by Warner, Kaki
“Why?” Penny asked.
“See if he has candy.”
“Candy!” Penny shouted. Grabbing Maria’s hand, she tugged her down the hall. “I know where he keeps peppermint!”
Molly closed the door, then heart pounding, her legs wobbling beneath her, she approached the bureau.
Under the severed doll hands was a note written in an elegantly feminine hand with all the pretentious flourishes one might expect from a man as demented and dramatic as Hennessey.
Time is up, Lovey. You know what I want. Ride west.
I’ll find you. Or that delicious little Penny.
Molly stared in disbelief at the note until her hands shook so badly she could no longer make out the words. He was still after them. He was out there somewhere waiting. And without the book to give him, there was no way she could stop him.
Oh God Oh God.
Her mind reeling, she thought frantically for a way out of this terrible quagmire she had dragged them all into. She couldn’t go to Brady. He would ride out, and Hennessey would kill him. She couldn’t wait for Hank—it might be too late. Even if every man on the ranch took out after him, Hennessey would see them long before they knew where he was. He would simply fade away, and they would never find him, and she would never know where he was, or when he would strike.
And one by one he would calmly and coldly kill off everyone she loved.
Dear heaven. What have I done?
Panic engulfed her. Her heart pounded so hard she thought she might faint. No! she chided herself. Think! You have to think of a way to stop him!
After a moment, the terror faded enough that she could think again. She paced back and forth, her mind racing with thoughts, plans, ideas. He was out there somewhere, waiting for her to bring the book . . . which meant he couldn’t still be here in the house . . . which meant for a while, at least, everyone here was safe. But for how long? What would he do if she didn’t bring him the book as he’d demanded?
He would come back. He would start hurting people—the children—Hank.
She couldn’t let that happen. There was only one way to stop him, she realized in despair. And only she could get close enough to him to do it.
Grimly determined, Molly went to her medicine satchel and gathered what she would need.
Twenty-four
WHEN HANK LED CHARLIE AND HIS MEN PAST THE SHELTERing walls of Blue Mesa and down toward the home valley, the wind hit them with a vengeance. The storm was full upon them now, snow stinging their faces and piling up in deep, powdery drifts that churned around the horses’ legs. Visibility dropped to less than ten feet, and landmarks began to disappear.
Hank had the men string a rope between riders so no one would wander from the trail and find themselves cut off from the others. Fearing Charlie might fall off and no one would notice, he took him up behind him, covering him with his duster and anchoring him with a rope around his waist. He could feel the small body shivering against his back and cursed himself for dragging the boy along.
But what else could he have done? He wouldn’t have left him behind any more than he would have been willing to wait around on the hopes that the storm would end soon. Molly could be in trouble. He needed to get back and make sure she was safe. At least the snow might work in their favor and keep Hennessey holed up until they could get back to the ranch. Hank wouldn’t even consider that he might already be too late.
They moved at a snail’s pace as the snow grew deeper. Worried they might drift from the road and tumble into one of the dry arroyos that cut through the valley, Hank called a stop to confer with Langley, who knew this country almost as well as he did. “Stay low or go high?” Hank yelled.
Langley looked around, trying to gauge the direction and strength of the wind.
If they went high along the edge of the valley and next to the tree line, they might get some protection from the wind. They would also be better able to gauge their direction, since the trees ran in pretty much a straight line. But it would take longer, and the horses were already suffering. And if the visibility stayed poor, they could ride right past the ranch and never see it. Plus, there was always the danger of stumbling into a gully they couldn’t see through the snow.
If they stayed low on the flats and rode parallel to the tree-lined creek that cut down the middle of the valley, it would be faster and lead straight to the house—as long as they didn’t lose sight of the creek and didn’t come across an arroyo hidden under the snow. It was some comfort that the flakes weren’t coming as furiously as before and weren’t as large. Maybe the worst of the storm had passed on ahead of them, and they would only have to suffer the tail end of it the rest of the way to the ranch.
