“Will you go back to Boston with him?”
The silence was long as Faith considered the implications of that decision. And then she spoke slowly as she faced the decision she must make. “Not yet. Maybe never,” she said. “I can’t go back until I’m sure it will be different. And I don’t know how I can ever reach that point.”
“You don’t trust him?” Lin’s query was touched with sadness.
“Yes.” It was a quick reply, an admission of her bone-deep knowledge of Max’s honesty and trustworthiness. “But I’m afraid of getting back into the same mess I walked away from. In fact, I’m just about ready to put my roots down here, and let Max make up his mind what he wants to do.”
“Is that fair?” Lin asked.
“To me? Or to Max?” But before Lin could form a reply and voice it aloud, a gunshot resounded from afar followed by a volley. The noise echoed in the kitchen and sent both of the women to the floor.
Lin lifted her head to peer through the window first, and Faith joined her there. “Can you see anything?” she asked.
“Nothing. But someone out there has a rifle, and I gave Max a shotgun.”
He’d ridden through the woods, confident that his movements were hidden by the wealth of trees and undergrowth he traveled past. Max halted as he caught sight of a herd of cattle, heads down as they grazed. And then he saw two riders traveling in wide circles, passing each other at the far side of the herd. They halted for a moment as they met, and then rode on.
Max watched as, near a small campfire, a third man stepped from the shadows to bend low, lifting what appeared to be a coffeepot from the fire. Billy, from what he could make out. And there was no way of knowing who had fired the shot that had alerted him, not more than a half hour ago.
And then one of the riders approached the campfire and the two men spoke, their words carrying on the night air to where Max watched. “Any sign of trouble?” Billy called, his voice muted.
“Don’t know who fired the shot,” the rider answered. “Probably trying to stir up the cattle. We’re lucky we didn’t have trouble on our hands.”
“Well, keep on riding. I’ll spell one of you in a while.” Billy’s words were distinct in the night air. As the cowhand rode off, the other man’s gaze followed him closely, and then he replaced the coffeepot over the fire and stepped away from the smoldering wood. His head turned, and it seemed his eyes swept the horizon, as though he searched the darkness with purpose.
A small flare of light caught Max’s attention, a barely perceptible flash that disappeared as quickly as it had been born. Beyond the herd, where hills rose in a hulking silhouette against the horizon. Apparently the area Nicholas had described, Max thought. And if those hills concealed dead-end canyons, it stood to reason that men might also have chosen them as hiding places.
As if the flaring glow had been a signal, Billy lifted a hand, a seemingly idle gesture, and yet one with purpose. For a metal object in his hand caught the firelight and glowed momentarily.
The man was sending a signal, and Max felt his skin prickle in awareness at the sense of danger. From the hills came another, longer flash of light, and Billy responded by circling the campfire to search out his horse. Already saddled, the animal was quickly mounted and Billy turned its head sharply to trot in a wide circle to the west and then north around the milling herd of cattle.
Max watched, uncertain as to his goal. Billy was surely up to no good, but whether or not the other two men were trustworthy was a question Max had no way of answering. Better to watch and wait, he decided, and he backed his horse into the undergrowth beneath tall trees.
The three men met at the north side of the herd and then Billy rode on, riding alone, his horse moving slowly as he circled the area. His partners headed back to the campfire separately, riding on either side of the herd, meeting finally near the smoldering fire. They murmured quietly, and one of them dismounted, tying his horse loosely to a rope corral.
From his vantage point, Max watched, narrowing his gaze to keep Billy in sight, losing track as the moon went behind a cloud and the lone rider disappeared from view for a moment. And then, as if firecrackers were set off in a flurry, there was a quick volley of gunfire and several riders appeared, traveling rapidly from the shelter of the hills to encircle the herd of cattle. Max nudged his mount into motion and bent low over the horse’s neck as he headed for the lone rider, who had begun another circuit.
