Tracker’s Sin

by Sarah McCarty

  Landed? That was an interesting way to put it. “I’ve been waiting for the lynch mob.”

  Shadow smiled. “This would be a good spot for hanging. Not many trees around these parts big enough to hang a man your size, but that one over there could probably do it.”

  Tracker’s gaze followed Shadow’s pointing finger to the tall oak. Yeah. It probably would. “Thanks for the sympathy.”

  Shadow sprinkled tobacco on the paper. “I wasn’t aware you were looking for any.”

  Tracker wished he hadn’t been so quick to toss away his smoke. He had nothing to do with his hands. “I’m going to be the number one attraction for a shotgun wedding.”

  Shadow rolled the smoke, ran his tongue along the edge of the paper and twisted the ends. He put the cigarette into his mouth. “To a woman you’ve been half in love with ever since Desi told you about her. There have been worse reasons to marry.”

  “Shit.”

  Shadow struck a match. Light danced over his face as he applied it to the tip of the cigarette. “You denying it?”

  Hell yes. There was no future for him with the woman. “Go home, Shadow.”

  His brother shook out the match and smiled. “When you do.”

  “I told you I had a bad feeling about this.”

  “All the more reason for me to stay.”

  One of the problems with having a twin brother was he often had some of your same qualities. Like stubbornness.

  Tracker pushed his hat back. Frustration gnawed at his gut. “This isn’t your destiny.”

  “It’s always been you and me against everything. Might as well add destiny to the list.”

  “No.”

  The end of the smoke glowed red in the night. “Not your call.”

  “The hell it isn’t. I don’t want you here.”

  Shadow blew out a stream of smoke. It faded like Tracker’s patience into the darkness. “And here I was counting on being your best man.”

  “Son of a bitch, you’re a stubborn bastard.”

  He smiled. “I am, aren’t I?”

  “I wouldn’t be bragging on it.”

  “Then I’ll brag on my new sister-in-law instead. She’s a looker.”

  Tracker snatched the smoke from Shadow’s hand, took a deep drag. The smoke burned his throat and lungs. He inhaled deeper, burying beneath the discomfort the need to punch his brother for admiring Ari.

  “She looks just like Desi.”

  “Yes, she does.” But somehow a touch softer. A touch more delicate.

  “Does she have her spirit?”

  I’ve come to take you home.

  Tracker nodded. “It’s a bit buried, but it’s there.”

  “Word is she’s a widow.”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “You believe it?”

  He remembered the innocence of her kiss. A woman who had been loved would have held some instinctive memory of that, wouldn’t she?

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You know she’s not a virgin.”

  With me gone, there was just her, and there were eleven of them.

  “I know.” She’d known rape and betrayal. He couldn’t fix that, but he could make new memories for her. He could show her tenderness.

  Tracker flicked the cigarette into the water. It hit with a faint hiss. “Now might be a good time to get on that horse and ride.”

  “No.”

  “Something about this setup stinks.”

  “I noticed.”

  It was all too convenient. Vincente was just too accepting. Josefina too possessive. Ari was too safe in a part of the country where she shouldn’t be.

  “What’s the plan?” Shadow asked.

  Tracker cocked an eyebrow at his brother. “What makes you think I have one?”

  “The fact that you’re sitting out here by yourself, tossing perfectly good smokes into the water. You only do that when you’re planning.”

  Tracker grunted. “The wedding date has been set for next week.”

  “Any idea why the stall?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wonder if it has anything to do with the group of Comancheros raiding a couple hundred miles northeast of here.”

  Shit. “How close are they likely to be to the route we’ll go?”

  “Too damn close.”

  They had limited options as to what route to take home. It was wide-open country between Eperanza and Hell’s Eight, but there were only so many places with potable water, only so many places one could cross rivers, canyons. Whatever route they chose, it was going to be brutal. “With a baby along, we don’t have any choice but to take the shortest one.”

  And the shortest route was likely what the Comancheros would be taking on their way back to Esperanza.

