Cherished Page 34

  “Giddyap,” he ordered the horses as the wagon rolled away from the ranch house. The sooner he finished up in town, the sooner he could get back and find out his little sister’s decision. After all these months—years, really—of their worrying about her, Juliana’s well-being and happiness would finally be assured.

  26

  Juliana heard Gil’s horse on the path long before it came into view, and she ran down to greet him, filled with a desperate need for reassurance that everything had gone as planned.

  “Easy as pie,” Gil informed her, grinning down from the saddle as she walked beside him on the trail leading up to the cabin. “Right about now, Line McCray will be heading up to Fire Mesa, expecting to find poor Joseph Wells and meeting up instead with Rawdon and your brothers and the rest. Heck, I’d give my right arm to see the look on his face!”

  “Oh, Gil,” Juliana said as he swung down from the saddle and faced her in the bright sunlight of the yard. “Do you really think this will put an end to it? That all this will be over today?”

  “Sure I do, Juliana. Your brothers never had a chance to get close to McCray himself before. He’s always in town, surrounded by men from his outfit—and it’s risky for them to show themselves in town, especially with that crooked sheriff ready to do whatever McCray tells him. This way, they’ll smoke him out, corner him on their own territory, and make an ending of it.”

  “You mean kill him, don’t you?”

  “If need be, yes,” Gil replied, his face sober. He sighed. “Sometimes, in these parts, honey, there’s just no other way.”

  Something was different about Gil, Juliana decided. The way he was looking at her. He looked outwardly the same, lanky, freckled, his blue eyes twinkling down at her as affectionately as always. But that special hungering look was gone, the one that told her he wished they could be more than friends. In spite of the fact that they were alone together out here, with her hand on his sleeve, he kept shifting from foot to foot, as if he was impatient to get away.

  “I just stopped back to tell you that everything went well in town,” Gil explained, flushing a little. “I ... want to ride over and see how Josie and Kevin are doing. I bought them some presents in town.”

  “How thoughtful of you, Gil! Maybe I’ll go with you.” It suddenly appealed to her to get away from the cabin and chores for a while, but the flicker of dismay that immediately crossed his face checked her enthusiasm. At once she realized her gaffe, and suddenly it all became clear. Gil wanted to see Josie—alone.

  “On second thought, Skunk does need me to gather up some berries for the tart he’s baking tonight—as part of the celebration,” she put in quickly. If there was a celebration.

  A sudden noise from the slab of buttressed red rocks a dozen yards down the trail made her break off, and together she and Gil hurried forward and peered around the bend, scrutinizing the land dipping away in every direction. There was nothing to be seen except a deer far down in the basin, nosing at a silver ribbon of stream. The rocks were silent, the mountains as serene as ever, shimmering amethyst in the rising heat. The only sound came from the cabin, where Skunk, as usual, banged around the pots and pans and hummed as he worked.

  “Guess we’re getting jumpy.” She laughed as they turned and walked together back up the trail.

  “You can’t ever be too careful.” Gil stuffed his hands in his pockets. “That must’ve been a rock falling from above. I’ll stick around a little while just to make sure.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Gil. Go to Josie.”

  Gil gazed into her face. “Juliana—you love Rawdon, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t make a very good poker player, would I, Gil?”

  “If you set your mind to it. Tommy tells me he taught you a thing or two about playing cards when you were kids—and about cheating at ‘em.”

  “But there’s no way to cheat at love, is there?” Juliana hugged her arms about herself, chilled despite the warmth of the day. “One either wins honestly, or the game doesn’t count. And it looks like I’m playing a losing hand.”

  “Can’t you recognize a bluff?” He gripped her shoulder. “Come on, Juliana, you’re no quitter.”

  “The deck is stacked against me. Cole has never let himself be tied to anyone—he likes moving around, being on his own. What frightens me the most is how independent he is. He doesn’t need me or anyone else.”

  “Don’t let him fool you. Everybody needs someone.”

