Bound for Glory

by Tess LeSue

  “It’s that easy, is it?” she snapped. He’d really touched a nerve now. She was smoldering with fury. “Do you know what kinds of jobs there are for women? Cooking? Doing laundry? Being a maid? Or whoring? As a wife, a mistress or a cut-rate whore—taking care of a man is one of those jobs regular people do,” she said angrily, “when they’re women. And I don’t see why I have to do it.” She managed to get her anger under control. “And I don’t have to do it. Because of Deathrider. Because of him, I’ve been able to support myself and put money away for my future.”

  “Because of him . . . ?” Deathrider felt a bolt of fury. “Because you made up stories up about him.”

  “Everything I wrote was based in fact.” She sounded absolutely sincere. It was infuriating. Either she was a consummate liar, or she was willfully naïve.

  “He didn’t rape that Fuller girl,” Deathrider told her firmly. “And he never kidnapped a child. Or shot up a town.”

  “Yes, he did,” she snapped. “I was in Mariposa. I saw the bullet holes. I heard all about it.”

  “Other than Mariposa,” he amended.

  “How do you know?” she asked suspiciously. “Have you met him?”

  “Have you?” He waited for her to lie to him.

  “Fordham Fuller told me himself about how Deathrider raped his daughter.”

  “Maybe Fordham Fuller was a liar,” Deathrider said, struggling to keep his voice calm. He’d never so much as met Fordham Fuller. At least so far as he knew. And he’d never raped a human being in his life, let alone a child. The fact that this daft woman had written a book about it, smearing his name, made his blood boil.

  “He didn’t seem like a liar,” Ava said, but there was a thread of doubt in there. “But Matt Slater . . . he said the same as you. He said Fordham wasn’t telling the truth . . . and that Deathrider was innocent.”

  Thank you, Matt.

  “But I don’t see how Matt Slater would know,” she snapped. “He wasn’t there. And why would Fuller have lied about something like that? A man’s not likely to make up a story about his daughter being raped . . .”

  “But he might be mistaken about who did it.”

  Ava sighed. He wondered if she’d start patting herself the way she patted him when he was upset. “I have had my doubts since talking to Slater,” she admitted quietly. “And about a few other things too . . .”

  He frowned. “What other things?”

  “I don’t know. Small things. Things that never quite added up. It’s just . . . what if I’ve been wrong?”

  “You are wrong.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Yes, he did.

  “I got all those stories from reliable sources,” she insisted. “I tried to check them, as best as I was able . . . mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Well,” she said defensively, “sometimes I just need to get a book in on time, and there isn’t quite enough information and so I have to . . .”

  “Lie?”

  “Fill in the gaps.”

  “With lies.”

  “If something is clearly a lie, I don’t tell the story,” she snapped. “I only write things that happened.”

  “You think you do.” He didn’t know if that made the whole situation better or worse. She seemed utterly sincere. Even conflicted. Confused. Troubled.

  “Yes. I think I do . . .” She sighed again. “But sometimes I have doubts. After Matt Slater . . . I have doubts about Fordham Fuller’s story.”

  “But you went on to write about Slater too,” he reminded her. “You made the Slaters’ lives a misery with that book. And none of it was true.”

  “Yes, it was! I was there for most of that one. I witnessed it firsthand. He was a mail-order groom. He did marry the widow Smith. And she was notorious. And Deathrider did go by the name Tom Slater—they said they were brothers.”

  In retrospect, that had been one of Matt’s dumber ideas. It had put his brother Tom in danger. Effectively, he now faced all the same dangers as Deathrider did—because people now thought they were the same person. Deathrider wondered how Tom and Seline were coping, out there on the run, and whether they’d had the misfortune of running into any of these Hunters on their way to Mexico.

  “Lady, you have one poison pen,” he said, thinking about the ripple effect of her books and the number of people whose lives they had upended.

  She went quiet again. It was a heavy kind of quiet, loaded. Brooding.

  Against his better judgment, he found himself feeling sorry for her.

