Authors: Jo Goodman
Clarence and Tom talked quietly for some time before they added wood to the fire and laid out their own blankets. Rennie didn't release the grip on her pocket revolver until she heard the sounds of their sleep. Even then she waited awhile longer before she sat up.
The night was virtually silent. The wind had calmed, and snow absorbed the footfalls of nocturnal animals. An occasional snap of twigs or rustling in the branches overhead was well beyond the limits of the firelight. Rennie moved with caution and quiet.
She was not confident of being able to find her way back to Echo Falls, but she was confident she understood what awaited her if she stayed. Better to take her chances with the elements than to accept the inevitable attack by one or both of her guides.
Rennie stroked Albion, hushing the mare before she threw on the saddle. She had just finished strapping the girth when she realized the animal had grown restless for another reason. Rennie turned around slowly, dropping her hands to her pockets.
Tom stood a few feet away, his gun drawn. The collar of his heavy coat had been turned up, but his scarf was lowered under his chin. When he smiled he showed two sharp incisor teeth that reminded Rennie of fangs. "You desertin' us?" he asked casually.
"I... I was cold," she said lamely. "I thought it would be better to move around."
He laughed without humor. "Movin' around's one thing. You look like you was preparin' to go."
"It's close to morning, isn't it?"
"You know damn well it ain't. We got us another eight hours before it's light enough to leave. What you needed to do was move closer to the fire." He glanced toward the light. "Ain't that right, Clarence?"
"That's right. Over here where I can warm her up."
Both of Tom's wiry brows lifted in question as he looked at Rennie. "Well? What do you think of that? Care to take up Clarence's offer?"
"I don't think so," she said with credible calm.
He nodded, apparently thinking over her refusal. "Then, you may want to consider what I got to say. I'd like you to write out that draft for us now. Seems to me—"
"I'm not going to do that."
Tom went on as if she hadn't spoken. "Seems to me that you were about ready to run out without payin' your debt. Clarence? Howse about you gettin' off your rump and seein' if you can't find what we're lookin' for?" He smiled at Rennie. "If he can't do it, I'll have to search you."
Rennie moved away from Albion while Clarence rifled her belongings for the draft. He found a small, black, leatherbound ledger containing a dozen blank checks.
"Whoooeee," he cried out, holding it up for Tom to see. "Struck silver!" He tossed the ledger to Tom and continued to search. Eventually he found Rennie's cache of coin and bills. "Looks like she's got close to three hundred dollars here! Imagine that!"
"Imagine that," Tom repeated softly, putting his gun away. "You find somethin' for her to write with?"
"Pen and ink," Clarence said, chuckling as he held up both. He shook the bottle. "Not frozen either."
"Good," said Tom. "Her blood would have been my second choice."
Rennie blanched.
Tom motioned to Clarence to bring him the pen and ink. When he had both, he carried them and the ledger to Rennie. "You'll be able to see what you're doin' over here. That's two thousand for each of us, ma'am. We're not greedy."
Signing the draft was signing a death sentence. Rennie knew that. When her hands came out of her pockets she was holding the Smith and Wesson. "Step back, Mr. Brighton," she said. "I'm prepared to use this."
"Better do what she says," Clarence told his friend. "Never did trust a lady with a gun, 'specially not one of them fancy little things."
Tom took a respectful step backward and in the same motion threw the ledger at Rennie. She fired, but the shot went wild as the ledger hit her wrist. She understood then she would never get a second chance.
Rennie was tackled from both sides and shoved to the ground. The fire scattered and singed the fur cuff of her coat. She flailed at the men, hitting out with fists and feet. More by accident than design she jammed her knee into Tom's groin. He howled, backed off momentarily, then drove his gloved fist into her belly. Rennie's scream died in her throat as the air was forced out of her lungs.
The night was suddenly alive with sound. Branches overhead dipped and rustled as birds and small animals fled the woman's reedy cries and the men's labored breathing. The horses whinnied and snorted restlessly; a pack of wolves shied away, then grew bolder.
