Melly, Unyielding (Lockets And Lace Book 4)

by Abagail Eldan

  Thatcher tossed down his gun, and it slid down the slope.

  Boyd motioned with the rifle. “Untie my man.”

  Thatcher saw no way out of the situation. He did as Boyd said and worked at the ropes, loosening them.

  After a moment, Obadiah impatiently pushed him away and got the ropes off himself. He scrambled for the gun, came back, buffaloing Thatcher. He covered his head against the blows, but the man was surprisingly strong, and it didn’t help much.

  Boyd jumped down and pulled the old man back. “Enough. We’re going to kill him slowly, enjoy ourselves. Get his horse.”

  Thatcher spit blood and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

  Boyd motioned Thatcher forward, to the bush. Barely visible was a slit, right in the middle. He pushed aside the branches and went through into a cave. A couple of lanterns gave light enough to see. He spit another mouthful of blood.

  Boyd shoved him forward. “Keep going until I tell you to stop.”

  Thatcher did as he was told, moving cautiously through the narrow tunnel ahead. It made a sharp turn to the right and then back left. Another opening appeared, and he stepped into the sunlight and stopped.

  “I said keep going.” Boyd hit him in the back with the butt of the rifle.

  He staggered, and his knee hit the ground, but he was back on his feet and moving forward immediately. The path led to a valley below. No, not a valley, more a bowl-like depression, like a crater of a volcano he’d read about in school.

  There was a fairly level area at the bottom, with a few trees scattered about. A thin stream of water splashed down the slope opposite him, and flowed into a lake, almost dead center ahead.

  “Nice, ain’t it,” Boyd said behind him.

  They reached the bottom of the well-worn path that led to a small cabin, and Thatcher turned to face Boyd. Obadiah led Johnny Bell and continued past them.

  A few other horses were loose and munched on hay the men must have hauled in. Obadiah unsaddled Johnny Bell and released him to join the others before Boyd spoke.

  “Not many know of this place. You’re going to tell us how you found it.”

  “Trailed you here,” Thatcher answered. His lip had already swollen, making it difficult to speak.

  Boyd glanced at Obadiah, and both laughed.

  Boyd turned back to him and narrowed his eyes. “Nope, nope, nope. Lying ain’t going to get you nowhere.”

  Thatcher touched his lip gingerly. “Why should I tell you anything? What difference does it make if you’re going to kill me?”

  “Ah, yes, but we can kill you quickly or slowly ... well, I don’t mean quickly. Not after what you done, taking Melly from me.”

  Obadiah came to stand beside his boss, to glare at Thatcher.

  Thatcher frowned at Boyd, unleashing more pain from his battered face. “I got her out of that pit she was in. I’d do it again.”

  “I heard you talking to Obadiah. You say she’s with another man now. How long was she with you?”

  “A day or two.”

  “See? That just won’t do. You soiled her. Obadiah here I trusted to keep her pure. I had plans, to buy a ranch, settle down with a good wife, one untouched by another man. And she would have been a good wife.” He leered and laughed. “I picked her out fifteen years ago. Can’t believe it’s been that long. Time got away from me, but that Melly, still as pretty as the first day I saw her. And I was finally ready to take what was mine.”

  Thatcher’s fingers itched to punch that face, and he flexed his fingers before speaking. “She’s gone now.”

  “Yep, because of you. What did you do with her?”

  “I put her on a train. She’s long gone.”

  “You told Oba she’s with Samuel Dobson, heading to California. That true?”

  “Yes, to San Francisco.”

  “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

  “What does it matter if you no longer want her?”

  “Soiled for me, but she could still fetch a good price, although she’s a bit long in the tooth.”

  Obadiah swung to face Boyd, his gaze flitting from Thatcher to his boss. “He’s lying. She’s still around here, somewheres.”

  Boyd spoke to the old man. “I think so, too. Want to have another go? Maybe we can get the truth from him.”

  Obadiah simply nodded.

  “Use your fists, not the pistol this time. And let’s get him away from the cabin, down by that clump of trees should do nicely.”