  21

  AVA WAS A light sleeper on the trail, especially when the likes of Kennedy Voss were about, so it didn’t take much to wake her. Becky barely touched her, and she jerked awake.

  “Hush,” Becky hissed, putting a hand over her mouth to silence her. “We’re getting you out of here.”

  Ava couldn’t pull the hand away from her mouth because Voss had roped her up again, much to the merriment of their traveling party. The Hunters thought it was hilarious that she was tied up every night. Especially after Voss had told them about the laudanum.

  “Drugged me near about to death,” he said, grinning at their hilarity. He was as amused as the rest of them. He was one strange man. “And those trailhounds too. All of us drooling idiots, and the damn dreams we all had! One of those boys thought he was flying, kept saying he was an eagle or some nonsense. I wouldn’t have minded being an eagle, but I just nodded off like a fool. Must have slept two whole days straight through.” He gave Ava a pat on the cheek after he finished tying her up. “She’s a tricky one, this one. Gotta keep a tight rein on her.”

  Well, he had a tight rein on her now, she’d thought morosely as her hands went numb. She hated being tied up. It was demeaning. And the sense of powerlessness was horrific. How in the hell could she protect herself, tied up like this? She didn’t sleep well and was on such a hair trigger that she kicked out hard when Becky woke her.

  “It’s just me,” Becky hissed.

  It was deep night. The fire had fallen to ashes, and most of the group were silent in their canvas tents. Ava had a clear view of Voss, who had his back to her. He seemed to be fast asleep. When it was clear that Ava wasn’t going to scream, Becky took her hand away from Ava’s mouth and fussed with her ropes. She couldn’t get the knots undone.

  “Leave them,” Lord Whatsit whispered. “I’ll carry her to the horse, and we’ll sort her out once we’re away.”

  Of course he was involved too. The two of them were as thick as thieves.

  “I’m not leaving without my Indian,” Ava hissed at them.

  “As if we’d leave him behind!” Becky told her in a whisper. She sounded like she was enjoying herself.

  Ava was strung as tight as fencing wire when Lord Whatsit carried her to the horses. To her astonishment, the Apache was already there. But he was up on Lord Whatsit’s horse, instead of on Freckles. And he was gagged as well as blindfolded. She bet he wasn’t happy about it either.

  “You can ride with Becky,” Lord Whatsit whispered, “until we get you untied.” He plonked her on Becky’s sturdy little mare.

  They slunk out of the camp, and Ava winced at every clink of a bridle or snort of a horse.

  “Don’t worry. They won’t wake up,” Becky laughed. “We stole your idea and drugged them. Jussy had a bottle of laudanum in his baggage, and when Voss kept going on and on about how you’d tricked him, I thought Why not? Voss was so busy worrying about you, he never stopped to think I might be a threat to him.” She sounded deeply proud of herself. “People always underestimate me.”

  “It’s because you’re such a little thing, petal,” Lord Whatsit said admiringly.

  Petal?

  “Are you two a couple now?” Ava asked in astonishment. She knew they should probably save talking until they were well away, but her
curiosity got the best of her. And now that she knew the Hunters were all drugged, she felt a little calmer. Calm enough to want to know if Becky and his lordship were lovers. Becky was such a stringy, rough sort of girl, and Lord Whatsit was . . . well, he was Lord Whatsit.

  “Oh no,” Becky giggled, sounding very young. “I’m not stupid. After Pete, I know men aren’t to be trusted. But we’re having fun together, aren’t we, Jussy?”

  “You are the moon in my sky, petal.”

  Becky laughed. “Pete used to say things like that too before I gave in to him. I’ve learned my lesson though. I ain’t never giving in to a man again.”

  Becky let Lord Whatsit ride ahead on his Arab, which had a faster gait than her little mare. The moon was sickle thin and riding low. They didn’t have long until dawn.

  “I don’t reckon he’s too interested in women anyway, to be honest,” Becky told Ava cheerfully, as they put some distance between themselves and the camp. “He’s never once got handsy or tried to kiss me.”

  “He’s English,” Ava pointed out. “Maybe they do things differently?”

