Open Country (50 page)

Just the thought of Hennessey getting his hands on her made Hank’s stomach roll. The idea of losing her so soon after he’d found her was intolerable to him. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—imagine a future without her smirky smile and healing touch and forgiving spirit there to bring sense to his life.

As soon as he saw her, he would give her the words she wanted. He didn’t know why he’d held them back—held a part of himself back. He loved her. He was sure of it. This terrible, awful, worrisome feeling couldn’t be anything but love.

But telling her that and admitting how deep his feelings for her were, well, that would change everything. She would own all of him then. Somehow he would have to find a way to live with that. He didn’t think it would be too hard.

They were two hours out of Val Rosa and still over an hour from home when the storm caught up with them and the snow began to fall.

 

 

“AUNT MOLLY?”

Rousing from a deep sleep, Molly stared up into Penny’s face. It took her a moment to realize the child was crying. Instantly awake, she sat up. “What’s wrong?”

Penny held out her doll. “Her hands fell off.”

Blinking in confusion, Molly looked at the doll, then around the room. It was full light. Buddy was gone and someone had set a fire in the hearth.

“I think maybe the monster did it,” Penny said, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her flannel gown.

Molly pushed a tangle of hair out of her eyes and kicked the covers off. “There is no monster,” she said as she rose. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell time yet. Can you find them for me? Miss Apple can’t hold her parasol without her hands.”

Molly pulled on her robe, then bent to pull her slippers from under the edge of the bed. Stepping into them, she yawned and pushed back a tangle of hair from her brow. “You named your doll Miss Apple?”

“Smell her.” Penny lifted the doll up toward Molly’s face. “Doesn’t she smell like apples? At least, she used to.”

Molly drew back as a sharp scent filled her nostrils. Not apples. Cloves.

Her heartbeat quickened. She took the doll from Penny’s hands and sniffed it again. Definitely cloves. Panic skittered through her mind. She studied the doll’s arms where the hands had been attached. Only tiny snippets of thread remained. The hands hadn’t fallen off, they’d been cut off.

Panic became full-fledged terror.

Turning to Penny, she tried to keep her voice even. “Where are the hands?”

“I don’t know. I think the monster took them when I was sleeping.”

“Did you see him take them?”

“No, but I saw him pick up Miss Apple. Then I got scared and closed my eyes so he wouldn’t see me, and when I opened them again, he was gone and so were Miss Apple’s hands.” Penny let out a huff of impatience. “You have to get them back, Aunt Molly. She can’t wear her gloves without them.”

“Y-Yes . . . we’ll find them.” Molly clutched at the foot rail, her knees so weak she feared they might buckle beneath her. She had to find Brady and tell him. They had to check the house—every room, every closet and cupboard. They had to—

Oh God
. . .

She looked frantically around the room, remembering Buddy’s odd behavior the night before. Had Hennessey been in here too? Was he still here? The thought was so horrifying, she almost grabbed Penny and fled, screaming, from the room.

Then she saw the two small bits of china sitting on her bureau. Miss Apple’s hands. Too high for Penny to have put there. Too carefully arranged on top of the small slip of paper to be a random act. A message for her. Terrified that he might still be somewhere in the room watching, she gently nudged Penny toward the door, then almost shrieked when Maria Garcia suddenly appeared in the hallway. “Take Penny to Brady,” she said, trying to keep her voice from betraying her fear.

“Why?” Penny asked.

“See if he has candy.”

“Candy!” Penny shouted. Grabbing Maria’s hand, she tugged her down the hall. “I know where he keeps peppermint!”

Molly closed the door, then heart pounding, her legs wobbling beneath her, she approached the bureau.

Under the severed doll hands was a note written in an elegantly feminine hand with all the pretentious flourishes one might expect from a man as demented and dramatic as Hennessey.

 

Time is up, Lovey. You know what I want. Ride west.

I’ll find you. Or that delicious little Penny.

 

Molly stared in disbelief at the note until her hands shook so badly she could no longer make out the words. He was still after them. He was out there somewhere waiting. And without the book to give him, there was no way she could stop him.

Her mind reeling, she thought frantically for a way out of this terrible quagmire she had dragged them all into. She couldn’t go to Brady. He would ride out, and Hennessey would kill him. She couldn’t wait for Hank—it might be too late. Even if every man on the ranch took out after him, Hennessey would see them long before they knew where he was. He would simply fade away, and they would never find him, and she would never know where he was, or when he would strike.

And one by one he would calmly and coldly kill off everyone she loved.

Panic engulfed her. Her heart pounded so hard she thought she might faint.
No!
she chided herself.
Think! You have to think of a way to stop him!

After a moment, the terror faded enough that she could think again
.
She paced back and forth, her mind racing with thoughts, plans, ideas. He was out there somewhere, waiting for her to bring the book . . . which meant he couldn’t still be here in the house . . . which meant for a while, at least, everyone here was safe. But for how long? What would he do if she didn’t bring him the book as he’d demanded?

He would come back. He would start hurting people—the children—Hank.

She couldn’t let that happen. There was only one way to stop him, she realized in despair. And only she could get close enough to him to do it.

Grimly determined, Molly went to her medicine satchel and gathered what she would need.