  Obadiah pushed him toward the trees. When they arrived at the spot, Boyd moved behind Thatcher and held his arms.

  Obadiah smiled and moved toward him. “You deserve this, you meddling fool.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thatcher came slowly to consciousness. He moaned and rolled to his side. How long had he been out? The blood had dried and caked over his eyes, making them impossible to open. He raised a hand to his face and scraped away the dried blood. He squinted at the brightness of the sun and raised an arm to block it, before closing his eyes again.

  They’d left him where he lay. His mouth was dry, drier than he ever remembered. He must have been out for hours, perhaps a day or so. He forced his swollen eyes open again and searched for the men. Neither was in sight. Painfully, slowly, he pushed himself to a sitting position and rested for a moment, his forehead on his knees.

  Thatcher tried to stand, but his legs failed to cooperate. The small lake looked miles away, but the water beckoned. He dragged himself to it, slowly, inch by inch. His thirst bordered on unbearable, and he forced himself to keep going.

  He arrived at the edge of the lake, cupped his hands, and brought the water to his mouth. He had no way of knowing if it was safe to drink, but he’d die if he didn’t get water into his body.

  After he assuaged his thirst, he splashed water on his face until most of the blood washed away. He found a major cut, a gash above his left eye, that bled a bit when he touched it. And then he examined his hands and tried to flex his fingers, but a couple were swollen and refused to bend. The water was icy cold and felt good against the swelling and lacerations. The water refreshed, even as it chilled him.

  He rested by the lake, laying his head on the cold ground. Before he died, he would kill Boyd. He didn’t know how, could not fathom a way, but he’d manage it.

  Johnny Bell was at the hay, only a few feet away. He crawled to his horse, pulled himself to a standing position, and leaned against him. Johnny Bell turned his head to look at him and then went back to munching the hay.

  As he steadied himself against his horse, Thatcher searched for a way out. The only path was the one they’d traveled down. The sides of this crater-like depression were too steep to ride over, even if he made it onto the back of his horse. This place was effectively a prison.

  He flexed his arms, his legs, surprised to find no major broken bones. From the painful breaths he drew, he knew his ribs were cracked, and a couple of fingers were swollen, possibly broken.

  He rested against Johnny Bell, letting the strength of his horse seep into him. When he felt stronger, he took a tentative step and found he didn’t fall. He walked the few feet back to the lake and drank again before making his way to where he’d awakened. He tried to ease down, but lost his balance and hit the ground with his knees. But at least he was down, could stretch out and await his fate.

  He closed his eyes and thought of Melly.

  UNCLE DOB CAME INTO the hotel room, his face flushed. “I’ve got some news, Melly girl.” He held a package under one arm, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.

  She had been sitting on the gold fringed chair, reading her Bible. She now placed the ribbon that served as a bookmark in place and closed the book, folding her hands together to rest on it. “Yes, sir?”

  “That there fellow who kept you came through town.”

  Melly let out a gasp. “Obadiah?”

  “Sounded like him, from what you’ve told me. Black beard with a streak of white.”

 
; “Was Boyd with him?”

  “The guy didn’t get a good look, but he said the other one was big and burly.”

  Melly set the Bible aside and got up, walked to the window, and pulled back the heavy curtain. The street was crowded, as it had been when they’d ridden into town.

  Uncle Dob came to look over her shoulder. “Do you see anyone who looks like part of the gang?”

  “No, no one.”

  He stepped back. “I sold my pelts, and they fetched a good price.”

  She turned to him. “And you got the supplies?”

  “Yeah, and the mule sold. And I went by the livery stable, got everything in the saddle bags, everything but this.” He held the package toward her, an eager look on his face. “This is for you.”

  She took it from him. “What is it?”

  “Open it and see.” His lips twitched as if suppressing a smile.

  She searched his eyes for a moment and then laid the package on the bed. She untied the twine and pulled open the paper to reveal a blouse, the most beautiful blouse she’d ever seen.

  She held it to her, tears of joy welling. “Thank you, Uncle Dob.”

  When she hugged him, he brushed away a tear on her cheek with his thumb. He gave her a tender smile. “No crying today. Promise?”

