“Just a minute, Pete!” he yelled.
Out of necessity, Race had long since developed the ability to wake up clearheaded and alert. Grogginess could get a gunslinger killed faster than you could spit and yell howdy. But the same couldn’t be said for Rebecca. She just sat there, looking a little limp in the spine, with a confused expression on her face. Race grabbed one of her boneless arms and stuffed it through the armhole of her chemise. By the time he got the garment completely on her and drew the front together, she was beginning to come more awake.
“Can you lace yourself?”
“Who is it?” she asked dazedly as she bent her head and applied herself to the task. “Is that Pete hollering?”
Race threw on his trousers, kicked the rest of Rebecca’s clothing under the bed, and rushed to the door, raking his fingers through his hair en route. Pete and Trevor McNaught stood outside.
“The bastards is slaughterin’ the cattle,” Pete bit out. “You best hurry.”
Race nodded, pushed the door closed, and wheeled back the way he had come. As he hurriedly finished dressing, Rebecca pelted him with questions, the last of which put him on the spot.
“It’s them, isn’t it?”
Race met her gaze as he bent to tie down his holsters. “They won’t get to you this time, darlin’. I give you my word.”
Her face drained of color. “Pete said for you to hurry. You’re leaving me?”
She looked so panicked that Race crouched and cupped her face in his hands. “Rebecca, darlin’, listen to me. All right?” She clutched his wrists and nodded, her eyes dark with fear. “I ain’t really gonna leave you. You understand? It’s you they’re after. They figure you’ve got that money stashed away somewheres. I had a choice of leavin’ you here to go after the bastards, or waitin’ ’em out and lurin’ ’em in. I picked this way because it’s the least risky for you. You understand? We’ll make it look like we’re leavin’ you alone—to get ’em to move in where we can take ’em. But I won’t ever be far off. No matter what happens, I don’t want you gettin’ real scared. God as my witness, I’ll die before I let one of ’em touch you.”
“You’re using m-me as b-bait?”
He truly hated the way that sounded. “Sweetheart, you gotta know I’d never do it if I wasn’t sure I could keep you safe.”
She nodded, but the terror in her eyes told him she feared he might fail.
“Trust me,” he whispered. He pushed up and went to take the newly cleaned Colt .45 from the gun rack above the mantle. When he returned to her, he laid the gun beside her on the bed. “For just in case. If one of ’em gets close to you, shoot him.”
She looked as if he’d just asked her to fornicate with him in the barnyard while everyone watched. “Oh, Race. I-I don’t think—”
“That’s the trick, not thinkin’. It ain’t like you’d ever harm anyone by choice. But you gotta right to defend you and yours. Them men are mean snakes, darlin’. Your God knows that, and He ain’t gonna hold it against you if you protect your sweet self.”
As far as Race was concerned, that ended the conversation. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Come bolt the door after me. All right? Then finish gettin’ dressed. I’ll be back as soon as it’s over. And after that, you ain’t never gonna have to feel afraid like this again.”
If ever Race had doubted she had grit, she proved him wrong then. Never a word of protest. No pleading with him not to leave her. He knew damned well she’d been having a tough time during the day when he left her alone in the cabin. This had to be one of the most frightening moments of her life. But she followed him to the door as he had asked, and when he turned to kiss her, she stood with her shoulders back and her small chin lifted, clearly determined not to fall apart.
“I love you, darlin’,” he whispered as he kissed her.
She caught his sleeve just as he started to slip out the door. “Please, don’t get hurt,” she cried shakily. “Promise me.”
That was a promise he might not be able to keep. “I’ll do my best.”
Deathly quiet…Somewhere way off in the distance, rifle shots echoed in the darkness, but in the vicinity of the cabin, there was no sound. Rebecca found the silence more terrifying than if she’d been able to detect some sort of noise. No wind. No creaking of Race’s fir tree just outside the kitchen window. Nothing. It was an unnatural silence—eerie and spine-chilling. Knees drawn to her chest, she held the Colt .45 wedged in the crease of her lap, her thighs pressing it against her abdomen, the hammer spur poking her in the navel.
