Montana Surrender

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  "Put it on, Fiona!"

  A spray of spittle covered Jessica's face when he spat the words at her. Slowly she tipped the scent bottle up against the side of her neck.

  "Not there." David dropped one hand from her shoulders and wrenched the knot in her blouse open. He pushed it from her shoulders and his tongue came out to moisten his lips as her breasts came into view.

  "There," he said in a strangled voice.

  Somehow Jessica managed to pull her arms up far enough in the restricting blouse to tip the bottle between her breasts. Swallowing her nausea, she released her hold on the bottle when David reached to take it from her. He dribbled more scent along the top of her breasts, then the back of his hand rubbed across her as he worked the scent into her skin.

  Her tensing muscles gave away her intent and David easily avoided the knee Jessica brought up viciously toward his groin. His roar of insane laughter filled the room as he hurled her at the bed and pinned her down with his body.

  "You never forget, do you, Fiona?" he said while he threw his thigh over her wildly flailing legs. "You remember how I like it. Come on. Fight me some more."

  David buried his lips against her neck, slobbers from his mouth running down across Jessica's bare shoulder. Through her horror, Jessica realized her struggles only inflamed David further, but she couldn't still her frenzied thrashing. She screamed again and David clapped a hand over her mouth and drew his head back far enough to stare down at her.

  "No, no, no, Fiona," he whispered. "Why do I always have to gag you?"

  A movement above them caught Jessica's attention and her eyes opened wide in terror as she stared over David's shoulder. She could see an arm — a hatchet — a hatchet descending in a deadly arc, the sharp edge directed at David's head.

  At the last split second, the hatchet turned sideways and the flat of it hit the back of David's head with a sickening crunch. He didn't even moan in pain as his dead weight covered Jessica's body. Immediately someone jerked him off her, throwing David onto his back beside her.

  Jessica scrambled away from David, against the wall behind them, her hands up in front of her face to ward off the blows she expected on herself. But a soothing voice cut through the sound of her wildly pounding heart.

  "He won't bother you no more, Missy. He didn't remember I had my own key to this room."

  Slowly Jessica dropped her hands and opened her eyes. The slatternly woman she had seen feeding the chickens several days ago stood beside the bed, the hatchet hanging from one hand and her other hand outstretched toward Jessica. Dried brown splotches covered the dress she wore and her gray, matted hair surrounded a face wrinkled with age. The brown eyes radiated a sense of sympathy as she motioned for Jessica to come to her.

  With a sob, Jessica scooted across the bed and into the woman's arms. She vaguely heard the hatchet drop to the floor before the old woman's arms closed around her and she pulled Jessica's head down to her drooping bosom.

  "There, there," the woman comforted as she patted Jessica's shoulder and allowed her to sob out her terror. "Old Maude won't let him hurt you again."

  Jessica managed to get her sobs under control and raised her head to glance sideways at the bed.

  "Is he d...dead?"

  "No," Old Maude said. "I thought I could kill him, but I couldn't. Guess we'll have to leave that up to the law." She dropped her hands from Jessica's shoulders and picked up the hatchet to hand to her. "You watch him now," she said with a nod. "I'll get some rope so we can tie him up."

  Jessica shook her head and backed away a step from the hatchet. "I...I'll get his gun. He's still wearing it."

  "All right, Missy," Maude said. "Let me cut your hands free first."

  Jessica held her breath as Maude neatly sliced the hatchet through the bandanna on her wrists. As soon as her hands were free, she massaged the reddened skin on her wrists while Maude stepped to the bed and gingerly drew David's gun from his holster.

  "Here," she said as she gave the gun to Jessica. "I don't think he'll come to, but you better not think twice about shooting him if he does. He's an evil man."

  "I know," Jessica agreed.

  Jessica kept the gun trained on David as Maude left the room. Her skin crawled as she forced herself to stare at him, watching for even a twitch of his fingers indicating a return to consciousness. She glanced briefly at the window to see the sun in almost the same place as before. Thoughts of Storm filled her mind, but she couldn't leave until she made sure David couldn't follow her. She had heard somewhere that mad men somehow found measures of strength sane people didn't have.

