“Please, you’ve got what you wanted,” Mara said, her voice quivering. “We’re hardly worth your trouble, mister. Ruthie and I don’t have anything worth stealing.”
RuthAnne knew better. Mara offered her plea out of innocence. She’d never had reason to fear.
He snorted a laugh and strode the length of the cave to where they sat. The bandit leaned forward to trail a menacing, well-manicured finger down Mara’s exposed throat. “I can think of a few things you have that I want. And I always get what I want.”
She shrank back, moaning in fear, finally understanding his intention. RuthAnne attempted to shield Mara with her body, but the bandit quickly shoved her aside and into the dirt.
“Todo o nada, ladies. I get all of you or I’ll leave you with nothing.” His words were thick as his cold black eyes slid over them.
RuthAnne crossed her arms protectively in front of her. He didn’t see their injuries. Their torn and dirty clothing. Or if he noticed, he didn’t care. She fought back the bile that filled her throat. Unlike Mara, RuthAnne knew the world to be full of scoundrels. They wouldn’t survive this.
RuthAnne closed her eyes and prayed for protection, but she knew the answer even before she finished. The good Lord helps those who help themselves. Words were not going to be enough to stop this outlaw. Her eyes found the shotgun, leaning by the opening into the tunnel beyond. There had to be a way to reach it. She had gotten them into this; now she was going to have to get them out. She needed to act, but how?
A small tumble of pebbles rained down from the opening above. She thought she heard a man’s voice. She opened her mouth to scream, but pain stifled her as the cold steel of the pistol pressed viciously under her jaw.
Her life hung in the balance as he whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “Flinch and you both die.”
He moved with catlike grace; his eyes focused on the narrow fissure in the rocky ceiling. A world away, horses picked their way through the desert. RuthAnne could make out a hoof and long leg of a fine bay, a black boot in a silver stirrup, a call to those behind, and the laughter of camaraderie.
Her captor placed a finger to the slash of red across the mouth of his mask and crept toward the mine entrance. Muffled words dripped down like rain from above.
“Hey, Cap! Do you smell that smoke?”
“Lightning must’ve started a brush fire. Better get a move on before we run into it.” The boot solidly dug into horseflesh, urging the animal forward. With the utmost feeling of isolation, RuthAnne watched them proceed onward.
She could sense her kidnapper’s glee as they rode on. He glanced back to where she and Mara remained huddled by the fire. She caught the satisfaction glinting in his eyes, behind his disguise, before he slunk out of the shaft. Was he making sure the riders went on their way? Perhaps he intended to murder them. RuthAnne had no way of knowing or warning the men above without jeopardizing her sweet sister. She watched his shadow as it lengthened, rounded a corner to the entrance, and vanished. But he would be back. He wasn’t going to let them walk away now.
“Come on.” RuthAnne hurried to the shaft entrance, cast one nervous glance over her shoulder to prove the coast was clear, and firmly clasped the shotgun the bandit had forgotten about. She gauged the weight of it; scents of oil and gunpowder filled her nose. She checked and found it loaded.
Mara gulped. “Do you know how to use that thing?”
“Well enough. We’re getting out of here.” RuthAnne led Mara through the gash in the wall, deeper into the mine.
In no time, they were entombed—encased in the sheer darkness of the mineshaft. She felt her way along the rock wall and heard Mara struggling to keep up, but there would be no slowing down. Their footsteps echoed, and her blood pounded in her ears, a raging river with rapids of adrenaline.
Through cobwebs, spiderwebs, and worse they ran. She knew they only had a few moments before he realized they were gone. With any luck, he would search for them first under the tarps, wasting precious seconds so they could find somewhere to hide. It only delayed the inevitable. There would be no respite until he found them. She held the double-barrels out before her like a shield, her palm slick with sweat on the wooden stock.
The tunnel twisted and turned, taking sharp curves down as it traveled into the heart of the mountain. RuthAnne heard sounds from behind and knew they could only mean one thing. He followed. She would rather die lost and trapped below the surface of the earth than be accosted by such a monster. Perhaps she could get a shot off first. Do some damage? She wasn’t sure of her aim or her skill with a weapon, but she had it in her to try.
