TEXAS TWILIGHT
Book Two of the McCutcheon Family Series
Caroline Fyffe
Texas Twilight by Caroline Fyffe
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Caroline Fyffe
www.carolinefyffe.com
Texas Twilight is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is wholly coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording, by information storage and retrieval or photocopied, without permission in writing from Caroline Fyffe.
Cover art by Kim Killion
Proudly Published in the United States of America
ISBN # 978-0-9840146-8-2
This book is dedicated to the incredibly brave men (one of whom is my son, Adam) and women of the 373D MI Battalion of the United States Army now serving in Iraq—the last Military Intelligence Battalion to serve there. It is your dedication, determination and honor that make this country great! Thank you for your service.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Heartfelt gratitude to my sister, Jenny Meyer, for her expert editing and good advice—over all the years, over all the projects. We make a good team. Thank you!
Fond appreciation also to my critique partners for the help, encouragement and insight given so generously on this story. Each of you is talented in your own way, and this book would not have been completed without you: Theresa Ragan, Leslie Lynch and Sandy Loyd. Thank you!
A huge hug of thanks to my four beta readers for their gifts of time, talent and super-sharp eye. I value your sincerity for the project along with your kind words: Jennie Armento, Mariellen Lillard, Patricia Fyffe and Michael Fyffe. Your suggestions have made this book so much better! Thank you!
To my wonderful author friends on the web and in my RWA chapters, whose support and willingness to lend a helping hand, encouraging word or velvety soft piece of warm chocolate in times of desperate need—thank you!
To all the readers who’ve written to me with enthusiasm and love—thank you, too! You’re the reason I write.
Chapter One
Texas Badlands, 1886
The stagecoach lurched. John Jake McCutcheon opened his eyes and saw the young woman next to him grasp the leather loop that hung from the coach’s ceiling to keep from being tossed around. She tipped precariously to the right, then left, bumping forcefully into his shoulder. With an apologetic glance she moved away, then dabbed at her brow with a folded handkerchief. She looked at her elderly aunt.
“Tante Harriet? Are you all right?” she asked in a soft German accent. She opened the fan she held and swished it back and forth in front of the tiny woman. “Your face is extremely red.”
“Of course, Lily,” Harriet Schmidt said in a raspy voice laced with exhaustion. The old woman’s hair was swept up atop her head and fastened in a bun, but after the miles and miles traveled on the dusty, sun-baked road, it looked more like a weather blown tumbleweed after a storm. She patted her niece on the knee. “Thank heavens we’re almost there. Just one more day and we’ll be out of this oven.”
John glanced away, not wanting to seem impolite. He’d met both Harriet Schmidt and her niece, Lily Anthony, when they’d boarded the stage together in Concepción. He’d seen them on the train from Boston, too, but they’d kept to themselves, never speaking with anyone else.
John gazed out the window, thinking. He was finally finished with his medical training and heading to West Texas. Anticipation coursed though him.
Rio Wells was a long way from his family ranch in Montana, but he’d get used to it. His plan to return to Y Knot after graduation hadn’t panned out. His hometown already supported two full-time physicians. If he really wanted to make a difference in people’s lives as a doctor and surgeon, he had to strike out in a place where the townsfolk were in need. At least he wouldn’t be a complete stranger in Rio Wells. Uncle Winston and his family were there. And his fiancée, Emmeline Jordan, would be joining him this fall.
John closed his eyes, recalling Emmeline’s elegant profile and dark, alluring eyes. In his mind’s eye, her mouth drew down into a seductive little pout, a manipulation he knew all too well, but one that, all the same, fueled his blood. She was like a beautiful, exotic bird, needing care and affection.
“Oh, just to take this corset off,” Harriett said to no one in particular, then chortled softly at her niece’s shocked expression at her bluntness. “It pinches horribly. I think I’ll throw it away for good.” She paused, thinking. “No…” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Actually, I’ll burn it.”
Cyrus and Jeremiah Post and Abigail Smith, the other passengers cramped uncomfortably on the opposite seat, just smiled, now used to the old woman’s antics. Miss Smith, a teacher, had been hired by the same town council that had hired John, and he felt a small kinship with her.
“You know, Doctor McCutcheon,” Harriett Schmidt went on, trying to catch his eye, “my Lily doesn’t need a corset. Her waist is eighteen inches without one.”
“Tante Harriett. Please.”
John chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. He’d tried not to notice something like that, but it had been difficult, if not impossible. The girl had practically been snuggled to his side for several days.
Without warning, the driver called out sharply to the horses and the coach picked up speed. The two guards riding on top of the stage scuffled around and one shouted something unintelligible. John glanced out the window.
A shot rang out. One second later, one of the guards fell from the top of the stage, past the window, landing with a thunk as the stage rolled on. Lily gasped and threw her arms protectively around her aunt. Abigail screamed and then fainted, flopping over onto Cyrus’s shoulder.
The driver bellowed to the horses again and the stagecoach heaved forward as the six-horse team was propelled instantly into an all-out gallop. Three more shots were fired, and the sound of horses’ hooves thundered from behind.
