Always You (6 page)

“More or less. And I’m also responsible for taking care of my little sister,” she informed him bitingly. Still, she was puzzled by his reaction. He looked stunned. And upset. “What difference does it make to you?” she asked stiffly.

“Maybe if I’d known you were living at the ranch all alone, without any male protection, I wouldn’t have taken you.” He shook his head ruefully. “Despite what you think, I’m not the kind of bully who goes around picking on lone women. But I thought—Oh, hell, it doesn’t matter now.”

“Yes, it does. Because you can still make things right—by letting me go.”

“No. Sorry, but I can’t do that.” His expression was grim. “Now that this thing is started, I’ve got to see it through to the end. I reckon there’s no turning back, Melora, not for either of us.”

He took her arm. “Come on. Time to break camp.”

“I can walk back myself if you don’t mind.” She shook off his hand. “But I’m not going anywhere until you tell me exactly and in detail what this is all about.” Sticking out her chin, she kicked at the dirt for emphasis and smiled tightly when some of it landed on his boot. “I won’t give you any peace until you tell me why you kidnapped me and what you have against Wyatt, so you might as well do it now rather than later. You see, it runs in the Deane blood never to give up.”

His scowl told her he was losing patience.
Good,
she decided. The sooner he lost patience, the sooner he’d just give in and tell her what she needed to know. She’d learned long ago that with her indomitable will most people found it easier to placate her than to oppose her. She estimated that this idiotic Cal with whatever lame-brained scheme against Wyatt he was hatching would do the same.

“My fiancé happens to be one of the finest men I’ve ever known”—she went on, tossing her head—“and if you think I’m just going to stand by and let you continue with whatever low-down, dirty plan you have in mind for him, you’re dead wrong! I won’t let you use me to hurt Wyatt. I’ll stop you dead in your tracks.”

To judge by the icy mask of his features and the glitter in his eyes, she’d touched a nerve. And when he spoke, his voice held a distinctly unpleasant edge that further confirmed it. “Don’t bet your ranch on it, Miss Deane.”

“I would bet my ranch on it. I’d stake everything on it. And if you won’t tell me what you’re up to, we can just stand here all day because I’m not going anywhere until you—ohhh!”

Before she realized what was happening, he suddenly seized her and with a low grunt tossed her like a sack of grain over his shoulder.

“What are you
doing
? Set me down this minute!”

Ignoring her, he stomped back through the trees toward the stream.

“Set me down! You obnoxious, arrogant, insufferable snake, you stop and set me down right this very minute! I’m perfectly capable of walking! I demand—”

“Shut up.” He ignored her ineffective attempts to land blows upon his broad back and continued to stride past rocks and shrub. “You are by far the most spoiled, insufferable, irritating woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t have either the time or the stomach for your tantrums,” he said grimly. “Now behave yourself, or when we reach the stream, instead of letting you retrieve your bags, I’ll throw you and them into the water.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

Melora stopped struggling. She bit her lower lip furiously and closed her eyes tight as her teeth clacked in her mouth at the jostling movements. She tried very hard to picture Cal dead in a coffin on Boot Hill.

Her demeaning and uncomfortable posture only heightened her already severe loathing for this man. Right now she should be at the church, twirling about in her wedding dress; instead she was stranded in the wild with a pair of no-good saddle tramps and with Cal no-last-name, who was by far the most detestable man ever to breathe air.

Wait. Wait for the right moment,
she told herself, her eyes sparking with vengeful designs.
Then you’ll show him he can’t do this to Mel Deane and get away with it.

When at last he lowered her down beside her bags, he set her on her feet with a thump that rattled her teeth.

“Hurry up. If you want those bags to come along with you, pick ‘em up and bring ‘em,” Cal instructed coolly.

“Let me close this one first.” Melora flung out the words between gritted teeth, but instead of closing her trunk, she dipped her hand inside in one quick movement, shoved aside her jewelry pouch, and yanked out her derringer.

