Kidnapping Kalli

by Cheryl Pierson

  Starting down the hill toward Seamus’s sprawling home, Shiloh only hoped he wouldn’t be shot on sight…or that Seamus wouldn’t inadvertently give him away. Or, that somehow, Henry Baker did know who he was, after all.

  Going into a nest of vipers like this was certain death, he figured, but there was no other alternative. He was a Texas Ranger. Maybe not in actuality any longer, but in his heart—he would be a Ranger ’til he died.

  And that just might not be much longer.

  • ♥ •

  Some of Baker’s men lounged on the wrap-around porch while others stood at the ready, their rifles not pointing directly at Shiloh, but he was not deceived. They could be the death of him in a few short seconds.

  “That’s far enough,” one of them called, stepping down from the porch.

  Shiloh stopped, watching him. He put an uncertain look in his eyes. “Easy, now—I just need some water for me an’ my horse. If we aren’t welcome here, we’ll keep movin’.”

  “Why’re you walkin’?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing to a suspicious squint.

  Shiloh reached up and patted Racer. “We’ve come a long way. He’s tired, and I got my fool self snake bit. My leg gets stiff, so I try to walk some and get the soreness out of it. Makes for slow goin’ but that’s just how it is, right now.”

  “Huh.”

  “Okay to let him drink?” Shiloh nodded toward the water trough.

  “Oh—uh, sure. I’ll walk with ya.” The outlaw made a motion to the others and they relaxed as he and Shiloh walked to the trough together. “Where you from?”

  Shiloh gave him a quick grin. “All over. Been up in Indian Territory most recently.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed again. “You on the run?”

  Shiloh didn’t answer immediately. He waited a few seconds, then said, “You might say that. I’m headed to Houston to visit relatives. Lay low for a while, ’til the Rangers down here and the marshals up in the Territory forget all about me.”

  “What’s your name?” The outlaw looked chagrined as the question was asked. “I mean…what do you go by?”

  “You know that ain’t a polite question.” Shiloh’s eyes hardened, but then he smiled at the other man’s worried look. “You can call me Pete.”

  “I’m Roy. Roy Haskins.”

  They’d come to the water trough and Racer lowered his head to drink.

  “Well’s right over there.” Roy gestured with a wave of his hand.

  “Much obliged.”

  Shiloh waited for Racer to drink his fill. “Nice spread,” he said, looking around with appreciation. “Belong to you?”

  Roy shook his head. “No. Belongs to Mr. Seamus O’Connor. Or, it did, anyhow.”

  Shiloh’s heart raced. He tugged on the reins and started toward the well, leading the horse, Roy has his side. Veiling his expression to show no more than idle curiosity, he said, “Did? What happened to him?”

  “Well, he didn’t take kindly to us bein’ here on his land…”

  Shiloh stopped at the well, putting Racer between him and Roy. “Not the hospitable sort, huh?”

  “Water’s fresh,” Roy said. “Just hauled this bucket up a few minutes ago. An’ here’s the dipper.”

  Shiloh let the silver ladle down into the water casually and took a good, long drink. Roy went on talking. “Yeah, ol’ man O’Connor, he’s a stubborn cuss, that’s for sure. He ended up on the wrong end of my boss’s gun.”

  “Your boss?” Shiloh replaced the dipper on the bucket edge. “Who would that be?”

  “Mr. Henry Baker,” Roy announced proudly. “You might have heard of our gang.”

  “Why, sure I have!” Shiloh gave him a wide grin. “Been wantin’ to join up with an outfit like Henry Baker’s for a long time. Don’t reckon he needs another hand, does he?”

  Roy shrugged. “Couldn’t say. He’s always on the lookout for men with particular skills. I myself am a safecracker. The very best. Bobby, up there in the porch swing, he’s our sniper. One of ’em, anyhow. Tuttle, there by the door, he’s an expert on explosives.”

  Shiloh gave a regretful sigh. “’Fraid I don’t have any kind of specialty like that. But I’m awful gun handy. I do know how to handle a gun, if I say so myself. Been doin’ it all my life. Shoot, I think I was carryin’ a gun before I learned to walk.”

