Wild Wisteria

by Maddie Taylor

  “Riders!” Virgil shouted as he slammed through the door. “Four of ‘em coming quick. One of ‘em has got to be a tracker to have found us so fast.”

  “Luke Jackson,” Fordy breathed. “I remember now why his name sounded so familiar. Jarrett told me about him a long time back. He learned how to track like a damn Injun, some Shoshone brave taught him. I hear tell he’s as good as a redskin.”

  “Damn,” Zeke roared, unloading a vicious backhand across Wisteria’s cheek. “I told you to come alone.” Her head snapped back, her cries echoing through the small room as he jumped off of her and did up his open britches, which she hadn’t even seen him undo. Luke’s timely arrival had spared her a brutal rape, or at the very least delayed it. “We need to go.”

  He hauled Wisteria from the bed, his fingers digging harshly into her upper arm.

  “What about the kid?” Fordy asked as he followed them to the door.

  “Leave him. We got the goods and Miz Jackson here will bring us a nice little bonus.”

  A sense of overwhelming relief rushed through her at the words ‘leave him.’ Luke would arrive and find him. Micah would be safe. That knowledge overrode the fear of what came next for her. Nothing was more important than her son. She’d bide her time until she felt sure that Luke had reached Micah, then she’d do what was necessary to escape.

  She willed herself not to struggle or scream, afraid he would go back for her baby if she resisted. He hauled her out to his horse and turned her around, yanking her hands behind her back and tying them together. He then whirled her back and stuffed a cloth in her mouth.

  “Can’t have you drawing attention, now can we?” he chuckled as he roughly threw her half naked and trussed up across the horse’s back and mounted. As they rode out at full speed, thunder rolled in the distance. She was assailed by memories of another evening ride facedown over a saddle. It had ended in a night of bliss spent in Luke’s arms. The result of which, nine months later, became the joy of her life. Undeniably, tonight would end differently. She only hoped that Luke was as good at tracking as they’d said and that with his son safe in his arms, he still felt inclined to come after his troublesome wife.

  * * *

  Luke rode into the clearing first and was off his horse and through the cabin door before the others had come to a stop out front. Inside, a red-faced and highly perturbed Micah was screaming at the top of his lungs. Aside from him, the cabin was vacant. He bent and scooped his son into his arms; his plump fists clutched at Luke’s shirt as his little body shuddered with hitching breaths from his frantic cries.

  He bounced him, murmuring softly in his ear as he walked back outside.

  “They’re gone.” He felt like screaming in frustration, but kept his tone pitched low as he tried to calm Micah. “I need someone to take Micah back to the ranch.”

  The three younger men turned to their father who, after seeing that his wife was alive and still had all her faculties, had ridden at a breakneck pace to catch up with them.

  “Give him to me,” Henry grumbled, taking Micah up with him, the little boy settling easily into his familiar hold. His intense stare first encompassed Heath, then swung to Aaron. “You boys keep your brother under control. I’m not bringing my grandson to the territorial prison to visit his father every third Sunday, ya hear?”

  Making eye contact, Luke felt his pa’s unwavering support before he steered his mount back the way they came. As he left the clearing, he called back to them, “And another thing, you’re going to have to get your troublesome brides in check. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  With Micah on the road to safety, Luke immediately turned and began looking for the kidnappers’ trail. Outwardly calm, inside he was a mixture of fear and rage. Zeke Sanders and his gang had pistol-whipped his mother, taken his son, and had his wife in their clutches, with debauched plans to use her and most likely sell her as they’d planned in the past. The thought of their filthy hands on her made his head pound and his body vibrate with barely contained fury. When he found them, it would take more than his two brothers to control him. Aaron would need to forget his badge or look the other way, because if it was in his power, if he had the opportunity, he planned to beat the hell out of them, then when they were pleading for death, he would do the world a favor and make that happen as well.

