Untethered

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Heath hunkered down and rubbed his hands together in front of the blazing fire in the hearth. “Well, I’ve ushered a lot of women through here for Jacques,” Heath said. “And knowing where to hole up can save a man’s life sometimes.” He glanced to the girls all huddled in one corner of the large, albeit dilapidated old house. “It can save his goods too.”

  Heck frowned. “I don’t know. That one there…that Jinny?” he said, pointing to Jinny. Cricket glared at him, protectively putting an arm around Jinny’s shoulders as Heck mumbled, “She ain’t lookin’ too rosy in the cheeks anymore. I sure as hell hope we don’t lose another one.”

  “We won’t,” Heath assured him. “She’s just tired…worn out from the travel. These girls ain’t used to it…so it’s probably good this storm hit. It kind of forces us to let them rest a mite.”

  “I suppose,” Heck sighed. He shook his head. “But I don’t want no posse catchin’ up to us…not when I’m only a week away from collectin’ two thousand dollars.” He paused, frowned, and looked to Heath. “You really think Jacques Cheval will pay me…uh…us that much?”

  “Absolutely,” Heath said with a firm nod. “At least that. And I know what you mean about losin’ time and maybe riskin’ a posse bein’ at our backs. But believe me, it’ll be better to deliver these girls to Jacques all rosy-cheeked and healthy than it would be to show up with them lookin’ like starved cattle.”

  “I can see that,” Heck agreed.

  Cricket had been listening so intently to the conversation between Heath and Heck that she didn’t notice one of the other outlaws, a man called Boone, had managed to settle himself to standing right beside her. Heck had told his men to keep their distance from the girls—especially since Heath had arrived. But Boone was a drinker, and often defiant.

  “What you starin’ at there, Miss Violet Eyes?” Boone asked her.

  Cricket ignored him. She could smell the liquor on his breath. And besides, she was supposed to be enamored of Heath—which she truly was, of course. But Heath had instructed her to appear as if she were depending on him for everything.

  “I asked you a question, girl!” Boone hollered unexpectedly. “And when I ask a question, you better answer me!”

  Cricket cried out in pain as Boone pushed the lit end of the cigar he’d been smoking against the tender flesh of her body just above her left breast and below her left shoulder.

  “Boone!” Patterson shouted. “What the hell are you doin’?”

  Patterson was on Boone in an instant, but the wound on Cricket’s skin could not be undone. Tears streaming down her face, she looked to the burn. It had already begun to blister and hurt something terrible.

  “What the hell?” Heath roared as he strode across the room, laying out Boone to sprawling on the floor in one swift punch before hunkering down to assist Cricket.

  His eyes met hers, and she saw the regret, guilt, and self-blame in the deep blue of his eyes. “What the hell is wrong with your man there, Heck?” he shouted. “Patterson…get me some flour…now!”

  “Yep,” Patterson agreed as he headed out the door to the supply wagon.

  “Boone!” Heck shouted. “You stupid, dimwitted dunce! I told you not to touch these girls…not a one of them!”

  “She wouldn’t answer my question, boss,” Boone explained, struggling to his feet.

  I’m sorry, Heath mouthed to Cricket, frowning with his own pain and anger. Raising his voice, he said, “Well, Heck…Jacques don’t like imperfections. I’d say your idiot man there probably just lost you a hundred dollars…more if this burn gets infected.”

  “Is that so?” Heck asked.

  Cricket recognized the evil expression of fury in Heck’s eyes. She’d seen it once before—the very moment he’d killed Nina.

  “No!” Cricket screamed only an instant before the shot rang out—an instant before Boone dropped to his knees.

  “B-but, boss,” Boone stammered as he put a hand to his belly and looked at the blood the gunshot wound left there.

  All the girls screamed, breaking into tears as Heck fired again—this time hitting Boone in the head and causing his body to fall limp and lifeless right next to Cricket.

  “I-I brung the flour,” Patterson ventured as he stepped back into the old house and offered a small sack of flour to Heath. Patterson gulped as he looked at Boone, lying dead on the floor, and then to Heck, who had already reholstered his pistol.

