Down in the Valley

by Jane Shoup

  Hide!

  She backed into the parlor, keeping her eyes on the front door and window, and then rushed to the back door to open it a little ways. Make them think she’d left. Lifting her skirt, she hurried to the steps and crept up them, knowing where to hide.

  In her room, she opened the window and climbed out on the roof. It had a steep pitch, but she’d hidden out here as a child and gotten away with it every single time. She’d managed it then and she would manage it now. The tricky thing was to shut the window behind her, but she did it. Staring up at the cloudy morning sky, she scooted inch by inch toward the chimney. It would be something to brace herself against and it would be warm. In that spot, she couldn’t been seen from the ground or the window.

  Sonny opened his eyes and tried to make sense of the table leg in front of him, not to mention the pounding in his head. He groaned as he sat up slowly and looked around. Em. She’d clocked him and gotten away. Fury overtook his pain and he pulled himself up and stumbled out to the front porch. The sight of him started a commotion and, within moments, men were mounting excited horses and taking off in different directions to hunt for Em.

  Sonny walked back into the house to clean himself up.

  “What is it?” Wood asked Tommy as they rode. “What’s got you so antsy?”

  Tommy reined in his horse and Wood did likewise. “You can handle this by yourself.”

  “Sure I can, but why?”

  Tommy shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s Em. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  “And you want to go back and check on her?”

  Tommy nodded. He’d had a knot in his belly, and it had been tightening for an hour. He couldn’t help worrying that Briar Lindley would swoop in and hurt her again, despite the man’s claim that he wouldn’t. How much of a stretch was it, really? He’d hurt her before, he was spying on her. He was aware of the happenings on the farm enough that he’d figured out sleeping arrangements. He would see she was alone.

  “Then go,” Wood said. “I can handle it.”

  Tommy handed over the pack with the money. “Thanks.”

  The display of trust sent a jolt of gratitude straight to Wood’s heart. “We’ll be back in a few days,” he said gruffly. He spurred his horse on and rode away before any emotion was obvious on his face. The fact was, he’d done eighteen months in prison for theft. He’d been honest about it, too, first with T. Emmett Rice and then with Tommy. He’d faced plenty of rebuffs, rejection and prejudice since his release. But they’d given him a chance. Then they’d given him authority and a home. They’d helped to restore his pride and now he’d been given the ultimate display of trust. He wouldn’t let them down. Not for all the tea in China.

  Sonny watched the search.

  “Don’t see her anywhere, sir,” one of the men shouted.

  “Search the house again and the grounds. Maybe she didn’t go far.”

  Mitchell Medlin topped a ridge and turned his horse around, frustrated by the mounting conviction that he wasn’t going to be paid the rest of what he was owed. He hadn’t shown up for work this morning, which meant he had to come up with one hell of a story for Howerton. He’d thought about saying that he was trying to protect Miss Wright because of rumors he’d heard about her getting taken. He could say how he felt guilty for what he’d done before. Howerton would buy that. Of course, the bitch had to go first.

  His elevated vantage point offered a great view of the farm—and of Emeline Wright on the roof. A slow smile crept over his face. He drew breath to shout out her whereabouts but, on second thought, he headed down to the farm instead. He’d collect his money first and maybe a nice bonus, too.

  Sonny was on the back porch awaiting word when he noticed Mitchell Medlin riding toward him. He tensed, knowing from the man’s expression, he was going to report something of value. “Spotted her,” Mitchell announced.

  “Where?” Sonny barked. He was in no mood for games.

  Medlin dismounted. “You still owe me money, Mr. Peterson.”

  Sonny took some money from his pocket and flung it on the ground. “Where is she?”

  Mitchell looked down at the money. It was more than what he was owed. “She’s—”

  “She’s on the roof!” a man yelled from the hill.

  Mitchell looked behind him, resentful that someone had said it first. He looked back at Sonny and nodded. “On the roof.” He stooped to pick up the money from the ground as quickly as he could.

