Stung by his own admission, he quickly handed Lydia off to their brunette neighbor, who held the little girl in her arms and, along with her red-haired friend, the one with the baby riding her hip, gathered the boys and told them she was Miss Nell and they were to come with her. She said she would introduce them to her own children and they’d all have a high old time.
With the children seen to, Cole was finally able to clear the wagon encampment and sprint for the wooded area down the hill, just as he’d done last night. Following the same path now, one much simpler to navigate by daylight, his heart in his throat, he rued every second that had ticked by. God alone knew what had already happened. But no matter what it was, Cole only hoped he wasn’t too late.
Because if he was, if something had happened to Kate, then he couldn’t live. It was that simple, and he was ready to admit it, ready to fight all her battles, face all her demons, slay all her dragons. Because, as he’d told her this morning—although the words had merely slipped out—he loved her. And he was glad as hell that he had told her. For no matter what had just happened to her and Kitty … Kate knew how he felt. Only now did Cole realize how much that meant to him. And how much she meant to him.
With that thought accompanying him, Cole arrived at the edge of the thick stand of oaks that shaded the gently gurgling creek. Plunging into the tangled undergrowth, dodging low-hanging branches, and calling for Kate—but getting no response—Cole plowed his way through the thick underbrush. In only seconds, he came upon a knot of men and women gathered around something—his heart lurched painfully—fallen on the ground. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to see it.
A muttered “son of a bitch” slipped past his lips. Slowing his pace to a ground-covering stride, he waded into the crowd, all of whom stepped out of his way, pulling children aside as they went. Cole checked every face. Kate’s wasn’t among them.
His hope slipped another notch as he caught the bystanders’ glances, and noted their subtly averted gazes. Again, Cole told himself he didn’t want to see any more, even as the somber folks stepped aside. Then Cole saw what they’d seen. On the ground, appearing lifeless amid a torn-up patch of ground that attested to a vicious fight, was Kitty. Lying on his side, his head thrown back, his mouth slacked open, the dog—though not bloody anywhere—wasn’t moving.
As he knelt on one knee beside the animal, a kaleidoscope of images of the dog from the day he’d taken up with them, flashed through Cole’s mind. All his funny antics, his loving protectiveness. It didn’t seem fair to Cole that the loyal dog should die like this. Again muttering “son of a bitch,” Cole put his hand on the hound’s shoulder. The yellow coat of fur and the skin underneath it still felt warm, as if he would get up at any moment.
“He’s just knocked out, is all.”
Cole looked up and saw it was a careworn blond woman, thin and plain, with two little girls holding on to her skirts, who had spoken to him.
Immediately she continued. “He’s still breathing. I checked him over for broken bones, too. Didn’t seem to have none.” She nodded encouragingly. “I believe he’ll come to directly and be as good as new.”
Relief flooded through Cole and had him saying, “Thank you.” Then he reached around the animal’s rib cage until his hand pressed against Kitty’s heart. The lady was right. He was breathing evenly and strongly. Like she’d said, the dog would soon be good as new. That was good. Real good. But uppermost in Cole’s mind was Kate and her whereabouts. “There should have been a woman with this dog—”
“I know,” the woman said again. “I seen her, too.” Several other women nodded in agreement with her and murmured comments to that effect.
Cole’s heart thumped hopefully. He looked from one female face to the next. “Where is she, then? Do you know? Did you see anything?”
The same blond woman spoke for them again. “I purely didn’t see a thing. All I know is she called out and said something had a hold of her dog and for someone to go get her husband, Cole Youngblood. I suppose that’d be you?”
Cole nodded, saying, “Yes,” and wishing she’d just spit out her story.
“I thought as much. Well, anyways, then I recognized her from the train ride out here and told her to wait for me, seeing as how I’ve got me a gun in my pocket. No telling what manner of critter could’ve gotten after your dog. But before I could get someone to see to my girls for me, Kate heard this here hound yelp. And she lit out, running like the very devil was after her. When I got here, all I seen was the dog there. But I’m sorry to say, Kate weren’t no-wheres around. Until you showed up, I thought she’d took out herself to get you.”
