Open Country (51 page)

She blinked at him, a hand on her cheek, her ears ringing from the blow. As she struggled to gather her thoughts, she noted the scarf had slipped down almost to his chin.

He drew back his arm.

“Yes! Yes, I have it.” As she spoke, she reached into her right pocket and felt for the vial that held the solution of carbolic acid and chloroform.

“No tricks, lovey,” he warned, his eyes narrow and crafty. “Or I’ll do things to you that you could never even imagine in that empty little head of yours.”

“N-No. I’ve got it. It’s right here.” Thumbing the stopper loose, she gripped the vial tight in her gloved hand.

“Then let’s have it, lovey.” He let go of her horse’s bridle and held out his hand. “I’m out of patience.”

She jerked the bottle from her pocket and swept her arm in an arc, slinging the caustic contents over her mount’s head and his horse’s rump and directly into Hennessey’s face.

Hennessey screamed and clawed at his eyes. His horse reared. Cursing and reeling in the saddle, Hennessey grabbed for the reins as the animal’s back hooves slipped on the icy rocks at the edge of the drop-off. For an instant the terrified horse hung in the air, front legs flailing, then it toppled backward. Molly heard a scream that could have been from the horse or the rider. Then a clattering cascade of falling rocks.

Frightened by the sudden commotion, Molly’s gelding hopped and lunged. Fearing he would lose his footing, too, Molly fought desperately to bring him under control. When finally he stood shivering, his sides pumping, his breath steaming in the cold air, Molly was shaking so badly she could hardly hold on to the reins.

She gave him a moment more, then turned the gelding toward a cluster of low scrub. Dismounting onto wobbly legs, she tied his reins to a sage bush, then stood for a moment, listening. All she heard was her horse’s labored breathing and her own pulse thudding in her ears. After checking to be sure she still had the syringe of laudanum in her left coat pocket, she moved cautiously to the edge of the drop-off and peered down.

The gully was bigger than she had expected. Maybe forty feet across and almost that many feet deep. The sides were steep and littered with boulders and loose snow-covered rocks. Both Hennessey and his horse lay motionless at the bottom.

The horse’s neck was at an impossible angle. Several yards past it, Hennessey lay sprawled on his back, arms spread. Even through the drifting snow, she could see that he had several cuts on his head and face. One of the head wounds bled so profusely she knew his heart was still beating. She sat for a time, watching him, but saw no movement, and he never opened his eyes.

She should leave, get Brady and bring him back to dispose of this vermin.

But what if Hennessey regained consciousness while she was gone and was waiting in ambush when they returned?

Or she could leave and hope he never woke up and froze to death in the snow.

And if he lived?

No. It would be intolerable not knowing for sure that Hennessey was dead and no longer a threat. She couldn’t live in endless fear, wondering if and when he would show up again.

This had to end now.

And she had to be the one to do it.

On trembling legs, she started down into the gully.

 

 

THE WORST OF THE STORM HAD PASSED ON TO THE EAST BY the time Hank spotted the arched gate rising out of the snow ahead. Relieved, he spurred his tired horse toward the house. But relief quickly faded when he saw the horses and riders milling in the yard and his brother shouting orders from the porch.

As they rode up, Brady charged down the steps to meet them. “Molly’s gone.”

Hank rocked back in the saddle, the words striking him with the force of a blow. “Gone where?”

Before Brady could answer, Penny slammed out of the house, waving her doll. “Papa-Hank, Papa-Hank! Aunt Molly was supposed to find where the monster put Miss Apple’s hands, but now she’s gone and will you find them for me?”

Monster?
“Hennessey?” Hank stared in growing horror at Penny, then Brady, then the empty expanse stretching in all directions. Had he come too late?

Brady frowned up at him. “Hennessey? I thought he was long gone. I thought Fletcher—”

“Fletcher’s dead. And he wasn’t the one who hired him.” Hank’s mind spun in circles. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t catch his breath.

Brady yelled at someone to bring a fresh horse, then helped Charlie dismount. “Take him and Penny to Consuelo,” he told one of the men standing by the porch. “And have her send out coffee and food.”