They increased their pace, arms outstretched as they went down the tunnel in an endless maze. The darkness pressed against RuthAnne, closing in along with the shrinking tunnel. The air had gotten so thin. So dusty and dry. If they did lose him, the possibility that they would suffocate and die somewhere in the bowels of this mountain increased with every step. But, after a moment, the air changed from stagnant to fresh. Was that rain? Could that be a breeze on her face?
“Ruthie! I see a light!” Mara whispered.
Before them, a tumble of boulders blocked the way. Weak daylight pointed the way out through a narrow gap in the dirt and stones above. If only they could scramble up, the two of them could make it through the slight opening. Not so sure about the large man who pursued them. Might as well have a camel go through the eye of a needle. RuthAnne nodded.
“Go!” she ordered, and Mara hastily scaled the loose rock. “Be mindful where you step! It’s a cave-in!”
One wrong move would send them into the arms of their attacker. One misstep could break an ankle or a leg, and they’d be done for. RuthAnne pushed while Mara pulled, and they made it up and out into the twilight air.
The storm had passed. A quick survey of their surroundings revealed they were on the downward grade of the mountain—the long, sloping terrace that led to the valley beyond. Creosote bushes filled the air with their piney scent, wet and drying in the rapidly warming desert air.
They were in the middle of a parade of ancient giant saguaro cactus that dotted the foothills to the desert floor and as far as the eye could see. Some stood impossibly tall, lone and straight; others reached out dramatically, arms twisted in every direction.
The moist evening air was a blessing on RuthAnne’s face. Scattered thunderheads were the only evidence of the torrential storm. The sun reappeared only to arc its final descent over another range of rugged mountains.
The desert sunset took her breath away. Bright orange, amethyst, and crimson clouds spanned the length of the sky. The crystal clear view spread to the west with rolling foothills and flat desert plains laid out as far as the eye could see. Water caught the light in a gilded ribbon that snaked its way through scrubby wooded wetlands. The setting sun became a blindingly bright slash of white behind the lavender mountains. The eastern sky darkened into twilight, quickly spreading its fingers of night. Unfortunately for them, they had no time to revel in the good Lord’s handiwork.
“Where are we?” Mara asked.
RuthAnne scanned the mountainside, regaining her bearings.
“We’re south of the road down the pass. Look there.” She pointed below the sloping plain where the dirt road snaked into view at the bottom of the mountain. “We’ll get back to that. Keep walking until it gets too dark to see, then we’ll find somewhere to wait until morning.”
“It looks like you can see forever from here.”
RuthAnne couldn’t disagree. She knew Tucson lay to the west, toward the fading light of day. That was the direction they would head. Stepping away from the cave, they began their descent. They picked their way around rocks and stands of cholla and saguaro cactus.
“Do you think he’ll follow us, Ruthie?”
In answer, a shot echoed from the ridge behind, across the open desert.
“What was that?” RuthAnne spun on her heel but not before hearing another crack! She caught sight of
someone leveling aim on them from the opening in the rocks. “Get down!” She dragged the air for her sister. Too late.
Mara’s breath came out in a whoosh, as if punched, her hand clutched at her side. “Ruthie...?”
Crimson bloomed across her white blouse from beneath her hand. Mara’s beautiful face turned marble-white as she drew away her dripping hand and gasped at the rapidly growing patch of blood. Mara sank to her knees. Her dark eyes rolled up to heaven as she collapsed.
“Mara!” RuthAnne rushed to her sister’s limp and bleeding body. “Someone help us!”
RuthAnne risked a look back over her shoulder at their attacker. The shotgun she had clung to would be useless at this range; she let it fall to the desert floor. She couldn’t see anyone to shoot at.
The rifle cracked again and again. A round ricocheted off of the rocks. A sting at her temple and RuthAnne’s head struck the ground with force; consciousness blurred with pain. Reaching for Mara, she faded into blackness.
