The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  One look at the cold hard gaze leveled at her, and she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. Her legs went numb with terror unlike anything she had ever experienced before. The frozen feeling crept up past her knees, all the way to her chest.

  Maggie wet her lips with her tongue and tried to clear her throat, but could not budge the lump of overwhelming fear lodged there. By the time her mind processed the man’s menacing stance and urged her to run, he had closed the distance between them. Before the scream bottled up in her frozen chest could burst free, he clapped an immense gloved hand across her open mouth, and spun her around until her back was plastered to his front.

  A cold sweat broke out behind her knees.

  With a deftness and strength beyond her comprehension, he slipped a gag over her mouth, yanked her arms behind her, and tied them.

  Her breath came in short gasps. She could not get enough air. With a will of iron, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on something—anything—to calm her breathing. Her frantic thoughts skipped back and forth until finally she knew what to think about—the last time she felt safe. Immediately, the welcome image of broad shoulders and brilliant green eyes filled her. But the rag tasted foul, of sweat and dirt. She started to gag—she needed air.

  The room swayed and her knees buckled, right before her world went black.

  ***

  “Maggie?”

  Ida knocked a bit louder and put her ear to the door, but didn’t hear a sound. “Poor mite’s exhausted,” she said quietly opening the door.

  Standing in the middle of the small room, Ida felt her head begin to swim. The reason for the chaos that greeted her didn’t register at first. But as the seconds ticked past, a feeling of dread settled deep in her bones, chilling her.

  Maggie was gone. From the looks of what was left of her things, she had been taken by force.

  Ida screamed for all she was worth. “Taylor!”

  The sound of her husband’s boot heels swiftly pounding on the hardwood floor as he raced to her side, were of little comfort to her. Maggie was gone—someone had kidnapped her.

  The familiar sight of her husband’s bespectacled face as he burst through the open doorway went a long way toward soothing her frayed nerves. He took one look at the shambles, and let out a low whistle.

  “What happened?” he asked, running a hand through his closely cropped iron-gray hair.

  “Someone’s taken Maggie.”

  He wrapped an arm around her, and Ida felt herself being propelled through the door down the hallway to the kitchen.

  “Drink this.” A short squat glass was thrust into her hand.

  She stared down at the amber-colored liquid—and for an awful moment, she imagined the worst. Maggie was gone and they would never find her. The poor young woman had placed her trust in them, and they had failed her.

  Strong hands clasped her upper arms.

  “Snap out of it, Ida.” She heard the strain in her husband’s voice and hung on to the sound of it, like a lifeline, depending upon him to pull her out of the swirling darkness that threatened.

  The cool smooth edge of the glass touched her lips a heartbeat before the potent whiskey burned a fiery trail down her throat. She coughed.

  Through watery eyes, she looked up at the concern-lined face inches from her own. “We have to find her.”

  “Will you be all right while I go fetch the sheriff?”

  She nodded her head.

  “I’ll be back before you miss me.” He pressed a swift kiss to her forehead.

  Ida raised a hand to touch the side of his face, but he was already gone. With a supreme effort, she began to pull herself together, telling herself it wouldn’t do Maggie any good to fall to pieces. Lifting the glass to her lips, she downed the contents in one gulp.

  Her eyes crossed and her chest burned, but she felt a bit steadier.

  Fifteen minutes later, when Sheriff Roscoe and her husband came in through the back door, she was ready to do her part to help track down Maggie’s kidnappers.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sharp pain sliced through the left side of Maggie’s head as it bounced against the horse’s flank, keeping time with the fast trot. Closing her eyes kept the dirt and grit the horse’s front hooves kicked up out of them, but there was nothing she could do about her roiling stomach.

  Maggie mumbled a heartfelt prayer under her breath that someone would find them before all the life was bounced out of her. She had no idea how long she’d been lying facedown across the stranger’s packhorse, but it was better than the way she’d started the trip, flung across his lap, with the edge of her jaw pounding against the side of his knee. She flexed her jaw and winced. A bone-deep ache radiated from below her ear all the way to her chin.

  She refused to be embarrassed just because she started to retch on that dreadful man’s boots. He’d been quiet up until she’d started gagging. Her tender ears still burned from the litany of curses he’d flung at her, though it was surely a sign of providence that he stopped long enough to lift her off his lap and deposit her on the packhorse. Although if she had a choice, she would be sitting.

  One thought kept worrying her—the two bedrolls, and after a quick glance, what appeared to be cookware and supplies. Was one of those bedrolls for her? If it was, just how many days did he intend to keep her hostage? The supplies the silent man carried would last more than a week. Fear coiled tightly within her breast, making it even harder to draw in a breath.

  Crossing the dark foaming Atlantic Ocean had not scared the breath out of her, but the prospect of being alone with this stranger for more than one day was simply terrifying. Just being next to the man made her flesh creep and her heart pound.

  Please let him stop soon.

