Holding on to Heaven (29 page)

The hound's body tensed, but for a brief second he looked up at Creed and wagged his tail.

Near the fire, the man who kicked Lauren rose up on an elbow when Blue Boy growled low in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, Creed saw the squaw scramble to her feet, her head swiveling left to right, her watchful eyes scanning the nearby woods. The man beside her unsheathed his knife and bounded to his feet.

Creed placed the saddle on the ground and lit a smoke. "My horse broke his leg several miles back." His calm voice belied the torrent of emotion coursing through him. "I saw your fire from a distance."

Lauren sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The moon slipped out from beneath a patch of clouds and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

LaRoux clambered to his feet, his eyes darting everywhere except on Creed before he spoke. "I never heard the retort from a gun."

"No doubt you slept through it."

"Nah." The man looked into his eyes. "I don't think so. What are you doing way out here?" The man inched toward Lauren, pulled her up by the wrists, and jerked her to her feet.

From a distance, necks craned, the squaw's, the man's, as if trying to hear the low-pitched conversation taking place near the fire. The woman's knife flashed beneath a shaft of moonbeams and Creed knew, like LaRoux, she sensed danger.

Creed had killed before¾in the war, during the uprising, but never like this. He'd faced many one-on-one, but never when the enemy held something he wanted so bad he could taste it. He forced his eyes away from Lauren and focused on LaRoux.

"I asked you a question," LaRoux said, his thick accent grating on Creed's nerves. "Now I ask you three, and I want answers. "What are you doing out here? Are you alone, and where are you headed?" He yanked the knife from his waistband and put it to Lauren's throat.

Blue Boy let loose a low, angry growl, heightening the tension. Creed stole a glance at the dog and knew he stood ready. Hackles rose on his neck and he lowered his massive head to the ground, waiting for Creed's command. In the next moment, the hound focused on Lauren, looked into the woods and back to Lauren again.

Realizing the ruse was over, every muscle in Creed's body grew taut. He didn't fear for himself, but for the woman he'd rode hundreds of miles to find and would ride another million for one more look.

"Let her go." Creed's voice sounded flat and committed.

"Go to hell." LaRoux yanked her against his broad chest. "What is she to you anyway?"

"Let's just say I'm a friend sent to bring her back." Creed's fingers itched and his body tensed into one giant muscle. "Now let her go."

Creed saw Lauren blink and she tried to focus on his face, but a long shadow from the moon concealed him. She shook her head and looked again, and her eyes widened, so slightly, a stranger wouldn't have noticed. Despite the gravity of the situation, his heart raced and then soared. She recognized him; if not him, his voice. At least if he died, she knew he came for her, and he'd draw his last breath looking at her face.

LaRoux's eyes left his while he snuck a glance at his friends. Buying time, Creed knew, wondering who to take out first, Lauren, the dog or him.

"Give me something for her, Mister, and you can have the bitch."

"I'll give you something¾a bullet in your gut if you don't turn her loose." Creed felt his jaw twitch and his body stiffened. He knew hell would be unleashed any second. He took a step forward.

"Whoa, now, stranger. You take one more step and I'll cut her ear-to-ear." His sinister laugh sliced through the air. "Then you can have her."

In a timeless moment of indecision, Creed weighed his options. If he rushed LaRoux, the man would kill her in a heartbeat. If he retreated, LaRoux would kill him, and if he pulled his pistol, Lauren was as good as dead.

The Frenchman recognized his dilemma. "I'm going to ask you one more time, and then I'm going to kill her. Who are you?"

"Creed, Creed Gatlin."

Lauren closed her eyes and slumped against the Frenchman's chest.

"Well, Mr. Creed Gatlin, I’ll thank you to drop that gun on the ground. Do it now or I kill the woman."

Inch by anguished inch, he drew the pistol from the holster, held it out before him and let it drop to the ground near his feet.

"See, now everyone is happy." LaRoux's voice rang cold. "I think I’ll kill her anyway."

The gleam of his knife against her pale throat severed Creed at the knees. "No!"

Blue Boy struck with speed and brutality. Before Creed twitched, the hound flew through the air and planted his fangs into LaRoux's forearm. The man yowled in pain, his gaze fixed on the mongrel's teeth ripping his arm to shreds. An arc of blood spurted through the air, forcing him to loosen his hold on Lauren. In one swift motion, he turned the knife on the dog and severed his jugular vein. Blue Boy whimpered and fell to the ground dead.

