Desert Angel (23 page)

“I ain’t thinking the boss is gonna be happy ‘bout that, little missy,” Hank replied.

“Hank, I’ve been to town many times by myself.”

“Not since you’ve worked here,” he reminded her.

“That’s true, however, it doesn’t change the fact that I
have
gone by myself and I’ve never had any problem. There’s no reason for me not to go this time, too.”

He removed his hat and scratched his head, carefully smoothing down the ruffled hair. “Walp, if’en you’re set on goin‘, ain’t no reason why I can’t go with you. Ain’t much goin‘ on here that I’ll be missed for, and I ain’t been to town since that youn’en were a few days old.” March liked the old man and found him pleasant company. It wouldn’t be a hardship to make the trip with him. He always had stories to tell, many of which she decided he made up as he went.

“If you’re sure, I’d welcome your company. But I don’t want to pull you away from something you’re supposed to be doing. I’d really looked forward to going today because Walt promised he’d have some dibs and hens waiting for me. He might sell them to someone else if I don’t come claim them.”

“What’ja gonna do with dibs and hens? This ain’t no farm, it’s a ranch.”

“Eggs and fried chicken?” she asked with a smile. “You do like fried chicken, don’t you?” Eagerness lit his faded eyes as he placed his hat back on his head. “What’ja waitin‘ for, missy? If ‘en you’re willin‘ to make up some fried chicken, I’m willin‘ to eat it. It’s been a long time since I’ve sunk these old teeth into fried chicken. Why I ‘members when …” March handed him the lunch basket and picked up Jamie. It would be a pleasant trip into town, Hank’s stories assured that.

“ … You ain’t never seen such nonesuch! And then that ole mule finally backs up right on Woods’s foot!” Thoroughly enjoying his own story, Hank’s throaty laugh ended with a cough as he tried to regain enough control to finish. “I’ll tell you what, missy, I ain’t heard such caterwaulin‘ since — “

Lulled by the rhythmic clopping of the horses’ hooves as they struck the hardened ground and the jingle-jangle of the rigging on the buckboard, March was unprepared when the sound of a gunshot pierced the quiet, silencing Hank and spooking the horses into a run. Even as she realized that someone had shot at them, Hank began to slump to the side; the reins slipped from his grasp.

March grabbed for the reins as she tried to keep the old man from sliding from the bouncing seat. Glancing quickly at her feet to reassure herself that Jamie was secure in his box on the floor, she fought to slow the frightened horses.

Knowing that by stopping the team she was giving their attacker another clear shot, March momentarily debated letting them run. But Hank had been hit by the bullet and was deadweight against her, giving her no real choice. She couldn’t continue to support him and hope to hold the horses back, and she desperately needed to know how badly he was hurt. She wouldn’t let herself even consider the possibility that he was dead.

Gritting her teeth, she used her meager strength against the power of the team, finally bringing them to a halt. Far from calmed, the horses stood restlessly, their sides heaving as they stomped their hooves in agitation.

Tying the reins around the brake handle, she glanced first at Jamie to find that he had slept through the wild ride, then turned her attention to Hank. Blood darkened the front of his shirt, and blared scarlet on the white of her blouse where he had leaned against her.

Sliding forward, she lowered him onto the seat. Reaching into the basket that contained Jamie’s things, she found a towel and ripped open Hank’s shirt. Folding the towel into a pad, March pressed it against his wound, appalled by the amount of blood he had lost.

“Hank, please don’t be dead,” she whispered in a prayer. “You don’t deserve to die like this. Please, Hank.”

“If he ain’t dead yet, I got another bullet with his name on it.”

Fighting to control the rage that flooded through her, March turned and met the grinning face she had once thought so handsome. “Why?” she said through clenched teeth. “Get down.” If Fred heard her or understood the question, he gave no sign as he motioned for her to get off the buckboard.

“No.” The refusal was a snarl of powerless fury.

