Authors: Leigh Greenwood
“How?” Amanda was so flabbergasted by his attitude, she couldn’t find words to express her feelings.
“Your father didn’t want to buy that ranch,” Corby told her. “He only bought it because your mother wouldn’t give him any peace.”
Amanda hated to admit Corby was right, but all three children had been witness to her mother’s relentless campaign to force her husband to find a more respectable way to make a living.
“Your father loved towns and people,” Corby continued. “He didn’t know anything about cows and didn’t want to learn. He was afraid the ranch would fail, so he was determined to hang on to the saloon and the diner for his family. We agreed that after he was gone, I would get his share of the income from the business until his debts had been paid off. After that, the income would revert to the family.”
“Why didn’t he tell us that?” Amanda asked. “Why didn’t
you
tell me?”
“Your father knew he was sick. He wanted to make sure there was someone to take care of you and your family after he was gone. I was his partner and I wanted to marry you. I was the logical person to be his confidant.”
Amanda felt like the stuffing had been pulled out of her. She didn’t want to believe Corby—she still didn’t believe he’d acted ethically—but too many things made sense. Her father didn’t trust his family enough to tell them about his illness or his businesses. He didn’t trust anyone when it came to money. “What about paying for the bull?” That was one thing Corby couldn’t explain away.
“I told him he was paying too much, but he insisted it was the only way the ranch would be a success. When he died, I figured I’d paid enough, so I didn’t pay any more.”
Any court of law would declare Corby guilty on several counts, but somehow he’d managed to slither beyond the range of her outrage. She didn’t agree with what he’d done, but according to Corby’s own twisted thinking, he’d performed admirably. Even worse, it appeared her father had been the one to put the ideas in his head. Amanda felt the ground had been washed from beneath her feet.
“You have signed a contract to pay Mrs. Sibley a specific amount of money,” the sheriff told Corby. “You have to pay it whether or not you think it’s a fair price. As for the rest, I would prefer you work out your differences with Amanda and her family,” he said, turning to Amanda. “As I see it, he hasn’t done anything illegal. Basically he withheld the same information your father withheld.”
Amanda wanted to scream that Corby deserved some kind of punishment. He’d used their ignorance to try to force her to marry him, to keep her and Gary working in the saloon, to lock her family in a perpetual state of anxiety. Added to
that was her sense of personal outrage. Corby said he loved her and wanted to marry her. Yet he thought so little of her as a person, he had attempted to coerce her into marriage. She was nothing more than a business arrangement.
She wanted to hit him so hard in his smug, self-righteous face that his nose would end up behind his left ear. If he had owned up to the debt, Broc wouldn’t have had to go to jail. He wouldn’t have had another reason to think he was an unsuitable husband for her. If Corby hadn’t been so jealous, Broc would still be working with her at the ranch, working with her in the saloon, becoming so much a part of her life he could never think of leaving.
“I want a full accounting of everything the diner and saloon have earned from the day my father died,” she told Corby. There wasn’t much more she could do. It was clear the sheriff wasn’t going to arrest him. “I want to know down to the penny how much you owe my mother, and I want you to see that seven hundred dollars is paid to Mrs. Sibley as soon as possible.” She turned to the sheriff. “If he hasn’t done everything by this time tomorrow, I want you to arrest him and put him in jail.”
“I think you need to allow him a little more time,” the sheriff said. “I expect the information you want will take a while to gather.”
She supposed the reason Tom Mercer was such a successful sheriff was his habit of looking for a way to peacefully solve disagreements. For once, though, she would like to see him lose control and lock Corby in jail.
“I will have to explain all of this to my mother,” Amanda told Corby. “If you don’t want her to learn how to put bullets in a gun, you’d better have that information and money ready when she comes banging on your door.”
“Amanda, your mother can’t—”
She turned to the sheriff. “Whatever you’re about to say, save it for my mother.”
With that she turned and strode from Corby’s office.
It was a good thing Amanda’s horse traveled the route between the ranch and town so often he could do it on his own, because Amanda’s thoughts were consumed with impotent anger. Corby had put her and her family through months of fear that they’d lose the ranch, weeks of stress over a debt he should have paid, and forced her to work in the saloon after long days at the ranch. What gave him the right to decide what was best for her family?
But if Corby hadn’t tried to welsh on his debt in the first place, Broc would never have come into her life.