  “Three on horseback,” he announced in a steely voice after spending a moment studying the tracks in the fading light. “One’s riding double, no doubt with Wisteria.” He strode to Track and flung himself into the saddle. “Let’s move out, daylight’s fading fast.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It seemed like forever before they stopped. Dizzy from hanging upside down, her ribs were sore from the unyielding dig of the saddle horn, and her stomach churned with waves of nausea. During the long, inverted ride, she’d lost her bearings and she had no inkling where they were or what time it was, other than it had grown dark.

  As the saddle creaked and Zeke dismounted, she absorbed the blessed stillness. It didn’t last long because he hefted her the next moment and slung her over his shoulder. She saw the wrong-side-up steps as he climbed them and the dingy plank floors as he walked across a porch of some kind. Smoke, piano music, and cloying perfume surrounded her as they entered a building. Male voices mixed with feminine giggles.

  Inside, while he ascended a full flight of steps, she turned her head and saw red velvet curtains parted at a drawing room door. Through it she could see scantily clad women lounging in provocative poses, some with their breasts completely bared. Others were being blatantly fondled by the men upon whose laps they were perched. Although never having been to one before, it was exactly as she’d imagined a bawdy house would be like.

  Dread engulfed her. He was going to do it. As he’d planned back in Denver, Zeke was intending to sell her to a brothel madame. Despite the dizziness that assailed her, she mounted a struggle. Micah was no longer being threatened so she had only herself to risk. She kicked and bucked over the man’s shoulder. But his arm flexed more firmly, holding her in place and a brutal smack landed on her upturned behind.

  “Be still. If it comes to me falling or dropping you, I’ll give you one guess which one I’ll choose. If you get bruised and busted up, I won’t care, unless you lower the purchase price. Then I’ll be rightly pissed off.”

  “Mr. Sanders,” a woman called coolly. “Who have you brought me this time? Another pock-faced farmer’s daughter? I’ll have to decline.”

  “Aw, now, Miz Josephine, it wasn’t my fault Bessie was stout as a bull and tossed a few customers on their heads the first night. ‘Sides, you whipped her into shape in no time and she’s turned into one of your more popular whores, hasn’t she?”

  “I prefer fair belles, Zeke. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “Yeah, sorry. You’ll like the goods I have to barter tonight. And, I promise, she’s as dainty and ladylike as a duchess, you won’t have to worry about her caber tossing your customers.”

  “That remains to be seen. Bring her in here.”

  Wriggling to get free, she heard the ominous bang of a door right before Zeke flipped her onto her feet. Having been topsy-turvy for at least an hour, she staggered from lightheadedness.

  “Is she sick?”

  “Naw, only dizzy from being ass over end.”

  “Let me see her.”

  Fingers dug into her upper arm and spun her around. A rough hand brushed the hair off her face, grabbed a fistful at the back of her head, and yanked hard. Tears flooded her eyes at the burning pain in her scalp. She blinked rapidly until her vision cleared, then stared contemptuously at the woman in front of her. The first word that came to her mind was cold. She was beautiful in a garish way, with her elaborately coiffed hair, kohled lids and lashes, and ruby red lips. But there was a hardness in her glacial blue eyes that suggested she’d had a harsh life.

  She smiled slowly as her gaze inspected every one of Wisteria’s features. “That hair! It�
��s spectacular. And purple eyes, I’ve never seen the like. Remove the gag.”

  With her mouth dry as a dust storm, the cloth stuck to her lips as he yanked it out. Wisteria coughed and tried desperately to swallow.

  “What’s your name, girl?”

  “Mrs. Lucas Jackson.”

  “Of the Laramie Jacksons?” Her appalled eyes shot to Zeke. “And brother to Marshal Aaron Jackson? Are you insane? They are the wealthiest, most powerful landowning family in the region. I’m not taking her on.”

  “Not as a parlor girl, I’m not an idiot. I meant for your auction. Sell her to someone out of town. We make a mint. She’s out of my hair. Everyone’s happy except this little troublemaker, that is.”

  “She’s a virgin? How can she be, married to Luke Jackson?”

  “Not a virgin, something even more rare. She’s giving milk.”

