Mittman, Stephanie (24 page)

"Cause
they're stupider than we are, for one thing," one of Jackson's companions
said, only to be cuffed by the other.

"They're
about a half a day behind us," Jackson said, his eyes still dancing over
Mary Grace's body. "Not that it'll matter to the two of you. They ran into
a renegade Injun and thought they'd have some fun with his squaw. Leastwise
Wilson and Harlin were gonna. It's like Mason's savin' himself for someone
else. Didn't seem interested in planting his rod in no red soil."

Come
on, Mary Grace, show how much that bothers you. Come on,
Sloan urged her
silently.

"What
kind of fun?" she asked, as though she had read his mind.

"Fun,
like we're gonna have with you," Jackson said, his meaning clear.

Sloan
turned to look at Mary Grace. He gave her a lazy once over as if he hadn't
really ever looked at her before, and then shrugged. "Suit yerself,"
he said to the three men who were beginning to drool at his
companion.
"If she's yer type. Course Mason Tate ain't gonna take too well to the
idea."

"What's
the woman to the Tates?" Jackson gestured in Mary Grace's direction with
the rifle. Sloan thought about rolling out of the way and grabbing for his gun,
but didn't dare risk it. There were three of them, two abler than he, one
injured but still capable of pulling a trigger if need be. It was more
important to ensure the safety of Sweet Mary and Ben in the event they killed
him, than to chance a fight he could easily lose.

"She's
Mason Tate's," he said, praying she wouldn't correct him and that Mason
himself hadn't told them otherwise. "The kid belongs to Emily. Touching a
hair on either of 'em is signing your own death warrant. Don't let me stop ya.
I hear fear is one a them aphrodisiacs. That what you said, Miz O'Reilly?"
He held his breath as he put one hand on her leg, patting her affectionately.

"Keep
your hands off me," she said levelly. "Or Mason will cut them off one
finger at a time before he tears you apart. I bet he's just counting the
minutes until he gets his hands on you." Except that her voice rose to a
full octave higher than he was used to, Sloan could hardly detect her terror.

"And
I know you'd enjoy watchin'," he said with a smile. "But I'm afraid
these men aim to do your man out of his pleasure." Her muscles tightened
under his hand, and he massaged them gently, almost idly, in the way that used
to drive women crazy. Jackson's eyes were on Sloan's hand, and his lips curled
at the edges.

"You
can say that twice, once for each of ya. Maybe a few times with her."
Jackson gestured toward Mary Grace. "Westin, I can't make up my mind
whether to shoot ya, plant my boots up your ass, or shake your hand. Ya got
more nerve than brains, my friend. Always did."

The
barrel of the rifle, Sloan's own rifle with the
silver dog embedded in the
handle, which Jackson had obviously stolen while Sloan and Mary Grace had been
busy with Ben, nuzzled against his side. Jackson pushed him farther and farther
away from Sweet Mary and the baby. Calling over his shoulder, Jackson said,
"What do you think, boys?" and the two men came fully into view.

Mary
Grace didn't show an ounce of fear. He'd been proud of her before. He'd thought
she was brave and strong. But she just kept getting braver and stronger as
things got worse and worse. You'd have thought she really was Mason Tate's
woman the way she sat there looking certain she was safe.

"So
what's it gonna be, Jackson?" he asked, watching as Jackson's two
traveling companions advanced toward them. "You lookin' to finish the job
Tate started?"

At
his words Mary Grace eased her body closer to his, and he prayed that her
bravado wouldn't fail her now.

"Let's
bring 'em both to Mason, like he told us to," one of the men said.

"The
baby was bitten by a snake," she said, reaching for the canteen which was
still in Sloan's hand. "He's running a fever."

Sloan's
eyes returned to Jackson, but he could sense that she was getting the baby to
take some water and tending to him as if nothing was happening.

"I
think his fever's going up," she said. "You feel him," she
ordered Sloan.