“No. She didn’t do that. I’d have seen her.”
“I expect that’s true.”
The woman fell silent, no doubt thinking the same thing he was. Where, then, was Kate? Cole stroked the unconscious dog’s shoulder, and considered the options, as the crowd of folks around him discussed what had happened and speculated among themselves. Tuning them out, Cole realized he knew only where Kate wasn’t. She wasn’t at the wagon. And she wasn’t here with Kitty.
Only one other—terrifying—explanation made any sense. She’d run in here to see about the dog and had been grabbed and taken somewhere against her will. Whoever had been lurking in here had been after her, and Kitty had sensed the danger. That had to be it. Extreme agitation gripped Cole and had him running a hand over his mouth and jaw.
His first instinct was to rush away from here and run right into danger himself, to not give a damn about himself and just go find her and kill everyone who stood between him and her. But what good would that do? He’d be no help to her if he got himself killed instead, or if his commotion got her killed. No, this called for cool calculation and a heap of caution. Because Cole thought he knew who he was dealing with. And if that were true, then the only comfort he could cling to right now was the certainty that Kate wasn’t dead.
Because it stood to reason that if whoever—whoever, hell; the Talmidges—had her now wanted her dead, she’d be lying here with Kitty. And she wasn’t. Which meant she was most likely more valuable to them alive. Thank God. Small comfort, but still … comfort. Because alive she may be, but she was also in severe danger. They could spirit her away and seclude her somewhere. Cole knew enough about the ways of the ruthlessly wealthy to know they effectively swept their woes under a rug. Wasn’t that his job, no matter how he looked at it? To eliminate problems for them?
Cole’s expression hardened. If what he was thinking was true, then time was of the essence. Because Kate would never be seen again … until she’d had her baby, and then her body would turn up floating in a river somewhere. Cole exhaled slowly, looking around at the concerned faces of the murmuring crowd. Still, even with his need for caution duly noted, Cole felt he was burning daylight just sitting here beside the dog. He levered himself up to his feet and caught the attention of two half-grown boys who’d edged in for a better look and were even now reaching out their hands to stroke Kitty’s fur.
Seeing Cole staring their way, they jerked back their hands and stood there, wide-eyed. “We didn’t mean no harm, Mr. Youngblood,” one of them, a lanky, freckle-faced kid said.
Cole wasted no time on pleasantries. “You two think you can see to this dog for me?” They immediately began nodding, and Cole kept talking. “Get him some water and watch over him? Then, when he comes to, carry him up to my wagon. It’s—”
“We know where it is,” the other boy, a black-haired, fair-skinned kid, assured him. As Cole’s eyebrows rose, the boy rushed on. “We didn’t go looking for you or nothing, Mr. Youngblood. We wouldn’t do that. It’s just that everybody knows where you’re camped.” Cole narrowed his eyes. The boy’s voice rose a notch. “It ain’t like we been sneaking around, sir. We just—”
“That’s enough, son,” Cole said, his hand raised to forestall the boy. He was used to this sort of thing. Everyone wanted a look at a notorious killer. Cole had never been comfortable with his no
toriety, and he liked it even less today. Especially since he had Kate and three little kids with him. Suddenly this reminder of why he should see her and the kids safely settled, and then move on, ate at the center of him. He was bad news, pure and simple. Because there was always some young punk coming around, looking to make his reputation by gunning down the best and the fastest. And that, Cole figured, was him.
Putting that concern aside, Cole focused on the boys as they knelt down beside Kitty, who was starting to twitch and whimper. “Whoa, Mr. Youngblood, I think he’s coming to,” the freckle-faced boy said excitedly, quickly turning to the black-haired boy next to him. “Run down to the creek, Sam, and get me some water, like Mr. Youngblood said.”
Sam jumped up, no questions asked, and took off through the crowd. Cole watched him crashing through the undergrowth and then met the other boy’s gaze.
“Sam’s afraid of you,” the boy said. “He says you’re a natural-born killer. But I don’t think so. I can tell you ain’t mean at all. Why, you’re just like every other man out here with his family and hoping for some land.”
