Sixteen

The cool, shadowy interior of the barn offered a refuge from the heat as Rylee led the young gelding inside. She put him up in a clean stall, dusted her hands off on her pants and stalked outside. A basket sat on the fence post and she snagged it easily before striding toward the chicken coop. “I’m getting slow.” Twinges of discomfort darted through her back as she bent to collect the eggs. Smooth white surfaces lay in the basket, the shells clunking together gently.

Her gaze darted up the hill, a feeling of anger and disgust tangling in her belly. Three days without a sign of her stock. Her wagon still hadn’t found its way home, either, but two new men were posted under the canopy of her tree. They didn’t fancy Rylee at all and hadn't tried to initiate conversation like Joe and Matthew had. Neither had they shown much interest in their job. More often than not, she noted they spent more time trotting off toward town than at their post. She forced herself not to care, to ignore the resentment eating at her.

“If’n Tom finds out, he’ll have ‘em pushing drag for a month,” she informed the dog, who tilted her head to the left and stared at her. “Well, come on, I’ve got a nice bone for you. Then I’m gonna butcher up a plump chicken for dinner. Mmm, chicken and dumplings, better than…” The thought trailed off at the faint but distinct nicker of a horse. Had Tom’s riders decided to follow orders and come back? She hoped so. She’d grown accustomed to having Joe and Matthew around. These riders weren’t them, she reminded herself with a derisive chuckle. She patted her hip to call the dog and raced for the house, where her carbine leaned against the railing. Fear clawed at her throat as she swept the surrounding area. Tom’s hands had ridden out earlier and she didn’t expect them back until the next day.

Every muscle screamed in protest when she spotted the single rider sitting atop the rise. She squinted. Hope blossomed in her chest as she watched the rider begin to trot toward the house. It didn’t live long. Pale and heavy, the grey lumbering toward the house was unfamiliar. Tom wouldn’t have such an ungainly, clumsy animal in his stables. Hell, even she’d shoot it before admitting it was her own. Its wide, thick face oozed into a bulky, short neck before leveling out into a broad, muscular chest. A wide hip slid into the chunky lines of the rear legs, and large, rough hooves completed the unfortunate equine. Astride the beast, the rider’s duster was pulled back to reveal a pair of colts in holsters at his hip.

His hat was tugged low over his eyes and a checkered bandana had been pulled up to cover his lower jaw. A dark, sweat-stained shirt peeked from between the lapels of his worn coat as he pulled up by the corral fence. Rylee swallowed against the growing tide of panic. Her eyes darted wildly at the expanse of wide open pasture land. She couldn’t run. There was nowhere to hide. She steeled herself to make her stand here.

Part of her was glad for the coming confrontation. Too many days and nights had been spent in fear, worrying she'd be attacked again, wondering who hated her so very much. Now her bogeyman rode toward her on the ugliest horse she'd ever seen. Come what may, he'd never again be a phantom in her mind. He was just a bully, too cowardly to show his face.

With a nod of resolve, she slipped into the house, calling the dog with a quick move of her hand against her thigh. The door closed and she slid the lock into place, a hard knot in her belly and an anxious prayer that Tom would get in the mood for one of his uninvited visits.

“Damn it.” She groaned and scurried past her chair to the mantel where a box of shells rested. Her fingers trembled unsteadily as she pulled the box down and dumped the contents onto the desktop. The shells clattered on the wood, soft, musical pings that chilled her to the bone. Ignoring them where they fell, she grabbed for more and fed them into the gun, her fingers trembling so badly that it took longer than she liked.

Rylee leaned forward and stared out the window as her fingers pushed the shells into the gun. The stranger hadn’t moved his horse. He stood impatiently in the mid-day heat, his hands loose on the reins. Her gaze followed his when he turned to look over his shoulder.

“Oh no,” Rylee moaned. A sensation of dread washed over her as her hands tightened on her weapon. Two more riders appeared at the top of the hill. She watched as one pulled a rifle from his boot and lifted it. The horses shifted in the sun, waiting like their riders for something. Rylee didn’t want to think on what it could possibly be.

The slug shattered the glass window and dug into the thick wood of the mantel. A scream lodged in Rylee’s throat as she dove for the floor. Hard and uncompromising, the floor bit into her shoulder as another bullet ripped apart the wooden wall. Her booted feet scrambled for purchase on the worn rug. Her hands pushed aside furniture as she scurried to get away from the broken glass and splintering spruce. The dog whined pitifully and rushed toward the kitchen.

The hateful laughter of the men in the yard drifted in through the broken windows. Reaching up to push her hair from her face, Rylee gasped when her fingers came away streaked with red. On her hands and knees, Rylee crawled across the floor to the hallway and rested her back against the wall. The thundering boom of shooting recommenced. Each round drew a shudder as she watched the walls of her home being shredded beneath a barrage of lead. She shuddered as her mother’s favorite china pitcher splintered to cascade like water from its place on the shelf. She stared at the faded print glass as it danced across the floor, a hard knot in her throat and tears burning the back of her eyes.

