Boxcar was restless, his reunion with Tilly less than spectacular. Something was seriously wrong with their relationship, but she acted as if everything was totally normal. Propping himself up on his elbow, he stared down into the sweet face of the sleeping woman. He loved the curve of a woman's cheek, the curve of her lower back where it met her buttocks and the curve of her hip when she lay on her side. There was nothing more beautiful. Tilly had the most delicate porcelain skin, which glowed in the moonlight. The fall of her dark hair and the deep blue of her eyes lent a mysterious air to her being. He loved it all. He guessed what was bothering him was the meaningful glances she and Nelson had exchanged earlier. Was she falling for the blond giant? Maybe she just didn't feel the same way about him anymore. According to Thorn, she just needed a good spanking, but he wasn't so sure.
He had known Tilly for two years now and yet, he didn't feel like he knew her inner being. He knew about her dead husband and about losing her mother at the age of twelve. And he knew she had elected to stay here in the territories instead of returning to her father back east. She just never said why, and he hadn't pried because he preferred her here with him anyway. He also knew she was a good shot, a wonderful cook, a smart businesswoman and an almost perfect lady. He knew about her flashbacks and that she blamed herself for Stephen's death. She was a passionate lover and, sometimes, he could get a glimpse of the scamp deep inside her eyes that might be wanting out but she suppressed it. He thought she abhorred the idea of him punishing her and he didn't have a clue if Stephen had or not, she would never discuss that part of her past life. He could tell she was holding something back, but what was it? This was not the time to get into a meaningful discussion on life, it was three in the morning, and they all needed their sleep.
Sighing, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, careful not to wake her, and sat there. Something else was bothering him, too. They should have arrested Morgan when they got in a couple of hours ago. He wondered at Thorn's decision to leave it until morning, but he hadn't said anything. He understood Thorn was hoping to catch him off guard at the jail, but it still made him uneasy. Glancing once more at the woman behind him, he slipped his clothes on and headed out the door. He'd just get some air and have a look around, maybe it would clear his head and he'd be able to sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Silent as a wraith, Boxcar slipped into the hallway of the hotel and saw Charlie taking his turn on watch. "All good?" he ask in a low voice.
Charlie nodded with a yawn. "Haven't heard a peep out of him."
"Nelson tell you we're meeting at 4:00 AM at the jail?"
"Yep, but I'm supposed to stay here until Morgan comes out. I just started my shift an hour ago."
Boxcar nodded and moved away. That uneasy feeling still hadn't left, instead, it was growing stronger. As he went out the door, he glanced up at the verandah. The window to Morgan's room was closed, and the latch on the outside appeared undisturbed from here. He hadn't bothered to check Thorn's room because he knew he was at Clary's place.
Staying in the shadows, he crept along to the jail, looking over the curtains and into the room. He could see cells barely lit by a little moonlight from the window and he knew Nelson and Holden were both in there, taking advantage of the chance to get a little sleep. He wished he could do the same.
Still prowling, he headed towards the end of town, keeping to the shadows and occasionally checking the alleys until he reached the stable. His horse whickered in greeting and he stopped to stroke his velvety nose. He moved cautiously down the interior of the stables, making sure nothing had disturbed the horses until he came to the stall that Morgan's horse had been housed. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as warning bells triggered in his brain. On instinct, he ducked sideways and drew his gun, spinning in all directions to see if someone had the drop on him. No one moved, nothing happened, the horses didn't even object to his sudden movements. Quickly, he checked the other stalls, but Morgan's black beast was nowhere to be found. His gut instincts screaming at him, he carefully made his way back, his gun at the ready until he came to the door on Clary's shop. It looked locked but when he pressed it, it swung open. Something was definitely wrong; he could feel the alarm growing in his breast. Only one horse gone—Morgan needed Thorn for the location of the ruby, but why only one horse? And what about Clary? The thought of his sister lying dead and discarded upstairs hit his chest like a hammer, almost taking his breath away.