There was a certain irony in the hiding place she’d chosen. She was huddled behind the wood stove. The fire still smoldered in the grate, making her uncomfortably warm. It seemed better than sitting out in the open, though, or hiding under the bed. No one would think to look behind a hot stove. Would they?
She had no idea how long Race had been gone. An hour? The fire in the fireplace had been burning brightly when they’d been awakened by Pete’s pounding on the door. Now it was nearly out. That was the only means she had of gauging how much time had passed, and since she’d never paid much attention to how long the fire lasted, it didn’t give her much to measure by.
Every once in a while, an ember in the wood stove’s firebox would pop, nearly scaring her out of her skin. When she jumped, Blue would lift his head from his paws and peer up at her. Even though the heat was nearly unbearable where he lay beside her, he stayed, panting occasionally to cool himself. He thought he was overly warm? He lay beside the stove, not behind it. She was the one who was about to cook.
Silly hound. He probably looked at her and thought, Silly woman. And she had to concede the point. Sitting behind a wood stove on the floor and partially baking her knees wasn’t exactly intelligent.
More rifle shots. Rebecca leaned her head back against the log wall behind her and counted the reports. Seven. Pete had told Race the ruffians were slaughtering cattle. Was a steer going down with every one of those shots? The thought made her feel sick. She had done nothing but bring Race Spencer bad luck since he’d first clapped eyes on her.
She made tight fists, thinking of the money stashed under his bed. Whether he liked it or not, she was going to insist on paying him back for all of this. It was only right. What was left of the church money she’d send on to Santa Fe. There would still be plenty for the brethren to buy their livestock, equipment, and the necessary seed to put in their crops next spring. In the letter she sent with the money, she would explain all that Race had done in their behalf and all that he’d suffered in the process, and they would understand why she’d felt it necessary to make restitution.
A sudden crashing sound made Rebecca leap. Blue shot up onto his haunches and snarled. She grabbed him by the ruff. Oh, God. She wasn’t sure from what direction the noise had come, but it sounded as if someone was trying to break in. Terror constricted her chest. More beads of sweat popped out all over her body. She flattened herself against the wall, her staring eyes bugging from their sockets.
Crash! This time she heard wood splintering. Someone was trying to break in a window or the front door. The sound came from the front section of the cabin. The stove blocked her view. Were they inside? Oh, God, please…not again. Race had promised. Promised! Where was he? They were going to get to her! Where was he?
The kaboom of a gun exploded in the night. Immediately thereafter she heard gunfire all around the cabin. Running footsteps. Shouts. Kaboom—kaboom! Blue started to bark and tried to lunge away from her. She clung frantically to his ruff, afraid he’d attack someone and get shot again.
“Quiet, Blue! Shhh. They’ll hear. Shhh.”
The dog settled back, snarling low in his chest. Rebecca had started to shake so badly that she could barely hold on to him. More gunfire. She closed her eyes. Tried to pray. The words that had once come so naturally to her were now beyond her reach, as was the faith that had once sustained her. Race said there was a God. If so, where was He? Why wasn’t He protecting her? She�
�d been good. All her life, she’d been so good. Doing for others. Praying every day, on her knees more times than not. Avoiding evil. Reading the Bible. Where was God? Where was Race? Why, when she needed help, was there never anyone?
Her breath started to come in shrill little pants. The veins in her temples felt as if they might rupture from pressure. Suffocating. Race wasn’t going to come. Where was he? Where was he? Please, Race. Come back. I need you! They’re going to get me.
Images of the blond ruffian’s knife flashed in her mind. She imagined one of his cohorts creeping toward her, even now, a knife clutched in his hand, the blade glinting like dark death in the faint glow from the fireplace. Something creaked. A board? Shrill whistling sounds erupted from her as she fought frantically to breathe.
A sudden pounding echoed through the cabin. She jerked and nearly lost control of her bladder. Pounding, pounding. The stove seemed to tilt. The room started to rotate. Gunfire. Whistle, whistle. Pant, pant. Screams. Her mother screaming, screaming. Rebecca! Rebecca! Rebecca!