Cole stared hard at the boy, which made the kid look down, his attention trained on Kitty. Cole wondered which one of these boys was the smartest. The one who was afraid of him? Or the one who wasn’t? He also wondered which one of them was right. But figuring that fretting over such notions wouldn’t get Kate found, Cole turned from those thoughts to focus on Kitty. Renewed relief coursed through him because of the dog’s apparent recovery. He hadn’t particularly relished the thought of telling Willy, Joey, and Lydia that Kitty had been killed, any more than he relished the notion of telling them that Kate was missing.
But right now, he’d have to think of something to tell them. At that thought, he exhaled sharply. When he did, the boy raised his head, sending Cole an expectant look. Cole considered the kid a moment and felt he owed the boy something. “What’s your name, son?”
“Jimmy Thomas, sir.”
Cole nodded, somehow seeing his much younger self in this eager boy. “Do you need to let your folks know where you are, Jimmy?”
“No, sir. My ma’s down at the water. Sam will tell her. And we already done our chores.”
“Good. That’s good.” Cole knew he needed to thank the kid outright, but hesitated. Behaving in a civilized manner among law-abiding folks was proving hard business, he lamented. “I’m most appreciative of what you and your friend—”
“Sam’s my little brother.”
Cole nodded. “All right. I’m most appreciative—”
“No thanks needed, Mr. Youngblood,” the boy interrupted him again. “I’ve got me a tale now to tell my own kids one day. About how I did a favor for the famous gunfighter.”
Cole looked away from the hero worship in the boy’s eyes, thinking he was no one to idolize. However, suspecting he’d never talk the kid out of it, Cole tipped his Stetson, as if responding to a compliment, but said, “Son, the best thing you can do for your future younguns is to not pick up a gun, except to defend yourself and your own. That’s a lesson I wish had been passed on to me when I was your age.”
The boy’s expression sobered. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat as his gaze locked with Cole’s. Then he ducked his head respectfully and said, quietly, “Yes, sir.”
With that, Cole turned on his heel and made his way out of the woods. He’d given the boy good advice. Advice, Cole knew, that was unfortunately too late for him to heed in his own life. But he had one last good thing to do before he took up his old life. And that was to save Kate and her baby. He’d make the land run for her and the kids. Build that cabin for them. Then … he’d ride off. It was the best he had to offer them, even if that was the one thing he still hated his own father for doing to him and his sister.
* * *
Sitting on the cot where she’d been shoved, her hands tied behind her back, Kate felt her heart would nearly burst with fear and surprise when the spacious tent’s flap was pushed aside … and Norah Heston Talmidge entered. Surprise because Kate had forgotten just how much she resembled the woman. They could be sisters. And fear because the woman was who she was … and because in her gloved hand, she carried a riding crop, which she slapped against her other palm. That threatening gesture awakened something inside Kate, something that said No more. Immediately, she struggled against her bindings and the cot’s contours until she came to her feet. She’d be damned if she’d look up to this woman—in any sense of the words.
Norah Talmidge, dressed in a richly hued scarlet riding costume, allowed the flap to close behind her. An expression of amused disgust rode her features as she watched Kate’s struggle to stand. The woman’s smile reminded Kate of a snake’s forked-tongue expression. “Well, well,” the woman intoned. “If it isn’t our thieving little maid.”
Kate’s eyebrows rose, not so much at the woman’s lying words as at her voice. Gone were the dulcet tones Mrs. Talmidge had always used in her home. She now sounded cold and dangerous—more in keeping with her nature, Kate decided. And she knew, better than most, just how dangerous this woman could be. That being so, Kate reminded herself not to provoke her. Especially since the woman was flanked by the same two rough armed men who’d knocked Kitty out—Kate fervently hoped that was all they’d done—and then had captured her and brought her here. She’d had a gun stuck hard against her ribs, but the men had managed to keep it from being noticed by the wealthy passersby up here on the hill.
