But she should have known better.
She should have known.
Today, tomorrow, the truth would come out. It was inevitable. Cord would learn how she'd betrayed him, and he would hate her. She had risked the lives of his family, even though she hadn't meant to. How could she plead innocence? She had lied to him. She had smuggled Diego a message outlining her destination and her mission.
Oh, God, how could I have been so stupid?
Squeezing her eyes closed, she dragged a shuddering breath into her lungs. Telling herself she was an idiot was a waste of time. The book, the message, the deceit—she could do nothing to change them.
But she could save Zack and Lally. The damage between her and Cord was irreparable, but maybe, just maybe, if she rescued his family, she could live with herself.
She finalized her plan. She had already pilfered a knife, revolver, and ammunition from Applegate's desk. Wes's compass was in his slicker, which he'd left out to dry. Blue Mountain wasn't that long a ride, really. She knew the lay of the land, because she had spent several days in the hospitality of the lonely station master there, cheating the honest stagecoach passengers who'd stopped for a meal. That station was the only real shelter within ten miles of Blue Mountain. In a storm like this, Diego and his men were bound to seek the building out a little earlier than they had planned.
She knew she had to move fast. Diego would continue riding north after tomorrow morning's robbery. Fortunately, Applegate had convinced Cord not to give chase without a posse to back him up.
"You, me, and a sixteen-year-old against seven inveterate killers? That ain't good odds, son. Not when you got kinfolk under the gun."
Fancy had wholeheartedly agreed. Zack and Lally were nothing more than lures; Cord was the one Diego wanted. But Fancy also knew Diego would kill the hostages once he had Cord as his audience. That was why she couldn't let him ride. She had to go in alone. She had to face Diego herself.
Shivering, she carefully turned her mind away from her own danger. What happened to her didn't matter. Only Zack and Lally did.
Slipping past the parlor, where Mrs. Applegate was trying to lose her own worries in a book, Fancy hurried to the kitchen for biscuits, coffee, and molasses.
During their last dinner at the ranch, Cord must have spooned two or three dollops of molasses into each cup of java that he drank. Fancy did so now. Then, squelching her flare of guilt, she hastily retrieved the vial of laudanum she always strapped beneath her garter. She poured the entire dosage—two spoonfuls—into the cup. It should be enough to knock Cord out. He would taste only the molasses, and by the time the drug took effect, it would be too late for him to stop her.
With a last glance at the parlor, she padded back up the stairs with her tray.
Applegate's considerable carpentry skill had turned the second-story veranda into a solarium. She found Cord pacing there, streaks of lightning flashing behind him like jagged spears.
For a moment, she stood absolutely still, awed as she watched the sky through the shutterless windows. The storm raged around him in all its elemental ferocity, as raw and electric as his mood. It was such a change from that other storm, that other Cord, who had loved her with tender hands and hungry lips. He had trusted her then.
She swallowed painfully. He would never trust her again.
"I... brought you some coffee and biscuits."
He glanced up. When he saw her standing on the threshold, the thunder on his brow lifted somewhat. "Thanks, but I'm not hungry. How's Wes?"
Closing the door to keep her imminent crime from the household, she crossed to a table. She could hardly bring herself to look him in the eye.
"Better, I think. He finally fell asleep."
"Good."
He began pacing again. Up and down, back and forth, he prowled the creaking floorboards. She wished there was something she could say to ease his mind. He had never once lashed out in word or deed to punish her for Diego's infamy. In truth, neither he nor Wes had said a single thing against Diego while she was present, even though she knew their fear and outrage must be killing them. It was as if they had secretly agreed to spare her.
To spare her, when she was the one to blame!
Diego, you bastard, you went too far this time. You'll pay for Zack and Lally. I swear you will.
She pasted on a smile, hoping it would hide how sick she felt. "Mrs. Applegate's biscuits are the best in town. Clem's always bragging about them."
Cord shook his head.
