Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (26 page)

Don’t make a sound, not even a whisper!

The inside of the barn was darker than the night outside; Christina couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of her face. But she found it comforting in its own way; because she couldn’t see a thing, it also meant nothing could see
her.
With her arms huddled around her knees, she waited as quiet as a mouse.

Even as she wondered where Luther was, Christina thought about Tyler. There was little hope that he’d heard her cry and was coming after her, but she clung to it anyway. All she wanted was to be safe and sound in his arms once again. If she could just stay quiet and out of sight until dawn, maybe an orchard worker would find her.

But as soon as she had that thought, Christina heard the sound of steps just outside the main barn doors. She knew it was Luther. Her hope was that he’d take a few tugs at the locked doors before giving up and moving on, searching somewhere that she wasn’t. Instead, she heard a noise that filled her with the deepest dread.

It was the clicking of a key in a lock.

Slowly, the barn doors swung open. Instinctively, Christina shrank away from the meager light, trying to move farther out of sight. Her view of the open doorway was blocked, but she heard every sound as clearly as the ringing of church bells; more footfalls were followed by the scraping of metal and finally the striking of a match. The soft glow of an oil lantern began to fill the barn.

When Luther spoke, it nearly made Christina cry out in fear.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

L
UTHER HELD THE
LIT OIL LAMP
high above his head as he peered into the dark depths of the barn. In the flickering light, shadows danced frantically in one spot before leaping to another. One side of the barn was lined with stalls like those normally used for horses but shallower. Benches were set up to deal with the demands of the orchard; tools reflected the lantern’s light. On the other side, bales of hay were stacked at the rear of the barn.

That bitch is in here…I know it!

Luther had no doubt his prey was hiding inside the barn. Once he’d crossed the orchard, it hadn’t taken him long to check around the building. He’d seen her prying at the doors, so since she hadn’t been outside, it meant she’d found a way in.

Now it was up to him to ferret her out.

Imagining how terrified that bitch must’ve been when she heard his key slide into the lock made Luther’s groin throb with excitement. There was no way she could’ve known she’d sought sanctuary in one of Amos Worthington’s orchards, let alone the same one Luther had been working at for the last couple of months. Though he’d been let go because he’d gotten so drunk that he missed work, he’d pocketed a key to the equipment barn before he left. He hadn’t stolen anything
while
he’d been working for Worthington, but that didn’t mean Luther wouldn’t do so
after
being fired.

“If you come on out now, I promise I won’t be too rough with you,” he lied, grinning in the lamp’s light.

He wanted to draw this out, to savor it. Somewhere along the way, Luther had come to believe that the worse he made it for Barlow’s nurse, the more agonizing it would be for the doctor when he found out what had happened. Oh, how Luther wished he could see that son of a bitch’s face…

Christina cowered in the work stall, wondering what horrible fate awaited her now. Luther held up the lamp no more than thirty feet away. All it would take was for him to walk the length of the barn. In seconds, he would find her.

All the options available to her seemed as if they would end in her being savaged at Luther’s hand. Staying put seemed pointless; he’d discover her eventually. There’d been so much trouble getting
in
through the window that he’d almost certainly get to her well before she managed to escape, and even if she did, where would she go? If she tried to run past him, she’d never make it to the barn doors.

What am I to do…?

As she tried to choose a course of action, Christina watched in horror as Luther made his way farther inside the barn. He swung the lamp in front of him, the light moving up one wall and then the other. It was so terrifying that she looked down at her shaking hands instead.

“I reckon a pretty girl like you wouldn’t normally have the time of day for a fella like me,” he growled. “But you ain’t gonna be able to ignore me now.”

Knowing full well what Luther’s intentions were, Christina reflexively scurried backward. Even with the light of the oil lamp, the stall was swathed in darkness. She never saw the bucket of tools before she hit it, knocking it over and making such a ruckus that she might as well have stood up and shouted for Luther’s attention.

Before she could register the enormity of what’d just happened, Christina looked up to find Luther standing in the open gate to the stall. He hadn’t had to do anything to find her; she’d done it all herself. The light reflected in his eyes danced maniacally, his lust apparent.

“You made that easy,” he sneered.

“Stay…stay away from me!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare come another step closer!”

“I like it when there’s a little fight in a gal,” Luther said calmly, setting the lamp on one of the posts that made up a corner of the stall. Her eyes were wide with horror as he pulled a gun out of the back of his pants, held it up so that she could see the light glinting off the metal, before placing it next to the lamp. “When they’re like that, it usually means they ain’t against things gettin’ a little rough when you’re rollin’ round in the sack with ’em.”

