Untethered

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Frantically she told the others to prepare to leave again soon. They must ride fast. They had to; Heath’s life was the cost if they didn’t!

  ❦

  “How’re you feelin’, honey?” Heath asked Jinny once they’d stopped for the night.

  “A bit better, Mr. Thibodaux,” Jinny answered, smiling at the handsome Texas Ranger.

  Heath placed the back of his hand to her forehead and smiled. “Well, you ain’t feverish…and that’s a good sign, ain’t it?”

  Jinny’s smile broadened, and she blushed under Heath’s gaze.

  A wave of jealousy washed over Cricket as she watched Heath with Jinny. Naturally she inwardly scolded herself with great severity. It was ridiculous to be jealous—especially considering the fact they were all running for their lives. Furthermore, perhaps Cricket had shared some fantastically romantic moments with Heath—their time in the old barn still seeming to her more like a dream than an experience that she’d actually lived. But that didn’t mean she had any claim on him or that he wanted any claim to her. Heathro Thibodaux had done what was necessary to rescue them—that was all.

  Yet as Cricket watched him talk with each young woman in turn—place the back of his hand to each girl’s cheek in a gesture of offering comfort and encouragement—she wondered whether being abducted had somehow twisted her mind, for she wanted nothing more than to own every second of Heath’s attention.

  “And how are you holdin’ up, Miss Blossom Bottom?” Heath asked, hunkering down in front of the log on which Cricket sat at last. Instantly—with just one utterance—Heath had vanquished all of Cricket’s irrational feelings of a moment before.

  “I’m fine,” she answered, returning his smile.

  Heath winked at her and said, “Yes, you are, honey. Very fine.”

  Cricket blushed, and he reached out, placing his palm to her cheek a moment, allowing his thumb to caressively travel over her lips once.

  “Try to get some sleep,” he said as he stood. “I’m thinkin’ a day and a half more…and we oughta be home.”

  Cricket nodded. Heath had explained to her the day before that he figured they were two and a half days from Pike’s Creek. The girls had been with the outlaws longer than that as they traveled, but that was because the wagon and all the horses traveling slower had taken more time than the return trip would.

  “All right,” she agreed. “But what about you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he told her. “I don’t think those idiots will travel at night…but I need to keep watch just in case.”

  “Mr. Thibodaux!” Ann called then.

  Heath and Cricket both looked to Ann. She was hurrying toward them carrying something in one hand. Her smile was as wide as the Mississippi, and her eyes twinkled with excitement.

  “Look what I found in Harley’s saddlebag!” she gleefully squealed.

  “What’s that?” Heath asked.

  Cricket watched as Ann offered a wad of paper money to Heath—the six hundred dollars he’d given Heck as a bonus for agreeing to sell the girls to Jacques Cheval.

  Heath chuckled. “Well, what do you know? I forgot all about that.”

  “Here,” Ann said, taking Heath’s hand and forcing the money into it. “At least you got this back.”

  “Maybe you can use some of it to buy Cricket a new shirtwaist to replace the one you nearly tore off her when you arrived,” Vilma teased.

  Heath smiled, reached out, and lifted a shred of fabric hanging from Cricket’s sleeve. “Yeah. I guess this one has seen better days.” He frowned then, leaning down to study the cigar burn below Cricket’s shoulder. “How’s that burn healin’ up?”

  Cricket quivered at the memory of Heath applying his medicinal spit to the burn the night it happened. “It’s fine. It blistered yesterday, and I guess the blisters burst while we were ridin’ or somethin’. It hurts, but it’s fine,” she answered.

  “Good,” he said. He looked up then to see the girls had all moved to surround him. “What?”

  Marie was the first to kiss him.

  Stepping up to Heath, she said, “Thank you for comin’ for us, Mr. Thibodaux. You saved our lives.” Cricket’s eyebrows shot up into arches as she watched Marie King place a thankful kiss to Heath’s lips.

  “W-well…we ain’t outta the woods yet, darlin’,” Heath stammered.

  Ann approached next. “It wouldn’t matter if we all dropped dead right here and now…without ever makin’ it home, Mr. Thibodaux. You’re still our hero and savior.” Ann raised herself on the tips of her toes and placed a kiss to his lips as well.

