Thicker than Blood

  “I’m not finished.”

  Christy kept walking.

  In an instant, he spun her around, shoving her body into Spirit. The horse panicked and jumped away, ripping the reins out of her hand.

  Vince’s fist landed on her cheekbone, and she stumbled to her knees, vaguely aware of the horse bolting out the door. Throbbing pain pulsed across her face.

  Vince was upon her. He grabbed a fistful of her jacket and yanked her to her feet. “Learn this, darling.” He stuck his face in hers. “I don’t take no for an answer.”

  She closed her eyes, gasping for air. If she resisted, he’d make it worse. “Please, don’t.”

  “You pitiful excuse of a woman.” He hit her again, a swift bash to the left temple, and let her crumple to the floor. “Worthless piece of trash.”

  Her ears rang as the room turned black around the edges of her vision. If only she’d lose consciousness. He could do what he wanted and she wouldn’t feel it. Christy lifted her head, trying to see. “I . . . I promise I’ll never tell a soul. But please. Don’t do this to me.”

  Vince picked her up by the jacket again, shoving her against a stall door like she was a rag doll. She groaned as pain shot through her back. He’d pushed her against the metal latch, and it dug into her ribs.

  His nostrils flared. “Look at me.”

  She tried to lift her arms, but he had them pinned to her sides. She was crying now like a blubbering fool, begging him to let her go. Vince slammed her into the door again, and her head snapped back against the wood.

  “Look at me!”

  Christy raised her eyes to his face, now a grotesque caricature of the handsome man she’d met four years ago. How could she ever have loved him? Why hadn’t she seen?

  “I’ve given you more than enough chances.”

  “Please . . .”

  He backhanded her across the face, and she fell to her knees again, clutching her nose. Warm blood dripped into her fingers and ran down the back of her throat.

  “What did I see in you? You’re certainly nothing to look at.” Vince pulled a wad of rope from his jacket pocket. “Not even worth the air you breathe.”

  A rope? That’s when she realized the awful truth. He wasn’t just doing this to frighten her into submission. He intended to kill her . . . slowly. No doubt purposely choosing a method that would force her to suffer and sputter her last breath in a plea for mercy.

  Every ounce of survival instinct she had kicked in. She searched the barn for a weapon. Bale of straw. Horse comb. Bottle of saddle soap.

  Shovel.

  She locked onto that. It leaned against the wall by the door. Could she crawl fast enough?

  Vince kicked her in the thigh, and her quad muscle knotted. “Get up.”

  Christy rose in a slow, defeated way. If she could just take him off guard . . . Half way to her feet she lunged for the shovel. Grasping it with both hands, she willed herself to focus on Vince and swung at his skull.

  The shovel met its mark with a revolting thud. Vince’s hands flew to his head, and he sagged to the floor, moaning, cursing.

  She ran. Into the yard, past the pickups.

  The house! Get to the house! Lock the door. Maybe she could figure out how to use one of those guns before Vince could break in.

  And then Christy saw the most beautiful creature in the entire world—Spirit, a snowy apparition standing in the middle of the yard, as if waiting for her. For a split second she hesitated. Should she race for the house or try to mount the gelding when she could barely see straight?

  Vince decided for her. He appeared in the barn doorway still holding his head, his eyes ablaze. She wouldn’t make the house.

  Adrenaline propelled her to Spirit. She stumbled to his side, frantically gathering the reins. She raised a foot of lead, nearly losing her balance.

  Glance behind. Vince ran toward her. Clutching Spirit’s mane, she summoned all her strength, pulled herself up, and made it!

  So did Vince. He was at her again, seizing her leg and jerking her down.

  “Let go!” She tried to kick him in the chest.

  His grip tightened around her thigh and calf, twisting her leg. One more second and she knew he’d have her on the ground, and she’d be as good as dead.

  Like a whip, Christy slapped the reins at Vince’s eyes. He screamed and let her go.

  She whirled Spirit away toward . . . what? There was nowhere to go except over the gate and fence. And she could barely ride, much less jump. Was there enough room for Spirit to gather speed? She urged him with a kick to his flank, and he shot forward, straight for the fence.

