Forsaken Falls

by Shirleen Davies

  “What will you tell her?”

  A feral grin appeared on JW’s face. “Leave that to me.”

  Leaving their almost full glasses on the table, they walked out of the Dixie, Derrick taking the reins of both horses before mounting and riding out of town. JW stood on the boardwalk, his gaze still focused down the street. When Allie didn’t reappear, he walked across the street, making his way to the shop. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he looked both ways, then stepped inside. Spotting Nora at the back, he locked the door, then started toward her.

  Glancing up, she stood, setting aside the dress in her lap. “May I help you?”

  “Dax Pelletier sent me here to get you. There’s been an accident at the ranch. Wyatt Jackson’s been hurt.”

  Placing one hand around her waist, the other on the counter to steady herself, she sucked in a breath. “What happened?”

  “Dax will explain everything when you get to the ranch. I’ve got a horse ready for you around back.”

  Dashing around the counter, she grabbed her reticule, then scribbled a note to Allie. Placing it where she would find it, Nora looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember meeting you at the ranch.”

  “My name’s John. I’m new there.”

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, but she had no time to sort out the cause. Wyatt was her priority, and she needed to be there with him.

  “I need to lock the door.”

  JW grabbed her arm as she started past him. “It’s already done. We should hurry.” He looked at the back door. “I don’t know how bad Jackson is hurt.” Directing her toward the back, he picked up the note she’d written to Allie, crumbling it in his hand and slipping it into his pocket.

  Nodding her understanding, she preceded him outside, then stopped. “Where are the horses?”

  “Behind the clinic.” He took her elbow, looking both ways as he rushed between the buildings. When they were out of sight, he turned her toward him.

  Her wide eyes searched his. “Why are we stopping?”

  “Change of plans.” Pulling his arm back, his fist connected with her jaw. Panic filled her eyes an instant before they rolled back in her head and she crumpled to the ground.

  Nora felt the extreme pain in her jaw first, then a pounding in her head. Trying to lift her arm, she stilled at the feel of restraints around her wrists, her arms secured above her head. Opening her eyes, Nora’s panicked gaze searched the room, seeing a small table with a lantern supplying the only light in the cabin. Two chairs, a cupboard against one wall, and a stove in the corner made up the rest of the furnishings. The windows were uncovered, the darkness outside indicating a good deal of time had passed. All seemed quiet, except for the distant thundering of what she believed to be a waterfall.

  Glancing down at her legs, she winced at the sight of her ankles tied to the end of the bed, her dress pushed up to her knees. Nora wanted to scream for help, but the logical part of her brain told her it wouldn’t do any good.

  Her heart pounded as she tried to make sense of her circumstances. Closing her eyes, Nora tried to remember what happened before she woke up in the rundown cabin.

  A man had walked up to her, insisting Wyatt had been injured, then escorted her out of the shop. A moment later, she felt a sharp pain to her face. Her throat tightened as she looked around the deserted cabin, the reality of her situation overwhelming her. She’d been taken.

  Settling back on the thin mattress, she tried to ignore the pain radiating across her face. She needed to think. Nora did her best to remember the man’s face—dark beard, ruddy complexion, soulless eyes. She remembered those eyes sending a warning when he spoke. An alarm she ignored because of her worry over Wyatt.

  Swallowing the ball of frustration clogging her throat, she thought of Wyatt. He’d be frantic when he learned she’d gone missing, as would Gabe and Lena. Did they already know about her being taken? Had a search party already been formed?

  Tugging on her restraints, she winced as the ropes cut into her wrists, then stilled at voices outside the door. Closing her eyes, she willed herself not to move. The door opened, boots sounding on the wooden floor. She wanted to open her eyes, confront whoever had taken her, but she forced herself to stay calm, wait for the right time.

  “I don’t know why you hit her so hard, JW. She’s still out.”

  When Nora felt a hand on her shoulder, she clenched her jaw to keep quiet. She wanted to learn as much as possible about the men who’d abducted her before they realized she could hear them talking.