He
turned around and looked at Ben, sleeping peacefully against Mary Grace's body.
His chest rose and fell evenly, and Sloan reached out his hand and placed it on
the baby's head. Cool skin, without a trace of the earlier sweat, greeted his
palm. His body eased with relief.

"Shit!"
he said, feigning annoyance. Then to Jackson he said, "Y'all can do what
you like, but movin' this baby'll probably kill him. Not that I care, mind you,
but I
got a feeling Wilson might. He was pretty fond of Emily, you know."

"What's
the matter with the kid?" the man with the bandaged arm asked.

"Snakebite,"
Sloan said, gesturing toward the fire. "I shot it after it got him. You
can see what's left of him."

"Coral
snake," Mary Grace added. "That's why we've got him propped up. I
love this child like he was my own." Her voice cracked, and Sloan ached to
comfort her but didn't. "If anything happens to him, I'll watch Mason
roast you alive and I'll eat you for lunch."

Sloan
felt his eyebrows go up and fought to keep a straight face. He was glad Jackson
didn't know the girl couldn't even swallow prairie dog.

"I
ain't doin' anything what's gonna make them Tate boys any crazier than they
already are," the injured man said. "Let's just tie him up, and leave
the lady to take care of the kid. Harlin wants to do the deed right this time,
and Wilson wants to be there to see it done."

It
sounded like a good solution to Sloan, so he kept his mouth shut and prayed
that Mary Grace would, too.

"Wouldn't
think of deprivin' Mason Tate outta nothin' he might want," Jackson
agreed. "'Specially since we both have the same end in mind. Don't make no
difference to me whose gun is smokin', long as it's yer guts what's feedin' the
buzzards." He turned to Mary Grace and smiled. "Now Miz O'Reilly,
when your man catches up to y'all, you tell him to slice this here man's
privates in real small pieces for all the men what shared their wives with the
son of a bitch."

Mary
Grace shifted her legs, moving them out of Sloan's reach. "And your wife,
Mr. Jackson? Was she...?"

Jackson
stared at Sloan. "Some men ain't got no respect for another man's
property. They think any woman's pussy is theirs for the pettin'."

"Think
Mason would mind if we sampled his woman?" Williams asked, sauntering in
her direction and rubbing his crotch with his free hand.

"Mind?"
Sloan drawled as if he were giving it careful consideration. "All depends
on what you mean by mind. The Tates are mighty fond of any excuse to empty a
man of blood. Still, much as Harlin would enjoy seein' how many bullets he
could put in ya before ya up and die on 'em, I don't think it would make it up
to Mason for touchin' a hair on her head." His hand hovered at the top of
her leg, but never came in contact with her body.

The
men seemed to be considering whether it was worth the risk. Having lain with
Mary Grace himself, Sloan thought it just might be and was glad that if his
time had come, at least he'd tasted heaven before he got sent off to hell. But
he wasn't about to let them hurt Mary Grace and the baby, not even if he had to
die to stop them.

He
wasn't convinced that they had the sense to keep their hands off Mason's woman.
The three could easily overpower Mary Grace and himself even without his rifle.
He could put up a fight, but they would surely kill him. And if he didn't, they
would probably rape Sweet Mary. How many could he take out before he was dead?
His gun rested on the dirt just out of his reach, just a lunge away.

He
telegraphed a message with his eyes to Sweet Mary, who shook her head almost
imperceptibly. His face grew sterner, and still she resisted. Then, on his way
toward Mary Grace, Williams crossed in front of Jackson. It took only a second,
but Sloan used it to roll onto his stomach and reach out for his gun.

His
fingers had closed around the handle, one curling around the trigger, when
suddenly he felt a pain split the side of his head. After that, he felt
nothing.

***

They
tied Sloan's hands behind his back and then tied his left ankle with the same
rope, yanking his leg up. They tried to do the same with his right, despite Mary
Grace's warning that his leg no longer bent. It had to be sheer agony for him,
and she was grateful he was already unconscious from the rifle blow and felt
nothing. They staked the rope into the ground with a branch, and then they
turned their attention to Mary Grace and the baby.