WHEN HANK LED CHARLIE AND HIS MEN PAST THE SHELTERing walls of Blue Mesa and down toward the home valley, the wind hit them with a vengeance. The storm was full upon them now, snow stinging their faces and piling up in deep, powdery drifts that churned around the horses’ legs. Visibility dropped to less than ten feet, and landmarks began to disappear.

Hank had the men string a rope between riders so no one would wander from the trail and find themselves cut off from the others. Fearing Charlie might fall off and no one would notice, he took him up behind him, covering him with his duster and anchoring him with a rope around his waist. He could feel the small body shivering against his back and cursed himself for dragging the boy along.

But what else could he have done? He wouldn’t have left him behind any more than he would have been willing to wait around on the hopes that the storm would end soon. Molly could be in trouble. He needed to get back and make sure she was safe. At least the snow might work in their favor and keep Hennessey holed up until they could get back to the ranch. Hank wouldn’t even consider that he might already be too late.

They moved at a snail’s pace as the snow grew deeper. Worried they might drift from the road and tumble into one of the dry arroyos that cut through the valley, Hank called a stop to confer with Langley, who knew this country almost as well as he did. “Stay low or go high?” Hank yelled.

Langley looked around, trying to gauge the direction and strength of the wind.

If they went high along the edge of the valley and next to the tree line, they might get some protection from the wind. They would also be better able to gauge their direction, since the trees ran in pretty much a straight line. But it would take longer, and the horses were already suffering. And if the visibility stayed poor, they could ride right past the ranch and never see it. Plus, there was always the danger of stumbling into a gully they couldn’t see through the snow.

If they stayed low on the flats and rode parallel to the tree-lined creek that cut down the middle of the valley, it would be faster and lead straight to the house—as long as they didn’t lose sight of the creek and didn’t come across an arroyo hidden under the snow. It was some comfort that the flakes weren’t coming as furiously as before and weren’t as large. Maybe the worst of the storm had passed on ahead of them, and they would only have to suffer the tail end of it the rest of the way to the ranch.

“I say low,” Langley yelled after a moment. “I trust Droop to keep us on trail. He’ll get us home.”

Droop was Langley’s horse, a trail-wise old gelding with a reputation for levelheadedness. It was an indication of how desperate their situation was that they would depend on an old cow horse’s sense of direction to get them home before they all froze to death.

Hank waved Langley forward. “Take the lead. I’ll take drag.” And falling in behind the last rider, Hank took up the trailing end of the guide rope as they rode down into the valley.

 

 

MOLLY THOUGHT THE HARDEST PART WOULD BE GETTING A horse. But the worker in the barn, another Garcia cousin, was young and inexperienced and no match for her determination. It also helped that the language differences precluded lengthy explanations. Apparently he was concerned about the weather, but once she’d assured him she only intended to take a short ride and would stay within sight of the house, he reluctantly saddled the horse she had ridden to Redemption after the cave-in.

After checking her right pocket to be sure the glass stopper in the medicine vial was secure, and checking her left for the syringe, she reined away from the morning sun and toward the bank of low clouds moving up the valley from the west. As she rode, she memorized landmarks, knowing if clouds obscured the sun, distant ridges might be her only guides. Luckily, since they hadn’t had snow in over a week, the road was packed down and easy to follow. But it was hard riding into the wind, and before she had gone a mile, tiny ice pellets began hitting her in the face. Pulling the hood of the shearling coat Hank had given her tighter around her head, she rode steadily west, wondering how long before Hennessey found her, and when he did, would her plan work.

She might not have to execute it. If he’d been in Mexico for the last month, Hennessey might not be aware that Fletcher had been arrested and the book was now in the hands of the deputy U.S. marshal.

But if he did know, why was he still after her?

And if he didn’t know, why would he believe anything she told him?

No matter how many ways she looked at it, it all came down to one thing: If Hennessey showed up, she would have to do what she must. There was no one else to stop him but her.

After a while, ice pellets turned into fluffy snow that danced and swirled in the wind. The sun had disappeared, and the sky was such a uniform gray, landmarks were fast disappearing behind a veil of white. When the road curved to the south, she stayed right, hoping she was still headed west as she rode on into trackless snow.

An hour passed, and as the snow continued to fall, a new fear gripped her. What if she missed him and he thought she wasn’t coming? What if he—

A clatter behind her, then suddenly a horse lunged up out of the ground. Not out of the ground, but out of a gully she hadn’t even noticed in the thickening snow.

In her fright, she jerked her horse around so abruptly he almost lost his footing on the snow-covered rocks at the edge of the gully. By the time she got him settled, Hennessey was beside her, his horse headed in the opposite direction along her left side, his hand gripping the reins of her horse. He was so close she could smell his sickly sweet perfume, feel his knee digging into hers.

“Hello, lovey,” he said, his reptilian voice barely audible through the muffler that covered the lower half of his face. “Miss me?”

“Fletcher’s been arrested,” she blurted out. “There’s no need to pursue this.”

“Fletcher’s a fool.” Tipping his head to the side, he studied her.

“Where’s the book, lovey? Will you hand it over, or must I come get it?”

She motioned to the scarf, needing him to lower it and expose as much of his face as possible. “I can’t hear you. What did you say?”

In a quick, furious motion he struck out, catching her just below the eye.

With a cry of surprise, she rocked back, almost tumbling out of the saddle as her horse shied.

Hennessey gave a vicious yank on her gelding’s reins, then held him fast until he settled back down. He glared at Molly. “Do. You. Have. It?”