“I’ll be right there,” Sarah called, wanting to finish pouring the five pounds of flour she’d bought into a canister before she went to console Prissy, who was no doubt standing on her bed. Prissy was deathly scared of mice. Maybe it would be a good idea to get a cat, she thought. It might be fun to get a kitten and teach it to chase after a length of yarn—
Sarah heard the door open, and footsteps coming down the short hallway between the two bedrooms. “Sarah…” Prissy called again, her voice quavery.
Prissy must have managed to get between the door and the mouse.
“I’ll get the broom and shoo it outside,” Sarah said without turning around, as the now-empty bag of flour sagged in her hand. “You know, we ought to get a cat.” She was determined to convey calmness in the face of Prissy’s tendency to hysteria around rodents. “Mrs. Detwiler’s cat is always having kittens. What would you like, a calico one, or maybe a sweet little black one with white boots—”
“I’ve always been partial to gray tigers, myself.” The voice was female, but it was not Prissy’s.
Sarah whirled and looked into the ruthless eyes of Ada Spencer, and then into the bore of the pistol the woman had leveled at her. In front of Ada was Prissy, her blue eyes enormous in a face that was leached of all color, holding her hands in the air, and as Ada pushed her forward, Sarah could see she had the barrel of another pistol poking between her friend’s shoulders.
“What are you doing here, Ada?” Sarah’s voice sounded strange in her own ears, as if it belonged to someone else, someone far calmer than she felt, someone whose knees felt more substantial than a half-baked cake. Dear God, help us!
“Jesse wants you taken to him, so I’ve come to accomplish it,” she said, as if it should be perfectly obvious and logical. “I’m the only one who can do it. He and his men can hardly storm into town after you—they’d stick out like sore thumbs. That’s why they let themselves be seen by some yahoos over on the Colorado River so the sheriff and his men would go riding after them—leaving you here in town alone.”
If only I’d put the derringer in the reticule sitting just inches away on the table, as I’d promised Nolan that I would.
Even so, the idea of going anywhere with this madwoman was ridiculous, and ignited her ire. “I’m not going,” Sarah told her. “I don’t love him anymore.”
“You’ll go if you want Prissy to live,” Ada said, a mad glint in her eyes told Sarah that she would be perfectly willing to pull the trigger of the gun pressed into Prissy’s back.
“Sarah…” Prissy shook like a leaf in a gale, and Sarah thought she may faint. If she did, Sarah might be able to use the element of surprise if she acted fast—or it might give Ada an even greater advantage. She would have two pistols to aim at Sarah, and no Prissy to get in the way. Lord, show me what to do.
Ada was armed, and not in her right mind. Sarah realized she would have to rein in her temper, and try to reason with a deranged woman.
“Why would you want to do that, Ada? I know you love Jesse, so I would think you wouldn’t want a rival for his affections.” If she could distract Ada enough, perhaps she could overpower her before Ada could get a shot off. But she’d be risking both her life and Prissy’s.
The woman’s laugh was brittle as the sheerest glass. “Oh, you won’t be a rival. As if you could be! No, Jesse has other plans for you. And if I do this, Jesse’s going to marry me. He said so. He’ll buy me a beautiful ring and a fancy dress….” She recited the outlaw’s promises in a strange singsong that sent chills down Sarah’s back. It was like a child reciting a nursery rhyme.
“’Other plans?’” Sarah echoed. “What other plans?”
“We’re taking a little trip with you, going up on the Staked Plains where we’ll sell you to the Comanches, along with the cattle the boys’ve gathered. Some Comanche brave will pay a fine price for you, Miss Yellowhair.” She laughed, a laugh that teetered on the edge of maniacal. “Or maybe you’ll go to the Comancheros—maybe they could find a use for you. Meanwhile, of course, Jesse’s men will…get to know you better.” Again, that brittle laugh.
The idea of any of the Gray Boys touching her, then being taken north and sold as a slave to a brutal Indian or the Mexican traders that sold firearms to them paralyzed Sarah, but she couldn’t give in to that fear.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear….
“But why would he do that?” Sarah asked, if motivated by curiosity alone. “He loved me once, but now he has you, Ada. He doesn’t need me. Why can’t he leave me in peace and go off with you?”
