A Cowboy Worth Claiming (14 page)

The rifleman walked over and eyeballed the ropes, making sure not to get too close to Chance. “Get up,” he said to her.

Lizzie rose slowly, standing next to Chance.

“Take the money and go,” Chance said. “You got what you came for.”

The man ignored him. “Tie her up, Quinn. Let’s get out of here.”

Quinn sauntered up. There was a sickening gleam in his eyes. “Sure, I’ll tie her up. You let their horses go.”

The man looked over at the horses, then nodded. He tossed the saddlebag over his shoulder and stalked off.

A coyote howled off in the distance and she heard horses shifting as the stranger approached. “Put those hands behind your back,” he said, but he didn’t wait for her to do his bidding. He grabbed her wrists and a cry of pain broke from her lungs as he lashed her wrists behind her back. “You’re coming with me.”

“What? No! No!” Her mind screamed as the words tore from her throat. “Don’t take me.”

He slapped her face and the shock of it muted her cries. She tasted her own blood. “Shut up, you little bitch.” He turned to Chance with an evil smirk. “I’m gonna get me a taste of what you been gettin’.”

Lizzie couldn’t see Chance’s face any longer. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. Quinn dragged her away by the rope at her back. Her skin burned from underneath the binding at her wrists. As he pulled her along, leaves from low-lying tree branches scratched her face. She dug her heels into the earth and wrestled, trying to break free of his hold, but he was too strong. He stopped abruptly, sheltered by surrounding trees and shoved her down. She hit the solid earth with a thud. Her arms twisted behind her. She struggled to loosen the binds. They wouldn’t give. She was trapped.

It was frightfully dark. She strained to focus, kicking at him with all her might. But he quelled her with his weight as he straddled her. She hated being helpless and small and weak, but she’d fight until she died.

He whipped off his mask, yet she couldn’t see anything but his beady eyes. “You can scream your head off, but if you fight me, I swear I’ll go over there and shoot that man dead. I know you don’t want that. It’s your choice,” he said calmly, as if he was buying a sack of flour.

The fight left her. Quinn was the devil and he would go to hell when the time came. She truly believed that he’d kill Chance. She couldn’t imagine his blood on her hands. She couldn’t live knowing she might have saved Chance’s life and didn’t.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said, his voice low, purring with satisfaction. “That’s it, girl. How old are you? You might be my youngest ever.”

She squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed, turning away.

He spread her jacket open. She was fitted between his knees and couldn’t move much.

Bile rose up in her throat. Her body stiffened. He touched her stomach, the flat of his hand pressed to her belly. She wanted to vomit, yet she allowed him to touch her. She didn’t know how much more she could take. She didn’t know if she could save Chance’s life.

Out of the darkness, a form appeared, grabbing Quinn’s shoulders. He was lifted and tossed in the air. She heard his body hit the ground three feet from her with a thud.

Lizzie was free of him. The weight pinning her down was gone. She trembled with immediate relief and scrambled to her knees, struggling to keep her balance.

“You son of a bitch!”

It was Chance. He was on Quinn, striking his jaw and pummeling his chest. It took a few seconds before Quinn fought back. Lizzie couldn’t figure how Chance got away from the rifleman, but he had. He’d come for her.

The fight moved out of the range of her vision. The sounds of scuffling grunts and fists smacking filled the night. She strained her ears to listen and scoured the ground hopelessly for something sharp or solid she could use as protection.

A shot rang out. Chance’s groan echoed against the trees.

“No!” She struggled to stand but fell down onto her backside in a twist. She lay there, trying to wrestle her wrists free from the ropes. Her pulse raced so fast, she thought she’d die right there on the spot. Her chest pounded and pounded and tears sprang from her eyes. “No, no.”

Another grunt, this one short and final, broke through her cries. She closed her eyes, praying harder than she had in all her life. For Chance.

Don’t take him. Don’t take him.