John looked back through the dust to see a number of riders racing toward the stagecoach, eating up the distance between the two. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He was a doctor. He’d taken the Hippocratic Oath to heal not three weeks before. His job was taking bullets out, not putting them in. But then, he’d also been raised on a rugged Montana ranch, where the unwavering reality was hard. Sometimes staying alive meant killing someone else. Besides, everyone’s lives were on the line, not just his. It would be especially bad for the women aboard. These hills were a common hiding place for Comancheros. They used women in the worst ways and then sold them into prostitution in Mexico. As pretty as she was, Lily Anthony would fetch top price. Hell, they’d sell the skinny teacher and the old woman, too.
Smoke and dust filled the coach. Pop. Pop. Pop. Lily covered her ears. Her elderly aunt coughed as she struggled to hang on. Abigail, now fully awake again, filled the small space with one shrill scream after the other, never even pausing to take a breath. John reached for his satchel under the seat, withdrew a Colt 45, and strapped on his holster. Carrying his guns was a habit he hadn’t been able to break even after his years at school. With hands nimble from experience, he loaded and fired several shots out the window. Two riders fell.
“You have another gun?”
John was surprised to see old Harriet Schmidt eyeing him expectantly. One hand was outstretched while the other grasped the windowsill as the coach careened down the road, jerking violently this way and that. “I’m not letting those filthy dogs take my Lily!”
“Can you shoot?”
�
��I wouldn’t ask if I couldn’t. My derringer’s not worth diddly.”
John squeezed off three more shots, then pulled another gun from his bag, handing it to Harriet. He pushed the bag toward Lily. “Bullets.”
Cyrus Post fired out the other side of the coach just as a bullet hit Cyrus’s brother in the chest, slamming Jeremiah violently against the back of the seat. Jeremiah gasped several times as he tried to hold back a rush of crimson that spurted through his splayed fingers, soaking his clothes. With just a glance, John could see he wasn’t long for this world. Abigail’s eyes grew round as she took in the blood. With a gasp, she fainted again, blessedly putting an end to her screams.
“Son of a bitch! “ Cyrus cried out. “There’s too many. Prepare to meet your maker.”
“Hush your mouth, you old coot,” Harriet shouted as she hefted the heavy gun and shot out the window. “I have more faith in God than that.”
The coach rounded a corner dangerously fast and then slowed up a bit as it began an uphill climb. One side of the road dropped off, falling some forty feet to a bed of jagged rocks.
Seizing the moment, John holstered his gun and opened the narrow door. He climbed the side of the rocking coach using the window as a step, and grasping the luggage rack, pulled himself up. He flopped onto his stomach, facing the oncoming killers and picked up the fallen guard’s Winchester. He took aim.
He was able to shoot, cocked the rifle and pick off three Comancheros. One thing about a McCutcheon was that their father took great pride in teaching them all how to shoot well. Even his sister Charity was a sharpshooter.
Two bullets whizzed by John’s head so close he felt a trail of heat. He hunkered lower behind the cargo and steeled his nerves. A third shot took the life of the driver, forcing the remaining guard to jump into the driver’s box and grab for the multiple reins before they were lost completely. The man scooped them up and slapped the leather across the backs of the charging horses, demanding more speed.
John paused to reload. He wasn’t ready to die, dammit! He’d worked his tail off to get into Harvard and get his medical degree. And now this? Angry at the turn of events, he unloaded his chambers, bringing down two more outlaws.
“Help me up,” a female voice shouted over the ruckus.
Lily Anthony dangled from the side of the stage, her white knuckles grasping the iron rod of the luggage rack to keep from falling under the steel-rimmed wheels. Her dress swished around her legs as she struggled to secure footing. John reached down and took a firm hold under her arms and pulled her up next to him. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled over the sound of gun shots and galloping horses.
“Helping you,” she shouted back as she scanned the area. She picked up the abandoned Winchester, reloaded it from a bag of ammunition, and handed it over to John. He grunted his understanding, took aim and fired three times, sending more outlaws into the dirt.
As the coach slowed, the seven remaining desperados prepared to come aboard. John grabbed for his Colt and brought down the two closest. Taking aim on a third, he squeezed the trigger, only to have the chamber click empty. The rest of the ammunition was inside with Harriet. At this range the Winchester was nearly useless.
He swung to his left as a man leapt from his mount and began climbing up. With his empty gun, John bashed him in the face, knocking him off. Lily hefted the Winchester to her shoulder and fired, taking down a rider who was bringing up the rear.
Lily screamed and again grasped the luggage bar. One of the Comancheros had her by the ankle, pulling her toward the side of the rocking coach. John fought to keep his balance as he swung around. Grabbing the Winchester, he struck the outlaw’s face several times, but the man was mad with evil intent, and hung on relentlessly.
The coach lurched as the hind right wheel spun off the road. John scrambled to keep from being pitched off the top. The outlaw faltered. Quickly dropping the rifle, he grasped Lily’s upper body and heaved. She bucked and kicked, finding the outlaw with her boot, the kick glancing off his temple, but still he clung fast. Again the careening coach swayed violently, almost toppling all three.