  “The longer she’s out, the better.”

  She heard the sound of chairs scraping across the floor, wood squeaking as someone sat down.

  “I plan to leave in a few hours to talk to the person who’s going to deliver the message to Jackson.”

  Nora’s breath caught at the mention of Wyatt.

  “Who, Derrick?”

  “An old codger who lives in the little house behind the old clinic. I’m sure you’ve seen him, JW. I heard one of the doctors used to live there before they built apartments above the new clinic. He spends his nights at the Dixie, drinking until he stumbles home. I’m going to be there when he arrives at his place tonight, convince him to ride out to the Pelletier ranch in the morning.”

  “You’re sure he has a horse?” JW asked.

  “He talks about his old mare when he’s drinking. Keeps it at the livery. I have no doubt he’ll deliver the message.” Derrick rubbed the back of his neck. “You and I both know Jackson won’t waste any time meeting us. By tomorrow night, he’ll be dead and you’ll have your revenge, JW.”

  “No!” The men jumped, turning to see Nora’s wide, panicked eyes. “Please. You can’t hurt him.”

  “I told you we should’ve gagged her, Derrick.” Pulling a handkerchief from a pocket, he walked to the bed.

  Shaking her head, she tried to turn away, knowing her struggles would be useless. “He’s a good man who’s done nothing.”

  JW forced the material into her mouth, tying the ends behind her head. “Wyatt Jackson is a murderer and a coward. It’s time he paid for all he’s done.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, her body shaking with fear. Not for herself. The terror gripping her was for Wyatt and what the men planned to do to him. She wanted to tell them they had the wrong man.

  Struggling to pull free, she tried to scream though the handkerchief, her pleading gaze locking on JW. Seeing him draw his hand back, she tried to avoid the blow. An instant later, her body went slack.

  Leaving his horse down the street, Derrick made his way behind the buildings, careful to avoid detection. He stood outside the Dixie long enough to see the old man stagger into his house. Waiting until certain no one saw him, Derrick opened the door, already hearing labored breathing from the bedroom.

  Stepping carefully into the darkened house, he pulled the handkerchief up, covering his face before walking to the bed. Leaning down, he placed his hand over the man’s mouth, startling him awake. He struggled for a short time before Derrick pulled his gun, pointing it at the man’s head.

  “Shut up and stay still. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  The man quieted, his glassy eyes trying to focus.

  “I’m going to remove my hand. Don’t give me any trouble.”

  Nodding, the man sat up when Derrick removed his hand. “What do you want?”

  Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, Derrick held it out to him. “I want you to deliver this tomorrow to Wyatt Jackson at Redemption’s Edge. It goes to nobody else. Do you understand?”

  The man lifted a shaky hand, taking the message. “Wyatt Jackson.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I know who he is. He trains horses for the Pelletiers.”

  Derrick nodded. “Good. Give it to him and no one else first thing tomorrow morning.” Reaching into another pocket, he pulled out a few bills. “This is for your trouble.” Walking to the door, he turned, sending a hard glare at the man
. “If Jackson doesn’t get the message, I’ll be back. Believe me. You don’t want to see me again.”

  The man stroked his horse’s neck, whispering words of encouragement as they made their way to the ranch. The old mare had been with him for twenty-five years, the last few consisting of traveling less than a few miles a week. This was a long trek for the weary animal that moved at a slow pace, her head bobbing up and down.

  He’d been trying to place the man who gave him the message, recognizing the voice. The handkerchief did a good job of covering his face, which meant whatever the message contained couldn’t be good. From all he’d heard, Wyatt Jackson worked hard and had a good reputation at the ranch. Everyone knew the Pelletiers hired the best men around, letting go of anyone who didn’t live up to their standards. Jackson had been there long enough to prove himself.

  Following the trail, he raised his head when the large ranch house came into sight. Reining his horse to a stop, he stroked her neck again.