  Sonny gave him a look of disgust and then jerked around and headed inside. “She’s on the roof,” he bellowed to the man searching the loft. “Get her!”

  Em heard the shout, but there was nothing she could do. She saw the men coming for her and fear robbed her of breath. A man stuck his head out the loft window and saw her. “She’s here alright,” he reported.

  She inched away, despite the fact there was nowhere to go. The man was already scrambling out after her and the others were arriving back at the house. She was surrounded.

  “Come on, miss,” the man called to her. “Before you fall and break your neck.”

  If only she could somehow drop to the ground without breaking anything and get to a horse.

  “There’s a half dozen men down there,” the man reasoned. “Just come on in.”

  There were several men below and they were watching her and following her every move. Already, one was carrying a ladder from the barn.

  “Come on, miss,” the man said. He’d crawled close, almost close enough to touch her.

  “Please. He’ll kill me,” she pleaded.

  “No, he won’t. He came a long way to get you. He only wants to take you back home.”

  She shook her head and scalding tears ran down her face. I am home. Tommy!

  “Come on,” the man said. “I’ll help you.”

  It was over, she realized. No one could help her.

  She was pulled back through the window to face Sonny. He stood, absolutely expressionless, until he raised his arm and backhanded her across the face. The force of the blow sent her reeling sideways against the wall. “Get her up,” he demanded.

  The man who’d pulled her off the roof, pulled her upright, although he avoided her gaze.

  “Wait outside,” Sonny ordered.

  The man obeyed, and Em listened to his retreating footsteps with dread.

  “You stupid bitch,” Sonny said as he unbuckled his gunbelt. He pulled it off, removed the holster with his gun still it in and tossed it on the bed. He doubled the belt over and advanced on her. “You just refuse to learn.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Tommy rode in to the farm fast, sensing trouble. There were fresh tracks from multiple horses, which he didn’t understand. It wasn’t Briar Lindley who’d been there; this was something else. “Em,” he yelled as he dismounted. His hand closed over his pistol as he hurried to the house. He pushed open the unlatched front door and saw the blood on the floor. A chair was overturned and various items were in disarray. In the parlor, there were more drops of blood. “Em,” he called again, although he knew in his gut she wasn’t there.

  He glanced in Doll’s room, which looked untouched, and then bolted up to the loft. The scuffle had continued up here, or had it started here? There was blood on the wall and drops on the floor. The bed was made, but the covers had been mussed. His eyes narrowed to see the smears of blood on the bedspread. He’d almost missed them because of the color and pattern of the spread. The window was open and he moved to it and looked out, hoping to see something that would explain what had happened here. All he could tell was that the tracks led to the road.

  Moving fast, he got back to his horse and followed the tracks until one set veered off toward the Triple H. The majority had gone straight down the road, but one had gone this way.

  The riders came to a fork in the road and stopped. “I think it’s this way to the station,” one of the men said, jerking his thumb to indicate the road heading northeast.

  “Which way?” So
nny demanded of Em, who was riding on his horse in front of him.

  Em pointed, confirming the man’s suggestion.

  “Ya!” Sonny yelled, spurring his horse toward the opposite road.

  Em felt a sharp thrill, but then she realized what a small and insignificant victory it was since both roads eventually led to town. This path simply took longer. She’d known he wouldn’t trust her word.

  “When I get you back to Richmond—” Sonny said, under his breath.

  He didn’t have to finish the statement. She knew. He would beat her again and again. He would burn his brand onto her. He would break her. He had nearly succeeded before; he would not settle for coming close again. She couldn’t let it happen. Once they were in town, she had to make a scene, no matter what he did to her. She could not allow herself to be dragged onto the train. Once that happened, it was over. If he got her back to Richmond, she would be trapped for life—however long a life he allowed her.

