34

As Grace traveled her shorter route home, she realized that she’d taken a wrong turn at some point. She hadn’t gone far—how had this happened? Her mind had been on something else, and to make matters worse, dark clouds were closing in over the mountaintops. She should’ve left Ginny’s sooner and foregone the tea. It was dusk now, and there would be no moon to light her way.

She came to a crossroads and pulled hard on Cinnamon’s reins until she stopped, giving her time to contemplate which way to go. This is what I get for thinking I could find a shortcut. I thought I knew these parts like the back of my hand.

A loud snapping branch behind her caused her to turn around in her saddle. She squinted to see in the waning daylight. Something didn’t feel quite right. A strong gust of wind rustled the pine and cottonwood trees, and alarm ran down the back of her neck. Through the shadows, a rider and another man were talking about something and she strained to hear.

She whispered to Cinnamon, “Easy girl. Quiet and slow.” Edging closer, she saw a man in a wagon, which appeared to be loaded down with goods, hand the other man a big envelope. Large drops of rain pelted the dirt road between them.

“Until next time,” the man perched on the wagon said.

“This is our last exchange, I’m afraid. Too many in one location and someone will be on to us,” the man on horseback responded.

“Keep in touch, then, and we’ll see what we can work out.” He clicked the horses’ reins and took off, disappearing with the wagon into the rain.

Grace didn’t move a muscle for fear of being noticed. When the other man turned his horse around, her heart caught in her throat. Warren!

Warren spied her and trotted his horse toward her. “Well, now look who we have here.”

Heart pounding, Grace moved to pass him. “I was just on my way home—”

“I think you’d better come with me. It’s dark and you shouldn’t be out alone. Are you lost?” Warren’s voice was menacingly tense. He reached over, grabbing Cinnamon’s reins from her tight clutch.

Grace was so surprised her jaw dropped and fear clinched her insides. “I’d rather get on home,” she rasped with a dry mouth, while trying to retrieve the reins from his grip.

“Yes, you must get back to your father. Well, too bad. He’ll have to fend for himself tonight.” His tone held a warning.

The rain was beginning to come down harder. Shouting above the noise, Grace tried again. “Let go of my reins, Warren, or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what? Do you really think I’m afraid of a thin gal like you?” he scoffed. He dismounted, dragged her down from the horse, who cantered away, then pulled her close. Rain dripped from his hat brim and trickled down her blouse. His finger followed the dripping rain to the top of her blouse, then back up her throat with his thumb, pressing it firmly against the pulse that beat there. “I know you saw me with Jack a moment ago, so I think you might need someone to teach you a lesson about eavesdropping.”

A slow thud of dread sent a chill down her spine. She’d have to think of something fast. “What you do in your free time is your business, Warren. Now let me go. I promise I won’t say anything.” Adrenaline raced and she tried backing away, but he struck a quick blow to the side of her head, stunning her and making her sway on her feet. She felt a trickle of blood slide down the side of her face. I don’t believe I’ve ever been hit. Did she hear herself say that or was she thinking it? Too hard to think clearly.

Twisting her arm hard, he yanked her against him and she grimaced in pain. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure of that. Grace, with all her sweetness . . . Grace, loyal and helpful to everyone—except for me.” He swore.

It was hard to see his eyes through the dimness and the rain, but she felt more than saw his unleashed anger through the grip in his hands. I have to get away from this man. He’s gone crazy! Her mind screamed, Think, Grace! And pray.

Robert had stood for a moment when Grace cantered off. Could it be that one day she’d be riding toward him, not away? Is that what I really want and have wanted for so long? Someone who I could join at the hip—soul to soul—with the truth and openness that I’m beginning to have with Grace? He scratched his head, thinking about the two of them and for some reason not really wanting to go inside. Maybe he’d take a ride. But no sooner had he thought about it than the rain began, so he changed his mind.

He turned to go inside for supper, but stopped short when he saw Cinnamon loping down the street, stopping in front of the boardinghouse. Robert walked up to the horse, patting her flanks. “Cinnamon, where’s Grace?” Cinnamon snorted, shaking her mane. Something wasn’t right. Robert felt it in his gut.