“We don’t have time for that!” Hank swung stiffly from the saddle. How could his brother even think of food while Molly was out there lost? Or worse.

“You’re frozen,” Brady argued. “If you hope to stay in the saddle, you better get something warm in your belly.”

“Where could she be?” Hank demanded. “Have you sent trackers?”

“Miley and Hench found a trail heading west. One rider, shod horse. They think it’s one of ours. They’ll follow it and we’ll follow them, unless we find reason not to.”

Hank knew they wouldn’t be able to follow it far. The snow would have covered her tracks within minutes. “Was she alone?”

Brady nodded. “One of the Garcia boys saddled her horse. He says he told her not to go, that it would snow soon, but she said she was only going for a short ride and would stay close to the house. At least that’s what he thinks she said. He’s not that good with English, and she’s got no Spanish.”

“Christ.” Hank studied the rolling valley, scanning for something dark moving against all that white. Not even cows marred the starkness of the new snow, no doubt waiting out the squall in the shelter of the trees spilling out of the canyons.

He had just ridden in from the northwest. He must have cut across her trail without even knowing it. The thought of being so close made him want to shout in frustration. “Damnit! Why would she ride off like that?”

“Maybe she just wanted some fresh air. She’s had a rough couple of days.”

Hank looked at his brother.

A reluctant smile creased Brady’s face. “The babies came. Twin boys.”

“Already? Is everybody all right?”

Brady nodded. “But it was another breech. Without Molly, I don’t think Jessica or the second baby would have made it. Thank God she was here.” He made a show of looking around. “Especially since it appears you forgot to bring Doc.”

“I didn’t wait for him, but he’s on his way.”

Hank scanned the valley again. He remembered how Molly told him that after a bad day in surgery she would find a high place to scream the tension away. Maybe that’s what she’d done. Maybe she’d just gone out for some fresh air and had lost her bearings when the squall came through. Maybe she was on her way home right now.

Or maybe Hennessey already had her.

The thought sent such fear through Hank for a moment he felt light-headed.

“Here,” Brady said, holding out the food and hot coffee Consuelo had sent.

Hank choked down what he could until the Garcia kid brought his fresh horse. A leggy bay with a hard mouth and cantankerous attitude, but a stride that could cover ground fast.

He was still chewing when he swung up into the saddle and headed west.

 

 

SLIPPING AND SLIDING OVER THE SNOW-COVERED ROCKS,

Molly carefully worked her way to the bottom of the gully. The wind wasn’t as strong below the rim, and although the snow continued to fall, it had changed from fluffy to small, denser flakes almost like sleet. It was so cold it didn’t immediately melt when it landed on Hennessey or the horse.

Hennessey still hadn’t moved.

Standing at a distance, Molly studied him, trying to assess his condition. He was breathing, and she could see he was still bleeding, but it had slowed somewhat in the cold. His eyes remained closed and showed little movement even when the snow landed on his closed lids. She moved cautiously forward. Just out of arm’s reach, she stopped and scanned for weapons.

She saw a scabbard tied to the saddle on the horse, but she wasn’t that familiar with rifles. Two belt buckles showed beneath the flap of Hennessey’s coat. She assumed one was a gun belt. Watching him for the slightest movement, she flipped back the coat, yanked the pistol from the holster, then jumped back.

He didn’t move.

She studied the gun. A revolver like Papa’s. Pulling the hammer to the half-cocked position, she checked the open back of the cylinder and saw that five of the six chambers were capped, with one empty chamber beneath the firing pin. She eased the hammer back down, then slipped the gun into the pocket of her coat.

Hennessey still hadn’t moved.

Bending, she checked his other hip. No second holster. She opened his coat to see if he wore any other guns or knives, but found none. Letting the coat fall closed, she rose and studied his body for other injuries.

From the angle of his right foot, she thought his lower leg or ankle might be broken. She nudged it.

No reaction.