Chapter 5
RuthAnne awoke disoriented, her head throbbing. She blinked into the darkness that enfolded her in a blanket of diamond stars as her vision adjusted. A band of brilliant white light appeared behind the jagged mountain peaks. The rising moon’s glow set the night sky ablaze. Her eyes stung. Her bruised body ached. Every movement caused ribbons of pain to shoot through her ribs, neck, and head.
She pressed a hand to her temple, her skin caked with dried blood that represented her brush with death. The scoundrel had simply grazed her. At the thought of him, she scurried away from an unseen force on her back like a crab. No sign of her attacker. She could have cried with relief, right there in the moonlight. But where was her sister?
“Mara!” Her voice choked; the raspy words burned like fire.
She searched the scene on hands and knees in the silver moonlight. Lord, not Mara. Where is she? She’s just a girl...please!
Footsteps crunched on the gravel-filled dirt. Nowhere to hide, RuthAnne willed herself invisible. Her hand closed around a fist-sized rock. The bandit wouldn’t take her without a fight.
He knelt down beside her. A large, rough hand cupped her cheek in an all too familiar way. “You’re awake. Thank God.”
With a ragged battle cry, RuthAnne lunged at her would-be attacker with the stone, cracking him just above the shoulder. He shied away from the blow, and the lump of granite glanced off him. With little effort, he peeled it from her fingers. “You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not.”
The brigand picked her up like a child and marched her off to her doom. Terrified, she fought and bucked while he carried her. Tears of frustration streamed down her face; her hair, a mass of golden curls, tumbled loose about her as she thrashed in his arms. RuthAnne hammered at him with ineffectual fists. He carried her so easily, as if she were feather light, though he did pin her arms close against her body.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”
His gentle tone stalled her efforts as she opened her eyes and looked at him. He didn’t wear a mask over the rugged planes of his face, days past needing a shave, his eyes glinting like shiny coins in the light of the moon. Could that be a look of concern?
He shook out his dark, curling hair as he looked down at her with worry-filled eyes. She noted in her confusion that his hair needed cutting, as it fell past his ears and brushed the collar of his army issue shirt. A soldier? She blinked and ceased her struggle, a vain attempt to conserve her strength, though it left her nonetheless. She allowed herself to drift, helpless in his arms.
The next thing she knew, the soldier carried her through a carved wooden gate guarded by a fence of thorny branches and into an adobe-walled courtyard. He moved toward a low structure, one of several buildings within the outer wall.
Hammered tin lanterns hung from wrought iron hooks embedded in the mud brick walls. They glowed steadily against the darkness, their flames flickering in the slight breeze. Someone shut heavy, carved wooden doors behind them, and she pulled her head off the man’s shoulder with a start.
“Put me down. Please.” Her raspy voice held strength.
“If you’re certain you can walk, ma’am.” He lowered her to her feet, holding her waist as she found her balance, his touch feather-light. She read his concern with her condition in the furrow of his brow. He kept her elbow cupped with his strong hand.
“I can walk, sir.” RuthAnne swallowed, wincing at the pain in her throat.
He took a long look at her before turning to walk into the adobe casita. He didn’t glance back to see if she followed. After only a moment’s hesitation, she entered the dimly-lit room.
Mara lay on a cot, a white blanket drawn up to her chin. An egg-sized bruise rose at her hairline. Her breath drew steady and even. She slept the deep sleep of one who might not wake again. RuthAnne fell to her knees, hands searching her sister’s body. Feeling blessed warmth in her skin. Too much warmth. A fever. “The gunshot wound?”
A dark-haired, dark-skinned woman stepped forward out of the shadows, rosary beads clacking in her hands. “This is not a fatal wound, though loss of blood may be. We removed the bullet, cleaned her. She hasn’t woken since the captain brought her to me. Her bleeding has slowed, which is a good sign. Time and prayers are what she needs now.”
RuthAnne noticed the native woman chose her words carefully as she explained Mara’s condition.
