Reese (24 page)

If it wasn't El Diablo's men in the trees waiting to kill Reese, then who was it? Who had the ability to sneak up on an ancient Comanche? Reese had an idea, and he was going to do some serious butt kicking—if he lived long enough.

Shoving Mary to the ground in one direction, Reese dived for his gun in the other. As his fingers closed about the familiar grip, he saw El Diablo hanging in the Comanche way from a sling beneath the horse's neck, his rifle trained on Reese. Reese rolled, but the gun went off, and fire exploded in his chest.

Before the world went completely black, El Diablo raced away, pursued by the unknown assailants who had hidden in the trees.

Chapter 15

Mary hit the ground hard and lay still for a moment. But gunshots had her crawling toward Reese. If she had to, she would throw herself on top of him and hope El Diablo was serious about not wanting to shoot the schoolteacher. If not... She gave a mental shrug.

Reese would die for her? She'd do the same for him.

Before she got very far, horses surrounded her. She dragged herself upright. She would not die crawling. Brushing her hair from her face, she lifted her gaze, prepared to see El Diablo's right-hand man, Jefferson, and the rest of his thieves and murderers staring down at her. The sight of Cash, Nate, and Jed nearly made her fall back to the ground.

She glanced in the direction of the first shot, only to see El Diablo being pursued by two riders—Rico and Sullivan—from the looks of the missing. Then her gaze lit on the still, dark form bleeding into the dirt.

She ran to him, falling to her knees and letting her hands flutter over his face, his neck. He breathed; his heart beat. But his shirt was soaked, the black material gruesome with blood.

She tried to unbutton it, but her hands trembled so badly, she couldn't. When someone grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away, she snarled and fought like a mad thing. When they released her, she ripped the shirt open. Blood seeped from a hole just below his shoulder.

She had no idea what to do with a bullet wound. Faced with the truly unmanageable for the first time, Mary panicked. She tore a strip from her petticoat and mopped at the blood, only making things worse.

"Miss McKendrick?" Nate knelt beside her. He replaced the bloody strip with a silver flask. "Try this."

A glance at the others showed Jed avoiding her gaze as if embarrassed and Cash staring at her with cold, dead eyes. They would be no help.

Her attention returned to Nate, who nodded encouragingly, so she poured the alcohol over the open wound. Reese's eyes snapped open. He arched in pain then passed out again.

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry." She kissed his face, patted his cheeks. When Nate pulled her back, she stared in horror at the bloodstains she'd left all over Reese's face.

"We've need to get him to town," Nate said.

"All right."

That docile voice couldn't be coming from her. And who was the woman allowing Nate to lead her to his horse while Jed carried Reese to his? That couldn't be Mary Margaret McKendrick—the woman who managed the unmanageable. She'd never understood just how unmanageable some things could be.

Mary lost track of time, her entire being focused on Jed and his burden. A few times she swayed, but Nate held her tight. She was grateful Cash rode behind them, because every time his cold gaze rested on her, Mary sensed his anger, and she had no idea what she had done to deserve it.

When they reached Rock Creek, people poured from their houses, but when they saw Reese, their jubilance turned silent. Jed moved toward the hotel.

"No." Mary's voice rose above the clip-clop of the horses' hooves. "Take him to my place. I'll be responsible."

Jed glanced back and frowned. Mary felt Nate shrug. Then Cash spoke. "She is responsible. Take him there."

No one said a word as Jed carried Reese
into
Mary's house and placed him on her bed. She could not help but remember, seeing him pale and bloody on her tousled sheets, that not even a day had passed since they had been tangled together in that very same bed.

Nate shoved her out of his way. "Jed, get me hot water and clean cloths." He turned to Cash. "Fetch Rico's knives." Nate rolled up his sleeves and started to remove Reese's torn shirt.

"Can you do this?" she whispered.

"I've done it so many times, I've lost count. Maybe you should wait in the kitchen, Miss McKendrick. Bullets never come out half as pretty as they go in."

She stared at Reese's face, pale beneath the tan. He appeared both younger and older than he'd been last night. "I can't leave him."

"Suit yourself. But if you faint, don't expect me to care. All I care about is Reese."

His words brought her back to herself. That was all she cared about too.

Mary straightened and stepped briskly to the other side of the bed. "Mr. Lang, I never faint."

He gave her the ghost of a smile. "I'll just bet you don't."

* * *

Hours later, the bandage around Reese's chest shone as stark against his skin as the clean sheets at his back. The bullet was out. Nate had done all he could. Now they would wait and see if the lead had nicked anything vital or if infection would set in.

Night fell. Everyone was tired, for Rico, who had gone searching for Reese when he didn't show up at the morning's lessons, had rousted the men from bed far too early that morning. It hadn't taken them long to discover that both Reese and Mary were missing, along with Reese's horse. They had followed immediately, and Sullivan—the next best thing to a bloodhound—had found them in short order.

Mary listened to the low rumble of the men's voices from her parlor. Nate, Cash and Jed weren't going anywhere. Rico and Sullivan hadn't returned, but no one seemed worried.

Yet.

She sat in a chair next to the bed and rested her aching head on the mattress near Reese's hip. She planned to be the first face he saw when he awoke—or the last face he saw, if it came to that.

Her eyes prickled with tears she would not shed. Tears were for weaklings, and she had to be strong.

Someone stepped into the room. Mary lifted her head and found Cash staring at her with those frighteningly cold eyes. She'd known he would come.

"He'd better not die."

The words sounded like a threat—no doubt they were—but Mary wasn't afraid. If Reese died, she didn't care what Cash did to her.

"He won't."