  She laughed. “I’d better not make a promise I can’t keep.”

  “I hope it fits.”

  She held it up again. “It looks like a perfect fit.” No one had given her a present since her parents were killed. She fingered the locket her father had given her, that he’d bought at the Bavarian Jewelry and Watch Repair Shop. She choked back the tears, trying to keep her promise. She sniffed and touched the handkerchief to her nose. The lace that adorned the simple piece of cloth came from the same shop. She remembered that day so well, and how excited her sisters were.

  Uncle Dob touched her arm. “Are you ready?”

  “Sorry. I was thinking about my sisters.” She replaced the handkerchief in her pocket. “Before we leave, do you think we should send a telegram to Abby, let her know we’re coming?”

  “We don’t know how long the trip will take. Besides, wouldn’t you rather surprise her?”

  “It may be more of a shock instead of a surprise.” She folded the blouse carefully and placed it in her carpetbag.

  “But she thought you were alive, sending her husband to search for you.”

  It made Melly feel ashamed. She’d given up hope. But life would have been unbearable if she hadn’t pretended they were dead. She’d only done what she needed to keep going. Now that she knew Abby was alive, she was certain Joy was, too. When they got to Texas, she and Abby could track her down. And maybe Thatcher would keep his promise and be there, too. Her happiness had given her hope.

  She smiled at Uncle Dob. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Melly and Uncle Dob rode south out of town with Sunny following. The air was brisk, and the sun shone — a perfect fall day. As they rode along, Melly glanced about with interest.

  The rises, one could hardly call them a hill, seemed familiar. Rocks and boulders were strewn along the sloping sides.

  She realized how blessed she was, riding along with her Uncle Dob who loved her, who had bought her the beautiful blouse, who made sure she was safe. And she headed to see her sister, her sister she’d not seen for over fifteen years, the sister she’d thought was lost to her forever.

  Something came straight toward her, and she leaned forward, grasping Brown’s mane, and gasped for breath.

  Uncle Dob pulled his horse to a stop and grabbed the mare’s bridle. “Nothing but an old hawk. Nothing to worry about.” He pointed at it flying toward one of the small hills.

  Melly straightened in the saddle and followed the flight of the hawk. The place he flew looked more familiar than ever. She gasped when the realization hit her. It was Four Oaks.

  Boyd and Obadiah had brought her there, on the way to the cabin in the woods.

  “Melly?” Uncle Dob released the bridle. “Do you need to rest a bit? Have a bite to eat? You look a mite peaked.”

  She shook her head, her gaze sweeping the area around them. His very presence hovered in the air. Boyd. She turned her horse’s head toward Four Oaks. She raised herself in the stirrups and looked around.

  Uncle Dob rode up alongside her. “What’re you doing?”

  “Boyd is up there. And Thatcher may be also.” And maybe Oba.

  Uncle Dob’s forehead creased in puzzlement. “Where?”

  “There’s a hideout, up that slope. See those trees? There’s a bush with a hidden entrance.” She continued to urge Brown forward, into a trot.

  “You ain’t going up there?” Uncle Dob called after her. “Come back, ’fore you get yourself killed.”

  But she refused to yield to his voice. Esther had faced her fears, and she could, too. If Oba was there, he would help her. She’d have to convince him to save Thatcher, too.

  Any fear she had left her, replaced with a certainty. Thatcher was there, and only she could help him.

  She kicked Brown into a gallop and charged up the hill. “If I perish, I perish,” she yelled, like a battle cry.

  WHEN MELLY ARRIVED at the oak trees, she paused. Was she being foolish, walking straight into the hideout like this? Thatcher may not even be here or Boyd. Foolish, yes, but she had to know. If Oba was here, she must explain why she’d left. He’d surely wondered.

  She dismounted and led Brown to the bush. One more step, and she’d be through. She dropped the reins and left Brown as she pushed aside the branches.

  Her heart thumping in her ears, she stepped through. No one was in the tunnel. She moved silently.

  When she reached the end, she did not step boldly into the sun. Instead, she peered cautiously around the edge. No one was in sight, but the sound of voices carried to her.

