Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WayWard Wind (11 page)

“Four, five,” Peyton said with a listless shrug. “Maybe more. But there’s one in particular I have a feeling is where they’ll take him. Papa took me out to it when he was teaching me how to drive a buggy. It’s secluded, at the very end of the property.”

“We’ll look there first, then,” Starnes said.

“And hope we ain’t too late,” Snake was heard to whisper.

Chapter Five

With only three hours of sleep, Starnes woke the women and told them they could possibly make up at least an hour on the lead Harper’s abductors had on them. “We’ll stop at the next village to change horses and get a hot meal if we’re lucky.”

“Fried eggs would sure hit the spot,” Snake said as she began saddling her mount.

Peyton was quiet as she went about the same chore. She had refused Starnes help in lifting her saddle, telling him she had to learn to do it on her own.

Before long they were riding out, the chill of the morning air refreshing them and helping to keep them awake. There was another hint of coming rain so they picked up their pace, hoping to reach shelter before the deluge started.

* * * *

Harper grunted as the boot connected with the small of his back. He rolled over on his belly to avoid another vicious hit. His ankles were untied, but lack of food, sleep, and laying on the hard ground had worn him down so he didn’t have the energy to attempt running.

“Get the hell up,” Elliott ordered.

It was barely light, but the outlaw leader was enraged that he and his men had overslept. He had found the guard dozing and that had further pissed him off. A brutal jab had punished the transgressor and that man was sullenly saddling Elliott’s horse for his lack of diligence.

Within fifteen minutes the quartet of horses were galloping away from the campsite, the first few sprinkles of rain slashing at Harper’s face as he rode. The others had slickers and had donned them before saddling up, but he had nothing--not even a hat--to protect him from the sting of the water hitting him. Before long, his shirt was plastered to him and he was miserable, shivering in the cold morning air. It was all he could do to hold onto the pommel with his bound hands, leaning low over the horse’s neck.

Because of time lost, they were only twenty miles ahead of Peyton, Snake and Starnes--an easy day’s ride for fresh horses.

* * * *

Peyton eyed the big black gelding and shrugged. “I can ride him,” she said, “but getting the saddle up on his back ….”

“I’ll do that,” Starnes broke in. “How ‘bout you and Snake fetching us the chow while I see to the horses?”

Nodding her agreement, Peyton headed for the cantina where a disgruntled proprietor had awakened to Starnes’ loud knocking. The man’s grossly overweight wife was busy making tortillas that Snake had insisted would be good filled with scrambled eggs and shredded spiced pork. Coffee was already brewing and the rich aroma of it lured Peyton into the dim interior of the cantina more than the thought of food at that time of morning. She sat down at one of the greasy tables and leaned back in the chair. She felt like the weight of the world were crushing her shoulders and her fear for Harper’s safety sat like a rock in the pit of her stomach.

“Senora?” the woman making the tortillas called out.

Peyton looked around. The food was ready and she sighed deeply, pushing wearily to her feet to thrust her hand into the pockets of her jeans to fish out money. “Gracias,” she told the woman and accepted the hot tortillas that had been laid in a long wicker basket. Unwilling to sit at the dirty table to eat, she took the basket outside, hitching her chin toward the interior when Snake glanced her way. “Wanna get the pot of coffee and cups for us, please?”

Snake didn’t reply, just went inside the cantina, coming back a few moments later with three tin cups hooked around the fingers of her left hand, coffee pot in the right. “Smells edible,” she pronounced of their breakfast fare.

Peyton had no appetite, but managed to down one of the egg and pork-filled tortillas. She drank two cups of coffee and was ready to hit the trail when Starnes had finished gulping down six of the tortillas, chewing the last one vigorously as he strode to his mount.

“You gotta have faith, girl,” Snake said as she pulled her creaking bones into the saddle. The old woman groaned for a moment, but straightened up, squaring her shoulders to sit ramrod tall.

“Aye,” Peyton said, unaware she’d used her husband’s word of agreement.

Snake and Starnes exchanged a look before the trio put heels to their horses and left the grimy cantina.