“I say low,” Langley yelled after a moment. “I trust Droop to keep us on trail. He’ll get us home.”
Droop was Langley’s horse, a trail-wise old gelding with a reputation for levelheadedness. It was an indication of how desperate their situation was that they would depend on an old cow horse’s sense of direction to get them home before they all froze to death.
Hank waved Langley forward. “Take the lead. I’ll take drag.” And falling in behind the last rider, Hank took up the trailing end of the guide rope as they rode down into the valley.
MOLLY THOUGHT THE HARDEST PART WOULD BE GETTING A horse. But the worker in the barn, another Garcia cousin, was young and inexperienced and no match for her determination. It also helped that the language differences precluded lengthy explanations. Apparently he was concerned about the weather, but once she’d assured him she only intended to take a short ride and would stay within sight of the house, he reluctantly saddled the horse she had ridden to Redemption after the cave-in.
After checking her right pocket to be sure the glass stopper in the medicine vial was secure, and checking her left for the syringe, she reined away from the morning sun and toward the bank of low clouds moving up the valley from the west. As she rode, she memorized landmarks, knowing if clouds obscured the sun, distant ridges might be her only guides. Luckily, since they hadn’t had snow in over a week, the road was packed down and easy to follow. But it was hard riding into the wind, and before she had gone a mile, tiny ice pellets began hitting her in the face. Pulling the hood of the shearling coat Hank had given her tighter around her head, she rode steadily west, wondering how long before Hennessey found her, and when he did, would her plan work.
She might not have to execute it. If he’d been in Mexico for the last month, Hennessey might not be aware that Fletcher had been arrested and the book was now in the hands of the deputy U.S. marshal.
But if he did know, why was he still after her?
And if he didn’t know, why would he believe anything she told him?
No matter how many ways she looked at it, it all came down to one thing: If Hennessey showed up, she would have to do what she must. There was no one else to stop him but her.
After a while, ice pellets turned into fluffy snow that danced and swirled in the wind. The sun had disappeared, and the sky was such a uniform gray, landmarks were fast disappearing behind a veil of white. When the road curved to the south, she stayed right, hoping she was still headed west as she rode on into trackless snow.
An hour passed, and as the snow continued to fall, a new fear gripped her. What if she missed him and he thought she wasn’t coming? What if he—
A clatter behind her, then suddenly a horse lunged up out of the ground. Not out of the ground, but out of a gully she hadn’t even noticed in the thickening snow.
In her fright, she jerked her horse around so abruptly he almost lost his footing on the snow-covered rocks at the edge of the gully. By the time she got him settled, Hennessey was beside her, his horse headed in the opposite direction along her left side, his hand gripping the reins of her horse. He was so close she could smell his sickly sweet perfume, feel his knee digging into hers.
“Hello, lovey,” he said, his reptilian voice barely audible through the muffler that covered t
he lower half of his face. “Miss me?”
“Fletcher’s been arrested,” she blurted out. “There’s no need to pursue this.”
“Fletcher’s a fool.” Tipping his head to the side, he studied her.
“Where’s the book, lovey? Will you hand it over, or must I come get it?”
She motioned to the scarf, needing him to lower it and expose as much of his face as possible. “I can’t hear you. What did you say?”
In a quick, furious motion he struck out, catching her just below the eye.
With a cry of surprise, she rocked back, almost tumbling out of the saddle as her horse shied.
Hennessey gave a vicious yank on her gelding’s reins, then held him fast until he settled back down. He glared at Molly. “Do. You. Have. It?”
She blinked at him, a hand on her cheek, her ears ringing from the blow. As she struggled to gather her thoughts, she noted the scarf had slipped down almost to his chin.
He drew back his arm.
“Yes! Yes, I have it.” As she spoke, she reached into her right pocket and felt for the vial that held the solution of carbolic acid and chloroform.
“No tricks, lovey,” he warned, his eyes narrow and crafty. “Or I’ll do things to you that you could never even imagine in that empty little head of yours.”