Moving back out of reach, she sat on her heels, her shoulders hunched against the stinging snow, and tried to decide what to do. She couldn’t leave him. Not alive anyway. But she didn’t know if she could kill him either. If he threatened her, yes. But an unarmed, unconscious man? She didn’t know. She was a healer. Not a killer. And even though she hadn’t been allowed to take the Hippocratic Oath like a real doctor, Papa had drilled every word into her memory and had made her promise to abide by its principles to the best of her ability.

But neither of them had anticipated Hennessey.

Molly shivered as the cold wind seeped through the wool interfacing of her shearling coat. Even in heavy gloves, her hands were starting to go numb, and her toes ached with a vengeance despite the fleece lining of her boots. She had to make a decision soon, or they would both freeze to death. She had read that freezing wasn’t an unpleasant way to die, but she had no intention of finding out firsthand.

How long before Hennessey stopped breathing? How long could she wait?

Somewhere out on the flats a coyote howled. Then another, and another. The sound was eerie in the silence and made the nerves prickle under her skin. They would smell the blood. Or a cougar would. Or wolves. They would come as soon as it grew dark. Maybe sooner.

She couldn’t wait. She had to do something now.

She rose, then almost fell backward in fright when she saw Hennessey’s eyes were open. Fumbling in her pocket, she pulled out the gun, thumbed back the hammer so that a live round rested beneath the firing pin, and pointed the barrel at him.

He groaned. His lids fluttered closed.

She waited, the gun bobbing in her hands, her breath fogging the air.

His eyes opened again. Blinking against the tiny snowflakes peppering his face, he scanned an erratic arc without moving his head until his gaze found hers.

“Lovey.”

She watched, the pistol aimed at his face, waiting to see what he would do.

He just lay there, blinking groggily at her. Other than his eyes, he still hadn’t moved.

“Are you hurt?” she finally asked.

“My . . . head.”

“Anywhere else?”

“My face. Eyes. What did you do to me, bitch?”

Stepping closer, she nudged the leg she thought might be broken. He didn’t react.

“Can you move?”

A frown crossed his face. Then a grimace. With obvious effort he lifted his head an inch off the ground, then groaned and let it fall back. “What . . . happened?”

She lowered the pistol but kept it cocked. “Your horse fell on you. I think your back is broken.”

She watched that sink in. She sensed his efforts to move and his growing fear when he couldn’t. He started breathing hard and fast and a look of sheer terror crossed his scarred face. “Do something. You’re a healer. Do something!”

She uncocked the pistol and slipped it back into her pocket. “No.”

His eyes widened until white showed all around his dark irises. Air hissed through his bared yellow teeth. “You have to! You have to help me!”

“No, I don’t.” Dropping onto her heels, Molly folded her arms across her knees and looked at him. “You killed my father,” she said in a voice that sounded distant and flat even in her own ear. “You hurt me. You threatened my family. You don’t deserve to live.”

“Damn you, bitch! Do something!”

“No.” Molly rose.

On the flats, the coyotes howled again. More this time. Closer. She looked down at the monster sprawled at her feet. “Do you hear that,
lovey
? They’re coming for you. I’d start praying if I were you.” She turned and started up the slope.

“No! You can’t leave me!” Hennessey tried to scream, but his damaged voice made it sound like a dying gasp.

She kept climbing.

He kept screaming.

She tried not to listen.

“Shoot me, at least! Don’t let them eat me alive!”

She stopped and looked back, hating him, wanting him to suffer, relishing the vengeful satisfaction that coursed through her. “You won’t feel it. Your nerves are damaged. Except for the tugging and the sounds, you won’t even know. But while it’s happening, think about all the people you’ve hurt and the lives you’ve taken. Think about my father.” She started walking again.

“They’ll tear me apart!”

She climbed on, her breathing harsh and loud.

“Please . . . oh, God . . . help me.”

Unable to stop herself, she looked back.

He was weeping now. Staring blindly up at the snowy sky, a broken wreck of a man who was already half-dead.

She felt herself weaken and fought against it.
This is what he deserves. This is what Papa deserves.