Heart beating rapidly, he made his way silently up the stairway that led to her flat. Quickly, he surveyed the room as he slipped into the kitchen. Nothing out of place, nothing disturbed—that left the bedroom. Feeling sick with apprehension, he flattened himself against the wall by the bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and burst into the room in a crouched position, expecting the worst. What he saw on the bed would have been funny at any other time but, right now, the fear for Clary was clawing at his throat. He quickly realized she wasn't there.
Thorn eyes were frantic when he saw Boxcar, his shouts into the handkerchief muffled, his body twisting and gyrating helplessly.
Quickly, Boxcar untied the handkerchief from behind his friend's head and threw it across the floor.
"He's got Clary," croaked Thorn, the fear in his eyes echoing the fear in Boxcar's heart.
He grabbed his knife from his boot and wasted no time in slashing the knots. He could see the blood on Thorn's wrists where he had been trying to break the ropes that bound him.
While Thorn was putting himself together, Boxcar opened the door to the outside and fired three shots into the air, the signal for trouble. Then he was bowled over as Thorn flew past him and headed down the stairs, taking three steps at a time.
Boxcar followed him down and raced after him. "Thorn, wait, what did he say? How long have they been gone?" But he was oblivious, a man in fear for his woman. "Stop Thorn," ordered Boxcar frantically when Nelson and Charlie came around the corner. "Stop him!"
The two men automatically grabbed Thorn by each of his arms and Boxcar caught up and went to the front to see his face.
"Let go of me, he has Clary," yelled Thorn, his face wild and turning red.
"Thorn, stop," commanded Boxcar. "Stop and talk to me, tell me what he said!" But Thorn almost head bopped Nelson's and Charlie's heads together, the blood flying up his arms like a man deranged, until Boxcar slugged him.
Then he bent over, panting for a minute, before he straightened up and shot Boxcar a deadly look. "He's got my woman, Boxcar, move out of the way."
Boxcar stood his ground, his chest heaving. "She's my sister, Thorn, and you're not going to help her, running off half crazed. Tell us what Morgan said so we can help. Clary doesn't know where anything is, why would he take her instead of you? It doesn't make sense."
"What time is it?" asked Thorn, still panting with exertion, although his body had started trembling.
"It's almost 4:00 AM," said Nelson, his gaze concerned as he stared back and forth between the two men.
"Three hours—they've already been gone three hours." He took a deep breath. "Let me go now, we need to talk."
"Where are they going?" asked Nelson, slowly releasing Thorn as if he was afraid he was going to run off again.
"He's taking Clary to the mission. He said if the Heart of Mary isn't in the statue by sunrise tomorrow morning, Clary's body will be left in front it as a testament to our greed. The man is a lunatic, stark raving mad. We have to get to her before sunrise tomorrow morning."
"But we now know where it is," insisted Boxcar. "I don't understand why he wants it in the statue but we can put it there, right?"
The pain in Thorn's eyes was hard to take. "And what if it isn't there, Boxcar? What if we are wrong and it's not where Maria hid it at all?"
"It's got to be there," whispered Boxcar, trying to tamp down his fear and think rationally. "It's just got to be there."
"He thinks he's on some mission from God to return the Virgin Mary's
heart to her. And if Clary dies because we won't return it, then he'll get Mary next and make her tell him where it is."
"Where is the ruby?" asked Nelson urgently. We can telegraph ahead and have Father Vincent recover it, if you know where it is."
Thorn shook his head. "The telegraph is not secure, you know that. There's no way to get word to Father Vincent before tomorrow morning, and we can't afford for someone to lift it from under our noses. We have to ride there ourselves, and that means we have no time left to track Clary. They have too much of a head start."
"You'd never find Morgan in those hills, anyway, Thorn. He's lived in them all his life, and he knows every nook and cranny," Nelson said tersely. "Our only hope is to head there ourselves."