"Cord, please. You turned down dinner and you had no lunch. You have to put something in your stomach to keep your strength up. You've got a long ride ahead. Could you at least try the coffee? Please?"
He sighed, turning on his heel and crossing to her. She handed him a plate, but he reached for her instead, pulling her close, hugging her to his heart. She felt its strong and steady rhythm against the perfidious skittering of her own, and she nearly cried.
"Clem wired Nevada," he murmured, resting his cheek on her hair. "He asked for an extension. It doesn't look like I'm going to get the plates back to the mint by week's end."
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters. You matter. But I have to bring back Zack and Lally. I have to make sure they're safe. Do you understand?"
She nodded, too choked to speak. How could he possibly think of her when his loved ones were at stake?
"Thanks," he whispered, kissing her brow.
He released her, and she thought she'd died. Right then, right there. Hell was the torment in her chest.
He managed a smile as he picked up the cup. Turning to walk the floor again, he slowed dutifully every now and then to sip. Fancy perched on a chair and dug her nails into her palms. She felt like a black widow spider, lurking, watching, waiting.
Oh God, please let it end soon. I can't bear this. I can't bear to hurt him this way...
The pounding assault lessened on the roof. The rain was falling almost leisurely when he took his first staggering step. He rubbed his eyes and set the cup down.
The coffee was gone.
She fought back tears. Another few minutes passed. The clock in the hall chimed eight when he staggered again. This time his knees buckled, and he gripped the side of the table. She hurried to his side and touched his sleeve.
"Cord..."
He was shaking his head, as if to clear it of fog.
"Maybe you should sit down."
He frowned, swaying as he held a hand to his forehead. "I feel kinda like... a poisoned pup."
Guilt hit her like a knife in the gut. Her hand quaked on his sleeve. "You've had a long day," she said, hating herself so much that she could barely force the words out. "You need to rest."
Slowly his eyes rose to hers. Understanding flickered behind the dull green glaze.
"What did you put in the coffee?"
She couldn't lie. She owed him that much. "Laudanum," she whispered hoarsely.
He did little more than grimace, but to her, the reaction was worse than any physical blow she had ever suffered. It marked the end of every hope, every dream.
It marked the end of them.
"Dammit, Fancy..." He started to pull away, but the drug was relentless. He stumbled. She threw her arms around his waist to brace him against the fall.
"Why, Fancy? Why?"
"Because he'd kill you. Zack and Lally too."
And I might as well have pulled the trigger myself.
His breathing was ragged now, shallow. Try as she might, she couldn't support his weight. She oozed with him to her knees, and he slumped against her chest.
"Are you saying—" he blinked, trying to focus on her face, "are you saying you set me up? All this time, you—"
"No!" She felt the tears surge, finally breaking their dam. "Not all this time. You were right about him, Cord. Everything you said. But I'll make him pay. I won't let him hurt Zack or Lally. I promise."
The hurt in his eyes was snuffed out by horror. "No!" He gripped
her arms so hard that she winced. "Fancy, no! I won't let you go."
"I have to," she whispered, "don't you see? I love Zack and Lally too."
He was shaking his head and reeling. "Santana will kill you!"
"No," she said soothingly, even though she knew he spoke the truth. If he still cared enough to worry, she wouldn't torture him with the reality.
Besides, Diego had to catch her first.
"He trusts me. He thinks we're engaged. I'm the only one who can bring them back alive."
"No! Oh, God." He made a strangled sound. Trying once more to rise, he nearly toppled them both. "Clem! Wes!"
"Shh." She wove a restraining hand through his hair. "They can't hear you," she murmured, forcing the words past her aching throat. "Don't make this harder. On any of us."
His breath was hot and labored against her neck. She felt him sink another inch, and she squeezed her eyes closed, spilling more tears.
Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me, because I'll never forgive myself.
He wrapped his arms around her in a ferocious hold, as if sheer strength alone would keep her there while he slept. "Fancy..."