“N-No. I’ve got it. It’s right here.” Thumbing the stopper loose, she gripped the vial tight in her gloved hand.
“Then let’s have it, lovey.” He let go of her horse’s bridle and held out his hand. “I’m out of patience.”
She jerked the bottle from her pocket and swept her arm in an arc, slinging the caustic contents over her mount’s head and his horse’s rump and directly into Hennessey’s face.
Hennessey screamed and clawed at his eyes. His horse reared. Cursing and reeling in the saddle, Hennessey grabbed for the reins as the animal’s back hooves slipped on the icy rocks at the edge of the drop-off. For an instant the terrified horse hung in the air, front legs flailing, then it toppled backward. Molly heard a scream that could have been from the horse or the rider. Then a clattering cascade of falling rocks.
Frightened by the sudden commotion, Molly’s gelding hopped and lunged. Fearing he would lose his footing, too, Molly fought desperately to bring him under control. When finally he stood shivering, his sides pumping, his breath steaming in the cold air, Molly was shaking so badly she could hardly hold on to the reins.
She gave him a moment more, then turned the gelding toward a cluster of low scrub. Dismounting onto wobbly legs, she tied his reins to a sage bush, then stood for a moment, listening. All she heard was her horse’s labored breathing and her own pulse thudding in her ears. After checking to be sure she still had the syringe of laudanum in her left coat pocket, she moved cautiously to the edge of the drop-off and peered down.
The gully was bigger than she had expected. Maybe forty feet across and almost that many feet deep. The sides were steep and littered with boulders and loose snow-covered rocks. Both Hennessey and his horse lay motionless at the bottom.
The horse’s neck was at an impossible angle. Several yards past it, Hennessey lay sprawled on his back, arms spread. Even through the drifting snow, she could see that he had several cuts on his head and face. One of the head wounds bled so profusely she knew his heart was still beating. She sat for a time, watching him, but saw no movement, and he never opened his eyes.
She should leave, get Brady and bring him back to dispose of this vermin.
But what if Hennessey regained consciousness while she was gone and was waiting in ambush when they returned?
Or she could leave and hope he never woke up and froze to death in the snow.
And if he lived?
No. It would be intolerable not knowing for sure that Hennessey was dead and no longer a threat. She couldn’t live in endless fear, wondering if and when he would show up again.
This had to end now.
And she had to be the one to do it.
God help me.
On trembling legs, she started down into the gully.
THE WORST OF THE STORM HAD PASSED ON TO THE EAST BY the time Hank spotted the arched gate rising out of the snow ahead. Relieved, he spurred his tired horse toward the house. But relief quickly faded when he saw the horses and riders milling in the yard and his brother shouting orders from the porch.
As they rode up, Brady charged down the steps to meet them. “Molly’s gone.”
Hank rocked back in the saddle, the words striking him with the force of a blow. “Gone where?”
Before Brady could answer, Penny slammed out of the house, waving her doll. “Papa-Hank, Papa-Hank! Aunt Molly was supposed to find where the monster put Miss Apple’s hands, but now she’s gone and will you find them for me?”
Monster? “Hennessey?” Hank stared in growing horror at Penny, then Brady, then the empty expanse stretching in all directions. Had he come too late?
Brady frowned up at him. “Hennessey? I thought he was long gone. I thought Fletcher—”
“Fletcher’s dead. And he wasn’t the one who hired him.” Hank’s mind spun in circles. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t catch his breath.
Gone where? When? Christ!
Brady yelled at someone to bring a fresh horse, then helped Charlie dismount. “Take him and Penny to Consuelo,” he told one of the men standing by the porch. “And have her send out coffee and food.”
“We don’t have time for that!” Hank swung stiffly from the saddle. How could his brother even think of food while Molly was out there lost? Or worse.
“You’re frozen,” Brady argued. “If you hope to stay in the saddle, you better get something warm in your belly.”
“Where could she be?” Hank demanded. “Have you sent trackers?”