“Rustlers.” The single word resounded in Max’s ears as the man shouted the warning, and Max pulled the shotgun from the sheath behind his saddle. From behind him, he heard the man left by the campfire shout another warning, and then another hail of bullets shattered the night air, and Max knew a moment of panic as his horse collapsed beneath him.
He jerked his boots from the stirrups as he hit the ground, rolling away from the animal as it whinnied, a shrill, piercing sound that told of pain. The animal lay on its side, and Max crept up to lie in the shadow of his saddle, lifting to peer over the heaving side of his mount.
The herd was moving, and as he watched, several mounted men circled to control the direction of the milling cattle. Their shouts were muted, yet carried on the night air, and he caught a glimpse of Billy in their number. The cowhand by the fire had disappeared, and the second rider lay beside his horse, a hundred feet from where Max sheltered.
“Let’s move them out,” a man shouted, and the others obeyed, tightening the herd as though a noose surrounded the cattle, herding them toward the east, where a flat pastureland beckoned.
Max weighed his options. If he could make it to the riderless horse, he could follow. But doing so would expose him to the men who had already shot his horse and apparently killed the other rider. He watched instead, his anger rising as Nicholas’s cattle were taken in hand by Billy and his henchmen.
“There’s no way of knowing what’s going on,” Faith said, her ears straining lest she miss any further sound from the area north of the ranch house. “I’m going out there.” She turned to face Lin, gauging her response.
“I doubt it would do me any good to try stopping you,” her friend answered. “Just let me get another gun for Katie and I’ll post her at this window while I stay in the other room with the children.”
“Can she shoot?” Faith asked, twining her light-colored hair into a knot atop her head, then tugging her hat in place, lest the moon cast its glow and expose her. Her fingers were nimble, filling her pockets with ammunition for the rifle she held. There was enough firepower in her grasp to back up Max should he need her help, and the thought of him on his own out there in the dark lent speed to her movements.
“She can aim and pull the trigger. That’s all we need for now,” Lin said. “You go on ahead as soon as I call out.”
Faith stepped out onto the porch, aware that the light from inside the house made her a ready target. With a long leap to the ground, she set off for the barn, and slid through the door, flattening herself against the wall as she listened intently to the sounds of horses and the rustle of straw where the cow was bedded down for the night. Satisfied that there was no alien presence within the confines of Nicholas’s barn, she felt her way down the aisle to where her horse was stabled.
By the time she reached the stall, her eyes had become more accustomed to the faint moonlight shining through several windows, and she spoke quietly to her mare, then led her from the stall to stand in the aisle. Her saddle was nearby on a sawhorse and she quickly lifted it to Goldie’s back, then located the mare’s bridle and bit. Within minutes Faith had led her mare from the barn and mounted her, half-hidden beneath the shadow of wide eaves.
The horse was pale, visible beneath the moon, but there was no help for it, she decided. She wasn’t familiar with any of Nicholas’s animals, and Goldie was to be trusted. Almost soundlessly, Faith found her way into the woods and lingered among the trees, traveling slowly so that her horse would not come to disaster on the uneven ground.
It seemed an et
ernity before she caught a glimpse of a campfire in the distance, and she nudged her mare to a quicker pace, riding in shadowed depths beneath low-hanging limbs.
The herd of cattle ebbed and flowed in the distance as several horsemen circled them, keeping them together as they edged them to the east. And then she caught sight of a large heap beyond the campfire, and noted the form of a man crouched behind the shelter of a fallen horse.
The cattle began moving more rapidly, and her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the man’s peril. Should the herd be swept in his direction, he might be trampled by their hooves, having little protection to keep him safe. He lifted his head a bit, turning until his back was to her, and she stifled a gasp. Broad shoulders and the tilt of his hat proclaimed his identity.
Max. It was Max. Without forethought, without hesitation or examination of her own peril, she dug her heels into Goldie’s sides and bent over the mare’s neck. “Go,” she whispered, the single syllable harsh and rasping. The horse obeyed, her ears flattening, her haunches propelling her forward as Faith clung to her back.