  “Yeah, but I did discover a shortcut.”

  “Where?”

  Shadow squatted and pulled his knife from his boot sheath. He sketched a rough map. “Here at Drunk Hole.”

  Drunk Hole was a major stop on the trip, being the only reliable source of water within thirty miles. He tapped the blade to the right. “This blind canyon here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s not actually blind. We’ll have to climb a bit, but there’s a narrow pass near the top.”

  Tracker wasn’t surprised Shadow had found an alternate route. His brother was fanatical about not being committed to anything, even the distance from point A to point B. Sometimes Tracker thought even his commitment to Hell’s Eight chafed. “Can we make it with the baby?”

  “It’ll be rough.” Shadow stabbed his blade into the ground. “Is Ari as game as Desi?”

  He’d carry her the whole damn way if he had to. “She’ll make it.”

  Shadow shook his head. “It’s going to be a hell of a trip.”

  “She can’t stay here.”

  “You sure?”

  Tracker met Shadow’s gaze dead on. “You hear anything in town about a band of gringos raising hell?”

  “The only grumblings in town are about a certain Indian raising hell in the cantina.”

  Tracker couldn’t find his smile. “Then I’m sure.”

  “Shit.”

  Tracker studied the map, ran timetables in his head. If the Comancheros were two hundred miles northeast, it would take them anywhere from five to seven days to get to Esperanza. Drunk Hole was three days out for both of them. The only way to get past the Comancheros with the baby and a woman was to get past Drunk Hole first. He touched the indentation left by the knife. “Can you get to Virgin’s Crossing and back by tomorrow night?”

  “Sure.”

  “They still have that telegraph line to San Antonio?”

  “As long as no one’s taken down the lines. You want me to send a telegram to Hells’ Eight?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know sending the telegram is going to alert everyone to where we are?”

  He knew. “I don’t see where I have any choice. It’s going to be a race to get through Drunk Hole before the Comancheros get there. And even if we do get through, there’s no guarantee they won’t pick up our trail. And if Vincente got in contact with Ari’s family, they could be waiting for us on the other side, anyway.”

  “Shit, they know she’s been found?”

  “Yes.” Tracker still had a lot of unanswered questions, but of this he was sure. Things were not as they appeared where Ari and her “family” were concerned. And the men who hunted Ari would be desperate to keep her from getting to the Hell’s Eight stronghold.

  “Things just keep getting better and better.”

  “Told you to go.”

  Shadow chuckled. “Where would be the fun in that?”

  It was their motto. Their thumb-their-noses-at-death, Ochoas-against-the-world battle cry. It didn’t resonate as deeply tonight. The sense of destiny and doom increased.

  Tracker forced a smile. “None at all.”

  “How are you going to get Ari to agree to leave here?”

&nbs
p; “I’m not giving her a choice.”

  Shadow looked askance at him. “We’re going to need her cooperation.”

  “We’re not going to get it.”

  Shadow pushed himself to his feet. “There’s no way in hell a kidnapping will work.”

  “We’re going to have to make it work, because there’s no way in hell I’m telling a woman that I don’t think she was ever married, that the people she loves like family are holding her for sale. That the rosy past that was created for her is all a myth. That in reality, her real-life family was killed. That she spent a year with Comancheros being raped and abused, enduring things that no woman should ever have to—”

  Shadow cut him off. “Enough.”

  Yeah. It was enough.

  Shadow bent, pulled his knife from the dirt and flipped it into the air once. Twice. “So, we’re going to steal her?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Are you worried that kidnapping her is going to bring back memories?” Shadow flipped the knife a third time.

  Hell yes, he worried about that. Tracker reached and caught the knife midflip. “I don’t see that we have any option.”

  Shadow took the knife back. “She’s going to hate you, brother.”