* * * *

Elliott pulled him down from the horse for the last time and Harper staggered, barely managing to keep his feet. He was bone-tired, aching all over and he had a vicious headache that made his vision blur at times. Nausea lurked at the back of his throat, signaling the headache would be a migraine of note. He stumbled as he was shoved toward the rickety line shack.

“End of the line, you little prick,” Elliott told him. The grip he had on Harper’s upper arm was brutal as he escorted his prisoner into the shack.

One of the men who had ridden back to Texas with them had gone to inform Dalton of their arrival. Elliott ordered the other man to see to their horses as he took Harper into the shack.

Harper was beginning to lose what little hope he had when he saw the chains hanging from the bare rafter of the shack. Dark stains on the wall ahead of him were rust-colored and there was no doubt in his mind what had caused the irregular splatters blotting the unpainted wood boards.

Elliott expected his prisoner to balk and as soon as he felt the tension in Harper’s body, he knew the younger man was about to try to make a break. He didn’t give him the chance, drawing his pistol and slamming the butt of it against the side of Harper’s head.

Pain exploded in his temple and Harper went to one knee, his bound hands hitting the rough floor, the edges of his palms scraping against it to lodge a splinter in the flesh. He couldn’t stop the retching that shot from his parched throat and he knelt there gagging for a moment, trying to catch his breath, trying to push the enveloping darkness away. His head was filled with so much agony, he didn’t have it in him to fight Elliott as the man jerked him up to lash his hands to one of the chains hanging from the rafter. With a groan, he was hoisted up until his feet left the floor.

“Knowed you was gonna try that,” Elliott said with satisfaction before holstering his gun and plowing a savage fist into Harper’s gut.

* * * *

Peyton could hear the meaty thuds coming from the shack and it was all she could do not to leave her hiding place and run into the building. Her father’s buggy stood at the hitching post beside four other horses. One man stood in front, rolling a smoke so she knew two others were inside with her father and Harper.

“We need to draw them other two out,” Starnes said softly.

“Yeah,” Snake agreed, “before they beat the boy to death.” She pretended not to notice Peyton’s pallor and haunted eyes.

“I’m going to slip around the side, draw the guard’s attention and take him out,” Starnes said. “I’ll signal you when the bastard is down. Then I’m gonna call out for help. At least one of them will come to see what the problem is.”

It worked perfectly. Starnes handled the guard, yelled for assistance and was rewarded by the appearance of two men Peyton didn’t know rushing from the shack. They were armed and heading around the side of the building when she calmly took aim and shot them both through the back of their head so quickly neither knew what had hit them as they slumped to the ground.

“Holy motherfucking shit,” Snake whispered. “Girl, where
did
you learn to shoot like that?”

“Elliott?”

Peyton tensed hearing her father’s voice. She had her husband’s gun up and trained on the doorway, hoping her father would come through. She didn’t know if she could kill him, but she sure as hell could put a hole in him.

“Elliott?” Dalton’s voice held a slight tremor.

“Texas Rangers!” Starnes called out. “Your men are down. Come out with your hands up!”

There was a brief moment of silence then Dalton yelled back. “How do I know you’re who you say you are? How do I know you aren’t a friend of Harper’s?”

“You don’t,” Starnes answered, “but Harper’s wanted and I aim to take him in. If you get in the way, you’ll join your men.”

Elliott came out of the shack, his hands empty and above his head. “I don’t want no trouble with the law,” he said, turning his head from side to side as he sought the Ranger’s location.

“Move away from the building,” Starnes said.

Peyton saw her father look in that direction, lower his hands to his sides. She watched as he snaked his right hand behind him under his coat and knew he was going for a weapon. She took aim at his right thigh, but never had a chance to fire for Snake’s Colt roared beside her and a black hole appeared in the back of Jacob Dalton’s coat. As her father pitched forward, Peyton slowly turned her head to look at the old woman.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun, girl,” Snake said in a soft voice. “And I couldn’t let you shoot your own kin, fucking bastard though he was.”

Peyton stared at the body of the man who had been her father and was surprised to find she had no feelings about his gruesome death. She felt detached, removed from the situation and all she could think of was Sloan and getting to him. With heavy feet, fearful of what she’d find, she started toward the shack.

