Amboy was very well connected if he warranted a detail with a colonel. Tracker couldn’t see all of Shadow’s face because of his position, but from the set of his chin, he was giving the colonel hell. Tracker could almost feel sorry for the man. There was nothing more aggravating than Shadow in a mood.
Tracker slid a little to the left. Shadow didn’t appear to be injured. He still had his hat and he wasn’t shackled. How the hell had they caught him without a fight?
The colonel barked an order. One of the soldiers snapped off a salute and went into the stage house. Tracker tensed. The door opened.
Distinguished. That was the only word that came to Tracker’s mind to describe the man who stepped out. He was tall, with smoothly combed hair, a neat handlebar mustache, an impeccably fitted suit. He didn’t have an ounce of fat, and it wasn’t likely he had an ounce of muscle, but there was something about the man that said he wielded power.
The soldier directed him to the colonel. Amboy crossed the yard with a measured stride. Everything about the man was measured and controlled. The colonel asked him a question. Amboy pulled a watch from his vest pocket and checked the time. It was a blatant display of power. One that didn’t sit well with the colonel. After putting the watch away, he answered. Tracker was too far away to hear the words, but he could read expressions. The colonel hadn’t liked what he heard. He turned to Shadow, likely to ask him the same question. This had all the earmarks of a get-to-the-bottom-of-things discussion.
Amboy stood, legs slightly apart, and surveyed the crowd of men. The colonel was dwarfed by the Easterner’s height and presence. The smallest of smiles touched Amboy’s lips when he saw Shadow. He locked his hands behind his back and turned to face Tracker’s brother. His attitude said he didn’t appreciate the colonel disturbing his morning. The colonel’s attitude said he didn’t give a shit.
The hairs on the back of Tracker’s neck stood up as Shadow shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. It was a subtle transition from waiting to ready. Fighting beside a man for twenty years made him easy to read.
Tracker took a step forward and breathed, “No.”
It was suicide to attack Amboy.
This time it was Shadow who asked a question. Amboy didn’t flinch, but he also didn’t answer right away. The colonel looked uncomfortably from Shadow to Amboy. It couldn’t be easy for the officer to be the caught between a Texas Ranger and a high-placed Easterner.
The colonel motioned sharply. Two soldiers came forward, the clank of metal accompanying every step. Irons. They were going to put Shadow in irons. No way in hell.
Shadow glanced over his shoulder. Behind his back he made a sign. Tracker squinted against the sun.
Only one.
He was telling Tracker that Amboy was the man in charge. That they didn’t have anyone else to worry about.
Tracker’s fingers itched to sign back. It wouldn’t matter if he did. Shadow was turned away, couldn’t see.
Shadow’s fingers moved again. This time the sign was chillingly clear.
Ride to Hell’s Eight.
Amboy had sent assassins to Hell’s Eight. Damn him to hell. It didn’t matter that they’d anticipated an attack. Or that the place was rigged for defense and guarded by three of his best men and seven of Zach’s. There was always a chance for the unexpected to sway the outcome.
The soldiers were getting closer. Whatever Shadow planned, he’d have to act soon. Tracker took aim. He might not be able to save his twin right now, but he could help him. Shadow took off his hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve. Rifles came up, and he held his hands wide. The colonel nodded. Shadow straightened the brim before settling his hat back onto his head. The soldiers moved in. Either Shadow used that small hidden knife he’d just taken from his hat now, or the opportunity would be lost forever.
Evening up the score.
Don’t.
Shadow’s hand whipped forward. Silver flashed in the sunlight tracing the knife’s lethal path. Amboy grabbed at his neck. Blood sprayed red as he dropped to his knees, clutching the knife buried in his throat.
Four soldiers jumped Shadow, dragging him to the ground. As Tracker watched them put the shackles on his brother he had his answer as to how the army had managed to capture Shadow without a fight.
He hadn’t ever planned on giving them one.
Tracker backed up slowly, inching his way to the ravine. Rage burned like fire in his gut, burning out reason, burning out caution, giving him strength. Which was more than he could say for that crazy son of a bitch Amboy had sent to Hell’s Eight.
Tracker made it to the ravine. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he started running. A war cry ripped from his throat, filling the morning air with the promise of death. From the station came an answering cry. From above, the Hell’s Eight battle cry began with Caine, joined in by Caden, Ace, and Sam. It rose in volume and strength, building in unity, getting louder and louder until the promise it contained was the only thing to be heard.
Whoever Amboy had sent to Hell’s Eight was going to be in for a hell of a fight.
16
There had been a hell of a fight.
Tracker slowed Buster and picked his way with the others through the yard. To his left a man lay on the ground, his throat slit, his expression almost peaceful. Tracker recognized Tucker’s work in the efficiency of the kill. To his right, two men sprawled. The neck of one was broken. The other had a stab wound to the throat. For such a big man, Tucker could move as silently as a ghost, and when he caught up with his victims, all that muscle pretty much guaranteed it wasn’t going to be a fair fight.
“Doesn’t look like they were caught by surprise,” Caine said, his expression grim. Tracker knew how he felt. His woman and child were here, too.