  Tommy rode alongside Howerton and ahead of a quickly amassed posse. He’d ridden onto the Triple H and barged into the house without even thinking about what he was doing. He’d found Howerton and blurted the story.

  Howerton’s eyes narrowed as he listened. “Mitchell,” he’d said to Quin. “Get him! And lock him the hell up until we get back.” He waved Tommy onward and followed close behind. “He claimed he was looking out for her, because he’d heard Peterson and the others were closing in.”

  “Who?” Tommy demanded, frowning darkly as they stepped back out to the porch.

  “A man named Sonny Peterson and his men. I made it my business to find out who Peterson was after he started asking about her in town.”

  Tommy battled a wave of fury. “When was this?”

  “A few nights ago. You know anything about him?”

  “No.”

  “He owns a big hotel in Richmond. The Virginia Palace. Emeline was with him before she came back home. Apparently, she left without telling him and he’s been searching for her ever since.”

  Richmond. That meant, “The train,” Tommy exclaimed. He mounted his horse and rode out. Behind him, Howerton shouted for men to arm themselves and follow them on the double.

  As they cantered through town, Sonny’s grip tightened around Em, all but cutting off her air supply. He pressed his lips to her ear. “Make a scene and I will cut you,” he swore, popping open a vicious-looking switchblade with a serrated edge so that she could see it. “I can stick you so it takes days to die. It’s a waste, but I will have made my point. You get me? You had better not give me any more problems.”

  Always before, she’d felt excitement and relief when the train station came into view; now she experienced cold terror. The train was waiting and it represented a one-way passage to hell, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. When they stopped, she was pulled from Sonny’s horse and surrounded by the pack of men. In no time, Sonny had one hand around her waist, and the other around her arm as she was hustled forward. They moved directly onto the train and she couldn’t stop it, although she couldn’t help balking, knowing that she was being marched to her execution.

  “Move,” Sonny hissed.

  Tommy jumped off his horse and forced his way onto the train, pushing past the agitated conductor despite the man’s shouted objections that the train was about to leave the station. Howerton was right behind him and he would deal with the man.

  “What the hell?” one of the male passengers demanded as he stood.

  “That’s one of his men,” Quin said from directly behind Tommy.

  Tommy saw the man reach for his gun, but he drew his faster.

  “Keep them in their holsters, gentlemen,” Howerton called out as he closed in from the other direction. “And you might just live through today.”

  Sonny’s men didn’t need to count to see they were outnumbered. Still, it was close quarters. Numbers didn’t count for all that much when you had talent with a gun. The train jolted.

  “If you don’t have a ticket, you’ll have to get off,” the conductor cried yet again.

  Quin picked one of Sonny’s men up by his shirt collar. He’d seen him in the saloon with Peterson. “Where are they?”

  The man spat out a curse.

  Quin drove the man’s head into the window, breaking the glass. “You were saying?”

  Tommy pushed on.

  “Let’s go,” Howerton said as Tommy moved past him. “They’ll be in a private compartment. Let’s start trying them.”

  “Would you care to sit?” Sonny asked in a dead-sounding voice.

  Em felt as if she were heavily weighted. She’d been forced into a compartment with Sonny, and the train was preparing to leave. She started to sit, but he backhanded her before she knew what was happening. She hit the floor and tasted blood again.

  “Or perhaps you’d rather lie down,” he said.

  She tried to twist into a protective ball, but he brought his foot straight down on her buttocks. Then, he reached down and yanked her up to face him. She knew her face was bleeding, because she saw the blood that spattered on his white shirt. Taking hold of her arms, he shook her with all his might and when his energy was spent, he tossed her backward onto the seat. He stood, considering her, and then reached for his handkerchief, which he tossed at her. “Wipe your face. It offends me.”

  He walked to the door in two long, purposeful strides, yanked it open and called to the conductor at the end of the row. “I want water. To wash with. And salt.”

  “Salt, sir?”

  “You heard me. Why aren’t we moving?”

