Treasured: Lonestar Love, Book Two

by Phelps, Victoria

  Half an hour later, Ethan left town at a leisurely lope, but with a keen eye scanning behind him. They had some distance to cover, and a steady pace would get him there and suit Charlie.

  When that woman got off the train in Odessa, she had some explaining to do. She’d said he was her man, and yet she put herself in danger. Didn’t let him protect her, see to her safety. The west was no place for a woman traveling alone. The very idea made his blood run cold. His hand itched to swat that beautiful bottom. It surely did. He’d do just that when he got his hands on her. They needed to set the record straight, establish the way of things.

  He came over a rise. At the bottom of the little hill the train tracks ran like a scar as far as the eye could see in both directions. Ethan hated those tracks, truth be told. They would bring a steady stream of tenderfoots and trouble. He didn’t doubt it. Already, stupid, careless men were shooting buffalo from moving trains and leaving their carcasses to rot. How could a body do such a thing? Why would a body do such a thing?

  The tell-tale smoke of an approaching engine snapped his attention to the matter at hand. He nudged his horse out of sight behind the rise and watched as the iron monster chugged its way. When the last car passed, he nudged Charlie with his knee and began following. He could rest the horse and himself now and again. The train only went one way after all.

  He kept out of sight and quietly pursued the train. About ten miles up the track, Ethan relaxed, semi-dozing as the distance disappeared beneath the steady hooves of his horse when shots split the air. “Holy hell.” Ethan shot straight upright in his saddle and nudged Charlie forward until he had the train in his sights and heard the high, sharp squeal of the wheels as the iron beast shuddered to a stop.

  Three men, bandanas tied firmly across their lower faces, pointed rifles at the stalled train.

  “Don’t nobody be a hero,” one shouted. “Any trouble and the conductor is the first to go.” He shot another round into the sky. Ethan squinted at the three bandits. Should he try to disarm them? Surprise them? Shoot them?

  He gave his head an infinitesimal shake. There were innocent people on that train—one of whom was Charlotte. He didn’t want to give those hombres any reason to open fire. Bullets had a nasty way of being deadly.

  A wanted poster hung on the wall of his office in San Miguel. Three masked bandits stopped and robbed trains. They threatened and shot an occasional bullet in the air, but no passenger or employee had ever been injured. They went through the cars demanding money and valuables before disappearing into the vast Texas range. No further description had been given. Three masked men. He hoped these were the ones. They weren’t violent, just greedy.

  Ethan squinted. He frowned. He watched. He held his breath.

  Leaning forward in his saddle, straining for a better look, he muttered into the empty air. “Just give them your money, Charlotte. Don’t fuss. Don’t fight. Just hand it over.”

  The longest twenty minutes of his life ticked by one agonizing second at a time. Sweat trickled down his back. His teeth ached from the pressure of his clenched jaw. One bandit waited by the engine, gun trained on the engineer. The other two disappeared into the innards of the train. No shots. No screams. He leaned back into his saddle; his hand rested on the rifle ready in its sheath.

  The two bandits emerged from the train and joined the third who glanced into the bag of loot before storing it in his saddlebag. Ethan willed them with every tendon in his body to mount up and ride away. He wouldn’t follow them. He didn’t care that they had committed a crime. His only concern was for Charlotte and her safety. Go. Go. Go. The words a prayer as he waited.

  The three mounted. Ethan breathed a deep sigh. Another minute and the danger would be over. He unclenched his teeth and felt an ease to that ache. One of the bandits moved closer to the train and stopped his horse next to a platform between the cars. He reached out, grabbed a hand, and pulled someone up behind him.

  Not someone. Charlotte. Charlotte was on the back of the horse, arms wrapped firmly around another man’s middle. He leaned forward again. There could be no mistake. He would recognize that mahogany hair, that body, anywhere.

  Holy, holy, hell. Stunned disbelief ran with molten heat through his veins. He shifted in his saddle, wiped the sweat from his brow and watched as his woman sped away on the back of a get-away horse.

