Carol Finch (18 page)

Shiloh held herself perfectly still when Frank Mills levered his bulky body off the couch then lumbered over to stare down at her.

“Want me to wake her up?” Morton DeVol offered with a fiendish chuckle. “I’ve got some plans for this chit anyhow. Might as well get at ’em after she shows us where her brothers stash their money.”

To her dismay, DeVol clamped his grimy hand around her forearm to give her a jostling shake. She held out as long as she could before she had to respond. She moaned groggily—for effect—then opened one eye as she lolled her head back.

“Get up,” DeVol demanded sharply. “You’re causing a delay and I’m short on patience.”

She massaged the back of her head and blinked owlishly, giving the impression that she was trying to get her bearings. Then she stared into DeVol’s hard, angular face and graced him with the most bewildered expression she could manufacture.

“Where am I?” she bleated as she glanced frantically around the room. “And who are you?”

Her attempt to convince him that the hard blow he’d delivered to her head had caused temporary amnesia must have worked because he gaped at her quizzically.

“Where are you?”
he echoed, dumbfounded. “You oughta know the answer to that.”

“Damn it, pay attention, Shiloh,” Frank Mills barked as he bent at the waist to get right in her face.

“Shiloh?” she repeated with feigned confusion. “Is that my name?” She rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. “My head hurts so bad that I can’t think straight.” She looked up at Frank. “I don’t know you…do I?”

“Hell, she’s gone loco,” DeVol muttered. “I saw this happen to one of our compatriots two years back. A horse kicked him in the head. He didn’t know diddly-squat for almost two weeks. Never was right in the head after that, either.”

Frank Millis stroked his scraggly goatee and eyed her suspiciously. “Or maybe she
wants
us to think she can’t remember anything. That would be convenient, wouldn’t it?”

“What’s the holdup, Frank?”

Shiloh peered up at the thick-chested man with a ruddy complexion who strode up behind Frank. She’d never seen this hombre before and she didn’t know which gang he rode with.

“I think this little witch is playing possum.” Frank gnawed on his cigar as he crossed his arms over his barrel-shaped chest. He squinted skeptically at her. “Maybe she needs some convincing that we ain’t got time for her wily games.”

DeVol leered at her. “It’d be my pleasure to remind the bitch who she is and what purpose she serves.”

Frank held DeVol at bay when he tried to swoop
down and grab her by the hair to yank her to her feet. “Back off, Morty. You’ll get sidetracked,” Frank said candidly. “After we have no more use for her then you can take your pleasure.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the unidentified man who was two inches taller, but every bit as bulky. “Grady, you do the honors. Take her into the kitchen and see if she remembers who she is after you hold her head in a bucket of water until she sprouts gills and fins.”

Grady?
So, this was the backstabbing traitor that Fletcher had tracked all the way from Colorado. She wished she could turn the tables on the big, bushy-haired brute and hand him over to Fletch.

Shiloh yelped in pain when Grady Mills jerked her off the couch and nearly dislocated her shoulder in the process. She cursed silently, knowing her formal gown and thick petticoats would hamper her escape attempt. She’d have to be resourceful.

Her breath whooshed out in an indignant gasp when Grady clamped his hand over her breasts and squeezed painfully the moment they entered the kitchen. Shiloh retaliated by doubling her fist to sock him squarely in the crotch. Grady gasped for breath. His eyes rolled back in his head. He wilted to his knees, grabbing protectively at his privates, in case she decided to clobber him again—which she did for good measure. It was then she realized she was one shoe short of a pair.

While Grady was trying to catch his breath to send off a shout of alarm Shiloh grabbed the first makeshift weapon within reach—a wooden rolling pin. She swung it in an arc, gathering momentum so that it cracked solidly against Grady’s bushy head. A dull groan wobbled from his lips as he pitched forward onto the floor and lay there unmoving.

