down the side of his cheek. His outraged howl bounced off the rocky ledge above, battering her ears as she fought against the punishing grip of his hands. “You want to wrestle with old Billy?” he rasped against her ear. “Don’t you worry, we’ll wrestle tonight.”

  She shrank away. The foul stench of his breath turned her stomach. Then, something in the predatory gleam in his eye and the tilt of his profile sparked her memory. At once she knew why he looked so familiar. It was him. The man she’d seen accosting Flossie in the alley. He was her old beau — the man she was so insensibly and perilously drawn to.

  Why hadn’t that surfaced before?

  Why hadn’t she recognized him?

  Terror must have clouded her brain.

  Gad!

  She’d acted as Flossie’s confidante — attempting to comfort and counsel her. She’d advised Flossie to keep silent. Now here she was, fending off his lascivious assault.

  A bubble of hysteria rose in her breast.

  But fear pushed it down.

  She attempted to twist from his grasp, but with little effect.

  His fingers bit cruelly into her arms. His face swam so close, she could see the menacing glitter in his green eyes. He pulled her closer, attempting to plant a wet kiss on her lips.

  But she moved her head in time.

  He only managed to graze her cheek.

  He laughed wickedly. “I reckon you’ll feel different after we get better acquainted.” He released her abruptly, then gave her a shove on the back with the palm of his hand. “Get movin’! We best catch up with Cecil before he gets us lost.”

  Christie forced herself forward, trembling with shock and exhaustion. Her legs shook so badly, she feared they might collapse beneath her. But Billy’s threat kept her going. She’d claw her way up the side of the mountain to keep him from touching her again.

  The blazing sun caused Billy to suffer headaches, starting early in the day, ending in debilitating pain each night. It had saved her thus far. But today she’d heard no such complaints.

  The sun sank lower.

  And with it, any hopes of escape.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A loud explosion ripped the air.

  Cecil’s hat sailed skyward to land on the rocks behind him.

  “Holy shit!” He stared at the bullet hole burnt in the top of his hat. Then he clapped a hand to his head, as if checking to see if it was still there.

  “Get down!” Billy yanked Christie behind a big craggy rock on the opposite side of the trail.

  His horse squealed in fright, almost jerking the reins from his hands.

  Christie fought his grip as hard as the horse, then ducked as another shot rang out.

  Sweet mother of God!

  Had she survived this long — only to be killed in an ambush?

  She could hear Billy’s heavy breath from where he crouched next to her in the dirt. The sour smell of his sweat made her heart thump wilder than the whine of the bullets. Her skin crawled like a nest of spiders at the memory of his touch. Faced with the prospect of being shot by the ambushers or raped by him later, didn’t leave much hope.

  She licked her dusty lips, eyeing the bowie knife in the leather sheath at his side. The sight of the weapon so close made her palms itch. Just one moment — one small distraction. That’s all she needed. She’d stick that knife clear through his empty heart.

  Another shot echoed close by.

  Christie covered her head with her hands, sinking lower against the rock.

  One murderer at a time. It would be wiser to let the Everetts take care of the ambushers before she gave into her own blood-lust.

  “Give it up, Billy!” A voice called from the other side of the rise.

  Christie bit her lip hard, hope rushing through her.

  She knew that voice.

  Billy giggled like a deranged schoolboy. “Well, ain’t that lucky! Our search has come to an end.” He drew back the hammer of his pistol and smiled, then hollered back, “Hand over Hank and we’ll be on our way!”

  A shot ricocheted off a rock, inches from his head.

  He cursed under his breath. “I got something you might want,” he called again. “She’s a little dirty, but no worse for the wear.”

  Silence.

  A few small rocks tumbled over the ridge.

  Billy and Cecil exchanged nervous glances.

  Christie’s heart pounded so fast, she could almost hear the blood rushing in her veins.

  Billy tried again. “What do you say, Randall? Do you want your pretty little witness? Or do I shoot her right here?”

  Christie’s blood froze.
r />   • • •

  Nat’s gaze narrowed over the sights of his rifle. He could pick Cecil Everett off like a can on a fence. His gaze shifted back to where Billy’s Colt peeked over the big chunk of granite. If he squinted real hard, he could just make out a swatch of pink on the other side of the rock.