  “Give me that,” Heath growled, snatching the flour sack from a stunned, mouth-agape Patterson. Tearing it open, Heath scooped out a handful of flour and quickly tossed it onto the cigar burn.

  Cricket was astonished at how soothing the flour was the instant it touched her wound. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, even though more followed.

  Rising to his feet, Heath flung the sack of flour back to Patterson—who barely caught it and inhaled a bit that puffed from the sack when he did.

  “Dammit, men!” Heath shouted. “Every scratch on these girls…every lost hair, every bruise will cost us money! How can I get that through your thick skulls? This here…this burn…” He pointed to Cricket. “That’s gonna cost us dearly…especially me! I’m the one Jacques trusts to get these girls to him! Not only does somethin’ like this come outta your pay, but it comes outta mine!”

  “Well…at least we got one less man to share the earnin’s with now…so don’t it all even out?” one man asked.

  “What? You think Heck or me hasn’t already thought of that, boy?” Heath growled. “We could shoot every one of you dirty dogs and keep these girls and the money they’ll bring all to ourselves. But that ain’t the plan…and it don’t show no integrity. None at all.” He strode to the man who’d suggested that Boone’s death was a benefit. Taking him by the collar, Heath threatened, “Why don’t we just have Heck shoot you too? Then there’s even more money for the rest of us, boy!”

  The man gulped, and Heath released him with a violent push. He turned to Heck then, removed his hat, and raked his fingers back through his hair.

  “Heck…we can’t have this,” he said. He leaned closer to Heck, lowered his voice, and added, “And of course, who does that idiot decide to hurt…but the very woman we need to cooperate with us. I’ll be lucky if I don’t have to start all over with her now.”

  “I’m sorry, Baptiste,” Heck sighed. “I shoulda cut Boone loose long ago. His drinkin’ always got him in trouble.” Heck paused, glancing around Heath to Cricket. Cricket glared at him, wiping more tears from her eyes. “But what will you do with her? Do you really think we lost our hook over this?”

  “I don’t know,” Heath said, shaking his head. “I don’t know…and I won’t know until I’ve…” Heath turned and looked to Cricket. “You feelin’ okay, sweetheart?” he asked.

  But Cricket shook her head. She wasn’t sure what answer Heath wanted her to give, but judging from the conversation between him and Heck, he wanted doubt to settle back into Heck’s mind—wanted him to wonder whether Jacques Cheval would still pay him top dollar for the girls.

  “Wonderful,” Heath growled. He shook his head, turning his attention back to Heck. “We cannot lose the cooperation of these girls, Heck. You’ve seen how much easier it is when we have it.”

  “But what’re we gonna do then?” Heck asked.

  “Start over, I guess,” Heath sighed. He looked to Patterson. “Patterson,” he addressed the newly shaven outlaw.

  “Yeah?” Patterson asked.

  “You and Heck…you stay close to these girls tonight,” Heath instructed. “Don’t let any of the other men near them.”

  “Well, sure thing,” Patterson agreed. “But what about you? Where’re you gonna be?”

  “Startin’ over,” Heath said as he reached down, taking hold of Cricket’s arm and pulling her to her feet.

  “Cricket!” Ann cried out. “What’re you gonna do with her?”

  “I’m gonna see to her wound for one thing, darlin’,” Heath answered. “And she and I a
re gonna have us a little chat.”

  All the girls began to weep then—huddled closer together.

  “But don’t you girls worry none about your little Cricket here,” Heath added. “I’m gonna take real good care of her tonight.”

  Cricket felt it was her cue to struggle—and she did so.

  “Now hold on there, honey,” Heath said, taking her arms and holding them behind her back. “You’ll be just fine. Don’t I always take care of you?”

  Cricket ceased in struggling—pretended Heath’s holding her hands at her back was painful, even though it wasn’t.

  “Give these girls some extra water, Heck,” Heath instructed as he pushed Cricket toward the door. “And keep those other men away from them tonight. I want them to get some sleep. Those bags under their eyes ain’t doin’ nothin’ to make any of them more becomin’.”

