The Outlaw's Mail Order Bride

by Linda Broday

  Tally gently wiped the blood from Edith’s mouth. “Clay and I are going to get everyone out—tonight. We were counting on you to help, but you’re hurt too badly.”

  Edith straightened with a groan. “Those bastards ain’t got the best of me yet. I won’t be able to tote much, but I can tell you where everyone is at.”

  “That’s all we need.” Clay went to the doorway and glanced up and down the hall. He could hear loud voices to the right. It sounded like Montana had managed to get in with them all right. After hearing the words bet and raise mixed in with the cursing, he assumed they were engaged in whiskey and cards.

  “Go left,” Edith said low, clasping a large ring of keys. “Some of the girls are chained in the basement. Don’t forget about them.”

  From one room to the next, they systematically released the prisoners. As they freed the chains of each, Edith silently led them out to the wagons. Some, like Tally, who were thinking clearly and not in too bad shape, helped Clay as he worked his way toward the basement.

  Tally unlocked the door using Edith’s keys. Holding a candle high, Clay descended into the pitch blackness. He was unprepared for the sight he found.

  Bile rose as a foul odor struck him. He covered his mouth with a sleeve. Women subdued in heavy chains lined one wall. He took in their tattered clothes, long, stringy hair hanging in their faces, their bones barely covered with skin. As the light hit them, they snarled like animals. Who knew when they’d last eaten or had even a sip of water?

  What the hell was he up against?

  Greed led Tarver and his men to do this. They’d been paid to let the women die—however, whenever they chose.

  How would he get such frail beings to Austin without killing them? Jolts in a wagon alone could break brittle bones.

  Then, his gaze fell on a young girl, holding a rag, locked in her own world. She rocked back and forth, humming softly.

  “Cora!” Tally pushed him aside and rushed to her.

  Was this Crazy Cora that Edith had been beaten within an inch of her life for helping?

  “Be careful, Tally,” Clay warned.

  As usual, she paid him little mind. She knelt on the wet stone floor, her fingers trembling as she hurried to unlock the chains, then put an arm around the girl.

  “Oh, Cora. I’ve missed you so much and worried about you.”

  A mist came into the girl’s eyes. “Mama?”

  “Yes, dear. I’ve come to take you home.” Tally tenderly brushed the hair from Cora’s eyes. “And we’re taking your baby too.”

  Cora clutched the piece of rag to her chest and whispered, “He doesn’t like it here.”

  “I know. We’re going to take him home.”

  “Okay, Mama.”

  Clay rushed to help Tally lift the girl to her feet. Cora could barely stand and would’ve collapsed if they hadn’t had a firm grip on her.

  “Can you carry her up the stairs, Clay? I don’t think she can manage them.”

  “Of course.” He easily lifted Cora and carried her into the dark hallway. After handing the girl off to Edith and two women helping her, he went back down.

  Tally spoke calmly to each of the others, calling them by name. Then she offered them some bread, which they grabbed with greedy hands. Clay was amazed at his wife’s deep compassion and skill in handling these poor, unfortunate souls. Anger washed over him at everything he saw around him. How she had survived this hell?

  Slowly, she settled them down. As she unfastened their chains, Clay led the freed prisoners from the gruesome torture chamber. While some still had wild eyes, they made no move to attack, and for that, he was very grateful.

  The stairs creaked as he made his way to the top. So far so good. He stepped out and began moving the women past him. The unmistakable click of a hammer cocking froze him.

  “Hold it, mister.”

  Clay whirled, putting himself in front of the escapees. There was Jacob Abram, staring at him. “I’m taking these women out of here. You’ll have to kill me to stop me.” His hand inched toward his Remington.

  “Then I reckon that’s what I’ll do,” Jacob snarled. “You got no right to come in here.”

  “And you have no right to hold them in such deplorable conditions.”