Creed watched the squaw sprint toward Lauren. An arrow flew from the woods and hit its mark with deadly accuracy. The woman crashed to the ground, her momentum to kill Lauren so powerful, she landed within five feet of her. The shaft of Sage's arrow protruded from her neck.

Wanapaya leaped from the underbrush and tackled the squaw's man. Their bodies tumbled to the ground, the sound reverberating in a loud thud. Silver flashes glinted beneath the moon, and the sickening clank of metal against metal split the air. Chortled gasps erupted in the darkness, followed by a horrific moan. Creed had little time to spare now as LaRoux wrapped a bandana around his arm and plucked his knife from the ground.

Creed rushed LaRoux, slammed his fists into the man's face and took a heavy hit to his cheek from the Frenchman. They fell to the ground; their bodies locked in a bear-like grip as each man tried to gain the advantage. An evil grin split LaRoux's lips, followed by a snicker of victory.

Spent from a lack of sleep and brutal days on the trail, Creed was no match for the Frenchman's size and strength. LaRoux's knife rose beneath the silvery moon and descended. Lauren's face flashed before him. He’d go to eternity with her beauty etched on his brain.

The retort from a pistol whistled through the air. Creed felt LaRoux's body jerk before the man collapsed on top of him. With his last ounce of strength, he pushed it from his body. Gasping for air like a fish out of water, he struggled up to an elbow and heard the double click of a pistol as Lauren advanced. A rapid volley of shots whined through the air as she emptied the chamber into LaRoux's lifeless body. Again she fired, clicking through another full round before she realized it was empty.

"Lauren, he's dead!" Creed said.

Hysterical sobs tore from her throat. She hurled the gun at the Frenchman's body and slumped to her knees. Hugging her elbows, her face ghost-like, she rocked back and forth and whimpered like a wounded animal.

"Christ!" Creed said, crawling toward her.

Wanapaya rose from the distant shadows, the enemy's blood covering his buckskin shirt. Creed breathed a sigh of relief.

Sage ran to her beloved dog, knelt beside him and cradled his head in her lap, her mournful wails sending a shiver down Creed's spine. Fanned by a sudden gust of wind, the fire roared, illuminating the gut-wrenching scene. Lauren looked toward the noise and Creed held his breath. Everything around him had happened so fast, he had little time to react, no time to explain.

His eyes locked with Lauren's and his heart broke. She shook her head, folded her fingers against her mouth and screamed her torment to the heavens.

Creed belly-crawled the rest of the way and drew her into his arms. "Shush, it's all right. It's me, Lauren."

Struggling against him, she pummeled his chest with her fists. "Let me go! Don't touch me!"

He pinned her flailing arms to her sides, his words falling fast and clear as he tried to calm her. "You're safe now. It's me, Creed."

"Oh, God, don't let this be a dream!"

"It's no dream, Lauren. I'm here."

Her blank stare ripped his heart in two. "Creed?" Tears soaked his shirt. "You came?"

Long moments passed while he held her and waited for his breathing to return to normal. Amid her muffled sobs, he picked her up and walked to the fire. Slumping to the ground with her in his arms, he pulled her against him.

Wanapaya's calm voice drifted toward them. "Give him to me, Sage. Let go, I'll take care of him."

"He's dead, he's dead." Sage shook her head and refused to relinquish the dog.

The tracker pulled her arms from the dog's neck. Speaking to her low-voiced, Creed couldn't hear his words. Moments later, Wanapaya rose from the ground with Blue Boy and walked into the woods.

Muffled sobs rose skyward, drawing Lauren's gaze toward Sage again. Creed watched a gamut of emotions pass through her eyes—confusion, compassion, and shock. Then her questioning eyes looked into his while searching his face. Where should he begin? How should he tell her? She seemed so fragile, he didn't want to send her over the edge, not when he'd just found her again.

"Tell me I haven't lost my mind," she whispered, her brown eyes shining like volcanic glass.

