“All done with your business already?” he asked, handing J.T. the reins to his horse.
“Hell, I forgot.” J.T. reached into his pocket and pulled forth the reason for this stop at the bank. “Give it to Webster. Tell him I want a receipt, and then you head on home. I’m taking Shorty with me. Something’s gone wrong at the ranch.”
His horse was trail weary, and yet he pushed the stallion to the limit, leaving Shorty behind as he rode the familiar road toward the Double B. Silence met him as he tied the horse to the hitching post near the house, and the back door was locked when he attempted to enter the kitchen.
His fist thumped loudly on the frame, and from inside he heard Tilly call out a reply. Her footsteps vibrated the porch as she hustled across the kitchen floor, and he called her name. “Let me in, Tilly. What’s goin’ on?”
Eyes reddened and face pulled into lines of worry, she faced him through the screen door, then pushed it open, grabbing his arm to drag him inside. “Never been so glad to see anybody in my life, J.T., and that’s the truth. The whole bunch of them set out yesterday afternoon, Micah with them, and Chloe an hour or so behind.”
“Where’d she go?” He cared little about the rest of them right now, his mind set on finding his wife.
“A fella from Hale Winters’s place stopped by early-on this morning and said Chloe got herself taken away by somebody holding a gun on her. Tom and Lowery were fightin’ to keep the herd from stampedin’ north, and they were afraid to shoot, lest they hit Chloe.”
“Where’s Cleary?”
Tilly lifted her shoulders and shook her head. “I don’t know anything else to tell you, just that Chloe’s up there somewhere and Micah’s trackin’ her.”
“Get me something to eat and I’ll take it along,” he told her, turning back to the door. “Make it enough for three. I’ll take Hogan and Shorty with me. But first I’ve got to get another horse. Mine’s done in.”
“Don’t be looking for the paint stallion,” Tilly said sharply. “Chloe rode him out of here.”
“Chloe rode the stud?” His words were quiet, but his fury was apparent. He felt the heat of anger rise within him as he thought of Chloe handling the paint. Not that she wasn’t a good rider, but the horse had been kept pretty close to the barn, and was sure to be a handful. “I’ll find her, Tilly,” he said, and the look he sent her was a promise.
“Come on, lady. Eat up, or go without,” a voice snarled from beside Chloe, and she allowed her gaze to move upward to where the flat-faced rustler watched. His eyes were shiny, avid on her countenance, his mouth slack and wet, and a shudder of revulsion began at the base of her spine and shot upward.
He squatted, the toe of his boot nudging her leg, and reached one hand to touch her hair. She jerked, a reflex she could not control, moving her head from his filthy fingers.
His laughter was quick and harsh. “Don’t be so high and mighty, lady. You just may be wishin’ for somebody to be nice to you before this thing’s over with.” Ripe with innuendo, his words were accompanied by a leering grin, as he allowed his gaze to rest on her breasts. Beneath the cotton shirt she wore, she felt her flesh shrink and shrivel at the thought of his hand touching her there.
“Did you sleep good last night?” he asked, and she shook her head in mute reply.
“I should’ve come over and kept you company,” he suggested. “Maybe tonight.”
J.T., where are you? The words resounded in her mind, as she thought of what the creature beside her insinuated with his threatening words. And then the husky man hoisted himself to his feet and walked away, leaving her with a mouthful of beans that threatened to choke her as she swallowed.
Beyond the circle of men, five of them in all, a rope corral held a small herd of horses, the paint stallion among them. He looked ordinary, except for his distinctive coloring, she decided, standing with an assortment of nondescript mounts. Yet he stood out in her eyes as she noted the sleek sides and black spots that denoted his ancestry. If she could find some way to get on his back, he would outrun the rest of the remuda effortlessly. Even without a saddle, with only a bridle to control him with, she’d be willing to take a chance on making an escape.
In fact, she decided glumly, she’d settle for a halter and a piece of rope right now.
“Come on, ma’am.” Her captor approached, holding out his hand for the plate and she scooped up the last bit of beans. A single swallow of coffee remained, and she drained the cup quickly.