  Maude's clumping footsteps sounded in the hallway, muffled as soon as she stepped onto the carpet in the room.

  "Here." She handed one coil of rope to Jessica. "You better help me. We ought to hurry and get him tied. I don't know how hard I hit him."

  Jessica knew. The blow should keep him out for hours.

  But as she swung David's legs up onto the bed and jerked his boots off to tie the rope directly to his ankles, David moaned. Quickly she wrapped the rope tight and knotted it, snugging it to the post at the bottom of the bed. She grabbed the gun from the mattress and stood back to look at Maude.

  Maude already had David's hands tied securely to the top of the bed and she moved over beside Jessica. Standing silently for a moment, the two women watched David's eyes flutter open.

  When David started writhing in his bonds, Maude stepped over to the bed and dangled the hatchet in front of his eyes.

  "You remember Bessie?" she said in a deadly voice.

  David shrunk back in terror as the hatchet's sharp blade barely missed his neck.

  Maude twitched her wrist and set the hatchet to swinging like a pendulum — back and forth.

  "I know you do," she said as she watched his eyes center on the hatchet. "Couldn't never prove it, but my mind's clearer now than it's been since those men found her frozen that winter, them bruises all over her. Been kind of addle-patted since then — it's clear to me now, though."

  "Who...who's Bessie?" Jessica gasped, her own gaze centered on the hatchet.

  Maude let the hatchet drop a scant inch and the blade left a thin line of blood on David's neck. He screamed in horror. Maude lifted the hatchet and stepped back from the bed.

  "She was my daughter," Maude said. She glanced at Jessica. "You look a lot like her."

  "And David...."

  "Almost lost my mind, I did," Maude continued as though Jessica hadn't spoken. "Fact is, I guess for a while I did. Something kept me here, though. Told myself it was because I was too old to find another job, but when I saw you today, I knew what I had to do. Now maybe Bessie can rest in peace."

  For an instant, Jessica found herself thinking perhaps she was in a room with two mad people, until Maude gave a soft laugh beside her. When she looked into the other woman's face, a clear gaze met her own.

  "I'm so sorry for you," Jessica said quietly. "Do you think you'll be all right here with him? I know the sheriff in town isn't worth anything, but there's a federal marshal coming. If he's not there yet, I'll send someone else out to help you."

  Maude hefted the hatchet in her hand. "I'll be fine, Missy. You got something that needs taking care of back there?"

  "They're going to hang Storm," Jessica told her. "I have to hurry."

  "Storm? I remember him...."

  "Maude, I don't have much time. Please. I have to go."

  As Jessica ran toward the doorway, Maude's voice stopped her. "Better grab one of my old shirts by the back door to cover yourself, Missy. And there's hot water on the stove if you want to get some of that smell off you."

  Jessica glanced down in amazement at her bare breasts spilling out of the torn blouse. A wave of honeysuckle filled her nose. She tossed a grateful look at Maude and hurried through the door and down the hallway, tucking the pistol into her waistband as her feet flew down the stairs.

  Jessica ran through the doorway she thought led into the kitchen and over to t
he back door. Grabbing an old flannel shirt from a peg, she stood for just a second staring longingly at the pail of water heating on the stove. A bar of soap sitting on the window sill by the stove decided her. She picked up a hand towel and dunked it into the water, then wrapped the soap in it and carried it with her as she retraced her steps and headed out the front door of the ranch house.

  David's horse neighed shrilly and shied sideways when Jessica clattered down the porch steps and ran toward it, her blouse tail flapping behind her. She spent a precious minute calming it after she grabbed the reins, then flung herself into the saddle.

  The horse responded willingly to her urging, galloping out of the ranch yard. As she went under the Lazy B sign at the end of the rutted drive, she secured the flannel shirt under her leg and scrubbed the towel across her breasts. After the soap slipped from her grip inside the towel, she kept working the towel over her.