Rennie's scarf was torn away from her face and tossed toward the fire. Flames licked at the fringed ends. Clarence's mouth mashed hers as Tom tore at the fasteners of her redingote. Hands slipped under the fur and kneaded her breasts through the material of her gown. She did not recognize the wounded, whimpering cries as coming from herself. Bile rose in her throat as a tongue protruded between the ridge of her teeth. She bit down and tasted blood, not sensible of its origin until Clarence reared back and slapped her with the powerful flat of his hand. Tears blurred her vision and froze on her cheeks. She heard the collar of her gown give way beneath Tom's frantic fingers. His leather gloves abraded her skin; the cold air stung her bare flesh. Her moan became a keening cry as his mouth closed over her nipple.
Rennie's hands curled like talons, but sheathed in leather, they were ineffective. She grabbed a fistful of Tom's hair and yanked. His teeth pinched her flesh until she let go. She sobbed, gasping for air, as hands—she was no longer certain whose—pushed up her skirt and pulled at her drawers.
"Me first," Clarence said, grunting. "I'm not takin' your leavin's this time." He fumbled with the fly of his trousers, threw off his gloves, and finished the job. "Hold her down. I don't want a knee in
my
privates."
Tom's hands clamped down on Rennie's shoulders as she fought to sit up. Her neck arched. She screamed. Her knees were violently pushed up and apart and kept separated by Clarence's body. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one end of her scarf erupt into flames. Her fingers curled around the smoldering end, and she pitched it at Clarence's face.
He shouted as fire flared across his broad brow. He clawed at the scarf, throwing back his head and gasping for air. His enraged cry echoed in the hills. It was loud enough to make him deaf to the sound that killed him.
Clarence slumped forward across Rennie's body. Tom leaped out of the way, his feet pumping furiously as he fell on his backside and still tried to scramble for cover. Screaming hoarsely, Rennie pushed ineffectively at Clarence's shoulders. Her fingers tore at the burning scarf covering his head, tossing it away before the flames licked at her own face. The press of fear in her chest was enormous. Her breathing was ragged.
She saw Tom draw his gun and fire into the dark pine woods. Something wet and warm trickled between her breasts. Panicked, Rennie heaved at Clarence's body again, this time dislodging it. She sat up and looked down at herself. Her breasts were smeared with his blood. She raised one trembling hand to her chest and tried to wipe it away. Her tormented eyes searched beyond the limits of the light for her savior in the shadows.
Tom slid behind Rennie. He circled her neck with his forearm, compressing her windpipe until she lay limply against him. Using her as a shield, he kept his gun raised, waving it slowly back and forth in anticipation of another shot.
"You want a turn with her?" he called out. "If it's about sharin' the woman, then I don't mind. Hell, I don't care if you want all of her."
Rennie's hands clawed weakly at Tom's forearm. She gagged.
He gave her a little shake, loosening his grip enough to let her breathe. He yelled again to his enemy in the woods. "She has money. More money than you could imagine. You only got to get her to sign these pieces of paper. She'll do it, too. Slide some sweetmeat between her thighs and she'll do whatever you want."
Rennie tried to cover herself. The torn throat of her gown defied her efforts. She crossed her arms in front of her and drew up her knees. She was trembling so hard it was difficult for Tom to keep his gun steady. He pressed hard on her throat again.
"You hear me?" Tom hollered. "You want some of her or some of her money? You want some of both?" It occurred to Tom that his assailant could be circling in the woods behind him. Holding on to Rennie, he began to slowly turn with her, cocking his head toward the pines as he tried to hear a footfall or a hammer click. "Come and get it!" His breath was hard against Rennie's ear. "Tell him," he whispered harshly. "Tell him you want him." He pressed the barrel of his gun in the soft curve under her jaw. "Tell him, damn you!"
"I want you," she rasped.
Tom waved the gun again. "Louder! Tell him louder!"