  “Mr. Baker can’t ever get too many gunmen to ride with us. ’Course, I can’t get presumptuous and speak for him. Let’s go on inside and you can ask him yourself.”

  Shiloh led Racer toward the hitching rail and tied him there, acting unconcerned about his rifle and saddlebags, though there were at least six outlaws nearby on the porch. He imagined any or all of them would take a quick look inside his bags once he went through the door, and he was relieved Kalli had the tintype of herself and her parents in her possession. He nodded a greeting to the others as he followed Roy up the steps and through the front door.

  By his calculations, Kalli had been gone no more than twenty minutes—not long enough to get to Dalmire yet. What would he find here? Seamus murdered? Roy had never been specific about what had happened to the old man.

  Shiloh took a deep breath. He was about to find out.

  Chapter Eight

  “Mr. Baker? Got a man here, to see you—” Roy called out importantly as they came through the front door. Like a strutting banty rooster, Shiloh thought, his face betraying nothing as he followed Roy inside to the huge Great Room where a fire held the winter chill at bay.

  Henry Baker stood before the fireplace, warming his backside, his deadly presence making a mockery of the festive Christmas decorative touches throughout the room.

  A pine wreath with red holly berries intertwined hung above the massive mantel piece. An oversized Christmas tree stood in the far corner close by the picture window that looked out onto the rolling Texas prairie.

  A garland of pine branches was woven along the staircase banister. The house smelled, incongruously, of spice cake, apple tarts, pine, and gingerbread—while a cold-blooded murderer enjoyed the warmth of Seamus O’Connor’s cheery fire.

  Shiloh put a hopeful, questioning look on his face, not daring to glance at the two hostages who were trussed up in the far corner, on the opposite side of the picture window, away from the fully-decorated Christmas tree.

  He removed his hat and stood looking at the man he’d been chasing for nearly a year. Henry Baker watched him as he came closer.

  “Mr. Baker?” Shiloh asked in a deferential tone.

  Baker waved a dismissive hand in Roy’s general direction.

  “He says he might want to join up with us, Boss,” Roy said, ignoring the blatant dismissal.

  “You may leave us, Haskins. Now,” Baker said pointedly, still not looking at Roy, his gaze fixed on Shiloh.

  “Uh…yes, sir.” Roy beat a hasty retreat, the door closing softly behind him.

  “And you are?” Baker questioned finally.

  “I’m—uh—Pete Collins,” Shiloh said. “Your man Roy said you might be lookin’ to add another gun—”

  “Haskins. He talks too much,” Baker interrupted quietly. “What can you do?”

  “I’m good with a gun.”

  “Is that all?” Baker laughed and shook his head. “Come on. You’ll have to do better than that…Mister…Collins…”

  The way Baker said, “Mister Collins” let Shiloh know there was more than a small suspicion of his identity not being real. But most men in this line of work used bogus names. Still…there was something more—something Shiloh was very wary of.

  “I know this area like the back of my hand.”

  Baker grinned. “I’m sure you do.” Sobering quickly, he said, “What else? What one skill do you possess that sets you apart from others?” He held up a hand. “I’m talking about a skill that’s useful. I have a safecracker. I have an explosives man. I have two snipers—and you’d have to go far and wide to find better men than the ones I have assembled. We did lose our tracker a
few days back. He had an unfortunate accident.”

  Shiloh didn’t ask questions. He knew that was what Baker wanted of him. Instead, he muttered, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Baker’s lips quirked. “Don’t be. He died quickly. At the end of my gun. I don’t allow treason in my ranks. That’s something you must understand from the outset. If I find out you’ve lied…well…let’s just say, your days are numbered.”

  Shiloh met Baker’s gaze head-on, not turning away. Baker cocked his head. “There’s…something familiar about you…Mr. Collins.”

  Shiloh gave an offhand shrug. “Could be our paths crossed somewhere along the way. We both do a lot of traveling, seems like.”

  “Mm…yes.” Still, the puzzled look didn’t leave his face.

  Shiloh was living on borrowed time. He spared a glance at the two men who were bound to ladderback chairs. They had been gagged, as well, and both sat completely still, making no movement.

  “You’re wondering about our—hostages, I see,” Baker said.

