“I don’t want to leave you, Adelaide. Even for a short time. If something were to happen to you or Bella—”
“Hush.” She stepped close and laid her fingers over his lips. A shiver coursed through him at the delicate touch.
“Nothing happened yesterday or this afternoon when you left us to see to your sheep, and nothing’s going to happen now. You’re doing the right thing.”
Her belief in him vanquished the doubts lingering in his mind. Her words were exactly what he needed. She was exactly what he needed.
He gently covered her hand with his, wishing he could feel her soft skin through the rough leather of his work gloves. He dragged her fingers down from his mouth and cradled them against his chest. His gaze never left her face. Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t look away. Fingers splayed, her palm pressed against the thin cotton of his shirt, directly over his heart. In that moment, he knew she belonged to him.
Gideon cupped her cheek and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “Stay safe, Adelaide,” he murmured against her hair. “No matter what happens, stay safe.” Not waiting for a response, he set her away from him and mounted Solomon. He nudged the horse into motion and headed north without looking back. His mouth tightened into a grim line. An hour. He’d give Juan an hour. Then he was coming home to take care of his family.
One hour, however, blurred into two as the thirty head of slaughtered sheep he’d originally estimated ended up closer to fifty. Gideon worked beside Juan to drag the remains to a mass grave at the base of a shallow arroyo, but when the sun dipped low in the sky, Gideon sent the herder to gather the stragglers and tend to the injured while he finished the unpleasant task of disposing of the lifeless bodies.
Blood and dust clung to his clothes, mixing with the sweat from his labor. The stench of death clung to him and clogged his nostrils. It was such a waste. Such a senseless waste. He pulled off his hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve as he peered into a western sky that was reddening with the approach of sundown. He needed to get back.
Gideon’s purposeful stride ate up the distance between him and his horse. The length of rope he’d been using still hung from Solomon’s saddle horn. He picked up the end of rope from the ground and wound it over his hand and elbow to form a loose coil as he walked. When he reached the horse’s side, he unknotted the rope from around the horn and was strapping it in place on the saddle when Solomon’s ears suddenly pricked. His head swung west, the opposite direction of Juan and the flock. Gideon patted Solomon’s neck and slid his rifle out of its sheath. He turned and searched the landscape for danger, but the sun’s glare blinded him. If the shooter had returned, he was clever enough to position himself with the sun at his back.
Tugging his hat brim low over his eyes, Gideon scanned the areas that would provide the greatest cover. Off to the left stood an outcropping of rocks. Gideon tightened his grip on the rifle. A movement caught his eye, and he yanked the weapon to his shoulder. He peered down the barrel. The rear half of a dark horse stuck out from behind the rocks, its tail swishing the air. Juan had said the first fence cutter rode a painted horse with white markings. What he could see of this one was solid black. Cold dread sunk like a stone in Gideon’s gut.
“Adelaide.” The whispered name fell from his lips at the same instant a gunshot echoed off the rocks.
Chapter 26
Searing pain exploded in Gideon’s abdomen. He staggered back and instinctively clutched his midsection. Something thick and warm oozed over his wrist. As if in a dream, he pulled his arm away and looked down. A red stain spread across his blue-checked shirt.
Before he could fully grasp what his eyes were telling him, the crack of a second shot jerked him out of his stupor. He ducked and scrambled for what cover he could find. A scraggly mesquite stood ten feet away, and though its trunk was barely the width of his hips, it was better than nothing. A third bullet ricocheted off the ground in front of him as he dashed behind the tree.
Gideon thrust his left shoulder against the mesquite and turned sideways to give his enemy a smaller target while he fought to catch his breath. He swung his rifle into position, gritting his teeth against the stabbing pain that accompanied the movement. Thoughts of Adelaide and Bella drove him as he steadied the barrel on a branch. If he didn’t stop the demon here and now, they would be his next targets.
Sweat trickled down his brow, near his eye. He swiped it away. Gideon blinked several times in an effort to clear his vision as well as the haze in his mind. He felt himself weakening as blood seeped from his body. God help me. I can’t fail my girls.