Shiloh glanced apprehensively toward the dining room door, and then sent up a prayer of gratitude that the cook and housekeeper had gone into town for the festivities and hadn’t stumbled headlong into this calamity. She didn’t know what had become of the cowboys that had remained behind. She hoped they were in the pastures, standing watch over the cattle so they wouldn’t have to encounter this cluster of ruthless desperadoes that had set up camp in her house.

Shiloh battled like crazy to think past her raging headache. She needed to figure out the best means of escape. When she heard a howl in the distance, she jerked to attention. Suddenly shouts erupted from the parlor and dining room. Shiloh couldn’t see what was happening, but she smelled smoke. Before she could dart out the back door, hoping to elude the posted guards, rapid-fire gunshots rang out.

Armed with an arsenal of weapons—the rolling pin, two butcher knives and the six-shooter she’d confiscated from Grady—Shiloh darted outside. She didn’t know how many weapons it would take to get her past the guards, but she felt more secure knowing she was armed to the teeth.

Clinging to the shadows of the house, she shuffled sideways, constantly on the lookout for trouble. Whatever was going on was obviously taking place on the front lawn, she decided. She could see flickering light and shifting shadows at the corner of the house. The smell of smoke grew stronger.

Maybe Hawk and her brothers had discovered she was missing and had come looking for her. She wondered if this might be some sort of diversion tactic that had the outlaws buzzing around like a nest of bees.

Shiloh plastered herself against the outer wall when
she heard the thud of running footsteps on the lawn, and then saw a shadowed silhouette dart around the side of the house. She waited until the guard was within striking distance then leaped forward to whack him upside the head with the rolling pin.

The bandit staggered on his feet, moaned, then landed spread-eagle in the grass. Shiloh picked up his discarded pistol. She had to make a run for the barn to fetch a horse, but she couldn’t do that with her skirts billowing around her. Hurriedly she shed her restrictive petticoats, fashioned her gown into makeshift breeches, and then stuffed her weapons into the folds of the fabric.

She had taken only one step toward freedom when she heard the deadly click of a trigger directly behind her.

“If you try to make a run for it, you’ll be dead,” came the unexpected voice from the shadows to her left.

Instant
death or captivity and
inevitable
death? Not much of a choice, she decided.

Although Shiloh intended to surprise her two adversaries by whirling around to fire off shots of her own, an unseen blow slammed into her tender head. Her senses reeled. Pain exploded in her skull. Shiloh collapsed atop the hombre she had leveled with her rolling pin.

And then the world went out of focus….

H
awk stood in the grove of trees that circled the Drummonds’ spacious front lawn. The three separate bonfires he’d started lit up the darkness. The flickering light dimly illuminated the stick soldiers Hawk had made from the hats and shirts he’d confiscated from the bunkhouse. Plus, he’d thrown cartridges on the fires, giving the impression that the Ranger battalion had arrived to lay siege to the house.

Hawk was so concerned about Shiloh that he could barely make himself stand still. He didn’t want to give those bastards the chance to abuse or dispose of Shiloh. As long as the outlaws thought they were under attack Shiloh would remain tied up somewhere in the house.

Glancing impatiently in the direction that led to Cerrogordo, Hawk tossed a few more cartridges on the fires. His brother and the Ranger unit should be here soon.

But not soon enough, damn it. Hawk was going crazy, wondering how much abuse Shiloh had suffered before he arrived to set up a distraction.

He lurched around and his shoulders sagged in re
lief when he heard the clatter of hooves. A minute later Fletch and Gideon bounded from their horses.

“Hope you aren’t planning to burn the house down around those bastards,” Gideon said as he listened to the bandits return the gunfire coming from the phantom army Hawk had raised for the standoff.

“With Shiloh inside? Not a chance.” Hawk glared at his brother. “It took you long enough to get here, damn it!”

“Just because my last name is Hawk doesn’t mean I can fly,” Fletch said. “Glad to see you haven’t done anything rash yet. Like storm the house by yourself.”

