Bound For Eden (33 page)

By daybreak she was pretty sure she knew his plan. He was taking her on some kind of wild-goose chase, making sure that by the time he led her into their camp she would be too exhausted to fight.

It was working.

Every muscle in Alex's legs was screaming for mercy, and her mouth was as dry as a boll of cotton. After a few hours the sun peeked over the horizon and a burning angry-orange sky flared in the east. If Alex thought she had suffered already, it was nothing compared to the discomfort the sun caused her now, as it rose into a cloudless sky. She hadn't brought a hat and as the sun beat down on her she felt her skin begin to burn. She didn't remember ever feeling so hot in her life, and all she could think about was water: the shining stretches in the swamp back home, the gush from the pump, the mineral tang of water from the depths of the well, and the cold flow of the river against her naked skin. She pictured thrusting her face into its icy depths and drinking it in, but the fantasy only caused her stomach to cramp with longing.

She was almost insensible as the day drew on; she barely registered the gigantic spear of rock rising before her. They'd been seeing it in the distance for days: Chimney Rock, Luke called it, the eighth wonder of the world.

Alex didn't feel wonder looking at it now. All she could think about was the thin blue shadow stretching from its base across the scrubby plain. She didn't care about that stupid horseman any more. She didn't care if Gideon had Victoria. All she cared about was that beckoning shadow, with its promise of relief and rest. It would be cool, she thought, as she veered from the horseman's path towards the rock. In her fevered state she half imagined she would find an oasis at the point where the shadow joined the rock; a pure and unpolluted pool, cold as melting snow. She would collapse beside it in the cool blue depths of the shadow and drink until she too was as cold as melting snow.

She was almost there before the horseman realised that she was no longer following him.

She heard quickening hoofbeats as she stumbled into the narrow shadow. She slumped to the ground in bitter disappointment. It wasn't blue and cool. It was just as orange and scrubby and horrible as the plains. There was no pool. There was nothing but rock and scratchy grass and dust. Alex could have wept.

She rolled over on her back as the staccato hoofbeats came to an abrupt halt. Staring up at the gargantuan pointing finger of rock, she could hear the creak of saddle leather as the horseman dismounted.

‘Aw, hell,' she heard a rough voice say.

Then there was the press of a canteen against her lips and the welcome rush of water against her tongue. ‘Don't drink too much,' the voice warned, ‘or you'll be sick.'

As the canteen was taken away, Alex stared up into a horribly familiar face. ‘I'm sorry, darlin',' he said, ‘I didn't realise you were feeling poorly.'

He made Alex so mad she could spit.

A wiry arm reached around Luke and removed his gun from its holster. ‘My brothers have the girl, Slater,' a sly voice said against his ear, ‘Any funny business and they'll shoot her.'

It took all of Luke's self-restraint to keep from belting the weasel.

‘Turn around,' Gideon ordered. ‘Walk slowly back to your cook fire. And remember, no funny business or,' he paused, grinning, obviously enjoying himself, ‘
boom
.'

Luke's jaw clenched at the thought of Alex in the hands of this weasel. God only knew what he'd done with her. Obediently, he walked back to the camp, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to take control of the situation.

He found the camp much as he'd expected: the campers were huddled around the fire, subdued in the face of the Grady brothers' shotguns. One squeeze of the trigger and the lot of them would be peppered with buckshot. Victoria was trapped by Bert's meaty arm. He'd hauled her close against him and had his hand wrapped around her throat. Luke could see her trembling.

If there was one thing he couldn't abide it was a man who mistreated women. He flexed his fingers. Just wait until he got his hands on the bastard.

‘Watch yourself, Slater,' Gideon reminded him. He slid around in front of Luke, keeping his weapon trained on the bigger man. ‘You lot,' Gideon gestured at the campers, ‘get yourselves in that wagon.' He pointed them towards the Crawfords' massive wagon. ‘Slowly and carefully. Travis, you keep guard.'