“Freeze, mister.”

She pointed the gun at his heart. All around them hung an early-morning gray mist. A spray of drizzle dampened Melora’s face as she came slowly to her feet, the gun held steadily, aimed at his chest.

Cal sighed. “Don’t you ever give up?”

“It’s loaded. And I’m an excellent shot.”

“I’ll wager you are.”

“My father taught me himself.” She clicked off the safety deliberately. “Now you’re going to talk and I’m going to listen. And when you’ve explained the reason for this little adventure to me, if I decide not to shoot you, I might just let you live long enough to turn over one of those nice rested horses to me and—”

“Go ahead and shoot,” Cal ordered.

Her smile was thin. “Don’t tempt me.”

To her fury he took a step toward her. “I don’t think you have it in you.”

A taunt. The man was taunting her. Melora kept a lid on her temper with an effort. She had to stay calm, to remain in control. There was a fine sheen of sweat on her upper lip, despite the coolness of the day, but she spoke with utter composure. “Then you’re loco, Cal. Because I’d as soon shoot you as let you go further in this plan to hurt Wyatt.”

She nodded at him, her hands perfectly steady on the gun. “I’ll shoot you to protect myself and him, and it will give me immense pleasure to do it.”

“You’re going to have to prove that.”

And with that he took another step toward her. And another.

Damn him! Melora backed up several steps. She was breathing hard. “Halt!” she commanded as the color fled her cheeks.

He kept advancing.

There was a roaring in her ears. For just an instant her finger trembled on the trigger. “Damn you, halt!”

Suddenly he leaped at her, lunging for her gun hand just as Melora did the only thing she could do. She squeezed the trigger.

Her shot missed by inches as he seized her wrist and twisted it, then yanked the gun clean away.

A wail of frustration shrieked from her throat. “Just for that,” Cal said evenly, “we leave the bags. You’ll have to get by with that fancy riding outfit and nothing else for the next few weeks.”

“No!”

“I gave you a chance.”

“You would have done the same thing!”

The truth of it flickered momentarily in his face. Then his hard features closed up, becoming impenetrable as granite once again.

“If you want them, bring them.” He snapped out the words like a cavalry captain. “But do it fast.”

And no sooner did they reach the clearing, she trudging along with both bags in tow, Cal stalking behind her, carrying her gun, than Ray and Zeke brought up the horses, and the sun showed at last a sickly glimmer in the grayish blue sky.

And off they rode.

* * *

No breakfast. Not even a sip of coffee. Melora’s stomach rumbled its protest as she gripped the reins of the extra horse her kidnapper had so thoughtfully provided for her. Cal had everything figured out. He rode ahead of her, Zeke and Ray behind. There was nothing for her to do but keep going.

They rode for hours across sagebrush plains dotted with wildflowers. When they finally stopped at noontime, Melora sat off by herself under an aspen, hungrily devouring the hard biscuits and dried meat Zeke brought her.

Then more riding. They were headed northeast, she realized sinkingly. Toward the Black Hills? The hours dragged on, and the grayness of the sky lifted. The sun grew stronger, arcing across it. Melora’s stiff body ached with weariness.

But Cal and the others showed no sign of slowing or stopping.

Then, at last, the beautiful sunset light cast its radiance across a sky of dusky purple and rose. At a place called Thunder Pass the party halted, and Zeke and Ray prepared to leave.

“Where are they going?” she asked Cal, suddenly realizing that tonight she would be all alone with him under the stars.

“Home.” He then surprised her by adding a bit more information—rare for him. “They’ve done me a good turn by helping me get things under way, but now it’s time to strike out separately. Of course,” he added cryptically, “they’ll do me one more little favor along their journey, and then their part in this is done.”

In silence she watched as Zeke and Ray shook hands with Cal. She couldn’t help reflecting on how different they were from him. Yet she sensed a warmth, a special bond between Cal and these two shambling, grimy pards of his.