That her golden horse was a brilliant silhouette in the moonlight was of no matter to her. The man who needed her help was her only concern, and her heartbeat matched the sound of Goldie’s hooves as the mare raced across the grassy pastureland toward Max.
“Damn.” The single word was guttural, and Max felt his jaw harden, his eyes narrow as he glanced toward the men who herded the cattle, the bulk of the herd slowly turning toward him. He’d thought to run to safety, but knew full well he didn’t stand a chance with numerous guns able to aim and fire before he moved more than fifty feet. It was a lost cause. His next best bet was to huddle behind his downed horse and hope its body sheltered him.
Now, as he watched the flying horse, her rider bent low over the shimmering mane, it seemed he stood a good chance of seeing Faith shot from her saddle instead. His muscles tightened, his hand clutched the stock of the shotgun Lin had given him, and he readied himself for the leap that would enable him to escape, should the element of surprise be in his favor.
Faith’s hat flew off, her hair streamed out behind her and he heard the call of one of the men who rode closest. “It’s a woman.” As if it were a signal, the others turned their horses and headed toward the golden horse.
“Get back! Get back!” A loud, angry voice cried out the order and the men hesitated, unwilling to obey as they watched Faith ride across two hundred yards of prairie toward the man who had risen from behind his fallen horse. The herd shifted, stragglers making a bolt toward the north, and one rider, then another turned back to round them up.
As if they’d been prodded by an unknown force, the cattle broke into a full run, and the men who fought to control them suddenly had their hands full. Shouts and cries of anger rose in the air as Faith drew back on her reins, and the golden mare slowed beside Max’s position. A shot rang out and Max swore, a violent oath.
His foot touched the stirrup Faith had vacated for his benefit, and he swung up behind her. As Goldie felt the release of her reins, she surged ahead, and Max bent low over Faith, hoping to cover her back and present his own as a target to the gunman who was aiming in their direction. Twice more a shot rang out, and Max gripped Faith by the waist and lifted her from her seat, aware that her balance was skewed as he slid over the cantle and into the saddle.
She settled against his thighs, and Goldie sidestepped, as if protesting the shift of his added weight, then moved forward at Faith’s urging. Again shots rang out and as Max ducked his head and held a protective arm around Faith, they reached the edge of the pasture and surged into the deeply shadowed woods.
He felt a stinging sensation high on his arm and pressed closer to the woman in front of him. If Faith should be shot…He could not tolerate the thought of such a thing, and yet she’d left herself exposed to the threat of death when she’d charged across open ground to snatch him up.
Behind them the cattle pounded the ground, and the sound of men shouting provided a background for their own frazzled breathing and the snorting of the mare beneath them. Faith slowed the horse and spoke quietly to her, leaning to rub her hand along the animal’s neck as they rode even farther into the trees.
“Will they go back to the house, do you think?” she asked, gasping for breath. “I’ve left Lin and Katie alone with the children.”
“No, I think they’ve neatly disposed of the other ranch hands. The other two men apparently weren’t in on the raid,” Max said. “It seems Billy was definitely in cahoots with the gang. I doubt if the rest of them fear being identified by us.”
He felt Faith trembling, drew her back against his chest and supported her with one arm. “You weren’t shot?” he asked, and waited as she struggled for breath. Her head shook, a negative reply, and he felt a weight lift, even as he noted with renewed intensity the throbbing pain of his wound.
“We need to get back to the house,” he said. “There’s a small matter for you to tend to.”
Chapter Eleven
Max clutched the glass in his hand as he tilted his head back to swallow. Nicholas’s whiskey was potent, and Max closed his eyes, hoping for immediate relief from the fire in his arm, relishing the smooth glide of aged liquor as it slid down his throat. It was a celebration of sorts, he figured, aided and abetted by the women surrounding him. Still being alive, after the events of the night, was reason enough to offer a toast.
His mind far from alert during the long ride back from the north range atop Goldie’s saddle, he’d held tightly to Faith, allowing her the reins and simply clinging to consciousness. Making his way into the house and slumping into a kitchen chair had required an effort almost beyond him, he realized.