Fred smiled and pushed his hat back from his eyes. “Get down, whore, or I’ll shoot him again. And if you still refuse, that kid will be next.”

“You bastard.”

“Wrong, I got me a daddy; a rich, powerful daddy.” His voice was almost pleasant as he motioned toward the ground. “Now get down. I’m getting tired of waiting.”

Her hair had come loose from the bun at the nape of her neck, and blew freely in the gentle breeze. Pushing it from her face, March slowly climbed to her feet and stepped from the wagon.

“Get the brat,” Fred instructed, waving his rifle in her face as a reminder of his threat.

“Why?”

” ‘Cause you’re going with me.”

“But why take the baby?” The road to town was heavily traveled, and while there was danger in letting Jamie stay unattended in the buckboard, he’d probably be found in a short time. She wasn’t so sure he’d be safe if she kept him with her.

“You’re taking the baby because as long as you’ve got him to worry about I don’t think you’ll be giving me any trouble. You’ll do everything I say — or he dies.”

He was right, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to prevent Jamie from being harmed. And her chances for escape, if escape ever became possible, were greatly reduced with the infant to worry about.

“Leave him here, I’ll come quietly.”

“Oh, you’ll come quietly,” he smirked, cocking the rifle and pointing it at Hank, “or the old man is dead.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You owe me, bitch. I spent nearly a month in bed, because of the beating your friend gave me. Now get the kid, you’ve wasted enough time.”

March untied the thongs that laced the box where Jamie slept. Unfolding a small blanket, she placed several of his towels in the center, tied it closed, and slung it over her shoulder.

“Girl …” It was barely a whisper of sound, loud enough for only her to hear as she bent to free Jamie from his box. “Sorry, gal …” Afraid that Fred would shoot Hank again, if he realized that the old man was conscious, March didn’t reply. Her brief smile was meant to be reassuring, as she turned away with the baby in her arms and the make-do bag on her shoulder.

“I’m ready, Fred Hamner,” she said clearly. “If you insist on doing this, then I’d say you’re about to make a mistake that you’ll regret the rest of your life, brief though it will be. There is a law against kidnapping, you know.”

“Shut up!” He put the rifle in the saddle scabbard and reached for the baby. “Hand me the kid. I’ll hold him, while you climb up behind me. We’ll be miles away from here before they find the wagon.”

March had no choice but to comply. Hank’s and Jamie’s lives depended on her doing as he said. But as she handed the infant to Fred, she made a silent promise to herself that he would deeply regret this someday.

With Jamie in his grasp and March behind him on the horse, Fred reached over and untied the reins on the buckboard. Slapping his hat against the rump of the nearest horse, he startled them enough to get them running.

“Oh, God, no,” March murmured as she saw Hank slip to the floor. The horses were running wild, and she could only pray that they would come to a halt before further tragedy happened.

“He ain’t gonna help none, so you can quit praying … if a whore knows how to pray.” With a chuckle, he turned the horse toward the desert.

The sun blazed down on her uncovered head, but the sweat disappeared as quickly as it came. For nearly two hours Fred traveled at a killing pace, until the horse was lathered and it audibly gulped for each breath.

“If you don’t slow down, we’re going to be walking.” As much as she hated sitting so closely behind him, she hated the thought of being on foot even more.

“We ain’t going much farther. He’ll just have to make it.”

“What are you going to do if he doesn’t? Shoot him, too?”

“Shut up! If I want your opinions, I’ll ask for them. But don’t hold your breath, any opinion from a whore ain’t worth shit.”

March obediently closed her mouth, but only because it suited her. She worried that if she further agitated Fred, he might do something that she’d regret. As long as he held Jamie in his arms, she would do nothing to instigate his anger.

She had tried several times to look around his shoulder to reassure herself that Jamie was covered from the sun, but her position on the back of the horse was too precarious to give her the necessary leverage. The baby had been quiet, almost too quiet, but she refused to let herself worry that something might be wrong with him.