The thud of more hooves heralded the arrival of more reinforcements. Hawk blew out another gusty sigh of relief when the Rangers dismounted in the grove of trees behind him.

Captain Tipton strode quickly toward Hawk. He surveyed the billowing fires, noted the stick soldiers propped against the trees and then stared at the shadowy silhouettes of outlaws firing from the windows. “How many are there?”

“According to Drummond’s hired hand, about two dozen,” Hawk reported. “After DeVol abducted Shiloh from the town festival he must have decided to rob Drummond Ranch. I can’t figure out if these outlaws are trying to make us think this is their headquarters or if this was an impromptu stop on the way to Mills Ranch.” He smiled grimly. “Whatever the case, we’re outnumbered, as usual.”

“That’s nothing new,” Tipton said with a resigned shrug. “Have you come up with a plan of attack?”

Hawk nodded sharply. “Yeah, you cover me and provide firepower while I sneak in to retrieve Shiloh.”

“Lousy plan,” Fletch spoke up. “I’ll go with you to
cover your back. Two dozen to
two
odds are so much better.”

Hawk exchanged significant glances with his brother. Although they had been separated for the past few years the bond between them was as strong as ever. He was humbled that Fletch volunteered to risk his life when the chances of returning alive didn’t bear mentioning.

“Thanks, Fletch,” Hawk said deceptively—so his brother wouldn’t suspect what was coming next. “We’ll circle to the back of the house.” When Fletch pivoted away, Hawk conked him on the head and watched him wilt to the ground, unconscious.

The Rangers and the Drummond brothers gaped at him in stupefied astonishment.

“When Fletch comes to, tell him I’m sorry about that. But he hasn’t fully recovered from the last gunshot wound so I decided he shouldn’t go with me.”

“Hawk?” Noah stepped forward to latch onto his arm before he strode off. “My sister is in there. I’m coming with you.”

“Me, too,” Gideon chimed in.

“Thanks for the offer, but you two need to be waiting to console Shiloh when this ordeal is over.”

Before someone else decided to argue with his plan or invited himself along on what could very well be a suicide mission, Hawk sprinted into the thicket of trees. Serenaded by the gunfire the Rangers provided as a cover, Hawk circled the house. He spotted two guards posted at the base of the steps that led to the second-story balcony.

Hawk snatched up a fallen tree limb, then tossed it into a nearby shrub. The guards wheeled around to fire at the possible threat. Hawk aimed and fired at the
guards’ knees. The ongoing gunfire on the front lawn overrode their pained howls.

He took aim at their shooting hands before they could lambaste him with bullets. Their pistols tumbled from their fists, leaving them vulnerable and bleeding. Hawk pounced on the guards, clubbing them over the head with the butt of his weapon. After he gagged the wounded outlaws with their own bandanas, he tied them to the banister for safekeeping.

On the lookout for more guards, Hawk bounded up the steps. If he was lucky, he could locate and extricate Shiloh while the core group of outlaws waged battle with the Rangers. If not… He didn’t finish the pessimistic thought. All that mattered was removing Shiloh from harm’s way.

Hawk went perfectly still when he peeked into the window of an upstairs bedroom—Gideon’s or Noah’s, he guessed—to see Shiloh bound, gagged and tied to the bedposts. He gnashed his teeth when he saw Morton DeVol hovering beside her.

Everything inside Hawk rebelled when Morton slid his grimy hand beneath the hem of Shiloh’s skirt and grinned wickedly. She bucked and squirmed to avoid his touch, but he snickered at her helpless outrage and offended dignity.

“It’s what you deserve for trying to turn Grady into a eunuch earlier,” Morton sneered as he tossed aside his holsters then reached for the placket of his breeches. “About time you learned that your place is
beneath
a man, bitch.”