  “I hear ya, Baptiste,” Heck agreed. “You boys bunk down!” he ordered his men. “Let’s get some shut-eye. We’re gonna need to ride like hell when this rain breaks.”

  Kicking the door of the house open with one foot, Heath dragged Cricket out into the rain. “Keep those girls warm and safe, Heck!” he hollered over his shoulder. “I don’t want none of us losin’ another nickel off any of them!”

  “Oh, we won’t,” Heck assured him. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  The rain was torrential! Cricket could hardly breathe as Heath led her to an old barn located not too far from the old house.

  Once inside, Heath closed the barn doors and drew the bolt. The windows had no shutters remaining, but there was still plenty of shelter from the rain.

  “Hold on here a minute,” Heath mumbled.

  Cricket watched as Heath cleared a space on the dirt floor directly in the center of the barn, dragging a small metal watering trough to the place. Quickly gathering dry straw and other pieces of discarded wood, he tossed them in the small trough along with an old milking stool he’d found abandoned in one corner. Then, taking a small tin from his pocket, he opened it to reveal several stick matches—and before long, a fire burned warm and comforting in the trough.

  “Here,” he said, leading her to the fire. “Warm up good before you catch cold.”

  Cricket nodded and began to warm her hands.

  “Well, Heck sure don’t stop to think about killin’ somebody, does he?” Heath grumbled as he stripped off his soaking shirt, wrung it out, and hung it over a stable wall. “He didn’t blink an eye at shootin’ his own man to death right there in front of all the others.”

  Cricket wiped the tears and rain from her face and breathed, “Nope.”

  He removed his hat, tossing it to join his shirt and shaking the rain out of his hair. “Well, it’s one less man I’ll have to worry about killin’ if that posse don’t show up pretty soon, I suppose.”

  Cricket tried not to stare at him—but it was difficult being that he was standing right next to her only half dressed. She thought of the day he’d come upon her, Ann, Marie, and Vilma swimming in the swimming hole. She’d been alarmingly unsettled seeing him in such a state then, but this moment was even more disconcerting! Heath Thibodaux was so close to her she could feel the heat coming off his body as surely as she could feel the heat from the fire.

  She wanted to turn to him, throw herself against him, and beg him to hold her. But she didn’t. She wanted to confess that it had been her, Magnolia “Cricket” Cranford, who had stolen a kiss from him not so long ago—though it seemed like forever in that moment.

  “Now, let me see that burn,” Heath said, taking her arm and turning her to face him. He grimaced as he studied it. Cricket’s breath caught in her throat as he reached out, gently pressing the tender flesh around the wound with his fingers. “I shoulda brought that bag of flour with us,” he mumbled. “The rain washed off what I put on there before.”

  “It’s f-fine,” Cricket stammered. His touch was thrilling to every sense she owned! Never in a million years should he ever be allowed to touch her bare skin the way he was—especially where he was—she knew it. But there was no part of her that wished for him to stop.

  “It’s bad,” he sighed. He frowned as he studied her face. “We’ll have to keep a sharp eye on it…make sure it doesn’t start showin’ signs of infection.” He growled. “I wish had some of that ointment I keep at home for burns and such.”

  Cricket felt a wave of hysteria bubbling up inside her as Heath’s fingers continued to touch her near the wound. “I-I suppose…I suppose we could try some of that medicinal spit of yours,” she giggled. She couldn’t think what had come over her. Nothing whatsoever was amusing about their situation—nothing. But suddenly the memory of their moments in the pasture—of Heath tending to the splinter in her foot, of actually spitting on it—somehow it all seemed so carefree and funny.

  She was surprised when, instead of a reprimanding word or even glance from him, he chuckled a little. “My medicinal spit,” he said. He shrugged then, adding, “Well, why not.”

  Reaching down and retrieving a knife from his boot, Heath lifted Cricket’s skirt to reveal the not-so-dusty-as-the-rest, upper ruffle of her petticoat. Using his knife, he swiftly cut a small piece of the fabric.

  “Well, here goes,” he mumbled, moistening the piece of cloth with his tongue and dabbing at the burn a bit.

