Chapter 15

Anna closed her eyes and faced the morning sun, the warmth descending on her like a welcome peace.

The chapel courtyard was silent except for the ringing bell. The air was delicious, and she breathed in a soft scent of flowers she didn’t know.

She tugged at the ropes that bound her wrists. The habit had ringed callusses around her arms, but she relished the small attempt of rebellion.

Don’t open your eyes. Reality is in the mind, the truth created in the kindness of the sun. After the dank basement night after night, the rays gave her renewed life.

She could almost feel Philip’s touch on her cheek, his lips on hers. Her heart fluttered as she sensed his need for her.

The chapel bells stopped. The sound of horses approaching caught her attention.

After a sigh, she opened her eyes.

A Mexican boy, his head down, rounded the short adobe fence. He trudged around a withered tree and into the center near a dry fountain. He pulled a horse behind him, the reins clasped in his hands.

She greeted the boy. “Hello there.”

She recognized the weary animal.

Anna rushed to her horse and buried her face in the ratty mane. “Alita!” She breathed in the sharp smell of horse sweat, so welcoming and familiar.

Alita snorted and brushed her muzzle against Anna’s side.

When Anna looked up, the Mexican boy had disappeared.

Although Alita wasn’t saddled, Anna could easily leap onto her back and escape. Leave Jacob far behind. And leave Beth and her mother. Rachel and Becky.

Or Anna could find the city marshal.

The law wouldn’t do anything. She held tightly to Alita’s mane. No, the law surely knew girls were brought into his city with the hopes of selling them. And the law did nothing.

Sores spotted Alita’s back, and her flanks were matted with sweat and blood. She’d been ridden hard with no care.

Oh, someone would get an earful from her. Perhaps a punch in the mouth, if she were lucky.

Anna felt a presence.

She spun. Jacob stood close to the chapel’s back door, shrouded in a monk’s robe. Even though his hood covered his head, the morning rays lit sparks in his eyes. His consuming lust for her engulfed the space between them.

He straightened, and the look was gone.

“No,” he said, his mellow voice soft. “You can’t leave. You’re too honorable to leave behind your sister.” His eyes begged her to respond.

She held her tongue, but keeping silent was the most difficult thing she’d ever done.

His robe brushed the red clay around his feet as he sauntered toward her. “There’s a subject I’ve been loath to bring up with you, since it’s . . .” His face contorted as if he’d eaten a lemon. “So beneath us.”

Anna lifted her chin.

“There’s a small token you possess that I need.”

A horse’s neigh echoed off the adobe walls, and Anna spun to see the boy returning. He used one arm to brush sweat from his temple with his linen sleeve. His other hand led a stallion.

Anna gasped. The animal’s butternut coat gleamed in the orange light, its muscles the perfect mix of bulk and sinew.

Such a beautiful animal.

With head low, the boy handed the reins to Jacob, turned, and sprinted away in a cloud of dust.

Anna looked toward Jacob with raised brow.

Jacob caressed the stallion’s muzzle. “Tell me what I want to know, and I put Beth on a train back to Mitchell.”

Anna stiffened.

“Tell me.”

She looked toward a flowering bush, then back at him.

He squared his shoulders, facing her directly. “The map.”

Oh, Philip.

The map.

She’d forgotten.

“I see,” he said, chuckling. “You know where it is.”

Anna’s mouth was too dry to respond.

Jacob stared at the ground. He ran a hand across his lips, looking thoughtful. “Magnificent animal, don’t you think?” He took a step back to survey the horse. “When working, a man must furnish himself with the best tools, such as carriage. Clothing. Gun.” He looked toward Anna. “Woman.” He motioned to the stallion. “A horse is a tool that can save a man’s life.”

Anna felt heat burning her cheeks.

With a pale hand, Jacob touched the horse’s white blaze. “This tool will make me faster, stronger. So,” he said reaching into a fold in his robe and pulling out a gun. “I don’t need this one.” He pointed the muzzle at Alita’s head.

Anna gasped. Philip had described Jacob pointing a gun at Raven—the sheer terror and helplessness.

But not helpless.

With all her breath she pressed her lips together and blew. Oh, if her mouth wasn’t so dry!

Anna sprinted toward Jacob as she whistled.

Did Alita’s head rear back as Anna had trained her to do? Did she run as Jacob adjusted his aim?

The blast from the barrel sent her reeling to the cobblestones, covering her head. Ringing mixed with her scream.

Through the cacophony of noise came the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard—Alita’s hoofbeats fading away.

His fingers grasped her hair, nails scraping her scalp. He yanked her to her knees. His vicious pull forced her to stagger forward. She tried to gain her footing, but he wrenched hard and she stumbled and slammed into the ground. He dragged her a few feet before the unbearable pain overwhelmed what little control she maintained. She swung her feet toward his leg, and another scream escaped her lips as his grip held.