  Abram’s smile curled back over his teeth. Clay watched his eyes and knew the minute the man was going to pull the trigger. Faster than greased lightning, Clay drew and fired. A burst of orange left the barrel, the bullet knocking Abram backward. The close quarters and stone hall left no place for the sound to go except in Clay’s ears. The shock wave swept inside him, creating a ringing in his head.

  He turned to Edith. “That’s going to bring Tarver. Hurry, get these women out of here. I hear you know of a properly run sanitarium in Austin. Take them there. You’ve been a great help. Thank you for all you’ve done.”

  “No more than you would’ve.”

  Tally hugged her friend. “Godspeed, Edith. I hope we meet again someday.”

  Clay grabbed Abram’s shirt and pulled him down the basement stairs. If Tarver didn’t find a body, he still wouldn’t be certain that anyone had invaded his domain. And especially if Montana kept him good and drunk. With luck, he’d think his men were just jumping at shadows in the dark.

  Clay was about to head back up when a scurrying sound came from those dark shadows. The hair rose on the back of his neck. Rats? Maybe. Then came a whimper that sounded almost human.

  “Who’s there?”

  More scurrying and whispers. He held up the candle, but it had burned so low it barely provided any light.

  “Is anyone there? I won’t hurt you. I’ve come to take you out of this horrible place.”

  He strained to see as he moved the candle from side to side. “Hello?”

  A drip of water somewhere in the cavernous space echoed like a cannon shot. He whirled, his gun drawn.

  Chills crawled up his spine. Damn, he hated this place!

  Maybe he was losing his mind and imagining people where there weren’t any. The heavy stone walls and repugnant odors were enough to drive anyone berserk. He had to get the hell out of here and get these creepy-crawlies off him.

  “This is your last chance. You can’t stay here. I’m going to burn this place down. You have to get out.”

  Small, inky forms stole toward him out of the darkness. As they came closer, he could make out two children. A ragged boy of about seven was holding the hand of a much younger girl. Clay put her around three or four. They were extremely thin, their clothes falling off them. The silent little girl hid her head and pressed tightly to her companion’s side.

  The boy’s eyes bulged with fear. “No.”

  Thirty-one

  “Hey there.” Clay put his gun away and knelt on the stone floor in the dark basement of the asylum. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, son. I won’t hurt you. I’ve come to get everyone out and we have to hurry before they find us.”

  Anger spewed from the boy’s mouth. “You lie!”

  “I swear it’s the truth. Why would I lie?”

  The boy clutched the girl tighter. “To trick us. You just want to feed us to the hogs. You said so. But we got away where you couldn’t find us.”

  Terror in the boy’s face pierced Clay’s chest. Whatever they’d gone through had probably been as bad as the rest he’d already seen. The loud grunts of the hogs outside suddenly swept through his memory and ice slid down his spine.

  “No trick.” He stretched out a hand. “I don’t work here. I’ve ridden a long way to get here.”

  Just then, Tally appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a larger candle. “Clay? What’s the holdup? I sent Edith on with her full wagon.”

  “I discovered these two.” Clay stood. “And I’m going to need your help.”

  She hurried down, her worried eyes meetin
g his before shifting to the children. “Hi, I’m Tally. I used to live here a while ago. We’ve come to rescue you.”

  “Why?” the boy asked. “No one wants us.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s not true.” Tally inched closer. “I want you safe, and Clay does too.”

  “Our papa don’t. He brung us here when mama died ’cause we were too much trouble an’ this was closer than the orphanage.” The boy glared. “Maybe you wanna take us someplace worse’n this.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or kill us.”

  His words cut into Clay. “I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, that we’re taking you home with me and Tally. We have a daughter who can’t see and we didn’t throw her away. You’ll have plenty of food and a big place to play.”

  “You can grow up healthy and happy. Maybe you remember Violet. She once lived here too. Now, she’s living with me.” Tally gently pushed the hair from the little girl’s face. “Let us love you. Please?”