  Vince yelled obscenities after her.

  The fence sped closer.

  She bore her heels into Spirit’s side, hanging on to the saddle horn and his mane. “Faster, boy!”

  Spirit didn’t balk at the fence. He leaped through the air, cleared the boards, and they landed on the other side with such force that the air whooshed out of Christy’s lungs, and her face smashed into his neck sending another bolt of pain through her already-tender nose. But she was still in the saddle.

  Christy didn’t realize a gun could be so loud. The shot cracked through the air like thunder. She whirled around in the saddle to see Vince standing at the fence with a pistol trained directly on her. All she could do was keep Spirit running. She had no idea the range of that gun.

  “Go, Spirit! Go!”

  Probably as scared as she was, the horse obeyed, speeding into a lope again.

  Two more shots came back-to-back.

  Crouching as low as she could without falling off, Christy thought of pleading to God for help but didn’t. She’d gotten into this mess all by herself. It was up to her alone to get out of it.

  ***

  May walked into the kitchen. “Chris?”

  A note on the counter caught her eye. It had been a while since she’d seen that familiar handwriting. May pulled it closer. Something came up at work. Had to leave. Sorry. I’ll keep in touch. Thanks for everything. Love, Chris.

  May stuffed the note in her pocket and went outside. Chris’s Honda was still parked behind the horse trailer. She walked to the car and stared inside. A suitcase sat on the backseat. Okay . . . so where was Chris now?

  In the calving shed, May found Ruth preparing a syringe.

  “Scours,” Ruth said. “Number 209’s calf.”

  “You seen Chris anywhere? She’s not in the house.”

  Ruth shook her head. “Maybe she went for a ride. Spirit’s not in the corral, and I know I put him in there this morning.”

  May pulled out Chris’s note and handed it to Ruth. “She was planning to leave. Without saying good-bye.”

  Ruth read it, then put her arm around her. May leaned into the older woman.

  “She might not realize what she’s doing to you, chica,” Ruth said, gently brushing a strand of hair out of May’s face. “And it’s obvious she’s hurting.”

  “I know. I see it in her eyes, and it makes my heart break.”

  “She needs your acceptance now more than ever. It doesn’t mean you condone her sins. You love her in spite of them.”

  “Like that Scripture. Judge not, lest you be judged.”

  “That’s right.” Ruth squeezed her shoulder. “I meant what I said in the parking lot. You’re not doing anything wrong. The other night when we were playing cards I saw her watching you with longing in her eyes. And when you and Beth went outside, I was talking to her. Every question she asked was about you.”

  “Really?”

  “I think she just needs time.”

  ***

  Christy finally slowed down for Spirit’s sake. She had enough sense to know he couldn’t keep up a gallop for long. She let him slow to a fast walk as she craned to look back, her whole body trembling. She couldn’t believe it. Vince tried to kill her. He wanted her dead.

  She wiped some of the blood from her nose. She kept sniffing, trying to keep more from
flowing, but it still drizzled onto Spirit’s mane. Her face ached, and the spot on her back where the stall’s latch caught her sent a sharp pain up her spine.

  The ranch house was now hidden behind the hills, but she still didn’t feel safe. Pulling on the gloves she’d stashed in her coat pocket, she held her fingers to her nose and tried to calm herself. What should she do? Was Vince following her?

  She cast another glance over her shoulder. There was no sign of him. But that didn’t mean anything anymore. Christy pulled the ski cap down over her ears as the whiteness eddied all around her. Zero cows out here. Only freshly accumulated snow spread over the hills and that mountain May had called Squatter’s Mountain straight ahead. Spirit was taking the same route she’d ridden with May the other day.

  She couldn’t go back. Not without any idea when May and especially Jim would return from church. Vince could be following her this very moment.

  She tapped Spirit’s flank.

  ***

  “What is it, boy?” May found Scribbles behind the barn, hackles upraised like a patch of needles and barking at a Chevy Blazer. What in the world? Where did that come from?