“I need some privacy,” she told him, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep to cover her cheeks. She’d wiggled and squirmed and contained the discomfort as long as she could, but drinking the coffee had made it apparent that she could no longer hold her tongue. “You’ll have to untie my feet, so I can find a place to—”
He nodded quickly. “I figured as much,” he said. “I’ll be back.” And he was. Within minutes, he’d untied her feet, loosened the rope around her waist and led her by its length, her feet stumbling as she walked to an area where an outcropping of rocks provided shelter.
“I’m hangin’ on to the end of this rope, lady,” he told her brusquely, and she sensed that his discomfort matched her own.
It was no time to argue with the man, and she waited until he turned his back and then sought a spot for her use. A tug on the rope hastened her on her way, and her fingers awkwardly redid the buttons on her trousers, then pulled the belt tightly around her middle. She looked down at the rough hole J.T. had punched, that day at the pool. It seemed ages since, and she closed her eyes for a moment, recalling the pleasure she’d found there, the memories assailing her mind, bittersweet.
The horses were being saddled as she trudged back toward the men, and she dreaded the thought of being slung over the saddle once more. But it was not to be. Rough hands lifted her and she was placed in her saddle. Not atop the stallion, much to her dismay, but on a nondescript black with dust imbedded in his coat and a tangled mane showing lack of care on the part of his owner.
A loop was passed around her hands and then fastened to the saddle horn and she was led to where the group waited. From ahead, she heard the bawling of cattle and one of the men rode up beside her, nudging her horse into movement, then tugging at the lead line as he rode ahead.
“Want to see what we’re takin’ to market, ma’am?” he asked, taunting her with a grin. A sharp jog in the trail curved right within the steep, rock-walled bottleneck they traveled, and she looked ahead to see a wide, boxed canyon. With cliffs on all three sides, the cattle were effectively caged by sheer, straight walls, as though the canyon had been formed by eons of water flowing its length.
Steers milled within a roped-off corral, a fire was glowing at one side, and she saw branding irons pushed into the midst of the burning coals. Another part of the herd grazed several hundred yards beyond the temporary corral, and she felt bitterness rise within her at the sight.
No doubt some of her own herd were here, awaiting a new brand that would cover that of the Double B, and make it possible to sell these animals without leaving a trail that would lead back to her ranch. The operation was obviously larger than any of them had thought, and the men who sat in the jail in Ripsaw Creek were only a part of the gang.
She was limp in the saddle, her head pounding in time to the rough gait of the horse she rode, and when the gelding came to a halt, she allowed herself to be pulled from his back with no protest. Again, she was forced to sit at the base of a tree, and her feet bound, while the second rope tied her upright. In front of her, the cattle were being branded, a slow process since they were full-grown steers and not nearly so easy to contain as they had been as young bullocks.
The noise from bawling cattle, men calling back and forth, and the echoes reverberating from the canyon walls surely must be audible, she thought. And yet, they seemed unconcerned as they worked, sweating and filthy from the dust rising in the air. She tilted her head back, eyeing the tops of the walls, scanning them in the hope of some trace, some small shred of
evidence, that there were others watching.
For the whole of the afternoon, she watched, narrowing her eyes, the better to note any change in the horizon above the canyon, focusing on each bit of rock formation, casting abrupt glances to the sides in the hope of catching a glimpse of a new bit of color, a spot of shadow or gleam of metal visible to her eye.
She was given another few moments of privacy toward the end of the afternoon, and she was grateful to Gus for his attempts at kindness. Keep your eyes open and be ready. Had it been a dream, those words uttered so softly just yesterday? She watched as Gus took his turn at the branding, noted his silence as the other men made jokes at her expense, and ignored the leering glances tossed in her direction by two of the men. And yet, she could only wait.
J.T., where are you?
“She’s under that tree, the one with the low-hanging limbs.” Micah’s words stirred hope as J.T. followed the lawman’s murmured directions and pointing finger. “Don’t look too much the worse for wear.”
And if that was supposed to be encouraging, J.T. could only brush aside the words as a panacea to his anger. “I don’t see any way to get to her,” he said beneath his breath.