“You have to pay, Jesse says.” Again, that eerie singsong tone. “He came back for you, and you broke his heart. I’m mending it, of course, in my own sweet way, but you have to pay. No one gets away with breaking my Jesse’s heart.” Her grip tightened on the pistol.
“He doesn’t have a heart anymore,” Sarah said. “He lost it somewhere in the war.” She tried another tack. “Why would you want a man like that, Ada? What if he gets tired of you and sells you to the Comanches?”
“You stop talking like that!” Ada cried, her voice shrill. The pistol—the one that wasn’t pressed into Prissy’s back, rose again and pointed at Sarah’s chest. “Jesse wouldn’t do that. He loves me! Now stop wasting time. We have to leave. You two kept me waiting—kept Jesse waiting—too long as it is. I thought you’d never come back here, once the posse left town. We have to go.”
Where was Nolan? What time was it? Was it late enough that the posse was even now riding back into town? Was there a chance Nolan would come here, looking for her, and save her from Ada? She dared not look at the clock, but she knew that if she and Prissy didn’t show up at the big house for dinner, eventually Mayor Gilmore would send Flora or Antonio to check on them.
Could she stare over Ada’s shoulder and convincingly say, “Hello, Nolan, I’m so glad you’re here,” as if Nolan had returned and sneaked silently into the cottage? Would Ada turn around, and would she be able to overcome the crazed woman before Ada could fire either of the pistols?
It would be taking a chance with Prissy’s life. And she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t live with the idea that she had gotten Prissy killed.
“If you want your silly friend to live, you better come with me right now,” Ada said, waving the pistol aimed at Sarah. “I’ll shoot her—it doesn’t matter to me.”
“But the sound of the shot will make the Gilmore servants come running, Ada,” Sarah said reasonably. “You don’t want that.”
“But she’d still be dead. Maybe you, too.”
There was no help for it. She had to walk out of the cottage with Ada, and hope Nolan would intervene before she was in Jesse’s clutches.
“All right, Ada, I’ll walk out of here with you, and Prissy won’t tell anyone, will you, Prissy?”
Clearly mindless with fear, Prissy shook her head.
“But someone will see us,” Sarah went on. “It’s getting late, and the posse’s due back in town any minute now. Even if I leave with you, and Prissy does nothing to stop you, someone will see us walking out of here together. The whole town knows you’ve been riding with the outlaws, Ada. They’re not going to stand by and let you take me anywhere.”
“The posse isn’t coming back,” Ada said. “The boys set up an ambush, and they’re probably all dead. Your precious Yankee doctor isn’t coming to save you.”
Nolan, dead? No, it couldn’t be. Surely she’d know it, in her heart, if he’d been killed. But even if the outlaws hadn’t succeeded in murdering Nolan, Nick and the others, she couldn’t count on them coming back in time to keep Ada from taking her from Simpson Creek, taking her to Jesse.
“All right, then, Ada, what’s your plan?” Sarah said, determined not to give in to panic and grief. Even if she left with Ada, Prissy would be left to tell Nolan and the others that Ada had kidnapped her at gunpoint, with the intention of taking her to Jesse and the Gray Boys, to be transported north to the Staked Plains, the Comanch
e stronghold.
As if she had been able to read minds, Ada killed that hope by raising the pistol she’d held against Prissy’s back and striking Prissy viciously over the top of her head—all the while keeping the other pistol trained on Sarah.
Prissy went down without a cry, as limply as the sack of flour Sarah had emptied only a few minutes before. Sarah stared in horror as a red stain spread through Prissy’s strawberry-blond hair.
“You’ve killed her!”
“Shut up. I just knocked out the silly fool, that’s all.”
“But she’s bleeding—”
Ada shrugged. “If she dies, what do I care? She’s nothing but a spoiled, pampered daughter of a rich man. She’s always had everything she ever wanted—what did I have? Her mother even gave me some of her cast-off clothes, did you know that?”
Sarah shook her head numbly.