  “I guess we can give you a try.” Tears rolled down the boy’s cheeks as he reached for Clay’s hand.

  He led the boy from the wet tomb into the fresh air. Tally carried the girl and deposited her in the back of a wagon next to her brother.

  One of the women put her arm around the children. “I’ll look after these Carver kids.”

  Clay spoke to the driver. “Follow the other wagons and meet us at the Brazos River crossing. If we don’t show by sundown tomorrow, you’ll know we didn’t make it. Head on to Austin and meet Edith there or catch up to her along the way.” Clay swung to Tally. “Crawl in the wagon with them and get out of here.”

  She cupped his jaw. “As much as I love you, I can’t. I’m not going to leave you here, and you’re loco if you think I will. I have to see this to the bitter end.”

  Irritation rose. He couldn’t have her anywhere near when the shooting started. “Tally, get in the damn wagon. We’re running out of time.”

  “Sorry, but I can’t.” She spoke to the driver, then slapped the rump of one of the horses.

  Clay clenched his teeth. She was going to make him as mad as a March hare.

  Gunfire erupted just as the wagons rolled out of sight. Clay drew his Remington and pivoted to see the shooter in the kitchen door. He pushed Tally down and fired back.

  The bullet hit the gunman’s shoulder, spinning him around. He fell back, taking cover in the kitchen. Clay sprinted to the back door and pressed against the side of the stone wall.

  A flurry of gunshots rang out from farther inside the building. Who was shooting?

  With luck, Montana would keep some of the other men from joining the fight. Still, Clay knew there were more men on the property besides the few drinking with the old outlaw.

  A shot burst from inside. Tally took aim from the ground where she lay and sent a bullet into the open door of the grisly stone fortress. At the same time, Clay moved from the wall and fired. A second later, he burst through the door and into the kitchen.

  Surprise shone in the gunman’s eyes. He jerked to his feet with gun blazing.

  A bullet creased Clay’s side, the sting sending fire through him. Damn it to hell! He took aim and orange flame spat from the end of the Remington. The shot sent the shooter reeling into a cabinet filled with dishes. The whole mess crashed to the floor, showering broken shards everywhere.

  Clay sent a cursory glance at the man lying on his back. Blood poured from his chest wound, and Clay knew he was dead.

  Tally raced through the door, relief on her face to see Clay standing.

  “I’m all right.” Clay quickly reloaded. “Since you’re here, let’s finish. But don’t take on anything by yourself.” He held her arm. “You got that?”

  “Yeah.” She emptied the spent cartridges and slid two fresh ones into the chamber of her Colt.

  Her sharp answer did nothing to reassure Clay. Revenge and hatred burned in her eyes. She was determined to make Tarver and the others pay. The crazy thing was—he understood it. Though it would make him feel easier if she wasn’t the woman he loved.

  “I think the second floor is clear, but we need to make sure we didn’t miss anyone.”

  Clay nodded. “Go ahead, but be careful.” It had seemed clear while they were on that floor, releasing the women, but someone too afraid could’ve hidden.

  Breathing a silent prayer that they’d live through this night, Clay stepped out into the long hall and inched quietly toward the front of the asylum. Tally climbed the stairs to the second floor. He prayed like hell he was right in thinking the men were gathering in the front, intent on making a stand.

  Where was Montana? What had happened to him? Clay wanted to call out but didn’t dare, so he just kept moving, trying not to make any noise.

  Shadows leaped out at him and his nerves began to fray. Tension climbed up his back until his body screamed. He got closer and closer to the front and the echoes of loud voices. It sounded like an argument, but he couldn’t make out the words.

  He slid along the wall, taking one step at a time. How many men were there?

  A sudden gunshot rang out from a few yards away. Clay cursed the darkness and took cover in an empty room as boots struck the floor, running toward him.

  * * *

  Painful memories crowded around Tally as she stole along the upstairs hall.

  The candle in her hand flickered and went out, plunging her into complete darkness, but she knew the familiar hell that she now walked through.

