by Linda Broday
Dominick drew his pistol and fired three shots into George. The large bodyguard plunged to the dirt and breathed his last. Clay could dredge up little sympathy for the man.
Smoke still curled from the end of Dominick’s pistol when Clay stepped out with gun drawn. “Toss the weapon!”
The killer jerked, his eyes glittering stones. “I knew George was followed.”
Clay moved forward. “I said throw the gun aside or you’ll join your friend.”
The surly saloon owner finally dropped his Colt. “Who are you? Have we met?”
“Once. Recall Clay Colby?”
“Hell! I should’ve killed you that day.”
“I reckon so. I’m here to take you to Fort Worth for Lucinda Shannon’s trial. You’re going to tell them about the plot you and she cooked up, and the killings that went with it.”
“That’s a lie,” Dominick spat. “You don’t have any witnesses. No one will believe Tally. She’s gone crazy.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. She has an excellent memory, she’s sane as any of us, and she’s now my wife.” With his pistol trained on his quarry, Clay took some piggin’ strings from the pommel of George’s horse.
“You’ll never get me there,” Dominick spewed. “I’ll kill you the first mile.”
“Way I see it, you’re in no position to make claims. Or threats.” Clay poked him with his gun. “Get on the horse.”
Dark, sullen eyes glared, revealing the depth of the saloon owner’s hate. He stuck one foot in the stirrup and whirled, delivering a jarring strike to Clay’s cheek, jerking his head back. Into the saddle he vaulted, spurring the animal into a gallop.
Clay swung his gun up and fired at the fleeing witness, attempting only to wound. They needed him alive. His bullet struck the saloon owner’s arm, but Dominick didn’t slow. Clay raced toward the spot where he’d left Sundown, untied the gelding, and took out after his quarry. As he rode, he wrapped the extra piggin’ rope around his pommel, praying he’d get a chance to use it. He’d tie Dominick’s hands so tight he’d have trouble picking up a bottle of whiskey.
They rode through heavily vegetated land with mountain cedar and oak trees scattered across the rolling hills. The time Clay wasted in getting to Sundown was made up in having the better animal. The dun cob horse of George’s was beginning to slow. No use in wasting lead and risk killing Dominick—Sundown was reeling him in like a fish on a hook.
Dominick turned around at one point to check how close Clay was…and missed seeing the low-hanging branch. He flew from the saddle and lay gasping in the dirt, unable to draw air into his lungs. Clay leaped from the paint, piggin’ string clutched tight. He rolled the saloon owner over and tied his hands.
“All right, take it easy,” Dominick protested. “Watch my arm.”
Clay slowed his stampeding heart and yanked him up. “I’ve bled more shaving myself. Quit whining or I’ll shoot you again.”
He threw the man back on the dun and tied his hands to the pommel.
“You’re a sonofabitch, Colby, you know that?”
“It’s men like you who taught me to be. Do us both a favor and shut up.” Clay grabbed the dun’s reins and swung onto his paint.
They rode until twilight, stopping only to rest the horses and relieve themselves. Dominick bellyached the whole way about this, that, and the other. Clay pulled up next to a stream, keeping one eye on his prisoner. He didn’t trust the man and knew one slip would be all it took for him to get away. Those dark, sullen eyes followed his every move.
Waiting.
Studying.
Watching.
He untied Dominick’s hands and yanked him from the horse. He took his rope and made a loop on the ground. “Step into it.”
“Make me.”
“I reckon you come from Missouri.” Clay adopted a calm tone to hide the anger boiling inside.
“What do you mean by that?”
“They raise nothing but corn, Cain, and cockleburs. And their mules have to be shown how to behave.” In a lightning flash, Clay stuck his gun between Dominick’s mutinous eyes. “I won’t tell you again.”
Biting back the angry words he obviously itched to say, the man stepped into the loop. Clay pulled the rope tight around his legs, then flipped him onto his stomach and pulled the end up, tying his hands. Trussed up like a fat sow, Dominick couldn’t sit up or roll over.