  She inhaled deeply and moved onto the path. As she came to its end, two men came into view — Boyd and Obadiah. They were sitting on the front porch of the small cabin, and both came to their feet when they saw her.

  “Told you he was lying,” Obadiah said. He didn’t smile but relief shone in his eyes.

  Boyd’s face lit up with a smile. “Isn’t that just like my girl? Came straight to me.” He approached her, put his arm around her shoulders, and placed the back of his hand to her cheek. “We’re happy to see you, aren’t we Oba?”

  Melly swallowed down her fear at the man’s touch. “I’m glad I found you.” The man disgusted her, but she couldn’t make him angry. If she played her cards right, he would lead her to Thatcher.

  “Where’s Sam Dobson? The man you were with.” Obadiah asked.

  Melly frowned. “Who? I was with that strange man, William something. He forced me to go with him.”

  “William Thatcher Rainer?” Boyd asked.

  “Yes, I believe that was his name. He left me at a hotel in town, and I remembered Four Oaks was close by. After he left, I knew I had a chance to get away. I didn’t know where else to go but here.” Her gaze traveled to Obadiah. “I’ve been so scared.” A tear slid down her cheek, not entirely forced.

  Boyd squeezed her shoulder. “Come with me. You’ll want to see this.”

  She stopped a shudder and hoped he didn’t notice. She took a deep breath to calm herself and took his arm to walk beside Boyd.

  ALTHOUGH IT SEEMED every inch of his body throbbed with pain, Thatcher felt stronger since drinking from the lake. Footsteps approached, but he remained unmoving. They’d probably notice he’d washed away some of the blood, but again, maybe not.

  Obadiah kicked him, and Thatcher groaned.

  “Get up,” the man said. “We got us a visitor.”

  Before Thatcher painfully got to his feet, he knew. “Melly.”

  She reached for him, but Boyd had her by the arm and jerked her back. He backhanded her, and her hair fell loose, curtaining her face.

  Thatcher lunged for him, but Obadiah gave a push that
sent him reeling. He sprawled backwards. The old man grabbed his shirt and yanked him to his feet.

  Boyd looked from Thatcher to Melly. “Like I suspected, soiled goods.”

  Melly’s free hand brushed her hair back.

  Boyd surveyed Melly with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I had our life all planned out. Another couple months. I already bought a spread, down Texas way. Too bad it had to end like this, because of some cowboy.” Boyd spit. “He ain’t even a cowboy, Melly, you know that? He’s just an old country boy like me. But he straps on a gun, puts on a hat, like he’s someone he ain’t.”

  Thatcher had failed, failed Melly as surely as he’d failed Isabella. They would die, but he wouldn’t die like a coward. He straightened his shoulders. “Never called myself a cowboy. That’s the moniker Obadiah gave me.” He tilted his head. “But just maybe, I’m becoming one.” He attempted a smile at Melly.

  Boyd waved a hand in the air. “Obadiah, got your knife?”

  Obadiah pulled it from his boot and handed it to Boyd.

  Boyd held it to Melly’s throat. “Oba, grab the so-called cowboy and hold him.”

  Obadiah did as he was told, but he held Thatcher’s arms loosely, behind his back.

  Boyd grinned. “Unfortunately, he didn’t get to see his wife’s death, but he gets to watch me slit Melly’s throat. Almost as good, eh, Thatch?”

  Thatcher heard Obadiah’s grunt of disapproval and then the old man released him completely. Thatcher lunged forward, grabbed the knife, and plunged it into Boyd. Melly pulled the gun from Boyd’s holster and twisted around to Obadiah whose hands were slowly raising in surrender.

  Boyd fell to his knees and made a gurgling sound that Thatcher had heard before. The sound of death. He glanced at Melly who had a look of determination on her face. He made sure Boyd was dead and got to his feet.

  A shot rang out, and Thatcher turned to see Sam running toward them. He turned back to Melly when she cried out.

  Obadiah staggered back, a hand to his chest. He slumped to the ground, and Melly fell to her knees by his side.