by Linda Broday
“Do you know what I noticed right off about you?”
“Hard telling.”
“It was the pain you tried to hide behind your eyes. I knew then that you’d be a man that never gave up. You’d ride hell-bent through flames with a fury no man could equal. I was looking for someone like that, and I’m glad I found him.”
Something stirred in Jack that she thought him honorable and worthy. There was a day when he had been. But now?
He was different now. Older, wiser. Soul-weary and cynical.
The sharp teeth of a memory lashed out. A time when he’d shown mercy and it had cost lives.
He’d cornered the murdering outlaw Gus Franklin, and as Jack raised his weapon, Gus had begged and pleaded for his life. Jack had spared him, convinced that Gus would change his ways. Only Gus had ridden on and wiped out an entire family, stolen their large herd of cattle and everything else he could find.
Jack clenched his eyes shut against the sight of pools of blood everywhere, the daughters Gus had violated, the swarms of flies. The family had paid for his mistake with their lives.
Months later, he’d found Gus Franklin and put a bullet in his head. Only it hadn’t brought back the family who’d died at Gus’s hands.
Jack slowed his breathing and swallowed the bitter secret that was his cross to bear. Ever since then, he’d been determined not to show anyone a speck of mercy. Until Nora had come to be by his side.
Sleep evaded him. He held Nora until the sky began to lighten, then stood and pulled her to her feet. “Put your dress back on. It might still be a little damp.”
“If so, it’ll dry on me.”
He held her coat and tried not to glance at all that soft, white skin as she slipped into the garment. She said it was dry except for part of the skirt.
When she was dressed and back in her buttoned coat, he put out the fire and took her hand. “Time to go.”
They walked for several miles before they ran across an old abandoned wagon, the wood all busted and decayed. He poked around in the bed, tossing out pieces of cloth and clods of dirt, hoping to find something useful.
Nora peeked over the side. “What do you supposed happened that would cause someone to leave this behind?”
“Probably got ambushed.”
“By who?”
“Not sure. It’s been here a long time.” Jack gave a cry and held up a bow and one broken arrow. The bow string was missing, but he could fix that with some rawhide or animal sinew. The arrow was a lost cause, but he could make more with the right materials. He pocketed the arrowhead.
After finding nothing else of interest, Jack jumped out of the wagon. “This bow and arrow will be silent, so we’ll be able to hunt for food.”
Her eyes lit up. “Hallelujah!”
“See if you can find a sturdy piece of wood for a new arrow while I try to fix the bow.” He pointed to a scrub oak. “Try over there. The oak wood will be harder than mesquite.”
Nora hurried to the small tree. Jack pulled off his duster and turned it inside out, looking for something he could make do with until he got a strip of rawhide. The heavy thread might work if he could stretch it tight enough—at least one time. He unraveled the edge and pulled two long pieces of thread, winding them together for strength.
“Will this do?” Nora held out a long piece of oak.
“Perfect.” Jack quickly tied the string to one end of the bow then bent it and tied the other end of the string to the opposite side. He tested it. “I think this will work temporarily.”
He took the oak branch, stripped all the bark away, and sliced off a small section running the length of the wood. Whittling and notching made it a decent arrow. Taking more thread from his duster, he inserted the arrowhead into the slot and bound it tight.
“I think this might do. I’ll see what I can kill.”
“I’ll make a fire while you’re gone.”
“If you hear riders, hide.”
“I will. Please don’t go too far, Jack.”
“I won’t.” He kissed her cheek and left. A short time later, he killed a small rabbit.
The sun had climbed in the morning sky by the time they finished eating. They put out the fire and set out again. By the close of day, they’d covered a fair amount of ground. They’d hidden from riders twice, but by luck managed to evade them. Each step was taking them slowly toward Hope’s Crossing and friends. He felt better about their chances—and evading Seamus Belew.
Nora stopped to rest, clutching her side. “Jack, how long now until we reach safety?”