  “There was a small problem, sir,” the man reported nervously, “but we’ll be on our way presently.”

  Howerton pushed open the door to the last car in time to see Peterson demanding to know why they weren’t moving. Quickly, Howerton turned back to Tommy, who was looking in the compartments of that car. “It’s him,” he said with quiet urgency.

  Tommy looked just as Sonny withdrew into his compartment.

  Em shrunk into the backmost corner of the seat as Sonny came toward her.

  “Let’s discuss what I should do with you,” he said. “I really do want your opinion.”

  Tears blurred her vision as he popped the blade out and twisted the knife back and forth, as if he was inspecting the lethalness of the blade.

  “I need you to see things from my perspective,” he said.

  She crossed her arms in front of herself.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” he said reassuringly. “Then I’d have your body to get off the train. No. You won’t cause me that kind of trouble again. What I am going to do is to carve—”

  There was an urgent rap on the door that silenced him.

  Sonny glanced at it, then considered Em again. “The water is for you to clean the blood off your face and out of your hair. Because you will look presentable when we exit this train. Now, the salt. That’s a different matter. That’s part of your punishment.”

  He turned and started for the door, and Em experienced a heady rush of relief, which was immediately tempered by the realization that the reprieve was merely momentary. Dizziness descended fast and hard as she puzzled over when and where she had experienced that very thought before. Oh, yes. At the Palace. The night she’d gotten away from him. Or thought she had. The switchblade was still in his hand, although he held it behind him as he opened the door. She thought about charging him, but she no longer had the strength. He’d won. He’d already won.

  “Back up,” a voice ordered.

  Tommy. It was Tommy’s voice. “He has a knife,” she cried.

  In a surreal moment, Sonny charged, but Tommy fired. Sonny lurched backward and fell, having been shot in the throat. Blood poured from the wound and his body jerked in death spasms. Then it went still. Too quickly. It was a trick. It was all a trick. Em stared, knowing she’d been cast into a dark dream world, a nightmare world, where everything was moving slowly, jerkily, wrongly and Sonny was about to get up and c
ome at her again.

  Tommy had stepped in the door and he was looking at her. Howerton pushed in behind him. “It was self-defense,” Howerton said urgently. “He pulled a knife on you.” Howerton noticed her and cringed. “Aw, shit,” he said under his breath. He clapped Tommy’s arm, murmuring that he’d get the conductor and left again.

  Tommy holstered his gun and started toward her. Using her arms to help pull herself up, she managed to stand just before he reached her. He drew her into his arms and held her tightly. It meant she was safe. She was finally safe. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m . . . suh . . . sorry. I—”

  “I’ve got you now,” Tommy said as he stroked her hair. “You’re safe.”

  She stared at Sonny’s body, in case it was a trick. But he wasn’t moving. “Sorry,” she whispered again.

  “Shh,” he said as he rubbed her back in a gentle circle. “Just breathe. Listen to me, now. Just breathe.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She didn’t mean to keep saying it, but she couldn’t stop.

  “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left.”

  She shook her head and began to cry because he was the one man in the world who wasn’t at fault.

  “Tommy,” Howerton said from the door.

  Reluctantly, Tommy shifted to glance at the stricken-looking conductor standing there. He nodded and then pulled back to gaze at Em, holding on to her arms. “I’ve got to talk to this man now. We’ll get through this and I’ll take you home. Alright?”

  She tried to nod although her neck felt too stiff.

  “I won’t let you out of my sight,” he added.

  She tried to nod again. Why couldn’t she move right? Maybe because she was so cold. Her body was stiff with it. He put his arms around her and led her from the car, trying to shield her from the carnage, although she needed to see it. She needed confirmation that Sonny was dead. He pulled her even closer as they stepped down from the train, and then they made their way into the office of the stationmaster. She was led to a chair and Tommy pulled one right next to it. She watched him, every second, because the only time she was safe was when he was near.