Satisfied with his handiwork, Clay pulled his rifle from the paint’s scabbard and went hunting for game. Dominick’s angry glare followed Clay to the edge of the clearing and then again an hour later when he returned with a mess of quail. He could imagine how it irked the man to be hog-tied and helpless. Ignoring his prisoner, he made a fire and cleaned the birds.
“I’m hungry, Colby.” Dominick wiggled around for a better view.
“Open your mouth and a bug might crawl in. Several might fill you. Or at least shut you up.” Clay slid the quail onto some hastily made skewers and propped them over the fire.
“My arm hurts too. Ain’t you even gonna wash it? I could die from lead poisoning and there would go your trial. Lucinda would get off and poor, sweet Tally would be up a creek.” Jude Dominick eyed him. “Look, I’ll dicker with you.”
“Why should I? I’m holding all the cards. What can you offer that I don’t have?”
“How about me spilling my guts to the judge? Untie me and I’ll swear to tell everything.”
“I like my chances.” Clay leaned against a tree stump and pulled his hat over his eyes.
“Go to hell, sonofabitch.”
Now there were the true colors shining through. The man might as well get ready to spend the night in his predicament. By this time tomorrow, they’d be in Fort Worth. Clay couldn’t wait to kiss Tally. It seemed like they’d been apart a year, and he was anxious for her smile and to see those pretty winter-blue eyes he loved.
After they put Lucinda and Dominick away, she’d have lots more reasons for real smiles. Come hell or high water, he would put them behind bars—either in Fort Worth or Hope’s Crossing. Make no mistake about that.
Even if he had to build his own damn jail. Better yet, drop them in a deep hole and place a piece of weighted wood over the top.
Forty-two
Jude Dominick was gone.
Clay forced his eyes open wide and reached for his gun. His Remington was gone too. His heart sank. Dawn’s thin light revealed the rope laying on the ground, but no prisoner. He jumped to his feet and hurried to the horses. Both mounts had vanished as well.
Damn Mondays!
From the jumble of boot- and hoofprints, Dominick had ridden west. Maybe if Clay hurried, he could catch the man. He went back to look at the ropes. They’d been cut—sawed through with a sharp rock that lay inches away. It would’ve taken him all night.
But when could he have picked up the rock?
Clay thought back. It had to be when he’d untied Dominick to let him eat. He’d washed the gunshot wound then and let him relieve himself. This is what he got for caring even a little about that low-down bastard.
Hell and be damned!
Clay struck out after his quarry. Sundown would balk—at least he was counting on it. The paint didn’t like other men to ride him. Once Clay had a horse under him, it would be a matter of time before he caught up to the man.
A clock ticked in his head. He had to get Dominick to Fort Worth before court let out.
But two hours later, he was sweating under the scorching sun, his feet aching, his mouth as dry as a shriveled turnip. He couldn’t go on like this. He had to find water.
A little farther, down in a draw, he spotted a narrow creek. Clay stumbled down to it, fell on his belly, and gulped his fill. A noise that was completely out of place reached him. He rose and followed the nickering to find Sundown, calmly nibbling on some rye grass.
The gelding raced up a hill and the scene that met Clay’s eyes gave him a jolt. Dominick. He spurred Sundown and they flew across the ground. His quarry saw him and tried to get his nag to go faster, but the plow horse was already moving at top speed.
Coming alongside, Clay leaped onto the man and they tumbled to the ground. Clay knocked the gun from his hands and delivered a punishing blow to his jaw, then another to his stomach.
Dominick kicked him backward into a cactus bed. Hundreds of needles pricked him, drawing blood. Clay ignored the stinging pain and rose, ramming his head into the man, knocking him away from the gun on the ground that glinted in the sun.
