Liz Ireland (23 page)

“Bart?”

Barton nearly jumped out of his skin. In one movement he was on his feet, rifle at the ready, whirling defensively in the dark. “Who’s there?”

William stepped into the dim campfire light. “It’s just us.”

Barton deflated in relief as he made out William and Joe. “Good Lord—you about scared the life out of me!”

Joe came forward. “We were trailing Emma and that fellow…. We expected you to be farther along now, Bart.”

Barton realized the position they’d found him in and writhed in discomfort over their vaguely disapproving stares. “I, uh, stopped for the night,” he said, omitting the fact that he’d stopped hours before sundown. “I thought I’d do better getting an early start tomorrow—maybe catch them unawares.”

William nodded, but Joe’s craggy face was still screwed up in puzzlement, as if he hadn’t been convinced. What business of the old geezer’s was it, anyway!

“Why did you two come after me?” he asked, ready to give them his “it’s my tragedy” argument again.

“Rose Ellen didn’t like the fact that you left by yourself to hunt for two people.”

Rose Ellen—he might have guessed! Barton bowed his head and attempted a distraught expression. “I just thought that since this was my problem, I needed to go alone.”

“It’s not your fault Emma was kidnapped,” William assured him.

Joe shook his head. “And Miss Rose Ellen thinks it’s
not
just your problem. It’s her sister that’s missing, remember.”

“Oh, but—”

“We’re staying with you, Barton,” Joe Spears declared, and his tone brooked no nonsense.

Old cuss! Barton doubted the wheezing old busybody had it in him to chase outlaws anyway—which, now that he had company, he supposed he was actually going to be forced to do. How the hell was he going to get himself out of this mess?

Emma and that outlaw of hers had better be cagey, that’s all he had to say. Hopefully they’d headed straight for California and covered their trail. He and William knew next to nothing about tracking people, so they might escape yet.

“I figured they’re probably headed north,” Barton said. “I was going to start that way before the crack of dawn.”

Joe didn’t blink. “I don’t know how you figured north when the tracks lead southeast, son. They’re going to San Antone—might already be there, I reckon.”

Barton gripped his rifle to stay calm. So much for hoping the old man was too decrepit to track anyone! Didn’t he have a store to manage? Why did he have to come nosing into other people’s business?

“Oh, I guess I misread them….” he muttered.

“I’ll say!”

A low-pitched but very definitely feminine laugh jolted him in surprise.

“What the Sam Hill?”

Barton looked up and saw Rose Ellen swagger into the firelight. She wore the same outfit she’d worn at Reverend Cathcart’s house that afternoon, only now it was a little
worse for wear. Amazingly, she didn’t seem to care. Despite her laughter, she wasn’t smiling.

Barton shot angry looks at William and Joe. “You two didn’t tell me you’d brought a damn woman along.” Were they nuts?

William shrugged. “She insisted.”

Rose Ellen bridled. “And I’m not just a damn woman, I’m Emma’s sister. It’s my job to make sure that she’s found and brought back safely. Sounds like it’s lucky I convinced Joe to come along, too. Even
I
could see the tracks were headed for San Antonio, Sheriff.”

Barton, trapped like a rabbit in a snare, felt his lips flatten into a thin, grim line. “Then I guess we’re headed to San Antone,” he agreed sharply, glaring at all three of them.

His list of people to send to the devil was growing fast.

“W
e’re almost there now.”

Emma’s stomach lurched. Skipping San Antonio had sped their trip, but considering that their destination was a criminal’s roost, their imminent arrival there was a mixed blessing at best.

“Are you all right?” Lang asked, his warm, loving eyes gazing at her in concern.

Instead of thinking about the unpleasant task ahead of them, she tried to concentrate on the wonderful sensations of last night. She shifted in her saddle, still shocked at the unexpected places her body ached. But even a day in the saddle couldn’t blot out the memories of being in Lang’s arms and feeling completely possessed by desire. Every time he’d whispered her name, she’d felt as if she’d finally found utter contentment, even if their bed was the hard ground in the chill of a spring night with nothing but the stars as a canopy.

Lang had awakened her with steaming coffee this morning, and even though she’d spent the night on the cold hard ground, she’d felt as pampered as a queen. It was impossible to believe that after finding so much happiness this
might be their last day together, even their last hour. She couldn’t think about it.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to put on a brave front.

There was going to be trouble. The only question was how much. As they rode through the rougher terrain of southwest Texas, she clutched her father’s rifle as though it were a lifeline. It was a lucky thing he’d thought to take it after all. At first she’d wished he’d offered her the Colt holstered in his gun belt, but she thought differently now. She liked the weight of the rifle, which made sense. It was large and heavy as lead, and she took comfort in the idea that even if she couldn’t shoot the blooming thing, she might at least do some damage swinging it at any foe she happened to come up against.

Oh, Lord! The thought of actually having to inflict physical harm on someone practically made her ill. She’d never been in a fight before, or even many squabbles. Just the possibility of having to land a blow caused her arms to quiver. What possible use would she be when she actually was faced with an attacker?

