by Linda Broday
“Does it hurt when I touch this area?”
The woman drew a sharp breath. “Yes.”
“You have a large lump. You could’ve fallen and hit your head, or else someone struck you before they tied you up. That’s likely why you can’t remember anything.” Despite the lady having tried his patience at first, he fought rising waves of anger. If he could get his hands on the two men who’d done this, he’d make them very sorry.
Unshed tears bubbled in her eyes. “Will it come back?”
“I’m about the furthest thing from a doctor as you can get, amiga.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“‘Amiga’?”
“Yes. That’s not English. Even I know that much.”
“It’s Spanish for a woman who’s a friend.”
Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “So, you’re Spanish?”
“Just half. My mother was Spanish; my father is white.”
“Oh. I wonder if I’m a mix.” She glanced down and gave a little cry. “If I do have a husband, I’m going to chew him out up one side and down the other.” She peered closer at her ring. “Any fool knows this isn’t a wedding ring and the size of that emerald makes him a cheapskate. I sure didn’t mean much to him.”
The lady might’ve forgotten her name, but she sure knew her jewelry. He covered a grin with the back of his hand.
She suddenly wobbled, digging her fingers into his arm. “I’m going to be sick again.”
Luke quickly got out of the way, but only bile came up. When her sickness passed, he wiped her face again and let her rinse her mouth. “I’ll carry you to the wagon, amiga, where you can lie down.”
He swept her up in his arms and strode to the back. He’d get her situated, then drive her to the nearest woman who could look out for her. With his conscience cleared, maybe he could still manage to overtake Ned Sweeney if he rode hard.
“Just a moment.” He propped her against the side of the wagon while he lowered the heavy wooden gate. Her face had turned the color of cold ash. The wagon bed was empty except for a pail, a shovel, and wooden crates at the front covered with a dirty canvas. Damn! No blankets back there. It wasn’t going to be a very comfortable ride to find help.
“Wait a minute.” He went to his horse. Bringing back his bedroll, he spread it out.
“Let’s get you inside where you can rest.” Carefully, Luke lifted her onto the bedroll. Someone had to be searching for her, wondering why she’d vanished. He should’ve chased after those two men he’d seen running, but the lady had seemed more important at the time.
She murmured, “I don’t mean to be trouble.”
“You’re no trouble.” Though every bit of softness in him had disappeared long ago and his heart had long since turned to stone, he could no more leave her out here than become a priest.
He crawled up and took her hand. “Try not to worry. Just think about shooting me and that should perk you right up.”
“I just wish I didn’t feel like I’m not a…a person anymore. I need… I need…”
She needed an identity, something to ground her. He understood that perfectly. Until a short while ago, he’d shared that problem…except he’d never forgotten his name for one second. Though he’d tried hard, he’d found it hopeless to forget. To pretend he was someone else. To wish for things he could never have.
Luke stared at a row of little roses around her collar. “How about I call you Rose? Just until you get your memory back.”
“Rose.” A little smile curved her lips. “I’m Rose.”
It was funny how such a simple thing could brighten a lost lady. It had been a long while since he’d brought cheer to anyone. Fear was the only thing he seemed to be able to spread and that was measured in spades.
Except…there had been one—Angelina—who’d thought he hung the moon. But she was gone. He’d laid her to rest with the angels three years ago and rode off without looking back.
He cleared his throat, dragging himself back to the woman he’d called Rose. “I’m going to check those crates to see what’s inside, then we’ll get going.”
Rose’s brow wrinkled. “Wish I knew.”
Crawling to the cargo, he threw back the canvas. Three small crates held whiskey, and it wasn’t the rotgut stuff. Then he stared in disbelief at the contents of the rest: at least a half-dozen brand-new rifles rested inside.
Two
Now what in Sam Hill were Rose and those two men doing with a load of rifles and good whiskey? Luke pushed back his hat and thought of asking, but what was the point when the question would only upset her.
Maybe her husband was a saloon owner? But that didn’t explain the Winchesters. Could the two thugs have waylaid Rose and her husband? But where was he? Lying dead in the ravine?
“Rose, do you know how long you’ve been out here?”
She pushed back a golden strand, wrinkling her forehead, clearly struggling for some speck of memory. “I didn’t fully wake up until you came. I thought you were one of the men in the dark shadows who talked of digging a grave and putting me in it. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He laid a hand on her arm. “Just rest. I’m going to take a look around.”
“What’s under the canvas?” Hope filled Rose’s hazel eyes.
Luke replaced the cover. “Nothing useful. We’ll be on the road when I get back.”
He told her to think good thoughts before he jumped out. He walked around the wagon, checking its condition, and looking for anything to identify it. He noticed nothing distinctive. Not until he moved to the team of horses.
They looked to be a pair of three-year-olds. Very nice horses. The brand froze him in his tracks. That spoked wheel with a star in the middle was impossible to mistake. The horses belonged to Stoker Legend, of the Lone Star Ranch. It was the largest spread in North Texas.
Memories poked him like the bristly thorns of a prickly pear cactus. Deep yearning surged, so powerful it stole his breath. If only he could claim what was his.