He prayed a tiny fragment of lucidity remained in her traumatized mind. He thought about all the times in his life he'd danced around the truth, and he thought about all the times he'd missed telling it. In the end, he decided to deliver hers straight up. "She's your sister."

Her brow creased and she looked at him as if he'd gone off the deep end of the pier.

"I don't know how else to tell you. She's the daughter of Drew and Clarissa McCain, your twin."

* * * *

From somewhere in the dark recesses of Lauren's mind, a day from long ago crept forth¯her mother's clothes, a trunk, a diary. She turned her face to the fire and wished she could turn into smoke and drift away into the dark of night. The heart-wrenching sobs drew her back. She stumbled to her feet, walked toward the grief-stricken woman and dropped to the ground beside her. For the first time in her life, she gazed into the face of her mirror image, the companion of her soul.

Lauren drew her into her arms. "Shush now, I'm here beside you now."

Chapter Eighteen

Confused and disoriented, Lauren scrambled from Creed's bedroll and came to her feet. The demonic visions came flooding back, LaRoux, the squaw, Creed walking into camp.

Beneath the black shadow of several days' stubble, Creed looked at her from across the fire. "Your sister and her husband went to the river to bathe."

With an audible expulsion of breath, she dropped to the ground and searched the camp.

"We buried the bodies this morning."

She ran a hand through her tangled hair. "Well, I guess I've done murder now."

He nodded. "Deservedly so."

She waited for her befuddled brain to clear while trying to form a hundred questions in her mind. Where should she begin? "When did you return from the war?"

As if trying to recollect the date, he hesitated. "I suppose it's been two weeks now."

"How did you find out I'd been kidnapped?" The next question rolled off her tongue before he had time to answer the first. "And, how did you happen to meet my sister?"

He began with the attack on New Ulm, followed by the massacre in the cornfield. With every name he recounted, she closed her eyes and allowed the pent up tears to flow.

She opened them when he stopped talking, held her breath and asked the question she dreaded hearing the answer to. "Aunt Estelle... Uncle Mason?"

"Mace is gone, Lauren, but Estelle will make it."

"My boy, Finn?"

"Nelly hid him from the savages and he’s well."

Her tense shoulders sagged and the tears she spent now were borne of joy.

"You haven't asked about your
husband
?" He hissed the last word.

"Give me time to think," she snapped. "So tell me, why didn't Brand come instead of you?"

The emotions crossing his face terrified her—pain, guilt and subtle anger. "He
couldn't
come for you."

"Why not? Is he injured, wounded... what?"

A look of despair crossed his eyes. "I'm afraid it's much worse than that."

"No, it can't be true!" She brought her hand to her mouth, choking on the bile in her throat. Her shoulders shook and the rasping noise from her lips sounded alien.

"I guess that makes you a young widow."

She winced and tried to block out the anger she saw in the icy eyes. "He's your brother, Creed."

"Yes, he is, and your husband."

With a feeling of suffocation, she bounded to her feet. "Yes, I married Brand, a kind, honorable man, and—"

"A man so willing to pick up where I left off!" He rose like a loose-limbed jungle cat.

Her whole body quaked as they faced off like enraged badgers. "Don't you dare defile him, turn this into something dirty. What did you expect when you took off after... after—"

"Well, whatever I expected, it doesn't matter now, does it, because the moment I left the fucking territory you climbed into my brother's bed!" He stared at her, his jaw twitching, the gray eyes so dark and hot, he might as well have branded her with an iron.

"Oh, you are a selfish bastard in the highest regard. You took what you wanted with little thought for anyone else." She advanced and looked up into the face she had dreamed about for a century it seemed. Rage yielded to unbridled fury. "And I hated you for that! I hate you still!"

His perfect features inches from hers, he said cold-voiced, "Good, because I hate you too."

Voices drifted through the trees as Sage and Wanapaya entered camp. Stillness settled over Creed, but he refused to give ground. Her vision blurred and her heart picked up an erratic rhythm. Through all the death and destruction surrounding them, she wanted him, more than she wanted him before he left for the war. Hate and desire mingled in his eyes and she drowned in the fathomless depths.

"Why, Lauren? Why did you marry him?"

She turned away, walked to his bedroll and grabbed a clean shirt. Flinging it over her shoulder, and unable to control her voice, she said, "I'm going to the river to bathe."