  “Maybe. But he’s a lord, and I’m . . . well, me. There ain’t no future in it.” She paused and then giggled again. “But he sure is a hoot to travel with.”

  “I bet,” Ava said dryly.

  “And he’s a crack shot! You’ve never seen anyone shoot like him. He’ll manage to keep the other Hunters away from Deathrider, no problems.”

  Ava frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Jussy will be able to shoot anyone before they get within ten feet of him.”

  Something wasn’t adding up. “Shoot who?” Ava asked, confused.

  “Voss and those maniacs! With Jussy with us, we’ll be able to get Deathrider to San Francisco easily. And then we can claim the prize!” Becky sounded giddy with excitement.

  Ava felt a shock go right through her. Deathrider. Things fell into place. “Pete Hamble does have him. I knew it! Have you seen them already?” Her mind was racing. “And he’s still alive? Do you think we’ll catch up to him in the next few hours? Untie me!”

  “Pete Hamble?” Becky sounded confused. “What do you mean, Pete Hamble? Why would we want to catch up to Pete Hamble?”

  For a moment it was like Becky was speaking a foreign language; Ava couldn’t find the meaning in the words.

  “You said we’d be taking Deathrider to San Francisco . . . ,” she said slowly.

  “Yes,” Becky agreed, and now she was sounding a bit annoyed. “We will. Jussy and I got you free from Voss, so I think we’ve got every right to share in the prize.”

  “But . . .” Ava couldn’t find the logic. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you think you caught him fair and square, and of course you did, but Voss had both of you trapped. So it’s only fair now that we’ve rescued you that we split the profits three ways.”

  Voss had both of you . . .

  Both of you . . .

  “Wait. What?”

  “I can leave you tied up too, you know, and Jussy and I can haul you both into San Francisco and keep all the money for ourselves.” Becky clearly thought Ava was being greedy; she’d missed the fact that Ava was reeling.

  “Becky,” Ava said sharply, “slow down. I’m lost. When you say . . .” Jesus wept, it couldn’t be true. Both of you . . . “When you say ‘both of us,’ you mean me and . . . and . . .” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “And . . .”

  “And Deathrider,” Becky snapped. “Obviously.”

  Obviously. Ava felt faint; the world spun around her. Both of you . . . Ava and . . . Oh my God, her Apache . . . her Apache . . . Her mind flashed back to finding him in the desert. He’d been beaten and bruised and naked . . . because . . . Jesus wept, of course. Because he was the most wanted man in the west!

  She felt like a complete fool. All of this time . . .

  She hadn’t even wanted to know his name, not until recently.

  My mother called me Nathaniel. . . .

  She’d never seen his eyes, she realized. Because of the swelling and then the blindfold, she had no idea what color they were—they could very well be as pale as ice. And she’d only assumed he was an Apache because she found him in the Apacheria. What she thought was the Apacheria. Maybe.

  But how was she to know what kind of Indian he was? Especially when he was naked . . .

  She remembered the silvery white scars and the old bullet holes in his beautiful rosewood skin.

  Why hadn’t it occurred to her that he might be Deathrider?

  Because she’d been blinded by the story that Ortiz already had Deathrider . . . She’d made a rookie mistake. She hadn’t questioned things; she’d taken them for granted. She’d made assumptions. And because her Apache—Nathaniel—didn’t look at all like she imagined Deathrider would, it hadn’t even occurred to her. He’d been weak and battered: defeated. And she’d been picturing . . .

  Oh my God. She remembered bathing him. The strength of him, the incredible musculature of a warrior in peak condition. The tattoos. That was what she pictured when she thought of Deathrider. She’d been staring the truth in the face all along. . . .

  “Becky,” she said numbly. “Just give me a minute here. You’re saying that my Apache is . . . is . . . the Plague of the West . . . ?”

  Becky was puzzled. “What?”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Of course he is. You know he is. You and Voss told us he is.”

  Oh. Ava deflated. Becky had believed Voss’s lies. That was all. For a moment, she felt utterly ridiculous for even considering that the Apache was . . . But then Ava remembered something. “Hold on,” she said abruptly. “Becky . . . you’ve met Deathrider before. You know him . . .”