“I figure we’re two or three days out, barring unforeseen circumstances.”
“Wonderful.”
“I’m sorry I pushed you so hard today.”
“You didn’t.” She met his gaze. “We’re going to make it, Jack. We’re going to be at Hope’s Crossing soon and we’ll be married. I forgot to ask. Does the town have a preacher?”
“Ridge Steele. We’ve ridden the outlaw trail together for years, and I can safely say there’s none better to have near in a fight.”
“He sounds like a good friend. I’m glad you have him.”
That was the truth. Jack knew he’d be dead and in the ground right now without Ridge, Clay, and some of the others.
“We’d better find somewhere to bed down for tonight.” Jack took her hand. “Just a little farther, where the land isn’t so flat.”
“Lead the way.” Nora smiled at him and his stomach fluttered.
He glanced up at the sky and counted to twenty until the butterfly wings inside him settled. They only had about an hour of sunlight left. He didn’t want the darkness to catch him and Nora in open country. If they could just make it to a mesa near an old burial mound, they’d find plenty of cover there. But despite Nora’s brave front, he couldn’t miss the tired lines on her face. And his leg felt like it was on fire, the searing pain raw.
Plus, he was hungry enough to eat a bear, and he suspected Nora was too. Still, she didn’t complain. She just kept going in the boots of the man she hated.
His mouth became bone dry, and it was difficult to dredge up enough spit to swallow. He saw no water source.
On they went, putting one foot in front of the other. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but relief shot through him to see the shadows of the mesa rising from the floor of the prairie.
Light flickered through the mesquites. They drew closer, and he could make out the fire of someone’s camp ahead. Three horses were staked at the edge of a thicket, and a wagon stood in the circle of the firelight.
Friend? Or foe?
He directed Nora to a hiding place where wind and rain had hollowed out a deep crevice at the base of the mesa. “Wait here. Let me check them out. It could be the posse.”
She gripped his arm. “Be careful.”
With a nod, he crawled on his belly through the grass until he could hear the murmur of voices. He made out three men passing a bottle around the fire.
“What are you talking about, Woodrow? We gotta lay low. This land is crawling with lawmen. If we go get the money we buried and that posse shows up, our goose is cooked.” The voice belonged to a thin man known only as Undertaker. He sported a long white beard, a portion of it braided.
Jack knew him well and trusted him—as long as they faced each other. He never turned his back on the old outlaw. He inched a little closer and recognized dark-haired Woodrow, and the third man, Poteet, by his stooped bearing and suspenders. He couldn’t recall their first names.
Woodrow filled a tin plate from a Dutch oven. The fragrance of cooking food wafted around Jack’s head, and his stomach growled in response.
“What I mean is, we can bargain with the posse.” Woodrow sat cross-legged on a bedroll. “We can tell them we saw Bowdre hightailing it toward New Mexico Territory. That would get them out
of our way.”
Good. The outlaws were more interested in themselves than turning Jack in.
And there was the hot food to consider. Definitely worth the risk. He could almost taste the food, feel it sliding down his throat to his empty belly.
Poteet rose with considerable effort from his place near the fire to fill his plate. “I hope Bowdre gets away. I like him. He’s always treated me with respect, and I wouldn’t cross him. The man sure has a lightning-fast draw. How do you suppose he learned that?”
“Practice,” Undertaker answered. “Lots of practice and quick reflexes.”
Woodrow stuffed his mouth and talked around his chewing. “Wish he’d join up with us. We could use someone like him.”
“Fat chance,” Jack whispered. “I work alone.”
The trio didn’t seem like they’d be a problem, and Jack felt confident enough to get Nora and take a meal with them. In fact, they’d probably fall all over themselves for a chance to sit across the fire from a pretty lady.
As long as they only looked. But lay their grimy hands on her, and Jack would delight in showing them the error of their ways.
Eleven
“Hello, the camp!” Jack called, as Nora’s head reeled with the smells of cooking. “Mind sharing your food?”