The woman’s slender fingers absently stroked and then moved on to the next bead on the strand, each one a prayer. The action mesmerized RuthAnne, along with the gravity of all that had transpired.
“Oh, merciful Father...” She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.
“She is your...sister?” the woman said.
“Yes. Her name is Mara. I’m RuthAnne Newcomb. We came from Kansas City, on our way to Tucson, when...” A fist of emotion welled in her throat, making it hard to breathe.
“Ah. I am Mariposa Cruz. You’ve been delivered to our chapel. Misión Rincon Del Sol.”
“A chapel. Here. In the middle of nowhere?” RuthAnne’s mouth dropped. First the soldiers above, and now this place? Words escaped her at the miracles. She let the tears openly fall down her cheeks, gratefully clasping the tanned and gentle hands of Mariposa Cruz.
The woman’s profile suggested a heritage of mixed descent; both Mexican and Indian, with her thick braid of ink-black hair streaked with gray and her strong but lovely profile lined with age and sun. She moved to cool Mara’s forehead with a damp cloth and crooned to her in a language RuthAnne didn’t understand.
“You and your sister were attacked, on your way to Tucson.”
RuthAnne jumped at the deep voice that shattered the mystery and commanded immediate attention.
She turned for a better view of the soldier who had brought her to this place. His hazel eyes were heavy-lidded, his face lined and tanned with the sun. He loomed larger than life as he stepped toward her. His military issue gray shirt and blue trousers were dusty and worn from days of use; in need of a bath, from the scent of him. Grief welled in her throat as she realized how closely death had touched her, and this man saved their lives. He seemed uncomfortable with her scrutiny, shifting his weight before he spoke.
“You were far from the road. It’s lucky we heard you.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it, sir. You were an answer to prayer. I’m very grateful.”
He frowned. “I’m not looking for your gratitude. Someone shot your sister, almost mortally wounded you, as well. I need to know what happened.”
He towered above her in a resolute stance. His boots shoulder width apart, his expression grim and official. RuthAnne wanted to pummel him again for his lack of understanding.
“An explosion caused the rockslide. Dynamite. The stage went over the side, all to cover up a robbery. We lost everything we had to that animal. We barely escaped with our lives. Is that enough information for you, sir?” She shook with anger. How dare he interrogate her at a time like this?
/> “Would you recognize him again?” His voice boomed. His hands flexed into fists, as if he already knew the answers to his questions.
“He wore a mask. Some foul thing he made himself out of sackcloth. Holes for eyes, a red slash for a mouth. I didn’t see his face.”
“Did he say anything, do anything to you before...?”
Mariposa shot him a look of warning. RuthAnne caught the significance. If he didn’t stop soon, the woman would surely force him out the door.
“Do you remember anything he said, before you got away?”
“I don’t...”
“Think!” he commanded.
“That’s quite enough for tonight, Captain.” Mariposa stood, dark eyes flashing with disapproval.
“No. It’s all right.” RuthAnne waved the native woman off and stared the soldier down. “He said something in Spanish. Words that translated vicious and cruel, just like the man who spoke them. Todo o nada.”
“El Tejano...” Mariposa’s grave eyes locked on the soldier’s.
“He intended to rape and murder us, Captain. Thank God he didn’t get the chance to do either. Does that answer your question?” RuthAnne’s voice shook, whether from anger at this man before her or in awe that they had survived such a horror, she wasn’t sure.
Just then, a man who could only be the priest came into the room through the paneled door. Short of stature but portly enough to fill the brown, coarse robes. His steel gray hair tumbled over his round, kind face. He reassured her with warm and rich brown eyes. “My dear child. Praise the good Lord that you were not injured worse in this horrible attack.”
“Thank you...”
“Father Acuña is the priest of this chapel,” Mariposa said.
RuthAnne’s throat tightened again as the kind priest squeezed her hand, tenderly, in introduction. Mariposa apprised him of RuthAnne’s harrowing experience as the captain stepped back into shadow.
All or Nothing Page 3
