All he could hope was that when she was ready to pull herself out of the grave she’d buried herself in, she’d come back to him.
And if not, well, he still had a stallion to catch.
Lasso at the ready, he clucked his tongue, urging Fortune to a lope. He kept the stallion in his sights as he moved out of the tree line into open terrain. A flickering memory of wicked hooves pawing air, of Annie tumbling off his back, of Emilio being trampled and dragged in the dirt, flashed through Brett’s mind.
Let him go, Brett.
Doubt slivered its way under his skin. Could he control the horse once he had him roped?
Brett rejected the advice now as he had then. If he couldn’t catch the beast, it wouldn’t be because he didn’t try.
The stallion moved into a clear pathway and Brett let his lasso go slack for the final charge. Just as he started to circle the loop, the steed froze, ears point-high, nose extended, eyes trained straight ahead, sensing something amiss.
At first Brett thought he’d caught his scent. But then a flash of movement near the canyon wall captured Brett’s attention. Two riders on barebacked ponies suddenly appeared and Brett’s mouth dropped open.
Fortune shifted nervously beneath him as he dug for his scope and honed in on the figures. Black hair streaming like banners behind them, one wore a yellow bordered cavalry coat and fringed trousers, while on the other wore a chest plate over bare skin and a calf-length breech cloth.
Brett’s blood surged with disbelief, then fury. After all this time. . . .
A quick assessment of distance between the stallion and himself and the stallion and the charging Indians assured Brett that Fortune could easily beat the Indian ponies, but the same instinct that told him when to draw and when to fold now urged him to wait out of sight.
His patience paid off when the riders caught up to the stallion in mid-bolt.
One man jumped on the stallion’s back in the same way Brett had seen Annie do, then flipped a rope around his nose while the second man threw a rope around his neck. The horse whinnied and reared; the Indian on his back held on with a grace that Brett envied. Once the forelegs made contact with the ground, the Indian quickly slid a gunnysack over the stallion’s head.
Though the horse alternately dug his rear hooves into the dirt and whipped his head back and forth in frenzied objection, neither Indian seemed daunted. They both dismounted and approached the horse.
Brett couldn’t hear, but he figured they were soothing the stallion.
His guess proved correct when, after long, pulsing minutes, the animal calmed. They mounted their ponies and led him blindly through the canyon floor.
Brett followed at a distance, his curiosity growing when they seemed in no hurry.
Only when they stopped at the remains of a familiar homestead, at the end of the day, did his curiosity turn to foreboding.
The plains stretched as far as the eye could see, the only difference between earth and sky a thin dark line.
She used to follow that line, hoping she’d reach it one day and just drop off the face of the earth. It had never happened, and now Annie realized she had nowhere to go anymore. Mexico no longer sounded appealing. Going west was certain death. East was a possibility, but she’d stick out like a sore thumb.
Maybe north. Granddad had talked about the beauty of the land, and she’d heard of men driving cattle and horses up to Montana Territory. Where there were ranches, there were horses needing to be tamed and ranchers to be conned. Since she’d never collected her fee from Brett, she’d have to make up the loss. . . .
She lowered herself against Chance’s neck and closed her eyes. Who was she fooling? She didn’t want to go to Montana. She didn’t want to steal or lie or cheat.
She wanted to go home. Not just someplace to hang her hat, but a place to belong, and someone to belong to.
Heaven help her, she wanted to be back in Brett’s arms.
She missed hearing his voice asking her in the middle of the night, “Annie, you awake?” And she missed the scent of his skin on a hot summer night, and his strength when she felt alone or scared.
Strange how new memories formed, replacing old ones. At one time it had been black hair and brown eyes that made her heart swell, now the colors had lightened to wheat brown and green.
“Stop it, Annie. You’ll forget him soon enough.” She had to—for his own sake.
Yet as the days dragged on, the words lost their force. The sky seemed too vast, the nights too long, the days too lonely. The temptation to turn around grew harder to resist.