He was smart, this weasel, Luke thought. If the campers were in the confines of the wagon Travis could not only watch them, he could hit them all with a single shot of buckshot. Luke watched as they climbed into the wagon. The brutish Travis stood at the opening, peering along the barrel of his raised shotgun.

Victoria squealed and Luke turned his attention back to Gideon, only to find that he'd snatched Victoria away from his brother. Now Bert's shotgun was aimed directly at Luke.

Victoria was breathing shallowly, panicked, as Gideon held her in front of him and rested the barrel of his gun against her cheek. ‘She's lovely, isn't she?' Gideon taunted, rubbing the weapon over her soft flesh. ‘I've noticed you spend a lot of time with her, Slater. You like the ladies, don't you?' Gideon leaned into Victoria, until his lips were brushing her ear. She shuddered. ‘He tell you about how he likes whores, sweetheart? And they sure do like him in return.' The weasel's eyes flicked up and met Luke's. They were narrow and mean. ‘That night of the fire,' he hissed into Victoria's ear. ‘I heard 'em through the wall. You never heard such moaning from a woman.'

Luke's blood boiled and he started forward. He couldn't bear this animal talking that way about Beatrice. He stopped dead when Gideon slid the tip of his gun into Victoria's mouth. Her eyes were huge with terror.

‘You see how he loves his whores, sweetheart? You see how he wants to defend their honour?' Gideon laughed softly.

‘What do you want, Grady?' Luke asked tersely, unable to tear his eyes away from where the gun disappeared between Victoria's lips.

‘What I've always wanted, Slater,' Gideon hissed. ‘The Barratt bitch.'

Luke frowned, confused. What did he mean? He'd taken Alex in the night. Hadn't he?

‘Don't play dumb with me, Slater.'

My brothers have the girl.
He'd meant Victoria. Suddenly a thought dawned on Luke. ‘Where's your brother Silas?'

Gideon laughed. ‘He had a little accident.'

The memory of the knife at Silas's throat flared in Luke's mind. Hell. If the man had no compunction about killing his brother, then what would he do here and now?

Victoria whimpered as the gun slid deeper into her mouth.

In that moment Luke wanted to kill him. Slowly.

‘Hand her over, Slater.'

What would the maniac do if he discovered Alex wasn't here? How twitchy was his trigger finger?

‘Give me the bitch, Slater, and you can have your sweetheart back.'

‘Why do you want the girl so much?' Luke stalled.

Through a gap in the canvas, Ned O'Brien watched the tense confrontation. He couldn't hear their words, but he could see clear as day the gun violating Victoria's sweet rosebud mouth. His heart galloped in his chest. He'd never considered himself a brave man, but there came a time when a man had to act:
The truly brave, when they behold the brave oppressed with odds, are touched with a desire to shield and save.
Byron again. Ever since he'd met Victoria he had been full of Byron, full of the same wildness and passion as the romantic poet. And now here he was, facing down a shotgun, and a man twice his size, about to do the craziest thing he'd ever done.

Slowly, his hand only barely shaking, Ned withdrew his brand new gun from the inside pocket of his coat. He'd never got around to getting a holster, and the brutes hadn't bothered to check their victims' pockets. Speed was the key, he thought, as he drew a shaky breath. On the count of three . . .
one . . . two . . .
he'd emptied the barrel before the brute knew what was happening.

Travis went down.

Shocked, Bert and Gideon turned to see what had happened. Luke launched himself forward, knocking Victoria and the weasel to the ground. Gideon's gun went flying and Victoria screamed. Luke registered blood, but didn't pause. His hands wrapped around Gideon's scrawny throat.

‘Travis?' Bert called anxiously. ‘Gideon?'

As Gideon clawed at Luke's hands, his face turning red, Luke stole a glance at Bert. He was jiggling on his feet, on edge, his gaze flicking back and forth between his brothers, his finger spasming against the trigger. He looked like he'd pull it at any moment.