Thinking of Broc improved her mood but didn’t relieve her anxiety. It was impossible to think of him without smiling, without feeling an upsurge of hope, without remembering his kisses or how wonderful it felt to be held in his arms. For the first time in her life, she had someone who thought of her first, someone who loved her without expecting her to do anything to earn his love. He didn’t even require that she be beautiful.
She tried to find words that could describe how she felt, but every word that came to mind failed in one or more ways to encompass the breadth or the depth of her happiness. Or to take into consideration the sadness, the regret, the sheer anger that she felt every time she thought of Broc being hurt because of his scars. She ached to protect him, to strike back at anyone who dared treat him as anything less than the wonderful man he was. It wasn’t his fault other people were too shallow to see beyond a surface imperfection.
Remembering their night in Crystal Springs caused heat to flood her body and make her squirm in the saddle. At least
a dozen times a day the memory of his lips on her breasts would cause her to forget where she was or what she was doing. What could she say to her mother or Leo to explain why she would suddenly be lost to her surroundings? Why she didn’t know how to respond to their questions.
She couldn’t explain to herself why Broc’s love had affected her so profoundly. She’d always hoped to be loved, had anticipated it would be wonderful, but she hadn’t expected love to transform her life. It was hard to understand, impossible to explain, how she could feel more grounded yet at the same time feel less in control of herself. Even more surprising, this state of confusion didn’t worry her. It bewildered her, yes, but it brought so much joy and hope that she welcomed the confusion, even embraced it, because it meant Broc was an integral part of her life.
She was so lost in thought she didn’t notice the approaching horseman until he was practically upon her. She was surprised to see it was Carruthers. She had thought he was still confined to his bedroom. He looked up, a puzzled expression on his face. Priscilla had said her father had periods when he didn’t even know his wife or daughter.
“You.” The single syllable indicated surprise rather than anger.
“How are you, Mr. Carruthers?” She didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t very well tell him he ought to be at home where people could make sure he didn’t hurt himself. She wondered if anyone knew he was gone, or if they were already out looking for him. Maybe she could coax him into going back home. “How is your wife?”
“She asks about you. She hopes you’ll come for a visit so she can repay you for your hospitality to Priscilla.”
“That’s nice of her. I’ll try to find time to drop by in a day or two.”
“You’re not doing anything now,” Carruthers said.
Amanda wasn’t in the mood to pay a social call. “I need to get home. I have things to discuss with my mother.”
“It won’t take long. Besides, my wife has something she wants you to take to your mother.”
Amanda didn’t want to go anywhere with Carruthers, but he appeared to have gotten over whatever it was that had caused him to go a little crazy. He seemed almost afraid she wouldn’t accept his invitation. Rather than take a chance that refusing him might cause a relapse, she decided she could spare an hour. She wanted time to cool down, and a visit with Priscilla and her mother might be just the distraction she needed. “Okay, but I can’t stay long.”
Carruthers nodded and turned his horse, coming around behind her. The sharp blow to her head was totally unexpected. Just before darkness closed around her, she heard Carruthers say, “What was good enough for your bull is good enough for you.”
Broc rode with a loose rein, his mind too busy wrestling with conflicting thoughts to care if his horse stopped to graze on a particularly inviting patch of grass. Ironically the judge in Crystal Springs was responsible for a large part of his indecision.
Broc had made up his mind that if he went to jail, he wouldn’t return to Cactus Bend. He couldn’t bear to saddle Amanda with a jailbird for a husband. But the judge hadn’t sent him to jail. Broc didn’t know whether it was the partial payment he’d brought Mrs. Sibley, or Mrs. Sibley’s intervention on his behalf, but Broc had spent a week traveling with the judge, sitting through all the trials, taking notes on the proceedings, and keeping a record of the judgments. He had done so well, the judge threatened to sentence him to a lifetime of being his personal assistant. Instead he’d let him go with a parting admonition to forget his scars.
Broc found it incredible that Amanda wasn’t bothered by his disfigurement, but he was sure she couldn’t have let him make love to her otherwise.
Memories of their loving had dominated his dreams every night since. He would wake up in a cold sweat, his body shaking from the intensity of his need for her. He could chide himself for letting the physical attraction between them influence his thinking, but he couldn’t help himself. From the beginning, it had been difficult to hold Amanda in his arms and not think of going much further. Now that they had, his love for her encompassed every part of her being.
But would her life be more difficult if he married her or if he didn’t?
He’d spent weeks trying to answer that question without coming up with any answer. He’d never felt so stupid, so frustrated, so unable to see his way. He wished he could talk to his friends, but he had to answer this question for himself. It was his life. No one could live it for him.
