Once an Outlaw (13 page)

“Poor kid must have run away.” His face was taut. “Go inside. I’ll find him.”

Find him?
With terror pounding through her like an iron hammer, Emily turned toward the open Colorado wilderness, scanning the wild land in every direction, the hills and buttes and canyons, the dipping, meandering curves of the valley, the creek …

The creek
. A fresh terror filled her. She bolted toward the creek bank, but Clint caught her and swung her around.

“I’ll go. Get inside,” he ordered. “If he isn’t down there I’ll…”

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do!” Her voice throbbed with fear and with fury. “I’ll be damned if I’ll stay here while you go and look for him!” She shook him off and started to run once more, but he seized her again, this time by the shoulders. He spun her around and gave her a shake as rain poured down around them.

“The storm’s only going to get worse, Emily,” he shouted over the wind. “You’re already soaked. The boy will be fine, I’ll see to that—”

“You’ll have to hogtie me to keep me from searching
for him!” she shouted back. She pushed him away. “He’s my friend’s
son
, he’s
my
responsibility! I promised Lissa I’d keep him safe!”

Her voice cracked and unbidden tears sprang from her eyes. Furious, driven by terror, she dashed them away and gazed into Clint’s eyes, her own filled with a desperate determination. “
I have to find him!”

As the rain streamed down the brim of his hat, Clint studied the soaked, beautiful girl before him and saw the frantic fear that gripped her. There was no way Emily Spoon would wait and pace helplessly in the cabin while he rode out looking for the boy. Arguing with her was useless. And a waste of time.

“Then we’ll both search for him.” He grabbed her arm. “Come on!”

But there was no sign of Joey along the creek bank, and Emily stared at the churning water in terror.

He might not have come this way
, she told herself, and realized it was a prayer.
Please don’t let him have come this way
.

“He could have headed in any direction.” Clint pulled her away from the creek. “Let’s go—we’ll cover more ground on horseback.”

“And if we split up,” Emily called out as she started at a run for the barn.

Joey was out here in this storm, probably thinking John Armstrong knew where he was—believing that the man of his nightmares was after him.

Why, oh why, had she spoken Armstrong’s name aloud when Joey was anywhere around? What was she thinking?

You were thinking about Clint Barclay, that’s what
, she realized with a rush of guilt. Distracted by Clint, she’d
been careless and stupid. It was her fault Joey had run away. Her fault.

My God, what if I don’t find him—what will I tell Lissa?

The rain fell in torrents, the wind screamed in her ears, and Emily raced for the barn, every bone in her body shaking with despair.

EROCIOUS AS A WOLF, THE STORM
snarled across the foothills and tore through Beaver Rock. The wind and sideways-slashing rain drowned out Emily’s voice as over and over she called Joey’s name. She didn’t know the region well—she’d only ridden out this way once before with Pete—but she did recognize the steep ravines that bordered Beaver Rock, the wild and craggy trails strewn with rocks and mountain ash and brilliant purple columbine. In the midst of the storm, a savage beauty gripped this wild stretch of the foothills, but she saw nothing of the rain-drenched wild roses or bluebells, of the beauty of white fir trees or snowberry shrubs trembling in the wind. She saw only the driving rain, the harsh and treacherous hills, the dangerous ravines, where a little boy could be roaming, dwarfed by the huge rocks, terrified and alone on those slippery slopes…

She forced herself to ignore the rain and the raging wind that nearly unseated her, forced herself to ride slowly, deliberately, twisting in the saddle to scan every crack and crevice of the slick trails, squinting through the downpour as her mare picked her way below, around and then up and up toward the crest of Beaver Rock.

Beneath the brim of her hat, and beneath the thick yellow slicker that shrouded the dry clothes she’d quickly changed into before setting out on the search, Emily’s heart grew heavier and heavier.

There was no sign of Joey.

Or of Uncle Jake.

She’d checked the line cabin he’d mentioned and had spotted cattle huddling here and there beneath stands of box elder, but she hadn’t seen her uncle anywhere. Her hopes that he could join the search and increase the chance of finding Joey had all but disintegrated.

She prayed Clint Barclay was having better luck.

Clint had headed toward Pine Canyon and had promised to keep an eye out for Lester. The more people joining the search, the better, Emily had pointed out as she’d fastened the slicker over her riding garb and led her palomino mare, Nugget, from the barn.

That had been hours ago. And still the lightning and the thunder raged. Her mare was shaking, and reared up in panic at each flash from the sky. If Nugget was this frightened, how must Joey feel? Emily wondered in dismay. The very thought of him wandering out here lost and alone made her want to scream.