But he couldn’t.
He knew he’d have to return the horses—plus get a few answers as to who’d taken them. But first things first. Luke slammed the door on those bygones. As he strode toward his horse, his mind raced. They were only about a two-day ride by wagon from the western edge of Lone Star land. But the ranch stretched over four hundred and eighty thousand acres, and reaching headquarters and the doctor that Stoker Legend employed would take three. Lost Point was closer, but they had no medical help there and Rose needed answers.
The wagon was travel-worthy, at least. Luke had noticed signs of a repaired axle. He must’ve ridden up on them right as they finished. Fortune had smiled on him for once.
A skyward glance found the black buzzards still circling, still waiting, still a bad omen. A harbinger of evil.
When he was two steps from the gelding, gunshots rang out and a bullet splintered the side of the wagon where Rose lay.
He raced to take cover beside the wagon. “Are you all right, Rose?”
“I’m not hit. Who’s shooting at us?”
“My guess is the two cowards I saw running.” Maybe they were friends of hers. The finality of missing his appointment at Dead Horse Creek sank into the pit of his stomach. Heavy disappointment swept over him. How long would it be before he got another chance at Ned Sweeney?
Luke dropped to the ground, slid underneath the wagon, and scanned the small ravine to his right. He waited. Thoughts and speculation rambled around inside his head like a bunch of marbles clanking together. All the while, hot anger grew. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but of one thing he was certain: when he caught the ones who’d tied Rose and left her to die, he’d get some answers or else fill them so full of lead their kith and kin wouldn’t recognize them.
A slight movement drew his gaze. The sun’s ra
ys glinted on gunmetal. When orange flame burst from the end of a rifle and bullets kicked up the dirt near him, Luke fired two rounds toward the spot.
As he pondered his next move, something touched his leg. He jerked around. Damn! The fool woman had climbed out of the wagon and was crawling up beside him. “Stay down,” he ordered.
“What do they want?” she whispered. “We don’t have anything.”
Nothing except shiny new rifles and whiskey.
“We’re about to find out.” When a head poked above the rim of the ravine, Luke squeezed the trigger again.
“Damn you!” a man hollered. “You shot my ear off.”
“There’s more where that came from,” Luke grated out. “What do you want?”
“You got something of ours.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” Luke kept his gaze on the ravine.
“My woman and our stuff in the wagon. Hand ’em over and we’ll let you live.”
Rose sucked in her breath and clutched Luke’s shirtsleeve with trembling fingers.
“You mean the woman you left tied and gagged while you ran?” he asked.
“She’s simpleminded. Didn’t want her wandering off. You scared me, so I ran. You got a lot of nerve stealing her.”
“I am not simpleminded,” Rose whispered furiously.
“What’s her name?” Maybe Luke could get her some peace of mind before he concluded his business with them.
“Well, it’s…it’s… Hell, what difference does it make?”
“That’s what I thought.” The anger that had simmered upon finding Rose erupted in a boiling fury. “Here’s what I’ll do, boys. You can have the rifles and liquor but the woman stays. Best offer you’ll get.”
“There’s two of us and only one of you.”
“You might not be too smart, compadre, but at least you can count. Before you get in over your head, you might want to know who’s holding this Colt on you. I killed my first man at fourteen and I haven’t stopped. Two more won’t make any difference.”
When the piece of cow dung answered back, he seemed to have lost his confidence. “Who might you be?”
“Luke Weston. Show yourselves and I’ll face you both. Might even give you a fighting chance.” His voice came out as hard as steel, and as unforgiving as the wild Texas land.
A deafening silence followed. Then after a few seconds, one spoke up. “You said we could have our crates?”
“Dillydally and you’ll get a big goose egg. I’m tired of dickering.”
“No, no! We’ll take them off your hands. You ain’t gonna shoot us when we come to collect the crates, are you?”
“Luke,” Rose whispered. “Don’t trust these sidewinders.”
Like he was about to. “Stay here.” He crawled from under the wagon and took cover at the side. He swung his attention to the pair who deserved to die. “Toss your weapons. I said I wouldn’t shoot you, but don’t tempt me.”
“We’re coming.” Guns flew out, landing on the hard ground.
Two men, one tall, wearing a black leather vest, and a shorter one in a wide-brimmed sombrero, climbed from the ravine. Vest Man had blood oozing down one side of his face from his missing ear. The two slowly moved toward the wagon, leading two horses and a mule.
Gripping his Colt, Luke stepped forward, his eyes catching every twitch they made. The short, stocky fellow in the sombrero nervously scampered into the wagon and started handing down the crates to his partner on the ground.
Luke didn’t notice Rose behind him until she touched the back of his long duster. He almost jumped out of his skin. “I told you to stay put.”
“I had to get a good look at these low-down skunks,” she grated out. “I am not simpleminded.”
He let out an exasperated breath. The lady was going to be the death of him yet.
When the pair had unloaded the last one, Luke spoke. “I ought to shoot you where you stand for tying up the woman.”
The short weasel didn’t have one drop of Mexican blood, and he refused to meet Luke’s gaze. “Had to. She saw everything.”
“Which was what?”
