Diablo (43 page)

Nicky studied his face for deception. He held her gaze. It
was
the only chance.

“I can't go,” she whispered. “Everyone I love is here.”

“What about your brother?” Kane asked. “You have to give him a chance. All of us a chance.” He didn't elaborate. He didn't say that neither he nor Evers nor Thompson had a chance even if they were rescued. All three of them were gallows bait.

She swallowed hard, indecision in her eyes.

“Find a man named Ben Masters,” Kane said before she could object again. “Or he might be using the name of Ben Smith. Tell him your father and I were coming in to give ourselves up. Tell him you're the reason I left Gooden. Tell him I did what he wanted. He'll help you.”

“What about you?”

“I'm a survivor, love,” he said lightly. “I survived a war. I survived a Yank prison camp, and I survived two years on the run. I'll survive again. But I need your help. Yours and Robin's.”

A wetness glimmered in her eyes. “You don't have to stay.” He knew then that she realized more than he was saying. She always did have a certain innocent wisdom.

“Yes, I do,” he said gently. “I started this. I'm damned if I'm going to run now.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers lightly. “You're a lovely lady, Miss Thompson. I wish I could have courted you properly.”

She put her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoes, her lips reaching for his. “It looks like I'll have to wait a while,” she murmured, and then their lips were locked together. His arms went around her, crushing her to him. He recognized their mutual desperation, the shared knowledge that any chance they might have had for a life together was all but gone. She was his sun and moon, the one good bright and shining star that justified his life.

He felt her tears on his cheek, and he thought how remarkable it was that she could cry for him, that she could love him after all she knew. It was a gift, one of the few he'd ever received, and by far the greatest.

He finally released her lips. “Always remember,” he said, “I loved you. I never wanted to hurt you. I'd rather put a gun to my own head.” He leaned down, touched his lips to her forehead. “You and Robin had better go.”

He turned and faced Robin. He held out his hand and Robin took it, his lips quivering. “Don't forget to let Diablo go,” he said. He meant both Diablos, and a quick look of comprehension in Robin's eyes told him the boy understood.

Kane turned to help Nicky mount.

She gave him one last look and ran over to where Evers was unsaddling his own horse. She gave him a hug, and he wrapped his big arms around her. “Get along with you now,” he said. “We're depending on you.”

Then both Robin and Nicky were in their saddles, Nicky looking slight on the mare. Kane slapped the horse's flank, and Molly bolted into a run. Robin followed.

All three men watched them go, then turned their attention to getting their guns, ammunition, blankets, canteens, and saddles up into the rocks. Kane hesitated before scaring off the three remaining horses, but none of them wanted to see the animals caught in a crossfire, and they couldn't hide them up in the rocks.

Kane heard the riders first. He and the other two men had barely settled down in the rocks, each selecting the location best suited to protecting the others as well as affording a clear line of fire. Kane had a box of ammunition lying next to him and a rifle in his hands. He took his six-gun from the holster and placed it on a rock next to him for easy access. He and the others were about two hundred feet from each other.

Their first goal was to convince the attacking outlaws that five shooters were lying in ambush so they would have no reason to ride on ahead. Time. They had to give Nicky and Robin time.

The pounding of horses' hooves grew louder. A lot of hooves. Kane stretched out, then positioned his rifle between two rocks. He'd rubbed the barrel and its sight with dirt to keep the sun from glinting on it.

The riders came into view, and he started to count. Fifteen, seventeen. Nineteen. Then he couldn't count any longer. They were directly beneath him. He fired a shot, aiming his rifle at a shoulder. The man went down, taking the horse with him as it stumbled. The next man ran into the first downed outlaw, then the air was full of rifle fire, yells and the sound of milling, confused horses.

Kane aimed again and through the sight saw Hildebrand. He pulled the trigger but missed. The man had sensed the bullet, though, and looked up, aiming toward the rocks where Kane sat. He ducked between the boulders, heard the ping of a bullet against rock.

