Yours Again (River City Series) (21 page)

She
sniffed as one last tear rolled into oblivion. He would follow. Wouldn’t he? He
had to. He seemed so willing to do anything, even get married, to keep her from
Lawson. It wouldn’t be long until he showed up to take her back home. Home with
him. Where she belonged. In the meantime, she would concentrate on getting away
from this evil criminal.

She
schemed and planned for almost an hour. When the door reopened, she would be
ready for the performance of her life.

Chapter 21

Lawson
returned an hour later, untied Samantha and prodded her toward the door. Last
night’s ride left her more than a little stiff. Not to mention somewhat rumpled.

She
paused in front of the mirror. When she was five their dog had carried one of
her little rag dolls to the porch. The red yarn hair was caked with mud, one
eye was missing, and it was covered with dog slobber. If only
she
looked
that good. He motioned for her to hurry.

She
quickly freshened up and then stepped into a large room, which turned out to be
the main room of the house. The structure was larger than she anticipated, with
a stone fireplace, kitchen, and sitting area on one side and two bedrooms on
the other. The furnishings were modest but quite clean and bright.

Samantha
blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to the morning light streaming in through
the front windows. Convincing Lawson she would be agreeable had been much
easier than she anticipated, and she fully intended to keep up the act. It was
easy to be convincing when her life depended on it. Tears threatened as panic
took hold of her emotions. Samantha forced a deep breath and tried to focus on
one thing: escape.

As
she surveyed her surroundings, she saw an elderly couple, bound and gagged,
sitting on a bench near the door. The man wore overalls and was nearly
completely bald. Though the gag prevented him from saying anything, anger
emanated from his stern expression and red face.

The
woman sat next to him in a faded green dress. Tendrils of gray-blue hair hung
across her face, and she cowered in fear. Samantha pressed her lips together. They
had to be in their late sixties or early seventies. How could he truss them up
like criminals?

“Breakfast
would be nice, don’t you think?” Lawson stepped around her and sat down at the
long table. Pulling an expensive-looking pocketknife out of his coat, he
cleaned his fingernails one by one. The scraping sound grated across Samantha’s
already raw nerves.

She
rubbed her wrists as she met the old woman’s frightened gaze. Anger rose
immediately and Samantha glared at Lawson’s back, struggling to control her
voice. The man needed to be squashed like a large, odious stink bug.

Docile,
you must be docile.
“Of course. I’ll
see what there is,” she said

Lawson’s
eyes followed her as she moved around the kitchen. She gathered ingredients and
sat them next to a large bowl on the counter. Each time she stole a look in his
direction, she was met by the same piercing, unwavering stare. Her skin flinched
in disgust and her nerves stretched taunt.

Samantha
stirred the mix. She couldn’t afford to make a move too soon. He had to relax
at some point. Catching him off guard was her only chance. If only she had some
help. She glanced at the old couple. One woman might not be able to overpower Lawson,
but maybe the three of them could do something.

“I
think some biscuits and ham might be manageable.” She attempted to smile. “If
that’s all right with you, John.”

He
nodded. “Just hurry. And make plenty. I haven’t eaten anything decent in days.”

Samantha’s
mind sparked a quick idea. “Well, I could fry some potatoes, too, if I had some
help peeling them?” She extended a spud his direction.

He
snorted. “I’m not kitchen help.”

“Oh
no, of course not,” She feigned concern that she hoped seemed heartfelt. “Maybe
she could peel them while I roll out the biscuits.” Samantha motioned toward
the woman.

Lawson
raised an eyebrow. Hunger warred with suspicion, but physical sustenance won
out. He nodded in agreement.

Samantha
loosened the ropes restraining the woman.

“No
tricks.” Lawson threatened.

The
woman shook her head.

“Oh,
I’m sure you have nothing to fear from, uh . . .?” Samantha questioned.

“Lillian.”
Her voice shook.