  Wisteria gasped. It was followed by a shrill scream as Zeke grabbed her exposed breast, squeezing and pulling on it like he was milking a cow. His other hand came up and covered her mouth, ignoring her shriek of pain as he discussed her like she was less than the cattle he was treating her as. “You’ve got a market for that, surely.”

  Madame Josephine’s eyes sparkled with interest before an avaricious grin traversed her cold features.

  Wisteria shook her head wildly, writhing as she tried to get free of Zeke’s grip. She tried to bite him, but he jerked her head back, pinning her head to his chest as he mashed her lips hard against her teeth beneath his palm. It quickly became hard to breathe. Although suspecting the effort was useless, she turned a pleading gaze on the madame, trying to appeal to her innate compassion as a woman, if she possessed such a thing.

  All hope faded when the woman gave a short nod of consent, her lips curving into a humorless smile proving she had no such inclination. “If it’s female with tits and a cunt, there’s a market for it. A new mama will bring out men with a certain interest.” Her nose wrinkled as if in distaste as she scanned over Wisteria’s struggling form and came to her swollen breasts. “It’s an unusual request to be sure, but I cater to all kinds. An auction can be arranged; however, it will have to happen quickly before word gets out. It will need to be tomorrow night.”

  Zeke grinned. “I got no problem with that.”

  “Bring her down the hall to the quiet room before she creates a stir with all that struggling and squalling. We’ll give her a taste of the pipe, which will calm her down and make her more compliant.”

  As Wisteria continued to fight him, he carried her down a long corridor to the last room at the end. Once inside, Zeke flung her upon the narrow bed and held her down as Madame Josephine tied her wrists and ankles with rough rope to the four corners of the bed. When she was completely immobilized, the only thing she was able to move was her head. And she did that the next moment, flinching and turning away as the woman patted her cheek.

  “Don’t struggle so, it’s useless. Besides, you’ll chafe your wrists and we can’t have that. We must take the utmost care of such a valuable commodity.” Laughing softly, she rose.

  They moved to the door, but only Zeke left, closing the door behind him. Now alone with the madame, Wisteria focused on her, trying to see what she was about as she busied herself for several minutes at the armoire along the far wall. When she approached her again, the madame carried some kind of glass-domed lamp to her bedside. As she sat beside her, she noticed a long rubber tube and mask were attached to it. She struck a match and the glass dome filled with smoke.

  Unsure of what the dense white smoke contained, Wisteria knew it couldn’t be good. She shook her head as the madame lifted the mask to her face.

  “No, please, don’t do this,” she begged. “My husband and his family will pay to get me back.”

  “I’m sure they would, dear. But I dare not risk them finding out that I had any part of this. There are other wealthy men who will be happy to pay to have you as their own.”

  “Please, my baby.” Her pleas were a waste of breath and did nothing to stop Josephine. Much bigger than she was, she easily captured her chin and kept her thrashing head still as she placed the mask over her nose and mouth. It gave off a heavy scent, the same too-sweet odor that permeated the air in the small room. Wisteria held her breath, but her effort was futile, having no choice except to take a gulp of air when her lungs burned for a breath. The cloying smoke had no place to go but inside her mouth and nose, filling her lungs.

  “That’s it,” the madame encouraged. “Breathe deep and let the opium take you away. It will make you relax and may even help you forget. Surrender to the power of the poppy, Mrs. Jackson, and soon you won’t care who buys you or what sordid acts they require.”

  Opium. She’d heard of it and it terrified her, but it also quickly took hold of her mind and body. Her limbs and head grew heavy, her thoughts cloudy and dulled, and a buzzing noise sounded continually in her ears.

  At some point—she didn’t know when, having lost track of time—the drug-laden smoke diminished in the dome and the madame removed the mask from her face.

  “All gone,” she said, as she put the device away and blew out the flame. To Wisteria, her voice sounded odd, slowed in speed and strangely distorted. “A little goes a long way at first, my dear. This small dose should do you for several hours, at least.”

  With that, she rose, crossing to the door. Strangely, Wisteria was afraid to be alone, even if it meant the madame’s dreaded company. She whimpered, prompting Josephine to look back with her hand on the doorknob. Wisteria thought she saw a flicker of emotion—sadness, maybe—but it skittered away, replaced by an impersonal stare. “It’s business, you understand. Nothing more than business.”