“We’ll never forget you, Cal,” Zeke muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

Ray nodded in agreement. “Anytime you need somethin’, Cal, you just send for us. You know we can never do enough to repay you.”

“You have repaid me. The slate’s clean.” Cal locked gazes with each of them in turn, and then suddenly he grinned, a grin so boyish and open it transformed his face. “Try to keep out of trouble, you two. I might not be around to save your scrawny necks next time.”

There were answering grins and chuckles and some more banter exchanged. She sensed their comradeship, their reluctance to part.

Yet eventually part they did. But not before Zeke and Ray gave her a few words of advice.

“Don’t cause him no more trouble, you hear? He’s too nice a feller. If you’d just stop fretting so much and go along, why, the two of you might even become friends. A pretty thing like you and a nice young feller like that?” Zeke winked.

“I reckon I’d rather jump off Devils Tower,” Melora retorted.

Ray wagged a finger in her face. “Well, maybe you can’t be friends, exactly, but don’t complain so much and don’t keep yammering at him either. Cal doesn’t like that. He’s a quiet sort.”

“Is he?” Melora’s eyes lit up. “Well, then I’ll have to see to it that I chatter day and night and make his life every bit as miserable as he’s made mine.”

Sadly they shook their heads at her. “Good-bye, Missy Deane. And good luck.”

Wish your precious Cal good luck,
Melora thought savagely, yet as she watched them ride off due east, apprehension set in.

Now she was alone in the middle of nowhere with Cal. She might have been able to wheedle or bamboozle the other two somehow, if given half a chance, but she doubted Cal would fall prey to any tricks.

As she stole a sideways glance at him while he grabbed hold of her mount’s reins and started off again, a new thought passed through her mind.

He would have to sleep, wouldn’t he?

Somewhere inside her, hope awoke.

Now there wasn’t anyone with whom he could trade off keeping watch. And while he slept, she might find a chance to escape. No, she
would
find a chance to escape.

Jinx, Wyatt, I’m coming home,
she vowed silently.

And as the horses galloped toward the darkening line of hills in the distance, she wondered what they all were thinking in Rawhide, if a search party was combing the area for her, if anyone had a clue to what had become of her.

Poor Wyatt,
she thought in dismay as she pictured how desperate he must be.
And my poor frightened Jinx.

Her chest tightened with anxiety as she thought of her sister. Jinx had only Aggie to hold her and soothe her now.
But Wyatt will take care of them,
she told herself as the last rays of light glowed feebly in the sky.
He’ll take care of both of them. Together he and Aggie will reassure Jinx and do their best to allay her fears.

But Melora knew her sister. Jinx would be so lonely, so scared. She’d lost Pop, she’d lost the use of her legs, and now she’d lost Melora.

“I hate you,”
Melora grated out, and Cal turned in the saddle to stare at her.

Tears streamed down her face, but Melora didn’t care.

She saw his gaze narrow in the fading light. Then he swung back around and resumed the business of riding.

Tonight,
Melora promised herself as she choked back her sobs.
Tonight I’ll get away from him—or die trying.

Aggie wiped her hands on her apron as Jinx stared disinterestedly at the bowl of beef stew before her on the kitchen table.

“Jinx, honey, try to eat. Starving yourself won’t bring Mel home any quicker.”

“Not hungry.”

“But it’ll do you good—”

“Please, I’m not hungry, Aggie.” The child’s voice came out in a tortured whisper.

Sighing, Aggie put her arms around the girl in the invalid chair. “There, there,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say. She exchanged a sad glance with Wyatt, who’d arrived at the ranch a few moments earlier with nothing to report.

He’d been combing the valley all day with several dozen men from town and some neighboring ranches. No one had found anything.

“Wyatt, how about you? You really ought to sit down and have yourself a decent meal too—” she began, but he held up a hand.

“You’re sure that nobody heard anything? Anything at all?” he demanded for the twentieth time. “Aggie, Jinx, you’re sure?”