Slowly, patiently, Luther began to undo the buttons of his shirt. The utter hopelessness that Christina felt at the sight threatened to overwhelm her, drag her down into a sea of misery she was certain to drown in. But what could she do? Fighting back would entertain him; just letting it happen would kill her. But then, just as she was about to decide to go down scratching tooth and nail, Luther suddenly flew to the side, lifted from his feet, and crashed to the ground out of sight. In an instant, Christina knew who had come to rescue her.

It was Tyler.

When Tyler ran from the shack beside his beehives, he’d decided against taking the path that led back toward the garage and instead gone in the opposite direction. He couldn’t say for certain
why
he’d done so, but something nagged at him, a feeling of worry that made him run up and down the gently sloping hills, leaping over swollen creeks.

Exiting the woods, he stood and looked out over one of Amos Worthington’s orchards. Everything was clear in the starlight. What Tyler noticed wasn’t Christina but a man scurrying toward the barn standing tall among the surrounding trees. Though he’d no idea who the man was or what he was doing there, Tyler felt certain he was up to no good. So instead of shouting, Tyler chose to keep quiet, dashed down the hill, and hurried after him through the orchard.

Halfway to the barn, Tyler stopped as the man flung open the huge doors and stepped inside. Tyler knew he’d have to be careful from there on out; he’d never get the drop on the stranger if he came at a full run, so he began creeping forward, darting from tree to tree. Reaching the side of the barn, he flattened himself against the outer wall and took a quick, careful look inside.

The man had lit a lantern and was turning it from side to side, as if he was looking for something. For an instant, his profile was visible to Tyler. He recognized him immediately.

What in the hell is Luther Rickert doing here?

Like every resident of Longstock, Tyler knew everything about Luther: his addiction to alcohol, how he’d gotten his brother killed; he even felt pity for the man’s dead parents. Tyler also knew that Luther was dangerous. If he were to confront Luther, he’d be taking his life in his own hands.

Tyler was startled by a loud bang, followed by Luther’s voice, and then another; with his heart in his throat, he understood it was Christina’s. For an instant he was frozen in place, shocked into indecision. For whatever reason, Luther Rickert had come to the clearing and chased Christina from the shack all the way to the barn in the middle of the orchard. When Tyler listened to Luther’s words, there wasn’t any question about what to do next.

Tyler’s blood pulsed in his temples; his hands clenched into fists. He crossed the distance between them in an instant, leaving the ground and barreling into Luther. Tyler struck hard but out of control, making the other man gasp before sending them both sprawling into the dirt. Even as Tyler leaped back to his feet, he was thankful for one thing; if even for just a moment, he’d gotten that bastard away from Christina.

Luther came up slowly, his hands at his ribs. He was like a wild animal, guard up, claws extended. He spat a trail of blood onto the ground.

“This ain’t your fight, Sutter,” he snarled.

“You made it mine the second you threatened her,” Tyler shot back. “Whatever reason you had for coming after her, it isn’t good enough to keep me from giving you the beating you deserve.”

“Tough talk,” Luther sneered. “We’ll see if you can back it up.”

Tyler ignored him. “Christina,” he said loudly, never taking his eyes off the dangerous man in front of him. “You need to leave right now. Head to the east and you’ll see the road that leads back to town. Follow it until you find help.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she countered.

“Don’t argue with me! I won’t let him get to you, but you have to go!”

“Let her stay,” Luther interjected. “When I’m done with you, I’ll be all worked up and ready for a woman’s attention. From what I heard comin’ out of that shack, she’s talented that way.”

Tyler’s intention had been to persuade Christina to leave and then wait for Luther to make the first move, but listening to the man speak so disgustingly about their making love, he couldn’t contain his rage. Rushing forward, he cocked his right hand and threw it, expecting to feel the solid collision of bone against bone, but instead he swung through the air, twisting himself like a corkscrew. For his poor effort, Luther danced to the side and punched him once in the nose before popping him in the breadbasket. The force of the second blow was enough to unbalance him and he dropped to one knee.

“Whooeee!” Luther whistled. “Looks like we’re gonna have some fun!”

Tyler didn’t know what stung worse, his nose or sense of pride at having given in to his impulses. Luther was no novice when it came to fighting; he might have been a drunk, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to use his fists. He’d been in more bar brawls than he could count. While Tyler was the bigger, stronger man, his lack of experience placed him at a disadvantage. If he was going to beat Luther, he was going to have be the
smarter
man.

