Passage West (16 page)

His heart went out to Abby. She was ill prepared for what he’d put her through. Though she’d drawn her hat low on her head, she had no handkerchief to ward off the dust. When she drew nearer, he saw the tears that stung her eyes. Damned woman had grit, he admitted grudgingly.

Dismounting, he removed his handkerchief and poured a small amount of water from his canteen. When she slid from the saddle, he walked up and, without a word, pressed the wet cloth to her eyes.

“You’ll have to learn to carry a handkerchief for dust,” he muttered.

Abby was so startled she was unable to do a thing. Standing very still, she allowed him to continue his ministrations, bathing her eyes, her forehead, her cheeks. The cool water felt heavenly. The touch of his hands on her skin was the sweetest torment she’d ever known. When he pressed the canteen between parched lips, she drank deeply until he lowered it.

“Thanks.” She looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed the betraying flush. “I haven’t seen any game yet. Think we might come up empty?”

“Game was plentiful on the plains,” Rourke muttered. “Here you’ll have to work for it. The animals are smarter than men. They know it’s too hot to survive. So they take shelter from the sun.”

“How about up in those rocks?”

Rourke shrugged and tried not to notice the way her sweat-stained shirt clung to her. The smartest thing he could do would be to stay out of her sight for a few hours. Maybe by then he’d be able to keep his mind on the game they were supposed to be hunting.

“Why don’t you try those rocks,” Rourke suggested. “And I’ll scout ahead.” He lifted his rifle. “If I see anything worth hunting, I’ll signal with two quick shots. If you need me, you give the same signal.”

Abby nodded. She didn’t especially like the idea of prowling these rocks alone. But Rourke set the rules. All she could do was follow them.

“All right. Two shots and I’ll come running.”

“Two shots from you, I’ll do the same.” He turned away and swung into the saddle. Within a few minutes, the only sign of Rourke was the dust that rose up from his trail.

*  *  *

Flint Barrows sat on the hard seat of his wagon and watched Rourke and Abby ride off. All week he’d been smarting about the way his planned fight had fizzled. What made him even more furious was the friendship that seemed to have developed between Montgomery and Rourke.

Rourke. Flint’s eyes narrowed as he watched the horse and rider take off at a fast clip. Behind them, the slower mare and her rider trailed, eating their dust.

What gave that snotty little Market woman the idea that she could hunt as well as a man? He’d like to show her a few things. He’d like to … He smiled. A plan began to form in his mind.

Flint glanced around at the people of the train, hustling about getting their wagons ready for another day’s trek. If he could get someone to drive his wagon, he could go hunting himself. And maybe, if he was lucky, he could bag something more than game.

Studying the people around him, he dismissed the Market family. James was needed to drive their wagon. And Carrie and her useless aunt wouldn’t be capable of handling his team.

He heard the Garner boy cry and swiveled his head to study the wagon behind his. Jed Garner was looking grim these days. Flint’s lips curled into a smile as he climbed down from his wagon and walked up to Jed.

“How’re things going?” Flint asked.

Jed looked up from his chores. He and Flint had barely exchanged a dozen words since the wagon train left Missouri.

“Fine.” Jed tightened the harness.

“Does your wife ever handle the team?” Flint glanced at the young woman who had hardly smiled in a month.

“Sometimes. When I’m needed elsewhere.” Jed shot a glance at his wife, then back to the harness.

“I was thinking I’d go hunting today,” Flint said casually. “But I can’t leave the wagon and team untended.”

Jed paused, watching Barrows.

“I was thinking that if your wife could handle your team, you might be willing to handle mine, in exchange for half of what I bag.”

The crying of the Garner child increased, and Flint smiled, reading the irritation on the young husband’s face. “I realize you’d have to travel alone all day,” Flint added slyly, “but I’d be most grateful.”

Jed lowered his gaze, hoping Barrows wouldn’t notice his enthusiasm for the idea. With his wife still brooding about the loss of her damned piano, he was rarely able to let her out of his sight. Her moods swung from high to low in a matter of minutes. When she wasn’t reminding him of his broken promise, she was taking out her frustration on the boy. If he agreed to Barrows’s suggestion, he could find some relief. Not only would Jed have enough meat for a few days, but he would enjoy a day of peace as well.

