The Wren

by Kristy McCaffrey

  Pushing open the door to the bunkhouse, she started reconsidering her plan since Cale would probably shoot the darn thing.

  It took a moment for Molly’s eyes to adjust to the darkness of the large, empty room, bunks lined along the far wall. She stopped short; she wasn’t alone.

  George, a young, wiry ranch hand held her younger sister Emma at the far end of the room. At first, Molly didn’t understand what she witnessed as the youth handled her little sister so roughly the girl was crying. But then comprehension hit her, along with a wave of fear and nausea. Without thinking, she reached into the pocket of her dress and grasped one of the larger rocks she had collected earlier in the day. Using her slingshot, she shot George Sawyer in the back of the head.

  Using words she’d picked up from Matt and Cale, she yelled, “You son-of-a-bitch! You let her go!”

  Rubbing the back of his head, George spun around. “What the hell?” His pants hung open from his hips.

  Molly couldn’t believe what this sickening man was trying to do to her eight-year-old little sister. She loaded another rock and shot it into his face.

  “You little piece of shit,” he cried, covering his face with his right hand while trying to pull his pants up with his left. Blood oozed between his fingers.

  “Emma,” Molly said urgently. “Come here, quickly.”

  Her little sister ran to her side.

  “You’ll be sorry about this mister,” Molly said, her voice shaking. She put an arm around Emma and held her close.

  “I’ll be sorry?” George cackled. “You little witch! You’ll regret this.”

  “No,” Molly said calmly. “You’ll regret this. I’ll make sure of it.”

  George made a move to lunge for her but stopped when Matt’s voice could be heard outside.

  “Molly? You better be behaving yourself in there.”

  George hesitated, then turned and went out the door at the back of the building.

  When Matt entered, Molly still rigidly held Emma to her side.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

  She almost told him, but a sob from Emma stopped her. Although unsure as to exactly what had happened, she did know it was bad. She also knew she would do anything to protect her sister.

  “Nothing’s wrong. But I need to see my papa immediately.”

  Matt seemed ready to argue, but she quickly moved past him, pulling Emma with her.

  After calming her sister down, Molly found her father and without flinching lied to him, slowly and carefully. Instinctively, she knew how she told the story would determine George Sawyer’s fate. So, she told her papa how Sawyer cornered and attacked her in the bunkhouse. She also included several other incidences, untrue of course, but Molly suspected maybe that hadn’t been the case for Emma.

  At all costs, she would protect her sister. Any shame on the victim would be shouldered by Molly. She and Emma agreed later that night not to speak of it again, to anyone. And the next day, George Sawyer was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Where the hell is she?” Matt demanded.

  As he looked from Nathan to his mother, Matt experienced a surge of alarm he hadn’t felt since that day ten years ago when a nine-year-old Molly had gone missing.

  “Settle down, son,” his father said from behind him.

  “Maybe she went to see Davis,” Nathan said.

  “Now, why on earth would she do that?” Mrs. McAllister asked. “I think it’s clear her gypsy ways finally got the best of her, and she simply moved on.”

  Matt stared at the elderly woman. Lizzie stood nearby, as did Logan. He thought he glimpsed Rosita lurking somewhere in the hallway; breakfast had been laid out and quickly forgotten.

  “And what would you know of Molly’s gypsy ways?” Matt asked slowly, knowing he needed to tread carefully, but his gut told him somehow the old bat was involved.

  “Well, I won’t deny the rumors I’ve heard about Miss Hart,” the old woman said in her defense.

  “And what rumors would those be?” he asked lethally.

  “She lived with the Comanche, the most ill-bred and contemptible of all savages.”

  Lizzie gasped. “Is that true?”

  “Yes, it’s true,” Mrs. McAllister continued. “I’d hoped to spare you the grisly details, Lizzie, but it’s probably for the best it’s come out into the open.”

  “Best for who?” Matt barely kept his anger contained. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. What exactly did you say to her?”