I’ll show you again, just give us a chance.
What kind of life could they lead, with her always looking over her shoulder? Or waiting for the next bullet to fire? He’d never be safe with her. Like Sekoda, he’d want to keep her safe, and it would kill him.
A shrill whinny bounced off the canyon walls, jolting her. She whipped her upper body first in one direction, then the other, trying to trace the source. Prickles of anxiety broke out at the back of her neck.
She told herself there was nothing to be alarmed about. Maybe a wild dog had frightened a horse. Or a mare ran into a wall of vines.
But she couldn’t erase the image of hundreds of mustangs being driven toward a cliff, or Emilio being towed on his belly by a panicked stallion. . . .
Annie wheeled Chance around and backtracked, knowing she’d not rest easy until she solved the mystery.
Trepidation mounted as Annie scanned the walls, unable to quell the sinking feeling that she was being driven toward a cliff of her own.
Then ahead, across the canyon, she spotted a pair of riders. Renegades from the looks of them, and in between them, the distinctive glossy blue black hide of Brett’s stallion.
Oh, if Brett had any idea that they’d seized his horse, he would be fit to be tied. He wanted Blue Fire more than anything.
She hardened herself against the flare of pity for him. It was no longer her concern. Besides, she’d told him to let the stallion have his freedom and he hadn’t listened. At least the Comanche would have sense enough to set him free if they couldn’t tame him.
Annie’s determination to remain indifferent vanished at the flash of a familiar gray Arabian and its broad-shouldered rider behind the tree line. A horrifying thought numbed her mind. If Brett was aware of the stallion’s capture, he’d not stop until he claimed that horse. And she’d seen him in action: he knew little to nothing about controlling a mustang, much less stealing one from beneath the keen noses of the Comanche!
Without further compunction, Annie cut across the canyon, determined to catch the stallion once and for all. She couldn’t give Brett herself, but she could give him something better. She could give him his dream.
Brett lay on his belly at the canyon’s rim just above Annie’s property, his attention trained on the only structure left standing—a slant-roofed stable with an open lean-to attached to one side. The Indians had hobbled the stallion within the crumbling corral, obviously not trusting the security of the fences, and with good reason. One man then went inside the stables, while the other paced in the shade of the overhang.
With only two guards, Brett could slip past them. He just needed to bide his time and wait for the right moment to slip down and get the stallion; he’d come too far now to leave without him.
What the Indians even wanted with the horse, he couldn’t figure. Nor could he hedge a guess as to why they’d brought the steed to this particular section of the canyon. They gave the impression of waiting for something, and he hoped this wasn’t to be a rendevous for renegades.
A jangle of reins drew his notice to the plains at his back at the same time he heard his name called. Flap Jack, Dogie, and Henry approached at a canter on horseback.
Brett climbed to his feet and walked toward them. “What are you fellas doing here?”
“Me and Flap Jack got worried when you didn’t come back,” Henry answered, dismounting. “Didn’t mean to bring the boy—h
e follered us and we didn’t notice till we were halfway here.”
Brett tried not to stare at Dogie standing beside the pinto with his hands in his pockets and his chin tucked to his chest. “How’s Emilio?”
“Lucky. Busted his arm in two places and broke three ribs, but a circuit doc got him fixed up.”
“I don’t suppose you heard anything about the fillies yet?”
“Not yet, but I expect Tex got ’em back to the Triple Ace safe and sound by now.” Henry scanned the level area. “Where’s Annie?”
“She left,” Brett replied in a flat tone.
Dogie perked up. “Left? Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did y’all get the stallion?”
“No, they did.” He pointed to the camp below.
“Good glory, what are Comanche doin’ with him?”
“I was just about to rope him when they managed to beat me to the punch.”
