Always You (8 page)

“Not another step, stranger,” Cal warned.

But the bushy-bearded man didn’t seem to notice Cal’s rifle. He halted his big gray horse, held up a ham-size hand to his companion, a sullen, unkempt-looking scarecrow in a greasy duster, and spoke in a soft, clever voice.

“Hold your fire, mister. Name’s Strong—Otis Strong. Me and Jethro here, we’re not looking for no trouble. But we seen your smoke from your campfire a while ago and headed this way. Lookee here, Jethro.” He smirked, half turning toward his companion. “We sure never expected to see a pretty lady out here in no-man’s-land, now did we?”

“Keep moving,” Cal said calmly. “My wife and I don’t take kindly to strangers.”

“We’re running mighty low on rations, mister. Maybe we could share your campfire tonight and buy some coffee off you and maybe some hardtack if you and the little lady can spare it—”

Before he could finish speaking, there was a dull thud. Melora, who’d been watching the bearded man closely with growing distrust, turned in time to see Cal topple forward and hit the ground.

She gasped in terror as she saw the third man. He stood over Cal, studying his prone form with a satisfied smirk, and she realized with a jolt of dismay that he’d evidently sneaked around the camp in silence and coldcocked Cal from behind.

Melora sprang toward Cal, horrified by the blood seeping into the dirt beneath his head. He wasn’t moving, and his eyes were closed, and the fear that he was dead struck her like a fist in her stomach, but before she could reach him, the third man barred her way. With a grunt he grabbed her around the waist.

“Good work, Lomax!” Jethro, the scarecrow, whooped.

Lomax looked to be about fifty, a potbellied and foul-smelling goat of a man with long, greasy red hair and lashless eyes the color of river mud. Instinctively Melora kicked him in the shin, and he released her with a bellow of pain.

“Git her,” Strong commanded as she bolted. Jethro spurred his pinto forward.

She got no farther than the shadow of the pines before Jethro whipped the horse around her, cutting her off. With her heart in her throat, Melora changed direction, darting to her left, but found Lomax blocking that path, his arms outstretched. Strong slid from the gray and sauntered over, stepping over Cal’s unmoving form without even glancing down.

“I told you boys I’d find us a woman to keep us entertained while we’re hiding out,” he said smugly, grinning around the group. He approached Melora, beaming like a skunk eating cabbage. “And a real looker she is, too.”

“You leave me alone.” She retreated a step as he bore down upon her. “If you let me tend to... to my husband, he might live. If not, you’ll all be hunted down for murder! So if you don’t want to get yourselves hanged—”

“Hell, we’re already bein’ hunted for murder,” Jethro broke in, guffawing, shrugging his bony shoulders. “And they kin only hang us once, so why the hell should we give a damn about your poor ol’ husband there?”

The chill that swept through Melora froze her blood like creek water. She knew there was no point cajoling or arguing with these men. She recognized their ilk. Suddenly she dodged past Strong, whipping by him so quickly he didn’t have time to grab her. She ducked beneath the pine boughs and ran through the thick, soft blackness toward the stream. From behind her came the noise of pursuit, and her feet slid ever faster over the rough ground.

Was Cal dead? Horror churned through her. My God, she was trapped out here with these three murderers! She knew what they would do to her, and shivers convulsed down her spine as she plummeted forward in a desperate run for freedom. She’d rather die than be caught; she’d rather break her neck running through this thick, pillowy blackness than submit to them.

But as she spied the glint of the stream and pelted toward it, a rope slithered around her shoulders, slid nearly to her elbows, and then tightened so swiftly she gasped in pain. She was flung to the ground as the rope jerked sharply, and then Jethro leaped off his horse and trod over to her, grasping the rope between his hands.

Lomax and Strong appeared out of the darkness and leered down at her as Jethro knelt, grabbing a handful of her hair as she struggled to sit up.

“Hope you’re worth all this trouble, lady.”

“Bring her back to the hideout,” Strong ordered without further ado. “Me and Lomax’ll check out the camp and get their horses and supplies and finish off that hombre. Then we’ll meet up with you straight away. And lookee here, Jethro,” he added, jabbing a finger at the scarecrow twisting the rope in his hands. “You’d better make damn sure she’s still alive and kicking until we’ve all had a turn with her. Don’t you forget.”

Fighting back the nausea rocking through her, Melora presently found herself wrenched up before Jethro on his horse, the rope still taut about her shoulders, crushing her bones. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. The fear was now a living, breathing thing inside her, consuming every thought. She tried to keep from trembling as the pinto galloped through the darkness, crossing a short gully, then veering west beneath the shadow of a series of buttes.