A volley of shots sounded from within the coach and from the corner of his eye he saw one of the remaining two mounted riders fell. The final rider fired once, then pulled up and stopped, abandoning his companion who still rode the stage.
John yanked Lily behind him as the Comanchero stood and pulled out a knife. With the agility of a cat, the man slashed out and John dodged to the side. Emboldened, the outlaw sprung forward, catching John around the middle. The two fell to the roof, wrestling for the weapon. John reached for his empty Colt and brought it down on the man’s head, but not before a searing heat flashed down his face from temple to earlobe. Hefting the unconscious man up, John threw him off the cliff side of the rollicking coach then slumped down, pressing his palm to his face.
Chapter Two
The driver let the horses run on for a good quarter mile. Then he hauled back on the reins bringing the lathered animals down to a trot, then a walk and finally a halt.
Everything was quiet. The hot sun beat down and the landscape wavered before John’s eyes. Lily’s stricken expression gave him pause. Had she taken a bullet he hadn’t seen? “Lily, are you all right?” he said, struggling to get the words past the confusion in his brain. “Are you hurt somewhere?”
“No. I am okay,” she answered, climbing to her knees.
The driver came back and took John by the arm. “Come on, McCutcheon, let
me help you down.”
John shook him off. “I can manage. Check on the passengers below.” It was then he realized his hand was pressed to his face and blood dripped onto his shirt. Instantly the side of his head began to sting with excruciating pain.
“What the...?” He pulled his hand away to see it covered with blood.
“Dr. McCutcheon,” Lily said as she stood carefully and took his arm. “You have been cut badly. Let us help you down before you fall.” She looked to the driver who again took John’s other side, and this time John let them help him to the ground.
When Lily turned to leave John caught her wrist. He held tight as she strained to get free. “How bad is it?” John called out.
“Looks like everyone’s dead,” the driver answered.
Lily let out a cry. She twisted and turned in John’s grasp. “Let me go!” With force, she jerked her arm free then ran to the other side of the coach where she pushed past the driver and climbed in to find the limp and pale body of her elderly aunt. “No,” she wept. “You cannot be dead. Tante Harriett, wake up. Please, wake up.”
John followed with his handkerchief pressed to his face. He reached in and hefted Lily out of the coach and held her, feeling the wetness of her tears. Her hands curled around the fabric of his shirt as sobs racked her body.
John swung her into his arms. “Shhh, now, Miss Anthony,” he crooned gently. “It’s a pity, I know. I’m sorry this had to happen. Don’t cry so.” Her hair, free from its bonds, was a mass of blond locks cascading down her back. Improper or not, he stroked it, marveling at its softness. He rocked for a few moments until she quieted. Through the open doorway, he could see that a bullet had penetrated the stage and Miss Abigail Smith had taken it in the side. The teacher’s eyes were open wide in surprise, and her mouth formed a little O. The stain on her blue calico dress gradually grew larger.
He set Lily on the ground. “I need to check them,” he said. “You wait here.” The fatal wounds of the two brothers left no doubt of their condition. Feeling for Abigail’s pulse confirmed her demise. Harriet Schmidt was slumped in the corner, no apparent wounds visible. He pressed his index finger to the artery in her neck. Several moments ticked by. “Actually, she’s alive.”
Lily’s eyes widened in hope.
Without hesitating, John cleared away guns, hats and other personal belongings and carefully laid Lily’s aunt out on the bench and undid several buttons at the neckline of her blouse. He inspected her h
ead, looking for any sign that she’d gotten hit by something. Without anything left to do for her but wait for her to wake up, he climbed out of the coach.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I can’t find any wounds and she doesn’t appear to have hit her head.” He looked into Lily’s face. “You understand?” It took a moment before she nodded and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. She looked too young and small to be out here in the badlands of Texas. “Why don’t you sit over there in the shade of that rock for a moment while Hank and I take care of them.” He motioned to the stage with the tilt of his head.
“No. I want to stay with her. In case she wakes up.”
John looked at her for a long moment. He climbed back into the coach and gathered up her aunt, then carried the tiny woman over to the shade and laid her down. With his knife he sliced a section of cloth from her skirt and soaked it in water from his canteen, placing it on Harriett’s forehead. He looked at Lily, who’d followed behind. “There. Now, you sit.” He gave her a little nudge. “Go on.”
Dazed, Lily sat on a large slab of granite next to the body of her Tante. Beyond, where the sun beat down on the rocky surface, speckles of black and white sparkled brilliantly and heat waves rose to the sky. An enormous red ant crawled across Lily’s hand, but she just watched it with swollen eyes. Somewhere a locust buzzed.
Why had Tante Harriett insisted on leaving Boston in the first place? Returning from a mysterious meeting, she’d insisted they leave that very night. When asked, she’d said she needed a drier climate for her health. But, she had never mentioned that before. When pressed further, Tante Harriett, totally out of character, snapped at her telling her not to question her so much. If only they had not come west…
Texas Twilight Page 1