  Damn!

  He’d asked the sheriff to speak to her uncle and warn him what danger she was in.

  Hell!

  He’d insisted on it.

  He should have put her on an eastbound stage himself.

  Son of a bitch!

  He couldn’t believe this was happening. Not that he should be surprised. She’d been a pain in his backside ever since he’d set eyes on her.

  Holt crept up beside him, reeking of the piñon he’d been crouching behind. “Well? What do you want to do?”

  Nat let out a low groan of frustration.

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “Get Hank.”

  “I’ve got a clear shot of Cecil from up on that ridge,” Holt said. “If I skirt around the other side, I can shoot his feet right out from under him.”

  “Too risky.” Christie might get hurt. And when this was over, he wanted her alive so that he could shake some sense into her.

  “If you keep Billy occupied,” Holt continued in low tones. “She could make a run for it.”

  “No.” The mountain was too steep. She could slip and break her neck. “We’ll make the exchange.”

  “If we let them slide this time, they’ll be clear to the Mexican border before we catch up with them again.”

  Holt was right. But there was only one thing he could do. “Cover me. Just give me enough time to get her out.”

  Holt gave a low grunt as he moved away, his usual comment of disapproval when they disagreed.

  Holt was a crack shot. He could blow the buttons off a coat at twenty paces. Nat had no doubt of his ability. Billy was the wild card in this game. If anything should happen to his brother, things wouldn’t go well for Christie.

  “Hold your fire!” Nat called down.

  A few moments later, he heard Hank’s laughter behind him. “Woman trouble? Ain’t that a shame.”

  Nat slashed him a murderous glare, but managed to hold his tongue.

  When Holt jabbed the tip of his rifle between Hank’s shoulder blades, he clamped his thick lips shut with an angry scowl. The smell of freedom was puffing him up fast, but he was as good as harmless with his hands bound tight and a gun stuck in his back.

  Nat waited until Holt reached his position by the ridge on the north side of the trail. “Now we’re going to do this nice and slow. One wrong move and my partner will blow your balls out from under you. You got that?”

  Hank gave a vigorous nod in agreement. He’d seen the rabbits Holt brought back for their supper with one clean shot through their head.

  “Move.” Holt’s rifle never left Hank’s back as they made their way up the steep slope. “That’s it, keep going.”

  “I’m comin’ down, Billy!” Hank’s voice squeaked like a rusty wheel. “Send out the girl!”

  A fair head appeared above the rocks.

  “Don’t try nothin’!” Hank instructed anxiously.

  His lumbering gait was so slow, Christie passed him half way. She scrambled up the rocky slope like a baby mountain goat on new legs. Nat might have smiled at the look of determination on her face had he not seen Billy Everett rise up and take aim.

  Hank must have seen him too. “No!” he roared, charging toward Billy.

  The loud crack of a rifle boomed in the still dry air.

  An answering report came from up on the ridge.

  “Get down!” Nat shouted to Christie.

  But she ignored him and kept on running.

  Damn!

  Now he had to go after her. In her frenzied state, there was no telling where she’d end up.

  As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. She ran straight for the horses, tied to a piñon at the bottom of the slope. She had one foot in the stirrup, about to steal his horse when he caught up with her.

  “Hold on!” He dragged her from the animal’s back. She fought him like a hellcat until he gave her a firm shake. “Christie! Stop it! You’re alright. You’re safe now.”

  She gave a great sob, then flung her arms around his neck, quivering, burying her face against his neck.

  When she lifted her head, the wild terrified look in her eyes made his gut twist. He crushed her against him again, smoothing his hand over the tangled mass of honey waves tumbling over her back. “You’re fine.” He held her away from him, speaking gently but firmly, “Stay here with the horses. I have to help Holt. Do you hear me?”

  She nodded.

  Nat charged back up the hill with his rifle, a slow burning anger building in his chest. His blood thrummed in his ears. Hanging was too good for the Everetts — too damn slow.

  At the same time Holt came skidding down the ridge, kicking up dirt and sagebrush behind him. “They’re gone.”

