Twice a Texas Bride (18 page)

The dog appeared to understand. She took off like a shot. Everyone scrambled onto their mounts and followed. Rand prayed they wouldn't be too late. He feared Fleming might kill his son to keep them from having him.

Rand had promised to bring Toby home safe, and by God, he'd find a way to keep his word. Somehow.

Failing his wife was not an option. He wouldn't be able to face the pain in her eyes. It would hurt too much. She asked so little of him. He would put a smile back on her lips.

Like a jolt, he remembered the words she'd spoken as she said good-bye.
Bring
our
son
home.

With his mind on hitting the trail, her statement hadn't registered until now.

“Our son,” he whispered the words his heart had longed to hear into the night.

It was true. Toby was their son in every way that mattered except the legal one. He vowed to contact an attorney as soon as possible. Cooper told him one had come to Battle Creek a few days ago, looking for a place to hang his shingle. Hopefully, the lawyer was still around. If not, Rand would go all the way to Fort Worth for one if he had to.

No mistake, he would make Toby his son.

A little ways down the trail, the breeze died and it got deathly still. Not a nighthawk, an animal, or a blade of winter grass moved. Rand's senses sharpened to a fine edge. He scanned the shadows.

The whisper of something unseen warned him.

He was halfway out of the saddle when a shot shattered the eerie silence.

The brothers scattered like a wad of buckshot. Rand's Colt was in his hand before he ever remembered drawing it.

Where had the blast come from?

Beads of sweat rose on his forehead as he peered from the tree he'd dived behind. Nothing.

Damn, he wished daylight would come.

Though dense timber surrounded them, they were more or less sitting ducks. Fleming had eyes on them. They had to figure out from which direction the gunfire had come and fast.

In an effort to keep pace with the racing dog, they'd become separated from Cooper's ranch hands. It was just the three of them now. Three to save the little boy who meant so much to Rand.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Cooper and Brett crawl into some thick brush. Maybe they'd seen the flash of powder or the haze of smoke in the aftermath.

What had happened to Biscuit? Had Fleming killed the dog?

Instead of joining his brothers, Rand waited, scanning for signs that might tell him where Fleming held Toby. Minutes ticked by.

Then he saw what he waited for.

Slight movement twenty yards ahead made his heart slam against his ribs. He heard the faint whimper of a child.

If he tried to race across the small clearing, Fleming would cut him down before he got halfway. No, he had to be smart.

Slowly, Rand backed away from his hiding place. One sound, one slipup, and he would alert his enemy. Using tactics he'd learned from Brett, he painstakingly made an arc through the woods and came up from behind.

In the thin slice of moonlight, he saw the figure of a man hunched down with one hand over Toby's mouth.

He'd found the murdering piece of scum. But he couldn't get a clean shot without hitting Toby.

A calm stillness swept over Rand as he stood. He gripped the Colt tighter and ordered, “Drop it, Fleming.”

Rising, the outlaw swung and fired. The bullet slammed into a nearby tree.

Rand cursed the fact he couldn't return fire. “Let the boy go and fight like a man.”

“He belongs to me. I'm his father, his kin. You ain't nothin' but a two-bit cowboy, trying to act like some big shot. I'll kill you where you stand.”

As Cooper and Brett stepped from the brush to flank Fleming, the outlaw suddenly hoisted Toby tightly to his chest and moved deeper into the shadows.

“Pitch your weapons into the trees and back away, or the boy dies,” Fleming snarled. “Quick now, or I'll put a bullet into his head.”

Tossing his pistol would leave Rand defenseless, but he wasn't about to gamble with Toby's life.

“Indian, that means you too.”

“I don't carry a gun,” Brett said.

“Never heard of a man who doesn't have a weapon of some sort. You strike me as a knife carrier.”

Without a word, Brett removed his knife from his moccasin, laid it on the ground, then kicked it away.

“A real father doesn't want any harm to come to his son,” Cooper said, throwing his Colt out of reach. “You don't seem to much care about his welfare.”

“I do what I hafta do. I ain't of a mind to go to jail. Appears you boys just got bested.”

Coupled with the darkness and the hat pulled low onto Fleming's forehead, Rand couldn't see the man's expression, but he knew the outlaw was smiling, pretty satisfied that he had the upper hand. Rand glanced around, searching for something to use as a weapon. They'd promised Toby they wouldn't let Fleming get him, and somehow, someway, he had to keep that vow.

Biscuit suddenly leaped from the brushy cover with a vicious snarl and clamped down on Fleming's arm with her powerful jaws.