  Suddenly she couldn’t bear to talk about her own troubles anymore. “And you, Gil,” she said, turning the subject before the tears welled up in her eyes, “do you need Josie?”

  “I’m not sure yet, Juliana.” He stared down for a minute at his boots. “But I’m beginning to believe that I do,” he finished slowly.

  “Good.” She smiled, truly glad for him. She raised up on tiptoe suddenly and kissed him on the cheek. “What are you waiting for? Go to her. Bring her back for supper tonight. She ought to join in the celebration—if there is one.”

  “There will be.” Feeling a strange sense of release, Gil hoisted himself deftly into the saddle, relieved that he had Juliana’s blessing. Part of him, out of habit, had been prepared to stay loyal to her—just in case she changed her mind. Now he found himself relieved that she wouldn’t. There was no reason on this earth why he shouldn’t turn his attentions to Josie.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right here?” He cast a quick, thorough glance around. Everything was quiet. The pines swayed lightly in the breeze.

  “Of course, silly. Anyway, Skunk is here. Go on.”

  The cabin door opened right after Gil rode off and Skunk stomped out, carrying a basket.

  “You get your pick, little sister.” He grinned. “Gather the berries, or bake that tart. Which’ll it be?”

  Feeling stifled already by the cabin, she immediately reached for the basket. “My baking can’t compete with yours, Skunk.”

  “You know where to go? Down by that there gully—just beyond the aspen there’s some dandy berries. You’ve never tasted a piece of heaven until you’ve tasted one of my berry tarts.”

  “I can hardly wait.” She started down the path to the gully for the second time that day, the basket swinging from her arm. “Skunk?” She whirled back to face him suddenly, her lovely face uncertain. “When do you think ... they’ll be back?”

  “Oh, who can say? By dark, for sure. Don’t you worry, now, little sister, they’ll be fine. Your brothers are two tough hombres, the both of them. The man ain’t been born yet who can best ‘em. And that Rawdon character—they don’t come no tougher than him. They’ll be back, every one of ‘em.”

  Feeling slightly reassured, Juliana set off, but she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had come over her. All the while she picked the berries, even when she was licking the sweet berry juice from her fingers, she had an odd sensation of being watched, that prickling sixth sense that often precedes the realization of danger. Yet every time she stood up and scanned the surrounding countryside, there was no one to be seen—just the small creatures of the hills and the tall, brown weedy grasses that sprouted beneath the burning sun.

  It was mid-afternoon when she returned to the cabin. “I’m back, Skunk,” she called out, thirsty suddenly for water. But when she paused outside the cabin door, with her hand on the dipper, she suddenly couldn’t move. It was as if a cold shadow had passed over her, dark and swift as the wings of an eagle flying low.

  She glanced around, and wondered what it was that had alarmed her. Then she realized it was the silence. It was huge, deafening. There was no singing or banging from the cabin. Skunk, who always made a great racket as he worked, was making no noise at all.

  Juliana dropped the dipper back into its cradle beside the bucket. She started for the door. “Skunk,” she called out again, a trace of fear entering her voice. “Skunk, where are you—”

  Her voice broke off as she saw the blood seeping out from beneath the cabin door. A sticky
crimson pool leaking out, puddling in the dust.

  Suddenly she was ten years old again on a cloudy spring day. Skipping home from school, eager to tell Mama she had won the spelling bee. Breathless, racing ahead of Wade and Tommy in her excitement. Then, seeing the blood beneath the door. Smelling what she only later realized was the stench of death. She had started forward, but Wade and Tommy had grabbed her. Their faces were pale as new snow, but they dragged her back, held her, yelled for help in voices that shook. Other storekeepers had come running and dragged her away while Wade and Tommy burst inside the store....

  Juliana blinked. Sweat had broken out along her brow, dripping in crystal droplets along her temples. She was not ten now. No one was here to pull her back. She had to find Skunk ...

  Oh, dear Lord, what had they done to him?