He looked up again, and twisted his body, snaking through the crevices to a second location. Then he looked again. The riders were seeking shelter now: a nearby gully, several of the nearest rocks, behind one dead horse.

He fired, aiming to confuse rather than kill. His companions obviously had more deadly intent. Kane saw one man after another go down. He marveled once more at Thompson's endurance, his will. Kane saw one man starting to climb the rocks; he couldn't be seen by either Thompson or Evers. He aimed for the chest; this time he couldn't indulge himself. He saw the man fall and then tumble down.

He moved again, taking his canteen with him. A sudden silence had fallen below, and men were huddling outside rifle range, obviously trying to decide how to proceed. Kane sat back in the rocks, took several sips of water and reloaded his rifle. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Nicky and Robin heard distant gunfire. They both drew to a stop.

Robin looked at Nicky. “I want to go back. We can help.”

Nicky wanted to, too, with all her heart. She wished she had never left.

But Kane had made sense. She was doing the right thing, as hard as it was to do, for Robin, for her uncle, for Kane.

Always remember I loved you
, he'd said to her.
I
never wanted to hurt you. I would rather put a gun to my own head.

And his admonition to Robin.
Don't forget to let Diablo
go.

He'd been saying good-bye. And he
was
putting his gun to his head. He'd known it, and she'd known it.

“Nicky?” Robin was peering at her through apprehensive eyes. “Maybe we should go back.”

She shook her head slowly. It was too late now. If they went back, they could be taken, and used to lure her uncle, Mitch, and Kane into the open. Their best chance was to do as Kane had asked: find help.

“We can't,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. What sounded reasonable an hour ago didn't sound that way now.

“But …”

Choices. Always choices. Life-and-death choices. Loyalty choices. Robin or her uncle and the others? Which ones to make? Had Kane's hurt as much as the ones she'd had to make? Would the second-guessing, the pain, ever go away?

“We have to go on,” she finally said. “We have to get help.” But help meant the law, and another kind of finish for the three men sacrificing themselves so that she and Robin could live.

Dear God in heaven. She'd never prayed before; that had never been part of her lessons. But she started praying then. For her uncle, for Mitch. For the man called Diablo. She dug her heels into her mare. She had to find the marshal named Masters.

Ben Masters had been riding alongside the stream shown on the map. They had been traveling nearly three days, slowed by an imperfect map, and he was more frustrated than he'd ever been in his life. Something inside told him time was essential. Instinct, perhaps. Maybe just worry. They had stopped to water their horses, when the ears of one of the horses pricked up.

Ben raised his hand, quieting the talk between the men, and they fell silent, all of them listening intently.

“Gunshots,” one lawman said.

“Hell of a long way off,” said another.

They all looked at each other, then without any additional words, vaulted into their saddles and headed north toward the faint sounds of gunfire.

Ben stopped them periodically to listen again, to make sure they were headed in the right direction. It was difficult to tell on the open prairie, but the firing did sound closer. And then the third time they stopped, there was nothing.

Silence. Dead silence. Even the wind had stopped blowing.

He listened intently. Still nothing. It might have been hunters, but then again maybe not. It had sounded more like a pitched battle. He signaled the riders to go forward again at a slower pace. He had to think of the horses, though urgency was driving him.

They had gone another thirty minutes or so when he spied two riders in the distance. He divided his troop, sending one group straight and the other to the left. He would have them in a vise.

Minutes later, he realized he didn't need a vise. The riders headed directly toward his group, which was the nearest. As they approached, both riders appeared to be young boys. He signaled by hand for the deputy marshals to put away the guns they had drawn.

One rider came directly to him, while the other held back, a hand on a rifle in its scabbard. As the first inched his horse closer, Ben saw dark brown eyes study him intently, the gaze resting on the marshal's badge. It was then that he realized the rider wasn't a boy at all, but a woman.