  She scratched the dog’s back. “Settle down.” Wiping away the snow from the car’s blacked-out passenger window, she tried to see in. All that was visible was a map on the seat.

  Ruth and Jim were in the house fixing dinner. She’d been busying herself outside, waiting for Chris to come back from her ride. May took Scribbles with her and stuck her head in the kitchen. “Guys? You know anything about that Blazer behind the barn?”

  “Blazer?” Ruth asked.

  Jim stood up from the table, and May was surprised to see alarm on his face. “A green Blazer?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Show me.”

  She brought them to it and stood with her hands on her hips. It was a new model, unusually clean for this area. “Know whose it is?”

  Jim didn’t seem to hear the question as he tried all the truck’s doors.

  May and Ruth looked at each other.

  “Jim, what’s the matter?” Ruth said.

  He turned to face both of them. “I have seen this truck before. Early yesterday a guy named Vince drove up in it and said he was looking for Christy. When I told her, she freaked out. It’s a long story, but I think he’s been stalking her.”

  “What?” May said.

  “He was mad ’cause she broke up with him.”

  “And when were you going to tell me this?”

  “I was hoping she’d talk to you herself.” He scowled at the Chevy. “I should never have let her come back alone.”

  May felt the muscles in her entire body tense. “What are you thinking? Is this guy dangerous? She should’ve been back by now.”

  “She was real scared of him finding her. That’s why she wanted to leave.” Jim used his sleeve to remove the snow from the rest of the windows, peering in each one.

  Ruth turned toward the barn. “I’ll saddle the horses.”

  ***

  Christy stopped Spirit to smoke a cigarette amid the first few trees at the base of Squatter’s Mountain. Her pulse had steadied almost to normal, and she felt safe enough to take a minute to rest. But her hand still shook as she lit up, and it wasn’t from needing a drink this time. Were the others home yet? Would it be safe to return?

  Easy. Calm down. I’m okay. For now.

  She sat quietly smoking for a moment, the only sounds the creaking of the saddle leather at her slightest move and Spirit’s heavy breaths in the cold. The snow was quickly piling up all around her.

  A twig snapped.

  She jumped and spun around in the saddle, studying every degree of her surroundings. Even though she saw nothing, she urged Spirit forward. She couldn’t let herself be an easy target. Forget the weather. She had to get going! Vince left her no choice.

  Christy turned Spirit onto that trail May had pointed out on their ride. A gust of wind sent a huge clump of wet snow down her neck. She grabbed at her collar too late. Ice shocked her skin, and she had no choice but to bear it until it melted and warmed to her body’s temperature.

  For several minutes she maneuvered the horse through the trees, unable to avoid branches whisking into her face and thighs. A couple times on the incline the saddle slipped dangerously sideways when she least expected it. She’d known the cinch wasn’t tight enough, and she was really paying for it on these hills.

  “Come warmer weather, it’ll make a great hike.”

  What had May meant? She hoped this trail was safe for horses.

  Leaning forward as Spirit climbed higher, Christy wove her gloved fingers through his mane.

  “You can do it,” she grunted. The farther she went, the safer she’d be. Vince would never find her on Squatter’s Mountain.

  Spirit labored up the slope, his hooves sinking through snow and hitting the rock beneath. He was struggling to keep his footing now, but they finally made it to where the hill leveled off, and she rode him through a small clearing. Looking back, she checked to see how far they’d come, but she couldn’t see anything past the pines.

  A mental picture of Vince hiding behind one of them forced her to plow on, and she didn’t look back again.

  ***

  May met Ruth walking out of the barn.

  “Nugget’s gone,” Ruth said. “And she was in her stall before we left.”

  “Maybe Chris took her?”

  Ruth glanced toward the corral. “Then where’s Spirit? Last time I checked one gal can’t ride two horses.”

  “You think that guy . . . ?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

  May sprinted for the tack room. They had to find Chris.

  ***

  Was she still on the trail?