Although Hawk itched to storm into the room, he made himself wait until Morton straddled Shiloh’s hips and focused his concentration completely on her. Hawk couldn’t risk firing off a shot inside the house, for fear of bringing a host of bandits upstairs.

While Shiloh thrashed and squirmed, trying to toss Morton sideways, Hawk exploded into the room like a discharging pistol. He broadsided Morton, sending him rolling off the far side of the bed to sprawl on the floor. Morton made a desperate grab for his discarded holsters then yanked his pistol free. Hawk snatched up the butcher knife from the end table and hurled it just as Morton drew down on him.

“Damn redskin bastard,” Morton muttered. He stared at the dagger imbedded in his chest then at Hawk. “Go to hell….”

“You first,” Hawk replied as he watched the ruthless outlaw slump motionlessly on the floor.

Hurriedly, Hawk untied Shiloh’s wrists from the bedposts and tugged her with him toward the balcony door. She kept yammering unintelligibly at him as she tried to unfasten her gag one-handed. But Hawk was anxious to get her away from the house before another threat materialized in their path.

“Here’s your missing shoe,” he said hurriedly. “And whatever you’re trying to say can wait until we’re down the steps and dashing toward the protection of the trees.”

“Hawk,” she burst out when she finally worked the knotted gag loose. “There’s something you need to know first—”

“No, he doesn’t.”

A muddled frown furrowed Hawk’s brow when the unexpected voice wafted across the balcony. He glanced over his shoulder to see Lucille Warren holding a six-shooter with both hands. She was poised to shoot and the expression on her painted face indicated that she meant business.

He was so shocked to see the buxom madam emerge
from the shadowed doorway of Shiloh’s room that it took him a moment to react—which made him a moment too slow on the draw when Lucille fired the pistol. He barely had time to sidestep in front of Shiloh to protect her from the oncoming bullet.

“No!”

Shiloh’s furious howl competed with the sound of blood roaring in Hawk’s ears. A painful sensation burned a hole in his chest.

“Get out of here,” Hawk demanded as he groped clumsily for his pistol and sank helplessly to his knees.

Although he felt his strength draining rapidly, he managed to retrieve his peacemaker. Unfortunately, Lucille ducked in the doorway before he could get off a shot. Gasping for breath, Hawk clutched at his chest wound. The world spun crazily as he wilted to the floor of the balcony.

“Damn you, Hawk!”

Shiloh was crying over him, Hawk noted, wondering why her voice sounded as if it was warbling toward him from a long, winding tunnel. The fact that Shiloh tried to hoist him to his feet and his sluggish body refused to respond indicated that he’d been hit as badly as he thought he’d been.

Hawk groaned as darkness crept in on his peripheral vision and breathing became nearly impossible. He tried to focus on Shiloh’s lovely face above him, tried to respond to the tugging sensation on his left arm…. Tried and failed.

Suddenly Shiloh’s face disappeared into the looming darkness and Hawk sank into silent oblivion.

Shiloh swore inventively as she dragged Hawk’s unconscious body toward the gallery steps. Her eyes
were so clouded with tears that she could barely see where she was going. But fear for his life kept pulsating through her, providing her with the needed strength to get Hawk to safety.

Shiloh muttered another salty oath when Lucille poked her head around the doorway, preparing to blast away again. The need for revenge roiled through Shiloh. She snatched up Hawk’s pistol to fire off a shot that tore through the poofy coiffure atop Lucille’s head. Several tendrils tumbled over her shoulder. Horrified, the older woman screeched a curse then ducked out of sight again.

Taking advantage of Lucille’s retreat, Shiloh pulled Hawk down the steps, grimacing at each bump she unintentionally inflicted on him. Although her strength was starting to give out, she gritted her teeth, marshaled her resolve and pulled him down a few more steps.

“Shiloh!”

She sagged in relief when Fletch’s voice erupted from somewhere behind her. She glanced back to see him dashing forward. She vaguely noticed the two guards Hawk had incapacitated on his way to rescue her. But she only gave them a passing glance as Fletch draped Hawk over his shoulder.