Starnes sprinted around the side of the building, his eyes wide as he took in the three dead men lying almost in a row side by side. He tore his gaze from them and gave the women an open-mouthed, stunned expression. He snapped his mouth shut then skirted the carnage, the first one into the shack, Peyton close on his heels.

Harper was unconscious, but alive, his body swinging slowly from the chain. His shirt had been cut or torn from him and his upper body was already starting to show livid bruises. Elliott had worked him over pretty good by the time the young man’s rescuers arrived, but no lethal damage had been done. His face was devoid of any of the punishing blows that had obviously riddled his chest and abdomen.

Peyton reached a trembling hand toward her husband, her lips quivering. “Get him down, Jack. Get him down!” she sobbed, tears streaking down his face.

Carefully lowering the chain, Starnes let the two women support Harper, easing him gently to the floor. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he told the women. “Get back across the border before someone comes looking for Dalton. All we need is to be arrested for four murders.”

“It was vengeance, Starnes,” Snake growled.

“It was murder. Pure and simple,” Starnes stated. “Let’s call a spade a spade, lady.”

Snake threw out a dismissive hand. “I ain’t gonna argue with you. Pick him up and take him out to the buggy,” Snake ordered. “Seat’ll be a mite small for him, but he can’t ride like he is. Watch out for his ribs.”

Starnes didn’t balk at the take-charge demands of the old woman. He simply bent over and plucked Harper from the floor, wincing as he heard the gasp of pain from the young man and watched Harper’s eyes flutter open for a moment before closing again. “I’m being as easy with you as I can, son,” he said as he turned and left the shack. He glanced at Snake.

“Hitch one of our horses to the back of the buggy, girl,” Snake told Peyton. “When he’s able to ride, he’ll need a mount. Shoo the other horses off. Somebody’ll find them.”

Peyton hurried to do as she was ordered, running to get their mounts. She heard Starnes telling Snake he would hop up on the buggy horse to control it since he couldn’t ride in the conveyance.

“Fine by me,” Snake agreed.

Once Harper was situated in the buggy, a blanket rolled under his head, his body cinched in with a rope Starnes had found in the shack so the injured man wouldn’t roll off the seat, Peyton took the lead away from the shack, heading for the Rio Grande and the border twelve miles away. Now and again she would stare back at the buggy and the look on her face was filled with worry.

“He’s a tough one, Peyton,” Snake yelled at her, but the old woman’s words were lost in the rush of the wind as they galloped.

Long after they’d crossed the border--taking a different trail than the one they’d come up on--Peyton dropped back until she was riding beside the buggy, her gaze rarely leaving her husband’s gaunt face.

Hang on, Sloan,” she said. “Don’t you dare die on me now.”

Epilogue

The rolling hills and lush heather around Hearthridge was the most beautiful Peyton had ever seen. She stood at the opened window of the master’s bedroom and breathed in the scent that came flowing over her. The wind billowed her silk gown around her legs and she let her head fall back, her eyes closed as she experienced the slight chill that washed around and over her.

She thought of the hateful old woman who had come to demand they leave the estate of her deceased husband. She thought of the insults that pompous bitch had flung at Sloan.

“Don’t you talk to him like that!” Peyton heard herself saying again as she faced the widow of Edward Ferguson, the Duke of Warenstone. “This is Sloan’s home and he is master here. You will show your respect for him or you will leave his home, never to darken these rooms again! Is that clear?”

Both Sloan and Snake had stared at her as she had faced down the woman who had been a thorn in Sloan’s side for many years, who had tried to take the hunting lodge from him while he’d been America, but thanks to Sloan’s London solicitors, she had been unsuccessful in her ploy to rob him of his grandfather’s bequeath.

“What are you thinking about?”

Peyton turned to look at her husband, stretched out on the bed they had shared his first night home in Scotland. “You,” she replied.

He patted the coverlet and she padded over to him, crawling up on the high bed to lie beside him, snuggling into his strong arms, her thigh over his. She smiled when he laid his chin atop her head and smoothed his palm down her arm.