Christine Dorsey (39 page)

“And that’s only me,” he crowed into her ear. “All these other men is just as anxious for a piece of you before we’re done.”

~ ~ ~

His leg throbbed but he kept riding. Lovey, the mare, was breathing hard, her sides lathered, and Will considered slowing down. Then he thought about his sister and what she must be suffering and he urged the horse to move faster.

He had to get to town. He had to get to the army, and send them to help Sam and Jake.

He remembered what Landis Moore had done to his father. He’d only been a kid, but he remembered.

Will didn’t see the snake slither out of the tall grass beside the road, but Lovey did. She whinnied and bucked, catching Will off guard.

Riding was second nature to him. He’d been doing it for years. But never with a broken leg. Will tried to hold on. But when Lovey reared up a second time, he felt himself slipping from the saddle.

Searing pain shot through his leg as he landed in the dirt. And tears stung his eyes as he watched Lovey gallop away.

~ ~ ~

He’d trailed them all day, and with the coming of dusk, Jake knew he was close. He recognized the area. There were times during the endless hours that he wanted to stop hanging back and gallop up on them, his gun blazing. He hated what Samantha must be going through.

But he didn’t. Jake figured his best chance of getting her away from Moore’s men was after dark—after they reached Moore’s uncle’s farm.

Jake dismounted behind a stand of oak trees and worked his way up to the split log fence that surrounded the house. He watched in the dusky light as Landis Moore, Ab, and Atwood got off their horses in front of the weatherboard farmhouse.

Atwood yanked Samantha from the animal’s back, again making Jake fight the urge to rush them. Instead he clenched his jaw and checked his gun, telling himself that any rash action would only get her killed.

He rubbed his itching palms down the fine wool of his pant leg, and waited. The rest of the men headed for the barn with the horses, then the front door opened, bathing the porch and Samantha in the soft glow of candlelight. Moore’s uncle stepped out and greeted the three men.

“Well, what do we have here, Landis?” Jake heard the old man ask, then guffaw when Moore said it was a present for him.

“Now I don’t know that I’m not too old for this kind of gift,” he said before lifting a lock of Samantha’s hair. She slapped at him and Jake’s hand tightened around his gun.

Atwood raised his arm to backhand her and Jake took aim. But the uncle’s laughter stopped both men’s reaction. “No need for that, Bundy. She just needs to get used to us. Bring her on inside.” The older man opened the door wider. “She can start by fixing us something to eat. I’m sure as hell tired of my own cooking.”

No curtains blocked his view through the windows, and for that Jake was thankful. He could see Samantha and the men clearly once they reached the main room. Atwood shoved her toward the stove, and Samantha defiantly turned on him. But apparently she figured the same thing Jake was thinking. As long as she was cooking, they weren’t going to do anything else to her.

“That’s it, Samantha,” Jake murmured. “Take down the mixing bowl and get busy.” He watched as she hesitated, then did just that, almost as if she could hear him.

“Now fix them something filling and fix it slow.” She moved across the room, coming within an arm’s length of Atwood, who reached out and grabbed her. “Stay clear of him,” Jake admonished as she jerked away and hurried back toward the stove. Atwood stayed in his chair and Jake let out his breath.

The men who’d gone to the barn emerged and made their way to the house. There were five of them. With Landis, Ab, Atwood, and the uncle, it made nine. Jake rubbed his chin. Not very impressive odds. But the army didn’t seem in any hurry to show up, and Jake was going to have to do something soon.

The question was, what? Moore’s gang was all in one place. He could see the newcomers dragging chairs toward the table. The problem was Samantha was in the same place.

Jake leaned against the fence and kept his eyes riveted to the window. The sky darkened, and crickets and bullfrogs vied to be the noisiest creature of the night. Samantha kept stirring, looking up nervously at the men seated at the table. They were obviously having a grand time. A jug was being passed around and every now and then the breeze caught a strain of their laughter and sent it Jake’s way. They were getting drunk and rowdy.

Jake stood, deciding this was as good a time as any to move closer to the house when he heard a noise behind him. He crouched low and froze, intent on listening.