Samantha
smiled and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to be fine. We’re
all going to be fine.” She looked hard at the woman, who nodded silent support,
and then at the man, who jerked his head in agreement. It was a relief that Lawson
hadn’t frightened them too badly to be of any help. She now had two willing
accomplices, but no plan.

The
two women walked to the kitchen area and Samantha began an easy chat with Lillian
as Lawson watched intently.

“How
long have you and . . . ?” She motioned toward the man.

“Ben.”

“Ben,
lived here?” Samantha spoke loud enough to be heard by everyone as she rolled
out biscuits on the counter with her back to Lawson. Lillian stood beside her
and peeled potatoes with shaking hands. Samantha watched the knife wobble,
barely missing the woman’s finger.

“About
ten years, I suppose.” Lillian imitated Samantha’s light tone and spoke
distinctly. “It was my sister’s place, but her man died and she went back east
to care for my mother.”

“Where
back east?” Samantha smoothed out some flour next to the biscuits and began
writing words, her body shielding the movement from Lawson’s prying eyes.

“Up
near New York.” Lillian nodded slightly as each word was formed then erased.

“I
grew up in Boston.”

“I
hear it’s lovely in the fall there.” She peeled more flesh off the last potato
than skin as she tried to decipher Samantha’s writing. She set it aside, picked
up another, and tried to concentrate.

“Oh,
it is.” Silence descended. It was difficult to carry on a conversation and
write secret messages at the same time. She stared at the rolling pin that
looked older than she was. “How long have you and Ben been married?

“Thirty-eight
years.”

“That
long?”

“It
was nothing much besides Indians and Mexicans when we came out to this area as
newlyweds.” Lillian did better on the next potato, and her hands stopped
shaking. “Our boys were already grown, and we thought we would get a smaller
place and bought this one.”

Samantha
relaxed a bit as the conversation seemed to be calming everyone. “So, how has
it gone?”

Lillian
raised an eye brow at her with a slight grin. “Well, it hasn’t been easy, but
it’s certainly been interesting.”

Samantha
formed then erased the last word in flour and helped pile the now-naked spuds
in a bowl.

“We
haven’t put on any coffee yet.” Lillian said.

Samantha’s
eyebrows raised in question as a near-full pot sat on the stove. Lillian opened
a cabinet and pushed aside several jars. She stood on tiptoe and pulled out a
can of coffee. She slid her gaze toward Samantha and flicked her palm open to
reveal a small vial that she quickly concealed in her skirt pocket.

“I
think coffee would be just the thing.” Samantha glanced toward Lawson, who was
no longer looking at them.

Within
a few minutes potatoes were frying, biscuits baking, and coffee brewing. Samantha
stared at the pot of coffee. She willed the liquid to boil as the back of her
neck overheated with pent-up tension. Her hand absently rubbed the aching
muscles there as her mind lined up several escape plans.

“A
watched pot never boils, honey.” Lillian now stood beside Samantha. “Like you
said, everything’s gonna be fine,” she whispered.

Samantha
tried to smile and mouthed, “How long?”

Lawson
stood and turned in their direction, listening intently.

“Oh,
I’d say it will probably be ready in about fifteen minutes or so. Give or
take.” She raised her voice a bit so Lawson could hear.

Fifteen
minutes for it to work. What then? Samantha looked around the room again. Her
focus settled on Ben. They had to get Lawson to allow them to untie him. She
walked toward the man and leaned over him so it would appear she was inspecting
his bindings.

“Get
away from him,” Lawson spoke calmly, his eyes flashing a warning.

“He
seems utterly harmless John,” Samantha laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder and felt
firm muscles. “Why, he’s all bone.” The man’s eyes showed momentary surprise
before his expression hid itself again.

“He
hasn’t been at all well.” Lillian chimed in, catching the drift of the ploy. “Had
a hacking cough for weeks now.”

Ben
coughed under the gag then bowed his head and sucked in his chest, doing his
best to look the part of an invalid.

Lawson’s
gaze roamed over the man, an unnatural stare that seemed to pierce flesh.

