Hostage Heart

by Lindsay McKenna

  Fuming, Cameron clenched his teeth. “You see that cowboy on the black horse in the middle of their line?’

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s Kincaid.” Cameron counted the Gallagher ranch hands. “That’s all of their hands, too. I don’t see the breed. She’s probably back at the ranch with the families. If all the men are here, that means that place is undefended.”

  “Which one you want me to finish off first? Or does it matter?”

  “My boys will handle Kincaid. He’ll be a moving target once we get close enough. You know where the ranch is. Ride there and find that bitch. Kill her. Then come back here and start picking off the vermin that’s riding with her outfit.”

  Grinning, Devlin nodded. “Be right back, boss.” He spurred his paint horse into an immediate gallop.

  Cameron turned to his foreman. “Stampede them, Tom,” he snarled. “Drive them right down the throat of that valley.”

  “Yes, sir!” The foreman pulled the gun from his holster, aiming the barrel skyward.

  The Colt roared into the dawn, sending a rippling shock wave through the herd. Almost immediately, every hand followed the foreman’s signal and fired his gun. Within moments, the cattle became a thundering herd that shook the hills. Excitement poured into Cameron’s blood. He urged his horse into a gallop, unable to resist the awesome spectacle, wanting to be there to watch the herd destroy that pitiful line of wranglers waiting for them in the distance. And all the time, he kept his gaze fixed on Kincaid. “Finally, you bastard, I’m going to get you!”

  A chill gripped Matt. The cattle were like a mighty engine bearing down on them. He remembered the times he and his men had had to charge enemy lines during the Civil War. This was no different, he thought. Raising his gun, he fired it and then spurred his horse forward, into the melee.

  The gelding took ground-eating strides, his neck stretched, his nostrils flared. Matt leaned low, looking right and left. His men were moving with him from the various points, heading straight into the flying hooves of the runaway herd.

  Each pounding stride took him closer. Checking his men, Matt urged them forward at a faster pace. If the cattle smelled the water, everything would be lost. Each second counted. At last he could see the crazed eyes of the steers, their tongues hanging out the sides of their mouths, foam flecking their damp coats.

  It was now or never. Matt began to fire his gun. The others did, too. The cattle began to slow their momentum toward the onrushing line of riders, caught between guns roaring in front of them and behind them. One old steer, a spotted longhorn, veered to the south to escape. Soon the rest of the herd blindly followed.

  “No!” Cameron shrieked, riding into the laboring herd. “Turn them! Turn them!” he screamed to his men. Taking out his gun, he fired at the Gallagher hands. “Kill them!”

  Cameron’s bay grunted when a steer bolted in front of him. Shrieking above the plaintive mooing of the cattle, the gunfire, and the whinnying horses, Cameron tried to get his men to turn the herd back to the east, back toward Gallagher Ranch.

  Matt saw Cameron gallop into the herd in an effort to get it to change direction. The cattle were frenzied and confused, caught between two walls of gunfire.

  Cameron’s lips peeled back in a snarl. Savagely kicking the bay, he forced the horse to gallop against the tide of moving cattle. He’d kill Kincaid himself! He raised his Colt, less than four hundred feet from his target. But just as he aimed, the gelding was hit broadside by a careening, wild-eyed steer. The gun flew out of Cameron’s hand as the horse lost his footing.

  Cameron’s eyes bulged. He felt the horse going down…down beneath hundreds of cattle hooves. With a scream, he jerked back on the reins, hoping to pull the animal’s head up so that he could regain his balance. No! The horse grunted and slammed into the ground. Cameron lifted his legs clear of the stirrups and somersaulted over the animal’s head. Landing on his back, Cameron waited five seconds before the first steer plowed headlong into him.

  Chapter 18

  “Teresa, no!”

  The shriek from Consuelo in the foyer made Lark whirl around. She saw the woman try to grab her escaping ten-year-old daughter before she slipped out the front door of the house. Too late! The child ran toward the barn.

  Consuelo sobbed and turned to Lark. “Patrona, she’s frightened! I told her to stay here! Every time Teresa is scared, she runs to the barn to hide. Oh, Patrona, what am I to do? The gunshots, they’re so close!” The woman picked up her skirts, preparing to go after her daughter.