Nora took Jack’s arm, praying this wasn’t a mistake. Yet her empty stomach would revolt if she didn’t feed it. She’d let Jack have the biggest portion of that one small rabbit he’d killed that morning. Since he was protecting and feeding her, he’d earned more. But now, especially after the long walk, she was ready to gnaw off someone’s arm. It was all she could do to keep from running through the thorny mesquites to the campfire, grabbing a fork, and stabbing anyone with it who tried to stop her.
Curbing the desire, she tightened her grip on the bow and arrow they’d found and waited.
“Who’s there?” a man yelled.
“Jack Bowdre.”
“Come on in. We got plenty.”
Jack spoke low. “I don’t think they’ll bother you, but if they do, I’ll take care of it.”
“I know.” She walked into the circle of the firelight, tall and proud beside him.
The three men jerked off their hats and put their pistols away.
“You could’ve warned us you had a woman with you, Bowdre.” The speaker was an odd-looking man with a very long, white beard, the front part of which was braided.
“Yep, I could’ve. Undertaker, meet my”—Jack paused and glanced at her—“my wife, Nora. Touch her and you’ll be wishing you hadn’t.”
“I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Undertaker.” A strange name for a man to say the least. Maybe that had once been his profession. She smiled when he offered her a seat on a log, and Nora laid the precious bow and arrow behind her.
“These other two are Woodrow and Poteet.” Jack sat next to her. “Thank you for sharing your food. We’ve had very little to eat since escaping the wrecked stagecoach.”
“We heard mention of that in town.” Undertaker stroked his beard. “In fact, me an’ the boys were just talking about that.” He narrowed his gaze. “When did you get married, Bowdre?”
Nora met Jack’s gaze, curious of how he’d answer.
“A while ago.” He turned her palm over. “She finally came to join me.”
“I lived back East,” Nora explained, her stomach growling.
“Woodrow, get the lady a plate,” Undertaker snapped. “I reckon we ain’t never seen a lady as pretty as you, ma’am.”
She sat straighter, glanced down at her dirty, torn clothes, men’s boots, and gathered her pride. “Thank you, Mr. Undertaker. That’s very kind of you to say.” Her hand shook when she accepted the plate of beans and potatoes with a little slice of ham. The delicious aroma made her weak, and she inhaled deeply, savoring the scent before lifting the fork to her mouth. Likely one of the men had already used the fork before her, but she didn’t let that stop her. She’d waited too long for this. Undertaker handed her a cup.
Jack rose, poured some coffee, filled a plate, and returned next to her. He wasted no time digging in. Between bites, he told the trio about their ordeal over the last few days. “Seamus Belew is riding with the posse.”
Woodrow, the outlaw with dark hair and mustache, choked on his coffee. “Hell!”
Undertaker swore. “We’ll have to watch our backs even more.”
Poteet, the silent one, sat hunched over and stared into the night. “Wish I’d killed the bast”—he glanced at her and swallowed—“killed him when I had the chance.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t.” Jack took a drink from his cup. “What are you doing out here?”
Nora caught the furtive glances the trio gave each other. They were hiding out as well, and they didn’t want to tell Jack why. Poteet mumbled something unintelligible.
“This cold snap sure makes my old bones ache,” Undertaker said, changing the subject. “I guess you and the missus slept in the snow last night.”
“That we did.” Jack shoveled more beans, potatoes, and ham into his mouth. “I didn’t mind for myself, but Nora’s not used to roughing it like we are.”
A noise of snapping twigs beyond the firelight made Nora jump.
“This is Bittercreek!” a man yelled. “I aim to come in. Don’t shoot.”
Not only Jack but the whole group stiffened and drew their guns. Whoever “Bittercreek” was, she already didn’t like him.
She put her mouth next to Jack’s ear. “Do you know this man?”
“Heard of him is all. He’s a bad one with a crazy streak. Stay close to me.”