Strong and Lomax had gone back to finish Cal; that meant by now he was almost certainly dead. And she, instead of finding herself the prisoner of one man, someone at least who had demonstrated no desire to hurt her, was now the captive of three cold-blooded murderers, three disgusting animals who planned to do far worse than shoot her.

She closed her eyes as they rode, picturing her little sister, recalling all the happy times she and Jinx had shared in their home and out on the range. She remembered their picnics at the swimming hole, the days spent watching Pop and the ranch hands breaking in newly caught mustangs, evenings with Pop and Aggie on the porch drinking cool lemonade while the sun set over the golden prairie. What she wouldn’t give to be back there right now, riding across her own belovedly familiar rangeland, breathing in the sharp tang of pine, the sweet night air, with her own stallion, Dusty, galloping beneath her.

The pinto halted so suddenly Melora jerked forward.

“Here you go, lady,” Jethro drawled with mocking politeness as he pushed her off the horse, sending her tumbling down into tall, stringy weeds. He dismounted and yanked her up by the rope, grinning as she cursed at him.

“Guess I might as well tell you, I got only one use for women, and aside from that, I don’t like ‘em much. Lomax or Strong don’t neither, so if you think we’re goin’ to coddle you, you’re dead wrong.
Dead
wrong,” he reiterated, chuckling over the emphasis he placed on the word.

A shack loomed out of the murky grayness of the night. Dingy and ramshackle, with boarded-up windows and peeling logs, it looked about as inviting as a coffin. He pushed her inside and lit a kerosene lamp set on a small table sticky with spilled whiskey. Gray and black rats fled to the corners of the room, deserting a pile of filthy tin plates piled in the sink. Other than several bedrolls flung down on the earthen floor, the cabin contained only three chairs, the little table, and a fireplace half filled with blackened logs.

Melora took a deep breath. “If you let me go, I’ll see that you’re well rewarded—” she began, but Jethro again grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted it until she cried out in pain.

“Right now I don’t care much about money. We’ve got enough stashed away to last us awhiles, and when we want more, we kin just rob us another bank. What I really want is right here lookin’ at me with big brown eyes. See, little lady, I haven’t had a woman in ‘bout three years now. I’ve been stuck in a damn hellhole of a prison. Had to kill me a couple of guards to get out, but I made it. And now I figure I deserve a little fun.”

“I’m sorry,” Melora managed to croak, trying not to cringe as his fingers left her hair and groped to her breast. He grabbed it and squeezed. “I didn’t know. Of course you want to have some fun. If—if you take the rope off me, I’ll t-try to be n-nice to you. I’m sure you’re just lonely and—”

“Yeah, real lonely.” He hooted, grinning from ear to ear as if showing off the rotten yellowing teeth that gleamed like those in a jack-o’-lantern. “Well, why not?” Suddenly he let go of her breast. He studied her eagerly, his small, wolfish eyes gleaming with an unbridled lust that curdled her stomach. She tried to remain still and calm beneath that insulting scrutiny, but it took all her willpower to manage it.

“Let’s take off this here rope, and then that fancy outfit you’re wearing, so’s I can see what you really look like.”

She nodded wordlessly, her eyes downcast so he couldn’t see the venom in them. As Jethro began tugging the rope up toward her shoulders, she kept her gaze lowered.

“Let’s see. Why, I haven’t looked at a naked woman since...”

The rope lifted over her head. And Melora dived for the big Colt in his holster.

She jumped back with it in one deft leap. “Don’t move, you bastard, or I’ll kill you where you stand.” She leveled it straight between his eyes.

Jethro gaped at her; then, slowly, deep crimson rage suffused his cheeks. “You ain’t got the stomach fer it,” he snarled, and lunged at her.

Melora fired twice. Blood spurted all over the shack as he jackknifed to the floor. She staggered back, gasping as horror rose uncontrollably. From the corners of the shack she heard the rats scurrying, and before her on that earthen floor Jethro lay in a sickening, widening pool of his own blood, bone, and flesh.

She swallowed hard and looked away.

Get out.
A voice inside her screamed through the shock that gripped her.
Get out before Lomax and Strong show up.

Not looking down at Jethro, Melora reeled toward the door and flung it wide.

Otis Strong stood on the threshold, his bulk filling the narrow space, his eyes glittering dark and dangerous as he barred her way.

Melora screamed and jumped back, frantically jerking the gun up again, but before she could shoot, Cal shoved Strong into the room, and she saw that the big man was Cal’s prisoner.