“I’d say that’s a fair enough bargain.” Jed extended his hand. “I’d be happy to drive your wagon in exchange for half your catch.”

“Done.” Flint pumped his hand, then walked to his wagon to untie his horse and retrieve his rifle. Within minutes he was riding ahead of the train. As long as he kept the trail of dust in sight, he was bound to catch up with Abby Market sooner or later. And when he did, he had a surprise in store for her.

*  *  *

As the horse picked its way through the dust, Abby studied the outcropping of rock up ahead. She had to find some game. If she dared to go back empty- handed, her father would start harping once more on the fact that she had given away meat instead of keeping it for their own use. He was still angry about what he considered her foolish generosity. That meat could have been used to barter for guns or whiskey, or even a better position on the train. It would never have occurred to James Market to give away something he could use for a profit.

Turning her head, she saw a blur of movement among the rocks. She blinked and it was gone. Deer? Or dust? Digging in her heels, she urged the mare closer. When she reached the column of rocks, she tied the horse. She could make better time on foot. Clutching her rifle, she began to climb.

From a distance, the rock ledge that jutted from the desert floor had appeared small and easy to explore. Up close, Abby realized it was a series of rocks and cliffs that could easily conceal a small herd of animals. The boulders offered shade from the relentless sun. Though the rocks appeared barren, tufts of bunch grass and an occasional cactus dangled precariously. Her heartbeat accelerated. If it had been a deer she’d seen, there could be more. Enough to feed the entire wagon train.

Scrambling over rocks and boulders, Abby made her way to a shelf of rock overlooking the shadowed cliffs below. Shading her eyes from the glare of sun, she saw a doe just disappearing behind a boulder. And further on, almost invisible against the buff sandstone, stood a buck, his head lifted for any sign of trouble.

Abby thought of the signal Rourke had arranged. Two shots. But if she were to fire now, the deer would scatter. If there really was a herd hidden among these rocks, they would be gone before Rourke could get here. She would be much wiser to stay concealed until she was close enough to kill the buck. She might even get a second shot off at the doe.

As she crawled closer, she wished Rourke was here with her. Together, they could make a real hunt of this. Besides, she thought, grunting with pain as she pulled herself across the sharp, pointed edge of a rock, it would be exciting to share the adventure with Rourke. She liked the way his eyes looked when he did something satisfying. Like the time Will Montgomery had offered his hand to Rourke, and Rourke had accepted. There had been an unusual light in Rourke’s gray eyes that had brought a lump to her throat. Since then, she had seen Rourke and Will talking together, sharing a steaming cup of coffee and a smoke. Whatever tension had been between them was gone. They had formed a bond. One that the likes of Flint Barrows would never be able to break.

Abby took refuge behind a boulder and watched as the buck lowered its head to snatch at a clump of dried grass. While he was momentarily distracted, she raised the rifle to her shoulder and took aim. The buck swiveled his head in her direction and wheeled, as if to flee. His action puzzled Abby. He couldn’t possibly have seen her. She was completely hidden by the boulder. Maybe it was her scent, although she had made certain to stay downwind of him. Realizing she was about to lose the game she had stalked so carefully, she stood up and without taking the time to aim, fired. As she was about to fire a second time, she was yanked roughly from behind.

The rifle she was holding fell from her hands, clattering to the rocks below. An arm was clamped firmly around her throat, lifting her off her feet. As the grip tightened, she felt the breath being slowly squeezed from her lungs. Though she clawed and fought against the restraint, she couldn’t budge it. Within seconds she felt light-headed. Without the strength left to fight, her hands dropped limply to her sides. She heard a strange buzzing in her ears, and spots floated before her eyes. Just as she thought she was losing consciousness, the grip at her throat loosened. As she dropped to her feet, she feared her trembling legs wouldn’t be able to support her. She sucked air into her straining lungs. Rough hands caught her by the shoulders and spun her around. And Abby found herself staring into the leering face of Flint Barrows.

“Well, look what I just found. A pretty little peach just ripe for picking.”

Abby froze. This wasn’t possible. Flint Barrows should be miles from here, driving his wagon.

