Open Country (52 page)

“Kill me,” he begged in his raspy voice. “It’s what you want. Just do it.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the cold wetness on her cheeks. Papa’s face loomed in her mind.

Then what?
she wanted to shout.
I can’t fix him and I can’t kill him, so what am I supposed to do?

The wind soughed.

Beyond the rim, a coyote howled.

Below her, splayed like a supplicant before God, Hennessey sobbed.

“Damn you!” she shouted at Hennessey, at Papa, at herself. Then swiping a hand across her face, she turned and started back down into the gully.

 

 

TWO MILES PAST THE GATE, HANK SAW MILEY AND HENCH riding to meet them. Without Molly. Cursing under his breath, he pulled up to wait.

“Lost her tracks in the snow a mile up,” Hench, the older of the two ranch hands, said when they stopped in front of Hank and Brady and the dozen riders crowding behind them. “Still headed west, far as we could tell.”

“Found a second set of tracks along the ridge line,” Miley added.

“Running parallel to the first.”

“Like someone was following her?” Brady asked.

Hank’s stomach knotted even tighter.

Miley shrugged. “Maybe. The tracks weren’t from one of ours. Except for the one, all our horses are accounted for.”

Pushing aside his fear, Hank tried to guess what Molly was thinking. What was her destination? She wasn’t familiar with this country. How would she know where to go? There was nothing in the direction she was headed for fifty miles or more. So what was she looking for?

The answer hit him. Not a destination—a direction. Her tracks had pointed steadily west until Hench and Miley lost them under the snow. Maybe she would continue on that heading until she found whatever she was looking for.

Or until whatever—or whoever—she was looking for found her. “I’m riding west,” he told Brady. “She started off that way and I’m guessing she’s still on track.”

“Then I’ll follow the ridge, see if I can spot anything.” Turning in the saddle, Brady told the riders behind him to split into pairs and spread out across the valley. “Stay in sight of each other,” he cautioned. “Fire two rounds if you find her. Three if you need help.”

Hank rode on, following the tracks Hench and Miley had laid until they stopped and turned back. Then he continued west through unmarked snow.

Even though more clouds were building in the west, the afternoon sun shone through misty breaks, reflecting off the snow in a blinding glare. If there was trouble waiting ahead, he wouldn’t see it until he was on top of it. But he didn’t slow.

Molly was out there somewhere. Maybe lost. Maybe hurt. She had no idea how quickly things could go bad in this country, whether it was Hennessey, a sudden storm, a drop-off hidden beneath the snow, or a hungry cougar on the prowl. She could be in trouble and not even know it. And with the sun dropping toward the mountains and more snow on the way, she was fast running out of time.

Memories assaulted him—her fierce determination to save him when his arm got infected. Her blushes and reluctant smiles. The way her skin quivered under his questing hand and the little sounds she made when he moved inside her.

He quickened his pace, constantly scanning, stopping every now and then to listen. Sound carried a long way over unbroken ground, but he heard nothing, not even birdcalls or the distant bawling of cattle up in the canyons. Once he thought he heard coyotes up ahead, but it was so far away he couldn’t be sure. He tried to use his vision and color deficiencies to help him see patterns in the snow or shadows where tracks had been before they’d been covered. But there was nothing.

As the sun dropped, fear began to erode his resolve. Molly filled his thoughts, her laughter echoing in his mind, her gentle spirit wrapping around his heart. He would find her. He would give her hell for causing him so much worry, then he would bring her back home where she belonged.

Maybe then he could breathe again.

The miles inched by, and the sun dropped lower. He bounced between anger that she had wandered off like this, and terror that he would never find her—or that Hennessey already had. But he doggedly kept riding because it was all he knew to do, and stopping would mean giving up, which would kill him.

MOLLY STAYED AS LONG AS SHE COULD, NOT OUT OF CONCERN for Hennessey, but because she needed to know for certain that it was over.

She’d given him the full syringe, the largest dose of laudanum she’d ever administered. She didn’t know if it was enough to kill, but it should put him out for a long time. Hopefully, until he froze to death. Or died of his injuries. Or the scavengers had done their work. She didn’t care which. She just wanted him dead and the threat of him gone forever.

Pacing back and forth to stay warm and keep blood flowing in her legs and feet, she waited for the drug to take effect. When his pulse finally slowed and his breathing grew shallow and his skin took on a grayish pallor, she turned and climbed back up the steep side of the gully.

It was hard going. She kept tripping on the long coat, and the rocks were unstable and slippery, and she was so chilled her muscles felt stiff and sluggish. By the time she reached the top, her throat burned from the cold air and she was so winded she bent over, panting. When she caught her breath, she straightened and looked around for her horse.

And didn’t find it.

She was so shocked she simply stood there, staring in disbelief at the broken branch of the bush where she had left him tied. For one hopeful moment she thought maybe it was the wrong bush, but the churned-up snow at its base told her otherwise.

Her heart almost stopped in her chest. She searched frantically, then saw his hoof prints heading back the way they had come, and knew she was truly abandoned.

Forcing herself to breathe calmly and evenly, she tried to assess the situation.

