What should she do?
The female’s voice grew louder. More agitated. Then a sharp clap. A cry of pain. Renewed rustling. Then a scream.
Emma lifted the rifle across her body and ran toward the sounds.
31
It didn’t matter what the woman had done to betray the colony. That was one of her ladies out there. And no female was going to be battered by a brute of a man on Emma’s watch.
But neither was she going to run blindly into a heated situation without first calculating her odds of success. So when the voices became loud enough to be distinguished, Emma slowed her step and crept forward with careful precision.
“I did everything you asked, but I ain’t gonna be part of any more killin’. It ain’t right, Angus. You swore nobody would get hurt.”
Emma bit back a groan as recognition swept over her. Flora. She should have known. All the signs had been there. The way she tried to talk women into leaving early on. Her suspicious behavior after the church fire. Her reluctance to share any of her personal history with Emma when they’d served on watch together. Yet, the bruises and bloody gashes she’d worn the day she first came to the colony had been real, too. Why would she return to a man who abused her instead of taking Emma up on her offer of a fresh start?
“They’re a bunch of chickens. Stupid woman.”
The sound of a fist hitting flesh made Emma wince.
“And if I say it’s time to up the stakes, it ain’t your place to argue.”
Emma crept alongside a large oak and peeked around the trunk. What she saw turned her stomach.
Flora had fallen to the ground and was cupping her jaw with her hand. Blood flowed from a split lip and one of her eyes didn’t seem able to open fully. The man she’d called Angus stood over her and swung his booted foot into her ribs with such force Flora lifted a bit from the ground before flopping back down like a rag doll.
“A wife is supposed to obey her husband,” he spat. “I don’t care if they figured out they had a traitor in their midst, you should’ve stayed.”
Emma’s stomach roiled. She swallowed down the urge to retch and turned her gaze away to scan the area. She had to figure out if the second man was nearby.
“Let me take Ned,” Flora pleaded, her voice raspy and broken as she struggled onto her hands and knees. “He’s just a boy. Too young to be drawn into your schemes. They have men in town. Fighting men. And all the women are armed now. He could be hurt! Let me take him away from here, and you can do whatever you think you must.”
The man growled and kicked his wife again. She sprawled back into the dirt. “You ain’t takin’ the boy from me. He’s mine now. You had him all those years I was stuck in prison and you turned him into a milk-faced baby. Always whining. Askin’ where his ma is. Fussin’ about goin’ home.” Angus spat into Flora’s face. She barely flinched and made no move to wipe the offensive liquid away. “The kid’s got no backbone. This’ll make a man outta him. Show him the value of patience, of planning and hard work. And if we gotta kill us a few womenfolk to get that stubborn bloomer brigade to finally clear out, well, that’ll just harden him up. Teach him not to let anything stand in the way of his goals.”
The second man was a boy? Flora’s son? No wonder she didn’t flee. She couldn’t leave him to this monster.
On the other hand . . . Emma glanced around a final time . . . neither would Angus speak in such derogatory terms about his son if the boy was within earshot. That meant he was alone. Emma raised her rifle into position against her shoulder and eased a little farther around the tree.
“For the last five years I did nothing but plan and plot in that rotten hole, and nothin’ is gonna stop me from gettin’ that gold. Not you.” He kicked her again in the ribs. Flora curled up in a ball and moaned.
Gold? That’s what this was all about? Money?
“Not that pansy son o’ mine.” Another kick. “And not a pair of two-bit cowboys trying to be knights in stinkin’ armor.” He reared back for another kick, but Emma stepped out from behind the tree and aimed her rifle straight at his chest.
“Back away from her,” she ground out in the meanest voice she could muster.
Malachi would have been proud. Her arms weren’t shaking. Her aim was true. And she had so much anger and indignation swimming through her veins, she thought she just might be able to pull the trigger without experiencing a single morsel of regret.