  “No,” Lark said, gripping Consuelo’s arm. “I’ll go. I know where she hides. Dry your tears, it will be all right.”

  Would it? Lark had heard gunshots echoing over the hill for the last fifteen minutes. Ny-Oden stood at the front door, holding out a rifle to her.

  “Take this, daughter.”

  Lark eyed him warily. Unnerved by the gunfire and worry over Matt’s safety, she didn’t question his command and accepted the weapon, slipping out the front door.

  The yard was deserted. Even the chickens seemed to have realized the danger coming their way and had hidden under the porch. The horses in the corral were restive, nickering nervously to one another.

  Loping across the yard, Lark gripped the rifle in her left hand. Just as she neared the barn, a rifle shot shattered the tense stillness, exploding a geyser of dirt at her booted feet. Lark’s eyes widened at the sight of a blond man dressed in wrangler’s clothes mounted on a pinto. He was holding a Winchester aimed directly at her.

  Lark threw herself to the ground and brought up her own rifle, firing off three shots. The bullets went wild, but they were enough to startle her assailant. The pinto leaped backward as the third shot landed very close to his hooves. The gunman had to concentrate on controlling his startled mount, lowering the rifle momentarily. Lark leaped to her feet and sprinted for the safety of the water trough. Two more shots were fired at her. The first bullet struck the water trough. The second dug savagely into the ground directly behind her.

  Lark rolled to her belly behind the huge trough. Who was that, and why was he shooting at her? He had to be one of Cameron’s men. Fear turned to rage. Just as Lark peeked above the trough to aim the rifle, gunfire erupted from the main house toward the horseman.

  She watched as the gunman whirled his mount around and galloped out of the yard, heading deep into the woods for safety. With a hiss, Lark scrambled to her feet and raced into the barn. She found Teresa hiding in the haymow, only her huge brown eyes, tiny nose and trembling mouth visible.

  “Stay there!” Lark shouted to her, jerking open Kentucky’s stall and leading him out. What if the man was a scout for Cameron? If Lark allowed him to return alive to tell Cameron that the ranch was practically defenseless, everyone’s life would be in jeopardy.

  Grimly she leaped into the saddle and dug her heels into the stallion. The animal leaped forward. Lark guided the stallion out of the barn and galloped across the yard. Once inside the tree line, she wove the horse rapidly among trees, sometimes so close that the bark brushed against her trousers and boots. Ahead, she spotted the white and sorrel pinto galloping in and around the towering pines.

  “Run!” she urged the stallion. “Run like the wind that bore you!”

  The horse strained, his long legs eating up the distance between Lark and the escaping rider. Lark leaned low, not wanting to become a target herself. She watched the pinto. The animal was tiring, the distance between them closing.

  Just as Lark prepared to use the rifle, they broke out of the woods and onto the hill above the ranch. Lark called to the valiant stallion, urging him to produce every ounce of strength he possessed. She was barely cognizant of the herd of cattle or the gunfire to the south of her. The gunman changed direction, riding directly for the cattle in the distance. Lark dropped the reins on the stallion’s neck and, guiding him with leg commands, steadied the weapon against her shoulder. She fired twice, but both bullets went wide.

  The rider s
uddenly slowed. To Lark’s surprise, he skidded his horse to a halt and spun around to face her, aiming his rifle at her. Without thinking, Lark fired off three shots in quick succession to cover her escape, then veered the stallion to the right. When she looked back, she saw the man topple off the horse and hit the ground. Pulling Kentucky to a trot, Lark circled back, her rifle ready.

  Wary of a trick, she dismounted and approached the blond-haired man lying on the churned-up earth. To her shock, the man appeared dead. One of the bullets had caught him in the center of the chest. She stood, trembling. The bright crimson blood glinted in the sun’s strengthening rays. With a cry of disgust, Lark sank to her knees, gagging.

  Matt was the first to recognize the red stallion up on the hill. The cattle had been successfully turned back north and were heading for Cameron’s property once again. He shouted at Herter to take over, then rode across the barren earth toward Lark.

  Lark had dropped the rifle and was bent over, holding her stomach. Bile stung her mouth and tears filled her eyes.