  “Guess we’d better get this over with, girl.”

  Drawing closer, he heard a man yell to the others, pointing toward him. By the time he reached the barn, a man he didn’t recognize came over to greet him.

  “Something we can do for you?”

  Nodding, he pulled the message from his pocket. “I got a message here for Wyatt Jackson.”

  “I’ll make sure he gets it.”

  The old man shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got to give it to him myself.”

  Shrugging, Dirk Masters turned toward a nearby corral, nodding. “He’s working a horse. Ride over to the fence and I’ll fetch him for you.” Taking long strides, Dirk signaled to Wyatt. “Man’s got a message for you, Jackson.”

  Wyatt kept his gaze focused on the horse, yelling over his shoulder. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  It took a little longer than a minute for him to finish with the horse, then set the gelding loose in a nearby pasture. Walking toward the fence, not recognizing the man sitting atop the older horse, he pulled off his gloves, slapping them against a thigh.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got a message here for you.” He held out the paper, a relieved sigh escaping when Wyatt took it. “I need to get going. My horse ain’t used to these long rides.”

  Wyatt opened the paper, his gut clenching. “Hold on. Who gave this to you?”

  Shaking his head, the old man tried to rein his horse around. Reaching out, Wyatt grabbed the reins, stepping into his path.

  “You’re not leaving here until I know who gave you this message.”

  “I don’t know. He hid his face.”

  “Is there a problem?” Dirk walked up, unable to miss the anger on Wyatt’s face.

  “Read this.” Wyatt held the paper out.

  Scanning it, he let out a curse, then looked at the old man. “Who gave this to you?”

  “Like I told him, I didn’t see his face. He busted into my place last night, held a gun to my head, and told me to deliver this to Jackson and no one else.”

  “I’ll get some men.” Dirk started to turn away when Wyatt grabbed his arm.

  “It says for me to come alone.”

  Settling fisted hands on his hips, Dirk glared at him. “Whoever’s doing this can say whatever they want. You’re not going there alone.” He pointed a finger at Wyatt. “Now, you stay put while I gather the men.”

  “Sorry, Jackson. Wish I knew more about the man, but I don’t. I can tell you he’s a mean one. If he’s got your woman, I’d do what he says if you want to get her back.”

  Dropping his hold on the horse’s reins, Wyatt stepped away, watching as the old man rode off, not once looking over his shoulder.

  Not wasting time debating, Wyatt ran to the corral, whistling for Rogue. Taking him around the back of the barn so Dirk couldn’t see him, he made quick work of saddling the stallion. Looking around, he hurried to the bunkhouse, grabbing his guns, rifle, and ammunition, then returned to swing atop Rogue.

  Reining the horse around, he didn’t acknowledge the shouts from Dirk and the other men. He had no time to wait for them to get their gear and saddle up. Wyatt didn’t need Dirk to find the location.

  Kicking Rogue into a gallop, he let the anger settle in, strengthening his resolve and feeding his determination. Those men had no idea what they’d gotten themselves into by taking Nora, but they were about to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A rage unlike anything he’d felt since his sister died possessed Wyatt as he urged Rogue along the trail toward Forsaken Falls. The fire in his belly threatened to consume him when he thought of Nora alone and afraid. If they’d hurt her, so much as caused a mark on her body, he’d tear them apart.

  He had no doubt they were luring him into a trap. The thought didn’t scare him. Instead, the knowledge gave him a focal point to plan a counterattack. He knew how to do this, what to look for and what to avoid. The skills that made him successful on his missions during the war were the same ones he’d use to kill the men who’d taken Nora.

  Wyatt knew the location. He’d ridden there one other time, intrigued by the name more than anything. Many considered Forsaken Falls a place of strange happenings and tragic endings. More than one story had been told about people jumping to their deaths, ending what they considered a tragic life in a way that couldn’t be undone. Wyatt had stood at the top, staring down at the plunging water and swirling pool below. No one could survive a fall from such a distance. Even if the stories proved false, their impact lingered, creating haunting images.