"There is one thing you can tell Father Vincent, Nelson. You send the telegram to him and one to Sheriff Prescott in Tucson. Tell them you need at least six men to be waiting in and around the mission, out of sight, and at least one with sniper abilities before sunrise tomorrow morning. Get them there early, so Morgan won't be watching the mission when they come in. Their objective will be apprehending Joseph Morgan. And make sure you tell them he has kidnapped a woman and to await your signal before shooting." He turned to Charlie. "Charlie, you stay here and protect Potluck and let Sheriff Holden know what's going on. Boxcar and I will get the horses ready."
"What's going on?" Tilly came rushing out in the street to meet Boxcar, grabbing his arm. "What's happened, where's Clary?"
Boxcar wrapped his arms around her. "Tilly, Morgan has taken Clary, and we are going after him. Can you get some food ready for us? We'll be in the stables and drop back by the sheriff's office to pick it up in a few minutes. Please hurry."
"Oh, my God," whispered Tilly, tears spurting into her eyes. She grabbed Thorn's arm. "I'm so sorry, Thorn."
"Don't worry, Tilly," Thorn responded gruffly, patting her hand. "I'll bring her back." His voice cracked as he turned away and strode down the street towards the stables.
Boxcar hugged Tilly tightly. "I'm so sorry, Boxcar, she's your baby sister and my good friend. Go help Thorn and I'll get some things together." She hugged him fiercely and planted a kiss on his lips. "And come back safe, please? All of you." Tears flowing down her soft cheeks, she turned and picked up her skirts to run.
Clary's head lolled back into the shoulder of the man behind her, bringing her awake once again. She had no desire to touch him, but trying to remain ramrod stiff in the saddle in front of him was proving difficult. When sleep would overtake her tired body, she would find herself relaxed against her captor and wake to move away from him. At least she could tell she didn't arouse him, but she was a long way from feeling safe. Her hands were tied around the saddle horn to keep her in place, and his long arms were like a prison she was kept inside. In the darkness, with the warmth of the horse under her and the man behind her, she drifted off in spite of herself. Images of Thorn tied up and his golden eyes frantic would seep into her unconsciousness, causing unbidden tears to roll down her soft cheeks. If the man behind her was aware of it, he didn't say a word.
When the sun's rays peeked above the distant foothills, Clary's tired eyes could see they were no longer on a road. They had cut across country, and she had no idea where they were. Stiffening up, she looked around her as the rising sun unfolded against the earth like pulling back night's blanket and uncovering them into full daylight. It was an amazing sight that she would have enjoyed, if she hadn't been so worried. She wondered if Thorn and Boxcar were on their trail yet. As she surveyed the terrain, she realized they wouldn't be able to follow, not even with Boxcar's tracking skills.
Over the next rise, the ground descended down into a rocky gorge, where a stream of water was meandering through it. They stopped for a moment, and she could tell he was cautiously checking the area. His body was tense behind her until he finally relaxed slightly and let his mount pick its own way down the rocky slope. As they made their way along the gurgling stream, she realized she was incredibly thirsty and she licked her lips, trying to wet them a little. As if anticipating her needs, he brought the horse to a halt and lifted her down to the ground. "Get a drink," he ordered quietly, dismounting himself and giving the horse its lead. Suddenly, he disappeared from view, and she couldn't believe he had left her alone. The horse was drinking beside her, although the rifle was gone. Looking around, she quickly grabbed the saddle pom with both hands and pulled herself up. Grabbing the reins, she tried to pull the horse to one side and kicked him hard in the ribs at the same time but he wouldn't budge. "Hee yah," she shouted in frustration, kicking him again.
"He won't be going anywhere, he only answers to me," came the deep voice from behind her.
She turned to look over her shoulder and saw Morgan striding back towards her. He laid his rifle down and picked her up under her arms as she kicked out at him in frustration, tears running down her cheeks. He quickly propped one booted foot on a nearby stump and pulled her under one large arm across his hip. His other broad palm connected with her backside in a blistering flurry of spanks that left her gasping and crying out in pain. "That's for pulling on the reins hard enough to bruise his mouth," he said calmly.
