Ransom (23 page)

When he got to the pale boulder Ederle had indicated, Taylor stopped and ostentatiously removed the saddlebags
from his shoulder and held them high for Ederle to see. The left side bag held his dirty laundry, the right his spare horseshoe, nails, and rasp in case of the need for hoof repair along the way.

Taylor placed the bags on top of the waist-high boulder, spreading them apart so Ederle could see both halves at once. Then he started back up toward Dick Hahn.

“Stay where you are,” Ederle shouted. “Don't come back up. Go back.”

Taylor gave Hahn a helpless look. Then he turned around and started back down to the trees.

 

Jessica Taylor

They were down there. So close. So helpless. She had seen the calculating look on the man's face. Seen the way he so very carefully reloaded that pistol. He intended to use the gun. She was sure of it. He intended to kill Dick. John as well, probably. And if he did that he would surely kill her and Loozy too.

Jessica squeezed her eyes tightly closed and began to cry, neither of which helped in the slightest.

She opened her eyes again and leaned away from the rock wall where she had been sitting. She disengaged herself from the arm Loozy had over her shoulders and came into a crouch.

The man, that son of a bitch kidnapping man, was standing at the edge, looking down at the men. Men who loved her. Men who were going to die because of loving her.

No. It was too much.

Jess patted Loozy's knee.

Then she launched herself at the bastard's back.

Chapter 29

Hahn heard a grunt, an explosion of suddenly expelled air, and something large and dark came flying off the rim overhead.

Long-standing habits of hand and mind, honed on thousands of clay pigeons and club pigeon shoots, took over as if an instinct. The shotgun came easily to his shoulder, his thumbs snapping both hammers back on the way.

He fired. Back trigger first. The gun rocked hard against his shoulder. No pause. Front trigger next. And a bloody form fell virtually at his feet.

Richard Hahn looked down as the figure began to slide downhill.

He gagged and struggled to keep from throwing up.

Taylor came rushing up the slope to him.

Above them Loozy and Jessica stood staring down at the thing that had been their captor.

* * *

Taylor stood clutching Loozy to him as if he would never let go of the child while Dick Hahn and Jessica clung tight to each other.

Taylor looked at the two of them, Jess an inch or so taller than Dick.

She was pretty enough to take a man's breath away. Even after all this, her hair wild as a bird's nest and her
face blackened with soot and ash from cooking over a campfire. Even now she was beautiful.

And Dick. One day he would be a rich man. Taylor was sure of it. Someday Dick would be able to provide Jessica, and Loozy too, with all the comforts Jess craved. John never would and they all knew it.

He bent down and kissed Loozy on the forehead, then walked with her to stand in front of Jessica and Dick. He cleared his throat to get their attention, but they were so rapt with each other that he had to do it a second time and even that did not work.

“Mama, Daddy is trying to say something.”

Jessica pulled herself away from Dick. “Yes, John?”

“I think . . . damn it, he isn't the total son of a bitch I've thought,” he stammered. “And you, well, you have a right to your happiness, I reckon. When we get back down, you go ahead an' have those divorce papers drawn up. I'll sign them.”

He kissed his daughter again, turned away, and started down the hill toward the horses.

A lone tear trickled its way down his cheek.

About the Author

Frank Roderus has been writing full time for more than thirty years. Before turning to fiction he received the Colorado Press Association's highest award and as a writer of western novels has twice won the Western Writers of America's Spur Award. He is a member of the WWA and is president of the international professional writing association Western Fictioneers. He is also a life member of the American Quarter Horse Association. He lives in Florida. West Florida, of course.