  Heath blushed, and Cricket wondered why she wasn’t jealous. Just watching Heath place a hand to each of the other girls’ cheeks had disturbed her a moment ago—but for some reason, the thankful kisses her friends were offering now didn’t.

  “Thank you, Mr. Thibodaux,” Jinny said then. “I would be dead already if it weren’t for you.” Jinny glanced away a moment, brushing a tear from her eye. “I heard Heck tell you he was gonna kill me this mornin’ if I still looked sickly. So thank you for takin’ me away from him.” She kissed Heath and stepped back as Pearl stepped forward.

  “I know exactly what those men had planned for us, Mr. Thibodaux,” Pearl said. She took his face between her hands, pulling his head to hers and placing a grateful kiss to his lips.

  It wasn’t until Vilma approached him that Cricket felt a frown pucker her brow a little. One never knew exactly what was going on in the mind of Vilma Stanley, and for some reason, Cricket was on edge—though she hadn’t been when the other girls kissed him.

  Cricket gritted her teeth a little as she watched Vilma reach up and slowly, rather caressively, bury her fingers in Heath’s hair above his left ear.

  “Thank you,” Vilma whispered. “I thought I’d used up my endurance…and then you appeared.”

  Just as Cricket had feared, Vilma’s kiss wasn’t quite as innocent, nor quick, as the kisses from the other girls had been. When Vilma pressed her lips to Heath’s, she lingered a moment—and a moment was too long for Cricket’s temperament. Oh, naturally, Cricket didn’t say a word when Vilma finally released Heath and stepped back from him—but inside she was nearly seething.

  In fact, Cricket was so distracted by her unsettled feelings within that when she glanced to the group of her friends standing near her, wearing expressions of expectation fixed on her, she simply asked, “What?” It took her a moment, accompanied by Ann’s and Marie’s nods toward Heath, for her to realize that they all expected her to offer him a kiss of recognition as well.

  Heath was also looking at her—grinning with knowing amusement.

  “Go on, Cricket,” Marie whispered through barely parted lips.

  Summoning the guts of a Roman gladiator, Cricket turned to Heath. She couldn’t keep from returning his smile. He was too heroic, wonderful, and provocatively handsome not to smile at.

  Approaching him, though she felt ridiculous attempting to offer any comparable thanks to what he’d just received five times over, she nodded and said, “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Thibodaux. For our lives…for our virtue and for—”

  But she had no opportunity to finish her thanks—for in an instant, her face was held tightly between his hands, and he kissed her firmly on the lips. His second kiss was less forced, softer, moister, and playful.

  “You’re welcome,” Heath said, releasing Cricket nearly as quickly as he’d pounced.

  Cricket blushed as she looked to the other girls to see them all smiling with delight—even Vilma.

  “But like I said,” Heath began then, “we have a long way to go before you girls are safe at home. So rest while you can now…and for just a few hours.” His smile had faded, replaced by an expression of concern. “I don’t think we should wait until mornin’ to head out again. Heck and his men are gonna be after us like the devil chasin’ an escaped sinner from hell.”

  The girls nodded or mumbled their understanding and began to settle on the ground with the b
lankets Heath had had the foresight to roll to each saddle rig. Cricket was the last to settle. She was worried for Heath. He needed sleep just like the rest of them. And anyway, how on earth would he keep watch in the dark?

  Heath noticed Cricket staring at him, nodded toward her blanket, and said, “Go to sleep.” Then he sauntered off into the darkness, down the trail in the direction from whence they’d come.

  Exhaling a deep breath, Cricket stretched out on her blanket, closed her eyes, and tried to relax. The soft sound of the river as it slowly flowed through the summer night allowed Cricket to imagine she was being rocked. The songs of the summer crickets and night birds blended perfectly—not so loud as to cause sleeplessness but just full enough to soothe. The night was tranquil and serene. The air was fresh and warm, and the fragrances of nature—of wildflowers and grasses, leaves and sagebrush—mingled, perfuming it to the sweet, comforting scent of nectar.

  ❦

  “Come on, blossom bottom.”