How far was she from the ranch house? Six miles? Eight? If she covered two miles in an hour, it would take her almost five hours to get back. Glancing at the sky, she saw that the sun was already poised on the peaks of the mountains. In an hour it would be dark. She didn’t remember if there was a full moon or if there would be enough starlight to see where she was stepping. What if it started snowing again?

She could fall into a gully.

Or lose her bearings and walk in circles.

Or freeze to death.

Unless the scavengers found her first.

If her teeth hadn’t been chattering so hard, she would have shrieked in frustration. She wanted to weep. And curse. And scream at the injustice of it—at Hennessey for forcing her out here—at herself for not tying her horse more securely—at Hank for leaving her behind—at God for allowing this to happen.

Damn—damn—damn!
Realizing she was edging toward hysteria, she struggled to bring her shattered emotions in check. Closing her eyes, she breathed deep and slow while she silently chanted the phrase that had sustained her countless times in the surgery room.

Her heartbeat evened out, her mind cleared. Reason returned.

“I can do this,” she said aloud, and almost believed it.

After securing the hood more tightly around her face and neck, she checked her pocket for the pistol then started walking east, away from the lowering sun.

Hopefully, by now they would be looking for her. If she followed her runaway horse’s tracks, they should lead her back to the ranch, or the searchers would follow the tracks back to her. Unless her stupid horse had as poor a sense of direction as she did, and led her away from her rescuers rather than toward them.

At least it had stopped snowing. Maybe the sky would clear. Which meant moonlight or starlight. But it also meant a deadly drop in temperature.

Fighting panic and the urge to run, she forced herself to keep a steady, manageable pace, comforting herself with the knowledge that the scavengers would be busy with the horse for a while. Then Hennessey.

And then, well, she still had the pistol and five rounds.

 

 

AT FIRST, HANK THOUGHT IT WAS A COW THAT HAD WANdered from the herd during the snowstorm, but as he drew closer, he saw it was a horse. A riderless horse with an empty saddle and dragging reins.

Teeth clenched in frustration, he pulled up and waited for the animal to approach, afraid if he charged toward it like he wanted to, it would spook and run off. As it neared, he recognized it as the sorrel gelding Molly had ridden to Redemption and the one the Garcia boy said she’d taken today.

With a feeling of dread, he scanned the saddle for blood. He saw none, but what he did notice was the broken sage branch tied at the end of the dangling reins. He took some comfort in knowing she hadn’t fallen or been thrown. But he felt like putting a bullet in the horse’s head for running off and leaving her. Then he wanted to kiss his hairy lips in gratitude because he realized that, in running off, the horse had left a trail that would lead straight back to Molly.

Grabbing the sorrel’s loose reins, he kicked his bay into a gallop. He was close now. He could feel it. Feel her. That connection he always sensed whenever she was near was almost humming now.

He wanted to shake her. Hug her. Yell at her until he rid himself of this helpless terror.

He’d find her, and then . . . bigod . . .

 

 

MOLLY SAW HIM COMING AND ALMOST FELL TO HER KNEES IN

relief. She knew it was Hank. Who else would ride so furiously to her rescue? Who else had always come to her whenever she needed him?

Her Hank. Her beautiful dark knight.

Pressing both hands to her face, she wept into her gloves, then laughed, then wept some more. By the time he pulled the horse into a snow-churning slide in front of her, she had regained control of her tears, even though the shaking continued.

He loomed over her, his face livid, his mouth set in a tight, grim line.

Blinking up at him through the steamy breath from his winded horse, she tried to smile. “What took you so long?”

“Goddamnit, Molly!” He yanked the pistol from the holster at his hip, pointed it into the air, and fired off two rounds.

Both she and the horse flinched. Ears ringing, the smell of spent gunpowder sharp in her nose, she watched him reholster the pistol, realizing he’d been signaling other searchers.

“Are you all right?” he demanded, still glaring down at her.

She nodded.

“Do you know how many people are out looking for you? How worried we all were? Christ, Molly, what were you thinking?”

She would have been offended if she hadn’t seen the tremor in his hands and the worry and exhaustion in his face. She had seen this kind of frantic reaction to fear before, and knew not to be hurt by it. He had come for her. Others searched for her. She shouldn’t have been surprised by that, but she’d been alone for so much of her life she was both shocked and humbled that so many people cared enough to put themselves at risk on her behalf.

Not that she regretted what she had done, despite the worry she might have caused. She was the only one who could have stopped Hennessey. And she had.

She didn’t know whether to laugh in triumph or weep in despair.

“I’m sorry, Hank, I—I—”

Then suddenly he was on the ground beside her, wrapping her in his arms, his grip so tight she could scarcely draw in a breath. The muffled thundering of his heart against her cheek was the most welcome sound she had ever heard.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he said in a ragged voice against her hood. “I thought he had you.”

Pressing her face against his jacket, she drew in her husband’s clean masculine scent and tried to rid herself of the stench of Hennessey.

He drew back and studied her face. She could see the confusion in his eyes. And doubt. “What happened, Molly? Why did you get off your horse? Why didn’t you come back when it started snowing? What’s going on?”

She began shivering so hard her teeth chattered. “H-Hank, I—”

Immediately his confusion gave way to worry. “Christ, you’re freezing.” He rubbed his gloved hands up and down her arms. “Can you ride?”

When she nodded, he swept her up into his arms. “Then let’s go home.”