The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  But with Maggie, it had been different from the start. They were meant to be together—linked. He admired her courage, and enjoyed her sense of humor to the point where he found himself imagining what it would be like to come home after a few weeks on the trail and have her waiting for him.

  But it wasn’t her personality that had him waking up in the middle of the night. Thoughts of her porcelain-smooth, milk-white skin dominated his dreams that last few nights. Her fiery-red hair should have been warning enough. Although he hadn’t actually witnessed it yet, she was bound to have a temper to match that red head. For some unfathomable reason, he wanted to see her temper flare. He had a feeling it would be worth the price of making her mad, just to see the show. His hands positively itched to lose themselves in her glorious hair, and trace the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  “You find what you’re looking for down there, Marshal?”

  Joshua’s stomach clenched, and an icy-coldness settled deep in the pit of it. In the last few hours that they’d been trying to locate the kidnapper’s trail out of town, he’d lost focus more than once and been thinking of Maggie.

  It had to stop. Now.

  Concentrating on the two sets of prints, the analytical side of his brain finally kicked in. “These are the same prints.”

  “But the others over there—” Sheriff Coltrane began.

  “—don’t quite match the set we found near the Smiths’ store.” Joshua motioned for the sheriff to come and look more closely at the hoofprints.

  “You see right here”—he pointed at the oddly shaped print—“this horse is about to throw a shoe.”

  He brushed the dirt off his hands, placed a hand on his knee, and rose to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  The miles added up, though it was slow going trying not to disturb the tracks. An hour later, the trail abruptly changed. Joshua got down off his horse and knelt beside the churned-up earth.

  “Signs of a struggle.” He scanned the ground, walked a few paces to the left, then back to the right. The implications of just what type of struggle occurred broke through the barrier he had erected to keep his mind focused and his worry in its place.

  Logically. Think logically.

  The others in the search party pulled up and dismounted, but kept a careful distance from the prints. Joshua studied the pattern until his eyes crossed, finally something caught his eye. He moved over to where the two sets of prints continued and touched his fingers to the packed dirt inside the one horseshoe-shaped mark, and then the other with the loose shoe. Going back over to the prints before the scuffle, he touched the packed dirt inside both sets of prints. Just as he suspected, the depth was different.

  “What do you see, Marshal?” one of the men asked.

  “They were riding double up to this point.” He indicated with the sweep of his arm toward the churned-up earth. “See, here?” he asked as the group converged around him. “The depth of the prints is more even.”

  “Do you think he got rid of her?” another in the group asked quietly.

  Joshua shook his head. “No. Whatever his reasons for taking Miss Flaherty, I’m betting they must have been important enough to break into the Smiths’ home while it was still early. He risked being seen.”

  Sheriff Coltrane nodded. “Whoever it is, whatever his reason, I don’t think he’d bring her all the way out here just to get rid of her. Best to fan out. Check the undergrowth, the bushes—look for clues—anything. A hank of red hair, a bit of white petticoat.”

  Joshua admired the line of reasoning that was obviously going on behind the sheriff’s shrewd gray eyes. He nodded.

  Half a dozen pairs of eyes looked from the sheriff to himself and back. One by one, the men mounted up and moved out.

  Hanging on to the saddle horn, he put his boot in the stirrup, swung his leg over, and settled in the saddle. Careful to keep an eye and part of his concentration on the trail, he let the rest of it puzzle on the possible reasons for the abduction.

  Maggie was a stranger to these parts, wasn’t she?”

  She had no kin—well, none that he had heard of.

  The Smiths were good people, honest people. He’d questioned them and quite a few of the townspeople as well. Not one person seemed to have a reason to hold a grudge against them.

  Either there was something the Smiths were hiding or there was something Maggie was hiding. Random kidnappings were rare, but the reasons behind the ones he’d investigated had one thing in common—money or revenge.

  “How far do you figure they’ll travel tonight?” the sheriff asked, interrupting his train of thought.