  Cricket had never in all her life felt so fatigued or had such trouble rising to full consciousness. But someone’s hand was on her shoulder. Someone was gently shaking her.

  “Come on, Magnolia,” Heath said. “We gotta get goin’. Them outlaws ain’t far behind us.”

  “What?” Cricket answered as she struggled to sit up and to complete wakefulness.

  “I tracked back a ways…and I can see their campfire,” he whispered. “They’re too close. And we need to start ridin’.”

  That was all it took to blast Cricket to her feet.

  Quickly the girls gathered their blankets, rinsed their faces, and quenched their thirst with water from the river. Heath had had them all leave their horses saddled and bridled, and as Cricket mounted hers, she whispered an apology for his discomfort.

  Heath nodded to Ann, and quietly the girls and their horses stepped into a nearly inaudible departure. Cricket glanced over her shoulder to see Heath nod his reassurance.

  They moved along silently for some time—the moon and stars as their only light. Cricket wondered how long they’d actually slept. The moon was still up, and the sun hadn’t broken the horizon in the east at all. Her body ached, her stomach growled, and she wondered if she could endure another day and a half of travel.

  Yet the constant threat at their backs would keep her moving. She couldn’t imagine falling into the hands of Heck and his men again. The thought caused tears to fill her eyes, but she held them back and focused on riding.

  They had to make it home—all of them! Cricket had to see her father and Ada again. She couldn’t bear the thought of never feeling the warmth of their embraces. Marie had to make it home to Hudson! She had to marry him and have his babies. Ann had to heal and win Mr. Keel’s broken, lonesome heart. Vilma had to return and grow out her beautiful auburn hair. Pearl must return to her family in Thistle. As for Jinny—oh, Jinny and Nina’s parents must have at least one of their daughters live!

  As for Heathro Thibodaux, not only was Cricket more desperate about his safety and life than even her own but she also knew in her heart that every girl he’d taken from the outlaw band must make it safely home—for his sake. She couldn’t think of his blaming himself for any more deaths that were no fault of his in the first place.

  And so she rode. Cricket rode hard and fast, even for the aching and pain in her body. She clung to hope and prayed for deliverance. No matter what the future held for her—for Heath—for all of them—no matter what, she would fight to her last breath in trying to make sure that they all had a future.

  ❦

  The horses needed the rest. If Heath wanted them to be able to carry the girls as close to Pike’s Creek as possible before dropping dead, he had to allow them a little reprieve. They were well watered now and seemed somewhat restored to their strength as they paused grazing on riverbank grasses.

  Heath studied the girls a moment from where he stood watching the trail behind them. He shook his head, thinking they all looked like hell had them in tow—thin and sunburnt, dusty, tired, and aching from a ride that would wear out most cowboys. He knew the girls were at the end of their endurance. He knew it—but he also knew they had to press on. Pike’s Creek was only hours away. Just a few more hours of riding, and they’d all be safe.

  His gaze settle on Cricket—and his mouth watered as he thought of how badly he wanted to take her in his arms again and drink his fill of her kiss. He briefly wondered if he’d ever have the chance to kiss her again—for even if he did manage to usher them home, he knew what would happen. He’d be a hero—for a week or two. And then the townsfolk would begin to resent him for being right about where the outlaws were headed. Old Reverend Righteous Stanley would no doubt graciously remind them all that it was God and the Lord who’d returned the stolen girls—and he’d be right. But Heath had had a helping hand in it, hadn’t he?

  Still, Heathro Thibodaux had been a Texas Ranger long enough to know that gratitude more often than not eventually turned to resentment. The hero who arrived with the prize was often regarded as simply a reminder of the terrible thing that had happened. Whether or not Heath had been the one to choose the right trail, track down the girls, manage to strip them from the grubby hands of murderous outlaws, and save their virtue and lives, Heath knew that in the end the town would dislike him for it. Nevertheless, Heath didn’t care about the hypocrites in Pike’s Creek. He cared about returning the girls to their families and to safety.

  But he knew he was tired and worn too—that his endurance was wearing out. He knew it as soon as he felt the thud of the bullet in his shoulder a second before he heard the repeat of the rifle. Lack of sleep, hard riding, and worry had found him allowing himself to be distracted into thinking—and that distraction had now found him shot in the shoulder.

