A Lady of the West (20 page)

“Don't worry about anything,” he muttered, hooking his hands under her arms and pulling her toward him. “I'll take care of you. Just trust me, and don't say anything to anyone.” His mouth closed over hers, and Victoria found that while he was holding her, at least, she didn't worry about anything at all.

Celia heard someone coming and quickly scrambled into her hiding place in the loft, afraid that it was Garnet trying to catch her alone as Victoria had warned her he might. She was as agile and silent as a cat as she stretched out to press her eye to a crack in the floor.

It wasn't Garnet, she saw; it was the Major, slowly walking the length of the barn and peering in all the stalls. “Celia,” he softly called, his tone cajoling. “Are you in here? I've got something I want to show you.”

She didn't move, except for closing her eyes to blot him out of her sight. She could barely stand to look at him anymore; there was something about him that she found repulsive, though she couldn't have explained
exactly what it was. It was as if there was a dark cloud surrounding him, a darkness of evil. At first she had tried to like him, for Victoria's sake. But she'd failed and now it was all she could do to tolerate even being in the same room with him.

“Celia,” he called again. “Come here, girl. Let me show you something.”

A cold chill ran over her body. She didn't move as she watched him leave the barn, his head swiveling as he looked for her. She would stay hidden until Victoria returned.

The Major had said they were riding to North Rock, but Garnet was a fair hand at tracking and from what he saw they weren't even heading in the same direction as the Rock. He followed carefully, making certain he didn't chance upon them before he knew it. They had ridden into a valley and he hesitated to follow them there; they would be able to see him from any vantage point. Taking the chance that they would return the same way, he picked his spot, hiding his horse below a small crest and choosing a huge clump of boulders the size of a small house as his own hiding spot.

He kicked a few small pebbles out of his way and sat down. With his rifle resting in a small notch in the rock, his hat tilted to keep the hot sun out of his eyes, he waited.

Sophie shied restlessly when Jake settled Victoria in the saddle, and he briefly considered putting her on his own mare instead. But after her little sideways dance Sophie settled down. “Keep a good grip on the reins,” he said as he swung into his own saddle. “She's flighty today.”

Victoria leaned down to pat the satiny neck. “She seems all right.”

“She's coming in heat.”

Victoria blushed. “Oh,” she said faintly.

Jake led the way out of the trees, bending low to avoid limbs and keeping a sharp eye on Sophie to make sure she didn't try to brush Victoria off. Sophie mouthed the bit impatiently, not liking it that the other mare was in front of her. Without waiting for Victoria's instruction, she lengthened her stride until she was half a neck in front and plunged out of the treeline with every intention of taking the run that had been denied her.

Victoria held the reins steady, pulling back enough to let Sophie know she wanted her to slow down but not enough to hurt her soft mouth. The mare snorted, shaking her head at the pressure. Jake kneed his mare up beside her. “Can you hold her?”

“Yes. She wants to run. Why don't we let them have some fun?”

Remembering how Sophie could run, he shook his head. “This horse can't keep up with her. Just hold her in; we'll let her run one day when I'm riding my stallion.”

Several things happened simultaneously. Sophie, impatient with the restraint, reared a little and twisted away from Jake's mare. Victoria was slung to the side, but managed to retain both her seat and the reins. Jake cursed and leaned forward to grab her bridle as a sharp crack split the air ahead and just to the right of them.

Victoria barely registered a swift buzzing sound when Jake lunged from his horse, his momentum taking him clear across Sophie and knocking Victoria to the ground with him. She landed on her back and for a moment saw nothing but black and scarlet spots. Just as her vision began clearing, Jake grabbed her and jerked her roughly across the ground to a clump of bushes. “Stay here,” he snapped.

She hadn't any choice; she couldn't manage to move with any coordination. In a daze she watched him run for his horse and jerk the rifle from its scabbard. Then, bent low, he ran back to her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, not looking at her. He was scanning the rest of the valley.

“Yes,” she managed to say, though she wasn't certain. She noticed the red stain on the light blue of his shirt, and shock propelled her to a sitting position. He'd been shot! Someone was shooting at them.

“Let me see your arm,” she said, scrabbling for the handkerchief in her skirt pocket.

He didn't look around. “It's all right, just a burn. It didn't go in.”

“Let me see,” she repeated stubbornly, getting to her knees and reaching for him.

He pushed her down and gave her a brief, cold glare.
“Stay down.
He could still be watching.”

Victoria set her mouth and hooked her fingers in his belt, then tugged. He lost his balance and sat down beside her. “Damn it—”

“He might shoot you again! You're a larger target than I am.”

Jake's eyes were like splintered ice. “He wasn't shooting at me. If that damn horse hadn't shied, you'd be dead.”

She stared blankly at him. Why would anyone want to shoot her? “Someone was probably hunting.” That had to be it; she couldn't imagine, couldn't let herself think that it was anything else.

He grunted. “Any hunter who's that piss-poor of a shot is going to die from hunger. There's no way two people mounted on horses look like a couple of deer or anything else but what they are.” He pulled his pistol from the holster and handed it to her. “Do you know how to shoot?”

She had handled single-shot dueling pistols; during the war it had seemed wise to know something about weapons. She closed her hand around the worn handle and lifted the heavy weapon. “Some,” she whispered.

“Then shoot anybody you see, except me,” he instructed. Then he was gone, slipping around the clump of bushes and out of sight.