“But we’re wasting time,” Ada snapped. “I’m going to put on her bonnet and coat—and you’re not going to do anything or I’ll shoot her and make double sure she’s dead, understand? No one will look twice at Sarah and Prissy, strolling down the road that runs south of town right between the Gilmore land and the saloon. Jesse’s waiting for us just outside of town.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ada donned Prissy’s coat, keeping the pistol within easy reach.
Sarah’s gaze went back and forth from Ada to Prissy’s motionless, sprawled body on the floor. If only she would move! After a few moments, Sarah finally detected the slight rise and fall of breathing in Prissy’s slender shoulders. So she wasn’t dead, Sarah thought, trying to take hope from that slight encouragement. While there was life, there was hope, wasn’t there?
But Prissy could be dying, a pessimistic voice within her whispered. There was so much blood seeping from Prissy’s scalp and pooling onto the wooden floor, staining it. Beneath Prissy’s skull, she could be bleeding to death. Would Nolan arrive in time to save Prissy, at least?
“I’m ready,” Ada said, settling Prissy’s bonnet over her hair.
Why had she never noticed before how similar Ada’s hair was to Prissy’s? Prissy’s was more vibrantly curly and shiny, but in the fading light, and with Ada’s hair mostly covered under the bonnet, no one would notice the difference. The two women were of a similar height. People were so used to seeing Sarah and Prissy together, and they would see what they expected to see.
“Let’s go,” Ada said. Now that Prissy was no longer a threat to her, she had shoved one of the pistols into the waistband of her skirt. She waved the other one at Sarah. “How convenient that your precious Prissy’s arms are longer than mine. It’ll make it easy to conceal the pistol—but it’ll be aimed at you the whole time, Sarah, never doubt it. If we meet anyone on the way out of town, and you try to tell them anything, I’ll shoot you and them, I promise you.”
“A-All right.” Sarah stopped to take one last look at Prissy.
“She won’t wake up for hours, if she ever wakes up at all,” Ada said with a cruel chuckle. “So don’t imagine her telling them where you’ve gone. Now move.” Sarah sighed. Please save Prissy, Lord. Let her live. She started for the door, praying with every step.
Maybe Antonio would be lingering outside the stable, as he often did in the late afternoon after feeding the horses, before he went in to help Flora serve supper. He’d see them, realize it was nearly suppertime and remind Prissy that her father hated her to be late to the table. Then Ada would react in an un-Prissy-like way that would betray her true identity. Antonio would get suspicious, approach them, then challenge her. Ada would take fright and flee, despite her threats, for Antonio was tall and as solid as an old live oak.
Or maybe Nolan would arrive, just as they reached the gate. Nolan would never be fooled by Ada, who’d been his patient, after all. He’d recognize her immediately.
But Antonio was not lounging at the barn door, nor did Nolan happen to be entering the grounds.
“You know, Ada, your outlaws would’ve been smarter to circle around and rob the bank after they lured the posse toward the Colorado,” Sarah remarked as they walked out through the gates, her gaze darting all around her for someone—anyone—who might be able to help her. But there was no one exiting the hotel or the saloon. “There’s a lot of money in the bank and valuables in its safe. That’s what I’d have done, if I’d been an outlaw. It sure would have been a larger prize than me. So maybe they aren’t so clever, after all.”
“Shut your mouth,” Ada hissed. “My Jesse’s smart as a fox. He’s not just any outlaw.”
“But maybe he doesn’t know how to rob banks,” Sarah suggested. “That’s all right. Not every outlaw’s daring enough to rob a bank.” Maybe if she could spark Ada’s temper, the other girl would lunge at her and Sarah could wrestle the gun away.
“I said shut up.” Ada’s voice was definitely a snarl now. “Jesse knows what he wants, that’s all. You. Teaching you a lesson is more important to him than robbing banks. He can do that any ol’ time, after he’s handed you over to some savage.
“This way,” Ada said, indicating the road that led south out of town, which didn’t make sense if the outlaws were headed north for the Staked Plains. Sarah was about to point this out when she spotted Mrs. Patterson exiting the mercantile. The recent widow was locking the door of the shop, but then she turned around and saw them.
“Good evening, Sarah, Prissy! Where are you headed? Warm for this early in March, isn’t it? I suppose that means we’ll have a hot summer…Oh, were you headed to the store for something? I could unlock again if that’s the case.”