“Surprised?” Flint’s lips curled in a chilling smile. “I told you someday I’d make you pay.” His smile grew. “Today’s my lucky day.”

His grip tightened on her shoulders until she nearly cried out in pain. Then he dragged her against him and brought his mouth to hers.

“Now it’s your turn to see what it feels like to kiss a man, Miss High-and-Mighty Market.”

She twisted her head, avoiding his kiss. Grabbing her by the hair, he pulled her head back so hard tears sprang to her eyes. Then with a laugh he covered her mouth with his. She gagged at the stench of stale whiskey on his breath.

“That’s just the beginning,” he said, still clutching her by the hair so she couldn’t pull away. “There’s lots more fun to come.”

With one hand, he reached for the top button of her shirt. As Abby tried to jerk away, he caught at her neckline and gave a fierce tug, ripping the shirt from her. It fell away, still connected at each cuff. Abby gave a gasp of shock and pushed furiously against his chest, breaking free. When she tried to run, she lost her footing on the slippery rocks and plummeted downward. She landed with a thud on a flat boulder. All the breath was knocked from her. Behind her, she could hear Flint scrambling to catch her. Loose pebbles and the sharp edges of rocks left her bruised and bleeding. Still she struggled to get her footing. As she tumbled forward, she spotted the gleam of her rifle at the bottom of the gorge. She had to reach it. It was her only chance. Sliding, standing, tripping, falling, she struggled to reach the rifle. Her foot wedged between two rocks. Ignoring the stab of pain, she forced herself forward, leaving her boot lodged between the rocks. At last crawling, she reached out a hand and felt the warmth of the rifle butt in her hand. Her fingers closed around it. Pain seared her hand. She stared in disbelief as Flint’s booted foot crashed down, smashing the fine bones of her fingers as he pinned her hand to the hard ground.

“So you like to play rough.” He kicked the rifle aside, then bent and hauled her to her feet. “Then you and I are going to have ourselves a real good time.”

Abby’s breath was coming in short gasps. She was unable to stop him as he ripped the remaining ragged cloth from her wrists. Then, pulling her arms painfully behind her back, he held them in a viselike grip with one hand, while with his other he untied the rope at her waist that secured her britches. She kicked him as hard as she could. In return he slapped her across the face, causing her head to snap to one side from the impact. Tears scalded her eyes, and she blinked them back. There was no time for tears. She was fighting for her life.

With a tug, Flint pulled her britches down around her ankles, tripping her. She fell to the rocky ground and Flint fell on top of her, wrestling her clothes from her. When at last she lay, bruised, battered, wearing only a thin white chemise, he straddled her, pinning her arms above her head, and allowed his gaze to burn over her.

“Skinny. Not nearly as round as your little sister. But you’re definitely a woman. And a scrapper. I like that in a woman. A good fight gets the blood heated.”

Abby heard his words through a haze of pain. Blood oozed from a jagged cut on her shoulder. Her arms and legs were crisscrossed with cuts and scratches, many of them bleeding profusely. Her cheek still bore the imprint of his hand where he’d slapped her. And her ankle throbbed. Waves of pain radiated from her shattered hand being held firmly in his. But none of this pain could erase the overriding fear that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

With a terrible ripping sound, Flint tore the chemise from her and flung it aside. She struggled, but he held her still while he studied the high firm breasts, heaving with unconcealed panic. His gaze moved lower, to the milk-white flesh of her stomach, now spattered with her blood, then lower still.

“Now,” Flint said, fumbling to unfasten his pants, “I’m going to show you what you were made for.”

“No.” With one last burst of strength, Abby brought her knee smashing into his groin.

With a howl of pain, he doubled over. Abby struggled to roll free, but his hand snaked out, catching her roughly by the arm, pulling her back down. His other hand curled into a fist that caught her on the side of her head. Pain crashed through her. She fell back, moaning softly.

“And now Miss Abby Market, the game has just begun.”

She closed her eyes, unwilling to face her tormenter. He had already beaten her and rendered her defenseless. The pain and humiliation he had planned for her now would be his ultimate triumph.

“You got that wrong, Barrows. The game is over.”