She closed her eyes and clamped her hands over her ears. No, no, no. Her ma. Oh, dear God in heaven. Please, please, please! She couldn’t bear it. Can’t do anything. They’ll kill me. Hide. Have to hide. Right here. In the bushes. Stop, Ma! Please, God, make it stop! But it didn’t stop.
Nothing could block out the sound of her mother screaming her name…
Chapter 21
Three days. Sitting on a stool beside the bed, Race held his wife’s hand, his thumb circling continuously over its back to trace the network of fragile bones. Pete stood beside him, his hat held at his waist, his leathery face drawn as he gazed down at the girl who stared so sightlessly back at him.
“I’m sorry, boss.”
Race could only nod. Speaking was beyond him. The doctor had just left, and with him, the man had taken the last of Race’s hope. His prognosis was merciless, frightening, and heartbreaking. She may never snap out of it, Mr. Spencer. I hate having to tell you that, but the sad truth is, some people don’t have the constitutions to live in a harsh land like this. It ends up breaking them.
Rebecca wasn’t just broken. She was shattered like fragile china, and according to the doctor, there was nothing Race could do to piece her back together. He wanted to throw back his head and scream. Shake his fist at God. Rip things apart. He’d kept his promise to her. He and his men had killed the ruffians before they managed to enter the cabin. But all the ruckus they’d raised while getting the job done had scared Rebecca so badly that she’d gone back into shock.
The doctor said that often happened with shock victims. A similar incident can cause patients like this to have a relapse. And the second time is usually far worse than the first. I’m so very sorry, Mr. Spencer, but it isn’t a good sign when a patient remains in a stupor for so long. With each passing day, it becomes less likely that she will recover.
Not Rebecca. He would have happily died rather than lose her, especially like this. Living death. Her heart was beating. She was breathing. But her body had become nothing but a shell. She would drink for him. He had cooked up some soupy broth and he was forcing some down her every couple of hours. But how long was that going to keep her alive? A month or two, the doctor said. Race imagined watching her waste away, each passing day leeching more of the life from her body.
He hunched his shoulders and brought her hand to his lips. A sob shook his shoulders. Then another. He felt Pete’s hand on his back. Race knew he should feel embarrassed. Crying like a baby. Christ. He hadn’t cried, really cried, since his mother died. Maybe it was fitting that he should weep again now. For the second time in his life, he was losing his world.
He loved this girl so much. Cherished everything about her—her shyness, her funny ideas, her innocence, her sweetness. She’d been like a song in his life after years of silence, making him laugh again, making him dream again, giving him hope again. He wanted to give her babies. He wanted to see her hold one of his babies to her breast, to see her dainty little hand curl over its head, her slender fingers stroking its ebony hair as it nursed. He wanted to build a home on this knoll, with the old fir to stand sentinel over their children while they ran and played in the yard. He wanted to carve a cattle empire from this land that he could pass on to them. God help him, he wanted to hear Rebecca laugh, just one more time. See her smile, just one more time. Hold her in his arms and make love to her, just one more time.
“God, Pete, I can’t lose her like this. I can’t.”
“I know it’s hard, son. But all you can do is pray and leave it to God.”
Race remembered how he’d tried to teach Rebecca how wrong it was to count on God for every damned thing. Stand on your own two feet. Pray to Him for the strength to fight your own battles, not for Him to fight them for you. Now, here he was, praying with every breath he took for God to save her because he couldn’t. There was no way to fight this fight. Nothing he could do. His only option was to put it into God’s hands and trust in Him to bring her back to him.
Hoarsely, Race said, “Her papa was right, after all. In the end, the only real hope any of us have is that God will save us.” He squeezed her hand, horribly conscious of how small it felt beneath his fingers. “Maybe this is my lesson. I was so damned convinced it was always up to me. You know? So cocky. Gonna take on the world. He’s showin’ me I can’t. By takin’ her, He’s gonna take me to my knees.”
