Kelsey shook her head. “I won’t tell anyone.” She tugged against the man’s hold on her arm. “Let me go! I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”
With a snort, Colville dragged her out of the store and down the boardwalk to where three horses stood huddled in the rain.
A third man armed with a rifle materialized from the side of the building. “‘Bout time,” he muttered, and then, seeing Kelsey, his eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing with her?”
“Mount up!” Colville said. “We’re wasting time.”
Kelsey screamed in protest when he thrust her onto the back of one of the horses, but her voice was blown away by the wind.
Colville swung up behind her, one arm snaking around her waist.
The next thing she knew, they were riding out of town at a gallop.
* * * * *
Reese stood on the boardwalk, his hat pulled low against the rain. He had paid for their meal, then followed Kelsey out of the hotel, determined to find out what she was hiding. He was headed for the Square Deal, figuring she might go there, when the sound of a woman’s scream drew his gaze. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a man swing onto the back of a horse and light out as if his tail was on fire. But it wasn’t the man who had drawn his gaze, it was the flash of a green gingham dress. Reese’s gut clenched. Had it been Kelsey? He stared after the riders, but they were soon swallowed up by the rain.
Reese was debating whether to ride after them when Nate Osgood stumbled out of the general store, one hand pressed to the back of his head.
“Help!” Osgood shouted, his voice ragged with pain. “Help! I’ve been robbed!”
Reese swore. “Was there a woman in there? Dark brown hair, about this tall, wearing a green dress?”
Nate Osgood nodded. “Is she all right?”
“I don’t know.” Reese helped the man back inside, out of the rain. “Here, now,” he said, guiding the injured man to one of the chairs near the pot-bellied stove. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Once the storekeeper was settled, Reese hightailed it down the street toward the Square Deal. He elbowed open the door and told Pete that Osgood needed a doctor right quick. He didn’t wait for a reply. Taking up the reins of the nearest horse, Reese swung into the saddle. He didn’t hold with horse stealing as a rule, but it was a hell of a lot quicker than hot-footing it down to the livery and saddling his own mount. He didn’t have time to waste, not now, when the rain would quickly wash out the tracks of the men who had kidnapped Kelsey.
He head someone holler, “Hey, that’s my horse!” as he lashed the animal into a gallop.
* * * * *
Kelsey wrapped her arms around her middle in a vain effort to stop shivering. She didn’t know if she was shaking because she was soaked to the skin or because she was scared out of her mind. Fear coiled like a snake in her belly, making it hard to think coherently. In the movies, there was always a hero waiting in the wings, ready to ride out and save the heroine at the drop of a hat. Only she didn’t have a hero waiting in the wings. Pete Muldoon wouldn’t miss her until later this afternoon. Reese would probably notice her absence when he went to the saloon later that evening. But she could be dead by then…
Revulsion twisted in her stomach when the man behind her pulled her up against his chest. His arm was like an iron band around her waist, making it difficult to breathe. His hand brushed the underside of her breast, filling her with revulsion. The words, She’ll keep me warm later, replayed endlessly in her mind. She had no doubt as to just what it was he had in mind, nor did she doubt that his two friends would be involved… Oh, Lord, this couldn’t be happening.
She watched the countryside fly by. The storm raged on, making the landscape look eerie and foreboding behind a thick curtain of rain. Lightning sizzled across the lowering skies. Thunder shook the earth. And still they rode on.
Tears welled in Kelsey’s eyes as the town fell farther and farther behind and with it any hope of rescue.
She was going to die here, she thought, here, in this godforsaken place, and no one in this time or her own time would ever know what had happened to her.
After what seemed like an eternity, the three men pulled up in front of a dilapidated structure that could only be called a shack.
Colville dismounted. “Hatch, you look after the horses. Garrett, see if you can find any wood fit to burn.”
Without waiting to see if his orders were obeyed, Colville yanked Kelsey off the back of the horse and half-pulled, half-dragged her into the shack. “Don’t move,” he said tersely.