Both men breathed hard, trading blows. Clay jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow and brought an arm down on the back of Dominick’s neck. Then, he pummeled his fists into the man’s gut and face until finally the saloon owner collapsed in the dirt.
“Get up!” Clay grabbed Dominick’s shirt, only to have it tear apart in his hands.
The bastard scrambled away and took off running. Clay tackled him, sat on his back, and put an arm around his neck.
Yanking his head backward, Clay yelled, “Stop or I’ll kill you right here. Then you won’t have to worry about a judge or a trial.”
Finally, Dominick went limp. “You win.”
His breath coming in harsh gasps, Clay wiped blood from his mouth and shoved Dominick toward the dun. “Get on.”
Clay was a bloody mess, one sleeve hung by a thread, and he was sorely out of patience. The clock in his head ticked as he tied Dominick’s hands extra tight to the pommel. They couldn’t make it in time. Fort Worth was too far.
Still, he’d get the man there and pray that somehow, someway, he wasn’t too late.
* * *
Tally took Ridge’s arm and hurried toward court. Thoughts tumbled this way and that, and she was worried that Clay hadn’t made it. If she should lose him… But she wouldn’t. She thrust her shoulders back. They’d win this suit and go home to Hope’s Crossing.
A woman stepped into her path. Lucinda. She should’ve expected a confrontation.
“I’m going to expose you for a liar,” Lucinda snarled. “After I get through with you, you’ll be lucky to have one friend.” Lucinda gave Ridge a once-over, curling her lip. “You always have to have a man, and it doesn’t matter much to you which one it is.”
Tally shook with anger, but she would rise above her dear stepmother’s level. “Step aside, please.”
“Or what? Will you draw a gun and shoot me like you killed the others?”
Ridge grabbed her arm. “Move or else you might find yourself facedown in the dirt.”
“Get your hands off me!”
A crowd was gathering and the last thing Tally wanted was a public airing of their differences. She leaned closer, putting her nose next to Lucinda’s. “I asked you politely to move. I’ll not say it again. I’m going to win and take every single thing you own. I have justice on my side. What do you have except killers?”
“You’re the one who killed your poor father!” Lucinda screamed. “You gave him that poison. You were livid because he married me. So you made sure he paid.”
Rage swept through Tally. She drew back her hand and struck Lucinda’s cheek as hard as she could. The slap sounded like a rifle shot and the crowd rushed for her. Ridge grabbed her elbow and half carried her inside the doors.
Tally sagged against Ridge. “What have I done?” Had she just given Lucinda the ammunition she’d searched for?
* * *
Tally swiveled in her seat next to Phineas Hargrove and glanced toward the door, hoping Clay would stride though any minute. What if Jude Dominick had killed him? She couldn’t bear to live without Clay’s light. She’d sink into darkness.
Ridge sat at the back, his hat lowered to avoid recognition. She knew the danger she’d thrust him into but was grateful he was there. He gave her a slight nod of encouragement.
Clinging to the strength she found in the former preacher’s gaze, she turned back to face the imposing judge. He was a tall, distinguished man, and she imagined that she could see fairness in his kind eyes. That was more than she’d hoped for. She inhaled a calming breath and readied for whatever the trial might bring. Right now, she feared the presiding judge would throw the case out unless Dominick arrived. Where was Clay?
How could they proceed without Dominick’s testimony?
Called to order for a mere five minutes, and already her case was in jeopardy.
Lucinda smirked at her from her seat at the defense table, quite satisfied with what had occurred outside, sure she’d won.
Hargrove’s chair screeched on the floor as he slid it back and stood. “Your honor, I’d like to request a short delay. One of our witnesses isn’t here yet.”
“Sorry, counselor. Either present your case or we leave.” The judge banged his gavel.
“Very well. I’d like to call Kate Marshall.”
A woman that Tally had only met briefly before the trial got to her feet, and Lucinda let out a sharp curse. Tally really had no clue as to what Kate might say but only knew from Hargrove that the woman had damaging information. She prayed it would be enough.