  He grunted, then looked over at the man riding alongside him. “Depends on how much trouble Miss Flaherty gives him.” He nearly smiled at the thought. He could imagine her dealing out quite a bit—as long as she’s conscious, his brain reminded him.

  “Is there anything that sticks out in your mind about where Miss Flaherty and Mrs. Smith visited recently?” He hoped the sheriff would say something would give him a clue as to the why of it.

  “Can’t say that I do—unless…”

  “What?”

  “Well it didn’t seem peculiar at the time, but Ida mentioned Miss Flaherty wanting to send a message out to the Ryan place.”

  Joshua’s hands tightened on the reins, while he unconsciously tensed every muscle in his body. Blaze reacted by throwing his head back and sidestepping. He bent forward and patted the side of the horse’s neck settling him down. “Easy, boy.”

  He knew all about the wire Ryan received. Being reminded of it brought back the very real problem he would be facing when he confronted Maggie about her feelings for Ryan. He could ask Ryan flat-out what Maggie meant to him, but the man was too distracted. Besides, Joshua was not willing to give up on the vital young woman with eyes the color of cornflowers just yet. If Ryan admitted she was his fiancée, Joshua would have no other option but to step aside. He wasn’t ready to give up on the woman he was fast coming to realize held his heart in her hand. He’d decided to hold onto the image of her sharing his life just a bit longer.

  “Marshal!” one of the men called out. “I think I’ve found something!”

  Chapter Twelve

  The cabin her captor spoke about was little more than a falling down lean-to with holes in the roof. The fact that he seemed to be as surprised at the cabin’s condition as she, made her wonder if someone else was involved in her abduction. Either that or it had been some time since he’d seen the cabin.

  The distant rumble of thunder actually eased the growing tension, giving them something else to worry about.

  “Do ye think the wind’ll blow the storm our way?”

  The man looked up at the sky and shook his head. “Hard to tell. The wind could change anytime.”

  Not a very hopeful response from someone who ought to know the area better than she did, or at least she hoped he did. A blue-white fork of lightning split the sky. The answering rumble of thunder seemed a bit louder than the last.

  The wind picked up and whipped a strand of hair into her eyes. They teared in response to the lashing, making it impossible to see.

  “I can’t see.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  The gruff reply did little to settle the unease that skittered through her empty stomach. She hoped he didn’t plan on forcing his attentions on her, but planned to be ready to defend herself, in case he decided to follow through with his cryptic hints now that they had reached the cabin.

  She closed her eyes and willed her rebellious stomach to settle. With every ounce of her being, she forced the man before her to the back of her thoughts and projected another in its place. Behind her closed lids, broad shoulders, large hands, and a crooked smile eased the tension within her.

  “Joshua,” she whispered.

  Thoughts of him had kept her sane while she’d been slung across her kidnapper’s lap. Refusing to give in at the first sign of adversity, she kept Joshua’s image
close to her heart, replaying the first time she’d met him over and over in her mind. Each time, she felt the same awe-inspiring confidence in his ability to calmly remove the arrow and deliver her to safety. As outrageous as it seemed, Maggie hoped he would come to her rescue again. Then she just wished he’d get on with whatever part he would play in her future. She was anxious to begin a new life in Colorado—one she hoped he’d be a part of.

  “Time to go inside.”

  The gravel-rough sound of her captor’s voice snapped her back to reality. “Can ye untie me hands—please?”

  He stood with one hand on the saddle horn and the other on her knee. Though it was full dark and she could not see his features clearly, she could imagine his small dark eyes and leering expression. A feeling of dread snaked up her spine, chilling her to the bone.

  From the way he squeezed her knee, he must have thought the shiver of disgust was one of excitement. Maggie was wise enough to hold her tongue, though it plagued her to keep quiet.

