The Lady and the Lawman

by Jennifer Zane

  “Since we're so far from town, I'll undo you, but no funny stuff.” He spit more tobacco out the side of his mouth as he spoke.

  He fell for it! She felt a brief burst of relief. She reminded herself to thank the mindless twits back home.

  “But don't try anything or you'll be dead before you hit the ground.” To reinforce he meant what he said, he brushed the cold metal of his gun across her neck.

  Her relief fled. She gulped down her rising fear and nodded in understanding.

  Holding the reins in one hand, he undid the ropes. Her hands were free, but he still sat behind her. She rubbed the feeling back into her fingers, careful to avoid the reddened, raw skin. Were her wrists going to be scarred from being tied up so painfully twice in only a few weeks? Her hands were free, but all she had gained was comfort. She still couldn’t escape, not with the big lug sitting right behind her.

  Who was going to save her now? No one knew where she was. She looked up at the sky, so blue, bigger than she’d ever seen before. Another tear slid down her cheek. It was time to get herself out of this mess. But how?

  Well, she definitely got what she’d wished for. No one knew where she was, but unfortunately, neither did she.

  ***

  “Maggie’s in trouble.”

  Grant had resigned himself to tracking his wife down. He returned to town to find information about the stage heading west when Tom rode up so fast, dust from the narrow road swirled up around them.

  Closing his eyes for a moment as he waited for the grit to settle, he replied, “What do you mean, ‘in trouble’? She’s back?” Grant wasn’t sure if he should be worried or mad. If she’d returned, he was the last to hear. As her husband, that made him mad. But concern took over, and no matter her actions, if she was in trouble, he wanted to help.

  “No, she’s not back, but her horse is.”

  Grant’s gut told him there was definitely a problem, and he knew Tom hadn’t shared everything. “What else?”

  “The animal’s been shot.”

  Grant’s eyes widened. “Shot?”

  Tom nodded. “Not badly, in her flank. Clean through, but she was bleeding a bit and very skittish. I got her fixed up and she’s fine.”

  “And Maggie?”

  “I don’t know. Something’s happened, bad enough that there was gunfire. She could be out there dead.”

  And all because of me. Grant’s gut churned even worse now with guilt and fear. “Stay here in case she comes back. I’ll go look for her.”

  ***

  Margaret’s entire body was achy and sore from sharing a saddle and remaining tense for hours on end, keeping her distance as best as possible from her captor.

  Finally, the man pulled on the reins and halted the animal in front of a fast-moving creek. In all that had happened, she hadn’t been paying attention to where they were headed. Had they been following the same creek all along? They were close to the mountains now and the tall formations blocked out the sun this late in the day, making it cooler. He dismounted behind her, and she looked at the man for direction.

  “What’re you doing up there? Get your butt down! Go get some water.” He waited for her to dismount on her own, then followed her down the banks to the creek bed. Her lips were cracked and dry, and her throat was parched. She was unsure if she could even speak. Not sure she wanted to. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and she definitely wasn’t going to share recipes with the man. Kneeling in the large pebbles by the edge of the overflowing creek, she leaned down on one hand and used the other to scoop the cool water into her mouth. Taking big gulps, she ignored him as he filled his canteen next to her. The water was bitterly cold from melting snow runoff, but delicious, soothing her dry throat. Drinking her fill, she splashed cool water on her face and wiped her hair off of her forehead, sticky from sweat.

  “We’re sleepin' here for the night. I’m goin’ over to my bag to get out the food. If you try anything, I swear I’ll shoot you.”

  Relieved she was off the horse and refreshed by the water, she nodded, no intention of escaping into the growing darkness. He walked to a grassy spot away from the water with a frying pan under one arm. He carried two tins of food with the other. Dropping them to the ground, he rounded up some wood and started a fire.

  At a loss for such rustic abilities, she was glad the man was adept at something useful, like keeping them warm through the night. She shivered and rubbed her hands over her arms, already thinking the temperature had dropped a few degrees.