Footsteps approached and she tried to still, listening, yet her body shook with defiant rage. Fear no longer gripped her in its claws. She was ready to die fighting, if she had to. She’d kick and bite and elbow the vile man, giving him no peace.

“Lizzie?”

A gasp whooshed through her lips and she froze in place.

“Lizzie?”

It was Chance. He wasn’t dead. Her body sagged with relief and her teeth unclamped from their tight grind. The sound of his voice was a beautiful song to her ears. It flowed through her body like a harmonious church hymn. “C-Chance?”

He appeared out of the darkness, his face battered, his shirt torn, holding his shoulder as blood seeped through his fingers. “Oh, Chance, you’re alive.”

He went down on his knees in front of her. “I’m alive.” He scoured her body with sharp concerned eyes and then drew her close with one arm. She needed no more encouragement. She melted against him. “You’re gonna be alright.” His lips whispered against her forehead. “You’re gonna be alright.”

She wanted to crawl right up into him but he held her away from the wound on his shoulder. Yet he comforted her, stroking his free hand through her hair, over and over.

She nestled her face into his chest and took the comfort he offered. Her heart still raced, but the pounding in her chest ebbed to a pace that allowed her easier breaths. Chance was alive. He was safe. She was safe. That’s all that mattered for now.

“Let’s get your hands free.”

He pulled away and a bloody knife appeared. He wiped it clean against his shirt then lashed the rope around her wrists. She brought her hands to the front and rubbed at them to bring back her circulation. Her wrists throbbed, but she ignored the raw pain. “Thank you,” she said, tears spilling down her face.

Chance lifted his good arm again, to brush her tears away. His fingers caressed her cheeks with tender care as he ducked his head down so that his eyes were level with hers. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No, he didn’t…” She bit her lower lip and looked away.

“He’s dead, Lizzie. He won’t hurt you.”

Lizzie snapped her head around. “He shot you.”

“Son of a bitch pulled a gun. The shot grazed my shoulder.”

The shot could’ve killed him. Her body trembled, this time for what might have occurred. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Blood seeped from his shoulder and Lizzie’s stomach clenched. She could only imagine the gory scene just steps away with Quinn poked through by Chance’s knife, lying in a puddle of his own blood. She pushed that thought out of her mind. Living on a ranch, the sight of blood usually didn’t bother her except when it spilled from a person she cared about. Chance was doing the bleeding and that made all the difference.

She ripped the hem of her riding skirt, tearing off a long strip. She folded the corners to form a square bandage. Her hand shook terribly when she raised it to Chance’s shoulder. She dabbed at the wound, thanking the Lord the bullet had only grazed him. “H-how d-did you get away?”

Chance’s face twisted tight when she applied pressure to his shoulder and she cringed knowing she’d caused him pain. “I keep a knife under the blanket when I sleep. Wasn’t too hard to get loose between the knife and the embers in the fire.”

“The fire?” Lizzie blinked and then took his bloodied hands in hers. Slowly she turned his palms up. “Oh, my Lord, you’re burnt.” His hands and wrists were scorched and white little blisters were starting to form.

“Yeah, they’re stinging a bit right now. I had to get to you fast and the knife was taking too long.”

“So you set your wrists over the fire to burn the rope off.”

He shrugged his shoulders and the gesture made him wince again. “You were screaming, Lizzie. Nearly tore out my gut.” Chance rose then and reached for her with one hand, while he used the other to keep the pressure bandage on his shoulder. “Let’s get to camp. See if the horses came back.”

“The rifleman is dead, too?” she asked, her nerves wrought. Chance hadn’t mentioned him. She figured he’d killed him.

He shook his head. “With me all tied up and his partner not paying attention, he took off with the cash. The greedy bastard double-crossed his own man. Soon as that happened, I got myself loose.”

Lizzie shivered down to her bare toes. It was a miracle both of them were alive—a miracle due to Chance. He’d told her she wouldn’t die tonight. And he’d nearly died protecting her.