  As if she had spoken the words aloud, the horse obeyed and came to an abrupt halt. Maggie strained to listen, hoping to hear anything that sounded familiar. Though what would sound familiar way out here in the middle of nowhere, she had no idea. She focused on her surroundings, ignoring the pounding in her head and the rush of blood through her veins. Then she heard it—the soothing sound of water tumbling over rocks. ‘Twas music to her ears. If the man had stopped to water the horses, maybe she would have a chance to wash the awful taste from her mouth. Maybe she could convince the man to keep from gagging her. While she was at it, she’d ask to ride astride instead of upside-down like a sack of potatoes.

  The saddle creaked; the sound of spurs jingling told her he had dismounted. The quiet that followed was unnerving. Where was he now? She turned her head to better hear the sound of hooves, boots, or breathing—anything that would tell her she had not been abandoned in the middle of the night. In the middle of nowhere!

  Just when she thought she couldn’t stand the wait, she was roughly hauled from the horse and set on her feet. The action was so swift, the blood that had pooled in her brain from hanging upside-down rushed all the way down to her toes. Her legs promptly folded up beneath her, and she felt herself sliding toward the ground.

  The air was suddenly ripe with cursing, as the man placed his hands beneath her arms and lifted her up until she was eye level. Cold dark eyes glared at her. Stark fear blended with panic, and for a moment, her brain ceased to function.

  She could not move, Maggie did not see a spark of life in those eyes. They were the eyes of a killer. Her tongue felt paralyzed. There was no point in trying to speak.

  A heartbeat later, her brain kicked in and along with it the warnings she had often heard growing up. The devil and his minions walk the earth.

  Dizzy from the unorthodox ride through the country, and the possibility she was about to meet her doom, Maggie was tempted to give in to the darkness swirling about her. It would be a blessing after all she’d been through in the last few hours.

  “Never give up!”

  Da? Maggie shook her head to clear it, focusing on the face in front of her. Slashing black brows and hard dark eyes left little hope of softness from the man, but she knew in h
er heart that she couldn’t give up hope. Her Da would never have encouraged her to give in.

  A flicker in the depths of his dark gaze changed the intense expression. “Promise not to scream, and I’ll remove the gag.”

  She nodded so hard, the remaining pins came loose and her hair slipped free from the topknot Ida had helped her fashion.

  The man’s eyes widened and an expression she began to dread crossed his heard features. She bit back the need to scream and instead offered up another silent prayer. Maggie held her breath when he reached around the back of her head, then let it go in a whoosh of air as the gag slipped free.

  “Thank you,” she said, working her jaw, ignoring the pain on the left side of it. It would be an ugly bruise, she knew.

  He nodded, then turned to walk the horses over to the stream. Maggie sighed watching him, wondering if all men were dense, or only the ones with devious intentions. She couldn’t follow him without falling flat on her face; her hands were still tightly bound behind her.

  “Can ye not untie me hands?” she called out to the retreating man.

  He stopped long enough to shake his head no. Maggie couldn’t believe the man would let her stand there trussed up like a chicken about to be roasted. “I’ve got a powerful thirst—”

  “So do the horses.”

  Either the man was deliberately pretending to ignore her needs, or he didn’t much care. Probably the latter. Now that she was still, she realized that all that bouncing had affected her in a more urgent way. She had to relieve herself—soon!

  “I need a few minutes of privacy.”

  The man was making his way back toward her, the reins to both horses in his right hand. He stopped, spat out a curse, and rubbed a hand across his face. She wondered why he dropped the reins, but the horses were obviously used to it. They walked a short distance away before starting to graze. She had not spent that much time with the pair of plow horses her family kept back in Ireland. Maggie wondered if they would bolt, but after watching them chew contentedly, she decided they would not try to break free.

  Her captor pulled a deadly-looking knife from his belt and held it an inch from her nose. “If you’re not back in five minutes, I may be tempted to use this on you,” he said, waving the blade back and forth for emphasis.

  She nodded her understanding. Though it took a great deal of courage, Maggie turned her back to him so he could slice through the bonds that held her. Hoping he could see well enough in the growing darkness to slice the rope and not her hands, she stood still as a stone.

  He grabbed her right hand. The ropes cut into her wrists when he pulled them taut. With a jerk and a few sawing movements, she was free.

  Maggie almost stumbled in her desire to put some distance between herself and the devil’s own. She was tempted to rub the stinging sensation from her wrists, but from the way they throbbed, she was afraid she would end up doing more damage. She slipped behind a trio of bushes to answer nature’s call, hurrying lest her kidnapper come looking for her with his knife.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, once she had rejoined him.

  He lifted her into the saddle and let his gaze sweep from the top of her head down to where the tips of her high-buttoned shoes peeked out from beneath her dusty gown. This time, she was aware enough to recognize the look in his eyes, and for the first time wondered if she had more to fear from this man than abduction.

  Never letting his gaze leave hers, he closed the distance between them until they stood toe to toe. Though it cost her, she tilted her head back, meeting his lust-filled look with one that promised retribution.

  When he continued to stare at her, she blurted, “If ye harm one hair on me head, me brother Seamus’ll pound ye into the dirt.” Maggie nearly swooned from holding her breath while waiting for him to answer her challenge.

  He ran the tip of his gloved forefinger across her cheek. “It’ll keep till we reach the cabin.”

  She sensed she had been granted a reprieve, but for how long?