He was almost relieved when he saw a horse without a rider up ahead. He hadn’t gotten much closer when he could make out a man lying on the ground. He was relieved to see the young cowhand turn his head in his direction when he rode up. The cowboy was bleeding, but hopefully the bullet hadn’t hit any vital organ. “What happened?” Broc asked as he dismounted.
“It was Carruthers.” The boy grimaced in pain, but his eyes were clear.
“What about him?”
“He was with Amanda Liscomb,” the boy said. “When I asked him what was wrong with her, he shot me.”
So many possible explanations exploded in Broc’s head at the same time, he couldn’t begin to sort through them. “Do you know what was wrong with her?”
“It looked to me like she had fainted.”
“Was he taking her home?”
“I thought so, but if he was, why did he shoot me?”
That was exactly the question Broc was asking himself. “Which way did he go?”
“In the direction you came from.”
Broc felt a chill knife through him. He hadn’t seen anyone for the last two hours.
“Let me help you mount up,” Broc said to the boy. “I’m taking you to the Lazy T. If Amanda isn’t there, I’m going to turn this county inside out before the sun goes down.”
Broc kept his tired horse in a gallop though the animal was lathered and his stride labored. Amanda hadn’t been at the Lazy T. He had wanted to leave immediately, but Mrs. Liscomb had detained him long enough to explain about the money and the contract with Corby. He would settle the score with Corby later. Right now his only thoughts were of finding Amanda. Carruthers had shot his own cowhand merely for asking what was wrong with Amanda. Broc didn’t want to speculate on the state of the man’s mind or what it might drive him to do to Amanda.
When he pulled his exhausted horse to a stop in front of the Carruthers ranch house, Dan was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. Priscilla and Mrs. Carruthers rushed out of the house.
“I have every man on the place looking for the boss,” Dan said before Broc could speak. “One of them may have already found him.”
Knowing that a dozen men were already looking for Carruthers did little to alleviate Broc’s fears. The man didn’t need a lot of time to kill Amanda, only the opportunity, and he’d had more than enough of that.
“Have you heard back from anyone yet?” He dismounted.
“Only to know where he isn’t.”
“He has Amanda. He shot his own cowhand when the boy asked why Amanda couldn’t stay in the saddle by herself.”
Mrs. Carruthers’s hand flew to her mouth. “Did he hurt her?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve got to find them as soon as possible.”
Broc and Dan helped the young cowhand out of the saddle.
“Bring him into the house,” Mrs. Carruthers said. Once up the stairs, the young cowhand was able to walk on his own.
“Do you have any idea where he might go or what he’ll do?” Broc asked Dan.
“None. He’s been doing so well recently the doctor thought he had recovered.”
“I need a fresh horse,” Broc said.
“Take any one you want, but I think we ought to wait here. One of my men will find them.”
Broc knew that was good advice, but he didn’t think he’d be able to take it. If anything were to happen to Amanda, he’d never be able to forgive himself for standing around waiting. Yet if he rushed off in an aimless and likely futile chase, he’d have to depend on someone else to rescue Amanda. He couldn’t do that, either.
Hell! Being in love was about all the reason a man needed for staying a bachelor.
Dan took the reins of the cowhand’s mount. “Let’s get you a fresh horse.”
“How long ago did you send the men out?” Broc asked as they hurried toward the corrals behind the large bunkhouse.
“About half an hour. He couldn’t have been gone long. Mrs. Carruthers had collected the dishes from his lunch a short time earlier.”
Broc quickly stripped the saddle and bridle from his horse and turned it into the corral. He allowed himself less than a minute before choosing a dappled gray. When the animal proved too skittish to be roped easily, he settled for a sturdy pinto gelding. Dan chose a strapping dun with black
markings. It took only a few minutes for the men to saddle their respective mounts.
“I can’t wait here doing nothing,” Broc said to Dan.
“I’ll come with you as soon as I tell Mrs. Carruthers we’re leaving.”
The two minutes it took Dan to go to the house and come back seemed more like two hours. He tried not to let his imagination get out of control, but just thinking of what Carruthers could be doing to Amanda nearly drove him crazy. How could she have let Carruthers near her? Didn’t she know the man was crazy?
“Let’s ride north,” Dan said when he’d returned and they’d mounted up. “That’s the biggest part of our range.”