  She couldn't tell if the smell was gone or not — the wind created by her frantic pace flew past her. She finally dropped the towel, also, and shrugged out of the torn blouse, shifting the reins from hand to hand as she discarded it and managed to don the flannel shirt.

  A mile from the ranch Jessica forced herself to slow the horse to a ground eating canter. She would never make it to town in time to save Storm if she rode the horse to death. Oh, God, if she only had Cinnabar. It had to be at least a two hour ride to town and the sun would be down by then.

  Over the next hour, her horse slowed from his canter to a bone jarring trot. Flecks of foam flew from his muzzle and at last he settled into a walk. Jessica couldn't force herself to kick him into a faster pace. She would let him rest and gather his strength for a mile or so first.

  She topped a rise in the dirt road leading to Baker's Valley and gave a shout of gladness.

  Chapter 26

  "Elias!" Jessica screamed.

  Steeling her heart against the cruelty to the horse, she kicked it again into a gallop to cover the few hundred yards separating her from the two riders approaching. An answering shout came from Elias as he raced his own horse toward her, Cinnabar trailing behind. The small figure on the paint stallion outdistanced Elias, and Prudence slid to the ground to meet Jessica as Jessica pulled her horse to a plunging halt and bounded from her saddle.

  Jessica dropped her reins and returned Prudence's brief hug just as Elias reached them.

  "Where's Ned?" Jessica demanded as Elias swung down beside her and handed her Cinnabar's reins.

  "He's going to be all right, Jessica," Elias assured her. "Idalee's taking him back into town right now. He got a pretty good knock on his head, but he managed to tell us he'd had a glimpse of David Baker just before he hit him. Where's Storm, Jessica?"

  "He's in Baker's Valley, Elias! Harlin has him and he plans to get the town fired up enough to lynch Storm. Come on!"

  Jessica swung onto Cinnabar, leaving David's horse to find its own way back to its stable.

  "What about David?" Elias called over to Jessica as they raced down the dirt road.

  "He's been taken care of!" Jessica yelled back. "I'll tell you later."

  She bent over Cinnabar's neck and the stallion soon left Elias far behind. Another set of hooves kept pace with the thunder of Cinnabar's, though, and Jessica glanced once briefly to her side to see Prudence sharing her wild ride. The paint stallion matched Cinnabar stride for stride and Jessica caught the grim set of Prudence's mouth as she leaned close to Spirit's neck.

  For once in her life, Jessica realized she had misjudged the distance she must travel. The sun slipped beneath the horizon as the next hour passed and still the road stretched out before her. She and Prudence were finally forced to slow even their powerful horses, lest they break the stallions' willing hearts and kill them.

  Jessica glanced over her shoulder, seeing no sign of Elias. She didn't really expect to — his horse couldn't possibly have kept anywhere near the two stallions. The emptiness of the road behind them, dust still settling in the fast fading light, emphasized how alone she and Prudence were.

  Her mind swung to the task they would face in Baker's Valley. How would she ever be able to talk any sense into a lynch mob? Her experience with the sheriff had told her that he was bought and paid for by the Bakers — and Harlin owned almost the entire town. She couldn't think of one person there she could turn to for help.

  Maybe Ronnie, but what could three women do against a mob of men, especially with one of them mute?

  The stallions blew and snorted, their proud heads remaining bowed. They would have to be walked a while longer before Jessica could risk trying to get any renewed speed from them. She looked over at Prudence.

  "Can you handle a gun?" she asked.

  Prudence nodded emphatically, but pointed to the empty scabbard on Spirit's saddle.

  Jessica glanced down at her own scabbard, thankful to see the butt of her rifle protruding from it. She pulled the pistol from her waistband and reined Cinnabar close enough to hand it to Prudence. Neither stallion protested their closeness to each other, confirming to Jessica their exhausted state.

  "You may have to use that," Jessica flatly informed Prudence. "Do you think you can?"

  Prudence's eyes hardened and she nodded slowly at Jessica.

  "I don't suppose you have any idea how much farther it is to town, Prudence."

  Prudence shifted the pistol to the hand holding her reins and held up five fingers to Jessica.

  "Five. Minutes?" Jessica questioned.