She’d never thought she’d be glad to see Cal, but relief hit her like a flood tide when she realized he had his gun digging into the other man’s broad back. There was a bloody cut on the back of his head and blood all over his shirt, but other than that, he looked fit and ready for battle. The fierce darkness in his eyes almost made Melora feel sorry for Strong. She’d never seen Cal look like that.

“You all right?” His voice was curt. His eyes never left Strong.

“Yes, I—I thought you were dead... that they killed you—”

“They tried.”

She lowered the gun, suddenly weak with relief. “Where’s Lomax?”

“Dead.” Cal flicked a glance at the bloody form on the floor. “Nice work with Jethro.”

Then two things happened at the same time. Cal saw Jethro’s hand twitch and spotted the small black hideaway pistol that must have come from his boot, and at the same moment Strong saw it, too.

“Look out!” Cal shouted, and as Jethro aimed his hideaway gun at Melora, Cal fired three bullets into him. That stopped Jethro cold, but Strong took advantage of the distraction to seize Melora. Savagely he twisted the gun from her grasp and jammed her up against him as a shield. He tossed a beefy arm around her neck and pressed Jethro’s Colt against her temple.

“Get out of my way, boy, or I’ll blow the lady’s head off.”

Cal’s cut was bleeding again, dripping down through his chestnut hair and onto his back. He seemed oblivious of it. His eyes were fixed on the mean, triumphant face of the other man.

“Let her go, Strong.”

The big man sneered at him “Ha. She’s too purty to leave behind. I’m takin’ her with me. And there ain’t a damned thing you can do about it.”

“Don’t count on it.”

For answer, Strong jammed the gun harder against her temple, and Melora cried out in pain. She saw Cal’s jaw clench.

Her glance flew wildly from Cal to the door as Strong began edging her toward it. The barrel of the gun dug coldly into her flesh, and she felt that at any moment it would go off. He would kill her just for spite. But no, not yet, she thought wildly. He needed her until he got away from Cal.

Her feet dragged as Strong forced her along with him, but Melora couldn’t risk resisting. At this moment she scarcely dared breathe.

Cal watched them through narrowed eyes, yet he made no move.

“Drop your gun, boy, and kick it over here,” Strong ordered.
“Now.”

As Melora whimpered again in pain, Cal obeyed. Strong kicked the gun out the door, sending it thudding into the weeds.

“So long, boy.” He chuckled. “I’ll take real good care of your woman for you.”

Then they were out in the deep purple night, and Strong was breathing hard in her ear as he propelled her toward his horse.

But as he hoisted himself into the saddle and reached down to haul her up before him, Melora saw her opportunity and took it. She bit the filthy hand that grasped her, bit it with all her might. Strong snatched his hand away with a scream of pain.

It was all the chance she needed. Melora leaped away and plunged toward the trees.

Suddenly she heard a crash, and as she peered back, she saw Cal and Strong fighting on the ground.

The gray horse shied away from the scuffle as the men rolled through the weeds, grunting, punching each other in the darkness. The night was alive with flying fists, low curses and groans, and sickening thuds. Melora crept back toward the fray, thinking of Cal, injured, thinking of how he’d forced Strong to bring him to the cabin—to rescue her. With her heart in her throat she tried to discern who was winning this fight to the death. She saw Strong atop Cal, hitting him again and again with a powerful right fist.

Dear God,
she thought on a sob,
where’s the gun?

Hurtling through the darkness she began to search, her fingers grasping and clawing through the thick, tangled weeds near the door as she listened to the awful sounds of thudding fists and grunts.

She found it at last and lifted up Cal’s big Colt. She whirled toward the two men.

“Strong! Stop! Stop right now or I’ll shoot!”

But both men were so consumed by their battle that neither heeded her. Melora saw that Cal had somehow rolled free of his opponent and was now on his feet, throwing deft, savage punches, one after the other. He ducked to avoid a blow aimed at his chin and threw a vicious right that slammed into Strong’s midsection.

The big man sank to his knees.

“Get back, Cal! I’ve got him covered!” Melora shrieked, planting her feet apart and aiming at Strong, but Cal paid no attention to her. He followed up with two more blows, and Strong went down.

Cal threw himself on the other man, pinning him, and rained one punishing blow after another down upon his opponent.

Melora had never seen anyone fight like that before—with such ruthless, single-minded brutality.

Strong was a bigger man, heavier, perhaps more experienced. But Cal, with his deft, hammerlike blows, fierce strength, and blinding agility, was by far the more ferocious and determined opponent.

And suddenly it was over.

Cal’s fists fell to his sides. He appeared to be carved from granite as he stared down at the man sprawled senseless beneath him.