Except for the mountains in the distance, the land looked deceptively flat. That they had been riding up a gentle incline was proven as the roof of a shack came into sight. March soon recognized the structure, and couldn’t believe that this was Fred’s intended destination. Surely he didn’t think he’d get away with keeping her on Jim’s own land!

“I thought it was fitting,” Fred smirked, as he pulled up beside the dilapidated line shack that had been her home for several months. “No one will think of looking for you here. I really wanted to take you back to our picnic grounds,” he grinned, referring to the spot beside the river where she had innocently promised love, but had learned betrayal. “But then I got to thinking that someone might come along and ruin my plans.”

“You’re a bigger fool than I thought,” she muttered, regretting her quick tongue when his body stiffened.

“Get down!” he snarled.

March slid from the back of the horse, her legs buckling briefly.

“Catch.” The single word was the only warning she had as Fred smiled evilly and literally dropped the baby into her arms. Catching him, she hugged him tightly, lifting the blanket from his face to discover alert blue eyes. Usually unhappy with his face covered, it was as if the baby understood the danger they faced and hadn’t complained.

“Hello, sweetheart,” March murmured, as she loosened the blanket around him. It was a wonder that he hadn’t smothered in its folds.

Fred climbed from the horse as she walked toward the cabin. Trying to ignore memories of her family as she had last seen them, she pushed open the door. The inside was stifling hot, but at least it did provide some protection from the sun.

She wasn’t surprised to discover that the room was totally bare, even the bed and bed frame were gone. Her father had been his usual thorough self, taking everything that wasn’t nailed down.

In a corner away from the open door, March made a pad out of the blanket for Jamie and efficiently changed his wet towel. Leaving him on the floor wasn’t the best solution, but at least he wasn’t scooting around too much yet. If she kept an eye on him, he should be safe enough.

“Get out here, bitch,” Fred ordered, his eyes gleaming savagely as he watched her. “Unsaddle my horse and rub him down.” He threw the reins at her and lowered himself to the ground. Leaning against the side of the cabin with the rifle across his knees, he waited, as if anticipating her refusal.

Knowing that exercise would work the kinks out of her sore muscles, she approached the animal and patted his lathered neck. Woods had once told her that you could judge a man by the way he took care of his horse. From the look of the abused animal, anyone could guess that Fred wasn’t worth the price of a bullet to kill him.

“What do you hope to accomplish with this … this stupidity?” March grunted as she caught the heavy, silver-inlaid saddle as it slid from the horse.

Enjoying his power over his helpless victim, Fred tilted his hat back and looked toward the sky. “When you’re done with that, you can fix my dinner.”

“He’ll find you, you know.” She rubbed the horse with the saddle blanket. “You took his son, and he’ll come looking.”

“Let him come.” Fred stroked the butt of the rifle. “I owe him. Yes, siree, let him come.”

“Is it worth getting hanged?”

“I ain’t the one who’s gonna die,” Fred bragged confidently. “I’ll be long gone before they find you, and they ain’t never going to know that it was me. Everybody saw me leave a few weeks back on my way East. I even made it a point to talk to a few people in Tucson, before the train pulled out.

“What they don’t know is that I got off in Phoenix, bought that nag out there, and came back here. I been having some fun thinning out your boss’s herd a little. That Indian of his ain’t too happy that he couldn’t find me, but I can be real smart.

“I been getting them off guard, so I could get to you. It kinda surprised me when you headed into town today with just that old man. I thought I’d have a tolerable wait before I could get you, and here you just go and walk into my arms.”

“Hank knows it was you.”

“Hank? The old man I shot?” At her nod of confirmation, he snickered. “He’s dead by now. But even if he ain’t, who’s going to believe him? It’ll be my word against his, and nobody around here is going to cross me, or they’ll have to answer to my daddy. When a man’s got money, he can get away with most anything, if he’s careful.”

“There’s not enough money in the world to buy your freedom when you commit murder.”