Kelsey huddled in the dark. She could hear Colville moving around. A few moments later, the smell of sulfur filled the air, along with a faint yellow light.
Colville placed the lantern on a battered table.
Kelsey swallowed hard as she looked around. Shack was too kind a word. The wooden floor was warped. A board covered the single narrow window. Two bunks were built into one wall. There was no furniture save for the battered table and two equally battered chairs. A small fireplace took up most of one wall. A couple of empty wooden crates were stacked in a corner. A narrow shelf held a couple of tin plates, two blue speckled cups and some dented pots. A faded picture of a nearly nude woman, obviously torn from a magazine, was tacked to one wall.
She cringed when the other two men entered the cabin. Fear was a solid lump in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t stop shivering, she was cold and wet and more scared than she had ever been in her life.
Hatch dropped three pairs of saddlebags and three canteens on the floor beside the fireplace.
“No dry wood anywhere,” Garrett announced. He tossed their bedrolls on the top bunk
Hatch muttered an oath.
“Shut up,” Colville snapped. “We’ve made cold camps before.”
Hatch glared at Colville. “This whole idea was a bust from the beginning. We should have taken the bank.”
“It was closed and this idiot…” Colville glared at Garrett, “forgot the dynamite.”
“Then we should have waited until it opened,” Hatch said irritably.
“Quit yer bellyachin’,” Colville snapped. “Let’s eat.”
With a grunt, Hatch began rummaging through one of the saddlebags.
* * * * *
Outside the line shack, Reese stood behind a tree that dripped rain down the back of his shirt. With the window boarded up, he couldn’t see a thing. Earlier, he had made his way around the place, looking for another entrance, but there was none. So now he waited and considered his options. He could rush the place, but if the door was barred from the inside, it would accomplish nothing other than to alert those inside to his presence, which might put Kelsey’s life in danger. If he’d had any matches, he might have tried setting the place on fire, though the rain would likely put out the flames before the fire got hot enough to drive the occupants outside. His best bet seemed to be to wait until morning and hope he could pick the men off one by one when they came out. That option held little appeal. It was a long time until morning and Kelsey was inside with three hard cases. He didn’t like to think about what they might do to her—what they would surely do to her. Why else would they have brought her here?
Dammit! He hated waiting, hated feeling helpless. But at the moment, waiting seemed like the only sensible thing to do.
* * * * *
Kelsey remained still and silent, her heart pounding, as Hatch dumped supplies on the table while Garrett carried their saddles inside and dropped them on the floor in the corner.
Hatch used his knife to open several tin cans and the men gathered around the table to eat. Using spoons that they had pulled from their saddlebags, they ate directly out of the cans.
Colville glanced over his shoulder at Kelsey. “You want some of this grub?”
“No, thank you.”
With a shrug, he resumed eating.
When they were all pigging out again, Kelsey inched slowly toward the door.
“Dammit, Hatch, stop hogging
the peaches!”
“Back off, Garrett,” Hatch retorted.
“Dammit!” Colville said irritably, “you two squabble more than a couple of old hens!”
It was now or never, Kelsey thought. Bolting for the door, she yanked it open and darted outside. It was still raining and she couldn’t see a thing in the dark, but she ran blindly, more afraid of what she had left behind than of anything that might be waiting ahead. She heard shouts behind her, the sharp report of gunshots followed by a harsh cry of pain and then the world went suddenly silent.
She ran until she couldn’t run any more. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she stood there in the darkness, waiting for her breathing to return to normal, for her heart to stop pounding. Listening, she heard nothing but the steady drip-drip-drip of water off the trees as the rain slowed and stopped.
She wondered who had cried out. Had one of the outlaws taken a shot at her and hit one of his companions instead? Or had their verbal arguing turned more deadly? Maybe they had killed each other…and maybe they were prowling through the dark looking for her, even now.