  His throat was slit. Blood was everywhere in the cabin, but mostly surrounding Skunk’s body. Openmouthed, he sprawled across the floor, the same floor over which she had danced only last night, the same floor where he had tussled playfully with Tommy only yesterday, the same floor she had swept clean and spotless only this morning.

  Now Skunk’s corpse and Skunk’s blood bathed the cabin floor. Juliana’s knees buckled. She choked on the bile that rose in her throat. As she clutched at the door for support to keep from falling, horror engulfed her, making her head spin dizzily.

  Only a little while ago, he had been alive, handing her the basket, sending her on her way...

  Who had done this? What animal, what crazed animal, had done this?

  She whirled about, her heart in her throat, as if expecting the killer still to be lurking in a corner or under the table. No one was there. Unless, in the back room ...

  Danger. She felt it as keenly as a knife blade at her own throat. Fighting off her faintness and her fear, she acted without deliberate thought. She reached down to the gun Skunk wore still in his holster, the gun he’d never even had a chance to draw. She wiped the bloody barrel on the rag folded on the countertop, the one she’d used that morning to dry the dishes. She locked her hands about the pistol, and cocked the trigger.

  She started slowly toward the bedroom. Her heart was thumping painfully in her chest. Terror beat through her, but she kept going. She wouldn’t run from the person who had done this to Skunk. She wouldn’t go after Gil, or try to hide. If that monster was still here, she would kill him herself, because he deserved to die.

  But the back room was empty.

  Juliana’s skin crawled. Knife Jackson’s tar-black eyes and pockmarked face crept into her mind. Who else would kill in this manner?

  Somehow, Knife had found this cabin. She remembered the noise she and Gil had heard earlier, like a rock dislodged along the trail. Knife must somehow have followed Gil back from Plattsville.

  A horrible thought struck her, and her hand shook as she clutched the gun. Josie. Gil could be leading him straight back to Josie. It was Josie whom Line McCray wanted, maybe even more than he wanted the Montgomerys.

  She had to warn them, and fast. Already she was out the door, running to the lean-to where the horses were kept. But suddenly she felt a huge weight hit her from behind, an immense body tackling her into the dust.

  Juliana went down screaming, the gun clattering from her grasp. She twisted around as her attacker straddled her, but she could not get a look at his face. His bandanna covered all but his eyes, yet there was something vaguely familiar about him. She didn’t have time to think about it, she was fighting for her life. She clawed at his neck, drawing blood under her fingernails and kicked out frantically with her legs, but he was too large and overpowered her.

  “Damn you, you wildcat,” her captor swore as he grabbed her wrists, jerked her upright, and rammed her hands together behind her back. Tears squeezed between her eyelids as he tied her wrists together with a rope that bit so viciously into her flesh, Juliana cried out in pain.

  “It’ll be much worse than this before it’s over,” he taunted in a muffled voice that was vaguely familiar.

  Shock ripped through her as a voice that was unmistakable to her ears answered him. “Damn right it will, Bart. She might be a damned wildcat, but I’m just the man to tame her.”

  John Breen suddenly stepped out of the brush, as elegant and unruffled as though he were strolling through the big parlour at Twin Oaks. Juliana blinked, thinking she must be seeing things. But no, the sunlight reflected like hazy molten gold off his burnished hair and tan shirt and pants, and seemed to touch his lean, handsome face with an amber glow as he came slowly, relentlessly toward her.

  “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Juliana, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to pay for it,” he said softly.

  Her heart began to hammer in painfully rapid beats.

  Breen was smiling widely, his topaz eyes burning through her in a way so strange and intense, it made her cringe.

  “But we’ll discuss that later, when we get where we’re going,” he added pleasantly, then nodded, almost to himself. “Where I’m taking you, honey, no one will find you.”

  He was close enough now for her to smell his hair pomade, and nausea engulfed her. She struggled to suppress her terror. Pale hair hung limply in her face, tangled from her struggle with Bart Mueller. It was Mueller who held her still, one hand gripping her elbow, the other coming up to pull his bandanna away from his face. All the while, John Breen came closer.