“But why? They revere that horse—think it has special powers or some such.”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”
Henry rubbed his bristled jaw. “I got an un easy feelin’ about this, Ace. It ain’t the Comanche way. Usually when they steal a horse, they do it and skedaddle. They don’t pitch camp. It’s too dangerous—especially with blue coats perching like vultures.”
“Unless they’re waiting for something. Something valuable.”
“Like what?”
Brett paced the ground. “What do the Comanche want more than anything?” he thought out loud.
“Revenge,” Flap Jack suggested.
“Freedom,” Dogie offered.
“Their old way of life back,” Wade Henry said.
“That’s right—and they’ll fight to the death for it. How better to fight than with guns? We know someone is supplying them; what if that some-one is willing to exchange weapons for this horse?”
A troubled frown multiplied the wrinkles on Henry’s brow. “Ace, it might not mean anything, but we ran into Rafe at the Silver Spur.”
“Sure did,” Flap Jack added. “He said he’d gone to work for Ike Savage. He was boasting about how he’d teach you who was boss.”
“You think he’s trying to steal the horse out from under my nose for revenge?”
“No, I think he’s stealin’ it for Savage,” Wade Henry answered.
“But why would Ike want the stallion?”
The answer hit them both at the same time.
“Annie.”
Chapter 24
Hands on his hips, Brett paced the ground. “What a tangled mess.” This whole thing was getting more complicated by the moment.
The only reason Ike might want Annie was if he knew she was Mustang Annie. How had Ike discovered they’d be in the canyon, though? Brett had been very careful not to reveal Annie’s involvement with the outfit, much less their direction. Now that he thought on it, it did seem odd for Ike to have shown up in Sage Flat at the same time as he had.
Rafe. He was the only one with grudge enough against Brett to alert Ike where to find them.
“When Savage heard the rumors of me hiring a female mustanger, he put two and two together,” Brett said. “He’s got two reasons to want her. One, she threatens his position and his life, and two, she escaped his wrath.”
“Savage don’t like being played for a fool.”
“So he figures on catching the stallion to catch her. But there’s one thing he didn’t count on—Annie not going after the bait.”
“Uh, Ace?” Dogie interrupted. “She is now.”
Brett leaped to his feet and raced to the rim. Even without the scope, he could make out the familiar figure skulking around the perimeter of the pen, her blonde hair rippling in the sunshine.
So that was why she’d been so adamant that he not go after the stallion.
She’d planned on stealing it herself.
Betrayal clubbed into his chest with bruising force. He didn’t want to believe it. Closing his eyes, Brett finally had to face the fact that any feelings from the night they’d spent together belonged to him and him alone.
Still, he couldn’t just sit back and let her walk into a trap. He didn’t know how many lies she’d told or how many times he’d been conned by her, but one truth he couldn’t deny—Savage had used her brutally, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her going through that ordeal again.
“I’ve got to stop her.” Brett headed for the ridge of rock marking the downward trail.
Wade Henry turned him around with a gnarled hand to his arm. “Think about this—if you go racing down there half-cocked, what’s gonna happen to Annie?”
“I’m not just going to let Savage catch her.”
“We might already be too late,” Flap Jack notified them in a grave tone. “Savage is riding in now, and he brought company.”
Three additional men had joined the unit. Brett didn’t recognize the two driving the buckboard wagon stacked to the hilt with crates, but the third horseman he’d have known anywhere. Rafe.
Three against six. Best to go for the leader, then the rest would fall out. Thinking quickly, Brett asked, “Flap Jack, did you happen to bring along your cards?”
“Never leave home without ’em.”
Brett pocketed the deck, then started issuing orders. “First thing we want to do is get Annie out of there. I’ll go down and create some sort of a diversion before he sees her. Meanwhile, Henry, I want you to come in from the north. Flap Jack, come in from the south.”
“What about me?” Dogie said.
“Take Fortune. Ride into Tascosa, find Jesse Justiss, and tell him to bring his ass back here fast. No one else, just Jesse. Think you can handle that?”