They both nodded. Jinx idly picked up her spoon, then set it back down on the gingham tablecloth, fighting back tears.

“Melora would never have gone away on her own—never. She wanted to marry you so much. And she’d never leave on purpose without saying goodbye,” she added, biting her lip.

“That’s right,” Aggie murmured, smoothing the girl’s long red-gold curls. “She sure wouldn’t.”

Wyatt wheeled away from the table and strode back and forth across the gleaming wood floor.

Poor man,
Aggie thought, ready sympathy welling in her chest. Exhaustion was stamped across his vividly handsome face, his eyes were bleary, and his boots were caked with dust. He’d been in shock when he’d heard the news that Melora was missing, and he hadn’t stopped searching for her since.

Beyond the white lace kitchen curtains, darkness cloaked the land and the distant sound of coyotes filled the night.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Wyatt muttered.

Aggie glanced at him in alarm and cleared her throat. “Wyatt, please.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken, pacing with long, leonine strides, his long-jawed, darkly handsome face oblivious of the child watching and listening so attentively.

“Those tracks we found showed there were several horses. Add that to the fact that Melora’s reticule and money pouch were still on her dresser, and it’s clear as blazes someone took her.” He spun toward Aggie, burning anger in his eyes. “Someone came right into this house and grabbed her!”

“Who—who would do that?” Jinx’s small fingers whitened on the invalid chair. “And why?”

“I’m not sure, honey, but I do know Melora is going to be all right,” Aggie said quickly. “Wyatt, stop scaring the child,” she added, and at last the sharp note in her voice penetrated his self-involvement.

The cold, frightening fury left his face, and he visibly forced his muscles to relax. Suddenly he looked once more the friendly, charming man they both knew, the one who’d come calling on Melora all spring and summer.

“You’re right, Aggie. My apologies.” He went to the girl and knelt beside her chair. “Jinx, honey, there’s nothing to worry about. The other search party will be checking in soon, and if they haven’t found her, then I will. I’ll start again first thing tomorrow, and I swear to you, honey, no matter what the cost, no matter how many men I have to hire or how far I have to search, I’ll bring your sister home.”

“Promise?” Jinx looked so hopeful, so desperate to believe that Aggie’s heart nearly broke.

“Promise.” Wyatt stood. “She will be my wife,” he said, the purposeful light glinting bright as cold metal in his eyes.

Jinx leaned back in her invalid chair, and a small shudder trickled up her spine. Instead of making her feel reassured, something about Wyatt Holden made her feel uneasy. But she didn’t know why. He was tall and strong and nice. He was smart and knew how to get things done. And he was promising to find Melora, so he could marry her after all.

But she was uneasy all the same.

“I’m going to say a prayer that Melora comes home safe,” she whispered, and then peered at Aggie. “Can I go to bed now?”

“You sure can. Wyatt, I’ll be right back after I get Jinx tucked in nice and cozy.”

“Take your time, Aggie. I’m going back into town to meet with Sheriff Coughlin.”

When Aggie had pushed the invalid chair through the kitchen doorway, Wyatt Holden slammed his fist down on the counter. Cursing under his breath, he strode out onto the porch and surveyed the encompassing blackness with a scowl.

Layers of emotion churned beneath his stolid exterior. Fury, bewilderment, disbelief that his bride had been snatched almost out from under his nose all railed through his blood.

This was by far the most humiliating day of his life. Right now he and Melora should be in their hotel suite. She should be in his bed, naked and writhing beneath him. She should be all his, his alone.

Instead she was out there with some other man or other men. What the hell were they doing with her—
to
her?

They’re all dead men,
he vowed to the stars glowing above.

Dead men.

Because no one touched what was his. No one interfered with his plans. And no one—no one—took anything of value from him and lived to tell the tale.

And Melora Deane, he reflected, as he surveyed the dark breadth of the Weeping Willow Ranch with eyes hard as stones, was valuable indeed.

Too valuable to lose.

He would find her.