  Once the fire was blazing, she approached its beckoning warmth, sat down and stared into the mesmerizing flames.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

  What did it look like?

  “Get dinner cooked. I’m starved.”

  “Cook? You want me to make you food? With what?”

  “Those tins of beans will heat up nicely. Get crackin’.”

  She picked up one of the tins and looked at it, trying to figure out how it opened. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to cook.”

  The man’s mouth dropped open. “Woman, I swear!” He grabbed up the tins, opened them with his knife and dumped their contents into the frying pan. “Don’t think you’re gonna get any.” He turned his head to the side and spit into the flame, sizzling on the burning embers along with the beans in the pan.

  She watched the man wolf down the heated beans, offering her none. Not that she had any intention of sharing with the filthy man. Her stomach was empty, but she was in no mood to eat. Pitch black except for the orange-red glow from the fire, she laid down on her side and curled up into a ball, trying to remain as warm as possible, yet comfortable enough to sleep.

  The man across the fire licked the spoon of gravy. Throwing it into the cast iron pan, it clanked loudly. He leaned back and reached for the rope, coming around the campfire to her.

  She tensed as he approached.

  “This is to keep you from runnin’ off in the night.” He tied it to one of her already sore wrists. The lead was several feet long, giving her a few feet of distance. At least her wrists weren’t tied together again.

  He laid down on his back, tilted his hat over his face and appeared to have fallen instantly asleep. Lying on her side, her head resting on one bent arm, she watched his prone form and his even breathing. He didn’t move a muscle and it appeared her prayers were answered. No attempts at her person would be made tonight. She exhaled a deep breath of relief.

  How could she escape being tied to the man in the middle of the night? She spent several hours contemplating a way to escape, but unfortunately she needed daylight to see by. Her plan hatched, she laid waiting for the sun to start its climb.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Grant rode hard to Ames in hopes of beating the stage, but he was too late. The only one heading west had already left. The stage manager however, said no one fitting Maggie’s description took a stage in the past few days. In fact, no women boarded at all.

  If she wasn’t on the stage, where was she? She could be anywhere within a twenty mile radius of Cranston, knowing she’d been gone a whole day.

  Unfortunately, he had to waste precious time returning to the ranch and start over, as if he were Maggie heading to Ames. Or at least head toward where she thought Ames was.

  Tom had told Maggie Ames was the next stage stop west and an hour by horse from Cranston. With his only clue, Grant packed food and water and guided his horse toward the mountains.

  Tom hadn’t been exactly right with his directions. Ames was about an hour southwest of Cranston, but if she followed the directions exactly, she would watch the mountains getting larger as time went by without coming across anything but open country. Grant did the same.

  It took him three hours to pick up her trail when he stopped to water his horse. Looking around, he found her canteen lying on its side, empty. He picked it up and found the inside dry, knowing it had been at least several hours since she’d been here. Since it was early yet,
it’d probably been yesterday. So now what?

  Searching the rocky area, then the grassy area farther from the water, it was clear some kind of scuffle took place. Tall grass was bent and broken. Something metal glinted in the sunlight. He knelt down and picked up a shell casing. It appeared to be new, no rust. Probably from the bullet that shot her horse. But what of Maggie? Was she shot, too? He searched the area and only found one blood trail, and it led in the direction of the ranch.

  There appeared to be a second set of horse tracks that led further west. From what he could tell by all the broken grass, Maggie must have fought the man. Had she stumbled across someone or had she been followed? Dread filled him. He let his gut guide him and followed the tracks.

  ***

  The smell of burning fibers tinged the air, but the man still slept. Maggie had thrown the middle of the rope, the part that hung slack between them, into the dying embers. They were still hot enough to burn through the material and finally, with a tug on the rope near her wrist, she found herself free.

