“No, go on ahead. I’ll get some things together and take some food along. I’ll be an hour behind you.” She lifted her chin, a defiant gesture, and Lowery gave her a last glare before he turned away.
Chapter Fourteen
Leaving Tilly alone was difficult, especially when the woman frowned and predicted dire happenings. Chloe doggedly packed an abundant supply of food into a sack and trudged to the barn with it. Her own horse stood on three legs near the pasture fence, and she approached the mare with a frown. Tail swishing and head tossing, the pretty black whinnied, a shrill command, and Chloe stepped inside the gate.
“What’s the matter, girl?” she asked, holding out her hand as she approached. The mare took a step forward and her limp was apparent. “Let me take a look,” Chloe said, lifting and bending the slender leg, the better to inspect the mare’s hoof. A cut across the tender frog was dark with dried blood and Chloe muttered beneath her breath.
“I can’t ride you today, can I?” she said, leading the animal out the gate and toward the barn. “We’d better get you fixed up.” The mare limped in her wake, and Chloe slowed her steps, her first thought for the well-being of her horse. Aware that she was not going to make an appearance anytime soon where the scattered ranch hands were trying to keep things under control, she struggled to set aside her impatience.
With the medicine kit from the tack room in hand, she returned to her mare and in moments had cleaned the cut. After applying a thick gob of salve and a heavy bandage, she wrapped the hoof and tied the mare into a stall. Hay filled the manger before her and a portion of grain served as an apology for leaving the animal indoors.
“Now to find another horse,” Chloe muttered, returning to the pasture. The green-broke geldings were not her first choice, requiring a rider’s full attention, their training not complete. In the far north end of the pasture, the paint stallion bent his head to the grass and she watched him for a moment. J.T. would have a fit, she supposed, should she decide to ride the stud. And yet, he was the likeliest prospect available.
Time was passing and she was dithering, and being aggravated wasn’t adding to her good disposition. A cow pony near the fence, left to his own devices, once Hogan had deemed him too old to ride in the roundup, lifted his head and watched her approach. With bridle in hand, she stood before him and he bent his head agreeably as she slid the bit between his teeth. It was a simple matter to climb on bareback, her lasso in hand.
The stallion watched suspiciously as she rode near, his tail at half-mast, his head high. Eyeing her awkward swirl of the rope and the presence of a high-flung circle over his head, he reared and obligingly made himself a target. The pony Chloe rode dug in his heels and the stud hit the ground with his forefeet and shivered, the rope taut around his neck. Backing and then turning, she headed for the gate, and led the stud into the barn.
“J.T.’s gonna have a fit when he finds out you rode that animal,” Tilly predicted moments later as Chloe called her from the kitchen. On the porch, arms folded at her waist, Tilly glared stubbornly. “And when you get thrown, who’s gonna be there to help you?” she asked. But she brought the bag with supplies toward the stallion, reaching to hand it up to Chloe, wary of the stallion’s tossing head.
“I won’t get thrown,” Chloe assured her. “My mare can’t be ridden, and I can’t trust any of the others.”
“You can’t tell me there’s not another horse in that pasture fit to ride,” Tilly said, her jaw set, disbelief darkening her gaze.
Chloe had the grace to look chagrined. “Probably more than one, but none of them can travel like this paint. I’ve been wanting to ride him since the first day he got here. Just haven’t had a chance.”
“You mean J.T. wouldn’t hear of it, most likely.”
Chloe shrugged. “Doesn’t make any difference now, does it. They need me up there to help keep the rest of the herd in one place. They’re short-handed and it won’t hurt me to do something to earn my keep.” She laid the reins against the side of the stallion’s neck and he turned immediately, his training visible as he bent his head and lifted his feet in quick movements. Chloe’s heart beat more rapidly, her cheeks flushed with the anticipation of riding the animal, who was rigid with power, awaiting her command.
She rode like the wind was propelling her, at one with the animal who seemed to sense her excitement. With seemingly little effort, he flew across the meadows, skirting stands of tall pine trees and setting a pace that filled her with admiration for the strength of the horse and brought her to a realization of his worth.
