by Howe, Cheryl
Douglas kept his rifle poised to fire as he nudged the leg of one of the several lifeless bodies sprawled in the trampled dirt. “Jesus, looks more like an execution than a fight. What kind of animals would do this to their own men?”
Despite the gore surrounding them, others in the posse had let their weapons go slack. Langston moved cautiously to the side, fanning out to the perimeter of the camp as Douglas had instructed. Braddock couldn’t afford to speculate on the answer to the marshal’s question. He kept his finger on the trigger of his gun, waiting—for what he didn’t know.
He glanced to where Corey stood with the horses. Without a weapon, the boy presented an easy target. For once he did as he was told and stayed back. His gaze darted from the dark opening of a tent to a thatch of giant sage that caught a lone breeze. Fear shone on his pale face. He didn’t want to be up here, but he’d given little argument when Douglas had told them the plan. When Braddock, Corey and Langston had caught up with Douglas and the posse of twenty odd men, Douglas hadn’t seemed to give a damn about how they arrived or where they’d been. He was just glad Braddock was there. And he was downright thrilled to have someone who had ridden with the gang to fill them in on the layout of Mulcahy’s refuge.
Of course, Langston hadn’t said more than a few words. He’d almost swallowed his tongue when Douglas had jumped down from his horse and embraced Braddock. Though Braddock hadn’t seen Douglas more than a handful of times in the last ten years, his college friend didn’t seem to hold it against him.
The last time he and Douglas had exchanged more than a few brief words had been the night after their graduation from West Point. A group of them had laid bets on who could get the drunkest and remain standing. He and Douglas had tied. And, like that night, now only he and Douglas were still standing. All the others from their class had been killed in the war.
He moved into the camp. After finding its only occupant shot through the head, Braddock let a tent flap fall back into place. He didn’t want to know who would finally win this contest and stay on his feet the longest, he or Douglas. A few of the dead men littering the compound cradled weapons in their stiff hands. Some were surrounded by empty bottles of liquor.
Braddock rolled a man over to find a bullet hole clean through the throat. Another man’s shirtfront was thick with blood. Braddock removed the dusty hat that fell across the man’s eyes to study the bearded face. As he examined the frozen features of the fourth corpse, he realized he was looking for someone besides Archie. He picked his way to another group of fallen men. He flipped one over and discovered the man was lying on a pile of cards. None of the four in this group had guns. It looked like they’d been playing cards when someone shot them all to hell. It wasn’t hard to guess who could do something like that.
Braddock turned abruptly. The old familiar instinct for survival had just given him a hard shove. Douglas brushed back an old blanket that had been used for a door on a dilapidated shack.
“Get back,” yelled Braddock.
Douglas’s quick reflexes had him flattened against the planked wall before the cloth fell back into place.
Braddock counted every breath as he watched the moth-eaten wool sway with each slight breeze. A rifle’s nose peeked around the Union blue blanket before Mulcahy stepped out. Against the pale full moon of his face, his mouth and red hair stood out like paint. He looked more dead than alive, except for the rifles he held with each hand, their butts braced against his side. He started firing at anything that moved.
One of Douglas’s men yelped and rolled away.
“Hold your fire!” yelled Douglas above the roar of his posse’s return fire, though no one seemed to hear.
Braddock had already hit Mulcahy’s bad shoulder, and someone else’s shot had grazed his neck, yet still the outlaw stood. That was, until Douglas eased up behind him and hit him on the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. Mulcahy toppled face forward.
Douglas kneeled to turn the man over. “Shit. I wanted him alive.”
Braddock sprinted to Mulcahy’s shack with more urgency than caution. He ripped the blanket from the doorway, then stepped in with both pistols cocked. The room was empty. An overturned chair and a cot covered in tangled blankets served as the room’s furnishings. Empty whiskey bottles littered the floor, but the liquor’s strong scent couldn’t overpower the stench of death.
In need of fresh air, Braddock abandoned the dank enclosure. Several men crowded around Douglas and Mulcahy. Braddock shouldered his way past.
Douglas slapped Mulcahy on the cheek. “Where’s the gold?”
Miraculously, Mulcahy’s features tightened in response.
Douglas laid his ear against Mulcahy’s chest. “Somebody get me some water.”
Corey squeezed through the circle of men. “Is he dead?”
At the sound of Corey’s voice, Mulcahy’s eyes struggled open. “Sullivan, you little son of a…”
Mulcahy’s voice was weak, but the hatred forcing him to speak was strong. Corey backed away.
Douglas motioned Corey forward. “Get over here, Sullivan. Talk to him.”
One of the men pulled Corey forward by the collar. Corey jerked away, but had no choice but to stand awkwardly over Mulcahy.
Braddock laid a firm grip on Corey’s shoulder. If Mulcahy accused Corey of having the gold, Braddock’s plans would be ruined. Why didn’t that bastard Mulcahy die?
Mulcahy obviously struggled to keep his weighted eyelids from closing. “Somebody’s after you, you little traitor.”
Douglas turned Mulcahy’s head toward him. “Where’s the gold?”