  Without a word he reached behind her and untied the ropes. Maggie wondered what had happened to the first length of rope he had used to tie her hands. She tried to remember if he had slipped it into his saddlebags, but couldn’t. A spark of hope flickered to life within her breast. Maybe someone would find the two small lengths of rope and wonder what could be small enough to be tied with them. Maybe they’d notice that the rope had been cut. Maybe—

  Her thoughts were cut off as her muscles awakened with a vengeance. Pins and needles shot through her upper arms and between her shoulder blades. She started to stifle a groan then thought better of it. Maybe it would be to her benefit to appear weak. Before she could decide how to act, she was hauled out of the saddle and set unceremoniously on her feet. Her stiff legs, not used to traveling such distances on horseback, buckled underneath her. She went down like a stone.

  Her cheek scraped against something rough and damp, probably a wet tree stump. Vaguely she wondered at the dampness, but before she could form two thoughts, she was lifted off the ground and being carried into the cabin. She was irritated at the way her captor continued to unceremoniously haul her about.

  Her captor kicked the door open and strode into the one-room shack. “Not much, but it’ll get us out of the storm.”

  Lightning flashed, illuminating the room long enough for Maggie to notice a fireplace, small table, broken chair, and a pile heaped next to the door. The next flash of light confirmed what she thought she saw: the pile was their supplies.

  “Can you stand?”

  “I think the feeling’s come back to me legs.” Deciding to try not to anger her kidnapper, she ignored the way her teeth rattled as he plopped her on her feet. She had more urgent worries. The long night ahead of them, for one. If he had any plan to act on his baser instincts, she would have to be ready and somehow outwit him. She had to come up with a plan to keep him from trying to take advantage of her.

  Just then an ear-splitting crack shook the cabin and spooked the horses tied up outside.

  “Stay here.”

  Since she had no intention of disobeying his abrupt command—yet—Maggie waited quietly while he went back outside to see to the horses. A series of flashes and answering rumbles kept her company while he was gone. Maybe she could manage to slip outside while he was busy tending to the horses.

  The door to the cabin flung open and rocked back on its hinges. “Glad you didn’t try to make a run for it.”

  Maggie thought quickly and answered. “With the storm ragin’ overhead and havin’ no idea where we are?” If she acted surprised that he’d give her credit for thinking to escape, she may be able to convince him she was weak-willed. She quickly scratched the first plan of bolting for the door and decided to work with something he would have no trouble believing. Namely that she was a weak and helpless female and escape was the furthest thing from her mind.

  The continuous flashing and resounding crashes of thunder indicated the storm was either right overhead or awfully close to it.

  “So long as you don’t stand out in the open, the storm won’t hurt you.”

  The advice seemed sound, but the need to do just that was quickly becoming the focus of her plan. “Do ye think we can light a fire?” she asked, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, trying to look cold.

  He nodded and moved around the dark interior; at the moment the lightning was their only source of light. Her guess that the only wood would be the table and chair proved to be correct. The next thing she heard was the splintering of wood. At least the furniture would be of some use, she mused.

  Maggie wondered what he’d use to light the fire, but remembered the pile heaped on the floor. He must have something in his saddlebags to start a fire. The spark and immediate flare of light confirmed her hopes. At least she’d have a chance to dry out while she figured out how to escape.

  “Thank you.” She stepped closer to the kneeling man. “I’m afraid of the dark,” she whispered, hoping he’d believe her, though she lied through her teeth.

  He tossed more wood on the small fire, but remained silent, his back to her. Maggie watched as the tiny flame licked the broken rungs and severed legs, growing larger and warmer, feeding on the dry wood.

  Knowing he’d need more convincing before he believed she was afraid of the storm, she waited for the next flash before acting. As the eerie light showed in the dark outline of the cabin’s only window, she gasped just loud enough to be heard. The man stiffened, then rose from his crouched position by the fire.

  The thunder rumbled and she whimpered. He turned and walked slowly back toward her. “Nothing to fear.”