“No. But it’s damn quiet.”
It was that. No hounds bayed a warning. No one stepped out of the house to greet them.
“Where the hell is everyone?”
More bodies littered the ground. None of them Hell’s Eight or Montoya. From his pen, the rooster, Cantankerous, crowed.
“Stay here with Zach,” Caine told Ace. “I’ll check the place out.”
“Will do.”
Sam reached for his smokes, reconsidered and laid his rifle across his lap, pulling his pistol instead. Tracker did the same. A pistol or knife was better for up-close fighting.
“I’ll check the barn,” Caden said.
Caine nodded.
“They’re fine,” Sam said.
“What makes you so sure?”
“None of these bodies are our men,” Tracker pointed out.
“And none of them have holes as big as Texas blown in their guts.” Sam smiled. “Bella’s grown right fond of her shotgun.”
“Would she be out here?”
“I’d like to think she’d stay put when I told her too, but…” He shook his head. “With the babies, I don’t think she’d be able to let them get that close.” He smiled a smile that didn’t reach the blue of his eyes. “Bella’s right fond of babies.”
“Bella’s right fond of you,” Tracker countered. “She knows to wait for you.”
As she had before. Hanging on until her Sam came, and when an explosion would have sent him over the cliff, she’d been there to catch him, holding on, pitting her determination against gravity and the fate that would have taken her Sam from her.
“Yeah, she does.” Sam’s smile faded. “When she remembers.”
“She’s a hell of a woman. Have some faith.”
“Working on it.”
There were more bodies near the main house. These were less uniform in placement. There had been an extended battle there. A closer inspection revealed the windows had been shot out, and bullet holes peppered the wood.
Tracker swore and turned his horse to the right, where Ari’s little house sat.
The front door of the main house opened. Maddie stood there, her hair loose about her shoulders, her sheer wrapper barely covering her imp
ressive breasts. Maddie was sweet but not quite right in the head. She’d been raised in a whorehouse and it was all she knew. Her mental problems and complacent ways made her the perfect whore, always doing what she was told, never understanding that not everyone was nice. Never understanding why she got hurt. Always coming back for more. She hadn’t asked Tracker to save her, but Tracker couldn’t have left her behind to be continually abused. The saying “God looks out for fools and idiots” hadn’t held for her. Tracker didn’t know how God could have overlooked Maddie.
No matter. Though she was near twenty by her count, she was like a sweet child trapped perpetually in the optimism of youth. Ever since Tracker had brought her in from Alguiero, Tia had been trying to teach her proper manners. The result was that Maddie still greeted everyone as if she were the hostess at a cathouse, though she did it with impeccable correctness.
“Hello, gentlemen.”
No one said anything. The moment stretched out.
“Is this your first time to Hell’s Eight?”
Maddie was having one of her flighty days. Anxiety did that to her.
“There’s no need to be shy. Our ladies are the finest in the state and guaranteed to make a man feel welcome.”
Caine swore. “Shit.”
“Easy,” Tracker warned. “She’s the only one who knows what happened here.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“Make time,” Sam snapped.
Tracker nudged Buster closer. “Hello, Maddie.”
Her round face melted into a genuine smile. “Tracker, how wonderful to see you again. I assume you’ll be wanting time with Ari.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial half whisper. “She’s one of our favorites. Very much in demand. Why, just last night several of her suitors got into a tussle as to who would win her favor.”
Translated, the first part meant Maddie knew he’d been with Ari, and that Maddie liked Ari. The last made his stomach sink. For the first time in his life he felt true fear.
“So I see.”
Maddie glanced around. “They did make a mess. Tia wasn’t happy. She hit one over the head with her rolling pin.”
A wave of fresh unease went through the men. The attackers had gotten into the house.
“Hurry it up, Tracker,” Caine hissed.
“Where is the one Tia hit?” Tracker asked.
Maddie looked concerned. “He hasn’t woken up yet.”
Tracker wasn’t surprised. Tia’s rolling pin was made of stone.
“I’m sure he will soon. Could you let Ari know I’m here?”
Maddie’s face fell. She hated to disappoint anyone. “I’m sorry, but all our ladies are currently occupied.”
“The hell you say.” Caine kneed his horse forward up onto the steps. Maddie screamed and fell back. Tracker jumped down and grabbed her before she could run. His own impatience made it nearly impossible to hold a civilized tone.
“Sally Mae isn’t going to like that,” Maddie whispered, holding on to Tracker’s arm while Caine hollered for Desi. “She told me horses don’t belong in the house, ever.”
Tracker didn’t want to know what had brought up that discussion.
“Where is Sally Mae?”
Maddie shook her head. “She’s at the cemetery with everyone else.” She blinked, wide-eyed, as if surprised he didn’t know. “Today’s the funeral.”
“Caine!” Tracker hollered. Sam was already riding out, Caden following suit. Ace came forward with Zach. “What?”
“They’re at the cemetery.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Who died, Maddie?”
“One of Mr. Zach’s men. And Mrs. Desi’s mom and dad.”
They were lucky they’d lost only one, and not the women, but still, one was too many.