  Glaring back at him, Elizabeth McAllister pursed her lips and coolly assessed him. “I explained to her what she was, and how her presence would do nothing but hurt the Ryan family. You’ve all been far too kind to the girl. You couldn’t possibly hope for her to become one of us again.”

  Matt moved toward the old woman but his mother intercepted him, grasping his shoulders. “Matthew.”

  Logan shifted to stand beside him, as did Nathan.

  Susanna turned around to face the woman. “I’m afraid there’s been a grave misunderstanding, Elizabeth. Molly is a part of our family, and your interference—however well-intentioned you believe it to be—is most unwelcome.”

  “But your own son is carrying on with her,” Elizabeth shrieked. “You would allow this in your own home? You would allow a bastard child contaminated by the filth of those people?”

  “That’s enough!” Jonathan roared. A heavily charged silence engulfed the room. After a moment, he continued, his voice lowered but just as decisive. “Susanna and I trust our son. Anything beyond that is none of your business. I must ask you and Lizzie to get your things and leave immediately.”

  Elizabeth McAllister clamped her mouth shut, but her nostrils flared obscenely with every ragged breath she took. “So be it.” She walked stiffly from the parlor.

  Lizzie stayed back, her face pale and stunned. “Mr. and Mrs. Ryan, I had no idea,” she said in a rush of breathless words. “Please accept my sincerest apologies. I like Molly and don’t agree with any of what my mama just said.”

  “Thank you,” Susanna replied.

  “Run along now and help your mother,” Jonathan said gruffly. “I’ll see the both of you home.”

  “Yes, sir.” She left the parlor.

  “I hadn’t realized Elizabeth’s malice ran so deep,” Susanna said.

  “Why do you say that?” Logan asked.

  “Maybe you can have pity on her if you knew what her husband did to her years ago,” his father replied. “Charles McAllister became involved with an Indian woman, and Elizabeth eventually learned of his betrayal. It would seem she’s laying the blame at the feet of all Indians rather than face the very real marital problems she and Charles had during the time we knew them.”

  “That’s no excuse to attack Molly,” Matt said furiously.

  “No, but that’s behind us for the moment,” Jonathan said. “What we need to do now is find her. Then I’ll sit down with you, Matthew, and you can explain your intentions to me. And they’d better be damn good!”

  Matt stared at his old man. “Yes, sir.”

  “How is Davis?” his mother asked.

  “He’ll live,” his pa answered.

  “Did you find out who did it?” Nathan asked.

  “A man named George Sawyer, who worked for Walker,” Logan answered. “We tried to find him, but lost his trail about thirty miles northwest of here.”

  “Sawyer?” Susanna repeated softly. “Was he the same George Sawyer who worked at the Harts’ years ago?”

  “Yeah,” Matt answered. “Do you remember him?”

  “No, but I do remember Rosemary telling me about an incident with him and Molly. She was just a child.” She paused. “It was terrible really. He tried to…force himself on her.”

  “What?” Matt couldn’t hide his outrage.

  “Molly finally told Robert what happened, so of course he let the man go immediately. I believe that was the end of it.”

  Matt swor
e under his breath. It certainly wasn’t the end of it as far as he was concerned.

  “Logan, go with Matt and track Molly down,” Jonathan commanded. “She can’t have gotten far.”

  “I’ll go too,” Nathan offered.

  “Make haste, boys.” The old man hesitated, then clapped Matt on the shoulders. “I’ve always been proud of you, and I trust your judgment, but when you find her, keep your damn hands to yourself. You hear me?”

  “We’ll chaperone them, Mr. Ryan,” Nathan added, departing with Logan to get horses and supplies ready.

  “Don’t know how good a chaperone that Blackmore fella would be, so I’ll just trust you to do the right thing.” His father grabbed his hat then left the house, the screen door banging behind him.

  Matt looked at his mother.

  “Do you love her?” she asked.