The sound of cattle lowing reached her before she saw the first scattered animals beyond the third ridge she crossed. Micah was nowhere to be seen. Lowery rode at the west side, Tom on the east, and between them the herd shifted and swerved, as if prodded by an invisible force. Normally silent and slow-moving, they were agitated, as if a storm hung low overhead or some unseen force urged them to move from their pastureland.
She halted the stallion, looking down at the men who rode the perimeter of the herd, breaking away to chase down a stray, then returning it, their ponies working in precise movements. Beyond them another ridge loomed, and to the north of it lay a series of canyons. Allowing the herd to stray in that direction would mean disaster. Keeping the group intact was the only way to have any sort of control, and it was taking every bit of perseverance and skill the two men had to hold the cattle where they stood.
“Ma’am?” From behind her a quiet voice caught her attention and she pulled the stallion up short, turning him to face the man behind her. A cowhand she did not recognize eyed her closely from the back of his mount, and as she watched, his hand slid the revolver from his holster. Tied to his thigh, it was a lethal weapon, and she felt a moment of shame as it was lifted and aimed in her direction.
Intent on the scene before her, she’d been caught unaware, and her aggravation turned to anger. “Who are you?” she blurted, feeling the stallion’s unease as he pranced beneath her.
“Makes no never mind,” the man said, his eyes on the horse she rode, his hand steady as he pointed the revolver. “You just ride on down there aways, nice and quiet, and let those men of yours see you with this gun on your back, you hear?”
“If you belong to that gang of rustlers that already managed to get away with part of my herd, I’m sure as hell not going to help you snatch any more of them,” she said, her words filled with a fury she made no attempt to contain. “Go ahead and shoot me, if that’ll do you any good,” she told him. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to do, one man against those two.”
Whether her voice carried to where Tom and Lowery rode, or whether the movement of the two riders caught their eye, the men working the herd looked up, almost at the same moment, and Tom’s shout rang in the air.
“Miss Chloe, what’s goin’ on up there?” He spun his horse in a half circle and rode toward her, reaching behind his saddle to pull the rifle from the leather sheath holding it.
The man before her leveled his gun in Tom’s direction and Chloe dug her heels into the stallion’s sides. The horses collided, the paint stud turning aside, destroying the rustler’s aim as his shot missed its mark. And then the man aimed again and Chloe recognized that she was the target this time. “Call him off,” the rustler said, his voice a harsh command.
There was no need. Tom’s horse skidded to a halt less than fifty feet away, as he recognized Chloe’s danger. “You shoot her, you’re a dead man,” Tom said quietly. “J.T. Flannery will hunt you down and make mincemeat outta you.”
“I don’t intend to shoot her,” the man said roughly. “Not unless you force me.” He held his reins taut, his horse prancing beneath him, and his head jerked to one side. “You ride on ahead of me, ma’am.” And then he looked at Tom and Chloe saw a bleak expression cross his features.
“Turn around, cowboy. Head back where you came from. Now.”
“Do as he says, Tom,” Chloe told him. “And if you shoot him,”
she said to the rustler, “I’ll see you hang for murder.”
“I don’t need a rope around my neck, ma’am. I just want you to do as I say.”
Tom looked from one to the other, and over his shoulder, Lowery could be seen watching from the back of the herd. They milled in a tight circle, the stray bullet startling them into motion. His horse was fighting the bit, head tossing as the herd moved erratically.
The rustler pointed his gun upward and another shot rang out. The herd bolted, running full tilt to the north, and Chloe shouted a command at Tom. “Stop them. Help Lowery.”
The man beside her reached to grab her reins, and jerked the stud’s head in his direction. “Come on, I told you,” he commanded. With a harsh, wrenching movement, he urged her horse to follow, leading her down the slope and to the west. The stallion went, unable to resist the bit’s pressure against his mouth, and Chloe was thrust forward in the saddle as he stumbled on a hillock.