"I want—"
The flash of light was almost simultaneous to the gun's report. Tom returned the fire, but the bullet in his shoulder threw his aim wide. Pain seared his chest as the force of the bullet drove him backward. Rennie slumped to the ground. Another bullet, this time in Tom's gun arm, forced him to drop his weapon. He sobbed weakly, clutching himself as he tried to move opposite the shots.
Jarret stepped out of the woods and into the circle of light. His hat cast a shadow across his face but did not hide the tensely ticking muscle in his jaw.
Tom recognized him instantly. "You! What do you want?"
"I thought I'd made that obvious," he said quietly.
"There's no bounty on us. Hell, folks around here say you gave it up. They say you can't shoot straight."
Jarret fired off a shot. It drove harmlessly into the fire, scattering sparks and embers. "Sometimes I can't," he said philosophically. He fired again, this time into Tom Brighton's chest. "And sometimes I can." He put his gun away as Tom's body sprawled in the snow. "It's a crap shoot."
Kneeling beside Rennie, he lifted her head and smoothed back a curling strand of auburn-and-copper-streaked hair. Her face was ashen. Her eyes were closed.
"Rennie," he said her name softly. "Rennie, it's me... Mr. Sullivan."
She opened her eyes slowly. The lift of her lashes did not lessen the shadows beneath them. With something akin to wonder she said his name. "Jarret."
His smile was faint, his eyes bleak. "Yes," he said. "Jarret." He cupped the side of her face. "Rennie, I want to get you away from here. We can't go all the way back to Echo Falls tonight, but we should move out. Animals will find the bodies... do you understand?"
She nodded shortly. "Whatever you say."
He didn't ask her how she was or if she'd been hurt. He kept her busy, forcing her to make small decisions so that she kept her head and kept placing one foot in front of the other. She was compliant at each turn, moving with the mechanical precision of a child's windup toy. He did not press, merely encouraged. In just under fifteen minutes they were moving along the ridge toward Echo Falls.
They rode for almost an hour before Jarret called a halt. It had been necessary to let Rennie ride with him. Now his horse was straining under the double burden and the rough terrain. It didn't make sense to wear out another mount. He dropped to the ground first and steadied Rennie as she slid out of the saddle. She leaned against him, no strength in her own legs. Jarret carried her to a rocky outcropping, shoved aside some snow and set her down. He returned after retrieving blankets to put under and around her, and then he set about making camp.
He pitched his small army tent, hammering stakes into the frozen ground, and then laid out more oilcloth and blankets inside. When he went to get Rennie, she was gone.
Jarret's heart settled in his feet. He called her name, his voice a mere thread of sound. When there was no answer he called louder.
"I'm here," she said, stepping into the flickering lantern light. Her arms were full of kindling. "You'll want a fire."
"I'll take that," he said, sighing. There was no sense in railing at her for disappearing. She was trying to be helpful. "You go on inside the tent. You can take the lantern with you. I'll be able to see well enough to start the fire."
She hesitated, uncertain. "You'll be here?"
"I'm not going anywhere," he said.
"All right," she said finally. She picked up the lantern and ducked into the tent.
Jarret's fire was built more to keep animals at a distance than it was for warmth. He waited until it was blazing on its own before he tended to the horses. As he worked, his eyes strayed to the tent. Rennie was a silhouette against the canvas.
She had removed her coat and gown and unpinned her hair. The shadow curve of her body was perfectly formed. He could make out the line of her shoulder and arm, the slope of her breasts, and the tapering curve of her waist. He watched her rummage through her valise, her movements nearly frantic until she found what she wanted. She bent forward to the front of the tent, and for a moment her arm was visible as she slipped it through the flap. She scooped a handful of snow and retreated. Then, with washcloth and snow in hand, she began scrubbing herself with rough and furious strokes. Jarret turned away.
By the time Jarret was finished, so was Rennie. He passed her some more of her personal belongings through the flap. While she put on a flannel nightshirt, he set about laying out his bed by the fire.