Pete squeezed his shoulder. “That’s crazy thinkin’, Race Spencer.”
“Is it? I don’t think so.”
“It’s true that in the end, we only got one hope, and we all gotta know that as we live our lives. But it’s also true that we got two feet to stand on, and we got it in us to fight when we have to. In the end, when you can’t fight no more, you put it into God’s hands, but until then, you use the strength He gave you and the brains He gave you to defend yourself as best you can. He wouldn’t take her from you ’cause you done that or tried to teach her to do that. It’s crazy to think He might.”
Race closed his eyes, remembering how he’d felt three nights ago when he had found her huddling behind the wood stove, her body drenched with sweat, her hair singed, her knees pressed against the metal and blistered from the heat. To be that afraid…He’d never been that afraid in his life. He kept picturing her, huddled back there, so scared she stayed, despite the pain. The thought of it. Oh, God, it made him sick. He’d called her name, growing more and more frantic, never thinking to look behind the stove until Blue had led him to her.
“Maybe I should’ve just let her alone,” he thought aloud. “Maybe by messin’ with her beliefs, I just made it worse. I tried to make her over. It ain’t right to do that to somebody. You love ’em like they are, or you walk away. You don’t go tryin’ to change who they are. I done that to her. About every damned thing. Maybe if I would’ve just let her be, she would’ve gotten better on her own and would still be all right. Instead I stripped all she was away and tried to make her like me.”
“You’re flat bent on takin’ the blame for this, I see,” Pete said grimly. “Guilt’s a terrible thing, son. It’ll tear you apart if you hang onto it.”
“Like it tore her apart? I’m in good company then.” Race kissed the backs of her fingers, his gaze on her expressionless face. He’d never known anyone more pure of heart. “I should’ve let her be. As soon as we got the herd here, I should’ve taken her to her folks down south. They’re her people, not me. They would’ve understood her and loved her like she was, instead of tryin’ to change everything about her. I told myself they wouldn’t keep her safe. But the truth is, there around Santa Fe, on a big farm, what real harm could’ve come to her? But I kept her with me. Pure-dee old selfishness, wantin’ her for myself. She would’ve been safe with them. Look at her now. By keepin’ her, I killed her.”
“She wanted to stay with you,” Pete reminded him.
“She didn’t know what was good for her. I should have been thinkin’ clear for both of us. All them
folks love her. They’ve loved her all her life. They’re bound to understand her better than I do. I knew she was troubled. Why didn’t I take her to ’em, let them try to heal her?”
Pete sighed. “You don’t know that they could have.”
Race straightened and took a deep breath. “Maybe I should take her to them now.”
“What?”
Now that the idea had struck him, Race couldn’t set it aside. “Take her home. To her people, Pete.” He glanced up. “Ain’t it worth a try? Maybe if she sensed them around her, felt safe. Maybe she’d come right.”
“To Santa Fe? You can’t take her to Santa Fe in this shape.”
“Why not? I can hold her in front of me. Ride hard. Except for the two plug-uglies that hightailed it, they’re all dead. I don’t gotta worry about any trouble on that front. There’s no threat anymore. Why can’t I take her home? Her own people might be able to help her. Do you deny there’s a chance of that?”
Pete rubbed his jaw. “I ain’t denyin’ nothin’. It might help her. Then again, it might not. But she’ll die afore you get her there. How you gonna feed her? Here you can keep broth cooked up. You can’t on the trail.”
“I could carry it in jugs. Cook some up each night. Take dried meat for the fixin’s. I could get her there. I have a good month yet before the first heavy snow comes. And it’s bound to storm up this way first. It’ll be warmer down south until deeper into winter. I can make it.”
Pete sighed and whacked his hat against his leg. “I think it’s a crazy risk to take. Better to just stick here, see how she comes along.”
“And watch her die.” In that moment, Race knew he couldn’t do that. “Damn it, Pete, I been a fighter all my life. It ain’t in me to flop over on my back. Not if there might be a way to save her. I’d rather lose her that way, fightin’ for her life with everything I got, than to just sit here and watch her fade away.”
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