Then he laid into the seat of her split riding skirt again, this time in hard measured slaps that echoed off the gorge walls and had her keening in pain as she tried to endure them with some semblance of dignity. At last, he pulled her up and stood her on her feet. "And that's for kicking my horse."
She shied back in fear when he took his long blade out of his belt and started towards her but all he did was grasp her ropes and bring the knife up between them to cut them off her.
Clary rubbed her wrists as the she tried not to give him the satisfaction of sobbing, although her tender bottom burned with fiery pain. He pointed towards the brush. "Tend to your needs." Then he took her chin in his hand so he could look into her eyes. "If you run off, I won't come after you. I'll turn around and go get young Mary to take your place, and by the time your man finds your body, I'll already be in El Paso. That is, if the Indians or the wolves don't get you first. We're a long way from the main road, and he will pass right on by where we cut off, because there's no trail He won't have a clue you're even dead until tomorrow morning, when we don't show up at the mission. Do you understand me?"
Clary nodded, knowing this man was the only thing keeping her alive in this wilderness. Beyond that, she couldn't put Mary in danger, and he knew that. Defeated, she went to find a bush that would hide her from his view. Clary wasn't one to give in easily without a fight, but she had the sense to know when she was losing. She would bide her time, for now. At least, he hadn't hurt her—unless you counted spanking her backside.
When Clary finished adjusting her riding skirt and stepped out of the brush, he was at the stream filling the water bottles. He hung them on the horse and then took a piece of flatbread out of his saddlebag and handed it to her. She hesitated, running her hands down the front of her skirt.
"You'd best take it, this is the only stop until nightfall," he insisted, still holding it out to her.
Her stomach complaining, Clary took the bread from him and began to eat. He handed her a piece of jerky and she took that, too. "At least you aren't starving me," she said tentatively, looking up at him. "And I'm sorry about your horse, I didn't want to hurt him."
He folded his long arms and stared hard at her. "It's not my intention to hurt you," he finally said. "But I do have a job to do and not you, nor Thorn, nor anyone else is going to stand in my way. If I have to kill you, I will. But I have no desire to torture you before that happens."
Clary gasped as he picked her up bodily and placed her in the saddle once again, her hands left untied. Then he swung up behind her and picked his way carefully across the water, drops sparkling in the sunlight as the horse's large hoofs sent them flying into the air.
Thorn and Boxcar saddled their horses in silence, each afraid to ask the other if Joseph Morgan was truly a man of his word. Was any killer
a man of his word? What was to stop him from killing Clary, even if the ruby was placed in the statue? Absolutely nothing.
They swung by the sheriff's office, where Tilly, Charlie, and even Holden were standing out in front to wave them on. They had brought Nelson's horse with them and waited for him to finish the telegram. "Wish I was going with you, Thorn," growled Holden as they paused, their horses prancing.
Tilly stepped up in Boxcar's stirrup and hugged and hissed him. There were no words spoken, her eyes said it all.
Nelson came running and vaulted onto his horse. "It's all done, Melton was asleep but more than willing to wake up and send it."
"Good luck to you all," added Charlie tersely. "I'll keep an eye on things here. Just bring her back safe."
They traveled at a steady pace all day, neither walking nor racing, stopping only to break the horses and eat from the pack Tilly had prepared.
The Mission San Xavier Del Bac was situated in the sand saddle, as it was called, south of Tucson. The hilly rocky landscape surrounding it protected it from the worst of windstorms and other acts of nature. Flash flooding in the arroyos could be an issue for the unwary but, for the most part, it was idyllic piece of desert floor with its own mysterious beauty. The three men paused at the top of the hilly slope leading into the flat valley. "There it is, the White Dove of the Desert," muttered Nelson tiredly, his sharp eyes looking over everything. It looked very peaceful and calm, unlike the feelings of the three men. The walls and structures were made of low fire clay bricks mixed with sandstone and lime, giving it the beautiful white color that earned it its nickname. Evidence of the Franciscans' influence was everywhere in the shell formations and designs weaving throughout the buildings.
The Heart of Mary: A Thorn Novel Page 18