She grabbed for the saddle horn, lurched to one side, and as the stallion fought the bit, tossing his head, kicking his hind legs in a futile effort at freedom, she was thrown from the animal’s back.
The ground rose to meet her and a sharp pain vibrated inside her head. The sound of rushing waters filled her mind, confusing her, and she struggled to gain her feet, only to lurch forward again. This time she floundered, and without the ability to break her fall, she landed with solid force. Her cry was muffled, and she lay spread-eagled on the slope, her forehead pierced by the sharp edge of a rock.
“Damn, she sure is bleedin’ like a stuck pig.” The pronouncement seemed aimed at her, Chloe decided. Unable to open her eyes, lest the light make the pain any more intense, she only groaned, uncaring if she was heard or not.
“You get hit in the head, it’s gonna bleed thataway,” another voice chimed in. “One of you tie a bandanna around her forehead and pad it good.”
She felt hands touch her, rolling her over on her back carelessly, and she cried out at the pain of bent arms forced beneath her. Peering between her lashes, she saw a starkly brutal face, framed in a red glow, and she muttered words of anger.
“Just shut your mouth, lady. If you don’t behave, I’ll just let you bleed to death.” His hands were rough, placing a wad of some fabric against her forehead, then tying a length of cloth to hold it in place.
It was blood that colored his image, she decided. Her own, most likely, and that thought was no comfort at all. The pain radiated through her head, running down her neck and shoulders and converging in the aching muscles that fought the rope binding her hands. There was no use in it; she was well and truly hog-tied, her feet crossed at the ankles, her knees bent and looped with the same rope.
“Just rest easy there, ma’am.” Now that voice was familiar, the same polite, casual tones that had greeted her ears to begin with. And if she could get her hands on the miserable…Her mind failed to come up with punishment harsh enough to fit his crime.
She’d been careless, oblivious to her surroundings, aware only of the men who fought to keep her cattle under control, and had allowed this wretched piece of humanity to blind-side her. Anger at herself was matched only by the fury that she directed at the man who spoke to her.
“You know you’re going to at least end up in prison, don’t you?” she asked, her voice hoarse as she fought the twin sources of pain that confused her mind and brought fresh rage to sweep through her. Her hands tingled from the ropes binding them, and her head banged a furious rhythm. She blinked at the rosy hue edging her vision and resisted the urge to move her head again.
“You’re just makin’ it harder on yourself, ma’am,” the outlaw said, casting a look toward the men who watched from several feet away.
The truth of his words sank in and Chloe inhaled deeply, willing her voice to be reasonable. “Will you roll me over? My hands are—” She broke off as he stooped to do her bidding, and she was rolled unceremoniously to her side. He eased his fingers between the ropes binding her and she felt a loosening of her bonds. Her fingers curled and twitched in an attempt to regain feeling, and the horrible urge to shed tears of anger was almost overwhelming.
Only the thought of their scorn should she use so obvious a female ploy for sympathy dried the evidence of her pain. She gritted her teeth and chewed on the inside of her lip, unwilling to appear weak in front of such monstrous creatures.
“Leave her be,” the roughest of the bunch said, motioning with a crooked finger at the man next to her. “She’s not gonna be feeling much of anything pretty soon.”
“You said we wasn’t gonna kill her,” the soft-spoken rustler said accusingly. “I don’t hold with shootin’ women.”
“You want her telling everybody what you look like, that’s one thing. I’m not about to give her a chance to draw my face on a Wanted poster. I’d just as soon not see a picture of myself hangin’ on the wall of the county sheriff’s office any time soon.”
J.T., wherever you are, I sure hope you know I need you. The fervent cry of her heart seemed loud in her ears, and she recognized the movement of her lips as she whispered his name. “Jay.”
The canyon walls were steep, and she saw them from an angle as the ugly one slung her over the back of a horse, leaving her to dangle on either side of the saddle. He’d untied her legs first and she felt the tingling of pins and needles as they came to life, straining to balance herself as the horse moved at a plodding pace. Heading for the ground would be a disaster, with no way of protecting her head, and she tensed her muscles as she tried to curl against the flat leather saddle beneath her body.