The firing ceased, and an unnatural quiet stretched between the combatants. Gideon closed one eye and peered down the barrel of his rifle, praying for the man to step into the open.
“I know my bullet hit your flesh, gringo. Are you dead yet?” Gideon clamped his jaw shut and remained silent, hoping to lure his enemy out from behind the rocks.
“The Englishman, he want you dead. But me? I want you to suffer like you made me suffer.” He accented his words with another shot.
Gideon yanked his head back behind the tree trunk. The bullet struck a branch to his left, snapping the narrow limb. Gideon flinched as bark fragments spattered his face. He steeled himself, then returned to his position, his finger poised upon the rifle’s trigger.
He recognized the shooter’s voice. The shearer who’d attacked Adelaide. But he was supposed to be in jail. Why had no one warned him the man had escaped? Gideon gritted his teeth and forced his anger down. How José escaped didn’t matter. He was here now— and had evidently met up with Petchey. Gideon could think of no other Englishman who wanted him dead. But where was the viscount? Had he gone after Bella, or was he waiting for his lackey to report that Gideon had been dispatched in the same manner as his sheep?
At least Gideon could take some comfort in the fact that Petchey had come after him and not Bella. There was a twisted sort of hope in that. Maybe the man was not so depraved that he would kill his own niece for money. However, with Gideon dead, Petchey could claim both Bella and her inheritance.
Unacceptable. There was no way he’d allow Bella to live with the man who’d killed both of her parents. The money didn’t matter beyond the fact that it was Bella’s inheritance, and he’d vowed to safeguard it for her future. But if it meant keeping his daughter out of Petchey’s hands, he’d sign the funds over in a heartbeat.
Gideon shut his eyes and grimaced, fighting a wave of dizziness and self-recrimination. He’d been so sure that Petchey was not behind the slaughter of his sheep, and now look at him. He glanced down at the mess that was his shirt. Abdominal gunshot wounds were nearly always fatal, and this one throbbed like the very devil. Gideon bit back a moan and jerked his chin up, away from the grisly sight. It might be too late to stop Petchey from successfully completing the first stage of his plan, but Gideon was determined that Bella wouldn’t pay the price for his stupidity.
He turned his eyes to heaven. God, I won’t argue against your taking me on to glory, but I need you to hold off for a little while. All I ask is for enough time and strength to get home and put things right before you send your angels after me. Please. I need to protect Bella from Petchey. Help me.
Suddenly eager to end the standoff, Gideon called out to his attacker, hoping to goad him into making a mistake.
“I see you’re still a coward, José. Ambushing me just as you ambushed my daughter’s governess in the barn. I should have killed you that day.”
“You think you’re better than me, gringo? Which one of us is bleeding, eh?”
“It’s only a scratch. I could still wipe the floor with you. Just like last time. The only creatures you’re capable of killing are defenseless sheep.”
“Shut your mouth, Englishman,” José barked back. “I will have my venganza.”
Gideon smiled over the tension in the shearer’s voice. He was reaching the edge of his control. All he needed was a final push to topple him over the edge
.
“Revenge is big talk for a small man, José,” Gideon yelled through the mesquite branches. “Why didn’t you challenge me when you first escaped if you were so bent on vengeance? You weren’t clever enough to do it on your own, were you? No, you needed an Englishman to plan out your attack and line your pockets with enough gold to give you courage. You’re nothing but a worthless, cowardly—”
A roar of outrage drowned out Gideon’s words. José leaned away from the rocks and fired shot after wild shot in rapid succession. Gideon held his position despite the bullets peppering the tree around him and squeezed the trigger. José crumpled to the ground with a howl.