  He would follow. Of course, he would. Charlotte needed him. Ethan watched and waited until a safe distance separated them, and he could trail undetected.

  Why would they take her? What did they plan to do with her? The questions ran like mice in a maze through his mind.

  None of the answers his brain conjured were good.

  Not a one.

  Chapter 9

  Charlotte

  Charlotte clung to the man in front of her. Clung with all her might as the horse ran across the open range. Her arms shook; her legs trembled. She locked her fingers together for a better hold and laid her cheek against a muscled back.

  The ground disappeared beneath their feet at a frightening pace. She was scared. Frightened silly. Ethan had always placed her in front of him, safe and sheltered between his muscular arms. If she relaxed her grip on this reckless ride, she would fly off the back of the racing mount. She had no illusions about these three men. They would leave her behind in a heartbeat. Leave her to die alone beneath the searing Texas sun.

  She heaved a shivering sob. The letter from her grandparents made the trip sound easy. Two trains and hire an escort to take her into Mexico. Events could not have veered further from that plan.

  It had begun well enough. Nick was a gentleman, kind and resourceful. The ride from Mike’s ranch to Abilene had been difficult for a city girl, but Nick did all he could to accommodate, simplify, and aid her in the journey. Once in Abilene, he rented a room and ordered hot food and a bath for her while he waited in the lobby, guarding her and alert to anyone snooping about. He had purchased her ticket and ushered her to her seat where she had placed a grateful kiss on his cheek and waved to him as the train pulled away while he became a speck in the quickly increasing distance.

  Charlotte had closed her eyes, exhausted, and fallen into a distracted, restless sleep. She abandoned the pursuit of real rest and opened her eyes—fear and flight not being comfortable sleeping partners.

  A man in dark clothes, city clothes, occupied the seat beside her.

  “Good morning, Miss Weaver,” he said, his voice a snarky snake.

  Charlotte jumped. Her bottom left the seat in her surprise. “Who are you? How do you know my name?” The questions asked, but all the while she knew, deep in her churning gut, how he knew who she was, and what he wanted.

  “Your father sent me. He misses you and wants you to come home.”

  The oily voice made her wish for a bath. “My father doesn’t miss me.” She spat out the words. “He wants his treasure returned. I don’t wish to return to his home.”

  “Your wishes mean nothing to me, Miss Weaver.” He glanced about the car. “If I didn’t find you, one of the other men looking for you would have. Don’t make a scene. Just be the quiet, biddable girl you’ve always been, and there won’t be any trouble.” His hand encircled her wrist and squeezed.

  “Let go of me. That hurts.” She pulled on her wrist in a futile attempt at escape.

  He eased the tension of his grip but didn’t let go. “Don’t get any wild ideas. You’re headed back to Boston. I’ll rent a private car and tie you to the bed if I have to.” He raised the right side of his mouth into a snarling sneer.

  Regret assaulted her like a cold, driving rain. Ethan would have helped her if she’d asked. The memory of his displeasure at her reluctance to share her concerns and plans with him coiled in her stomach like one of those cotton mouth snakes Megan warned her about. She sighed. She’d wanted to control her own fate for once. Her entire life she had been a puppet, dangling and jerking to her father’s tune. She frowned at her captured wrist. Oh, father, you have much t
o answer for.

  She twisted her wrist in its hateful prison.

  “Sit still.” The order was surly and soaked through with meanness. He increased the pressure until she winced. “Sit. Still.”

  If Ethan were here this dark, sinister emissary of her father would not have her wrist encircled in a relentless grip. Tears clouded her vision. Ethan wasn’t here. She had left him intentionally behind, sneaked away, like a thief in the night. Against his advice. Against his wishes. A single tear trailed over her plump cheek and soaked into the bodice of her dress.

  The brakes of the train began a high, hideous squealing. Her captor pivoted his body to get a better look out the window. “Damn. The train’s being held up.”

  “What?” Charlotte squeaked.

  “Three men with bandanas over their faces. They’ve stopped the train.” He glared at his prisoner. “Don’t do nothing to cause trouble. Do what they say. Most likely, no one will get hurt.”