  When she tried to shrink from Breen’s approach, Mueller held her rooted to the spot. All the blood had drained from her face, and she stared at the man closing in on her as if he were some handsome devilish specter in a nightmare, drawing in for the kill.

  Breen reached up and touched her hair. Smiled that flashing, patronizing smile she remembered all too well. Then drew back his arm and struck her full force across the face.

  Juliana fell to her knees. Red pinpricks of light exploded in her head and jarring pain rattled her teeth. She gave a low, anguished sob as the pain throbbed through her jaw and spread, convulsing throughout her entire body.

  “Howdy, honey,” Breen said quite pleasantly. “It’s time we got back together again. I missed you real bad. And don’t you worry. I’m going to see to it that nothing separates the two of us ever again.”

  27

  She was being baked alive. Engulfed by dry, scorching flames. Withering into bits of dust. Or so it seemed.

  Caked with grit, head thrumming with pain, Juliana slumped in the saddle before John Breen for hours (or was it days?) tormented by the deadly heat of the sun. She lost all track of time and direction. Her face was on fire. Her hair hung like straw in her eyes. She felt as if she’d been riding on this horse through these barren hills and hopeless valleys all her life, and she couldn’t remember a time when her throat wasn’t packed with grit and when hellfire did not seem to shimmer orange and yellow all around her.

  And still John Breen pushed on.

  Once, Bart Mueller suggested they stop and rest, but Breen snapped at him to keep moving.

  He then spurred his horse to an even faster gallop across the parched valley floor they were crossing at the time, and Juliana felt a momentary relief as the dry, hot air slapped her cheeks. But soon, the molten rays of the sun enveloped her again, and even this small refreshment lost its effect. She sagged against Breen, no longer able even to support her own weight in the saddle. She felt as if life were seeping out of her, crumbling away beneath the cruel glare of that merciless sun.

  When dusk came, the cool air washed over her like mist from the seas, but by then she was too exhausted even to notice. Where are we going? she wondered for perhaps the hundredth time, but she hadn’t even the energy to ask John Breen, and a cavern of hopelessness swallowed her.

  On they rode, forever it seemed, until at last, when she felt the last shreds of consciousness slipping away, she became suddenly aware that the horse beneath her was slowing, then coming to a stop. John Breen swung from the saddle and rough arms pulled her down. Her legs collapsed, and he c
aught her, laughing. Not a pleasant sound.

  Mueller drank from his canteen long and greedily. Breen dumped Juliana on the grass, and drank his fill as well. Only then did he hunker down beside her and hold the canteen before her dazed eyes.

  “Water, honey?”

  Cracked lips tried to answer him. It hurt to even move her mouth.

  Breen’s grin widened. He looked like a devil in the murky, fading light. “Well, maybe later. I’d better make camp first. Got to make my little bride-to-be comfortable, don’t I?”

  He left her lying there, parched, too weak even to rise to her knees, stretched across the grass in a heap of exhaustion.

  An hour later he gave her a half-dozen sips of water. “Not too much. You’ll be sick, and we can’t have that, now, can we?”

  Juliana couldn’t even open her eyes to look at him, but she had never hated a voice as much as she hated that one. After drinking the water, she closed her eyes and slept, sick and weary beyond words, unable to move.

  She dreamed of Cole. Of him holding her, kissing the nape of her neck, stroking her breasts. She dreamed of a bed of flowers, cool, fragrant flowers, with Cole stretched out beside her, tickling the tip of her nose with a daisy. Its petals were perfect, white as ermine.

  He loves you. A voice whispered sweetly in her ear.

  Then she was reaching out to him, calling his name.

  Cole, Cole. But he was gone. And the flowers were all shriveled and dead. As she reached out her arms her hand fell upon something wet and sticky lying amid the decayed petals. It was the carved figure of the horse Cole had been working on that night at his campfire, and it was dripping with blood.