Maybe Lang had been right, and she should have just stayed behind. It had been so easy to be brave thirty miles ago, when she was sitting snug in the warmth of a campfire, and when the idea of facing Amos and his criminal cohorts had been more hypothetical than real. Back then all she’d thought of was losing Lang. But now she faced losing Lang and perhaps her own life. Or what if she was caught by the outlaws and not killed?

She shuddered.
No!
She shouldn’t entertain such terrible thoughts. And she couldn’t let Lang see her fright or he might actually force her to stay behind; no matter how terrified she was, it would be even worse if she were separated from Lang. Especially now, when she knew exactly how happy they could be together.

And though she could rationalize her brazen descent into scarlet womanhood by telling herself that she loved Lang, and that they would be married as soon as they were certain Lang wouldn’t be hanged, she couldn’t be absolutely sure everything would work out so neatly. What if their lovemaking resulted in a child? The thought thrilled her to her core, but frightened her, too. She wanted to have children with Lang…but she wanted Lang to be with her to be a father to the children.

The puffy clouds of bliss she’d been floating on this morning in Lang’s arms shed more and more of their silver linings the closer they came to the outlaw hideout.

“Em?” Lang looked over and pinned her with his dark gaze. She could tell by his expression that he’d been watching her for some time, and had detected her worry. “It’s not too late to turn back to San Antonio.”

Her spine stiffened reflexively. “It’s not too late to head for California, either,” she replied.

He shook his head at her stubbornness. “I should have spent longer teaching you how to shoot.”

“I’ll be fine.” She attempted to gaze down at her weapon with a confidence she certainly didn’t feel.

An hour later her confidence dropped another notch when they came to the crest of a hill. Lang reined in his horse and dismounted, then gestured for Emma to do the same. “This is it.”

Emma’s heart thumped slowly in her chest as she gazed down the incline toward the shack below. Could such a modest little building really be the destination she’d so dreaded reaching? The house’s wooden boards were weathered and faded to a dark gray; the one window visible had half a shutter hanging lopsided; the other had fallen to the ground. The front doorway gaped open like a missing tooth. Maybe the owner had discarded the door to let some
air inside. Or maybe because the shack’s inhabitants didn’t want to be caught unawares. In front of the house stood an old rain barrel, a few scraggly trees that could provide no shade, and three untethered horses feeding idly on crabgrass.

Lang sent her a crooked grin. “Cozy, isn’t it?”

He had lived in that dump. Emma tried to absorb that fact, but it was difficult, especially when she remembered that his roommates were killers.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

He eyed her sharply. “
You’re
going to do nothing.”

“But—”

“I’m going to try to get a little closer.”

Emma looked down the hill. The bare hill. “How?” she asked, her voice barely a squeak. “They’ll see you!”

“Eventually.”

Sooner than that. Emma wished her pulse would stop pounding in her ears so she could think clearly.

He touched her arm. “You didn’t think I was just going to knock on the front door and ask my brother to surrender himself to the authorities, did you?”

In truth, she hadn’t been thinking about anything except that she wanted to be with him for whatever happened. “Let me go with you,” she pleaded. “Maybe if you had a woman with you they’d be less apt to…” The words
kill you
staunchly refused to come out of her mouth.

But his head was shaking adamantly before she could finish, anyway. “You’re staying right here.”

“But what if something…happens?” She choked on the last word.

“Get on your horse and ride like hell in the direction we came from.”

He still thought she would be useless to him, and now he was going to make sure she was just an observer. She
opened her mouth to object, but the look of anguish in his eyes stopped her. She’d never seen such bare misery in a human face before, or such raw, obvious love.

“I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you,” he said. “I love you too much, Em.”

The words nearly reduced her to a puddle. She sank into his arms and offered him her lips. For a brief but unforgettable moment they were consumed in each other, and she could only wish it was last night all over again. Time had seemed short, but in retrospect they had had all the leisure in the world.

They were out of time now.

He pulled away from her and without another word began his descent of the hill. As she watched him go, it felt as if her heart were being shredded with every step he took.

He loved her
.

The words should have sent her into an ecstasy of happiness. How long it seemed she’d waited to hear them! Instead, she only felt helpless. He loved her, and now she was stuck here on the top of this hill, watching him walk into what could surely be a death trap. And he was doing it for her, because he wanted her to be able to go back to her old life in Midday—something she barely cared about anymore.

So anxious she was hardly aware of anything beyond her own heartbeat, she kept her eyes glued on the shack to see if anyone had spotted him yet. There was no movement inside that she could detect. By the time Lang reached the windowless side of the shack, Emma felt as if her heart were lodged in her throat.

Then a man came outside. He was a short man with black hair and dark skin. Could this be Lang’s brother…or Gonzales, the outlaw Lang had told her about? The urge to shout out a warning to Lang was almost unbearable.

But from the tilt of Lang’s head and the tension in his stance she could tell that he had heard the man even if he couldn’t see him. Lang crouched low at one corner of the building, waiting. For Emma it seemed like an eternity until the man rounded the corner where Lang crouched, and was ambushed. Lang lunged with the assuredness of a seasoned predator, quickly covering the man’s mouth, and felled him with a blow to the head from the butt of his revolver.