  Panic sent a shudder running the length of her. She tightened her hand around the Colt. She passed the dark, empty rooms, her thoughts on Clay. Earlier, outside, she’d seen resignation in his eyes. He’d accepted whatever fate had in store for him. For some reason, maybe gut instinct, something seemed to tell him he might not get out of here. If he died in Creedmore, she alone would bear the blame.

  Tally took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. They weren’t dead yet. They had to rid this place of evil that left the spirit nothing but ash. Tarver and his bunch would soon rest in hell.

  Convinced that no one appeared to be up here, she turned toward the stairs. A large, dark form hurtled from the nearest room and pinned her against the wall. In the jarring contact, Tally’s gun flew from her hand.

  Her assailant pressed an arm across her throat. The moon came out from behind a cloud and shone light through the dirty window. She gave a cry and struggled to breathe while she kicked and twisted. The stranger’s features became a mask of depravity and hate shot from his eyes.

  “Get ready to die.” The guard snarled like a rabid animal, tightened his arm, and cut off her air supply.

  She clawed at his hands. Her vision blurred.

  She couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow the fear building inside. Yet despite all that, determination rose.

  I’m not going to die here. Not in this place of misery and greed and death.

  In a sudden move before she lost consciousness, she brought her knee up hard into the soft flesh between his legs. Her last-ditch effort worked. The man gave a loud grunt and dropped his hold, bending double, clutching himself.

  Tally groped on the floor for her gun. Where was it?

  Hurry! Oh, for more light!

  Her assailant began to get his breath and straighten, his gaze swinging to her.

  Where was her Colt? Oh God, oh God, oh God! Feverishly, she felt along the boards.

  “You’re dead, girl,” he rasped. “Dead.”

  As he stumbled toward her, Tally’s hand closed around the barrel of her gun.

  Closer he came, his meaty hands open to grab her. He lunged and caught the back of her collar. The fabric tore as she wrenched free and turned the gun around, getting hold of the butt.

  He lunged at her again, his hand catching her skirt.

  Tally squeezed the trigger at nearly point-blank range. He plung
ed on top of her, knocking her backward. Gasping, she sprawled on the floor, pinned by his weight. It took all her strength to roll from under him and free herself.

  As she raced through the blackness toward the stairs, a horrendous crash came from below, followed by shouts and loud yells.

  “Clay!”

  Only silence answered back.

  * * *

  As the world crashed around him, Clay gripped his Remington and moved toward the sound. He was torn between rushing upstairs toward the gun blast and whatever was happening ahead of him in the dimly lit room at the far end of the long, gloomy hallway.

  Tally’s name was on his tongue before he bit it back. He couldn’t give away his position.

  If one of them had killed her, he’d gut the bastard like an animal.

  A throbbing ache filled him, squeezing his chest until he could barely breathe. To hell with whatever was happening in front of him. He whirled toward the stairs, but as he reached them, he met Tally coming down. Trembling, Clay crushed her to him, burying his face in her hair. “Thank God you’re all right. I was afraid for you.”

  She leaned back and brushed his cheek. “I shot a man. He tried to strangle me with his bare hands. What’s happening down here?”

  “I’m not sure. The voices are coming from the front, and I’ve not gotten there yet.”

  “A word of warning. Sound bounces around inside these stone walls and you can never know the location for sure.” She kissed his cheek. “Please be careful.”

  “You wait here and catch any who get past me.” Clay hurried toward the lit room, paying no heed to the sound of his footsteps. At this rate, no one could hear over the racket anyway.

  “Sit your asses down! I ain’t messing with you.” The voice belonged to Montana. Why it made him happy to know the old outlaw was still breathing, Clay couldn’t quite say.

  What sounded like a scuffle reached him, then the loud explosion of a shot.

  Montana’s voice rose. “I’m going to blow your damn head off.”

  “Drop your weapon, Black.”