The stocky man stilled his swinging leg and cocked a glance toward Emma. His yellowed teeth winked at her as he grinned in a way that was the precise opposite of welcoming. “Well, looky here. One of the bloomer brigade followed you, Flora. Pretty sure she’s all on her lonesome, though.” He casually scanned the area. “Aren’t ya, honey?”
Emma gritted her teeth. She wanted to shout that she wasn’t this foul vermin’s honey, but something warned that getting riled would only give him reason to gloat. She’d not give him that satisfaction. She took a step forward, satisfaction zinging through her when one of his dust-laden eyebrows craned up in surprise.
“Flora needs medical attention. I’m taking her back to town with me.” Emma took another step, stopping a few feet from Flora’s fallen form, not wanting to get too close to the ham-fisted man standing over her.
Angus crossed his arms over his chest. “You ain’t takin’ her anywhere, sweet pea. That there’s my wife. My . . . property. To do with as I see fit.”
“She’s a human being. No man’s property.”
The fiend leered at Emma, interest lighting his eyes. “You got fire in you, don’t ya, sweeting?”
Emma choked down a growl. If that man threw one more of those disgusting endearments at her, she’d not be responsible for the reaction of her trigger finger.
“I like fire in a woman.” He licked his lips and Emma nearly gagged. “Flora used to have spunk like that, too. Till I beat it outta her. Wonder how long it would take your spark to fade?”
You’re never going to find out! Even as her mind screamed denials, her gaze remained cool, her aim steady.
“Flora,” she said in a gentle voice. “Can you stand?”
Clothing rustled, punctuated by a small groan. Emma prayed that meant Flora was finding the strength to rise. Emma couldn’t afford to take her eyes off the man in front of her to verify.
“Yer pretty, too,” the lecher continued, showing no regard whatsoever for the wife lying broken and bleeding on the ground in front of him. “Dark hair. Shiny eyes. Uppity attitude. Hmm . . .” He grew thoughtful. His head leaned back and his gaze narrowed as he surveyed her more closely. “Stubborn. Controlling. Wanting to call the shots.” His face cleared, and an awful smile parted his beard. “You’re the banker lady that runs the town, ain’t ya? I think you and me need to get better acquainted.”
He lunged.
Emma pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked back into her shoulder, throwing off her balance.
He roared, aimed a quick glance at his left arm, where a red stain was blooming over the edge of his sleeve, but he never stopped coming. “You shot me!”
Emma stumbled backward, fumbling with the repeater’s lever, desperate to get another cartridge in the chamber. Then her heel caught on a tree root. She threw out an arm to grab the tree, leaving the rifle unprotected. With one swing of his arm, Angus knocked the weapon from her hand.
Emma yelped. She turned to flee, but Angus was too fast. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her up against his side. She pounded her fists against his arm, fighting to pry herself free, but his grip was as unyielding as iron.
“Let me go!” She kicked and squirmed, fighting desperately for her freedom. He laughed at her puny efforts.
Then she recalled his injury. Throwing her weight sideways, she flung her right arm across her body and slammed a fist into his bloodied left shoulder. A grunt of pain cut off his laughter. But he didn’t drop her as she’d hoped. Instead his right arm tightened about her waist and his left rose in retaliation.
&nbs
p; His fist slammed into the side of her head. Her body fell limp as her brain struggled to keep its faltering grasp on consciousness. Pain throbbed inside her skull. Her vision blurred. She heard a woman’s cry of outrage, but she couldn’t seem to get her head to turn to see what was going on.
“Stop, Angus!” Flora cried, a little more strength to her voice. “You hurt her, and Shaw will kill you.”
“Shaw don’t scare me. He can’t even find me. Ha!” Angus shifted his hold on Emma, spinning her around to face him.
The sudden movement shot a host of tiny needles through her head. She moaned and squeezed her eyes closed. Then, just as the edges of pain started to dull, he tossed her up over his shoulder, belly down, head and arms thumping against his back as he clasped her legs. Her breath left her in a whoosh. Her head felt like it was splitting in two. Digging deep into her reserves, she found the strength to reach up and press the heels of her hands against her pounding temples. The motion lessened. The pain lessened. She pushed harder, trying to somehow contain the ache so she could think.