Mulcahy spit in Douglas’s face, forcing him to jump to his feet cursing. Braddock quickly took the opening at Mulcahy’s side and knelt to block the others’ view. Mulcahy was going to die even if he had to wring his neck. But first he needed to know something that was a hell of a lot more important than the location of the gold.
“Where’s Ricochet?”
Mulcahy had lost the strength to turn his head, but he strained to gaze in Braddock’s direction. He grinned a lopsided sneer. “Captain Braddock. I ’member you now. You like the presents I left you in that field?”
“You like the idea of being propped up outside the Santa Fe court house? That’s what we’re going to do with you. All the folks will want to make sure they get a picture with you and all your bullet wounds.”
Douglas grabbed a handful of Braddock’s shirt and tried to yank him away. “Not if you tell us about the gold. You tell us about the gold, and we’ll give you a proper burial. A Christian one.”
Mulcahy’s eyes drifted closed, but a smile still curled his pale lips. “We know all about you, Braddock, and…the sister.”
Braddock bolted to his feet and sprinted to his horse before Douglas could call him back. He suddenly knew what the tickling at the back of his neck meant. Someone was going to die, and, as usual, it wasn’t going to be him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lorelei stepped into the wash of late morning sunshine, only slightly surprised by the return of the heat. Last night the cold had crept through the walls, forcing her to sleep with an extra quilt, but the days remained hotter than ever. She doubted she’d ever get used to the extremes of the West. Never had she been so happy or so afraid. Jay had tried to reassure her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she might never see Christopher again.
She strode to the well, swinging a wooden pail and convincing herself she was being silly. She didn’t have time to waste worrying about things that might never happen. The breakfast dishes needed to be cleared, and if she didn’t start supper soon, she wouldn’t have the bread baked by the time Jay and the kids returned from the field. Beth’s nap with little Rachel would be her last, and the woman would be working until her baby dropped if Lorelei couldn’t prove she could at least handle the meals on her own.
Lorelei hung the bucket under the spout and primed the pump. After the fifth hard crank, she had to stop and wipe away the perspirat
ion that threatened to drip into her eyes.
How did Beth do it on her own? Lorelei would be lucky to have supper on the table, and that was without a baby tugging on her apron strings or a pile of mending to finish.
Lorelei attacked the pump again with a smile. She couldn’t think of anything that would make her happier than caring for her own family. After several more pumps, a stream of water splashed into the bucket.
The clean and pure gurgle spat sunlight as it cascaded forth. Lorelei laughed at the sheer pleasure of the sound. She stuck her fingers in the stream and patted her face with the icy wetness. Everything would be fine. How could it not be?
She heard her name on the wind, but she was so lost in the moment, she didn’t react until she heard the call a second time. When she turned, she found Archie standing at the edge of the barn. A prayer had been instantly answered. Everything was going to be all right. She picked up her skirts and ran toward Archie, but at her sudden burst of motion, he disappeared around the barn’s side.
“Archie!” She slowed her pace. “What’s wrong?”
He peeked his head around the comer. “Shhh. Come here.” With a limp flap of his hand, he waved her over, but the motion sent him stumbling back a step before he could right himself.
The realization that Archie was falling down drunk hit her at the same time as the stench of liquor.
She stepped around the side of the barn, and instantly forgave him his lapse. His face was swollen with purple bruises, his lip split. His dirty and rumpled clothes attested to the fact that he’d been dragged through hell. She couldn’t blame him for falling off the wagon. By the looks of him, he’d been shoved off. And she had had a hand in giving him that shove. If it weren’t for her, he’d never have had to return to Specter Canyon.
She reached for his chin, intending to angle his head for a better look at the damage. A bleeding cut above his right eye looked like it might need stitches. Archie jerked away. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I’m just plain sorry,” he said, his voice breaking.
“No.” The awful thought was there before she could stamp it out. “Please don’t tell me something has happened to Christopher.”
He tilted his head, his face almost comical in his drunken confusion. “Who’s Christopher?”
She placed her hand on her chest and tried to cushion the pounding of her heart, unable to find anything amusing under the circumstances.
“Christopher Braddock. The man I was with when we met. He and Corey joined the posse heading for Specter Canyon. Didn’t they rescue you?”
Archie snorted. “Do I look rescued?”
Lorelei searched him with her gaze. She wanted to shake him, but communicating with him in his condition was useless. Instead she scoured the compound, looking for the others, or any clue as to how Archie got here.
She turned to go back to the house, but Archie grabbed her arm to stop her. “Whoa, don’t go anywhere. I don’t want the others to hear you.”
Her eyes widened at the force he used to restrain her. His grip hurt. She shook him off and he released her, shamefaced.
He lowered his gaze to the ground. “I’m sorry, Miss Lori. I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.” He rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t see that man of yours or the Sullivan boy.” Despite the fact that he swayed on his feet, he suddenly sounded reasonably sober.
“How did you get away from Mulcahy? We worried when you didn’t come back sooner.”
His complexion paled under his bruises. “I need a drink.” He grabbed her arm, yanking her behind him as he walked away from the house. “You’ve got to come with me down to the spring. You know, the one you took me to that day.”