“Damn it, I knew he’d do something daring and reckless.” Fletch scowled as he limped toward the cover of the trees. “That’s why he knocked me out so I couldn’t come with him. If I’d been here with him this might not have happened.”

Shiloh looked back to make sure they hadn’t been spotted by the bandits. When she saw Lucille scamper out the kitchen door, headed for the barn, everything inside Shiloh cried out for vindication. She knew who
was behind the outlaw factions that were operating in the area. This cunning madam was
not
going to get away scot-free.

Clutching the hem of her hampering skirts Shiloh took off after Lucille Warren. If Hawk didn’t survive the serious wound he had suffered, trying to spare her, Shiloh damn well intended for Lucille to stand trial for murder.

Justice would prevail, she vowed resolutely. Now she knew how Hawk and Fletch felt in their ongoing crusade to hunt down the Indian agent’s killer. That same relentless desire for vengeance put wings on her feet and blood in her eyes.

“Shiloh? Where the hell are you going?” Fletch called out to her from the canopy of the trees.

Shiloh didn’t waste time explaining. She raced after Lucille, determined to stop her before she retrieved her horse and thundered to town to gather up her share of the loot. The sneaky madam was not going to find another locale to set up her clever operation, not if Shiloh could help it!

Although Lucille had a head start and was running for her life, Shiloh barreled into the barn to grab the nearest horse. She could hear Lucille’s mount thundering off into the darkness and she gave chase immediately.

Since she was more familiar with the area, she took a shortcut to reach the path that led to the main road. She clamped her knees against the horse’s flanks and curled over its neck as it leaped the shallow creek then raced southeast at breakneck speed.

When she sighted Lucille coming around the bend, she gouged her mount, demanding its swiftest pace. While racing side by side, Lucille reached for her pis
tol. Shiloh swung her arm in a wide arc, knocking the weapon from Lucille’s hand before she could blow her out of the saddle. While the madam swore viciously, Shiloh grabbed a handful of her blond hair and gave her a forceful yank.

Lucille screeched like a banshee when Shiloh jerked her off the horse. The outraged madam cartwheeled across the ground and landed with a thud and a groan.

Before Lucille could gather her wits and gain her feet, Shiloh bounded from her horse and straddled the downed madam. She deflected Lucille’s vicious attempt to scratch out her eyes and yank her hair out by the roots. When she managed to pin Lucille’s wrists to the ground, Lucille shrieked in fury.

“You troublesome bitch!” she spat hatefully. “I won’t let you spoil what I’ve worked so hard to arrange. I set up distractions everywhere. I even had two men waylay Proctor during the bank holdup. I can clear out tonight and no one but you will know I’m involved.”

“You aren’t going anywhere, but I’ll say one thing for you,” Shiloh said between panting breaths, “you did turn a mob of ruthless men into trained pawns and no one was the wiser.”

Lucille relaxed momentarily, but Shiloh wasn’t foolish enough to let her guard down.

“It seemed fitting to me that since men use women for their selfish purposes constantly that
I
should be the one to turn the tables on them all,” Lucille declared smugly. “From haughty gentleman like Will Proctor to ill-mannered ruffians, I controlled them all. I even used the dim-witted mayor to protect my interests in Paradise so those snooty, holier-than-thou women couldn’t run me out of business.”

Shiloh wasn’t surprised to learn Mayor Reggie
Clark had been a convenient gambit used to facilitate Lucille’s elaborate scheme. “You knew Reggie would eventually knuckle under the pressure of closing down the social club. Is that why you hatched the scheme of setting up various factions to rob and raid simultaneously so you could raise money fast?”

Lucille nodded abruptly. “I needed a nest egg in place so I can move farther west to establish another business. There’s always another lawless town somewhere that needs a brothel.”