  “Lark?” Matt dismounted and ran to her side. “Are you wounded? Talk to me. Are you all right?” Pulling the curtain of black hair away from her face, he noticed how pale she was, then saw the dead drover ten feet away. Anger that she had disobeyed him warred with concern as he pulled Lark to her feet.

  “I—I’m all right,” she said, seeking and finding his arms.

  “What the hell happened?”

  Fighting her revulsion, Lark pulled away and looked up into Matt’s drawn features, covered with sweat and dust. “I—I killed a man. He came to the ranch and tried to kill me. I was running to the barn to catch Teresa, she’d been frightened by the gunfire. I thought he was a scout for Cameron. I thought he was going back to tell him we were unprotected. I had to stop him. I had to….”

  Matt’s anger melted. Lark was safe. Taking her into his arms, he held her tightly against him. “You didn’t have a choice under the circumstances,” he whispered hoarsely. “I understand.”

  “Take me away from here, Matt. Please,” she begged. “I’m so tired of all the bloodshed and fighting.”

  “I know,” he whispered gruffly. “Come on, let’s get back to Herter and the men.” He set her behind his own saddle and then mounted in front of her, pulling the red stallion behind them.

  With a sigh, Lark rested against Matt’s strong back, her arms slipping around his waist. “You got the cattle turned?”

  Matt rested his hand on her right thigh, wanting to make sure she didn’t fall off in her shock and exhaustion. His eyes burned with anger. “Yes.”

  “How many went into the ravine?”

  “Not many. Maybe fifty. Cameron’s foreman saw what was happening and had his men turn the rest of the herd north.”

  “And our men? Is anyone hurt?”

  “I saw Primo fall.”

  Lark moaned. “No!”

  Patting her leg reassuringly, he added, “We’re still gathering everyone, honey. Let’s not speculate. Hold on, I’m going to gallop.”

  To her right, Lark saw the fleeing cattle herd and the wranglers taking them back to Cameron’s property. The wounded were being helped along by other hands. She wondered bitterly if Cameron was waiting back at his ranch to find out what had happened.

  Matt pulled his horse to a halt in front of the assembled wranglers, who were waiting for them near the ravine. Frank Herter took off his hat, wiping his sweaty brow. “We’re all accounted for, Miss Lark. Primo here got a flesh wound in the neck.” He grinned, his teeth white against his dark mustache. “Knocked him out of the saddle, but he’ll recover.

  “We done shooed them off, Miss Lark,” Rufus said. “Every last one of them sidewinders ran.”

  “You did well,” Lark commended all of them. Primo held a bandanna over the bloody neck injury. Boa Juan had sustained a more serious wound to his thigh. Lark met and held the Apache’s pain-filled eyes. “Can you make it back to the ranch?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “Have Maria help you until I can get there.”

  Boa Juan nodded and turned his horse away, walking the animal toward the ranch.

  “Hey!” Paco called, “did you see Cameron get it?”

  Lark looked up at Matt. “He was out here?”

  Matt gestured to the hill behind them. “Yes. He was trying to get close enough to take a shot at me and rode his horse into the stampeding herd. The horse went down and Cameron was trampled.”

  Shutting her eyes, Lark swayed against Matt. “Is he dead?”

  Herter laughed sourly. “If he ain’t, he oughta be.”

  “I don’t think so.” Rufus spoke up loudly. “I saw them boys of his pickin’ up what was left of his carcass and puttin’ him on a horse.”

  Lark’s stomach churned. She felt Matt’s comforting hand upon her leg. “What was it Father said,” she asked Matt softly. “That a man reaps what he sows?”

  Matt held her gaze, worry clearly etched in his eyes. “Cameron had it coming.”

  “Has it ended?” Lark asked him.

  “I think it has. Cameron knows he can’t run over us, law or no law. Shanks is dead.”

  “So is that fancy gunslinger with the blond hair,” Frank pointed out.

  “A hired gun?” Lark whispered, feeling even more ill than before. She hadn’t gone up against an ordinary drover but a skilled killer.

  Matt looked over at the grime-covered wranglers. “Let’s go home, men. The fighting is over.”

  It was early afternoon when the Gallagher sentry spotted Sheriff Cole coming and rode in to alert Matt.