  Slowly, very slowly, she sat up, then used her hands to stand as quietly as she could. Looking down at her captor’s sleeping form, she knew it was now or never. Walking as silently as possible, she approached the water, hoping to follow it downstream along its bank.

  The morning air was still, the day cool, yet clear and promising to be warm. The rushing water was a perfect muffle to her footsteps. The water’s edge, with its rocky terrain, would prevent any kind of trail. She followed the water for quite some time, pleased to have been able to get away. She tried to work the knot loose around her wrist, but without a knife, it was impossible. Dragging several feet of rope, she held it in her hand to keep from tripping.

  The sound of a racing horse broke her thoughts and solitude. Turning, she saw her kidnapper approach, fury etched on his face, gun in hand. He was ready to shoot her, no second chances.

  She broke into a sprint, but her legs were no match for his horse. The man jumped down from his saddle and chased after her. All at once her arm was practically ripped from its socket, her wrist probably broken by the man grabbing the rope and pulling, yanking her hard to the ground. She landed on the rocky bank, water rushing by her head.

  Keeping his hold on the rope, he wrestled with her until she was pinned beneath him. “Damn you!” he hissed. Winded, he spit out the wad of tobacco from his lower lip and wiped his mouth. She looked up at him and knew she was going to die.

  Large hands grabbed her about the throat and squeezed, getting tighter and tighter. She couldn’t breathe, no air got past his hands. Her throat was being crushed by his tight grasp and her eyes felt ready to pop from her head. She saw stars and the man’s evil face spun. Thrashing beneath him, she tried to buck him off. She clawed at his arms, trying to pull them free from her neck.

  She was dying. Losing strength as her body starved for air, she grabbed at the river rocks she was sprawled upon. She was barely able to focus, and the world got dark.

  Her right hand bumped into a large rock and she grabbed it. Using all the strength she could muster, she lifted it and swung hard, hitting him squarely on the side of the head. Her strike was strong enough to knock him to the ground, his hands instinctively on his temple, not her neck.

  She brought her own hands to her neck and curled into a ball, sucking in precious air. After recovering enough to sit up, she looked at her attacker. Blood poured from the wound to his skull, but he was still conscious. He looked at her, confusion and anger in his eyes.

  She had to get away, and fast. Coughing, she stumbled to her feet and tried to run. But her mind couldn’t get her feet to do what she wanted. She weaved and fell to the ground. She started crawling, then attempted to stand, finally successful. She stood still for a moment, then put one foot in front of the other.

  Groans from the man made her look over her shoulder. He too, tried to stand. He lunged for her, but she was too far away and fell back to the ground. “You bitch!” He struggled once again and finally made it to his feet, teetering a bit, trying to get his balance.

  She knew she had to move. Think one foot, then the other. It was no good. Her brain was so rattled, she couldn’t think straight. She had to get away or she’d die! The water beside her rolled and tumbled, sloshing against the rocky ground at her heels. It moved swiftly, the current strong and fast, so deep, she couldn’t see the bottom in places.

  Looking between the water and the man who slowly approached, she knew she had one last choice. Jump or die. Taking a gulp of air, she plunged into the icy water. Her breath was once again ripped from her body. Quickly, the current took her and she was rushed downstream. The man’s shouts were muffled by the gurgling, rushing water. It was the last she heard before the tumultuous rush knocked her underwater. She came up sputtering, finally able to get her feet facing down. She let the water take her, holding her head up above the water level as best she could.

  Coldness seeped into her very being. She became weaker. She’d escaped the man and his deadly grasp, but she needed to get out of the water before she froze to death, or be drowned in the process.

  Luckily, the water began to slow, coming to a quieter part of the creek. Margaret was able to grasp a branch extending from the shoreline. Her fingers were too numb to hold onto the decaying wood and she slid by, the water taking her where it chose. Teeth chattering, she tried once again, using all of her remaining strength.