Approaching Kate now, stopping in front of her as she looked her up and down—with much the same look she’d use to inspect a piece of furniture for cleanliness—Norah Talmidge finally met Kate’s gaze and smiled. No warmth flowed from her expression.
“So, Kate … how fares my baby? I trust you’ve done nothing to harm him?” she said.
An impotent rage seized Kate … How could this woman even dare to mention the baby? Fear for herself evaporated, taking with it her trepidation regarding the other woman. “The child I carry is my baby,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s a girl. And of course, she’s fine. Because, unlike you, I would never harm her.”
Norah Talmidge’s gasp was followed by a hardening of her expression. A feral anger, diluted with a touch of insanity, flared in her green eyes—eyes so like and yet so different from Kate’s. “Why, you little bitch,” she snarled as she raised her riding crop and smote Kate across the cheek with it, wringing a cry of stinging, burning pain from the younger woman. “How dare you talk to me in such an insolent manner, you insignificant little … hireling!”
The riding crop had caught Kate from cheekbone to jaw, snapping her head to one side with the force of the blow. Her entire body rippled with a pain that raised the hair on her arms … and a horrific welt on her cheek. She forced herself to breathe, to get air into her lungs, lest she faint. Tears of pain filled her eyes … tears she refused to shed.
Stiffening her jaw, Kate straightened up and met Norah Talmidge’s gaze. Triumphant green eyes locked with defiant green eyes. Kate didn’t know where the words came from, much less the conviction behind them, but she heard herself saying, “One day soon, Mrs. Talmidge, I’ll kill you for that.”
Norah Talmidge’s eyes widened in fear. Gasping again, she pulled back, retreating from Kate, holding on to her skirt as she went. Looking over her shoulder—as if she feared to look away from Kate, as if she feared Kate would actually try to end her life right then—the hateful woman cried out, “Did you hear that? Did you hear her threaten me?”
Kate looked past Norah Talmidge to the two men she addressed. Big, burly, rough sorts. The kind of men loyal to the person who had paid them the most. What Mrs. Talmidge couldn’t see, but Kate could—and it gave her a spark of hope—was their evident boredom with this little tableau between the two women. They exchanged glances that said as much and then faced their employer’s back. “Yes, ma’am,” the one in a black vest replied. “We heard her all right. You want us to do something about it?”
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br /> Norah Talmidge stopped where she was. A sly smile claimed her lips as she cocked her head to the side in a considering manner and again looked Kate up and down. Kate pulled herself up to her full height and pridefully raised her chin—which hurt, given the welt that ridged her skin. She realized she’d made a grave error in saying such a rash thing to Mrs. Talmidge. She should have remained quiet, should have concentrated on her concern for her child. Instead of stabbing at revenge with words.
While still meeting Kate’s gaze, the wealthy woman addressed the two men. “Do I want you to do something about it?” She shook her elaborately coiffed head. “No. I think you’ve done enough by bringing her here. You’ve been paid. Now leave. I can handle her.”
The men shrugged their shoulders and started to leave. Somehow Kate understood that these men were her only hope right now. Her conviction made her blurt out, “You won’t get far, if you do leave.”
Norah Talmidge stiffened, looking quite affronted that Kate had dared speak without being told she could. For their part, the heavily armed men stopped, allowed the tent flap to fall back into place … and turned to face Kate. The one in the black vest, his dark eyes narrowing, spoke for them both. “Is that so? How do you figure that?”
Kate swallowed, blinked … and plunged on. “Because I know how Mrs. Talmidge here thinks. And also because of who I am.”
Norah Talmidge jerked around, swirling her skirt as she moved, and now faced the men who’d been behind her. “Don’t listen to her. Go on. Get out. Right now.”
But the men didn’t. The second man, an unshaven sort wearing a dirty brown stiff-brimmed hat, wagged his finger at Mrs. Talmidge. “Now, just hold on there a minute, ma’am.”
Kate was rewarded by Mrs. Talmidge’s shocked reaction. Probably in all her life she’d never heard such audacity, Kate mused.
But the man the other woman had hired wasn’t through with her yet. “I believe we’d like to hear what the girl has to say.”
Prairie Song Page 25