She sat immobile, alert to every small sound. His mare was peacefully cropping grass a short distance away, but she couldn't see or hear Sophie. Birds called, insects hummed, and a light wind sifted through her hair. It was almost an hour before she heard him call, “It's clear.” She scrambled up to see him walking toward her, leading Sophie.

“Whoever it was is gone,” he said. “He shot from those big rocks. Must have waited for a while, from the signs. Just one man, and his tracks head straight toward the river.” Tracking would still be possible, if he had the time, but he didn't. He had to get Victoria back to the ranch. He'd look around afterward, but by then whoever had done it would have had plenty of time to wipe out his tracks.

She insisted on checking the seeping burn on his upper arm and tied her handkerchief around it. Her cheeks were pale but she hadn't screamed or gotten hysterical even when he'd knocked her out of the saddle. Her hair was straggling half down her back, she was dusty from head to boot, and her skirt was torn. She didn't look much like a lady now, but the steel in her backbone was unbowed. He didn't know who had tried to kill her, but he was damn sure going to find out. Then there'd be one bastard less on this earth.

J
ake walked into the dining room while they were eating dinner. He didn't look around, because he hated to see this house and know that McLain lived in it. He looked straight at Victoria, his face grim, and knew by her expression that she hadn't said anything about what had happened. He didn't know why, but it wasn't his concern.

“Somebody shot at Mrs. McLain today,” he announced abruptly to McLain, who had looked up in surprise at his entrance. “If her horse hadn't shied she'd have been killed.”

McLain's face turned dark red. “Shot at her! There ain't nobody on the ranch who'd shoot at
my
wife.”

“I found where he waited. Somebody tried to kill her. No mistake.”

Celia was very still in her chair, her gaze unreadable but riveted on McLain. “It was the Sarratts,” she said in a small, clear voice.

McLain jerked, then swiped his plate to the floor with a motion of his thick forearm. He half-rose to his feet, his eyes bulging from his head as he glared down the table at the girl. “It ain't the goddamn Sarratts!”
he bellowed. “They're dead, all of them!” His voice was both fierce and desperate, too, as if he didn't believe his own words. He slammed his fist down on the table, making their plates and glasses jump and rattle. “That goddamn Duncan Sarratt and his bitch of a wife, they're both dead, and their two half-Mex whelps with them! They're dead, I tell you!”

Jake controlled the urge to put his pistol to the man's head right now and be done with it. Hate blinded him to the Major's obvious fear. The strength it took to control his rage left Jake so raw he could barely speak. “I don't want the women out riding until I find whoever it was. I went out this afternoon and trailed him as far as the river, but it got dark before I could find where he left the water. I'll try again tomorrow.”

“Find him,” McLain said, breathing heavily to control his rage. “And kill the son of a bitch.”

Jake nodded at the women and left as abruptly as he'd entered.

McLain was still blowing air like a bull, his bloodshot eyes fastened on nothing. Victoria quietly excused herself and hustled Celia out of the room. When they were out of earshot, she grabbed her sister's arm. “Why did you say that?” she whispered fiercely. “You saw how he got last night when Juana mentioned their name!”

Celia looked up, her expression raw. “I hate him. I wanted to see him afraid, like he was last night. I hate him!” She tore loose and ran up the stairs to her room, where she slammed the door.

Emma was standing behind Victoria when she turned around; her cousin's face was white and drawn. She was shaking. She looked at Victoria with something close to terror in her fine eyes. “Why didn't you tell me?” she asked in a taut voice. “My God, someone tried to kill you!”

“And failed, though Jake was wounded in the arm. I didn't want to worry you.” Nor had she wanted to talk
about it. Beneath her surface calm, she felt frightened and vulnerable. Something was going to happen and she didn't understand what or why; she only sensed the increasing instability of their lives.

“We have to leave here,” Emma said.

“I can't!” Victoria started to speak again, then motioned with her head for Emma to follow her. She didn't want to take a chance on anyone overhearing them talk. They went to Emma's room and firmly closed the door. Victoria walked to the window. “We went over this last night. I can't leave without Jake.”

Emma sat down on the bed and clasped her hands. “Do you love him?”

It sounded as shocking now as it had the first time she'd said it to herself. She was a married lady, a Waverly from Augusta; he was a hired gun, a man who killed without a flicker of emotion. It was still shattering to realize how little any of those things mattered. “Yes.”

“Does he love you?”

“He—he wants me.”

It was hard to evade Emma. “But does he love you?”

“No.” The admission filled her with pain. She had seen lust in his eyes, but not love.

“Then how can you afford to risk your life to stay near him?”

“Would you have left Jon?” Victoria asked in a choked voice. “Even if you had known that he didn't feel the same way about you as you felt about him, could you have left him?”

Emma's lips trembled and she stared down at her hands. “No,” she finally said. “No, I couldn't.”

“Then you know why I'm staying. You and Celia can leave, go back to Augusta.”

“I won't leave you, either. And you know there's nothing for us back in Augusta.”

And maybe nothing here, in this wild, hard, beautiful land, except death at the hand of someone who had
some reason for wanting her dead. Out here, it seemed, that reason didn't have to make much sense.

“If something happens to me, I want your promise that you'll take Celia and leave immediately.”

Emma stared at her, white-faced. “Don't let anything happen,” she whispered in reply.

After leaving Emma's room, Victoria tapped on Celia's door. She found her sister sitting quietly by the window, staring out at the courtyard. She didn't look up and smile as she usually did.

Victoria put her hand on Celia's shoulder, wondering what had happened to take the happiness from her eyes and leave behind that strange remoteness. “Is anything wrong?” she asked in a gentle tone.