“Cleary’s on his way,” Micah told him. “Down there at the mouth of the canyon. Keep an eye out. And have your rifle ready.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Ma’am? We’re gonna be movin’ out right soon.” Gus stood before her, his expression somber. Bending, he released the bonds on her ankles and she stretched her legs, wiggling her feet, encouraging the circulation to flow unimpeded. “You’re gonna be ridin’ right close to the front of the line, right in the line of fire, just in case any of your ranch hands are nearby.”
Chloe was silent, alert to a change in the atmosphere as the rustlers broke up camp, putting in motion an exodus from the box canyon. Her captor hoisted her from the ground and she staggered, her knees weak, her feet still feeling the effects of being bound. He pushed her forward, and as she stumbled, quickly held her upright and drew her back against himself.
“Keep your eyes open,” he muttered against her ear and then shoved her in the direction of a group of horses. The paint stallion’s muzzle brushed across a patch of grass and, as she watched, one of the men jerked on his halter, sliding it from his head and replacing it with a bridle. The man clutching Chloe’s arm dragged her toward the paint, and she caught her breath as excitement rushed through her veins.
Quickly, he loosed the bonds from her hands and retied them in front of her. “No saddle for you, lady,” he growled, lifting her with ease to place her on top of the stud. “You just hang on as best you can.” Gripping the trailing reins, he mounted another horse and led her from the group.
“What’s happening?” J.T. eased down beside Micah as the small train of horses left the middle of the box canyon and slowly made its way to the opening at the far end. Chloe was atop the paint stallion, with no saddle beneath her, and only the horse’s mane to grip. In front of her rode two men, one towing a pack animal, the other holding the reins of Chloe’s mount.
“They’re movin’ out,” Micah said quietly. “That’s quite a herd of cattle they got. And I’m thinking they figure that Chloe’s their ticket to a clear trail.” He backed from the edge of the cliff and waved a hand at the men who watched from a hundred yards away. “We need to move out, quick and quiet. It’ll take half an hour to get to the other side of the neck of that canyon, and that’ll be the place to make our move.”
“It’ll take them an hour to get those cattle through the gap,” J.T. said. “Why do you suppose they’re pushing Chloe on ahead?”
Micah shot a look at him and J.T. faced the reality of Chloe’s position. “She’s their shield.”
“You got that right,” Micah told him. “They know we’re not gonna start something with her out in front.”
“Then…” J.T. paused, holding his horse’s reins in one hand as his mind returned to Cleary. “Won’t they notice Cleary on their way out?”
Micah grinned. “Sure will. He’s their rear scout, Flannery.”
Careful to keep her heels from the stallion’s sides, Chloe rode behind Gus, casting long looks to right and left, then up to the cliffs that rimmed the canyon. Ahead, a lone rider emerged from a thicket and sat atop a pale horse, whose dark mane and tail stood out sharply against the golden animal.
“Cleary.” She whispered the single word as she recognized the tall cowhand, and her heart sank, knowing that J.T. had been deceived by a man he trusted. She lifted her chin, facing him, unafraid, even though her better judgment told her she should be pliable and biddable before these men.
Their eyes met and his gaze was dark, his eyes holding no trace of recognition as he swept a casual look over her. “I see you got us a hostage,” he said to Gus.
“Yeah, this is the missus, just fell into our hands like a ripe peach,” Gus told him. “We figured the man in charge wouldn’t want to take the chance of anything happening to his bride.” He tugged at the stallion’s reins and pulled Chloe forward. “Her brother told us the man’s right fond of her.”
“My brother?” Chloe whispered the phrase, and her eyes closed, reminded once more of Pete’s betrayal.
Gus pulled her mount along the trail, and then as they reached the canyon’s mouth, moved with her off to one side, looking back at the cattle that had begun to head in their direction. “I want to tell you something, ma’am.” His mouth barely moved as he spoke, his attention seemingly on the approaching herd. “Your brother was tryin’ to pull out of this deal that night you had a fire in your barn. When your fella caught up with us and there was a gun battle, a good share of us got away. Your brother got shot. It wasn’t none of your people who killed him, ma’am.
“You see anything going on up top?” he asked, raising his voice in Cleary’s direction. A swift, negative shake of the man’s head seemed to reassure him and he turned his horse toward the mouth of the canyon.