  That’s what you think, me boy-o.

  Maggie took a step backward before adopting a protective stance, wrapping her arms about her. She needed a distraction…she sent up a silent prayer for one. She had no sooner uttered the request than a gust of wind blew down the chimney, nearly blowing out the fire. He looked over his shoulder, cursed, and went back to tend the dying flames.

  Maggie knew this was probably the best chance she’d have. She backed slowly toward the door, careful not to make a sound, pitifully grateful for the constant din of the storm. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a small cast-iron pan. Relief and a quick prayer of thanks swept through her. Her plan would succeed.

  She grabbed the pan and tiptoed over toward the man tending the fire. He’d already coaxed it back to life and was about to rise when she brought the heavy pan down onto the back of his head with all of the strength she could muster. He slumped into a heap on the floor at her feet.

  For a heartbeat she just stood there staring in horrid fascination at his inert body, with her hands still wrapped around the handle of the pan. Drawing in one deep cleansing breath and then another, she steadied herself and remembered the documents—her room had been a shambles. Up until now, all she had been thinking of was getting away. There hadn’t been time to even think about those papers.

  Thought it hadn’t occurred to her right off, she knew now with a sinking feeling that the man had stolen her brother’s papers. As far as she could remember, they hadn’t stopped off anywhere along the way. If he took them, and she was sure he had, then he must still have them.

  She didn’t know how hard the man’s head was, or how strong her blow, but the worry that he could come around at any moment was real. With that sobering thought foremost in her mind, she dropped the pan.

  Excruciating pain radiated across the top of her foot where the pan had landed. She closed her eyes and said one of her brother’s favorite curses, then abruptly apologized for cursing.

  Limping over to the saddlebags, she rifled through them.

  Nothing.

  Picking the wet leather saddlebags up, she opened them. Two pair of socks, a worn shirt, a pouch of chewing tobacco, and two boxes of bullets clattered to the floor. She watched the shells spill out of the squashed boxes and roll across the floor.

  No papers.

  A low moan made the tiny hair
s on the back of her neck stand up. She was running out of time. She should leave now.

  “I haven’t come all this way and been skewered with a heathen’s arrow only to give up now!”

  Five minutes later, both bedrolls were open and spread out on the floor. Coffee, hardtack, biscuits, beef jerky, and tins of beans lay piled on top of the bedding where she had dumped the sacks of supplies.

  “Well, Maggie me girl—there is only one place ye haven’t looked.”

  Jaw clenched, stomach churning, she walked over to the fallen man and knelt down on the floor. He was a large man, but his pockets didn’t look big enough to hide the leather folio. Inspiration hit like a blow between the eyes. They weren’t in his pockets. He must have taken the papers out of the leather folder and hidden them.

  She reached a hand toward his back pockets, then drew it back. The prospect of touching the man simply made her stomach turn over.

  Inspiration hit a second time. “His shirt!”

  He moaned and stirred. No time to be squeamish.

  She patted the back of his shirt—nothing. Scooting around him, Maggie reached a shaking hand toward his chest and lightly touched him. She felt the rolled-up wad of paper the second time she poked at his chest. Easing the roll sideways toward the placket of buttons, she pushed against the end nearest his underarm and moved it slowly toward the buttons.

  The roll slid smoothly, then stopped.

  She let a curse slip from between her tightly pressed lips. “I don’t want to do this.”

  It took three tries before her hands quit shaking long enough to open two shirt buttons and slide the roll of papers free. He groaned, louder this time, and shifted one of his legs.

  She scooped the papers up and ran to the door. The muffled curse that erupted from behind her only spurred her onward. Wrenching the door open, she dashed out into the heart of the storm. Heedless of the nasty teeth the storm bared, she ran blindly into it. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes. Cold rain stung her cheeks, but she ran as if her life depended upon her speed. If things went her way, she would be able to run a good distance before he could catch up to her.