Her name was a groan, a plea. He slipped lower, and she cradled him, stroking his hair with tremulous fingers.
"I know this is hard for you to believe right now," she said brokenly. "But I love you. I do."
His hands clutched at her shirt, sliding down the fabric, wadding excess folds.
"I'm so sorry, Cord. So terribly sorry..."
Slowly, gradually, his deathlike grip eased. His breathing became more regular. She hugged him closer, burying her face in his hair.
And she wept.
An eternity passed in the space of a heartbeat. Fancy didn't know how long she held him there, but the thunder was receding, and the rain was trickling to a sporadic drizzle. She had to go. She had no choice. Diego might stay at the station through the night, but certainly no longer.
Blinking back tears, she eased out from under Cord's weight. He muttered, grasping, but her gentle touches quieted him. She found his linen duster slung across a chair and pillowed it beneath his head. Then she dragged one of Mrs. Applegate's half-finished quilts from her work shelf and tucked it around his body.
For a moment longer, she lingered, feeling his steady pulse beneath her fingertips, wishing she could see his dimpled smile. Just once. Just one last time.
Then she dug down to the rock-hard bottom of her soul. She dredged up the old Fancy, the one who felt nothing. The one who lived by animal instinct. That was the Fancy Diego had taught her to be. It was the Fancy she needed now to survive.
Rising, she donned Wes's slicker, pulled up the hood, and walked out into the rain. When she descended the veranda steps to the muddy yard below, she didn't look back.
She knew she would not be seeing Cord Rawlins again.
* * *
Clouds were racing like furies across the sky. Rumbling, crackling, they threatened a second deluge with every passing heartbeat. The drizzle had long since stopped, as if the storm were gathering strength for another assault.
Fancy coughed, swallowing painfully. The ache in her throat was second only to the pounding in her head. Although she had ridden north as quickly as possible in the sodden, pitch-black terrain, the storm had moved faster. Now, as she squinted through the trees at the station's lighted windows, she battled the illness that muddled her thoughts.
Horses. She had to rid the grounds of horses.
Tethering her mare, Fancy tore off Wes's slicker. She was sweating bullets, but whether from nerves or fever, she couldn't say. The air felt cool, heavy. Gulping a deep breath, she pulled her knife to cut a Colt from a tree.
The animals were hobbled under a wooden overhang at the rear of the building. Diego had posted no guard.
But then, why should he? He was hiding out in the middle of nowhere, in a storm that would soon rival Noah's. "No one will be so foolish as to hunt us down this night, amigos."
She could almost hear his arrogant assertion. She smiled mirthlessly. If Diego had ever had a weakness, it was arrogance. His overconfidence this night would finally give her the weapon she needed against him.
As she crept up beside them, the horses nickered. She tried to whisper soothing words, but an oath slipped her lips every now and then as her shaking fingers fumbled. She expected to be discovered any moment and shot from behind. The flashing lightning exposed her again and again, and she counted her heartbeats to keep her mind from her fear.
Eventually she'd freed five of the animals. Shooing them away, she looped the reins of the last two horses over the post. Zack and Lally would need them to escape.
So far so good.
She dropped her switch. Drawing her gun, she ran in a crouch across the open yard. By the time she reached the building, her heart was hammering so hard she could scarcely breathe. She gulped several bolstering breaths before she peered inside the window.
The renegades had discovered the proprietor's store of lightning whiskey. Three men sat swaying in their chairs, hooting bets and throwing cards. Two more were sprawled facedown under the table. Diego was not among them.
Uneasily, she wondered where he was. She preferred to play the cat to his mouse. Was he watching her from the privy just a few yards away? Or was he amusing himself by tormenting the prisoners?
Her stomach clenched at the thought.
Hurrying to the next window, she could clearly hear the sounds of snoring. She glanced inside.
The proprietor's bedroom.
She made out the figure of a man on the bed, but the snorer wasn't Diego. The body was much too bulky. As for the station master... She shuddered. He had most likely been murdered and thrown down the well.