“I think they’re on the range, still tryin’ to follow tracks,” Cleary said, riding in their wake. “There’s a mess of tracks out there, but I dusted over the trail when I came in behind you.”
Gus looked back over his shoulder, then he lifted a hand at Cleary and the second rider. “Let’s head on through the narrows. We want to be well in front of that herd when they come out the other end.”
Chloe’s mind swam with the words Gus had uttered. It wasn’t none of your people who killed him…. Pete had tried to make things right. Clinging to that thought, she gripped the dark mane of her mount and followed, aware of Cleary at her rear, and a bawling herd of cattle not far behind.
“First and foremost, we need to make sure Chloe is out of the line of fire,” Micah said. They’d ridden hard, the length of the canyon, back from the cliff’s edge by a quarter mile, to where the ground sloped in a gradual manner on the south side of the rocky formation. It had been longer than the thirty minutes Micah had allotted to the ride, and now they rounded the stand of trees at the base of the ridge.
“Spread out, but stick on the south side of the mouth of that canyon,” Micah said, his voice low, yet carrying to the men who followed his lead. “Watch for Cleary. He’ll be responsible for getting Chloe out of the way.”
“I sure as hell wish you’d let me in on things beforehand,” J.T. told him, snarling the words in anger. “I feel like an idiot, hiring Cleary without knowing what was going on.”
Micah sent him a long look that smacked of regret. “Didn’t have a choice, son. Cleary came in here from the U.S. Marshal’s office and I just did what I was told.”
The men around them scattered, their horses hidden behind rock formations and within the trees. With almost twenty guns aimed in the direction from which Chloe would be coming, J.T. could only hope there weren’t any itchy fingers touching a trigger.
He watched as Micah placed his ear to the ground, lifted his head to peer toward the canyon mouth, and then bent to listen again. “Horses coming,” he muttered
beneath his breath. “And a rumble, real low, but it sounds like the herd’s on the move.”
J.T. crawled to the side of the pinnacle of rock he’d taken as shelter and squinted past the low cover that stretched before him. From the opening ahead, a flash of movement caught his eye, then the sight of a horse, moving at a quick trot, its rider leading a pack animal behind.
Close at his heels was a second rider, the reins of another horse in his hands. The familiar colorings of the paint stallion met his gaze and J.T. swept fearful eyes to the rider. She was bent forward, her hands clutching the mane, as he’d last seen her, and to her rear rode the man he’d hired as a ranch hand.
Cleary. His hat pulled low over his eyes, he held his rifle in one hand as he rode, and as J.T. watched, Cleary’s gaze swept his position. He looked past, then his eyes returned to where J.T. hovered at the edge of the rocky site. His rifle lifted in a subtle salute as he rode closer to Chloe’s side, and J.T.’s muscles clenched as Cleary called out to the second man in the small train.
“Gus. I’ll take her now.” It was an order given in a tone of voice that expected to be obeyed, yet the man who turned to face Cleary made no move to heed the summons. Instead, he pulled Chloe’s mount closer and, leaning toward her, grasped her hands in his.
“What’s goin’ on?” J.T.’s words were an amazed whisper as it seemed the two men would tussle over the woman between them, and then Cleary nodded, and a knife blade flashed in Gus’s hand.
Without missing a step, the paint veered to the right as Chloe leaned over and grasped the reins, her hands free of the ropes that had bound her. Close behind, Cleary spun to a halt and turned his gun on the first rider. The man had looked back, obviously wary of the commotion behind him, and as he drew his own gun from the holster, Cleary’s rifle lifted into position. His aim was true and the man fell from his mount, rolling on the ground, even as he dropped the lead line for the packhorse.
From the mouth of the canyon behind them a spurt of cattle appeared, widening to a stream that quickly gained speed as the steers reached the open range. Interspersed in their midst were riders who moved to the outside of the herd to maneuver. Taken up with keeping the herd under control, the men seemed oblivious to Cleary and his charge, and as J.T. watched, the man leaned toward Chloe and she nodded agreement, following his lead.
A Marriage By Chance Page 23