She planted her feet and tugged against his force. “I don’t think so, Archie.”
Instead of the battle for strength she expected, she stumbled when he released her abruptly.
“Please, Miss Lori. I don’t want those kids to get involved. I don’t want them to see me like this. You have to take me to that spring like you did before and clean me up.”
At least she agreed with that. The only way she’d pry any coherent information from him was to sober him up. “Let’s go back to the house and get you something to eat. That will clear your head faster than anything.”
“No, no, no.” He shook his head. “I don’t want that pregnant lady to get hurt. You have to come with me. They can’t see me.”
Lorelei glanced back at the house, looking for divine intervention in the form of Jay and the kids returning early from the field. When that didn’t happen, she resigned herself to the situation. She knew from her father’s binges that there would be no reasoning with him until he sobered.
“All right.” She hooked her arm through his and steered him in the direction of the spring. Archie was harmless, she assured herself—all the while knowing that what she was doing was a mistake.
The closer they got to the creek, the shakier Archie’s steps became. By the end of the trail she was practically dragging him.
When they heard the gurgle of the small stream, he struggled out of her gasp. “I changed my mind. Let’s go back to the house.”
In his condition, he’d fall flat on his face before she could guide him back to the house. The blood had drained from his face, leaving his bruises blackish and his lips looking a sickly shade of white. He was either going to pass out or be sick. The small stream provided the nearest shelter. Small scrub trees grew along its bank and would shade Archie from the blazing sun.
She recaptured his arm and tugged him down the slope that led to the creek. “Come on, Archie. Just a little farther.”
He yanked out of her grasp again. Once he righted himself, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You know that brother of yours did some bad things. I don’t want you doing anything silly just to protect him. You’ve got to protect yourself. That’s what I had to do.”
“That’s why they beat you. For knowing Corey. For helping us escape Coyote Pass. Oh, Archie…” She dropped her gaze, her words stuck in her throat, squeezed by guilt. “It’s a miracle they didn’t kill you.”
He rubbed his temples with shaking hands, his eyes closed. “I wish they would have killed me.” When he opened his eyes, they watered with pain. “I need a drink, Miss Lori. I need a drink real bad.”
Lorelei hated that he would have to go through the awful withdrawal all over again. She knew from her father’s experience that the second time would be worse. She didn’t doubt he would wish himself dead once the visions started. “Let’s go to the stream. The cool water will help your headache. ”
Archie let her guide him. He kept his hands on his temples as they walked. He winced with each step. “Just remember what I told you. You cooperate, and you won’t get hurt. I’ve been promised.”
She followed without comment. He was starting to babble again.
When they’d cleared the stunted desert willows lining the stream, she saw two saddled horses grazing the sweet grass along the bank. “Is someone with you?”'
Archie didn’t open his eyes. Talking seemed to be a struggle. “I’m sorry, Miss Lori.”
A man straightened from the shrub, a gun in one hand, a bottle in the other. “Good job, Archie.”
He tossed the bottle at Archie, who used all the strength he had left to catch it. Ignoring her, he pulled out the cork and greedily drank.
The man kept the gun aimed in her direction. “Get over here. And if you scream, that mama and her baby ain’t going to live. I don’t need them, but I need you.”
Lorelei glanced to Archie, desperate for him to do something. He lowered the bottle, then wiped his wet chin with his sleeve. His breath came in hard pants. “You should have left me for dead back at Coyote Pass.”
Archie had brought her here intentionally! Her heart seemed to pump ice as numbing shock swept through her. She forced her attention back to the gunman. “What do you want?”
The man crossed the stream in a few short strides. He g
rabbed her arm and yanked her toward the horses. She opened her mouth to argue, but he squeezed her hard in warning.
“Like I said, you don’t want that lady in the house to come down here and find out what all the commotion is about. You just come along with me and mind yourself, and we won’t have any trouble. All I want is the gold.”
Water weighed down the hem of her skirt and soaked her shoes as he dragged her across the stream. But it felt no different than hot sand. She seemed weightless, floating above herself, acting out her part in a very bad dream.
The man shoved her toward the smaller of the two horses, a gray mare that looked as skittish as she felt. She hesitated, knowing that if she mounted, it would be the last anyone would ever see of her.
“I don’t have any gold. Please.”
“That’s enough talk. One more word and I’ll gag you.” He strode around to the big sorrel with fiercely flared nostrils.
Archie staggered across the stream to join them. He shoved the cork back in the bottle and stuck it in the gray mare’s saddlebag. He calmed the skittish animal with a long stroke down its neck.
The other man had already mounted. “You ain’t going. You stay here and tell Sullivan I got his sister. Tell him he can have her back when he brings me the gold.”
“He doesn’t have the gold,” cried Lorelei. Arguing with the gunman probably wouldn’t do any good, but she was beyond reason. “Really, he doesn’t have any gold.”
The man stared at her, his jaw clamped tight. “What did I tell you?” Without warning, he swung off his mount and stalked toward her, fury in every short jerk of his body. He looked as though he planned on strangling her right then and there. “I already killed more men than I can count fort his gold. You want to join them, you keep on sassing me.”