“Sure thing, Ace.”
He rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders and gave him a stern look. “And when this is over, you and I are going to have a little discussion.”
Leaving Chance tied a safe distance from the corral, Annie kept low as she made her way along the sagging fence to the gate closest to the stable door. A flatbed wagon pulled up and commanded the guards’ attention. It was now or never.
Her sole focus on getting in and out before being caught, she didn’t hear the approach of footsteps until it was too late.
“I knew you’d come for him.”
Annie’s hand froze on the latch of the gate. Her heart went solid in her breast, and every drop of blood in her body sank to her feet.
That voice had haunted her for four years, lying in the back of her memory like the shadow of a beast.
She turned slowly. The shadow detached itself from a tall cottonwood and the face of her worst nightmare appeared in the pre-dusk glow.
“How did you find me?”
“Haven’t you learned by now that you can’t escape the long arm of the law?” His mouth slanted in a smile that turned her stomach. “Actually, you can thank your friend Corrigan.”
Brett? He wouldn’t have told Ike where to find her.
“Never could keep your hands off the dark studs, could you Annie? Where is Corrigan, anyway?”
Annie refused to answer, afraid if he discovered Corrigan was roosting just above them, he’d send his men after Brett.
Instinct had her searching for an avenue of escape. In front of her, men crowded around the buckboard, indifferent to her plight. Behind her, the canyon wall loomed; to her left, the pasture, and to her right, a grove of cottonwoods.
“I wouldn’t try it,” Savage warned.
Gripping her hair tightly in his thick fist, he prodded her into the stables and gave her a shove. Annie stumbled but she reined in her panic, knowing she couldn’t let him get her riled or she’d make a mistake.
Think, Annie.
She had her revolver in her boot. Did she risk shooting him and drawing the attention of his men?
Something else. Something quiet. Her knife!
Annie wasn’t sure how much damage it would do to his thick skin, but if she caught him unawar
es she could jump on his back—slice his throat. . . .
“Oh, this place brings back memories, don’t it?” He stood in the warped doorway, hands braced on either side of him against the frame. She kept the bile down her throat and her eyes on his back as she worked the knife out of her pocket. She could barely make out the stocky shape of one of the Indians inspecting the contents of a crate. “Looks like Ole Quanah is gonna be right pleased with the goods that stallion bought him. Poor bastards don’t even realize all the guns in the world aren’t gonna help them. But what can you expect from a bunch of dumb savages?”
Fury rose inside Annie, and without thinking, she went after Ike with teeth bared. For such a large man, he was exceedingly swift. He spun around, seized her by the wrist and flung her to the ground like a pesky fly. The knife skidded across the floor and landed beneath an old work table. He picked it up, then dragged the blade down his thumb with a smile.
Breathing rapidly, Annie realized too late that her attack had only incited the animal in him. She scrambled to her feet with a sense of déjà vu. Now she’d have to take her chances with the revolver. She could only hope his mass would muffle the sound. If not . . . she could always use the second bullet on herself.
“Ohh, sweet Annie, you just never learn, do you?” His fingers lightly grazed her jaw and she shied away from his touch. “What other weapons you got hiding under there?”
Annie fought for all she was worth as he roughly searched her. Her resistance only delighted him, but she could not let him find her revolver—
“Ah, what’s this?”
She almost wept when he pocketed the Smith and Wesson. As her whole body went limp, he laughed a graveling, bottled sound. “Oh, Annie, Annie—you’ve become quite the little outlaw, haven’t you?” His smell choked her, his body crushed her to the wall.
Without her weapons, Annie knew her only chance of coming out of this alive was to feign surrender and catch him unprepared. So when his hand glided down her throat, she forced herself not to cringe. She nearly lost her lunch, though, when his tongue paved a slimy path down her neck. Eyes closed, stomach churning, she inched down the wall . . .
Mustang Annie Page 21