Sarah pondered the wisdom of claiming the need for sugar or some other item. Mrs. Patterson would become suspicious if Ada remained where she was standing, but Ada would never dare follow her into the mercantile.
Once again, Ada seemed to have the uncanny ability to read Sarah’s mind. Sarah felt the unmistakable nudge of the gun barrel in her side, hid by the long sleeve of Prissy’s coat. “Don’t try it,” Ada said in a low, menacing tone.
“No, no thank you, Mrs. Patterson,” Sarah called back. “We…uh…we were headed to Mrs. Detwiler’s,” she said, pointing down the road which would lead past Mrs. Detwiler’s large house. “For supper. She invited us for supper. Wasn’t that nice? She knew we’d be bored, especially me, what with Nolan riding with the posse and all…” If she accomplished nothing else, she wanted to imprint on Mrs. Patterson’s mind which way they had gone, in case Nolan questioned her about seeing Sarah leaving. Maybe, if Sarah was very lucky, the widow would decide it was strange that Sarah was talkative to the point of babbling, a trait that had never been characteristic of her. “That is nice. Mrs. Detwiler’s always been an excellent cook,” Mrs. Patterson called back agreeably. “All right, if you don’t need anything, I’ll just go home and have my supper then. You girls have a good evening.”
Sarah felt an ache of regret as the woman waved, then turned and walked away down the side street that ran between the hotel and the mercantile.
Maybe Mrs. Detwiler would be out in her front yard, admiring the tulips coming up in her flower beds, and Sarah could make another attempt to free herself of Ada. Mrs. Detwiler’s eagle eye missed nothing, but she would have to be very careful not to endanger the old woman, too.
“A wild-goose chase,” Nolan grumbled as they rode westward back toward Simpson Creek in the chilly March air. “They wanted us to catch glimpses of them, but not get close enough to capture them.”
“Indeed,” Nick agreed, as the two men rode at the head of the posse. Earlier, they’d catch sight of one of the outlaws, who’d gallop off, then disappear—only to be replaced by another of them springing up nearby seemingly out of the blue and running off in a different direction, over and over again. A wild-goose chase, all right—a well-orchestrated one.
“I wonder what that game was about?” Nick mused aloud. “Why not keep out of sight until they struck again, instead of leading us on a merry chase?”
“Unless
they were decoying us….” Suddenly Nolan was sure that was exactly what it had been. “Nick, they wanted to keep us out here, trying to catch each of them in turn. They wanted us out of town.”
“But why? Was part of the gang going to rob the bank? Of course, that must be it. What a fool I’ve been to be lured by such an obvious trick!” Nick cried. “We’ve got to get back to Simpson Creek!” He set his spurs to his mount’s flanks as Nolan and the others did likewise.
Nolan wasn’t convinced the bank had been the target, however. All at once a soul-deep dread had entered his heart, and he was certain within himself that the trickery somehow involved Sarah. Sarah! He’d gone haring off with the posse, trying to prove he was just as brave as any other man, and left Sarah unprotected.
“Jesse?”
At first, all Sarah saw in the gathering darkness was what appeared to be an extra thick trunk of a live oak tree. Then the long, lean frame of Jesse Holt detached himself from the trunk he’d been leaning against, spitting out the unlit cheroot he’d been chewing.
“Where have you been, woman? You dillydallied so long it’s dark now,” he grumbled at Ada. “Gettin’ mighty cold, too.”
Now Sarah could see the shadowy forms of the horses tied to the back of the grove of trees, and heard them stamping and jingling their bits.
“I didn’t know this stupid female was going to spend all afternoon in the mercantile with that Prissy Gilmore ninny, did I?” Ada whined, pointing at Sarah. “But I got her here to you. I even had to knock Prissy out with the gun. I think I killed her, but I don’t care. I did it for you.” Her tone was suddenly servile, and her supplicant posture reminded Sarah of a cringing dog wagging its tail in hopes of not being kicked. Hmm…. So Ada wasn’t quite Jesse’s darling as she had boasted—perhaps Sarah could use that to her advantage.
The Doctor Takes a Wife Page 19