“Is he dead?” Melora whispered, fighting the nausea that rose in her throat.

“No. But I reckon he won’t be bothering anyone for a while.” Matter-of-factly Cal pushed himself to his feet, glancing down one last time at the battered ox of a man crumpled in the bloodstained dust.

Then he limped toward Melora and took the gun from her numb fingers. There were cuts and bruises on his face, and he looked weary beyond belief, but his cool green eyes were clear and steady as he holstered the pistol. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

But reaction had set in upon Melora, a reaction every bit as dizzying as one of those vicious punches. Her knees wobbled, then buckled. She sank toward the ground. Instantly Cal’s arms swooped around her, lowering her gently.

“Did they hurt you? Tell me the truth.”

“N-no. I’m f-fine.”

But tears began to roll down her cheeks. His arms tightened, feeling almost like an embrace, she thought in dazed wonder. She saw concern in his eyes and quickly averted her face.

She wouldn’t cry in front of him; she wouldn’t! He was the one responsible for all this. If he hadn’t taken her from the Weeping Willow, none of it would have happened. Completely humiliated by her own weakness, she gulped cold night air and yanked free of his arm, struggling to her feet.

Cal stood too, gripping her gently by the shoulders and forcing her to face him. The concern in his eyes as he tilted her chin up made her dizzy.

“It’s all right, Melora,” he said quietly. “You can cry. You’ve been through a lot, more than any woman should ever have to go through.”

“
I’m fine,
but I want to go h-home. I want to see my sister and Wyatt and—”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” she cried, and tried to break away from him, but when he caught her arm, she suddenly threw herself against him and began to sob.

Stunned by how soft she felt nestled against him, Cal held her. The fragility of her bones beneath his hands had an unsettling effect deep inside his gut. He closed his eyes as she dropped her head against his chest and let the awful, racking sobs come.

Her tension, her fear, her agonizing loneliness—he felt them all vibrate through her and into him, felt them seep into his chest, into his heart, and he knew in that illuminating moment the depth of her pain and of her bravery.

A gust of wind caught at the strands of her hair and blew them up to drift like silk threads across his unshaved jaw. He sighed and smoothed the thick ribbon of curls, stroking them gently as he blamed himself for all that had happened.

“I’m sorry, Melora. Sorry for all this. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

She lifted her tear-streaked face and gazed up at him, her body still trembling beneath his hands like a flower in a windstorm. “Let me
go,”
she whispered, pleading.

The muscles in his chest constricted.
Let her go. Maybe I should.

And then he thought,
To him? To the man she plans to marry, her precious Wyatt Holden?

He gritted his teeth. The thought of her locked like this in the arms of that black-haired, lying, murderous bastard filled him with a rage that brought ice to his eyes.

“No,”
he said aloud, so savagely she jerked her head back, studying him with wide, newly frightened eyes.

“No, Melora,” he repeated more calmly, though his voice was tight with purpose. “You can’t go back—not yet.”

She pushed away from him. Slowly she wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, like a child. “You came for me.” Her gaze pondered him with gradual comprehension. “You made Strong bring you to the hideout so you could find me. So you could rescue me from Jethro.”

“Of course. You don’t think I’d leave you to him, do you?”

“No,” she whispered, hugging her arms around herself. Misery filled her pale, lovely face, shone beneath her wet lashes. “No, you wouldn’t. Because of your plan. You need me. You weren’t ready to give up on whatever scheme you’ve embarked on just because three outlaws attacked us. Not because you cared what happened to me, only because you needed me.”

Cal scowled. It would be so much easier if what she said were true. If he didn’t have feelings, a conscience, if he didn’t have this strange, savage need he’d discovered tonight, a need to protect her from everyone, everything... even himself.

Let her think it’s true. It’s better for both of us.

“You’re right, Melora. Nothing is going to make me give up my plan. Nothing is going to interfere. Now do you understand that?”

She did. Oh, she did.

Dawn was tinting the sky. Amber light glowed across the tops of the huge black buttes that jutted up from the prairie as Cal led her toward the horses.

“No sense trying to get any more shut-eye now. Let’s get out of here, and we’ll stop for breakfast later. Reckon you’d better ride with me.”

She nodded dully. What did it matter? He’d go ahead anyway, even if she argued that she needed to sleep. How she longed for sleep! Weariness tugged at her, and she yearned for the oblivion of slumber to wash away everything that had happened these past few hours and the impossible, hopeless predicament in which she found herself. But there was no respite and so far no escape.

As the sun shot up over the mountains, Cal helped her into the saddle, mounted behind her, and off they rode.