“Hell, this place is busier than a crowd at a medicine show,” Undertaker spat. “This is the last damn time I’m letting you pick the place to camp, Poteet.”
“Don’t blame this on me,” Poteet returned. “It was hidden and quiet when we got here.”
The brush rustled, and the firelight fell on a tall, muscular man as he stepped into the circle, leading a horse. He shoved a boy forward. The kid managed to stay on his feet, but it was a near thing. Nora could see the fear written on his face. He was all legs, like a young colt, and she made his age about eight or nine. She fought the urge to rise and put protective arms around him.
Undertaker straightened. “Who you got there, Bittercreek?”
“Sawyer something or another. Who the hell cares? He don’t got no kin. Got him from a peddler in trade for a mule. I got big plans for the boy.” Bittercreek’s matted yellow hair hung down his back. He shifted his heavy-lidded gaze to Nora, and she drew her coat tighter, her scalp prickling. Though it cost every bit of courage she had, she returned his stare with disdain.
She knew his kind too well.
The gangly boy appeared frozen in place, unsure what to say or do. He glanced at the pot of food with palpable longing, and the flickering firelight deepened his blue eyes.
“Sawyer, come sit next to me. We’ll get you something to eat.” Nora patted the space beside her on the log. Relief came into the boy’s eyes, and he slowly walked to her as though afraid that Bittercreek would yank him back or hit him.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he whispered, dropping next to her.
Nora put her arm around his thin shoulders. “You’re among friends.”
“What you whispering ’bout over there?” Bittercreek glared and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t go making the boy all soft. I need him toughened up.”
Nora ignored him and rose to fill a plate that she took back to Sawyer. “Here you go.”
Bittercreek stalked to her and stood inches away. “The boy eats when I say.” He reached for the plate only to be met with Jack’s loaded gun, pressed to his side.
Jack had risen so fast Nora had missed it, her attention on the man whose boots touched the toes of her shoes. She met Bittercreek’s stare, re
fusing to back down.
“The boy eats now,” Jack growled low. “If you have a problem with that, we’ll face off right here.”
Nora backed out of the way, her attention on the man who’d just claimed her as his wife.
Woodrow drew his gun also. “I stand with Jack.”
“Me too,” Undertaker barked.
Poteet nodded. “I never had any use for your kind, Bittercreek. You’d best move along.”
Nora admired these men for the loyalty they showed Jack.
Finding himself outnumbered, Bittercreek grunted and straightened. “Come on, kid. We ain’t welcome.”
“The boy stays.” Jack had yet to remove his weapon from the outlaw’s side.
A minute passed as Bittercreek scanned the group, evidently trying to take in the turn of events. Nora watched his glittering yellow eyes. They reminded her of a cat.
Finally, the surly man snarled. “He belongs to me.”
“Not anymore.” Jack motioned to the darkness. “Go. Come back and I’ll finish this.”
“It ain’t over, Bowdre.”
Nora watched Jack jerk a little in surprise. “I see you’ve heard of me. An admirer?”
Red streaks crawled up Bittercreek’s neck. He spat on the ground at Jack’s feet. “That’s what I think of you. Stay out of my way. Only a coward hides behind his friends.”
“I’m not hiding.” A muscle worked in Jack’s jaw, and Nora could feel his icy anger. “I’ll meet you anywhere and come alone. Just name the time and place.” He paused. “But you’re more the kind who’ll sneak up behind a man in the dark.”
“Best watch the shadows then.” Bittercreek whirled and stalked off into the night.
Only after he’d disappeared did Nora set the plate in Sawyer’s lap. His hand shook as he raised a forkful of food to his mouth. Nora was sure he hadn’t been allowed to eat in a while. She sat down beside the boy, her own legs trembling. Jack put away his gun and returned to his place on the log next to her.
“Not sure that was the smartest move, Bowdre.” Undertaker took a swig from the bottle and passed it. “Now, you’ll have the posse and Bittercreek gunning for you.”