“Ben Masters?”

He nodded. “Who are you?”

“That doesn't matter,” she said. She hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly continued. “Kane O'Brien told me to find you. He … and two others are pinned down maybe five, six miles from here.”

“By how many?”

“I don't know. The attackers came from … Sanctuary,” she said, leaving a lot unsaid.

His eyes flickered, but he didn't waste time with questions. He looked at her horse and that of her companion. They were obviously tired. “Can you lead us?”

She nodded, but didn't move. “Kane said we could trust you.” It wasn't a question exactly, but she obviously wanted a confirmation.

“I owe O'Brien,” Ben said. “You can trust me.” She hadn't asked in what way or to what degree she could trust him, and he hadn't promised anything specific. But implicit in the words was a sincere offer of help.

She studied him another minute, then nodded.

The boy behind her merely looked rebellious. His hand remained on the rifle.

Ben watched the woman nod to the kid, say something, then both turned back toward the direction they'd come. He signaled to the other group, which had stretched out to the left, and they turned, galloping at an angle so they would all meet ahead.

Ben eyed the woman riding in front of him. She was older than she'd first appeared and a superb horsewoman.

Several questions ran through his mind.

What in the hell had O'Brien done?

Would they be in time?

Or was this a trap?

Chapter Twenty-six

Kane saw the men below him huddle, then separate, some disappearing out of sight, and he knew they would be trying to climb the rock formation from the other side. Others found closer cover.

He had recognized Yancy and wondered briefly how he and Hildebrand had hooked up. They were a dangerous pair. But so were the others now that they had a leader. He kept his attention on Hildebrand, but the outlaw kept himself out of range while urging others into it.

Dirt exploded not far from Hildebrand, and Kane was reminded again that Evers and Thompson were damn fine marksmen. Had the rifle had a few more feet of range, Hildebrand would be dead. As it was, he scurried backward several more yards.

Shooting started again. Kane aimed at a man running from a gully toward a corner of the rock formation and pulled the trigger, hitting the earth just in front of the moving figure. The man darted back toward the gully, going in head first.

Then the air was full of shots. Someone had seen the flash of his rifle, and several bullets pinged near him. He crawled back to his alternate space, and aimed again.

He heard a grunt of pain to his left. Either Evers or Thompson had been hit. Kane aimed again, and this time he shot to kill. Other lives depended on him. He shot twice more, both times hitting his targets. Then his place was marked again, and the rock around him was peppered with bullets. He ducked, hoping either Evers or Thompson could draw fire while he changed position again.

He reloaded. He had one more box of ammunition for the rifle and only six bullets for his handgun. He looked at the sky as bullets continued to strike the rocks around him, and then one ricocheted and pieces of metal slammed into his arm. It would hurt like hell in a few moments but was manageable. He tore off the sleeve of his shirt and tied it around the wounds.

Kane heard shooting to the left. Either Thompson or Evers was still alive.

One yelled over to him. “Diablo?” It was Thompson's voice.

“Yo,” he replied, letting them know he was all right. He didn't ask how
they
were. He couldn't afford to let the opposition know one of their number was wounded.

Kane snaked back to the other position and looked back at the sky. The sun was disappearing behind him. Late afternoon. Night would be the dangerous time. Hildebrand's men could crawl unseen into the rocks, then strike at daybreak from above or the side.

But Nicky and Robin should be safe now, far enough away that Hildebrand and the others could never catch them. And if they led a posse back, well then … Davy would be safe, too. He really couldn't ask for more.

He wanted to live, though. He really wanted to live. It hadn't been all that important until he'd met Nicky. He had a natural instinct to survive, and he hadn't wanted to die by hanging. But he'd given up hope of ever knowing love—of having a home and family—long ago. Then he'd met Nicky, and he knew exactly how good it felt to hold a woman he loved, how it changed the color of the sky, and the brightness of the moon, and the fresh scent of the wind.