The sound came again, closer this time. It was someone... more than one someone by the amount of noise they were making... coming toward him from the road. They were talking—not loud—but loud enough to tell Jake it wasn’t the army. Soldiers would know enough to be quiet.

Moving as quietly as he could, Jake followed the fence away from the lane then doubled back behind. Damn. As if the odds weren’t already one-sided enough, now more of Moore’s cohorts had to show up.

Jake was behind them now. He could make out shadows in the twilight—four men—cautiously moving toward the house. One lagged behind and Jake crept closer, grabbing him about the neck. The man dropped his gun and gave a small yelp, which Jake smothered with his palm. His other hand held a revolver gouged into the man’s ribs.

“The rest of you drop your guns or your friend is a dead man.” Jake no sooner got the words out before three men turned, tossing their guns and throwing their hands up.

“You all right, Seth?” one of the men gasped, and Jake twisted his captive around so he could see his face.

“Nelson, is that you?” Jake squinted in the dim light. The head in his grasp nodded and Jake dropped his hands. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

Seth sucked in air and muffled a cough. “Will,” he whispered as the others gathered around. “One of my sons found him in the road near my lane. A snake had spooked his horse and he’d fallen off. He was hobbling along at a frantic clip to get to my farm. Told me all about Samantha being taken and you following.”

“What about the army?”

“I sent one of my boys to town to get them, but in the meantime some of the other farmers here were helping me out with my harvesting and we decided to come see what we could do.”

“Yeah?” Jake couldn’t help grinning as the men picked up their guns. He imagined what Samantha would think of her neighbors coming to help her. The thought made him glance back toward the house. “Damnit!” Jake moved forward, followed by the four farmers.

“What is it?” Seth crouched next to Jake behind the fence.

“Atwood has Samantha in another room,” Jake whispered before bounding over the split logs. It had only taken one quick look at the house to see that two windows were now lit up and that Samantha was missing from the scene inside the main room. So was Atwood. And a quick scan of the other window showed Samantha enveloped by Atwood, her arms twisted high behind her back and her head thrown to the side. She screamed and the strident sound brought a round of riotous cheers and laughter from the other room.

“I’m going into the bedroom to get her.” He threw the words hastily over his shoulder. “There are eight others—all in the house. When I give the signal—a shot—open fire on the rest of them.” With those rather sparse orders, Jake raced toward the side of the house.

He reached the corner then rounded it, heading toward the side window when he heard breaking glass, followed by more loud laughter.

Inside, Bundy grabbed Samantha and shoved her onto a rumpled bedstead. He brushed shards of the broken pitcher she’d thrown at him from his shoulder and began unfastening his pants. “You’ll pay for that, bitch!”

Glass shattered, splintering over the ground as Jake poked his gun barrel through the window. “Get down!” he yelled to Samantha, who’d already bounded from the mattress, ready to continue her fight with Atwood. She turned and froze, her eyes enormous as she recognized Jake.

“Get down,” he screamed again, for she stood in the line of fire between Atwood and him. Between Atwood and hell.

In that instant Samantha seemed to recognize the problem, for she tried to throw herself to the side. But Atwood was quicker, grabbing her to him as his revolver cleared his holster. The gun barrel gouged into Samantha’s ribs. “Throw the gun down and get in here, Morgan, or I kill her. I swear I will.”

“He will anyway. Don’t do it, Jake!” Samantha’s outburst won her a vicious poke with the revolver and she cried out in pain.

“Stop it!” Jake shoved his hand through the broken pane to toss his gun just as the bedroom door slammed open.

“Hey, what’s going on in here? You’re taking too long. The stew’s burning.” Ab Moore came barreling through the opening, bumping into Bundy.

Samantha twisted away, Atwood aimed at Jake, and Jake fired, all in lightning-quick succession. Blood splattered on the grimy wall and across Ab’s startled features. “Landis,” he squealed as Bundy’s body fell back against him.

But Landis and the others had their own problems.

The shot Jake used to kill Atwood served as the signal for Samantha’s neighbors to open fire on the other room. And they’d done it with abandon, firing in rapid volley. This time Jake didn’t have to warn Samantha to get down. She did so quickly as Jake kept his bead on the hapless Ab. He cocked his gun, remembering Will and the harm the slow-witted man had done, but before Jake could fire, Ab tossed Bundy aside and ran from the room.