The sun was absent, and the depth of the canyon they traveled made it impossible to tell the time of day. Shadows surrounded her and ahead she heard the sound of cattle. Probably hers, she thought, as anger boiled to the surface again. The men rode single file, and the horse carrying her brought up the end of the line. It wasn’t the paint stallion, and for that she was grateful. He would never have been so placid as the packhorse beneath her.
And wouldn’t J.T. have a fit when he discovered his stud was gone. Probably make more fuss over the loss of his breeding stock than his uncontrollable wife. Now, that wasn’t fair, she thought, scolding herself on his behalf. He had feelings for her. She knew it, as surely as she knew she was his wife. No man could be as caring as J.T. and not give more than two hoots about the woman he shared a bed with.
She tried to visualize him, wherever he might be. Even now riding hell-bent-for-election toward home, the money from the sale of their cattle tucked into his pocket. He’d no doubt make a stop at the bank in town, to leave it in Mr. Webster’s care. And she thought of the message he’d probably receive once he hit the edge of town. Everyone within miles around would know by now that there was trouble on the north range.
Once J.T. found that she’d managed to get herself neck deep in the mess, he’d be on his way. And if he got himself killed on her account…She gritted her teeth as the black thoughts flashed through her mind, and her head bounced against the saddle, reminding her of the wound that was still seeping blood. The pain washed over her and she groaned beneath her breath, unwilling to draw attention to herself.
It was no use. The last rider, the one holding the lead rope that kept her horse in line, halted and hauled the lead line to himself, bringing Chloe’s inert form closer. “You sure are a mess, drippin’ blood all over the place, ma’am.”
And wasn’t that what she wanted to hear? Chloe closed her eyes, her head aching, her arms feeling like someone had cut them off above the elbows. The voice beside her was lower now, and she strained to hear the harsh whisper. “I’m gonna get you outta here, lady. I won’t be a part of killin’ a woman. Just keep your eyes open and be ready.”
And with that, he moved on ahead and her horse obligingly followed.
Keep your eyes open. Dizzy from watching the view at such an angle, she ignored his command. The path beneath the horse’s hooves was rocky and narrow. Scanning her mind, she tried to remember the a
rea they rode, recalling the early days when her father had shown her this desolate part of the country. Canyons formed like widespread fingers splayed across the landscape, and getting lost was always a real possibility, her father had said.
It was doubtful that J.T. had explored beyond the north range, and he’d be at a loss trying to find her here. Micah, now, was a different story. The man knew everything there was to know about this part of the country. He’d put his life on the line more than once in years past, hunting down and bringing back men who’d tried to hide from the law. And in that small comfort she put her hope.
That, and the fact that one of the rustlers was having a spell of remorse.
Mr. Webster wore a frown as J.T. entered the ornate bank lobby. “Thought you’d be in a hurry to get home,” he said, his hand outstretched to clasp J.T.’s in greeting. “I understand Micah and the rest of your crew are scouring the canyons, looking for the rest of the rustlers and your wife.”
J.T. halted where he stood, his mind attempting to make sense of the statement. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked harshly. “Why would my wife be lost in a canyon?”
“Not lost,” Mr. Webster said. “Taken hostage, from what I understand.”
J.T. spun in place, then looked back impatiently. “Who has her?”
“Don’t know for sure, but she disappeared yesterday, late afternoon. They were looking for her to show up, and when she got there, some fella pulled a gun and stampeded the herd. Miss Chloe told the men to tend to the cattle and by the time things were under control, she was gone.”
And wasn’t that a garbled mess, J.T. thought, his mind attempting to make sense of the story. Chloe. He should have known she’d get into some sort of trouble, leaving her on her own. And where was Cleary, the man he’d depended on to keep an eye on things? His footsteps rang out on the fancy marble floor of the bank lobby as he stalked to the door, and Hogan watched his approach with apprehension.
A Marriage By Chance Page 22