“Miley and Hench found a trail heading west. One rider, shod horse. They think it’s one of ours. They’ll follow it and we’ll follow them, unless we find reason not to.”
Hank knew they wouldn’t be able to follow it far. The snow would have covered her tracks within minutes. “Was she alone?”
Brady nodded. “One of the Garcia boys saddled her horse. He says he told her not to go, that it would snow soon, but she said she was only going for a short ride and would stay close to the house. At least that’s what he thinks she said. He’s not that good with English, and she’s got no Spanish.”
“Christ.” Hank studied the rolling valley, scanning for something dark moving against all that white. Not even cows marred the starkness of the new snow, no doubt waiting out the squall in the shelter of the trees spilling out of the canyons.
He had just ridden in from the northwest. He must have cut across her trail without even knowing it. The thought of being so close made him want to shout in frustration. “Damnit! Why would she ride off like that?”
“Maybe she just wanted some fresh air. She’s had a rough couple of days.”
Hank looked at his brother.
A reluctant smile creased Brady’s face. “The babies came. Twin boys.”
“Already? Is everybody all right?”
Brady nodded. “But it was another breech. Without Molly, I don’t think Jessica or the second baby would have made it. Thank God she was here.” He made a show of looking around. “Especially since it appears you forgot to bring Doc.”
“I didn’t wait for him, but he’s on his way.”
Hank scanned the valley again. He remembered how Molly told him that after a bad day in surgery she would find a high place to scream the tension away. Maybe that’s what she’d done. Maybe she’d just gone out for some fresh air and had lost her bearings when the squall came through. Maybe she was on her way home right now.
Or maybe Hennessey already had her.
The thought sent such fear through Hank for a moment he felt light-headed.
“Here,” Brady said, holding out the food and hot coffee Consuelo had sent.
Hank choked down what he could until the Garcia kid brought his fresh horse. A leg
gy bay with a hard mouth and cantankerous attitude, but a stride that could cover ground fast.
He was still chewing when he swung up into the saddle and headed west.
SLIPPING AND SLIDING OVER THE SNOW-COVERED ROCKS,
Molly carefully worked her way to the bottom of the gully. The wind wasn’t as strong below the rim, and although the snow continued to fall, it had changed from fluffy to small, denser flakes almost like sleet. It was so cold it didn’t immediately melt when it landed on Hennessey or the horse.
Hennessey still hadn’t moved.
Standing at a distance, Molly studied him, trying to assess his condition. He was breathing, and she could see he was still bleeding, but it had slowed somewhat in the cold. His eyes remained closed and showed little movement even when the snow landed on his closed lids. She moved cautiously forward. Just out of arm’s reach, she stopped and scanned for weapons.
She saw a scabbard tied to the saddle on the horse, but she wasn’t that familiar with rifles. Two belt buckles showed beneath the flap of Hennessey’s coat. She assumed one was a gun belt. Watching him for the slightest movement, she flipped back the coat, yanked the pistol from the holster, then jumped back.
He didn’t move.
She studied the gun. A revolver like Papa’s. Pulling the hammer to the half-cocked position, she checked the open back of the cylinder and saw that five of the six chambers were capped, with one empty chamber beneath the firing pin. She eased the hammer back down, then slipped the gun into the pocket of her coat.
Hennessey still hadn’t moved.
Bending, she checked his other hip. No second holster. She opened his coat to see if he wore any other guns or knives, but found none. Letting the coat fall closed, she rose and studied his body for other injuries.
From the angle of his right foot, she thought his lower leg or ankle might be broken. She nudged it.
No reaction.
Moving back out of reach, she sat on her heels, her shoulders hunched against the stinging snow, and tried to decide what to do. She couldn’t leave him. Not alive anyway. But she didn’t know if she could kill him either. If he threatened her, yes. But an unarmed, unconscious man? She didn’t know. She was a healer. Not a killer. And even though she hadn’t been allowed to take the Hippocratic Oath like a real doctor, Papa had drilled every word into her memory and had made her promise to abide by its principles to the best of her ability.