Angus stepped around his wife, who had managed to partially sit up, propping herself up with one arm. As he moved past, Emma raised up just enough to see Flora. The woman’s face was battered and bloody, her body curled in on itself to protect her abused middle. Suddenly the pain in Emma’s head didn’t seem nearly as significant. Not when one of her ladies had endured so much worse.
The two women locked gazes. Flora’s full of apology. Emma’s with compassion. Then Angus’s voice shattered the moment.
“If Shaw manages to find you before the animals do, Flora, give him a message for me.” Angus paused then spun around to face his wife, swinging Emma away from her. “Tell him that if he wants to see his little banker friend alive again, he better clear out all them females from my town by tomorrow morning. Otherwise I’ll clear them out myself with bullets, and the first one I fire will go into this one’s heart.” He smacked Emma’s behind with the flat of his hand, then turned and strode with a fast pace deeper into the woods.
“I’m done playing, banker lady,” he grumbled as he pushed through the brush. “Done panderin’ to my wife’s sensibilities and my boy’s youth. I tried to clear y’all out the nice way, but you were too stupid to take the hint. So if Shaw don’t do it for me, I’ll start pickin’ off your pack one by one. They’ll never even see me comin’.”
“That’s mur . . . der.” The bouncing stride cut the moaned word in half. Not that her proclamation mattered. Angus just shrugged, jostling Emma even more.
“Nah. It’s consequences. You were warned. Now you’ll pay the price for your lack of cooperation.”
A rustling to Emma’s right shot hope through her heart. Had Malachi found her? Please, Lord, let it be him. It took her a moment to realize the sound was coming from the north, from deeper in the woods, farther from town.
Angus heard it, too. He froze, yanked a revolver from his left-side holster, then whistled a deep-toned birdcall. A second call, nearly identical, answered. Angus put his gun away.
Emma’s hope faded.
A tall, thin man pushed through the trees to Emma’s right. No, not a man, she realized as she caught a glimpse of his face. A boy.
“Pa! Everythin’ all right? I heard a shot.”
“Everything’s fine, boy. It’ll be even finer by tomorrow. Found me some insurance.” He swatted Emma’s rear again.
She gritted her teeth as disgust surged through her, but when the youngster walked over to examine her, his eyes unsure, almost apologetic, she knew she had one last chance.
“Ned,” she whispered, recalling the name Flora had used. “Your mother’s hurt back there. You have to help—”
Angus whipped around, separating her from the boy and renewing the torment in her head.
“Yer mother’s fine, boy. I sent her to town with a message. Get on back to camp and start packin’ up. We got to move again.” As Angus spun around and trudged in the direction that must lead to his camp, Emma fought through the pain to lift her head and watch Ned.
He had turned to gaze off into the direction his father had come from, and he hesitated. She willed him to go after Flora. If the two could escape, Angus would have no further hold on them.
“Now, boy!” Angus barked.
Ned jumped and scurried to follow his father.
Emma flopped back down, a tear leaking from her lashes.
32
Malachi crouched down and traced the faint outline of a footprint in the earth on the far side of the river. Emma’s footprint. The one he’d been tracking for the last twenty minutes. The one that disappeared after this final marking, as if the woman herself had sprouted wings and flown away.
“Where are you, Emma?” he whispered, his frustration and desperation mounting.
He’d tried to hold it together ever since he spotted Henry, still clad in her nightclothes, hurrying across the road toward the boardinghouse. Told himself Emma wasn’t that far ahead. He’d track her down. But now that her trail had evaporated, his nerves were fraying with alarming speed.
Why had he thought the danger had passed just because the sun had risen? If Porter hadn’t drawn him away to the boardinghouse, he might’ve seen Emma leave. Might’ve stopped her. If only . . .