  The next instant she was gone, leaving Wisteria in the dark, windowless room. The only light left to her came from the hallway, through the cracks around the door. With no option except to lie there, restrained and helpless, she focused on the unusual sensations assailing her and the sense of disorientation the drugged smoke had left. Although she tried, she was having a hard time placing where she was and how she’d come to be there despite a feeling that she should know. As she struggled to think, she felt her body tingle. A sense of weightless was overtaking her, as if she were floating above the bed. She pulled on the ropes, but they held fast, scratching her skin with her struggles.

  She heard a woman giggling and stilled. The familiar sound came from far off, yet nearby, which made not a lick of sense to her fuzzy brain. Listlessly, her head fell to the side. She tried to focus on the source, seeing nothing except a black-haired woman, naked and tied to a bed. Vaguely, she realized it was her own image reflected in a mirror on the wall and that she was the one who was laughing. The absurdity of it all only entertained the woman more. As her mindless euphoria altered, moving gradually into a state of vacant lethargy, her eyes closed in surrender, just as Madame Josephine had encouraged.

  * * *

  Luke’s frustration was evident as he paced the planked floor of the Laramie jailhouse where Aaron was meeting with Sheriff Bozeman. He’d easily picked up the horses’ trail from the line cabin leading out into the western pasture, but with the rapidly descending darkness it was hard to follow. By lantern light, he persevered, tracking the three horses and four riders until they reached the main road leading into Laramie. From there, at night, it was impossible to distinguish one track from the hundreds of others that covered the busy road. It was a fifty/fifty guess which way they were headed.

  At sunrise, he picked up their trail, the deeper hoof marks of the double-ridden horse leading straight into town, down Cedar Street, turning left onto Garfield and ending in an alley that ran behind the businesses on Sixth Street.

  The day had been filled with fruitless searches, the sheriff and deputies going to every saloon, dance hall, and brothel in town. They’d claimed to have combed through every room, upstairs and down, looked in every wardrobe and broom closet, but had come up empty. No one had seen Wisteria, or at least none would ad
mit it.

  Luke was ready to tear the place apart board by board, convinced they were hiding her somewhere in town. The sun was setting and she’d been gone for nearly twenty-four hours. His distraught brain was riddled with images of what they were doing to her and how she was suffering. He was frazzled and on edge, and it showed, his feelings of frustration and helplessness boiling over.

  “Standing here yapping isn’t going to help us find my wife,” he growled with vexation. “We need to extend the search beyond Sixth Street to every saloon that peddles flesh, and every parlor house or dance hall within ten miles of the city limits.”

  “What makes you think she’d be at those type of places?” the thickheaded sheriff asked for the second time.

  Like a volcano on the verge of erupting, Luke clenched his fist, trying to maintain his thread-thin control. Close to Luke’s pa’s age, Bozeman was a seasoned lawman with nearly three decades of experience, the last ten years spent as Laramie’s sheriff, but in recent months, his indifference and complacency had led to problems in the sheriff’s office. He didn’t know how Aaron put up with the older man moving at a snail’s pace.

  Bozeman definitely needed to retire and hand over the reins to a younger man. Aaron had been to the mayor several times, suggesting that very thing, but short of the sheriff committing a major blunder, removing the older elected official would be an unpopular decision, one that the mayor didn’t want to risk with an election coming up.

  Already having explained twice, he repeated through gritted teeth, “Sanders originally planned to sell her to a brothel in Denver. It makes sense that he’d contrive to do so here.”

  “Hours of searching turned up nothing. Plans change, son.”

  Bozeman’s dispassionate tone was the final straw. Luke turned, grabbing the sheriff by his shirt and slamming him into the wall. “I’m not your son, dammit. I’m a pissed-off citizen who doesn’t want your opinion, he wants you to do the fucking job you get paid to do and begin searching again, and then I want you to keep searching until you find her. The trail ended on Sixth Street, which means she’s there, or they’re hiding her close by.”