“Maddie, I’ve got a man who’s hurt. Can you care for him until Sally Mae comes back?”
Sally Mae was as close to a doctor as they had, and truth be told, Tracker had yet to see a real doctor equal her skills. It made her pacifist views tolerable.
“Oh, yes. Sally Mae has been teaching me what to do. She says I have a real knack for doctoring.”
Ace smiled and dismounted. “Good, then you can practice on Zach.”
Maddie hurried forward, her whole demeanor changing. “Zach is hurt?”
“Yes.”
“What are you waiting for? Bring him into the parlor.”
Tracker dropped the reins and went to help Ace with the unconscious Zach. Damned if she didn’t sound just like Sally Mae right then.
“You got this, Maddie?” he asked as they carried Zach onto the porch.
She stood soldier straight, a confident smile on her face. “I’ve got this.”
Tracker shook his head. He’d never understand women. Things that should make them cower gave them confidence. Things they should face without batting an eyelash sent them screaming for cover. For Christ’s sake, Maddie got hysterical at the sight of a spider!
They carried Zach between them into the house. The first room on the right was the sickroom. Desi had dressed it up with some blue-and-white curtains, but it still carried the scent of carbolic, which removed any sense of cheer. Zach moaned as they laid him straight. Right away Maddie started stripping off his blood-soaked shirt. She didn’t flinch as blood stained her hands.
“Get me some hot water, Ace.”
“On it.”
Tracker fetched the cleaning cloths and basins. Maddie looked up. “You need to leave.”
“You think I can’t stomach a little surgery?”
“I think Miss Ari waits for you.”
Shit.
“She needs you right now.”
“She’s got her sister.”
Maddie shook her head and unbuckled Zach’s belt. “It’s not the same. You’re the one who understands her.” She glanced up at Tracker, looking so sweet and intent, it was hard to believe she’d been whoring since she was twelve. “That’s important, you know.”
“Desi—”
“Miss Desi has Caine. He’s the one who understands her.”
“I’ll go in a—”
She took the pan from his hand. “You need to go now. Mr. Zach would not like you to see him this way.”
“Better me than you.”
She shook her head and placed her hand gently on his stomach. “No. We have an understanding.”
He guessed they did, if unconscious could be considered consent.
Ace came back into the room, carrying the pitcher of hot water. “Mr. Ace will help me.”
Ace’s smile was gentle, covering the worry in his gaze as he glanced at the exposed wound.
“Sure will. At least until Sally Mae gets here.”
The others had likely already reached the small cemetery and relayed the need to Sally Mae.
“I’m sure she’s on her way.” As he should be. He had his own goodbyes to say.
It was a solemn circle at the cemetery. Desi, Tia and Ari stood in the center of the half circle of people surrounding the headstones set under the spreading branches of the elm tree. Caine stood beside Desi, who held Jonah. Ed beside Tia. In the middle, Ari stood holding Miguel, sheltered from the threats by Hell’s Eight love. Sheltered in his absence. Protected. By her family. In front of them all, Father Bernard stood, Bible in hand before the freshly turned earth marking a new grave. Obviously he’d been leading the memorial. Desi must have been planning the family funeral for a while to have the father out here so quickly.
He pulled Buster to a stop. Buster snorted and stomped his feet. Ari looked up and smiled, and Miguel squealed with pleasure. Ari stepped out of the semicircle. She looked beautiful in her borrowed black dress with her braided blond hair shining in the sunlight and her blue eyes sparkling with tears.
“Tracker.”
His name was her breath on the breeze.
He dismounted. “Sorry I’m late.” He took off his hat. “Who’d we lose?”
“Juarez,” Caine said.
“Yeah.”
Too many battles. Too many deaths already, but more to come. He watched Ari as she approached. He wanted so much more for her and Miguel.
“Caden told us what happened.” She caught his hand. “Are you all right?”
Tracker closed his fingers around hers, part of him expecting her to pull away, to give some sign that she didn’t need him anymore. Instead she stepped in closer, tilting her head back, lips pursed waiting for a kiss. The damn woman didn’t have a lick of common sense.
“I’m filthy.” From the trail. His choices. His life. And she had to stand there looking so pure.
She opened her eyes. Her right hand cupped his cheek. “You’re perfect.”
Miguel grabbed his hair and pulled it to his mouth, drawing Tracker closer to Ari. Closer to temptation.
“Hardly.”
She smiled softly and the understanding in her eyes made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Her smile spread. “Tracker Ochoa, are you refusing, before your family and mine, to kiss me?”
He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, let alone what she was doing. “Maybe.”
“Oh.” She blinked and the tears that had been drying freshened. She took a step back. A gun was cocked in the sudden silence.
He looked up. Caine smiled. “You get much more stupid, Tracker, and I’m going to have to plug you just to let some of it out.”
He would, too. Tracker didn’t care. “Stay out of it, Caine.”
“Can’t do that, Tracker. That’s my sister-in-law you’re trifling with.”
“I’m not trifling with anyone.”
Ari stomped on his toe. His boot took the brunt of the hit. Miguel pulled his hair.
Tracker’s Sin Page 24
