Outlaw’s Bride (36 page)

Ethan sank down onto the mattress at the far end of the bed. He leaned his head against the foot post. “So it was all for nothing. All that running.
All those years in jail. The murder of my father. The loss of—”

“Your father wasn’t murdered. He got sick and died.”

Ethan rose like an avenging angel and towered over Trahern. His face contorted with rage. “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t give Chester Felber the arsenic he put in the whiskey that was delivered to my father.”

“
Arsenic!
I sure as hell did
not
!” Trahern blustered. “I never did a thing to hurt your family. My argument wasn’t with them. It was with you.”

“You didn’t rustle my father’s cattle, or pay someone to do it?”

Trahern shook his head. “I did not.”

Ethan was perplexed. He had blamed every bad thing in his life on Jefferson Trahern. He had just assumed Trahern was guilty. But if not Trahern, then who?

Who had raped Merielle Trahern? Who had blackmailed the Felbers? Who had misdirected Ethan at the mercantile so Lilian Felber could warn Chester and allow him to escape? Who had found the arsenic in the barn? Who had gotten rich over the years on Judas silver?

Boyd Stuckey
.

But why would Boyd want to kill Alex Hawk? And why poison Ethan’s mother? How much of the calamity he and his family had suffered could actually be laid at Boyd’s doorstep? Ethan wanted answers—answers he could get only from Boyd himself.

Ethan walked away from Trahern to the oval
mirror that was set over a dry sink that separated two paneled wardrobes. When he got there, he couldn’t look at his reflection. He was afraid of what he would see. Horror. Disgust. Hatred. Loathing. Malice. Dark, malevolent emotions that were new to him. Feelings that rose when he thought of the man who had been his best friend.

He poured some water from the pitcher into the bowl at the dry sink, washed Trahern’s blood from his hands, and dried them on a shaving towel.

“Are you okay?” Trahern asked.

Ethan barked a laugh. “That sounds odd coming from you.”

“I suppose it does.”

Ethan threw the shaving towel onto the dry sink and turned to face Trahern. “Dorne’s death was an accident,” he blurted. “I never meant to kill him. He pulled his gun, and we fought and the gun accidentally went off.”

Trahern sighed. “I suppose, ultimately, Boyd Stuckey has to answer for Dorne, too.” He eyed Ethan. “I wonder which of us Boyd has made a bigger fool of.”

“He was my best friend,” Ethan said bitterly. “I suppose that makes me the bigger idiot. I thought I knew him, but I never did. I don’t. What I can’t understand is
why
?”

“I can offer at least one reason,” Trahern said. In brief, breathless phrases he explained, “It’s still not definite, but there’s a good chance the railroad’s coming to Oakville. Their proposed route cuts right across your father’s land. It’ll make your property worth a fortune.”

“So money was at the root of all his evil?”

“A great deal of it, anyway,” Trahern said.

“Are you all right here by yourself for a while?”

“I suppose I can manage if you bring me that rifle over the mantel. You heading anyplace in particular?”

“As long as you’re alive, it’s safe for me to go to the sheriff,” Ethan said.

“Would you keep an eye out for Merielle?” Trahern’s eyes were bleak. “I’m hoping and praying she got away. Because if she didn’t …”

“If anything’s happened to her, Boyd will pay,” Ethan said. “He’ll pay for everything.”

Ethan watched from concealment as a crowd of men led by the sheriff rode down Main Street on tired, sweaty horses. He wasn’t sure who they had been chasing, but he could make a good guess. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, he kept to the alleys and let himself in through the back door of the old rock jail.

Careless froze in his chair when he felt the bore of a gun in his back. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” Ethan said.

“Been out lookin’ for you,” Careless said. “Heard you killed Jefferson Trahern.”

“Put your hands where I can see them, Careless,” Ethan said.

Careless slowly raised his hands in the air and swiveled his chair around to face Ethan. “You gonna kill me, too, Ethan?”

“Nope. Just want a little information.”

“Sure.”

“Have you seen Boyd today?”

“He’s the one told us how you killed Trahern.”

“Trahern isn’t dead, just wounded. He was shot in the back by Boyd Stuckey.”

“Aw, hell.” Careless laced his hands together on top of his balding head. “You want me to arrest Stuckey?”

“Not before I have a chance to talk to him.”