  “Get on those horses, and ride like hell!” Heath shouted.

  Leveling his own rifle, he aimed and fired—watched Patterson lurch and grab his chest. Instantly, Heath cocked his rifle and fired again, exhaling a breath as he watched Patterson’s head jerk back and the outlaw tumble from his horse.

  “Hurry!” Cricket instructed as Heath turned and began running toward them. “Get on your horses! Ann! Head Harley for home!”

  As Cricket helped Jinny mount her horse, Heath nearly knocked her over as he reached them.

  She gasped in horror, fear rinsing through ever inch of her body as she saw the blood at his shoulder. “You’ve been shot!” she breathed.

  But Heath ignored her. “Here,” he said, unloading his ammunition from Archie’s saddlebags and tossing it to the ground. Cricket shook her head as Heath then forced Archie’s reins into her hands. Cricket’s horse was still tethered to a nearby tree, and Heath quickly took control of its reins, turned, and started back down the trail.

  “No!” Cricket cried. “You’re comin’ with us! You are not stayin’ behind! I won’t leave if you don’t come with us!”

  As quick as a bullwhip, Heath turned on her, took her chin firmly in hand, and growled, “You will ride, Magnolia! You get these girls home! Heck and his men are too close. You’ll never make it if I don’t hold them off awhile. So get on that damn horse, and you ride like hell itself is comin’ for you! Do you hear me?”

  Cricket pushed his hand, however, releasing his hold on her chin and shaking her head. “I won’t leave you here. You have two rifles, and I’m a good shot. I’ll stay and—”

  But Heath turned then to Archie. Patting the horse’s velvet nose, he said, “You take this girl home, Archie…and don’t you come back, do you hear me?”

  Another shot rang out, and Cricket screamed as Heath looked at his arm and swore. “Just a graze,” he mumbled.

  “You can do what you want to me, Heathro Thibodaux,” Cricket said as tears flooded her cheeks. “But I won’t leave you!” Angrily she wiped at her tears on her cheeks, wishing her hands weren’t trembling so violently and betraying her fear and panic. “I can’t leave you!” Desperately she reached out, taking hold of Heath’s
arm. “Please…just let me stay here with you. If I’m with you…if there’re two of us…I’m a good enough shot to help, I promise.” As Heath’s attention fell to her still trembling hands, Cricket released his arm, clasping her hands together and silently begging them to be still.

  Heath stared at her a moment, his beautiful eyes narrowing as he studied her. “You have to lead them on, Cricket,” he said. “Somebody has to get these girls home…and somebody has to stay here and try to pick off the bastards that are still followin’ you so that you all can get home.”

  “Ann can take them,” she told him.

  “No, she can’t,” he mumbled.

  Heath growled, “Get on that horse and ride, girl!” He looked up to the other girls, scowling as he saw the obvious fear and weakness beginning to overwhelm them. “You girls ride hard, do you hear me? You ride those horses into the ground if you have to. They’ve got enough life in ’em to get you all home before they drop. Do you hear me?”

  The Burroughs girl nodded—as well as the preacher’s daughter and the King girl.

  Taking hold of Cricket’s arm, he turned her toward Archie. “You stop only to let yourselves and the horses drink…but don’t let any of them linger. A couple of minutes—that’s it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Cricket whimpered.

  “Now mount up,” he ordered, holding the stirrup so she could mount more easily.

  “All right,” she breathed. Heath exhaled a relieved breath—grateful she wasn’t going to fight him about it anymore.

  But then Heathro Thibodaux made another mistake. He made the mistake of looking at Cricket just once more—and it was nearly his undoing.

  Roughly he took her shoulders, turned her, and pushed her back against Archie. His mouth was at her throat before he’d even realized it himself, knowing the taste of her warm, salty skin. Over and over he kissed her there—her neck, the hollow of her throat—allowing his mouth to savor the sensation of the blood coursing through her veins. Again he kissed the soft, tender hollow of her throat and nearly dropped to his knees in weak, wanton desire when he felt her bury her hands in his hair.