Dan’s suggestion made as much sense as anything else, but Broc felt they might as well have been riding in circles. Carruthers controlled thousands of acres. They could ride for hours and not see anyone. They could ride for days without covering every part of the range. The man could be anywhere. He could be hiding in any one of a hundred thickets. He could be crouched down in a grove of trees. He could be out of sight in a dip behind a low hill. No one knew for sure he’d actually come back to his own land. He could have headed north, south, east, or west.
He could be anywhere!
It was all Broc could do to keep from striking out at Dan in frustration. Why hadn’t he kept a better watch on Carruthers? Why hadn’t the doctor known the man hadn’t recovered? Why hadn’t anyone seen him leave? Was he the only one who understood how dangerous Carruthers could be?
He’d always found the Texas prairie bursting with life. Today it seemed dead. Boring. Devoid of interest. He was wasting his time. Carruthers wouldn’t be here. It was too open. He needed a place to hide.
Broc refused to allow himself to think of the things Carruthers
might do. He had to tell himself Amanda was intelligent and courageous, that she would figure out a way to outwit Carruthers. Maybe she already had. It was possible that at this very moment she was on her way home, or already there.
One thing he did know for certain. If—no,
when
—he got Amanda safely home, he’d never leave her again. Marrying her might not be the best thing he could do for Amanda, but beyond a doubt it was the best thing for him. Knowing her safety and happiness was in the hands of someone else would drive him crazy. He might as well put a gun to his head now and put himself out of his misery.
No, he was marrying Amanda as soon as he could get her to a church. It was too bad if Mrs. Liscomb wasn’t happy about the prospect of a son-in-law with a mangled face. Better Broc with his mangled face than Corby with his mangled character.
But first he had to find Amanda.
Call it intuition. Call it a hunch. Call it anything you want, but Broc was suddenly sure that whatever Carruthers intended to do, he was going to do at or near the place he’d shot the bull. That was also where he’d tried to brand the calves.
“I’m heading to the spot where the creek makes a lake when it floods,” he said to Dan.
“That was the first place I had the boys look,” Dan said.
This news was a blow, but Broc couldn’t shake the feeling that the swampy area was where Carruthers would go. “He could have arrived later.”
“Somebody would have seen him. That’s open land.”
True, but no one knew it better than Carruthers. He’d claimed the land more than twenty years ago and ridden it every day since. “I still have to check it out.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
Possibly, but he was wasting his time riding around without a clear objective in mind. “Where can I find you later?”
“I’ll find you. It’ll be easier.”
It was a relief to be on his own, but as he rode across the prairie, it gradually assumed an ominous character, as though it were in league with Carruthers to hide Amanda from him. Thickets became impenetrable tangles of vines; sharp-thorned bushes tore his flesh if he tried to penetrate them. Groves of trees guarded their shadowy recesses from the revealing light of the sun. The endless prairie laughed at his puny effort to expose its secrets. Even the cows ignored him.
Broc shook his head to rid himself of images that threatened to undermine his confidence. He would check out the swampy area. If Carruthers wasn’t there, he’d just have to decide what to do next.
Broc didn’t notice anything at first. Nothing seemed different. Then he realized he didn’t see any cows. The grass was richer here than in other parts of the range, and cows always gravitated toward the richest grass. Even the birds were quiet. Broc looked into the thicket where he’d hidden before, but there was no sign that anyone had been there since. The ashes of the fire built to brand the calves lay undisturbed. The spot where the bull had been killed had been cleared. It looked as if no one had been here for days.
Broc wasn’t sure what made him look across the flooded marsh to a small bank that separated the marsh from the swollen creek, but what he saw caused his breath to catch in his throat and his heart to thump with relief. Amanda was seated on the small rise of ground barely inches above the surrounding water. She was tied hand and foot, but she appeared to be okay because she was struggling against her restraints. Her horse, wet and mud-caked, grazed some distance away, but Broc didn’t see Carruthers or his horse.
Movement out of the corner of Broc’s eye caught his attention. He turned to see Carruthers in a small boat rowing toward Amanda. Broc couldn’t figure out why Carruthers
had deposited Amanda on the rise of ground or why he was rowing toward her with what looked like a bundle of trash in tow, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. He rode his horse into the lake.
His original plan was to stay away from the deep part of the lake—there was always the possibility of quicksand—but that would mean Carruthers might reach Amanda before he did. He didn’t know what Carruthers was trying to do, but he knew it couldn’t be good.
Amanda’s gaze had been focused on Carruthers, but the noise Broc’s horse made splashing through the shallow lake caught her attention. Broc wasn’t close enough to tell whether her expression was one of relief, surprise, or concern, but he had no trouble understanding what she shouted to him.