"Sloan
Westin had quite the reputation, Miz Tate. He hurt you any?" Jackson
asked, raising Mary Grace's skirt slightly with the barrel of Sloan's rifle.

"No,"
she answered, pushing at her skirt and pulling the baby closer to her. Trying
to pretend that Sloan meant nothing to her was nearly impossible, but for Ben's
sake she had no choice.

"Well,
I ain't gonna hurt you, either. We're just gonna have a little fun, you and me.
Kinda pay Westin back for measuring my wife from the inside out."

"Well,
you better enjoy it, because it'll be your last hurrah. Mason Tate will do to
you just what Harlin did to that man," she said, gesturing toward Sloan
with her head.

"And
what's that?" he asked, moving her skirt with the rifle barrel until her
thighs were exposed, more interested in what he intended than in her response.

It
felt like a betrayal to bring up Sloan's injuries. Clearly, he wouldn't want
the truth known, especially since she was about to make it seem even more
embarrassing than it already was. She wished she could have thought faster,
wished she could have come up with some other threat, but she couldn't. So she
said simply, "Harlin Tate shot Sloan Westin in his privates, and I think
he was incapable of hurting me. It's also why he
kidnapped Emily's baby. It
doesn't appear he'll be fathering any more children of his own."

It
was as close to the truth as she could afford to come.

Finished
with tying up Sloan, Williams shook his head. "Maybe this ain't such a
great idea, Jackson. Maybe we should just get goin' before Tate and his
brothers show up."

"This
won't take long."

Beyond
Jackson, Williams raised the gun he had taken away from Sloan. "I ain't
losin' my short arm just to get some sand up my ass in the middle of
nowheres."

"No
one's invitin' you to this party," Jackson said, the barrel of the rifle
now between Mary Grace's breasts, pushing just hard enough to make her lean
back until she was fully prone on the ground, the baby slipping off her hip.

"I've
got to keep Be... Horace upright," she warned. "Move the rifle and
let me sit up."

The
hammer of Sloan's own gun clicked as Williams pulled back on it. Jackson rose
slightly, straightening, but remained crouched over Mary Grace's body.

"Mason
Tate ain't gonna care who did and who didn't grind her bottom into the ground,
Jackson. Don't make me pull this trigger. I got no desire to kill ya. Hell,
I'll treat you to the prettiest whore in Jerome."

The
injured man, Kyle, reappeared before Mary Grace had even noticed he was gone.
Riding one of their horses, he held the reins to Climber, who followed behind.
Mary Grace must have gasped, because Jackson's attention returned to her.

"Well,
the little lady's got a fine sense of priorities. She's more afraid of losing
her horse than her pussy! Such a big horse. Such a little pussy. Maybe you'd
like to reconsider?"

"Come
on, Jackson. She ain't Westin's woman, she's Tate's. You remember what Mason
Tate said? Westin'll get what he deserves from them, and we'll be out of it.
Get on the horse, now." Kyle held out the reins.

Jackson
stood at last, glaring down at Mary Grace ominously, his features lit by what
remained of the fire. "You tell Mason we didn't hurt you none," he
ordered her. "You tell him we saved you from Westin and left him tied up
like a Christmas present."

"You
can't take our horse," Mary Grace pleaded. "And all the guns. We'll
die out here." She thought of the snakes, the lack of food and water, the
Tates. She remembered Sloan's words: "Take a man's horse in the desert,
might as well kill him on the spot." She began to cry as she looked down
at Ben, who was beginning to fuss. "Leave us a horse and a gun, and I'll
tell Mason anything you want."

There
was only silence for a moment while her offer hung in the air. Then Jackson
began unbuckling his belt.

"I
didn't mean..." Mary Grace said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He
pulled out his manhood, thick and hard in his own hand, and began to come
toward her. Her legs locked together, and her breath stopped in her chest.

"Jackson!"
one of his companions yelled. Mary Grace scurried backward, the baby clutched
to her, now awake and screaming in her ear, his screams mixing with her own.