Anna kicked again at his leg and connected with his knee. He let go of her hair and grasped the injury.

She leapt to her feet and charged for the stallion, hoping she could climb its back. The animal’s strength would take her away, far away. Back to Mitchell, back to her father and mother and Beth and Philip.

Even remembering the truth, knowing Philip was far away, her mother in the chapel’s dungeon, Beth tied beside her, and her father probably dead didn’t stop her efforts to mount the horse.

Her tied arms draped over the high shoulders and she jumped.

Jacob’s hand grasped at her back, and his fingers slipped and caught her pocket.

He tugged. The stitching gave way, and she fell back.

A single piece of yellow paper fell beside her, fluttering on the soft morning breeze.

“No!” She reached out to snatch the map.

Jacob was faster.

He straightened, holding the map in front of him, casting a long shadow beside her. She studied his face for a reaction, anything that might tell her what he was thinking. He remained in perfect control.

“Ah,” was all he said.

He looked past the map and down into her eyes. She returned the gaze with as much defiance she could muster.

With a sigh, he tucked the map into the fold of his robes and lowered a hand. She felt the gentle pressure against her elbow as he directed her to stand.

Without thinking, she complied.

“I would be disappointed in you if I didn’t respect you so much,” he said almost piously. He led her toward the chapel. “You are headstrong. Filled with will and spirit. Misdirected, I must admit, and I’ve done my best to change that. But you’re too simpleminded. Too dull for my tastes.”

Between the ringing in her ear and her heart beating like a troop of galloping horses, she barely registered his meaning.

He kept talking. “Yes, dull. You move only a single direction. Philip is a distraction for a woman, not a destination. Poor farmers like he should be nothing to a beautiful woman like you. But you insist on resisting me because of him.” He smiled and lifted the map. “But I think I’ll give you one more chance to redeem yourself.”

He led her through the back door and into the sanctuary. His voice echoed. “Perhaps you think you’re a sparrow, and because you’re so small the hawks will ignore you. Well, I’m giving you a chance to soar with the birds instead of flit with the insignificant.”

She failed Philip, failed him miserably. But as Jacob threw her below the benches of the front row, her mind clamped down on her self-deprecation.

“You will marry me. Now.”

She wanted to give in. End all this.

“The priest will arrive in a moment.”

Long had she focused on truth. Since her atrocious relationship in Branson—the older man blaming her for deeds she’d never done—Anna put blame where blame was due. If her actions caused a problem, she wouldn’t twist the circumstances to make others take the blame. The opposite was true as well. She wouldn’t beat herself for others’ actions.

Think, Anna. Work out what is happening. Because he’s lying to you.

As she lay in a beam of sunlight before the altar, she came to herself again. Slowly crawling to her knees, she looked to the ceiling. The candle chandeliers hung by ropes from above, streaks of black where smoke escaped the flame, cold wicks as black and lonely as the fear that threatened to overtake her newfound courage.

She reached out her hand and touched linen on the crude altar. Her fingers brushed the silver communion chalice as she grasped the small, wooden cross. Jesus hung from tiny nails.

The words seemed to come from somewhere—bigger events were happening. She and Philip and Jacob, even the map and the past were part of a far bigger working.

Just past the cross, her gaze fell on Jacob as he reached up and grasped a rope. With a tug, the bell tolled.

She closed her eyes as the pealing chimes reached the end of time.

And she knew the pain she suffered wouldn’t last a lifetime.

Lord, forgive my unbelief.

Help me.

The derringer. Shoot Jacob now, take the girls and run.

Jacob’s bane is here.

Her heart pounded in her head. Fear was a dagger through her heart.

I can’t.

Lord, my unbelief! I’m not bold enough.

The bell rang. For how long was she paralyzed? A dozen bottomless rings?

Too late, the voice seemed to tell her. Too late.

No, never too late! As if in a dream, she twisted her hand in the ropes so that her right arm reached for the tight band on her forearm. Her fingers clasped the gun. Once she pulled out the weapon, there was no choice. She had to finish the deed.

The barrel slipped from the tiny holster, past the filthy ruffle of her sleeve, and into the chapel’s dusty air.

She would kill him at the altar. A shudder ran through her as she pointed the muzzle of the .22 caliber at his hooded head.

Her thumb reached for the hammer.

A shuffling sounded at her left, and a boot smacked her arms, sending the derringer spinning over the benches.

She scrambled for the gun as Jeb’s voice tugged at her soul. “She had you dead to rights.” His hands circled her waist.

“No!” she yelled.

Jacob stood over her as Jeb pinned her to the stone floor. A ridge dug into her back, but she dared not move.

Jacob’s slap across her face barely stung.