  “I know.” He just hoped to hell he could keep her hating him long enough for them to get to Hell’s Eight. Her memory would come back. It had to. But when it did, he wanted her safe and with her sister. It helped to have family around when your world fell apart. Desi would know how to help Ari. Desi knew about betrayal.

  “There’s a chance we’re seeing demons where there are none,” Shadow offered.

  Tracker hadn’t survived this long by ignoring his instincts, and his instincts were screaming. “That’s not a chance I’m willing to take. Even if we leave tomorrow night and ride hard, chances of beating the Comancheros to Drunk Hole are slim to none.”

  “We’ve faced worse.”

  “Yes. But this time we can’t afford to lose.”

  “Send the telegram.”

  Shadow slipped his knife into its boot sheath with a small snap. “Then we won’t lose.”

  The ranch was quiet, the house dark. Ari’s window was open to the warm night. They were going to have to have a talk about safety.

  Easing up to the windowsill, Tracker paused. It was going to be too easy. He pressed his back against the wall and listened for any sound coming from her room. He heard nothing. Which meant nothing. Anyone could be in there. Anyone could be waiting. An owl hooted near the corner of the house—Shadow asking if the coast was clear. He didn’t have time to waste on scouting. He palmed his knife. It felt cool in his hand, familiar.

  The horses were ready and waiting. The cradleboard Tracker had fashioned to carry the baby was tied to Buster’s saddle. What supplies he could find were packed. All he needed to do was grab Ari and Miguel and ride like hell. So why was he standing outside the window doing nothing?

  He didn’t like the answer when it came to him. He didn’t hold any illusions that, when this was over, he was going to be the one Ari smiled on. But he was determined that she would be able to smile, period.

  He slid his leg over the windowsill. The leather of his pants made a soft whisper of sound. Just inside the window he paused. It only took a second to assess the room. Ari lay on her side on the white sheets, the thick braid of her hair draped across the pillow behind her. Miguel slept beside her, pillows on either side of him keeping him put. Neither stirred as Tracker crossed the wood floor. He stopped beside the bed, making sure his faint shadow didn’t fall over Ari. She looked so innocent, so untouched by life, it was hard to believe she’d survived what she had.

  He picked up Miguel first. The boy was heavier than he looked and felt surprisingly sturdy. As Tracker tucked him against his chest, he didn’t make a sound, just rolled his head onto Tracker’s shoulder and, with total trust, went back to sleep. Tracker cupped his hand around the boy’s head. His hair was straight and soft, sticking out in absurd tufts. There was nothing about the child to make him smile, but even now he felt the urge. A wave of protectiveness took Tracker by surprise. Someone so small, facing so much, would need guardians in his life. Strong men to guide him. It couldn’t be him, but Hell’s Eight would stand for the boy. Would keep him safe until he was old enough to claim his inheritance and extract vengeance on those who hunted his family.

  A call came from the window. Shadow was waiting. Tracker passed Miguel to his brother. The baby went with only a slight whimper of protest. The plan was that Shadow would strap the boy into the cradleboard and have him ready to go by the time Tracker got Ari out to the horses. Tracker had a feeling that strapping a six-month-old infant into a cradleboard he wasn’t used to being in was not going to be that simple. Still, he’d rather be doing that than this. He crossed back to the bed, tugging four strips of material out of his pocket. One he balled up in his left hand.

  Leaning over the bed, he placed his hand on Ari’s mouth. She came awake, her scream breaking against his palm. The memories weren’t as buried as he’d hoped.

  “Hush, it’s just me.”

  Ari stopped clawing at his hand. Tracker took advantage of her confusion and slipped the gag into her mouth. When she grabbed at his hands, he slid the second strip across her mouth and rapidly tied it behind her head. She screamed behind the gag. The sound was muffled, but still audible. He glanced toward the door. Vincente and Josefina were older. Hopefully their hearing wasn’t great.

  “Be quiet.”