* * *

Lizzie talked Chance out of going after the thief. How could he anyway? It was dark as pitch and the gunman had run the horses off. On foot and in the dark, tracking the thief would be impossible.

After a time, Chance insisted she sleep, but Lizzie couldn’t imagine sleeping in the same campsite where they were attacked so they searched for the horses. She stayed close to him. He took to whistling, loud and short bursts, stopping every so often to listen for pounding hooves. They wandered the grounds for several minutes, never straying too far from the site and sure enough, Joyful appeared. Chance said he knew she would. She was a loyal horse and he stroked her mane even with his injured hands, glad to be reunited with her. The other horses were nowhere in sight.

They led Joyful to a cropping of mesquite trees and settled their gear. Chance didn’t build a fire. He leaned against the trunk of a tree on a blanket and summoned her. It was dark, almost moonless now that dreary clouds filled the sky. “Come here, Lizzie. You need to sleep.”

“Don’t think I can,” she said. Her nerves were jumpy and though her body was fatigued, her mind wouldn’t settle. She dropped down beside him and covered herself with the blanket.

“Try. I’ll be right here. Next to you. I’ll stand watch.” They didn’t say it, but both were thinking that he’d stand watch in case the rifleman returned.

“You should let me wrap your hands.”

“Can’t shoot with a wrapped hand.”

Lizzie accepted that. There was no talking Chance out of some things and she wasn’t sure she would even try tonight. He had a gun, ammunition and a knife, in case he needed them.

He tucked his good arm around her shoulder and bundled her close. She rested her head on his chest and snuggled in. “Chance?”

“Hmm.”

“They were the men from the stockyard, weren’t they?”

Chance paused, contemplating with a long inhale of breath. He began rubbing her arm, soothing her with slow tender strokes. “Yeah. The man lying dead looked like one of them we saw today. They must’ve followed us.”

Lizzie’s body sagged and a notion filled her head. Sudden guilt—the same as when she’d lost her dolls in the lake—seized her in a choke hold around her throat. The words tore from her lips in a quiet hush. “They were watching me with all the money in my hands. You said so…”

“They’d have known you had cash whether or not they saw it, Lizzie. You made a deal at the stockyard. My guess is that they were drifters hired on for a spell. They saw an opportunity and followed us.”

“I was easy prey for them.”

Chance didn’t agree or disagree. “We’re gonna have to double back to Prescott in the morning. Report the theft to the marshal. Have him come out and pick up the body.”

The body? A shiver stole what was left of her warmth. Bile rose in her throat. It tasted bitter and burned on the way up. She swallowed hard to shove it back down.

Chance must have sensed her feelings. His words tumbled out with gentle ferocity. “Don’t you go feeling guilty about anything. None of this is your fault.”

She honestly wished she could believe that. But the bitter truth was that she was the cause of this robbery and the cause for most of Chance’s troubles. Didn’t make her feel too good, knowing that if she’d been more discreet maybe they’d be heading home with hard-earned money, instead of reporting a death and theft to the law.

Chance was quiet for a time and then he started up again as if he had some confessing to do. “I should’ve heard them coming. I should’ve kept an eye out. Fact is, when you stopped screaming I thought I was too late. Hearing that silence scared the stuffing outta me. It was worse than your screams.”

His revelation might have brought her joy—that he cared for her—but the circumstances were too desperate to find any slim measure of good cheer. “Oh, Chance…he said…he said he’d kill you if I struggled. He said…he didn’t mind the screams. I think he,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed, “I think he liked hearing it…so I stopped.”

Chance lifted his head, hinging his body up. His sudden movement caused her to snap her eyes open. She met his earnest stare. “You mean you were sacrificing yourself…for me?”

“To save your life,” she said softly with a nod.

Chance shook his head and kept on shaking his head. An incredulous expression stole over his face and he searched her eyes for a long time. She couldn’t look away. She could barely see him through the darkness, but she saw enough.