  ***

  “Are you satisfied that they’ve told you all they know?” Ryan asked.

  Joshua nodded. He was positive either the driver or the woman was lying about the attack. Their stories were too pat and sounded rehearsed. They were hiding something. But what? Had they come to after being shot only to find Maggie already gone, or had they watched her slip away? Were they trying to protect her? His head hurt from trying to puzzle it out. He needed coffee.

  The one bit of information he and Ryan agreed on was that Maggie Flaherty had been on board that stage. The arrow to his heart bled, the wound grievous, as he realized that Ryan’s Maggie was indeed his Maggie.

  Pacing in front of the sheriff’s desk, Joshua tried to piece together what he would say when he found her. Right now the thing they needed to do was find her, quickly, before anything else happened to her.

  “Sheriff!” a young sandy-haired man shouted, barreling through the open door. “Mr. Smith said I was to tell you about the rustlers.”

  “What rustlers?” the sheriff asked, slowing coming to his feet.

  “Over by the Ryan place near Emerson,” the young man answered.

  The foul curse Ryan issued split the air and was echoed by Reilly and Flynn.

  “You’ve got to get back to your ranch.” Joshua settled his hat back on his head.

  “I’m going after Maggie,” Ryan ground out.

  “I can go after her,” Joshua countered. “Besides, I’m better at tracking.”

  For a moment, he thought Ryan would refuse; the man’s face was mottled red with suppressed anger. Joshua had a good idea what Ryan was thinking. He felt a similar rage begin to bubble up within him the moment he’d heard about the attack on the stagecoach. Right now it was taking a considerable amount of effort on his part to keep that rage contained.

  He watched Ryan run a hand through his hair, then heard the man sigh. “All right, then.”

  “I’ll find her,” Joshua promised.

  “Your life depends on it,” Ryan answered.

  Watching Ryan and his men leave, Joshua didn’t know if he would have the courage or faith to let another find the woman he loved, while he headed home to fight a battle against rustlers.

  “Marshal?”

  Joshua turned at the sound of yet another man’s voice.

  He recognized Taylor Smith immediately. “What brings you over here? We’re just about ready to go.”

  “I need to speak with you,” Smith said, staring around at the other men still gathered in the small jail. “Alone.”

  Joshua nodded, walked outside, and waited for the older man to follow.

  “I need to get on the trail before it grows cold.”

  “You need to understand what has been going on with Maggie.”

  Ice sluiced over into his knotted stomach, fear for the woman he cared for nearly blinding him. This was the exact reason he never let himself get too close to any one of the women who pursued him over the years. He could not afford to let anything happen to the woman he let himself love. He nearly laughed at the idea of letting himself fall in love with Maggie. He’d had no control over his heart from the moment he laid eyes on her. Joshua cleared his throat and swallowed his growing fear. “Tell me.”

  “Maggie has some very important papers with her,” Taylor began. “Papers she must deliver to her brother by Wednesday.”

  “Seamus?”

  “Right, her brother over in Emerson.”

  “Why is she sending wires to James Ryan?”

  Taylor shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Joshua did—she and Ryan were obviously a couple. He set that thought aside and tried to focus on the rest of what Taylor was telling him.

  “—thought when the stage was attacked that she was the target.”

  “What?” He only caught the second half of what Taylor had said.

  “Maggie was worried about the papers she was to carry to her brother. We had the sheriff witness a document stating t
hat the papers did exist, and that we had seen them. When she disappeared off the stage, we were worried it had something to do with those papers.”

  “What exactly is it that she’s carrying?”

  “A copy of the deed to her brother’s ranch and the paid mortgage. Apparently he’s having trouble with the local bank.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Joshua said quietly. “Seems Ryan is having a similar problem. I’ll have to make it a point to call on Mr. Emerson and check out his bank.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes. She sent word to me from Pearl’s Place. She was hiding there. Only two people even knew she was hiding there. Luann and myself.”

  “Why was Maggie here if she was safe hiding at Pearl’s?”

  “I persuaded her to come back here with me,” Taylor said, shaking his head. “I thought I could keep her safe until we left for Emerson at dawn.”

  “What happened?”

  “Did you speak to Luann?”

  “Yes. And I believe that she’s telling the truth. She doesn’t know who kidnapped Maggie. We both agree it all comes back around to her brother and his papers. Are they gone?”

  “Didn’t Sheriff Roscoe fill you in?”

  Joshua nodded. “I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything else I needed to know before I set out to find her.” He paused in front of the doorway to the jail. “I will find her.”

  The look of relief on the older man’s face was one had hoped to see on Maggie’s face when he did find her. If only he knew what he was going to say to her when he did.

  ***

  Joshua cleared his mind of all thoughts save one, finding the kidnapper’s trail. Tracking was his specialty; he’d never had any difficulty locating a trail before, but he’d never had a stake in the outcome before.

  The fact that he was coming to care deeply for a woman who might be promised to another disturbed his thought process to the degree that it continued to get in the way of his investigation. He’d been involved in a romance or two over the years he spent enforcing the law as marshal. But the women never got tangled up in his thoughts, never got in the way of his work. It had been easy to separate the two.