“It
seems incredibly cruel to make this poor man sit here with his hands tied like
this while we eat.” Ben coughed some more and Samantha patted him gently on the
back.

Lawson
gave her a lopsided grin. “You are entirely too softhearted.” He moved toward
the older man and untied him. “That’s just one of the reasons you need my
protection.”

Samantha
flashed Lawson what she hoped was a brilliant smile. “Thank you.” She forced
herself to brush her fingertips along this arm. “I’m sure you’re right about
that.”

She
clamped her teeth together and wiped her hand on her skirt. Touching him
repulsed her. At least he didn’t touch back. She would rather be licked on the
earlobe by a snake.

Ben
rubbed his wrists and watched Lawson from beneath his lowered lids. “Mother,
could you help me to the table? My gout’s actin’ up from sitting here this
long.”

Samantha’s
eyes widened as the man limped to the table, leaning heavily on Lillian. Hope
dimmed a little as she watched the old man. It never crossed her mind he might
not be able to move quickly. Lawson seated himself and absently ran his long
fingers along the blade of his knife as if it were an extension of his hand. Samantha
dished up the food.

Lillian
nudged her side and motioned to Ben with a grin. The man winked. Relief flooded
over her. What extraordinary luck to have accomplices that were better actors
than she.

Ben
heaved a long breath and rubbed his thigh. “Yep. It’s a sad thing, gettin’ old.”

Lawson’s
attention momentarily flicked toward Ben.

He
slapped his knee. “Old war wound, ya know.”

“Which
war?” Samantha cleaned flour off the counter.

“Why
the big one, Missy. The war between the states.”

Ben
leaned toward Lawson. “We’s out on patrol creeping up on ol’ Johnny Reb and
trying to keep track of his comins and goins up in the Cumberland Gap area. You
been there?”

Lawson
shook his head no.

“Beautiful
country. Mist settles into the mountains and looks like the breath of God hisself.”

“I’ve
listened for twenty years about those mountains.” Lillian said. “Don’t you
think it’s about time I saw them, old man?”

“Now
this is my story Mother and there you go trotting right into it!” He whispered
at Lawson, “Woman can’t stand not to be the center of attention. For mor’n fifty
years she’s interrupted every story I ever told.”

“That’s
not true. And it is thirty-eight years, not fifty.” Lillian smiled at Samantha.

“It
seems like mor’n fifty some days,” he groused. “Anyway, like I was sayin’, we’s
walking through some brush toward a deserted campsite and all the sudden I
heard a crack and felt a sharp burning in my leg. Well, let me tell you, I
thought one of them eastern diamondbacks had done had his way with me for sure.
I’s almost relieved when I found out it was only a bullet.”

Lillian
flipped over some clean mugs and emptied all of the white powder from the vial
into one cup. Samantha filled it with coffee and waited a moment to be sure it
dissolved completely before offering it to Lawson. She found it exquisite
poetic justice that she was slipping something into his drink just as he’d
slipped something into Mattie’s in Boston.

The
other mugs were filled and they all sat down to eat.

“When
will we be leaving?” Samantha asked.

“In
a few hours,” he said. “Horse needs more rest.”

Lawson
ate as meticulously as he did everything else, working in a clockwise circle on
his plate. Potatoes, ham, biscuit—take a sip of coffee. Potatoes, ham, biscuit—take
a sip of coffee. She willed him to drain the cup, or at least take a large
gulp, but had to watch as he sipped in between bites of biscuit and potato. Always
the same order, never deviating. Samantha shook her head. He must have been a
very strange child.

The
meal ended quietly. The women cleared the table and washed dishes. They
chattered lightly, and each occasionally glanced toward the chair where Lawson
had settled himself. Just as Samantha finished scrubbing the skillet, the first
bead of sweat appeared on Lawson’s forehead and he shifted slightly in his
chair.

“More
coffee, anyone?” Samantha noticed her tone was a little too cheery. She found
it difficult to contain the anticipation of escape. She tried to appear
somewhat more subdued as she filled Ben’s cup.