"You know that for certain?"

"I won't let him."

His mouth, framed between the neatly trimmed mustache and beard, twisted into the usual sneer. "You might manage this town of women and weaklings—and the kiddies too. You might even have managed Reese for a while, but only because he let you—God knows why. But you can't manage this, and you sure as hell aren't going to manage me."

"I never thought I could."

"I know about women like you."

"Do you?" He was starting to make her angry, and the anger felt so much better than the fear. "I would have thought you only knew about women who could be bought."

His eyes narrowed. "All women can be bought. With some it takes money; with others, a wedding band."

They stared at each other over Reese's too-still form. Why was she arguing with Cash? He loved Reese as much as she did or he wouldn't be so upset.

She sighed and rubbed at the welt on her neck, which burned fiercely, a reminder of what Reese had done for her. She loved him, and it didn't matter. He was going to leave her—one way or another.

"You blame me for this, don't you?"

"Hell, yes. You're a weakness. Men like him, men like me, can't afford one. That's where the banditos strike first. We found a note. El Diablo told him to come alone, and the fool went. For you. Anyone else, he would have taken us, and to hell with the consequences. He was going to give his life for yours."

"I know," she whispered.

"That man is worth ten of you, Miss McKendrick."

She stared into Cash's angry eyes. "I know that too."

* * *

Near dawn horses approached. Mary glanced at Reese. During the night he'd awakened a few times, taken water, then fallen asleep again. He had not called her by name or asked for any of the others.

She didn't know if so much sleep was bad or good, but so far he hadn't become delirious, and he didn't feel hot.

Mary moved to the window, but the three men who'd taken over her front parlor already stood on the porch speaking to Sullivan and Rico. She returned to Reese's side.

The five men joined her; some sat on the floor, some leaned against the wall, one sat on a chest at the foot of the bed. They filled the small room. For some reason they needed to be near Reese while they spoke. Since they didn't kick her out, Mary kept quiet and listened.

"They're holed up near the big river, in an old ranch butted against the hills." Sullivan removed his hat; his hair hung in his face, making him appear even more exhausted. "Only way in is from the front. Nothing but dirt for miles around."

"El capitan
was right. To attack would be difficult. They would see us coming, dig in. I do not know how we would get them out."

"We could just keep shooting until we don't need to get them out," Cash growled. "Unless we want to bury them."

"Or we could continue to wait for them here," Jed said. "Like we were told."

"It's a shame we have no minds of our own." Nate sipped amber liquid from one of Mary's glasses. It was the first time she'd seen him drink since Reese had been hurt. "I suspect that's what happens when you let someone else make all the important decisions for so long."

"Speak for yourself, preacher. I know my mind. I say we go blast them back to hell."

"Perhaps we should wait a few days. I would like to be here when
el capitan
wakes up."

All eyes turned to Reese. A collective sigh rolled through the room, dispelling the tension and the anger.

"Anyone remember the last time he was flat on his back wounded?" Jed asked.

The question elicited slow, thoughtful nods. Mary huddled in her chair, still as a mouse, afraid if she breathed too loudly they would quit talking about a past they all seemed determined to hide.

Sullivan ran his fingers through his hair and glanced out the window. "After the Wilderness. He put himself in front of me, and that bayonet sliced him deep enough to stitch."

Mary recalled tracing with her tongue the thin scar marring his side. Her face heated, but no one paid her any mind.

"He was too sore to ride," Jed said. "So we left him at that farmhouse and chased after those Yanks."

"When we came back, I had never seen
el capitan
so angry." All eyes turned to Reese again. "He said if we ever went anywhere again without orders, without him, he would make us sorry we returned alive."

"Guess El Diablo can wait a day," Cash muttered.

Mary glanced at the gunfighter in surprise. He loved Reese; he respected him as a soldier. But she never would have believed Cash was afraid of him. She didn't think Cash was afraid of anything.

Except a good woman.

"You were in the same company during the war?" The question was out before she could stop it.

"Reese didn't tell you?" Jed asked.

"All he said was that he wasn't your captain."

Nate started coughing; Cash slapped him on the back so hard Nate nearly dropped his glass.

"He
is
the captain," Jed said. "He just didn't want to be."

"But someone had to."

"Reese can't help himself. He's a leader."

Mary could understand that. "So how did y'all end up together?"

Jed glanced at Nate, who shrugged and glanced at Cash, who scowled. Rico and Sullivan neither spoke nor moved. The silence built until it was broken only by the sound of seven people breathing.

"It's not a secret anymore," Jed said. "We don't need to keep hoarding information like Alan Pinkerton."

Mary frowned. "The spy?"

"Secret service."

"The operative word being secret. Besides, Pinkerton was on the wrong side."

"Wrong?" Jed laughed. "I like her."

Mary ignored him. "What did y'all do in the war?"

"Secret things." Nate winked.

Jed shot him an exasperated look before returning his attention to Mary. "You've heard of Colonel Mosby."

"Of course. I'm from Virginia."

"He wanted to reproduce Pinkerton's success for the Confederacy. So Old Mose put together a group of men, with varying talents, with nothing left to lose."

"The six of you."

Jed nodded. "Either we'd lost our companies or didn't fit in where we were, but we had a talent that got us noticed. A few years into the war, we were ordered to Atlanta. We met Mosby, Jefferson Davis and one another. We were to capture intelligence, both papers and people, while harassing Union lines in the same way Mosby's Rangers did."

"A band of guerrilla fighters with orders to spy."

"Pretty much."

"But you stayed together even after the war."

"War makes men out of boys and lifelong friends in the process."

"There's more to it than that."