But screaming wouldn’t help. She had to find him.
Soon
.

“Whoa, girl—easy,” she muttered as the mare danced sideways after a particularly loud roar of thunder. “Steady, girl, hold steady.”

Desperately she scanned the landscape, a nightmare of solid, rising rock, whirling tumbleweed, driving rain. The wind tore at the new spring leaves and whistled deafeningly in her ears.

“Joey!” she screamed yet again.
“Joey!
”

Something moved—
there
—down in the ravine. Just a
shift of movement, but perhaps … Her heart pounding with a sudden hope, Emily spurred Nugget in that direction.

“Joey! Are you down there?”

Clenching the reins, she whispered a prayer of hope as the mare started down the slippery trail. But suddenly she saw that what she’d glimpsed was only a badger—it darted across the trail just as a streak of golden lightning exploded across the sky. Almost simultaneously, thunder boomed, then another flash of lightning sizzled, striking an aspen only ten feet away.

Nugget reared straight up, whinnying in terror, while Emily fought to stay in the saddle.

“Whoa, girl!” she cried, but it was too late. The panicked mare reared up even higher than before, and this time Emily was thrown from the saddle. Pain shot through her as she hit the earth, and small squares of white light danced before her eyes.

Then yet another slash of lightning arced overhead, sending the mare bolting down the trail.

“Nugget!” Emily called frantically after her. “Nugget!”

But the palomino never slowed and as Emily watched in despair, she galloped frenziedly out of sight.

No
, Emily thought in dazed disbelief.
No! This can’t be happening. I have to find Joey
.

Pain and dizziness washed over her, but she fought them off. Summoning all her determination, she tried to stand, but the agony that squeezed through her ankle as she tried to put her weight on it made her gasp. Tears smarted in her eyes.

Unable to bear the pain, Emily sank to the ground again and peered around her through the driving rain.

I must be about four miles from the line cabin
, she
thought bleakly. She knew it might as well have been four
hundred
.

But staying here wouldn’t do any good. She had to find some kind of shelter, even if she had to crawl to it. If night fell, and no one came this way to find her, it would get bitterly cold this high up in the foothills. Not to mention that the trail was already swirling with water—it could easily flood…

Trying to block out the throbbing in her ankle and the rain soaking her face, Emily gritted her teeth and began to crawl.

“What the hell are you doing here, Barclay?” Lester Spoon demanded. “I oughta horsewhip you!”

Half a mile from the rim of Pine Canyon, with the rain pouring down all round them, running off their hats and their slickers, Lester glared at Lonesome’s sheriff. “You scared this boy to death!” he yelled over a blast of thunder. “And in case you haven’t noticed, he’s hurt—fell into a gully, no thanks to you. Now get out of my way, I’m taking him home.”

Clint barely spared the freckle-faced giant a glance. He was studying Joey, seated before Lester in the saddle, tiny as a burr. The boy’s thin face was dirty and tear-streaked, and a blood-soaked bandanna that must have been Lester’s was wrapped around his right hand. Relief that the boy was safe flooded Clint—but so did concern for Emily, searching even now at Beaver Rock.

The storm was worsening every moment—the real brunt of it closing in fast.

“You all right, Joey?” Clint shouted, his horse edging in closer as thunder rumbled. “What happened to your hand?”

“I f-fell, Sheriff,” the boy answered on a gulp, huddling against Lester’s big frame. “When I was running away from the bad man. He’s coming after me, isn’t he?” Joey yelled, shrinking against Lester. “I know he is—I heard you and Em-ly talking—”

“Hold on, Joey—you’ve got it all wrong.” Clint’s voice was raised so that he could be heard over the wind, but it held steely calm. He looked directly into the boy’s panicked eyes. “No one’s coming after you. The bad man left town—he never even knew you were here, thanks to Emily.”

“R-really? You … sure, Sheriff?”

“I swear it, Joey. You’re safe,” Clint yelled. “Emily will explain it all to you later—right now you need to get home and out of this storm!”

“You hear that, Lester?” Joey twisted around in the saddle to give the big man a wavery smile. “I’m safe!”

“Sure you are.” Lester clapped a hand to the boy’s shoulder. “I told you—no one’s going to hurt you, not while you’re with us.”

“Is Em-ly mad at me?” Joey shouted at Clint over the rain.

Clint shook his head. “No, but she’s awfully worried about you. I’m headed out to find her and let her know you’re safe—”

“Find her?” Lester demanded. “What the hell do you mean ‘find her’?”