“No time,” Jeb said, putting a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “He’s in town. We’ve got to move. Can’t you hear the gunfire?”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “How many?”

“We’re not sure. They’re close to the station, but it seems men are coming from all points of town.”

“Plans have changed. Take the girls to Mexico. Meet the buyer there.” Jacob tugged Anna to her feet. “I’m taking her to—” With his other hand he pulled out the map. He studied the markings for several seconds. “Devil’s Tower.”

“D . . . Devil’s . . . Devil’s Tower?” Jeb chewed on something as he snatched the crucifix off the table. “Never heard of it.”

“When you finish, meet me at Deadwood.”

“Now that I did heard of.” Jeb snapped the small figure of Jesus from off the cross with a crack that echoed through the chapel. With the sharp fracture near the feet, he picked at his teeth. “Bring you the horse?”

“I’m taking the horse.” He tugged on Anna’s arm. “And the girl.”

Jacob led Anna with one hand, the stallion with the other. They left the courtyard and entered the street. The town was empty, and as they neared the train station she could hear why. Gunfire.

On the station’s platform, barrels and bags of flour made for perfect cover. Jacob’s men lifted their heads and fired, but Anna couldn’t make out their targets. Her heart thumped louder than the blasts from the muzzles. Was Philip here? Were these marshals or rangers or U.S. soldiers?

Behind a short, pockmarked adobe fence rose a red head. His rifle fired, and he ducked behind again.

Scott Ladd had come. The dark hat rising beside him—and even from this distance the magnificent mustache—could only be Marshal Hill’s face.

They’d come for her. Right here. Right now. She would be saved. Philip would stop this madness.

Jacob dragged her and the horse around the station’s corner, up three long stairs, and onto the platform. Anna could barely catch a breath. She was in the heart of a gunfight! Shots rang out every few seconds, the sound of whines from ricochets, smacks from lead hitting wood and bags of flour, and crashing from shattered windows.

Anna kept her head down but stole glances from side to side. Where was Philip? Why wasn’t he charging?

She bit back the thought. She’d never been asked to charge into bullets. But soon he would need to make his move.

Jacob shoved Anna toward the nearest passenger car. He called out, “We’ve got steam. We leave, now. I want to see the train moving forward in thirty seconds.”

One of the men nodded, and a few scurried toward the engine.

Philip, hurry!

He yanked her into the coach and threw her onto a seat. The train lurched.

The desert outside her window seemed to roll under them. On the opposite side, the station began a slow retreat. Men pulled away from the fight and jumped onto the train.

She looked back toward the desert. In a small hollow protected by staggered rocks, Ryan stood with his shotgun pointed toward some of Jacob’s men below her window. They exchanged blasts, and pellets slapped the wood at the end of the car. Between a crack in the rocks lay a body.

Her heart stopped. Philip.

She stared past the leafless brush, beyond the shallow rise of rocks, through the suffocating dust. She didn’t take her eyes off him. Couldn’t think but one thought—did his chest rise? God, please, let me see he’s alive.

The train moved slowly away.

God, please!

Sandstone hid the body from view.

Philip! No!

She saw him again, stretched on the sand, unmoving. Too far away now to make out if he was alive. With both hands she reached for him, smacking the glass. The train moved beyond a small cliff, hiding the scene from view.

Jacob spoke to her, but all she heard was the pounding of blood in her ears.

The thought of never spending another moment with Philip again pierced her heart. She couldn’t breathe.

Jacob had the map. The girls were probably in Mexico by now. Philip was most likely dead. Her father was dead. Leroy was dead.

Where did hope lie?

She collapsed into the seat.

Every moment of her life, she lived in defiance. She fought to wear what she wanted. Fought for pride when all the women around her settled for men while she waited for someone she honestly loved. Fought to work for her father when other women started families.

She had battled Jacob with every fiber of strength. But now, as they retraced the trail she’d taken to get to the hot southern territory, the fight in her was played out.

What had Philip said recently? Love was worth fighting for. What had she left to love?

Marry Jacob.

Yes.

Give in to his desire.

The answer was so simple. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Marry him, and all this goes away.

What had she learned from loving Philip, oh so deeply? He had lived a life looking for answers. Looking for truth.

The truth? Jacob was the most evil person in the world.

Should she marry him?

His thin, pink lips were curled in a sad grin as he looked at her, as if he understood her pain. A blond lock fell over one of his eyes, blue eyes that offered the sympathy she deeply craved. His arms rested on a seat, a set of arms she so desperately needed to curl around her, offering safety.

Truth. Honor. Trust. Courage.

Anna Johnston, she thought, wore riding pants.

“Jacob,” she said, her voice cracking. She didn’t know what to say next, but the words appeared, unbidden.

“Jacob. I’m going to kill you.”