  Matt left the bunkhouse, where he was checking on the injured wranglers. Boa Juan was asleep in his bunk. Primo had a headache from the fall he’d taken and was wearing a white bandage around his throat. Matt thanked the sentry and walked across the yard. The ranch was still in turmoil from the morning’s attack. Matt could see the fear in the darting eyes of the children, who remained close to their mothers’ skirts.

  Stepping up on the porch, he took off his hat and entered the house. He found Lark sitting in the office talking to Maria and Consuelo. Both Mexican women excused themselves when he appeared in the doorway. Lark looked up, her eyes shadowed.

  “The sheriff’s coming,” he told her quietly. “I think we ought to go out and meet him.”

  Lark rose wearily to her feet. She’d had no rest since returning to the ranch. All she wanted was to bathe and sleep, but right now that was impossible. She followed Matt out onto the porch.

  “I wonder what Cole wants,” she said.

  Matt placed an arm around her stooped shoulders in an effort to give her some of his strength. “Cameron’s probably filed some trumped-up charges against us for this morning’s fiasco,” he guessed.

  Anger replaced Lark’s exhaustion and she straightened up, throwing her shoulders back as Cole halted in front of them, his watery blue eyes fixed on her.

  “I’ve been sent out here to call a halt to the range war between you and Mr. Cameron.”

  Lark stiffened. Range war? How ridiculous! She was about to speak up when Matt put a cautioning hand on her arm.

  “Just what exactly does that mean, Sheriff?” he demanded.

  Cole spat to the left and leaned an elbow on the horn of his saddle. “Let’s put it this way, Kincaid. Cameron damned near got killed this morning. He’s gonna be laid up for a long time with a busted leg, a punctured lung, and half his face stoved in. He wants no more to do with you.” Cole’s eyes shifted to Lark. “Ya murdered one of his men.”

  “It was self-defense,” Lark said.

  “Cameron wants to make you a deal, Miss Gallagher. If you don’t press charges against him, he won’t press charges against you for killing his ranch hand, Bart Devlin.”

  Lark exchanged glances with Matt. Cameron wanted peace. She could vindicate herself of the murder charge Cole was threatening her with. She also realized this was Cameron’s way of getting out of an embarrassing situation with his pri
de intact.

  Matt placed an arm around Lark’s shoulders. “We’ll dispute Cameron’s accusation. Lark killed that hired gun in self-defense. And just for your information, Sheriff, you ought to know that I’ve requested a marshall from Phoenix who will investigate Cameron’s entire campaign against the Gallagher Ranch. Further, we’re going to tell him everything we know about the Ring.”

  Cole sat up straighter. “You what?”

  Matt gave a twist of a smile. “You heard me. I think you’d better drop the murder charges against Lark, don’t you?”

  Clearing his throat, Cole nodded. “Er, yes, under the circumstances, I think yore right.”

  “And we won’t bother Cameron so long as he leaves the Gallagher Ranch alone. Is that understood?”

  Shifting uncomfortably in the saddle, Cole pulled the brim of the hat a little lower across his face. “I don’t think Mr. Cameron will bother you again, Miss Gallagher. I think he’ll see the wisdom of droppin’ the charges. Good day.”

  Lark watched the sheriff turn his mount and take off at a swift trot. “It’s really over now, isn’t it?” she said softly.

  Matt allowed her to sway against him and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Almost.”

  With a muffled protest, Lark lifted her chin. “Almost?”

  He smiled gently, brushing her pale cheek. “Say you’ll marry me tomorrow morning in Prescott. I think Father Mulcahy would like to do the honors.”

  Lark’s eyes flew wide as she gazed up into his smiling features, into gray eyes that smoldered with promise, with love. Suddenly, all her weariness melted away. “What of your vow to hunt down Ga’n?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  “We settled that score between us the night he told me Shanks had kidnapped you. Ga’n didn’t have to tell me where you were, but he did. I had one family I loved taken from me, and I didn’t want to lose you, too. I think he knew that. Will you be my wife, Lark?”

  She closed her eyes, leaning heavily against Matt, hearing the ragged beat of his heart beneath her ear. His proposal was overwhelming to her, and it took several seconds to find her voice. “Yes, I’ll marry you. I would become like a ghost without you at my side, Matt.”