“Get this mutt off me!” the outlaw screamed. In the struggle to free himself of the sharp teeth, he released Toby. Then a shot rang out and Biscuit fell to the ground with a high whine. Thin wisps of smoke curled from the pistol as Cooper launched himself on Fleming. The two men went down. Just as Brett scrambled toward them, Fleming rose with his gun pressed to Cooper's chest.

“I'll kill him,” the outlaw yelled.

Rand's gut clenched as he searched for a plan to keep
Cooper
alive.

“He hurt my dog.” Sobbing, Toby raced toward his beloved fallen dog.

“Toby, wait,” Rand yelled. But the boy didn't heed.

Before he could say more, Fleming pulled the trigger again.

An empty click. No burst of orange flame. No dead brother lying on the ground.

The outlaw was out of bullets.

Intent on seizing the advantage, Rand rushed forward as Cooper drew back and slammed a fist into Fleming's face. A grunt followed the crunch of bone.

Fleming staggered backward, then cradling his bloody arm, he sprinted into the inky blackness.

While Cooper and Brett gave chase on foot, Rand knelt beside the whimpering canine, trying to ascertain the severity of the wound, cursing the thick blackness.

In the midst of pounding hoofbeats, the other men arrived. They quickly dismounted and someone brought a lantern over. Rand found that the bullet had grazed Biscuit's neck. The dog had narrowly missed a severe injury. Rand gave Toby the good news. Lord knew the lad could use some.

“We lost you,” a man by the name of Greely said, crouching down beside Rand. “I hate the woods at night. It's creepy. Wish we could've stayed up with you. Looks like we would've caught the guy if we'd been here.”

“We tried our best. Next time he won't be so lucky. We'll get him.” Before Rand finished binding the dog's wound, Brett and Cooper returned.

“Fleming got away,” Brett said. “He made it to his horse, and the night swallowed him. Pressing on would've been too dangerous in the dark.”

Rand got to his feet and, with a narrowed gaze, stared in the direction Fleming had disappeared. “Brett, I'd count it as a favor if you'd see that Toby and his dog get home.”

“It's a bad idea to go after Fleming alone.”

“Don't have a choice. He'll be back, and when he does, he'll rain hell down on us. I have to protect my family. Best to go after him while he's wounded.”

Brett turned to Cooper. “Talk some sense into our brother.”

“I happen to agree, and as a duly sworn lawman, I'm going with him.”

Shrugging, Rand laid a hand on Brett's arm. “It's the only thing to do. It's up to you to get Toby home. Tell Callie I'll be back as soon as I can. Will you stay with her?”

“I will keep her and the children safe, never fear.”

“Thanks.” Rand clasped Brett's hand. “I wouldn't entrust their care to anyone else.”

After instructing his men to go back to the Long Odds in case Fleming doubled back and harmed Delta, Cooper and Rand mounted up. Though Rand hated parting company with their posse, he knew Cooper had to protect his wife.

Thank God, it wouldn't be long until daybreak.

Rand was cold and hungry and tired, but the burning desire to see Fleming behind bars kept him going. He didn't care how long it took—he would put the outlaw where he couldn't hurt anyone else.

By the time the sun came up, Rand and Cooper had covered many miles. They paused on a hill overlooking a farmhouse. Wisps of lazy smoke curled from the chimney.

The saddle creaked when Rand leaned forward. “Don't see a horse in front. Hopefully Fleming bypassed them.”

“Wouldn't bet on it. He's hurt and he needs grub. Horse could be around back,” Cooper pointed out. “I say we circle the house from a distance and see if we spot anything suspicious before we approach.”

“You're the lawman. Sounds like a good plan.”

Under cover of the wooded hills, they made a circular turn about the small homestead. No sign of a horse or that Fleming had holed up inside.

“I'll ride down and knock on the door,” Cooper said.

“Like hell,” Rand spewed. “You ain't going to leave me cooling my heels up here. I know you're the lawman, but if it's all the same, we'll go down together.” Besides, he could smell the coffee boiling. A cup of brew with a plateful of eggs would make the gray day much more agreeable.

Without waiting for a reply, Rand cautiously inched his way down to the cabin. He kept a steady hand on his Colt and an eye on the rough-hewn dwelling.

Ten yards from the structure, the unmistakable click of someone cocking a pistol stopped him in his tracks.

* * *

Callie was dozing at the kitchen table when Brett rode in a little after dawn. Seeing Toby with him made her heart sing. She clasped the boy to her, then checked him over from head to toe. Satisfied that Nate hadn't harmed him, she made a bed for Biscuit and watched as Brett gently lowered the dog.

Toby planted himself beside the beloved pet. “How's my baby sister? I missed her.”

“Wren is just fine,” Callie assured him. “She missed you too.”

“I was real sad when my father shot my dog.”