  He hadn’t thought of his feelings for Molly along those lines, but his answer came quickly. “Yes.” It all fell into place then, the rightness so obvious he wondered why he’d fought it for so long. The future only mattered if Molly was a part of it. All these years, she was the missing piece. All these years, a part of him had waited for her. He’d been given another chance, and this time he was determined not to fail.

  “Then tell her.”

  * * *

  Matt, Nathan and Logan tracked Molly to the remains of the Hart ranch. It wasn’t difficult. Pecos’ distinctive gait was easy to follow and fortunately it hadn’t rained during the night. A search of the premises, however, showed it to be deserted.

  Nathan came out of the stables. “It was definitely occupied. There are fresh droppings.”

  Logan came out of the homestead holding an empty whiskey bottle, a somber expression on his face. Matt didn’t like any of this. Someone else had been here with Molly.

  “There’s somethin’ else you should see,” Logan said, gesturing for the other two to follow him back into the house.

  He led them into the main bedroom, the one Matt had shared with Molly several weeks ago. The memory of that night made his stomach muscles tense. He wouldn’t lose her now, not after finding her again. Not after finding her here. The chance of their paths crossing in the middle of nowhere was too much of a coincidence.

  He had been drawn to this place, drawn to her. There was no plausible explanation for it because nothing was reasonable or logical about loving her.

  Logan pointed to a pillar near the fireplace. A rope was tied around it, the ends ragged, as if quickly cut.

  “Someone tied her up,” Nathan said flatly.

  “Who the hell would take her hostage?” Logan asked.

  Matt turned it over in his mind, knowing he had the answer. “We lost Sawyer’s trail near here.”

  “You think he’s the one who’s got her?” Logan shook his head in disbelief. “Why would he go to the trouble of hauling her with him? He’d move much faster alone.”

  “Not if he has a vendetta against her.” Matt suppressed a rising swell of panic. He needed to think clearly or else he’d never find her.

  “You mean about what he did to her when she was a little girl?” Logan considered the possibility. “How would he even know it was her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he simply took her as a bargaining tool, in case the law caught up with him for shooting Walker.”

  “Why did he shoot Walker?” Nathan asked.

  “No one was quite sure,” Logan responded. “Davis still hadn’t come to when we were there so he couldn’t tell us, but knowing Davis, I’m sure it was a deal gone bad.”

  “Logan, do you remember when Robert Hart sent Sawyer packing?” Matt concentrated on the memory.

  “Not really,” his brother replied.

  “I have to admit, I didn’t give it much thought at the time either, but I do remember Hart looked a little roughed up afterwards, like he’d been in a fight. I know if I were in his position, I would’ve beat Sawyer until he couldn’t breathe anymore.”

  “Perfect motive to come back later with a posse, kill the man responsible, and steal the child who turned you in.” Nathan’s words hung heavy in the room.

  It all made sense to Matt now. And every nerve in his body told him Sawyer knew exactly who Molly was. He had to find her.

  “Let’s go.”

  The three of them were in the saddle and riding hard in the space of a heartbeat.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Molly felt like vomiting. Sawyer made her ride Pecos on her stomach, draped over the saddle sideways, her hands tied behind her back, her feet bound at the ankles. All day she’d endured this. As nightfall approached, he finally stopped and pulled her to the ground. She immediately fell to her knees. With effort, she steadied herself until the world stopped spinning.

  Sawyer laughed. “Feeling sick?” He grabbed the back of her shirt and shoved her away from the horses. Tripping, she fell on her face.

  Desperately she tried to focus her thoughts. If she didn’t escape, Sawyer would almost certainly kill her, but not before he had fun with her, something he’d crudely commented on all day.

  Bile rose in her throat. She thought of Matt and tears burned her eyes. It was hard to imagine this might be the end for her, and that she had stupidly left without saying goodbye to him. She owed him that, at least; owed Susanna and Jonathan a thank you for all they had done for her. But she had run away, and now she might never have the chance.