  Nat cursed.

  “They won’t get far. It’s almost dark. If we set out at first light, we’ll have them by noon.”

  “Dragging her along?” Nat shook his head. “We’d never catch them. She’s in too bad a shape.”

  “Hank’s hit.” Holt gave no indication that he cared one way or the other. “He’s hit real bad.”

  Nat swept his hat from his head and slapped it hard against his thigh.

  A day’s worth of dust floated up around him.

  “You could take her to the ranch. I’ll follow them,” Holt offered. “I’ll find out which direction they’re headed, then I’ll circle back.”

  Nat clamped his jaw tight, trying to present a calm front, despite the anger seething in his chest. He sucked back a roar of frustration, resisting the urge to beat his head against a rock. But what good would it do? They couldn’t take a woman with them to apprehend three outlaws. Worn out as she was, she’d be lucky to last another day.

  He nodded shortly. “Find out what direction they’re headed, then meet me back at the ranch.” He set his hat back on his head with slow deliberation. They strode down in silence to Holt’s horse. When he was mounted and ready, Nat flashed him a wry smile. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Holt grinned. “I usually wait for you to do that.”

  Nat watched him ride out of sight with a bitter taste in his mouth. Three years work. And all he had to show for it was a witness he didn’t want.

  • • •

  The bacon tasted salty and the biscuits too hard. Christie forced them down anyway. It gave her something to do, other than huddling next to the fire trying to stay warm. Besides, it was easier to eat than talk. If she started to speak about what happened, she might lose control — make a fool of herself. She’d already done that once today.

  It was just as well. The closed look on Nat’s face told her he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. In fact, he’d said very little since Holt left.

  After helping her up on his horse, he’d led them down the steep trail until he found a suitable spot to make camp. Even then he hadn’t bothered to question her. Perhaps he was too angry to care.

  He sat across from her now, studying the red and gold flames of the fire. Every so often a spark would shoot up, spraying ash on his black trousers. Instead of flicking it away, he poked the pine logs with a stick, making the flames lick higher and higher and the sap sizzle louder.

  She could guess what he was thinking, and though she was sorry, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She hadn’t asked to be kidnapped. She hadn’t asked for any of it.

  Now that she was safe, all she could think of was Uncle Will and how worried he must be. Perhaps she could telegraph hi
m at the next stage station. She didn’t know where they were going, but she assumed they were headed toward civilization, not away from it.

  The strange thing was she didn’t care. She wasn’t ready to deal with the curious stares of the citizens of Murdock, or the terrible gossip that would follow her kidnapping. Everyone knew what the Everetts were like — what they were capable of.

  Her reputation was in tatters. And eventually, she’d have to face up to it. But not now — not yet.

  She lifted the canteen to her lips to wash down the last of the stale biscuit. Then she gathered the grey wool blanket Nat had given her closer. It smelled of smoke and pine gum, but it held the heat from the fire and kept her warm. She rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes.

  A coyote howled.

  And for the first time in days, she failed to flinch.

  The fire popped.

  Then nothing.

  Sweet nothing.

  She must have slept.

  Christie woke to the sound of bacon crackling. It smelled so good her mouth watered, but the warm cocoon of her blanket made her resist moving. She tried to imagine she was back home in Boston in her own bed. Soon Bess would arrive with her morning chocolate. She’d draw the drapes and the sunshine would stream in. After, Bess would lay out her clothes while they chatted about the day’s events. Perhaps they’d plan the menu for a dinner party that evening … Discuss the price of oysters.

  Nat’s brusque tone cut into her fantasy. “Breakfast is ready.”

  The thought of facing his anger again made her flinch. But there was no avoiding it. She uncurled her limbs, attempting to stifle an unladylike groan. A little sound slipped out just the same. Too many nights spent sleeping on the ground had left her body bruised. This morning, she felt especially stiff, after an entire night without fear interrupting her sleep.

  “Good Lord,” she murmured to herself more than to him. “I must look a sight.”

  “You do.”

  Her cheeks went hot. She turned away. Using her fingers, she proceeded to rake the knots from her hair.