Gideon flicked the Winchester’s finger lever to eject the spent cartridge and cocked the hammer for the next shot as he watched his enemy scramble to his feet. The man’s right arm hung limp at his side. Gideon fired again, but his shot ricocheted off the rocks as José dove behind the cover. A moment later, the black horse surged away from the outcropping, José riding low on his back. The report of Gideon’s rifle echoed three more times before the man was out of range, but no other shot found its mark. Gideon scowled and clamped his teeth in frustration as he dropped the rifle from his shoulder. At least the fellow wouldn’t be able to hold a weapon for a good long while. It wasn’t the outcome he’d wanted, but it would have to be good enough.
With the immediate danger past, the pain in Gideon’s abdomen magnified, demanding his full attention. He groaned and sagged against the tree. The rough bark scraped at his shirt as he slid slowly to the ground. The landscape blurred. He ground his teeth together and fought the lightheadedness that assailed him. He couldn’t pass out. He still had to get back to Adelaide and Bella. His job wasn’t done yet.
Gideon grabbed the top of his shirt with both hands and ripped it open. Buttons popped and fabric tore, but he was finally able to assess the damage. Blood oozed from a dark hole above the waistband of his trousers. He tugged a handkerchief from his pants pocket and shoved it firmly against the wound, hissing at the agony the pressure created.
A sound to the east brought his head up. He held the handkerchief in place with his left hand and snatched up his rifle in his right. He drew his knee up to support the barrel of the gun and waited.
A rider came into view bouncing all over the saddle. Gideon let the rifle fall at his side. Juan must have heard the shots.
When the herder came abreast of him, he tumbled off his mare and rushed unsteadily to Gideon’s side.
“Patrón, you bleed!”
“I know.” Gideon’s dry response was lost on the hired man.
Juan knelt at his boss’s side, his eyes scouring Gideon’s midsection. When their eyes finally met, Gideon found very little hope reflected in the other man’s face.
“It looks bad, señor.”
“It … feels bad, too.”
Juan tried to smile, but the contortion looked more like a wince. He stripped out of his shirt and fashioned a bandage of sorts. Gideon sat forward as Juan wrapped his middle and tied the ends of the sleeves tightly around the handkerchief he had placed over his wound earlier. The binding was so tight he couldn’t take in a full breath, but it hurt too much to breathe deeply anyway, so it was a sacrifice easily made.
Gideon glanced around for Solomon, not surprised to find the beast gone. He undoubtedly took off at the first gunshot. He was a smart horse, after all. Gideon sighed. “Help me to your horse, amigo. I need to get home.”
He held out his hand. Juan clasped his forearm and leaned back. Fire shot through his middle. Gideon grunted and tried to curl forward to protect his stomach as Juan hefted him to his feet, but it felt as if the jarring motion were tearing him in two. It took all the self-control Gideon possessed not to scream.
Juan supported his weight and allowed Gideon to gulp several breaths before steering him toward the mare.
Gideon reached Juan’s horse without collapsing and took encouragement from that accomplishment. He gripped the cantle for balance as Juan slipped out from under his arm and moved behind him.
“You ready, patrón?”
Wishing he had a strip of leather or even a stick to bite down on, Gideon set his jaw and nodded. He lifted his left foot into the stirrup, grabbed hold of the saddle horn, and tried to hoist himself up. Juan’s hands pressed into his side and pushed him upward. Weak and exhausted, Gideon’s muscles shook, the tremors making it difficult to keep his balance. With a final shove from Juan, Gideon dragged his free leg over the horse and slumped into the saddle, helpless to stop the tortured moan that rose in his throat.
Thankfully, the dun mare was well trained and held fast throughout the ordeal. Sweat clung to his skin, and he trembled worse than a leaf in a windstorm, but he was on. Gideon prayed for God to keep him conscious as the pain tried to pull him down into oblivion.
Juan pulled the stirrup free and mounted behind him. The herder took the reins and hemmed him in with strong arms. Gideon clasped the pommel and slouched forward as Juan nudged the animal into a brisk walk.
“I get you to the house, then ride for the doctor.”
Trying to keep the saddle horn from digging into his wound, Gideon swallowed a cry as the mare lumbered down a small hill. “Fetch the minister, too,” he gritted out between heavy breaths.