  Sawyer hobbled the horses, then made a fire. Molly lay on the ground and watched him. He was really a very shortsighted man, she decided—smoke from the fire would easily be spotted by a search party. She knew, however, such a hope was small, if it existed at all. No one would know where she’d gone, if they even noticed she was gone in the first place. Regretfully, she realized she should’ve left a note.

  No, a rescue was most likely not a possibility, even with the help of Sawyer’s smoke signals. She would need to get away on her own.

  Sawyer finally approached and pushed her up to a sitting position, grabbing her breasts roughly at the same time.

  “Keep your hands off me!” she yelled, struggling to get away from him.

  He contemplated her for a moment and a blank expression crossed his face. With a peculiar demeanor he walked off, abruptly leaving her alone.

  Molly glanced around the clearing where they had stopped for the night. The sound of running water could be heard in the distance. She scanned the area again, noticing the large cluster of cottonwoods off to the right and a gradual uphill slope to the left. She knew this place, this particular pattern of vegetation, and the hill especially.

  Had she dreamt of it? Taking a deep breath, she tried to remember why this area seemed so familiar to her. The Kwahadi. They had camped here one summer when she was with them. The teepees were placed closer to the water, but Molly could remember scouting this area many times with her Comanche sisters.

  There was a cave located on the hill. It was the very place Running Water had almost been attacked by the rattler, the very place the snake had bitten Molly instead. She wondered if she could still locate it. All she needed was a chance to run.

  “Could you untie my feet?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “They’ve gone numb.”

  “Too bad.” Sawyer rifled through his saddlebag, undoubtedly searching for something to eat.

  “I need to relieve myself.”

  He glanced at her, and his greasy hair and dirty face turned her stomach. She could hardly bring herself to hold his gaze.

  “So shit all over yourself,” he said loudly, waving his arms and leering at her. “I don’t care.”

  “Why are you even bothering with me?” She attempted to swallow past the dryness in her throat.

  Sawyer had spoken very little to her the previous night, managing to tie her to a post inside the house before passing out, obviously from too much whiskey as evidenced by an empty bottle nearby. Molly spent several hours trying to free herself, but to no avail. Despite being drunk, he had still been able to bind
her hands and feet much too tightly.

  “When I think back on it,” Sawyer sneered, “you really were the start of all my bad luck. Finding you yesterday was the first bit of good luck I’ve had in a while. You and that goddamn slingshot.”

  Molly watched him, cautious of where this was headed.

  “You told your pa such filthy lies about me,” he continued. “He not only sent me walking—he whipped me good before he did. I didn’t deserve that. It was all your fault, you know. You’re due payback. Thought I was done with you when Cale brought back that wonderfully burned body.”

  She flinched at his words.

  “I took care of your pa and you in one very productive night,” he added.

  “What did you say?” A chill overtook her.

  “I told you, you’d regret ever messin’ with me.”

  As understanding dawned, her heart broke anew. “You attacked the ranch that night,” she whispered. “You killed my folks.”

  “Killed a few more people than I intended, but you can’t arrange for everything. I had some nice plans for you, but then those damned Indians snatched you. I had to dispose of the bodies they left behind myself, not an easy job that one. Those Comanche must’ve liked you after all, to let you live. But now here you are, back in my arms again. Must be fate.” Sawyer grinned, his teeth rimmed with black. Revolted, she looked away, devastated by what he’d just told her.

  It hadn’t been Davis Walker who’d sent a group of men to murder her parents. It had been George Sawyer, and all because she lied to Robert Hart about Sawyer forcing himself on her.

  Molly couldn’t regret the untruth because it had protected Emma, but the chain of events that followed had been in some way her own fault. If she had found some other way to deal with Sawyer all those years ago then maybe Robert and Rosemary Hart would be alive today.

  The knowledge shattered her. Shaking, she tried to conceal it from the man sitting across from her. No, not a man, an animal.