“I’m sorry ’bout what happened to that old man and your sister.”

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. “When did you see Leah?”

“We went huntin’ you at the Double Diamond. Boyd started askin’ questions, but your ma wasn’t givin’ him any answers. Then that old man, Corwin Marshall, turned up in the chicken coop. He wouldn’t talk, either. Boyd got a little rough, I guess.”

“You guess?” Ethan interrupted curtly. “Where does Leah come into this story.”

“Well, Boyd was threatenin’ your ma, and Leah come outta nowhere and jumped on Boyd’s back and started scratchin’ him like a she-cat. Can’t blame a man for defendin’ hisself.”

Ethan stiffened. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Boyd hurt Leah?”

Careless realized suddenly that he was looking death in the face. He swallowed hard. “He let her go ’fore it come to that.”

Ethan was on his way out the back door when he stopped abruptly and said, “Have you seen Merielle Trahern today?”

“Yeah. She was with Frank, both her and Miz
Kendrick, when the lynch—uh, when the posse got to the Tumblin’ Tbrandin’ fire. That’s where Miz Hawk told Boyd we’d find you. Course, we didn’t. Boyd sent us all back here and stayed to visit with ’em.”

Ethan was gone before Careless could finish his sentence. From what Trahern had said, Merielle was in mortal danger. He was already spurring his horse before he acknowledged his fears for Patch. If Merielle had told Patch about Boyd—and why wouldn’t she?—Patch’s life was in just as much peril. Ethan’s chest squeezed tight, and he fought to draw breath.

All the questions in his mind concerning how he felt about Patch Kendrick were answered in the moment Ethan realized he might lose her forever. Life without her was unthinkable. He wanted a chance to explore all the different facets of her personality—the lady and the hoyden. He wanted the chance to love her in all the ways he never had.

Ethan knew that fear made a man too careful. He needed every advantage he could find if he was to win against a villain as ruthless as the one he chased. He swallowed back his terror for Patch as he raced toward a showdown with Boyd Stuckey.

Patch was searching desperately in her mind for a way to disarm and capture Boyd without someone getting shot. She could see it wouldn’t take much provocation for Frank to draw his gun, but the danger to herself and Merielle constrained
Frank from acting. The two women were bound to get caught in the crossfire if there was a gunfight.

“I’m going to head on back to town,” Boyd said. “Why don’t I take these two ladies off your hands so you can get back to work?”

Patch watched Frank’s gray eyes darken like storm clouds. Before he could speak and ruin everything, she said, “Frank’s going to take Merielle home. But I’d be grateful for the escort.”

“It’s no trouble to take both women,” Boyd assured Frank.

Frank tightened the protective arm he had around Merielle. “I’ll take care of Merielle.”

Again, Patch was afraid Frank would say too much and provoke the gunfight she was trying so desperately to avoid. She took the few steps that separated her from Boyd and linked her arm through his.
Just let him try to get the gun out of his holster now!
she thought.

Boyd realized that he had lost whatever chance he might have had of going off alone with both women. At least he had Patricia. He could take care of Frank and Merielle while they were on their way home.

Patch watched Frank open his mouth to object to her going off alone and hurriedly said, “Don’t worry about me.” The rest of what she had to say, she spoke with her eyes as she met Frank’s worried gaze.
Find Ethan fast! Come and get me, but be careful!

Patch looked over her shoulder once as she rode away with Boyd. Frank and Merielle were already headed for their horses.

Boyd remained broodingly silent until they were well away from the Tumbling Tampfire. Then he said, “Ethan won’t get to you in time.”

Patch jerked her head around to stare at Boyd. “What did you say?”

Boyd’s lip curled up. It was his charming smile, but with a cruel twist. “I said Ethan won’t be in time to save you.”

“Save me from what?”

“Don’t play stupid with me,” Boyd said curtly. “I think you understand very well what’s going on here.”

“Why don’t you spell it out for me? Just so there’s no misunderstanding.”

Boyd chose actions, rather than words, to make his point. Before she realized what he had in mind, Boyd shoved her out of the saddle. She hit the ground hard and was still trying to catch her breath when he arrived beside her with a short piece of rawhide, which he used to tie her hands in front of her. Then he yanked her to her feet.