  “I traveled with him in Matt Slater’s wagon train, from Independence,” Becky reminded her. “I must have gone almost five hundred miles or more with him, before he disappeared. Back when he was going by the name Tom Slater. I’d know him anywhere,” Becky said with satisfaction. “And so will Pete. When we turn up at the Palladium with him, we’ll win the prize for sure.” Becky sounded a bit breathless. “And then Pete will see what I’m worth.”

  Ava’s head hurt. “Are you telling me I’ve been traveling with the Plague of the West this whole time?”

  Becky finally seemed to catch up. “Wait. Are you telling me you didn’t know?”

  “Get these ropes off me.” Ava held her wrists up. “Now.”

  Once she was untied, she took over the reins and drove the mare hard after Lord Whatsit and the Apache. Becky squealed and hung on for dear life. By the time they caught up to the Arab, a screamingly pink-and-orange sunrise was breaking, flooding the world with light. All the better to see him with . . .

  “Stop!” Ava called to Lord Whatsit.

  Confused, he slowed his animal.

  “Don’t let her snatch him off us, Jussy!” Becky ordered. “Get your gun out!”

  “I’m not shooting a woman,” he said, appalled.

  “You don’t have to shoot her—just stop her from stealing him.”

  Ava ignored them. She slid off the mare as soon as they’d all stopped, and she yanked on the Apache’s—Deathrider’s—bound hands, pulling him off Lord Whatsit’s Arab. Lord Whatsit let him go, much to Becky’s displeasure. Ava yanked the gag out of his mouth. She needed to talk to him.

  “He’s ours now. Don’t go letting her just take him!” Becky complained to Lord Whatsit. She stayed mounted so she could give chase if they ran for it.

  “Now, petal, be sporting. To be fair, she’s the one who caught him.”

  Ava ignored them. She ripped the Apache’s blindfold off.

  Her knees just about gave way beneath her. It was true.

  The swelling around his eyes had gone down completely, and staring back at her were the palest, most
striking ice blue eyes she’d ever seen. They were thickly fringed with black lashes, which only made them seem paler.

  “Apache,” she said weakly. “You’re . . . you’re . . .” She felt unsteady, like she was trying to keep her balance in the middle of an earthquake. “You’re him.”

  He showed no sign of unsteadiness at all. He was even regal as he stared her down. Then his gaze flicked up to Becky. “Seems like bad luck you were in the group,” he said mildly. “You’re one of the few people who could have known.”

  “Not bad luck,” Becky contradicted him. “Not at all. You’re about to make my fortune.”

  The ghost of a chilly smile crossed his archer’s bow lips. “Is that so?”

  “You’re Deathrider,” Ava burst out, still not quite able to believe it. She felt shocked to her core. And more than a little betrayed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I can’t imagine why,” he said sourly. He met her gaze, and she felt lightning chase through her. “And from memory,” he told her, “you didn’t want to know my name.”

  It was true. She was such an idiot.

  Now that she knew who he was, she looked at him afresh. She saw his height and the power in his body. The proud look. This was the man she’d been writing about all of these years. She shivered. It was like finding out a fairy tale had come to life. . . .

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said numbly. Because what else was there to say?

  “I wish I could say the same,” he replied. His pale eyes were as cold as ice as he swept her with his gaze. “But you, I’m afraid, have been a crushing disappointment.”

  22

  HE KEPT REMEMBERING the look of hurt on her face. It was ridiculous to care about her feelings when she’d almost caused his death a thousand times over. But Deathrider found he did care. He kept replaying her look of shock and the way her face drained of color before she flushed, turning red from the tip of one ear all the way to the tip of the other; she’d winced like a child being scolded by her mother, crestfallen, ashamed; and then her chin had jerked up and she’d fought to give him a haughty look. She’d stared him down. Like a queen. Even her battered brown hat seemed like a crown, considering the imperious way she held her head. But there’d still been a look of hurt in her eyes.