  Prudence shook her head.

  "Miles?"

  Prudence nodded.

  "Oh, Lord," Jessica thought to herself. They could have covered the distance in a few minutes if the horses had been fresh. At this pace, full darkness would be on them by the time they reached town.

  How long would it take Harlin to fire the men in town into a lynch mob? She mentally counted the number of saloons in town as she realized today was Saturday. The population in town would be swelled from the outlying ranches, the men having been drinking in the saloons for most of the day. It wouldn't take much for Harlin to plant the seed of revenge in their drunken minds.

  She couldn't even begin to imagine what she would face. She'd had very little experience with men whose minds were clouded with whiskey. Her father had only to get a hint of one of his hands drinking while on the ranch to send the hand packing. And look how she had flown into Red that day, unaware that a man's normal chivalry toward a woman would be missing when he was drunk.

  She'd never been afraid of a man in her life until Red and the Bakers. The code even most of the roughest men lived by protected women from mistreatment. If a man did get out of line, there were always other men around to beat some sense into him. But she'd never had to deal with drunks or insane men — or a mob with a whiskey-induced lust for blood.

  In Jessica's mind Red and David's faces multiplied a thousand times and her heart dropped in dread at the thought of trying to reason with a mob made up of such men. Or maybe...God, she could only pray Storm wasn't already dead.

  Beside her, Prudence kicked Spirit into an easy lope. Jessica realized Cinnabar's breathing had evened out and his head rode proudly again on his arched neck. She urged the stallion after Spirit, covering the remaining distance to town again in a ground eating canter.

  Jessica's fears were confirmed when they rode past the empty saloons on the edge of Baker's Valley a while later. The swelling sound of angry voices further down the street led her and Prudence toward the lynch mob.

  At least there still might be some hope, Jessica thought as she grimly pulled her rifle from the scabbard. Surely if Storm were already dead, the men would be back in the saloons, celebrating their shameful deed.

  Her mind could never even have begun to imagine the scene Jessica found in front of the sheriff's office. The roar from at least two hundred throats swelled when the door of the building flew open and several men Jessica didn't recognize dragged a bound Storm down the steps. She and Prudence pulled their horse
s up abruptly and stared wildly at each other. What chance did they have against so many?

  The growling roar surged higher as one of the men led a horse beneath the sign on the sheriff's office and another man tossed a rope over the sign. Good God! They were going to hang him right there in the middle of town!

  Willing hands lifted Storm and shoved him onto the horse, where he sat outlined in lantern light, with the rope dangling over his head. A man reached up and snugged the rope over Storm's wildly thrashing head as Jessica pulled her rifle to her shoulder.

  She didn't even have time to mutter a prayer as the man slapped the horse on the rump. Her bullet severed the rope and the horse surged into the crowd, Storm still on its back and the hangman's noose that should have broken his neck dangling uselessly.

  The men in the crowd captured the horse before it could break free. Several turned their heads, searching for the source of the broken rope, but their voices had drowned out even the sound of Jessica's shot.

  "Get another rope! Another rope! Who's got another rope?" The words echoed simultaneously from two hundred throats.

  Jessica raised her rifle again and urged Cinnabar forward. The stallion's powerful front shoulders sliced through the mob of men as easily as he brushed aside underbrush while chasing cattle. Jessica tightened her finger twice more on her rifle trigger, shooting over the crowd's heads.

  There were still two bullets left in her rifle when she drew Cinnabar up sideways in front of the horse where Storm sat again under the sign. A shouted order from Jessica sent Cinnabar's rear legs slashing outward and the men behind the stallion scrambled to safety.

  "Put your damned guns away!" a voice of reason yelled. "That's a woman. We ain't here to hurt no women!"

  Jessica smiled grimly and tugged on Cinnabar's reins to pull him into a rear, scattering the remaining men in front of her. She swept her rifle in a deadly arc as the roar of the crowd quieted somewhat, though here and there angry mutters kept total stillness from falling.

  "For God's sake, Jessica, get out of here!" Storm cried from behind her. "You don't stand a chance against this mob!"