When she tried kicking him, he swept a boot under the leg she was standing on, and she found herself flat on the ground again. He grabbed her by her hair, which had fallen free, and pulled her painfully to her feet.

“Try that again, and you’ll wish you hadn’t,” he said in a nasty voice.

“Ethan will kill you!”

“Not before I have a chance to enjoy your charms.” Boyd looked her up and down with lust in his eyes. He dug his hands into her buttocks
hard enough to bruise her. “I like you in pants, Patricia. I can see what I’m getting.”

Patch ignored him.

He roughly fondled her breast through her blouse and grinned as he pinched her nipple.

Patch spat in his face.

Boyd slapped her hard. “Don’t play high and mighty with me! I’d be willing to bet Ethan’s been between your legs. You’re no lady, that’s for sure!”

“You’re not even human!” Patch retorted.

Boyd barely restrained himself from hitting her again. He wiped the spittle from his face with his sleeve. “Don’t make me angry, Patricia. I’ve discovered I have a bad temper. Sometimes it gets out of control and bad things happen.”

“Like Merielle’s rape!” Patch accused.

“Like Merielle’s rape,” Boyd confirmed.

Patch shivered. When Boyd was done with her, he would kill her and bury her where no one would ever find her. This was a time when she needed to use her wits instead of her fists. Especially since her fists happened to be tied up at the moment.

“All right, Boyd,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t kill me.”

Boyd smirked. “I might be tempted to keep you around for a while if you’re a lot nicer to me.”

“Oh, I will be,” Patch assured him.

“How about a little test.”

“What kind of test?” Patch asked warily.

“Give me one of those kisses you’ve been guarding so carefully.”

Patch swallowed back the gag that rose at the
thought of kissing Boyd Stuckey.
Better a kiss than a bullet
. Given that choice, Patch figured she could suffer through it.

“All right,” she said. “Untie my hands first.” She held them out in front of her.

“Sure. Why not? I like a little spit and fire in a woman.”

Patch watched while Boyd untied her. Her hands were still numb as his mouth lowered toward her. Her body tensed, and her spine went rigid. She kept her mouth firmly shut.

Boyd wasn’t having that. He grabbed her cheeks with his hand, forced her mouth open, and thrust his tongue inside.

The skills Patch had learned fighting boys as a hoyden of twelve stood her in good stead now. She bit him at the same time as her clawed fingers scratched at his face and her knee came up hard between his legs. While Boyd was bent over bleating like a new-sheared sheep, Patch ran for her horse. The animal had been ground-tied, which meant the reins had been left trailing so the horse could graze, but wouldn’t go far.

Unfortunately, one of the dragging reins had caught between two rocks, and refused to come free. Her desperate tugs only seemed to lodge it more firmly. At last, she yanked it clear.

But it all took too much time. She managed to get a foot in the stirrup, reached for the horn, and lifted her other leg halfway over the horse before she was hauled back out of the saddle.

Boyd’s temper had obviously gone a degree past
hot. He was still bent over from the pain of her attack, and he was out for revenge.

“As long as I’m bent over, you might as well join me,” he snarled. He hit her in the stomach with his fist as hard as he could.

Patch fell to her knees and curled into a ball. He didn’t try to pick her up to hit her again, he just kicked her.

“That’s enough, Boyd.”

Boyd cursed the fact that Patch was so doubled over with pain that she couldn’t stand on her own. She would be more of a liability to him as dead weight than useful as a shield. He turned to face Ethan with nothing more separating them than twenty feet of Texas grass.

Ethan had his Colt in his hand. It was aimed at Boyd’s heart.

“Hello, Ethan. You’re a little early. I’m not finished with her yet.”

“You’re finished, Boyd. I’d say you’ve done quite enough damage for one lifetime. Get rid of your gun. Do it nice and slow. I won’t need much provocation to shoot you like the rabid dog you are.”

Boyd slowly pulled his gun out of the holster.

“Throw it as far as you can,” Ethan instructed.

Boyd hesitated an instant, as though he was deciding whether to take a chance on using his gun.

“Don’t try it,” Ethan said. “You’d be dead before you hit the ground.”

The gun went flying in a shiny arc as sunshine reflected off blue metal. It soared high but didn’t
go far, maybe fifteen feet, and slid to rest under a mesquite bush. Boyd noted where it landed.

“Patch, are you all right?” Ethan asked.