The speed of the attack stunned Emma. She had never imagined Lang being a fighter, which was part of the reason she’d been so worried. And yet he did away with his foe so easily she wondered if he had performed that trick before. But before she could mentally applaud or rest easy in his apparent competence, another man came out the front door. He appeared to be a cousin to the first man—only larger. Mexican in appearance. And he had a gun drawn.

She stifled a scream. What could she do? Below, Lang was tensed and ready, but again he couldn’t see his opponent. What if this one was quicker?

Emma watched in mounting horror until she could stand the tension no longer and scuttled to the nearest bush down the hill. When safely lodged behind it, she looked up. No one had seen her—and Lang and the outlaw still hadn’t spotted each other. She kept running. The outlaw wouldn’t look for her, she knew, because he was too focused on Lang’s corner. Maybe a groan from his friend as Lang attacked him had drawn him outside, or perhaps the sound of the pistol butt making contact with bone.

Her whole body was trembling, but somehow her feet managed to move, and quickly. She circled around as far as she dared to the other side of the house, hoping to sneak in from behind and provide Lang with what little reinforcement
she was capable of. The rifle, which just before had seemed like nothing but a heavy stick to wield in an emergency, was now poised at the ready in her arms. She’d never thought she’d contemplate hurting anyone, but with Lang in danger, she knew she could if Lang’s life were on the line. When she reached the bottom of the hill, she scooted around to the rain barrel to get into position.

And then the shooting began.

Two shots cracked through the air almost simultaneously. Emma froze in fear, especially when she saw the Mexican still crouched at the corner of the building. Then another shot rang out, and she knew it must have come from Lang, around the corner. She had to help him! But as she attempted to take aim she discovered she was too far away to trust her ability to hit anything. Taking a chance, she crept out from behind the barrel and inched as close to the man’s back as she dared. And then she fired.

For a moment it felt as if the whole world had exploded. The fierce crash was almost deafening in her ears, and the kick of the rifle in her arms nearly blew her back ten feet. She stumbled against the side of the house just as a shock of red tore through the air. Blood.

The next thing she knew, she was slumped against the shack, looking at the man face down on the ground, red radiating across his shirt. Emma stared disbelieving at what she had done. Killed a man! She was half repulsed, half jubilant. She nearly cried out for Lang to ask if he was okay, but a hand across her mouth stopped her.

Her gasp was cut off by the sickeningly salty taste of hot, sweaty skin. She pivoted reflexively and looked up into the cold eyes of a man she’d never met yet could have recognized anywhere. Amos Tupper.

He had the same steely gaze as the Wanted posters had depicted, but no drawing could accurately render the danger
the man exuded. He grabbed her arm so tightly tears brimmed in her eyes. She might have cried out except that he still had her mouth covered—so she reacted in the most natural way she could think of. She bit him.

Amos muttered the most vulgar oath she’d ever heard, stepped back and flapped his hand angrily. Emma seized the moment to take two steps—but that’s all she managed. With catlike agility Amos grabbed her arm and sent her reeling back into his chest. In the next moment, cold metal pressed mercilessly into her temple.

“Speak and you die, little lady.” He ground out the words in a voice so gravelly it caused a shiver to snake through her.

It couldn’t have been ten seconds since she’d shot the man, yet it seemed an eternity. And now before she could even see Lang she was being dragged away by his brother. In awkward double step she and Amos lurched toward the closest horse. At first she didn’t understand. What was he doing? Then he swung up on the painted horse, and to her horror, swung her up after him, wrenching her arm so painfully it took her breath. For a moment she thought he had broken it.

“Amos!”

The shout was Lang’s. He’d seen them! Emma tried to swing around to see him, but she couldn’t. Amos had her half across his lap, half hanging off the horse.

“So long, big brother!” Amos hollered. “If you want your little lady to live, you’d better stay right where you are.”

The world began spinning crazily as their horse neighed and wheeled, and as Lang yelled out a reply, Amos’s revolver blazed shots through the air, frightening the other horses so that they tore off into the distance. Emma felt so off balance and terrified she feared she might be sick, or
fall. She would like to have fallen, in fact, but Amos had one arm clamped tightly against her middle and they tore off in a gallop before she could catch more than a last blurred glimpse of Lang.

Would it be her last?

Their tracks came to a dead end at a creek. Lang scoured the hills, but Amos and Emma were nowhere in sight.

Anguish was too meek a word for how he felt. Pain tore through his gut every time he thought of Emma out there, frightened. How could he have allowed it to happen? The gun battle was over so fast, and by the time he’d rounded the corner to see where the extra shot had come from, Amos was on the paint with Emma. Following them quickly was impossible, since he’d had to round up a horse. Now he despaired of ever finding them.

He muttered a string of curses at himself for letting Emma into this situation. He’d known she should have stayed behind. He’d feared for her safety, and worried that she would be too scared to get away if something happened to him. But now as he scanned the bare hills with sick dread, he realized there was another matter he’d never reckoned on—his own terror at the idea of losing her.