‘You shoot me, you'll hit your brother,' Luke warned him, struggling to keep his voice flat and calm. Gideon was bucking under him, trying to get his knee up towards Luke's crotch. Luke tightened his grip around the weasel's throat, glad the man was so weedy. He wasn't sure he would have been able to subdue Travis or Bert so easily.

Gideon's eyes rolled over in his head and suddenly he was still.

Luke released him. He'd only passed out from lack of oxygen. Luke would have to hurry up and get Bert under control, so he could bind Gideon before he came to.

Ned's ears were ringing from the gunfire, but he wasn't about to lose his advantage. ‘Stay here,' he bellowed at his children, as he scrambled to the tail of the wagon. His heart stopped in his chest when he reached the tailgate and Travis loomed before him. He'd fired six bullets at the man. He'd gone down like a sack of potatoes.

Not because he'd been hit, Ned realised with a sense of sickened horror. The brute didn't have a scratch on him. The only reason he'd dropped to the dust was out of an animalistic sense of self-preservation. And now here he was again, his shotgun practically touching the tip of Ned's nose. The world slowed down. Ned could see the man's finger curling around the trigger, he could see it begin to squeeze.

For the first time in his life, Ned O'Brien did something without thinking. He threw himself forward a mere heartbeat before the gun discharged, knocking Travis backwards. The buckshot scattered through the saltbrush, snapping twigs and sending up puffs of red dust as it hit the ground.

Ned didn't have time to reload his weapon. Instead, still acting on instinct, he smashed the gun into Travis's jaw. And this time the man really did go down. Hard.

Before Luke could get to him, Bert had grabbed Victoria. Her hands were clenched to her mouth and blood dribbled through her fingers. ‘Stay back!' Bert called, his voice revealing his panic.

‘Give yourself up, Grady,' Luke said, slowly rising. Behind Bert he could see the men dropping down from the wagon and stepping over Travis's prone body. ‘You're outnumbered.'

‘You won't do anything to me while I've got the girl.'

Luke could see Ned fumbling to slide fresh bullets into the barrel of his gun. Hurry up, O'Brien, he thought impatiently. Luke met Victoria's glazed brown eyes and silently tried to reassure her. ‘What are you going to do?' he asked Bert calmly. ‘Both of your brothers are down.'

Bert's eyes were beginning to roll. Luke had to keep him calm. The last thing he wanted was for him to get trigger-happy. ‘If you let her go, we'll let you walk out of here.'

Bert snorted.

‘I swear,' Luke assured him. ‘You have my word.' Bert was sweating. Luke could see the sun glinting off the moisture above his lip. ‘I'm not armed.' Luke held his hands up. ‘Just let her go and you can walk out of here unscathed.'

Bert grunted and clenched Victoria even more tightly. ‘I don't think so, Slater. The girl's coming with me.'

‘Over my dead body,' Ned rasped, as he stuck his gun behind Bert's jaw.

Hell. Luke half expected the shotgun to go off, half expected to see Victoria fall. But Bert's nerves were stronger than he'd thought. The man simply froze. And it was with a measure of relief, Luke thought, that he dropped his weapon and surrendered.

Victoria sank to the ground, sobbing.

‘Fetch me as much rope as you can find,' Luke called to the Watts brothers. He could hear the women and children weeping. He wanted to get this nightmare over as fast as possible.

As soon as Luke grabbed Bert by the scruff of the neck, the gun fell from Ned's suddenly trembling fingers. All vestiges of calm left him. He'd shot at a man; he'd pistol-whipped a man; he'd threatened a man with cold-blooded murder. Him! Ned O'Brien!

Victoria's sobs pulled him to his senses. Hastily he removed his jacket and wrapped it around her, pulling her into a close embrace. ‘Hush,' he soothed, rocking her as he did his youngest daughter when she woke from a nightmare.

It was only when Luke had the Gradys gagged and bound, watched over by the armed Watts brothers, that he remembered Alex. The brat was still out there somewhere, in who knew what kind of trouble.

Twenty-Nine

‘Where's my sister?' Alex demanded, glaring up at Silas. ‘And what the hell happened to your face?'