Damn you, Diego. Where are you hiding?
She crept around the building's corner. There was a third window, the kitchen's. The lighting was dim, yet she could still make out two huddled forms. They were propped shoulder to shoulder on the floor beneath a table, as if they had been tied to one of its legs.
Lally and Zack.
Her breath released in a rush. They were alive, but from this angle, it was impossible to tell if they were hurt.
She waited impatiently for the next crack of thunder, then eased the window open.
Zack tensed, his head snapping around. His dark eyes glowed dangerously in the lantern's gleam, but they widened when he recognized her.
She pressed a finger to her lips, and he nodded.
The sounds of carousing, so alarmingly close now, made Fancy's palms moist. She had no step or toehold, so she had to throw her chest over the sill. Pushing and kicking, she finally worked her hips high enough to swing a leg inside the room. For a moment, she wondered why such a simple exertion had made her pant so hard.
Then the sill heaved to life. It spun beneath her like a wheel of fortune.
"Fancy!" Zack hissed anxiously.
She dug desperate fingers into her perch. The dizziness passed quickly, and she stopped swaying, but the bout left her trembling. She nodded weakly at the boy.
Fever or no fever, she couldn't let him down. She wouldn't.
Somehow, her brain took command of her limbs again. She climbed over the washbasin, miraculously disturbing none of its food-encrusted pans, and lowered herself to solid ground. She took a moment to steady herself, praying she could climb through that window again. The only other escape was through the poker game.
She knelt. Avoiding Zack's searching gaze, she cut him free. Her hands trembled when she saw the bloody slashes in his shirt, the swollen bruises on his jaw.
Lally looked none the worse for her ordeal, except for a torn skirt and a few tear-streaks on her dirt-smeared face. The woman's arms wrapped hard around her, and Fancy cringed, unable to bear for Lally to think of her as some kind of savior.
"Good Lord, child, you're hotter than Hades," Lally whispered, drawing back.
Fancy shook her head. She instantly regretted the motion as Lally's face blurred.
"Fort Worth."
"You came alone?" Lally asked.
The older woman finally swam back into focus. Fancy smiled grimly to see Lally gaping at her.
"I'm not much of a posse," she admitted. "Now listen. Two horses are left at the hitching post. You have to run for them."
Lally nodded. "And you?"
"My horse is in the trees, a few yards away."
Zack's brows knitted. "Any lookouts?"
"Not that I could see. Three men are passed out; three are playing poker. I don't know where Diego is."
His young features hardened. Her heart tripped to see how much like Cord he looked.
"All right," he said. "Let's go."
He reached to help his aunt, but she bounded to her feet, far spryer than Fancy would have imagined after being tied on a dirt floor all night long. Determination glittered in her green eyes, and not for the first time did Fancy find herself admiring Eulalie Rawlins Barclay.
Zack was the first one through the window. With a sizzling crack, the heavens opened up, loosing water in sheets. He floundered, sucked down by the mud, and Fancy held her breath until he caught his balance. Dashing the sodden hair from his eyes, he raised his arms to his aunt. Fancy watched nervously, her attention alternating between Lally's trailing petticoats, which threatened to sweep crockery to the floor, and the door leading to the poker game.
Somehow, Lally made it through the opening without so much as a creak from the sill. Zack whispered, and she nodded. Hiking her skirts, she ran toward the horses.
Next Zack held out his arms to her. She shoved her pistol into her waistband.
If Lally can do it with skirts, by God, I can do it with fever.
Gritting her teeth, she stretched across the basin and grabbed the sides of the window.
But where Lally's boots had been dry, Fancy's were slick with mud. She stifled a cry as her foot slipped. Her chest slammed into the basin, and the air rushed from her lungs. Only Zack's quick reflexes saved her from crashing into the pots. She sagged, wheezing, and the window whirled out of focus.
Texas Outlaw (Wild Texas Nights, Book 1) Page 30