  Christy gripped Spirit with her legs until they were full of fire. Winding through the switchbacks had kept the climbing to a minimum at first, but now she was hugging the horse’s neck to keep from falling off as they struggled up another arduous grade. It was getting scary. She knew the smart thing would be to turn back, but what if Vince was waiting for her at the bottom? Maybe she would have a better view at the summit.

  Spirit balked at the next incline, and she had to force him forward. He finally obeyed, his hooves grabbing at the slope, and she felt her hold on his mane slipping. She looked down. The left side of the trail dropped fifteen feet into a ravine. She held the saddle in a death grip. A branch slapped her face on the cheekbone where Vince hit her in the barn. She managed to keep from instinctively letting go and reaching toward the sting.

  “Go, boy!”

  Spirit valiantly pushed on, but no matter how hard he tried, he slid backward. This was crazy! She had to get off and lead Spirit the rest of the way. Flipping her foot out of the right stirrup, she clasped the saddle horn with both hands, shifted her weight, ready to dismount. There was just enough space to get off without sliding into the ravine.

  Mistake. The saddle flipped to the left before she had a chance to get her right leg over. Spirit clambered to keep his footing, but it was too late.

  They were going down.

  Spirit’s whinny mixed with her scream. All Christy could do was watch helplessly as the ground raced to meet them. And before she could react, the horse’s mammoth body slammed on top of her and they both tumbled down, down into the ravine.

  Chapter 20

  See anything?” May reined in her mount as Ruth rode toward her. One look at the older woman’s face and May knew the answer.

  “Nothing. Passed Jim, and he hasn’t either.”

  The three of them had been out for over an hour, and now the snow and wind, which had already covered any tracks, was picking up. There wasn’t going to be much more daylight. May struggled to keep from completely panicking.

  “It’s time to call . . .” Ruth sat straighter in her saddle, her eyes focused on the horizon.

  May followed her gaze. A distant gray speck was coming quick
ly toward them and growing into the form of a horse. “It’s Spirit!”

  They sat on their mounts silently watching him approach at a gallop, the stirrups from the twisted saddle he wore swinging and beating against his flank.

  “Dear, Lord,” May whispered.

  The saddle was empty.

  ***

  Christy came to, retching. She tried to roll onto her side, but excruciating stabs of pain shot up her left leg. Then she was spewing bile onto herself and the snow. Coughing, sputtering, she struggled to breathe. What happened? Where was she?

  The deep purple sky was barely visible through the treetops, and only as icy flakes lit on her face did she remember where she was. Spirit had slipped on the trail. She had no idea how far they’d rolled or even if the horse was still alive.

  Pain raced across her forehead, and she jerked off a glove with her teeth to feel for its source. Her fingers dipped into a wet wound, still bleeding. She could move her arms without any trouble. Good. They seemed all right, anyway. But her ankle . . . any attempt to move it brought jabs painful enough to make her scream. At least she wasn’t paralyzed. Weakly raising herself on an elbow, all she could make out were the dark shadows of her lifeless legs.

  Despite agony and dizziness, she forced herself to sit and explore her leg with trembling fingers. Running them across her thigh and downward, she felt a tear in her jeans and sticky blood again. Her knee was bruised and swollen, but it was still in one piece. Wincing, she stretched her hand toward the spot that hurt the most. She hated the idea of touching it. Gritting her teeth, her fingers crept down her leg.

  Larger tear in the fabric. More warm stickiness as her fingers reached a break in the flesh. Gently she slid her hand farther down and felt a sharp object sticking out of her ankle.

  A splintered bone?

  Easing back into the snow, she shut her eyes in torture. “Help! Please somebody help me!” But the second the words escaped her, she realized with dread what she’d just done. If Vince heard her she could’ve just signed her death warrant.

  She must have blacked out again, because the next thing she knew her body was shaking uncontrollably in the cold. There was no light of any kind. A shower of dry, biting snow blew onto her face. Hugging her ribs, she pulled her fingers together within the palm section of her gloves in a futile attempt to warm them. She wanted to yell for help again, but Vince could be ten feet away. That was when reality hit.