  Cricket was rendered stiff as an oak! She couldn’t move—for she was entirely stunned, as well as enthralled, by Heath’s gesture.

  “Hmm…needs a bit more than that,” he said to himself.

  Cricket gasped then as he bent, pressing his tongue to the wound for several moments.

  He repeated the action once more, saying, “Well, I don’t know if that’ll help it heal…but at least I got the cigar ashes out of the wound. It should heal better that way.”

  It was too much—all of it. Being forcibly dragged from the old Morgan house, Nina’s murder, the rough travel and lack of food and water, Heathro Thibodaux appearing so soon after Cricket had wished for him to appear, the times since spent in his company as he endeavored to make Heck believe he was charming her into his will. It was all too much for her to fully comprehend in that moment, and she began to sway as dizziness started to overtake her.

  As everything began to spin faster and faster, Cricket felt her knees buckle—felt powerful arms keep her from crumpling to the ground.

  “Hey! Hey there, darlin’,” Heath said, supporting her body with one arm as he gently patted her face with the opposite hand. “Don’t you black out on me. Stay with me. Come on now, Magnolia…fight that faint.”

  Cricket felt Heath lift her into the cradle of his arms—felt him lay her down on a soft bed of straw. Her body ached with fatigue, and she moaned as it relaxed. She hadn’t fainted—at least not completely—but she’d weakened enough that her mind was swimming.

  All at once she felt the urge to giggle—to laugh. And as the giggles in her came fizzing up into the air, she reached up and placed her palm against Heath’s warm cheek.

  “Hey,” Heath said. “Come on now…come back to me here, sugar,” he coaxed.

  Cricket smiled and giggled, for she was blissful in seeing Heath poised above her the way he was—his handsome brow furrowed with concern.

  She giggled again. Then all at once, her tears returned, and she was weeping.

  “Do you know what my first thought was when those men took us?” she asked in a whisper.

  “No,” Heath answered. “What was your first thought there, honey?”

  Cricket felt her lower lip quivering with emotion. “I-I thought…I thought, ‘Well…at least I have my shoes on,’ ” she answered.

  His smile—Heathro Thibodaux’s beautiful, dazzling, gold-embellished smile. It was the last impression Cricket’s eyes discerned before darkness swallowed her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Hey,” Heath said, taking Cricket’s face in one hand and moving her head back and forth in an attempt to revive her. She just couldn’t take all the fatigue, fear, loss
, and pain of body and mind anymore—and he understood why. It was no wonder her mind sought reprieve desperately enough to faint. He figured the cigar burn had finally been the straw to break the camel’s back, and she’d needed a few moments of unconsciousness.

  “Wake up now, honey,” Heath said, gently patting her soft cheeks. “Don’t give up on me now.” He grinned, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw her eyelashes flutter a little. “There you go, Magnolia. You just come on back to me here. We’ve got some things to plot out still.”

  Cricket’s eyes opened a little, and she seemed to stare at Heath as if trying to recognize him. Oh, but she was a pretty little thing! Heath had noticed her the very day he’d moved to Pike’s Creek. He’d kept his distance, of course, being that he was who he was—and what he was. But he’d always admired her from afar, wishing he’d had the worthiness to approach the little spitfire bundle of mischief. His smile broadened as her eyes opened wider, revealing the violet tinge that drew him in like a siren’s song.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. He could tell full consciousness was washing over her, for the fear suddenly returned to her beautiful eyes, accompanied by a deep blush of embarrassment at having awakened to find herself cradled in one of his arms as she sat in his lap on the ground where he’d settled with her when she’d fainted.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She tried to sit up but was obviously overwhelmed with dizziness and collapsed against him.

  “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, sugar,” he soothed her. “Take a minute or two, and let your mind catch up with your body, all right?”

  Cricket wanted to take far more than a minute or two! She was sitting in Heath’s lap, held snuggly against the warm, solid contours of him, his arms gently embracing her. Why on earth would she ever want to leave?

  And then she remembered all that had transpired just before she’d fainted—his tending to the cigar burn, his encouraging her to tell him what her first thought was when they’d been captured. How ridiculous she must’ve sounded! How ridiculous she must look!