She laid a hand on the top of his head. “I'm sorry.”

“Why does he have to be so mean?”

Meeting Brett's dark gaze, she wondered what to say. How did you tell a boy his father was rotten to the core and that he had not a speck of decency or love in him?

“I don't know, honey. I wish I did. But Biscuit is going to be good as new. It's only a scratch.”

Once she had coffee boiling, Callie took the weapon Brett pressed into her hand and went out to gather the eggs. If worse came to worst, she could rob the nests at gunpoint.

“Nate Fleming is miles and miles away,” she grumbled under her breath. Besides, with five of Cooper's men milling around the yard and barn, Nate wouldn't dare try anything.

Though she griped about Brett's concern for her safety, she knew he had her best interests at heart. Lord knows, Nate would take great joy in ending her life if he could.

The wind buffeted her about, nearly knocking her off her feet. Her breath fogged in the misty air as she unlatched the door fashioned of chicken wire and stepped inside. While she collected the still-warm brown eggs, thoughts of Rand swirled in her head.

Where
are
you? Are you hurt? Please be careful.

It terrified her that he'd ridden on with Cooper to try to catch Nate. They didn't know the outlaw like she did. They hadn't seen the trail of blood he'd left behind him.

Taking care not to bump the basket, she left the cackling chickens, fastening the door behind her. For a moment, she leaned her head against the wire enclosure, blinking back tears.

How would this end? Would Fleming let Rand live when so many others had lost their lives?

Inhaling a calming breath, she stuffed her fears to the back of her mind and hurried into the house out of the cold wind. Once she'd fed Toby and Brett, she tucked Toby into bed. “I want you to sleep a while.”

“But the sky is blue. I can't sleep until it gets black.”

“Just try. Close your eyes and maybe sleep will come.”

Callie hadn't made it to the door before the boy was asleep. She paused in the hallway, listening for the sound of Rand's footsteps, remembering the fragrance of him and the wild Texas land that he always brought inside with him. Going to the door of his bedroom, she gazed at his bed. A quiet sob rose.

“I miss you, Rand,” she whispered brokenly. “I wish I could tell you. Please come home. I need our nightly kisses, your arms around me. One of these days, I'll hold on to you tight and never let you go.” She let the stinging wind that clamored to get inside carry that promise to her husband.

* * *

Rand swallowed hard. Had Fleming gotten the drop on them despite the care he and Coop had taken? His heart hammered inside his chest.

“State your business,” a male voice barked.

Cooper stepped forward and stated his name. “I'm the sheriff over at Battle Creek. This is my brother. We're trailing a dangerous outlaw and his tracks led here.”

The door opened and a grizzly bear of a man stepped out. His long, shaggy hair whipped about in the breeze. He kept an ancient pistol that must've been used to fight at the Alamo trained on them.

“We don't mean any harm, mister,” Rand said. “Just wanted to know if you've seen him. His name is Nate Fleming. Has coal-black hair and rides a big black gelding. Has a wounded arm.”

The pistol lowered. “Might as well come on in. This place is busier than a town durin' a hangin'.”

Sounded like Fleming had been there, all right.

Rand and Cooper removed their hats and followed the man through the door. A tiny woman stood at the cookstove. She turned and her smile showed a big gap in her teeth.

“Howdy, ma'am,” Rand said.

“Would you care for some coffee, young man?”

“If it wouldn't trouble you none. I smelled it all the way up on that hill yonder.” He rubbed his hands together to warm them. “It's mighty chilly out.”

Cooper gave her a nod. “I'll take some too, ma'am, long as you're offering.”

The farmer motioned them into chairs at the table. “Name's John Abel. That's my wife, Rebecca. She's a right fair cook.”

“About that outlaw—” Cooper began.

“Nope, I ain't talkin' about outlaws 'n' such on an empty belly,” John declared. “We eat, then we jaw.”

Though it chafed to have to wait, Rand gratefully accepted a cup of hot coffee that Rebecca handed him. The couple appeared starved for company, the way they latched onto Rand and Cooper, but every second spent cooling their heels meant Fleming was getting farther away.

He had to admit that the plate of eggs, sausage, and flapjacks was a welcome sight, though. Rebecca truly did know her way around a cookstove. He and Cooper dove right in, happy to trade time for a hot meal.

At last, John finished and pushed back his plate. He lit a pipe and puffed on it for several minutes. “Now, about that jackanapes you're lookin' for. Reckon he pounded on our door just as we were gettin' out of bed 'fore daybreak. Forced his way in. Rebecca made coffee and bandaged his arm. Looked mighty bad too. Kept a gun on us the whole time. Thought for sure he might kill us, but he hopped on that big black gelding of his and lit out.”