Kate sat in the witness box, stated her name, and swore to tell the truth.
“Now, Miss Marshall, do you work at the Crystal Palace?”
She glanced at Lucinda and raised her chin in defiance. “Used to, sir, until two days ago when Clay Colby helped me escape.”
A lump rose in Tally’s chest. Clay was that kind of man. Maybe Kate knew what happened to him. She’d ask when the judge dismissed them.
“Clarify that, please.”
“I, along with other women, was held against my will by Jude Dominick.”
Tally gasped. Kate’s story was so like her own. Maybe Jude was a friend of Slade Tarver. They almost had to have known each other, and it explained how Dominick knew to take her there.
“Miss Marshall, do you know Lucinda Shannon… I believe her former name was Kirkpatrick?”
“We worked together for about a year.”
Tally shifted her focus to Lucinda. Her stepmother was slumped in her chair, her face ashen, picking at her nails. From Lucinda’s reaction, whatever was about to come out seemed to be something she didn’t want known.
Hargrove paced back and forth. “What was her association with Jude Dominick?”
“They were lovers. Lucinda spent a great deal of time in his bed.”
Shock raced through Tally. No wonder Dominick had showed up at her father’s house and helped her with her evil plan. It all made sense now. The many hours together, Lucinda’s locked bedroom, Dominick wearing her father’s suits.
Lucinda jumped to her feet. “That’s a bald-faced lie!”
The judge banged his gavel. “Sit down, madam!”
Clenching her hands, Lucinda dropped into her seat and whispered something to her attorney.
Phineas Hargrove removed his frock coat and draped it over a chair, then mopped his forehead. “It’s a hot day. Now, Miss Marshall, I believe you overheard many conversations between Lucinda Kirkpatrick and Jude Dominick. Tell us about those.”
“Shortly after Mr. Cormick Shannon became a regular at the Palace, I heard Lucinda and Dominick talk about ways to get her married to the man. Other conversations were about what they’d do once she became Cormick’s wife, how they’d take everything he had—his money, his land, and his life.”
“Lies!” Lucinda shouted. “All lies. I never said any such thing. I loved Cormick Shannon.
I slept by his side, nursed him when he was sick. I buried him and tried my best to care for his daughter.”
Tally gripped the table edge so hard it left an imprint on her palm. It took everything she had to remain silent and in her chair.
“Sit down!” the judge ordered Lucinda. “Take your seat or I’ll order you to jail.”
With arms folded across her chest, Lucinda sank down next to her lawyer, who was scribbling furiously. Worry slid along Tally’s spine. The truth was coming out but so were the lies.
Which would the judge believe?
After several more questions, Lucinda’s lawyer got his turn. “Miss Marshall, isn’t it true that you didn’t like my client and were jealous of her—that you wanted Jude Dominick for yourself? That you’d be willing to say anything to hurt her, even tell vicious lies?”
Tally prayed that Kate stayed strong and wouldn’t be intimidated by the lawyer’s dark demeanor and loud accusations.
“It’s true I never liked Lucinda, but I abhor Jude Dominick with every fiber of my being. Many times he tried to force me into his bed, putting his hands on me, kissing me against my will.” Kate’s hand visibly shook as she pushed back her hair. “Everything I’ve said is the truth about my boss and I have witnesses.”
The courtroom was silent. Lucinda’s face was stone cold, her eyes glittering with hate.
Lucinda’s lawyer badgered Kate for what seemed like hours, but the woman didn’t veer from her story. Tally liked her for standing up and being heard. It had to be terrifying. Kate had to be scared of being silenced—permanently—just as Tally’s father and brother and so many others had been.
But unless Clay showed up with Dominick, and Dominick testified, they didn’t have any rock-solid proof. Just Kate’s word against Lucinda’s.
Each time the door opened, Tally swung around, hoping and praying to see Clay.