  She was anything but. Her foot caught him on the inside of the knee. He twisted to block the next kick. Her knee grazed his balls. The pain wasn’t severe, but bad enough to convince him to stop playing around. He grabbed her shoulders and flipped her onto her stomach. The mattress dipped and the supporting ropes creaked as he straddled her hips, using his weight to keep her in place. She reached back, fingers curved like claws. She was a fighter. Not that it would do her any good. He caught her hand and pressed it into the small of her back. It didn’t take any effort at all to snag her other wrist and repeat the process. Her screams were muffled by the pillow as he tied her wrists together. For all her spirit, she didn’t have much muscle. The Comancheros would have had no trouble forcing her to their will. Sliding down her thighs, Tracker used his knees to keep her legs together. While she flopped about like a landed fish, he tied her ankles.

  He turned her over. Her eyes screamed betrayal. He didn’t flinch. “We’ve got to move and we’ve got to move now.”

  She shook her head, desperately trying to see where Miguel had been lying. Tracker cupped her head in his hands and turned her face to his. “He’s already at the horses.”

  She shook her head again, struggling against the bonds, bucking on the bed. The ropes under the mattress creaked. The last thing he needed was Vincente in here. Tracker put his hand to her throat. “If you don’t keep quiet I’ll be forced to quiet you.”

  Angry, reckless, her eyes dared him to.

  If she were a man, he’d simply knock her out. But she was a woman and he didn’t hit women. She didn’t need to know that, however. Sometimes perception was stronger than fact. “Do I make you?”

  She slowly settled back against the mattress, but her muscles were tense. In a heartbeat she’d be fighting again.

  “Do you want me to leave you behind?”

  That got through. Her eyes narrowed with hate. He touched his fingers to her cheek.

  “Hold on to that thought.”

  Leaving her on the bed, he went through drawers, grabbing a couple pairs of pantaloons, a dress and petticoats. He tossed them on the bed. A shawl hung on a nail by the door. Her shoes rested beneath. Sweeping them up, he brought them to the bed and dropped them on the pile. A pillowcase worked as a bag. He tossed it out the window before going back to the bed to pick up Ari.

  He slid his hands under her body. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. He could feel the moisture of her tears against his arm. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He
wanted to tell her the truth. He didn’t. The truth would hurt too much.

  The sound of a pistol cocking broke the silence.

  Shit. Tracker released Ari and straightened. He slowly turned.

  Vincente stood just inside the door, dressed in a nightshirt, a pistol pointed at Tracker’s midsection.

  “I have been waiting for you,” the old man whispered.

  Not the words you wanted to hear from a seventy-year-old with arthritic fingers currently crooked around the trigger of a gun pointed at your gut. “You have?”

  “Sí.”

  At least the man was whispering and not shooting. “Mind if I ask what made you think I’d come calling tonight?”

  “Lower your voice. We do not want to wake Josefina.”

  “You’re the one with the gun.”

  “Sí, I am.”

  “So how did you know?”

  “You are a man of habit. Always you put your saddle away at the end of the day. Today you left it at the ready. When men of habit break them, it is for a reason.”

  Tracker feigned nonchalance, feeling Ari’s eyes on his back like twin daggers. “I could just be running from a shotgun wedding.”

  Vincente shook his head. “You came many miles to find Ari. You would not leave without her.”

  “You’re right.” He turned slowly back toward the bed. “That being the case, I’ll just be going.”

  He made only a quarter turn before the old man hissed out, “Do not.”

  Shit again. “Make up your mind, Vincente. Time’s wasting.”

  “Not so much time that I cannot say what needs to be said.”

  “I think the fact you’re letting me kidnap your daughter-in-law says it all.”

  “It is right that she leave this way.”

  Tracker shook his head. He couldn’t care less what the old man’s reasons were. And Ari didn’t need to hear them, because for sure they were the type to tear her world apart. She needed her illusions, in order to keep her sanity.

  “I’m not your priest, old man. I don’t want to hear your confession.”

  “But Ari must hear.” Vincente nodded to the bed. “She must not think that we did not love her. That we are terrible people.”