She stood where she was, wondering what to do. Should she keep running and hope she could find a safe place to hide? Or hope that, by some miracle, she could find her way to a town, any town? One thing she knew for certain, she was ill-equipped to survive out here in the wilderness on her own.
Pressing one hand to her heart, she debated the wisdom of sneaking back to the shack. Maybe while the men were looking for her, she could steal one of their horses and find her way back to Grant’s Crossing. She’d have a much better chance on horseback than she would on foot…what on earth was she thinking? Going back to the cabin would be the height of foolishness. If they caught her again, there was no telling what they’d do.
She stood there for a long time, every muscle tense, her eyes and ears straining for some indication that she had been followed. She shivered as drops of rain splashed down on her head and neck, trickled between her breasts.
She was breathing a sigh of relief when she heard the unmistakable sound of a horse picking its way through the tangled underbrush.
Adrenaline shot through her. With a cry, she turned and ran, only to trip over a fallen branch. She landed hard, the air whooshing out of her lungs. Stunned, she lay there for a moment, then scrambled to her feet.
Too late. A horse whinnied behind her.
Trapped, her right knee bleeding from where she had scraped it on the branch, she glanced behind her, afraid of what she’d see.
“Reese!” Her shoulders slumped in relief.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice tight.
“Yes,” she said, brushing wet leaves off her skirt. “I am now…” She stared up at him. Something was wrong. His face looked pinched. His voice sounded funny, too, now that she thought about it. “Are you all right?”
He grunted softly and then he sagged forward and tumbled out of the saddle.
Chapter Six
Kelsey stared at Reese, the pain in her knee forgotten as her initial relief at seeing him riding toward her turned to horror. Good Lord, was he dead? Had he been killed trying to save her?
Running forward, she knelt beside him. “Reese?”
She placed her hand over his heart, breathed a sigh of relief when she felt it beating sure and strong beneath her hand. Had he fainted? The mere idea of such a strong man fainting seemed ludicrous. And then she saw the blood staining his shirt sleeve, just above his left elbow. She stared at it a moment, numb with the realization that he had been shot. And then she noticed another ugly red stain spreading slowly across his shirtfront, just above his waist. Pushing his coat aside, she felt her stomach churn. So much blood! She stared at it in horror.
“Reese?” She shook his shoulder gently. “Reese, wake up.”
He groaned softly.
“Reese, please wake up.”
His eyelids fluttered open and he stared up at her, his gaze slightly unfocused. “You all right?”
“Yes.” She glanced past him. “Those men…?”
“Dead.”
“All of them?”
He nodded.
The lump in her stomach grew larger, colder. “You’re bleeding.”
“Yea. I know.”
She had never seen so much blood. “We’ve got to stop it.”
He grunted softly.
She pulled his shirt out of his trousers, more concerned about the wound in his side than the one in his arm. Blood leaked from an ugly hole just above the waistband of his trousers. She needed something to stop the bleeding, but what? Her petticoat, of course. That’s what they always used in the movies.
Bending over, she lifted her skirt, took hold of the ruffle on her petticoat and gave a yank, wondering as she did so if this was the reason ruffles had been invented in the first place.
Tearing the material in thirds, she folded the first piece into a pad and placed it over the wound, then wrapped the second strip about his middle and tied the ends off tightly. She wrapped the third piece around his arm.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Help me up.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“Better than…lying here…in the mud.”
She glanced at his blood-stained shirt, wondering how much blood he had lost. Taking a deep breath, she slipped her arm under his shoulders. His face went white as she helped him sit up.
He sat there a moment, breathing heavily, his lips compressed, his eyes closed.
She stood, waiting. Several minutes passed before he reached for her hand. He was a big man, solid and well-muscled. Trying to lift him was like trying to move a mountain, but she finally managed to get him to his feet.
“My horse.” He ground the words out through clenched teeth.