Christina watched, terrified, as Tyler rushed at Luther, threw a punch that missed, and was then struck hard enough to drive him to one knee. She was utterly sickened by the joy Luther seemed to be taking in the fight; he was a despicable, vile man whose heart was blacker than the night outside the barn. With all her might, she willed Tyler to get up and wipe the smile from Luther’s face.

The relief she’d felt when Tyler tackled Luther was enough to bring tears to her eyes. He’d now rescued her twice. Christina remembered her elation after he’d saved her from Annette. But somehow, this felt even more significant, that the fate awaiting her had been even worse than being pummeled to death with a steel pipe.

That was why when Tyler told her to run for help Christina had refused. If he was willing to fight for her life, she wouldn’t abandon him. Luther was a psychopath; if they needed to face him together, so be it.

“C’mon, Sutter.” Luther grinned. “You don’t want to be disappointin’ that gal of yours, now do you? Come get your beatin’.”

But this time, Tyler refused to rise to the other man’s taunt, choosing instead to wait just out of range. They circled each other like wild animals waiting for an opening. Eventually, Tyler’s patience won the day; in mid-step, Luther suddenly rushed at him, his hands raised. Christina gasped, fearful that Tyler didn’t have a chance to protect himself, but just before Luther reached him he took a quick step to his right, ducked his head beneath his opponent’s grasp, and thundered a punch into his rib cage; the force of his blow was enough to lift Luther from the ground.

“Hit him again!” Christina shouted.

Tyler didn’t need any encouragement; with Luther momentarily stunned, he bludgeoned the man in the face, cracking him on the cheekbone. With his momentum pulling him one way and his tangled feet another, Luther fell hard onto his back, dust rising from the impact, a woof of air bursting from his lungs. But before Tyler could press the attack, Luther quickly rolled to his side and got back to his feet, although a bit unsteadily.

“Well, c’mon on then,” Luther growled, all of his earlier enjoyment of their brawl evaporated in an instant. “Fight me, you bastard!”

This time, Tyler was more willing to oblige him. He moved steadily forward, his hands raised in a guard, ready to finish what he’d started. The moment he was close enough to Luther, he landed another punch, snapping the man’s head back.

But instead of being the only one taking punishment, Luther remained determined to deal some of his own. Dodging another blow coming straight toward his nose, Luther threw a quick left that split Tyler’s lip, leaving a trickle of blood dripping down his chin.

Christina felt helpless. The men went back and forth, brawling from one side of the barn to the other, trading blows, one getting the upper hand before the other struck back, and she wrung her hands as she watched them fight.

What happens if Tyler is beaten?

Just as Christina had her fearful thought, Luther suddenly struck Tyler hard in the mouth and then rushed him, grabbing him around the midsection and brutally driving him to the ground. Faster than a snake, Luther straddled Tyler’s chest and began raining down blows. Tyler did all he could to deflect them, but they started slipping through; one landed and then another. She could see he was becoming dazed; soon, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. If things didn’t change quickly, the fight would soon be over.

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Stop hitting him!”

Luther paid her no mind, his attention focused on beating Tyler into the ground.

Desperate, Christina looked around for something, anything, she might use to force Luther to stop his vicious attack. Lying beside her on the ground was the bucket of tools she’d accidentally knocked over, drawing Luther to her hiding spot. Screwdrivers, picks, and wrenches were everywhere, but what grabbed her attention was a hammer. Picking it up, she felt its heft in her hand, sure it would succeed where her shouts had failed.

Aiming carefully, Christina reared back and threw the hammer at Luther with all the strength she had. End over end it spun, striking him just above his elbow. It wasn’t a direct hit, it seemed to surprise him more than hurt, but it was enough for Tyler to even the odds.

While Luther spun to look at Christina, his eyes full of hatred, Tyler punched upwards, striking him on the chin, hard enough to force him off his chest. Scrambling back to his feet, Tyler leaped on top of his shocked and wounded foe, his fists flying. Their positions suddenly reversed, Luther tried to fight back, but flailing away with his hands did nothing to deter Tyler. Blow after blow struck just where he intended; Luther’s jaw, his cheeks, his nose became a bloody mess. Eventually, the man’s hands dropped to his sides and his head lolled to one side as he fell unconscious. Tyler cocked his hand to throw one more punch, one hand lifting the man up with a fistful of shirt, but he showed mercy, dropping Luther’s head down to the dirt floor with a thud.