  Hearing the roar of tumbling water, Wyatt slowed Rogue to a walk, taking in his surroundings. The tingling at the back of his neck told him the men who held Nora were close.

  Dismounting, he lifted the rifle from its scabbard, stuffing ammunition into his pockets. The two six-shooters on his hips were loaded and ready. He concentrated on his mission to locate the miscreants who’d taken Nora and put them in the ground.

  Leaving Rogue behind, he made a path through the dense undergrowth. A surge of energy rushed through him, clearing his head, allowing his senses to take control. It had been the same during the war. Time seemed to slow down. His movements became effortless as he focused on what had to be done.

  A noise to his right stopped him. Kneeling, Wyatt peered through the thick bushes, his gaze locking on a spot of color. Not for the first time, he felt grateful for the sunlight filtering through the branches.

  Keeping his position, he waited for the man standing several yards away to make a move while he watched for any others. The note indicated more than one person had taken Nora. It could be two or ten. It didn’t matter to Wyatt. The men who held his woman wouldn’t leave alive.

  “JW. Did you hear something?”

  Wyatt’s head shifted toward the voice, the name JW whirling in his head. It had a ring of familiarity, but he couldn’t place it.

  “No, and you need to shut your mouth, Derrick.”

  JW and Derrick. Again, Wyatt went through his past, trying to place the names, coming up with nothing.

  The sound of rustling leaves and breaking branches had his body tensing. The two couldn’t be more than a few yards apart, which gave Wyatt an advantage. He had a history of striking multiple targets within a fifty-yard span. If he got good sightings, they’d be on the ground within seconds. If there were only two.

  When the noises faded into the distance, he rose, moving forward. They were to meet at a spot closer to the base of Forsaken Falls. It would take him about fifteen minutes to reach it. Instead, he looked for a position above where he believed they’d be waiting for him.

  If it were Wyatt, he’d have one man come out to speak with him while the other killed or injured him. He didn’t try to figure out his reasoning, but injuring him made the most sense. Men like these would want to draw out their pleasure at seeing him in pain, maybe take him to where they held Nora and make her watch. Unlike Wyatt, these men wouldn’t go for the smart shot, a quick kill.

&n
bsp; Leaning his rifle against a large boulder, he climbed up, looking out at the pooling water. One man stood in the bushes at the edge of the water, his gaze roaming the area. Wyatt couldn’t see the second man. For now, he assumed only two watched for him.

  Sliding back to the ground, he picked up his rifle, moving around the boulder until he could get a good aim on the man closest to the water. Before he could settle the stock against his shoulder, a noise to his left had him shifting.

  “Put the rifle down, Jackson.”

  Wyatt didn’t move, his focus tightening on the man before him.

  “You deaf, boy?”

  One side of Wyatt’s mouth tilted up. “From where I come from, my Spencer is a pretty fair match to your six-shooter. Do you want to test it?”

  “My men are all around. You won’t get off a shot before they cut you down.”

  Wyatt settled into his stance, his barrel aimed at the man’s head. “You know my name, but I don’t recall yours.”

  “We’ve never met. I’m JW Price, and you’re the man responsible for the deaths of my wife and cousin.” The hand holding the gun began to twitch, a sign the man had begun to tire.

  Wyatt recognized the name as the leader of Price’s Raiders, a splinter group of Quantrill’s Raiders, truly evil men who terrorized towns along the Kansas-Missouri border.

  “There were a lot of casualties during the war, Price. I’m sorry if you lost relatives. Many of us did.”

  “The murders were afterward, Jackson. Do you remember Ned Baylor?”

  Wyatt didn’t change his stance. “A most despicable varmint. He deserved what he got. I wish I’d been the one to pull the trigger.” He saw JW’s eyes widen briefly, then narrow back on him. “Seems the men you sent to find him, or a group of vigilantes, did the deed for me.”

  “That ain’t true. My men wouldn’t have killed him.”