  “Most likely,” she repeated his words.

  “No guarantees when there are men with guns.” He grunted.

  As the train ground to a halt, talk erupted in the car. Men checked for their own weapons, and women moved closer and held their children tight.

  “I expect those hombres want our money.” The man beside her called in a loud, authoritative voice. “You men take your hands off your guns. It ain’t worth dying or putting the women in danger for a few dollars.”

  Disgruntled male voices rumbled. Feminine ones urged restraint. A baby began to cry. The air hung thick with palpable tension.

  “Stop that caterwauling.” Her guard glared at the howling infant.

  The mother threw a blanket over her shoulder while her husband attempted to shield her from view. The sound of happy suckling saturated the air.

  Another male voice rang out. “He’s right. There’s women and children in this car. Stand down, men.” More grumbling ensued, but the men sank into their seats and waited for events to unfold.

  The door at the front of the car flew open. Two men with faces hidden behind dirty cloths entered with guns drawn.

  The first man pointed his gun in the direction of the passengers. “We won’t shoot as long as you do as I say.” He paused to glare at the men in the car. “My buddy is going to come down the aisle. Put your money and valuables into his bag. Watches, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, all of it. You ladies can keep your wedding rings. I know you’re powerful attached to the things.” He nodded and motioned his partner forward with a wave of his gun.

  Moving slowly down the aisle, the robber moved the bag from side to side. He stopped half-way down and pointed an angry finger at a young man. “The watch,” he growled.

  “It was my grandpa’s.”

  “If you want to be a grandpa someday, you’ll throw that watch in the bag.” He shook the bag in a threat and a promise under the young man’s nose.

  “Please, Thad.” A girl with bright blond hair clung to his arm. The watch disappeared into the sack.

  The bandit stood next to her captor and pushed the bag towards him. The man dropped his wallet and followed it with a ring he had twisted from his finger. The sack dropped in front of her. She dropped her purse into the bag. She looked into the robber’s cold eyes.

  “Take me with you,” Charlotte said.

  “What?” The word exploded like a cannonball.

  “Take me with you,” she repeated her request.

  The robber raked her body from top to bottom and bottom to top.

  “You want to come with me?” His eyebrows disappeared under his shaggy hair. His eyes became tiny slits of disbelief.

  Charlotte nodded and wriggled her arm, but her abductor held firm.

  The robber glanced at her wrist and cast a speculative glance at her companion.

  “You don’t like the present company?” he asked.

  “I don’t,” Charlotte replied.

  “Just a minute.” The bandit walked to the front of the car. He spoke into his partner’s ear and waved in her direction. Both men turned and gave Charlotte squinty glares before the first man shrugged his shoulders.

  “Let the young lady go, mister.” It was a challenge and a dare.

  “You’ve got what you came for. The woman stays with me.”

  “Well, she’s stated her preference, and it ain’t for you.” He pulled a pistol from his pocket and pointed it between her companion’s legs. “Let the lady go. I won’t ask again.”

  Her hand was released, freed. She rubbed at her throbbing wrist. The robber motioned with his gun, and she joined him in the aisle. “Now I ain’t stealing this woman.” He glared at the other passengers. “She asked to go with me. Tell them. I might be a robber, but I ain’t a kidnapper.”

  “Yes,” Charlotte’s voice quavered. “Yes,” she started again. Her voice strong and ringing in the still afternoon air. “I am leaving of my own free will.”

  The bandit took possession of her upper arm and dragged her up the aisle. The other passengers’ discontent was displayed in mutters and restive movement. She gave them a wan smile and a little wave when she reached the front of the car. He pulled her through the door.

  “Stand here,” the robber ordered. He returned with his horse and pulled her up behind him. “Hold on.”

  Now they were hurtling across the range. She clasped her hands together in a desperate bid to remain seated behind him. She didn’t doubt that if she flew off they would leave her to die in the searing Texas sun.