  “Well, yeah. They don’t have too much to say for themselves.”

  Baker laughed, a deep belly laugh that seemed to go on forever. When he sobered, he managed in between chuckles to say, “Dead men…don’t talk…Mr. Collins!”

  Shiloh’s hopes plummeted. He knew Seamus was one of the men, by his build. The other man, Shiloh wasn’t sure of. They sat in a recessed area, away from the light, in the shadows.

  “So…these two had unfortunate accidents, too?”

  Baker shook his head. “Oh, not yet. They’ve just been roughed up a bit. Go closer.”

  Trepidation crept up Shiloh’s back, prickling his neck. Why? Why would Baker tell him to go closer unless he was hoping for some telling sign of recognition?

  When Shiloh hesitated, Baker inclined his head. “Mr. Collins? Scared of the sight of blood?”

  Shiloh grinned. “Not at all. I’ve seen my share of it.” He crossed the room, his eyes meeting Seamus O’Connor’s fiery blue gaze. In O’Connor’s stare, he saw a kaleidoscope of emotions, and he read each and every one—anger—no, fury. Then, determination, along with assurance that O’Connor knew what Shiloh was trying to do. But it was the last expression that made Shiloh stop in his tracks. Apology. But…why? Odd to see that in the old man’s face now…

  But when Shiloh glanced at the other hostage, he understood everything. Asher Barrett was barely conscious, his face barely recognizable to his own brother.

  “Know either of these two men, Mister…Collins? Or should I say…Ranger Barrett?”

  • ♥ •

  Shiloh dropped to the floor, anticipating the bullet that whistled by his ear and the thunderous boom that filled the Great Room. At the same time he went down, he pushed the two chairs to the sides and dove between them. He rolled against the wall and came up to a crouch with his Colt in his hand, pulling the trigger twice in rapid succession.

  Both bullets found their mark as Baker gasped and fell slowly to the floor, trying to get off another shot at Shiloh. The gun slipped from his fingers just as he pulled that trigger, and the shot went wild, ricocheting off the wall just above Shiloh’s head.

  The front door flew open and six men piled in, guns drawn. Shiloh knelt on the floor in front of his unconscious brother, protecting him. “Who’s next?” he shouted.

  “What the hell?” One of the men, Bobby, ran over to where Baker lay and turned him over gently. Blood trickled from his mouth, and even from where Shiloh was crouching, he could see the gut wound was fatal.

  “Kill…them…all…” Baker rasped. “Bobby…do it.”

  But Bobby shook his head in denial. “Kill ’em, Boss?”

  “Don’t question…”

  “Yeah, do what a dead man tells you, Bobby,” Shiloh said scathingly. “You’re the one going to jail for murder. ‘Boss,’ here, will be goin’ to hell. You’ll be on your own.”

  “You—Mr. Whoever-You-Are—just shut up.” Bobby swung his pistol around and aimed it at Shiloh.

  “You shoot, I shoot,” Shiloh assured him.

  “I’ll kill you!”

  “Maybe, but I’ll take you with me.”

  “Don’t do it, Bobby,” Tuttle said from the doorway. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  “No…” Baker said. But before he could go on, he fell silent, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

  “Posse’s on the way, boys,” Shiloh said. “Y’all better get while the gettin’s good.”

  • ♥ •

  Shiloh stood and followed the men out. One of them hollered at a couple of their gang members in the barn, and they all mounted swiftly, riding away as if the hounds of hell were hot on their trail.

  Shiloh wasted no time getting back inside as the last of them rode out of the yard, drawing his knife from his boot. He cut O’Connor’s bonds and removed the gag, then did the same for Asher.

  Now that both men had been freed, Shiloh could see the extent of their injuries. Baker had been here a while, and he’d taken his time with O’Connor and Asher. Shiloh’s anger burned hot—but he’d already decided that when the posse arrived, he would not be riding with them after Baker’s gang.

  That life was over for him. He had Kalli to think of now, and he only hoped she was alive and well. Once he located some of O’Connor’s men—if they still lived, he’d be riding into Dalmire to make certain that Kalli was safe.

  • ♥ •

  Mr. And Mrs. Otis Harrelson, the saddle maker and cook for the Rocking K, opened the trap door in the kitchen floor and clambered up from the depths below just as Shiloh rounded the corner.