  She kicked as best as she could against the current toward big boulders jutting from the water. As she was about to collide with the jagged edges, she put her feet out in front of her and softened the blow to her body. Crumpling with the strength of the water pushing against her back, she leaned toward the shore and was able to break free of the current. Sputtering, she dragged herself up the rocky bed on hands and knees, and collapsed on the blessed grass. Coughing, she spit up a large amount of water. Shivering uncontrollably, she curled up into a ball and hoped she could find a way to warm up. A fire, hot against her skin. She drifted out of consciousness dreaming of all things hot.

  ***

  Grant found the dead man several hours after finding Maggie’s canteen. The bastard hadn’t been too hard to track. His horse had left a clear path through the tall grass, which Grant was able to track at a breakneck pace. As he jumped from his mount, it was obvious the man was dead. The body was face down, head bobbing on the surface of the creek. One of his arms extended out into the water and followed the motions of the raging current.

  Squatting down, he pulled the man back onto the ground and rolled him over. Water dripped down his face and body. A large cut to the side of his head was evident, bad enough to have a flap of skin and hair fall back, exposing bone. The water had cleaned out the wound, but a large amount of blood stained his shirt. Deep scratches ran down his cheeks and his shirt was ripped at the shoulder.

  In the man’s left hand he found a piece of fabric, white cotton, similar to Maggie’s blouse. “Maggie!” He shouted into the air as he frantically looked for tracks. Where was she? Did she have a similar fate? He ran his hand through his hair, thinking of the worst possibilities.

  Think! What would she do? The bastard had been close enough to her that she’d scratched at his face. She’d ripped his shirt in her fight. God, had he hurt her? Had he—

  Grant refused to think about it.

  Searching the area, he came up with nothing. He’d found no traces of her except for the swatch of fabric. Returning to the dead man, he looked into the water. Had she really done what he was thinking? The water was ice cold! Would she, could she? There wasn't any other choice he could see. Finding the man’s horse grazing nearby, he led it to his then tied the lead to his saddle. Mounting, he spurred his horse into motion and followed the water downstream.

  ***

  After a mile, he found her. Curled up on the grass, she was asleep. At first he thought her dead, but could see her shivering uncontrollably. Thank the good Lord! Jumping down from his horse, he rushed to her, pulled her
wet form into his arms, squeezing her against him. She groaned in protest, but was too cold to fight. He had to warm her, and fast.

  After carrying her toward his horse, he laid her down in a sunny spot so he could grab a blanket from his saddle bag. He wrapped the blanket around her and pulled her into his lap and rubbed her arms, trying to get the warmth to seep in, hoping her shivering would stop. She was so soft, so right in his grasp he couldn’t help but kiss the top of her damp head.

  Hopefully he’d found her in time to have her in his arms for the rest of his life. The shivering stopped quickly enough and she started to thrash, trying to pull the blankets away. “No, get away from me. Get your hands off me, you filthy animal!” Maggie shouted and tried to break free.

  “Maggie!” He shook her, the blanket coming loose from her shoulders. “Maggie, wake up. It’s me, Grant.”

  Finally, she stopped her attack and opened her eyes.

  “Maggie.” His words were desperate even to his ears. He’d come so close to losing her and it had all been his fault. He could only imagine what she’d been through and his guilt only became worse.

  “Grant!” She tried to wriggle from his lap. “The man, he’ll find me!”

  “No, he won’t. Don’t worry.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Let me hold you for a minute.” He was so relieved she was all right, he didn’t want to let go.

  “He’ll kill us!”

  He pulled the blanket from around her and let her stand. Her legs could barely support her so he held her to his side. Her clothes were practically dry and the thin material of her blouse and pants no longer clung to her body.

  “He’s dead.”

  “He...but...how?”

  “You struggled with him?”

  She looked at him and nodded. “He was strangling me.”

  Strangling? Hell. His eyes darted to her neck. There, he found red and purple marks. He tried to remain calm, even though he could hear the edge of steel in his voice. “Then what happened?”