  Oh, Ethan. She longed for him the way a man thirty days in the desert longs for water. Ethan always placed her in front of him and sheltered her in the circle of his muscular arms. He wanted to protect her and love her. He wanted to be her man.

  What did these men, these robbers, want from her?

  Tears coursed down her face. Sobs shook her bosom. Regret rattled her bones.

  She had an idea of what they might want.

  She feared she was right.

  She feared.

  Chapter 10

  Ethan

  Dirt churned beneath the hooves of the robbers’ horses leaving brown clouds blossoming in the air as they raced across the range. Ethan followed the dusty trail from a safe distance, worrying he would find Charlotte’s body lying broken and bruised on the hard, dry ground.

  When their dust settled, he pulled his horse to a stop. Ethan swung to the ground and pulled two cartridge belts from his saddle bag. He pulled his rifle from the scabbard and filled the chamber from the first belt. Pulling his six-shooter from his holster, he repeated the process from the second belt. Lord knew what he would walk into. But he sure as shooting wasn’t going in unprepared. He fastened the two belts around his middle, slipped the rifle into the scabbard and returned his pistol to its holster.

  He poured water from his canteen into his hat and held it under Charlie’s nose. The horse drank greedily, shook his head with a mighty swish and pawed the ground. “You’re right, Charlie. Time to get on with saving Charlotte. Damn it all. What was she thinking?” He threw the question into the heated air. Well, he would get an answer soon enough. He hoped.

  He mounted and gave a gentle prod with his boots. The horse moved forward while Ethan watched, scanning the horizon for horses, men and his woman. He approached a gentle hill that obstructed his vision. Well, hell, he wasn’t going in blind. He dismounted and climbed the rise. He lay down and pulled himself to the top.

  A dilapidated house and barn lay about fifty feet in front of him. The structures so old and weathered they sagged and tipped. Someone’s dream gone bust. Not every man who made the journey and claimed one-hundred sixty acres succeeded. It took tough men and tougher women to survive the wicked conditions long enough to make a go of it. He hated the remnants of their failure, their dashed hopes. It was downright sad.

  One of the bandits left the house, gathered the reins of their three horses, and headed for the barn. Ethan eased forward on his elbows, squinting into the sun.

  He wiggled
down the rise and swung into his saddle. He urged Charlie into a walk and slipped from his mount when they were behind the barn. He drew his pistol from his holster and crept to the door.

  “I don’t know why the hell I have to always take care of the horses,” the man complained. “Jesus, I was the one that found that there woman,” he huffed as he dragged a saddle off a horse and threw it over the side of the stall. “They better wait for me before they start the fun.”

  Blood rushed to Ethan’s head. Anger hot as campfire coals surged through his limbs. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Fury and fear made men stupid. This he knew for a fact.

  The robber finished with the first horse and a sharp slap to its hindquarters spurred it into a stall. He picked up the reins of the second horse still muttering, cursing, complaining under his breath. Ethan stepped into the barn, gun pointed squarely at the man’s back. He wouldn’t shoot unless he had to. Unless the man turned, and it became a fight for his life. The noise would bring the other two running, and that would be a skirmish he could lose. He’d never shot a man in the back. Never.

  One careful step at a time Ethan advanced behind the disgruntled man. He turned his pistol around in his hand, lifted his arm above his head, and brought the gun’s butt down in a single, hard, meaningful blow to the back of his head. The robber crumpled to the floor and lay still. Ethan knelt and felt for a pulse. He wanted the man out but not gone. Satisfied with the faint but steady pulse, he dragged the man across the barn and away from pawing hooves. Retrieving a coil of rope hanging from a nail in the wall of the barn, Ethan tied the man’s feel together, bound his wrists behind his back, and secured him to a wooden post. He surveyed his handiwork through squinted eyes. That man wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

  Ethan stopped at the door to the barn and peered toward the house. The other two were still inside. He crept across the yard and grabbed Charlie’s reins and walked him into the barn. A strange horse would alert the bandits to his presence. So far, the element of surprise was squarely on his side. He pulled his rifle from the scabbard and returned to the barn door.