  “Mr. Barrett! Oh, thank God!” Ellen Harrelson exclaimed. “Your brother—”

  “I know, I know. He’s hurt bad. And so is Seamus. Can you two manage to take care of them while I ride into town? The posse should be here any minute—”

  “They’re ridin’ in right now,” Otis stated. He nodded toward the window, and when Shiloh turned, he could see a party of ten or twelve riding straight for the front of the house.

  “Where are the other ranch hands?” Shiloh asked.

  “Out to the barn. They rounded ’em all up and tied ’em up out there,” Otis said. “And I hope to the Good Lord that’s all they did to ’em.”

  “I’m going for the doc.”

  “Ain’t no need, Mr. Barrett. There he is, right yonder, gettin’ off that big bay of his—see?” Otis pointed, and with no further hesitation, Shiloh strode toward the front door.

  “We’ll see to your brother and Mr. O’Connor!” Mrs. Harrelson called after him.

  But he was already gone, flinging the front door wide as the men dismounted and came up the porch steps.

  “You okay, Shi?” Sheriff Davidson asked.

  “Yeah, but Seamus and Ash aren’t.”

  “And Mr. Baker’s not, either,” Otis called as he and his wife hurried by on their way to see to Asher and Seamus. “He’s talkin’ to ol’ Satan himself right about now.”

  “Baker’s dead?” Davidson asked. “You—”

  “Yeah, I killed him. In self-defense. But never mind all that. How’s Kalli?”

  Doc Lemons brushed by Shiloh with a gruff, “Excuse me,” and the sheriff pulled Shiloh away from the door onto the porch as the other men went to the barn and inside to help where they might be needed.

  “She’s fine, Shi. I made her wait in town—she wasn’t very happy about it, but she went over to Loretta’s, and—”

  But Shiloh was paying no attention to what the sheriff was saying. Headed down the small rise, a lone rider was coming toward the house. She picked up speed as she neared.

  Kalli—his Kalli—was coming home.

  • ♥ •

  Two Days Later—Christmas Eve

  Seamus O’Connor had not been a graceful patient. But he hadn’t wanted to be too difficult with Kalli home after all these years.

  Kalli had been worried over her father’s condition, but secretly, she understood his injur
ies had given him a reason to be gracious, and to accept her fussing over him—though he might not have put up with it from anyone else.

  When he’d opened his eyes and seen her standing at his bedside, the joy and love in his expression had brought her to tears.

  “My little Kalliroe…” he’d muttered. “How I have missed you…”

  “And I, too, Papa,” she said hoarsely. “It’s been—so long.” When his hand found hers, she was helpless to hold the tears back. She hugged him gently, and felt his hot tears against her skin, as well. She gave him a moment to compose himself, not wanting to embarrass him.

  “I’m so glad you came,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  She smiled wryly. “You hardly gave me a choice, Papa.”

  He chuckled, then grimaced at the pain in his broken ribs. “I picked the very best to fetch you. I had to have someone I could trust. You are my most important accomplishment in this world. Everything good and right—and none of the bad.”

  “You’ve never done ‘bad’, Papa.”

  But he nodded his head and closed his eyes. “More than you know, my angel.”

  “Papa…Shiloh understands about you having to—to defend yourself with his brother. He…forgives you, I believe. I know he at least understands why it all happened like it did.”

  “I would…never have kept the deed to the Barretts’ ranch.”

  Kalli gave him a perplexed look. “Then why—”

  “I wanted to see you again, Kalli. Badly enough to—to threaten a family’s livelihood. Just…shows how desperate…” His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes.

  “Oh, Papa, don’t worry so.” She pulled up a chair and sat beside him. “I have a sneaking suspicion everything worked out the very way you intended it should.”

  One eye opened. “What do you mean, Kalli?”

  “You picked a handsome, virile, Texas Ranger—who is a good man—to come for me. And, in the course of a few days’ travel together, if we got to know one another…to like one another…and even love—”

  At that, both eyes opened, and he struggled to try to sit up in the bed. “Did he take advantage of you? Did he? By God, I’ll kill him with my bare hands if he did!”