That bundle of trash Carruthers was towing was a nest of cottonmouth moccasins. He apparently intended to tow them to the rise where he’d left Amanda. He intended for the snakes to kill Amanda.
Broc urged his horse through the water faster, but Carruthers spotted Broc and started to row harder. At the present rate, Carruthers would reach Amanda first. Broc didn’t know how to stop snakes, but he did know how to stop Carruthers. Though he had plenty of reasons to dislike Carruthers, he wouldn’t kill the man.
Hitting Carruthers at this distance and wounding him instead of killing him was a big risk, but he couldn’t let Carruthers tow those snakes to the mound. Once they swarmed on dry ground, there would be nothing he could do to save Amanda.
Broc pulled his horse up, but the animal fidgeted so much, throwing his head as well as shifting his weight from foot to foot, that Broc couldn’t get a steady shot at Carruthers. Broc was left with the choice of taking any shot he could get or letting Carruthers reach the island before him.
The horse stood still for a split second, but it was enough for Broc to fire a single shot.
Carruthers’s body jerked. The oars fell from his grasp, and he slumped over in the boat. Broc didn’t know whether he was dead, mortally wounded, or hurt just enough to stop him, but he couldn’t stop to check now. Urging his horse forward, he headed toward Amanda.
The first words out of her mouth when he reached her were, “Did you kill Carruthers?”
“I hope not.” While he untied the ropes binding her hands and feet, he glanced over at the boat and was relieved to see Carruthers move. A moment later he sat up, a look of dazed confusion on his face. “Why was he trying to kill you with those snakes?” Broc asked Amanda.
“He thinks I’m his mother. Apparently she belittled him all his life. If I understand his rambling correctly, she once threatened to set a snake on him if he didn’t do something she wanted. He was trying to get back at her.”
Broc had finished untying Amanda. “Why did you go with him?”
“He said his wife wanted me to take something to my mother. I was on my own horse and in the open. I thought I’d be safe. Unfortunately, I didn’t pay attention when he turned his horse around.”
Broc pulled Amanda to her feet. “Can you stand?”
“I don’t think so.”
Broc picked her up and mounted her on his horse.
“What about Carruthers?” The rancher was sitting in the drifting boat, the nest of snakes still attached.
“Dan has his whole crew combing the ranch. I’ll send someone for him.”
Broc mounted up behind Amanda and rode his horse back into the lake.
It gave Broc a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach to
think how close Amanda had come to a drawn-out, painful death, but now that she was safe, he could feel the muscles in his shoulders and the back of his neck begin to relax. The problems with the Lazy T and Corby had been solved. Nothing stood in the way of the kind of future he’d never dared let himself hope to find.
“I’m sorry I was so stupid,” Amanda said, “but Carruthers acted so normal, I figured it was okay to ride with him.” She leaned back into Broc’s embrace. “I was afraid no one would find me. I thought you were in jail, and no one knew I had been kidnapped.”
“Dan said his man looked here first but didn’t see anyone.”
“Carruthers saw him coming and hid me in the same thicket you used when he was trying to brand my calves. He knocked me out again.” She raised a hand to the back of her head. “I’ve got two bumps the size of goose eggs. Am I bleeding?”
Broc leaned down and kissed the bumps. They were nowhere near the size of goose eggs, but he guessed the pain made them feel as though they were. “I don’t see any blood, but I’ll get the doctor to look at it.”
“I don’t want to see a doctor. I just want to go home.” She twisted in the saddle. “You have come back to me, haven’t you?”
Broc kissed her cheek. “Yes, I’ve come back.”
Amanda turned back around. “I was afraid you wouldn’t after going to jail.”
“I didn’t go to jail. The judge made me his secretary instead.”
Broc had angled his horse across the lake so they came out close to where Amanda’s horse was still grazing. “He looks a little dirty, but he’s dry.” Broc slid off his horse. “We ought to hurry home. Your mother is worried to death about you.”
Amanda looked back at Carruthers. “We can’t leave him.”
“Dan will send someone for him.”
“We can’t leave him. I know he tried to kill me, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been sick.”
Broc wasn’t certain he believed that, but he wasn’t going to argue. He just wanted to get Amanda safely home. Carruthers was struggling to get to his feet, but his balance was off so much he couldn’t stand up without rocking the boat wildly.
“If he falls into the lake, the snakes will attack him,” Amanda said.
“If I get close enough to help him, the snakes could turn on me,” Broc pointed out.
“You’ll think of something,” Amanda said, “but we can’t leave him.”