He picked up Cinnamon’s reins and threw his leg over the horse’s back just as Tom came out to call him in to supper. “I think Grace is in trouble. Run to get the sheriff and then let Stella know where I am,” he shouted at Tom, who took off running to the sheriff’s office.

Robert had been concerned about Grace leaving so late with rain threatening, especially when she mentioned a shortcut. He didn’t know of one, and he knew the foothills could harbor road agents and occasionally Indians, though the Blackfeet had been relatively quiet lately. Still he prayed for her safety.

He spurred Cinnamon into a gallop in the direction she’d just emerged from with urgency. A gnawing feeling rumbled within him. Whatever it was, he hoped he wasn’t too late.

With Cinnamon gone, Warren held Grace’s wrist so hard that it burned as he pulled her behind him, mounting his horse, and then in one swift movement, pulling her up in front of him. “I know a nice place where we can have some time alone . . . no one to interrupt,” he whispered in her ear above a clap of thunder.

Grace couldn’t think straight with her head throbbing. They hadn’t gone far when a small, run-down log cabin appeared through the darkness ahead. Warren stopped the horse and pulled Grace off, then kicked the cabin door open. An old, musty smell was strong and overpowering. Someone had left a coffeepot and mug on the table, and the smell of smoke from a recent fire in the grate filled the one room.

How was she going to get away from this monster of a man she used to think was a gentleman? Oh, God, please help me!

Flinging her onto a lumpy bed in the corner, Warren gave an eerie smile. “Don’t move,” he ordered. He reached behind her, retrieving the pillow, then took the pillowcase and tore it in half. Dread filled her soul. Her mouth was so dry with fear that she couldn’t move a muscle, much less utter a cry. She watched, horrified, as he wound two long strips around one of her wrists, tying it tightly to the iron bedpost before doing the same to the other.

Finally finding her voice, Grace begged, “Warren, please don’t do this. Let’s talk about why you’re so angry with me—”

A sharp slap on her cheek silenced her with pain and filled her with rage. In that moment, Grace knew talking wouldn’t matter. She’d have to fight against him. She twisted and struggled against the ties, and kicked her legs, sending a hard blow to his stomach. Unflinching, he clamped his hand hard over her mouth, causing her teeth to cut her lips as he eased himself on top, his full body weight nearly crushing her.

Despite his hand over her mouth, Grace tried to scream—knowing she wouldn’t be heard anyway out here in this desolate area. His other hand fumbled with her skirt and petticoats. Having his eyes piercing into hers was too horrible, so she closed her eyes, held her breath, and prayed.

The cabin door crashed open as someone yelled, “Stop! I have a bullet aimed at the back of your head!”

Grace couldn’t see over Warren’s large body, but instantly he tensed and looked around. “This is none of your business, hired man. This is between me and the little lady,” he spat.

Robert! Thank God. Grace was finally able to take a breath as Warren removed his hand.

“But it is my business,” growled the sheriff, “and if you don’t turn around and let go of Grace, I can promise you’ll be dead in less than a minute.”

Hearing the sheriff’s voice, Warren backed off Grace, lifting his heavy body and turning to face him. “She came willingly,” he lied.

Robert moved in and hit him with a right hook, sending Warren sprawling backward against the iron footboard. “You liar. I should—”

Sheriff Mendenhall stayed Robert with his hand. “Easy, Robert,” he said with his gun pointed at Warren. “Cuff him.”

Robert reached into the sheriff’s back pocket and took the cuffs out, but Warren lunged at him, pulling a knife from his boot, and Grace screamed, “Robert, watch out!”

The two wrestled on the floor until a shot rang out, hitting Warren in the arm as he held the raised knife to Robert’s throat. With a yelp, Warren dropped the knife, held his arm, and sat on the floor like a whipped puppy.

“Lucky for you that I didn’t shoot you when I had the chance, you lily-livered piece of a man!” the sheriff said. “But I’m sure you won’t be hurting anyone else for a long time.”

Warren glared at him, his face twisted in anger. Robert clipped the cuffs about Warren’s wrists and yanked him off the floor.

“I got it from here, Robert,” Sheriff Mendenhall said, shoving Warren toward the door. “See to Grace, and I’ll see you back in town,” he tossed over his shoulder.

In two strides, Robert was at Grace’s side, and she saw the fury in his eyes as he bent to untie her arms and set her free.