Using the butt of his gun, Jake cleared away the remaining shards of glass and reached through the window. “Come here,” he urged Samantha. “But keep your head down.”

Gunshots were still ringing through the night air and the bedroom door was ajar. Jake kept his gun aimed at the opening as Samantha scurried toward him. She gave him a quick smile, which Jake returned, before he lifted her through the window opening.

“Oh, Jake.” Her arms wound around his neck as he pushed her against the outside wall. “You came.” He kissed her hard and quick then faced her toward the barn behind the house.

“You get in there and stay. And take this.” He shoved his gun into her hand and gave her a small push toward the barn. One that didn’t keep her going.

“But what about you? I can’t take your gun. Where are you going?”

“Samantha.”

“And who’s doing all the shooting? And—”

“Go! Now!” His tone brooked no argument. But it didn’t stop her from turning and grabbing his hand.

“Be careful,” she whispered, then ran across the opening toward the barn. Jake watched her go by moonlight, then hoisted himself up through the window.

Atwood’s pistol was on the floor. Jake scooped it up and checked the cylinder. Then moving quickly, he grabbed the lamp off the bureau, opened the bedroom door wider, and heaved it into the main room.

Several men stopped shooting out the front window and jerked around at the sound of the explosion of glass and burning oil. Jake dove behind the door as they fired off a barrage toward the bedroom. Then they were too worried about the flames erupting from the lamp, and running along the spilled oil, to care about Jake.

Jake fired several shots into the room then bolted toward the bedroom window as smoke began filling the house. Once outside he circled back to where the farmers had taken cover behind a wagon and motioned for two of them to follow him. “The rest of you keep firing and watch the front door. I have a feeling they’ll be filing out of there soon.”

“There are a couple of windows across the back we have to watch plus one off the side,” Jake told the men that followed him.

~ ~ ~

Samantha leaned against the board siding and wished she could see what was happening. There were still shots being fired and she could smell smoke. Tentatively she pushed the barn door open a crack and peered out.

The farmhouse was on fire, with flames billowing up into the night sky. She laced her fingers around the gun and prayed that Jake hadn’t gone back inside.

That was when she noticed the shadowy figure running toward her.

At first she thought her wish had been granted and it was Jake—he was the only one who knew where she was —but in the next instant she realized it was Landis Moore.

Panic seized her and she threw herself against the wall just moments before he burst into the barn. The inside was dark and musty and Moore obviously didn’t see Samantha as he made his way toward the stall. He was breathing hard, loud enough for Samantha to keep track of his movements as he headed toward the horses.

A startled whinny told her he’d mounted and she could hear him coming toward her and the door.

He was going to get away. He’d killed her father and ordered the same for Will and he was going to get away. Before she could change her mind, Samantha stepped out, blocking his exit.

The horse pranced to the side and Landis peered down to see what the problem was. “Well, if it isn’t little Miss Lowery, hiding in the barn.” His voice had an inhuman quality that made Samantha’s fingers icy cold.

~ ~ ~

They came out of the house hacking and coughing and trying to keep their hands in the air. Jake and the farmers gathered up their guns and set about tying up Moore’s gang—all seven of them.

“Wait a minute.” Jake tightened a knot behind Ab’s back and jerked him around. “Where’s Landis.” When Ab didn’t answer right away, Jake grabbed him by the shirtfront. “Where’s your brother? Is he still inside?”

“You can’t kill Landis,” Ab said, smoke-induced tears streaming down his broad face. “He done left through the window.”

“Hell!” He could have made it out the back before Jake put men there. And if he were loose, he’d probably be after a horse...

Jake drew his gun and took off toward the barn before he completed the thought. The doors were open and the light from the flaming house cast a macabre brightness to the scene inside.

Samantha stood, her right arm stiff, clutching Jake’s revolver. It was pointed toward Moore, toward the gun Landis aimed at her. Jake didn’t have time to think.

“Moore!” The word seemed to echo through the barn. Landis twisted in the saddle and his face was a mask of hate as he leveled his gun.