“She’s out by Beaver Rock, looking for Joey!”

A sudden violent gust roared all around them, whipping the horses’ manes and tossing the leaves on the aspens.

Consternation crossed Lester’s face. “Damn! Em’s all alone in this storm? This is
your
fault, Barclay!”

Clint was too concerned about Emily to waste any
more time arguing with Lester Spoon. “She’s hoping to run into your father,” he yelled, turning his horse toward Beaver Rock. “Maybe she will and maybe she won’t—but I’m going to let her know Joey’s safe. And bring her back!”

“You stay away from her, Barclay! My pop’s out there—he’ll take care of her. Or I’ll send Pete—”

“Do whatever the hell you want, Spoon,” Clint shouted, his face grim. “But I’m going to Beaver Rock to find her—
now
”

“Damn it, Barclay—we don’t need you to look after—”

But Clint was already gone, spurring his horse toward the foothills. As another streak of lightning split the sky, Joey gasped and ducked his head and Lester muttered, “It’s all right, Joey. Emily will be fine.”

“You …
sure
?”

“That sheriff’ll find her. If there’s one thing he’s damned good at, it’s tracking. But he’d better not even
touch
her, if he knows what’s good for him.”

Then he spurred his horse too, as the sky darkened to a murky green and the rain pounded like nails and the bay horse flew along the trail toward the ranch.

Silver rain pummeled the rocks and the mountains, bent the aspens, and sent the wild creatures diving and digging for cover. Dust and stones flew, lightning raked the savage sky, and the night roared like a lion.

Clint Barclay rode through the fury and the thunder and searched for the midnight-haired woman on a golden horse.

Where before he had shouted the boy’s name, now he called out the woman’s. “Emily! Emily, where are you?”

The wind snatched away his voice and his words, but he only yelled louder, controlling his skittish horse as he controlled the alarm thrumming inside him.

“Emily!”

Squinting against the rain that streamed from the wide brim of his hat, Clint scanned the wild night in every direction. Not only hadn’t he come upon Emily Spoon, either upon Beaver Rock or at the line cabin a few miles away, he hadn’t run across Jake Spoon either. He wondered if she’d already found her uncle, if they were both still out there searching in ever-widening circles for Joey. Or had Emily not come across her uncle at all—was she instead out here in the storm all alone—somewhere …

But where?

His gut clenched as the unbidden and unpleasant thought occurred to him that maybe she hadn’t even made it this far. Maybe something had happened to her along the way.

He rode on doggedly, all of his mind and being intent on the search, blocking out as best he could the battering wind and rain, the crashes of thunder that sounded like cannon fire as they echoed through the canyons and ravines.

A tumbleweed hurled across his path and his horse reared.

Damn it
, he thought, gripping the reins and staring through the madness of the storm,
where is she?

It was possible, he reflected as the rain ran in hard icy rivulets down the length of his slicker, that she’d turned back before he even got here. But he doubted it. If Emily thought there was even the slightest chance Joey was out here lost in the storm, she wouldn’t have turned back until she found him.

She was the most stubborn woman he’d ever met.

And undoubtedly the most loyal.

But where the hell was she?

Suddenly a sound pierced the fury even of the storm, a sound Clint recognized instantly.

A gunshot. And it had come from due west.

He jerked on the reins, every muscle knotted with tension as he galloped in the direction of the shot.

He saw her in the next brilliant blaze of lightning that seemed to light up the entire state.

She was huddled in her slicker, on the ground, a gun in her hand. He spurred his horse forward and saw the snake lying dead not five feet from where she crouched, the little derringer gripped between her fingers. It was a prairie rattler, Clint realized in alarm—poisonous as hell.

Her pale face lifted to his and tension shot through every muscle in his body as he saw her drained features, her eyes bright with fear. Vaulting from the saddle, he reached her in two quick strides.

“Are you hurt? Did it bite you?” he demanded, hunkering down beside her.

“N-no—I shot it first. But my ankle—it’s twisted … Did you find Joey?” Desperately she searched his face.

“Lester found him.” Frowning, Clint noted that she was shivering—badly. Her lips were blue. “He’s fine, except for a few scraped fingers. They’re back at the cabin by now, no doubt warm and dry—which is what you ought to be.”

For a moment Emily forgot all about the storm, about the pain slicing through her ankle and the icy chill creeping through her bones even as the rain pelted her face. Joey was safe.
Safe
. Relief filled every part of her, obliterating everything else.