A strangled cry sprang from Rose’s mouth.
“She didn’t tell you?” asked Sombrero.
“Been a little busy and she wasn’t in the best shape when I found her, thanks to you.”
“We thought she was dead.” The one in the vest told his partner, “I said we shoulda finished her off.”
“Does it sound like I’m dead, you ugly piece of worm puke?” Rose yelled, scratching and clawing to get past Luke. “I’ll finish you off!”
Dios mío!
“Settle down, amiga,” he ordered quietly. “I’m trying to get some answers for you, damn it.”
Rose’s mutinous glare didn’t ease his worry.
The rifle-runner brought his bloody face around. “We didn’t do all of that. It was Reno Kidd and if we ain’t back with our loot, he’s gonna come lookin’ for us. He’s the mean one.”
Yeah, Reno would kill his own mother without batting an eyelash. Luke hated the yellow-haired outlaw. He’d sell his soul for two bits. Rose was lucky he had only bashed her head in.
“I oughta come over there and kick you both half to death!” Rose yelled. “Just for letting him do this to me!”
“Hush, Rose,” Luke grated. Tamping down his irritation, he brought his focus back to the men. “Where is Reno anyway?”
“He rode on ahead to make a deal, leaving orders to meet him this afternoon.”
“How does the woman fit into all this?”
“Damn it!” yelled Sombrero. “Reno took her for insurance in case we were trailed.” The man’s wide hat shielded his eyes, but Luke felt their hard glare.
A tic developed in his jaw. He’d seen his share of men like these.
“Look, can we just have what we came for?”
“Where did you cross paths with the woman?” When neither answered, Luke’s bullet kicked up the dirt at Sombrero’s feet. “Where?”
“Doan’s Crossing.” Vest shifted uneasily. “That’s all we know. Gotta long way to travel before night.”
“You’ll leave when I say. Which one of you hit her?”
“Yeah,” Rose hollered around Luke. “I’m going to kill whoever cracked my skull.”
“Reno Kidd.” Vest shifted again, crossing his arms. “I thought he plumb killed her. She was throwing a wall-eyed fit, screaming at the top of her lungs, and hitting. She’s a wildcat. He had to shut her up somehow. Every time she came to, Reno hit her again. Her father ain’t gonna be happy about that either.”
“I’ll show you what a wildcat is!” Rose tried again to get loose.
Luke’s thoughts whirled. The gang had evidently waylaid Rose and stolen the contraband. Why had she been traveling with it? “How did she get all this blood on her?”
“The dead man, I guess—he might’ve been her husband. Leastways, she was with him. The other fellow could be dead too. Or shot up.”
“You’re a real prince.”
The outlaw wasted no time in denying murder. “Hey, weren’t us, mister. We just rob.”
Luke wouldn’t lay odds on the shifty man speaking the truth.
The tall, vest-clad man wiped at the blood running down his neck. “Weston, we gotta go. We ain’t got all day.”
Luke hoped some of this was jogging Rose’s memory. He breathed deep to calm his anger. “One more thing. What’s her father’s name?”
“Look, we’ve told you all we know,” Sombrero snapped. “Reno has the answers. We don’t know squat. He only said her father is a mean hombre, someone you don’t want to mess with.”
“You’re a lying sack of shit!” Cussing a blue streak, Rose again tried to fight her way around Luke. He managed to grab her around the waist, lifting her off the ground before sh
e made her break. One thing for certain, she wasn’t a preacher’s daughter. He never expected to hear any decent woman giving profanity such free rein.
“I’m not one to mess with either, compadres,” Luke snapped. “Load the contraband onto your mule and get gone. But if I ever see either of you again, I’ll fill you full of lead and leave you to rot under the sun.”
“You don’t have to worry none,” promised Vest.
“Give Reno a message. Tell him Luke Weston is coming for him. Time and place is my choosing.” Luke wanted a lot more but he doubted they had the answers he was after. These two were nothing but low men on the totem pole. And he needed to get Rose safe before anything else went wrong.
Without so much as a grunt of acknowledgement, the two strapped the crates onto the mule. Only the rifles and half the whiskey would fit, so they took the bottles from the extra crate and stuffed their saddlebags full. In their haste, several bottles dropped onto the hard ground and shattered, soaking the thirsty earth. They snatched up their pistols, jumped on their horses, and galloped toward a ridge.
Rose broke free and raced toward them. “Who am I? Damn it, tell me! Who am I?”
The anguish in her chilling cries echoed in Luke’s head as he chased after her.
With heartrending sobs, Rose collapsed into a heap, her forehead touching the ground. Luke gently lifted her up, clutching her against him. He rubbed his hand up and down her back.
“Who am I?” she whispered brokenly.
Three
Rose sagged against Luke, safe inside the circle of his strong arms. Even if no one ever claimed her, she desperately needed to know who she was. Where she belonged. Anything was better than this emptiness inside her head that maybe had once held memories of a childhood, a family, a father.
Luke lifted her in one smooth motion and eased her down on the bed of the wagon. His pale-green eyes held kindness as he wiped her eyes. The man who’d spoken with a hard edge had a tender touch.