“The minister, patrón?”
“Sí.” Gideon turned his neck just far enough to look Juan in the eye. “Promise me you … you won’t come back without the … minister. It’s essential.”
Juan nodded, his eyes full of pity.
“Sí, señor. I get the minister, too.”
Satisfied, Gideon turned forward again and plotted his strategy. He knew what he had to do; he just prayed God would keep him alive long enough to see it accomplished.
Chapter 27
Adelaide sat in the window seat of the schoolroom, scanning the landscape for anything that could be interpreted as a threat. Isabella knelt on the rug several feet away building pyramids with her alphabet blocks. Adelaide was too tense to play. Petchey was out there somewhere, just waiting for the opportunity to strike.
She looked off in the direction Gideon had ridden and whispered another prayer on his behalf. He’d said he’d be back in an hour. It had been nearly three. Closing her eyes for a moment, she felt once again the slight pressure of Gideon’s lips on her brow.
Ever since the night of the party, she dared to hope that his feelings for her might be deepening. Their friendship and common devotion for Isabella had formed a bond between them, but Adelaide had longed for more. Even though her head had insisted she remain detached, that she focus solely on caring for Isabella, her heart had not heeded those instructions. Somewhere between their bickering by the river and Gideon’s tender response to her concerns about Lucinda’s journal, she had fallen utterly in love with the man.
And now he’d given her reason to believe he might share those feelings to some degree. For the first time since the fiasco in Fort Worth, she honestly thanked God that Henry Belcher was a married man. The lukewarm affection she’d felt for him seemed ridiculous in light of the blazing warmth Gideon stirred in her. No other man would ever do.
She opened her eyes and spied something moving far in the distance, teasing the edge of her peripheral vision. She turned to get a better look, rising up out of her seat until she was half standing. When her mind finally made sense of the sight, her heart plummeted like a bird shot out of the sky.
It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. She pressed her face against the window, the cold glass sending a shiver through her. Gideon’s bay gelding was trotting down the hill toward the stable. Without Gideon.
Panic jolted through her, and she had to cover her mouth to hold back a cry. She spun away from the window, picked up her skirts, and … stopped. Wide blue eyes full of questions stared up at her.
“Isabella … I …”
A suitable explanation for her abrupt departure failed to present itself, and she hadn’t the time to think one up.
“I … I need to go somewhere for a little while,” Adelaide stammered. “Stay here. I’ll send Mrs. Chalmers up to sit with you until I return.”
Without a second glance at the girl, Adelaide dashed out the door and down to her bedroom. Her heart thudded against her rib cage as she tore off her yellow muslin walking skirt and petticoat and yanked her split riding skirt over her hips. Not caring about the mismatched bodice, she flung open her trunk and reached into its depths. She shoved unwanted items left and right until her hand closed over the thick leather belt she sought.
With an ease of motion that hadn’t rusted since the days she rode the range with her father, Adelaide strapped the gun belt around her waist. Remembering Isabella’s upset about the men carrying guns, she’d not wanted to frighten the child by wearing hers in the house. But there was no help for it now. Adelaide pulled the revolver from its holster and crammed bullets into the empty chambers. Her fingers shook, but she got the job done and raced down the stairs to find the housekeeper. Fortunately, she didn’t have to look far. Mrs. Chalmers was dusting the entryway table when Adelaide flew by.
Eliminating any opportunity for the bewildered housekeeper to ask questions or argue, Adelaide made her proclamation on her way out the back door. “Gideon’s in trouble,” she called out. “I need you to see to Isabella.”
She sprinted toward Solomon. Saddling Sheba would take too long, and she refused to forfeit a single minute.
James must have heard the kitchen door bang, for he came running around the side of the house. Adelaide didn’t bother to explain, figuring he was smart enough to reason out what she was doing. She grabbed Solomon’s reins and led him back toward James.
“Give me a leg up.”
James scowled at her and made no move to help. “Where’s Gideon?”