With a nod, Kelsey walked over to his mount. Taking up the reins, she led the animal to where Reese waited.
“Get on,” he said.
She didn’t argue. Putting one foot in the stirrup, she pulled herself into the saddle. She stared down at Reese, her gaze drawn to the strip of cloth around his middle, which was even now turning red.
Reese closed his eyes a moment, then he put one foot in the stirrup, took a deep breath and heaved himself onto the horse’s back, sitting behind the saddle. Gritting his teeth, he reached around her for the reins and clucked to the horse.
Kelsey bit down on her lower lip. She could feel the heat of Reese’s body against her back as they rode. Was he heading back to town? When she asked, he grunted, “Shack,” and then fell silent. She prayed he would remain conscious until they arrived, afraid that if he fell off the horse again, she wouldn’t be able to get him back on his feet.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the cabin came into view, felt her stomach knot with revulsion when she saw the three rain-soaked bodies sprawled in the mud. Even without being told, she would have known they were dead.
Reese drew rein in front of the shack.
Kelsey lifted her leg over the pommel and slid to the ground, then looked up at him.
He stared back at her, his face a mask of pain, his jaw rigid. Dropping the reins, he grabbed hold of the saddle horn and eased out of the saddle, then sagged against Kelsey.
She reeled under his weight. Slipping her arm around his waist, she guided him into the shack toward the bunks. They staggered across the floor like a couple of drunks. With a groan, Reese fell heavily across the bottom bunk.
Kelsey blew out a breath. What now, she wondered.
As though reading her mind, Reese said, “Build a fire.”
With what? She glanced around the shack. The only things that would burn were the two chairs, the table and the wooden crates.
She carried the large, rough-hewn chairs outside, one at a time. She had seen an axe lodged in a tree stump alongside a pile of wet wood. It took all her strength to pull the axe from the stump. Hoping she didn’t slice off her own foot, she chopped the chairs to pieces, then carried the wood back inside. She piled half
of the pieces in the fireplace and dumped the rest on the floor. She broke up the wooden crates, as well and added the pieces to the pile on the floor. Going outside again, she toppled the neatly stacked wood pile, pleased to find several large, mostly dry pieces near the bottom. It took several trips to carry the wood inside where she spread them out in front of the hearth.
She located a box of matches on the mantel. Crumbling a couple of old newspapers she found on the floor, she shoved them under the wood in the hearth, struck one of the matches and touched it to the paper. The wood from the chairs was old and dry and caught fire immediately.
When the fire was burning brightly, she returned to Reese’s side. “Now what?”
“Take my knife…”
“Why?”
“You need to…dig the bullet…out of my side.”
She stared at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. Dig a bullet out of his side? Who did he think she was, Florence Nightingale? She was an executive, not a doctor.
He looked up at her, his eyes dark with pain. “Can you do it?”
“I don’t know…” How could she refuse to help him? He had come after her, risked his life to save hers and been badly hurt in the process. “I’ve never…”
“Heat the knife in the fire.” He paused to take several shallow breaths. “Then bring it to me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Take the bullet out.”
“Are you kidding me?”
He shook his head. “I’ve done it before.”
“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
Though she had little training in first aid, she had watched enough movies to have a pretty good idea of what had to be done. Doing it was something else.
She dragged the rickety table closer to the bunk.
She found a small enamel pot, filled it with water from one of the canteens and set it on the edge of the hearth to heat.
She found a sliver of soap near a rusty dishpan and carried both to the table.
Bandages, what could she use for bandages? Her petticoat was wet and dirty. Her gaze fell on the saddlebags piled in the corner. Maybe she could find something inside. Rummaging through the first one, she found a couple of shirts, none of which looked too clean, three boxes of ammunition, a box of matches, a sack of tobacco, a package of cigarette papers, a couple of bottles of whiskey and a length of clean linen wrapped in brown paper. She frowned, wondering if the outlaws carried the cloth for just such an emergency as this.
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