Mal shook his head. Second-guessing his choices served no purpose. At least he knew who was responsible for leading Emma away. Porter had brought a distraught Esther to him and showed him the note the woman had found tucked into her Bible that morning. Mal had barely had time to scan the paper and read the signature at the bottom before Henry came flying across the street, her gray braid swinging wildly behind her. Mal had shoved the note at Porter and sprinted out to meet his aunt. When she’d told him what Emma had done, he hadn’t taken the time to confer with the freighter. He just grabbed his rifle from inside the boardinghouse door and raced for the river, trusting Henry to inform the others about what had happened.
Emma’s trail had been easy enough to read at first. He’d lost it for a while after she entered the river but picked it up on the opposite shore fairly quickly. Until it disappeared. He’d searched east and north, the two directions her path seemed to have been heading, but he’d found no trace of her. Not a single marking.
Which meant he was missing something. Again. Just like the two previous times he’d searched for the outlaws.
So he’d circled back to the last footprint he’d found. Now he stared at it, traced it, and prayed the Lord would show him what he was missing, because his own abilities were obviously not getting the job done.
“All right, Mal. A giant bird didn’t swoop down and snatch her up, so her next step had to fall somewhere.” He’d searched the far side of the branches that stood in her path, yet found nothing. So she either walked atop the dead brush back down into the river or she followed its path north. She’d already crossed the river, so returning that way made no sense. She must have headed north. Though why she would have chosen to walk upon such an uneven pile of dead branches and leaves when dirt and prairie grass offered much more stable footing, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.
“Who cares if it make sense?” he muttered under his breath. “It’s the only option left.” Mal stepped atop the branches, taking a moment to dig in his bootheel to make his position more secure. Then he brought his second foot up. His heel sank, but something solid held his toe aloft. A stone. He hunkered down to examine it, brushing away the dried leaves and dirt with his hand. A flat river rock. The size of a man’s boot. One that would allow a man to travel away from the river without leaving a trail.
Malachi surged to his feet, leapt off the brush, and started running again. Running along the outlaw’s path of brush and stone, jaw clenched tight in disgust for missing what had been right in front of him all along, even as his heart rejoiced that he finally had a direction to search.
I’m coming, Emma. I’m coming.
Once the hidden path merged with a dry creek bed, the trail became hard
er to read. Mal lost precious minutes searching for clues in the prairie grass before he finally spotted one of Emma’s shoeprints. No, not Emma’s. Another woman’s. Slightly longer from heel to toe, the impression a little deeper. Must be Flora’s. Anger flared at the thought of the woman who’d betrayed them all, who might at this very minute be luring Emma into a trap. He’d seen her name at the bottom of Esther’s letter. He’d not taken the time to read her excuses or apologies, if there were any. He didn’t need to know the whys. All he needed was the where. Where was she? Surely if he found Flora, he’d find Emma as well.
Instead of wasting time searching for another set of prints, he followed Flora’s trail into the thickening vegetation. Just as the scrub brush gave way to oaks and mesquites, a movement to his left brought Mal’s head around. In a flash, he had his rifle aimed, cocked, and ready.
He froze in position, ears poised to catch any sound, eyes locked on the small space between the trees where he’d seen a shadow. A shadow that moved a second time. Low to the ground. Like an animal. A wounded animal. Limping. Scraping.
Mal raised his head from the barrel to widen his view yet still kept his finger on the trigger. Whatever was out there was moving toward him. Slow. Deliberate. Yet it made no effort to move with any degree of stealth.
Then something slid out of the shadows. A pale hand stretched into the sunlight followed by a mud-colored sleeve. It stretched. Reached. Then pulled. A feminine head appeared. One Mal recognized. A grimace of agony twisted Flora’s features as she dragged herself forward another few inches, her second arm curled protectively around her middle, her legs trailing behind. She reached again. Pulled. Dragged. Her battered face stirred Mal’s pity. Her leaf-strewn hair and torn flesh ignited his anger. An anger that no longer focused on her, but on the man who could beat a woman so badly she had to crawl away to escape him.