And then he’d been taken in hand by Lin, swallowing without argument the double shot she offered him. Now he settled back to numbing the misery that lanced his upper arm. His glass was quickly refilled as Lin reached across the kitchen table with a dark bottle in her hand, apparently intent on bringing him to a sedated state that would allow the tending of his wound with little pain.
If she only realized how close he was to dropping his head on the tablecloth and closing his eyes, she’d snatch the glass from his hand, he thought with a grimace. And then he felt the touch of Faith’s hand on his shoulder. Beside him, she waited, and he felt the weight of her gaze warming him, drawing him to her, the craving for her touch causing him to shiver at the caress she bestowed as her fingers threaded through his hair.
She’d hauled him almost bodily into the house, leaving the horse tied in front of the porch, and then left him to Lin’s care while she found a fresh shirt. He’d heard her movements in the kitchen as she gathered hot water and clean towels for her use. Now she was once more at his side and he tilted his head to view her through eyes that narrowed as he focused on her.
Her lips formed a thin line as she lifted a pair of scissors from the table and prepared to seek out the wound that continued to seep blood, matting his shirt and the remains of her own. “What are you doin’?” he asked, his voice slurring the final word.
“I’m going to look at your arm,” she said calmly, though even to his blurred vision she seemed more than a bit pale.
“You’re not a doctor,” he protested mildly, and looked around the kitchen as if he expected one to appear from the woodwork.
“No one ever said I was,” she retorted. “But I’m all you’ve got, mister.”
“Hmm…” His considering murmur made her smile, and she looked at him with a grin. “You know what you’re doin’?” he asked, focusing on her soft lips.
“You’d better hope so.” And then she set to work, and he closed his eyes.
The horse had not been able to keep up a prolonged gallop, and Goldie’s trot had jarred him painfully. So they had ridden slowly in the light of dawn. Max had been thankful for Faith’s calm demeanor, watching as she shed her own shirt, tearing it into a rough bandage, then halted her mare long enough to press the thick pad to his woun
d.
Now her calmness was focused on his shoulder, and her words were accusing. “You call this a small matter?” she asked, quoting him as she cut away the bloody fabric, allowing the tattered material to fall from Max’s arm. She lifted a clean towel, wet it in the basin of hot water and then motioned for Lin to hold the lamp nearer.
“You consider a bullet tearing a hole in your arm a minor detail, do you?” As she spoke, her voice rose in volume, and Max looked up at her in surprise. The woman sounded angry. He could understand concern, even a certain amount of horror as she faced the result of the bullet’s fury. But anger was useless at this point.
And then he looked closer, into blue eyes that held tears in abeyance. Faith was struggling to keep from shedding those salty drops, biting at her lip, then blinking rapidly as she paused in her chore of washing away clotted blood, revealing the extent of his wound.
“I’ll need to get out all those bits and pieces of fabric from your shirt, or they’ll cause infection.”
“I may have the very thing to do the trick,” Lin said quietly, turning to the silverware drawer in her buffet and sorting through its contents. “Try this,” she suggested, handing Faith a silver nutpick. Without comment, Faith dipped it into the small cup of whiskey beside her.
The pointed tool was out of its element, Max decided, and he frowned as he watched his wife, her hand steady as she used the slender instrument to remove small bits of fabric from his raw flesh. Blood welling from the wound hid her prey, but Faith was relentless, bending close to probe about, lest stray bits of fiber remain. A rim of perspiration stood out upon her brow and her complexion seemed ashen to Max’s discerning eye.
“Are you all right?” he asked, wincing as her instrument touched raw flesh while lifting a bit of thread from the bloody mess.
“This isn’t the high point of my week,” she admitted, her voice trembling, as if her throat were filled with aching tears. She looked up into his gaze and he was stunned by the pain that blurred the depths of her blue eyes. Wiping the latest bit of flotsam on a clean towel, she bent low once more, peering into his wound.
Texas Gold (Mills & Boon Historical) Page 18