Hitting the floor with a thud, Rylee crawled to the back door and opened it to see another rider trotting forward. She stared in growing horror as the riders gathered straw and kindling and piled it high in the middle of the hard packed ground of the yard.

Rylee slammed the door and peeked out the window. Two of the riders poked and prodded life into the fire. The grey tin can in one’s hand turned her stomach as she realized they’d used kerosene to get it going. She swore. “Why today? Where in Sam Hill is that man when I need him? Right now I’d even take him yelling at me.” With a few more muttered curses she laid the barrel of her rifle on the windowsill and fired. The men in the yard ducked as the bullet slammed into the ground at their feet. Before they’d had a chance to recoup she fired again, her hands pumping rounds into the carbine as quickly as possible.

She stumbled across the floor as another round of slugs tore into the wooden wall above her head. With a startled shriek, she darted down the hall toward her bedroom door. Her thumb pulled the hammer back as she eased through the door and into the bedroom.

Propped up against the wall beneath her window, Rylee swallowed as she watched them piling straw around the front steps. The horses in the corral were screaming in fright, pawing and desperate as the smoke rose thick and black in the sky. Her dog’s furious barking echoed in the room as Rylee hunkered down on the floor. The men seemed impervious to the animals’ ruckus. Their laughter and taunts grew in volume as the flames reached for the sky. Numb with fear, she clutched at the rifle in her hands. Through the rapid swell of smoke she watched as one of the riders led their horses to the corral and tethered them.

“Please, God, please help,” She choked out and reached into the bureau drawer to pull out the only sidearm on the place, her father's revolver. Her hand shook terribly as she checked the cylinder before she tucked the gun into the band of her trousers. She had six shots, nothing more, so she’d have to make every one count. Bile rose in her throat, hot and acrid, to choke her as she leaned against the wall. Dear God, what had she done to deserve this?

Like the forked serpent's tongue, the thick smoke drifted higher, seeking, searching for the heavens. The crackle of the flames as they devoured wood reached through the open window next to Rylee’s head. Her stomach twisted as she watched two of the men stick large, kerosene soaked fabric torches into the flames.

The third turned to the house, his hands on his guns as he appraised it. There was something sickeningly familiar about him. His sun-streaked hair peeked from beneath the brim of his hat. Cold blue eyes stared out over the yard and a slow sick smirk twisted his face. The shadow of a beard covered his square jaw, and a jagged scratch ran down the side of his face. He was heavier the others. His round belly stuck out over his gun belt when his duster opened.

Desperately, blindly she fired at the intruders until there were no shells in the six-gun. Sinking against the wall she listened to their movements, to the crackle of the flames and the screams of the frightened stock.

“Boss? Whatcha want us to do?”

“What I paid you to do,” he hollered back, the baritone accented much like another’s voice. “Give me two minutes and then burn it to the ground.”

Rylee’s eyes widened as she realized what they meant to do. Another jug of kerosene was pulled from a saddle bag and carried out of her sight. She heard the sloshing of liquid as it was dumped on the wood and stone of her south wall and bit her lip to stifle her sobs. No! Dear God, not this. Please, if you’re listening, don’t let them burn me out, she prayed, her eyes on the silent figure who watched with a mad look of glee upon his face. Rylee lifted off the floor as he disappeared around the corner, a hard knot of uncertainty in her throat as the sounds of laughter filled the air while the two picked up their torches.

The shattering of glass above her head had Rylee diving for cover. Her body hit the floor hard. Her guns skittered across the surface to land on the far side of the room. The air in her lungs exploded outward, leaving her gasping for breath, dizzy and shaken. Frozen by fear, she could hear the throb of her heart as the faint sound of jingling spurs grew louder.

Startled, Rylee turned to the door as it swung open. Her eyes filled with horror and fear as the vaguely familiar man stepped into the room.

“Well, lookee what’s here,” he drawled.

Rylee’s face blanched as he kicked the door shut. Her eyes darted to the guns lying uselessly beyond her reach. She eased forward, her hand outstretched to reach them.

“Can’t have that, can we?” He snickered as he strode across the floor to stomp down on her hand. Rylee screamed in pain, his boot grinding down on her fingers. She heard the sickening pop of breaking bones and felt the shards grinding together, digging into muscle with each movement of his heel. He squatted beside her and twisted his hand into her hair. “Now, let’s see what you’re made of.” His grip was hard and cruel as he pulled her to her feet.

“Why are you doing this?” She struggled within his grasp, the fear in her voice thicker than the smoke. The hard press of his body against hers seeped through her clothes. The faint, distinct smell of stale whiskey and sweat mixed in her nose to make her dizzy. She clawed at the hand in her hair, a startled outcry of pain slipping past her control as he tossed her into the wall. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs and she sank to the floor, her mind tangled, vision blurred. Gasping for air, she listened to his steps grow closer until he was upon her. His beefy hands wrapped around her throat and lifted. She felt the rough wall slide across her back. The memory of Tom’s touch in the barn tickled at her mind. His touch had been hurried, desperate but not cruel. There’d been a tenderness unlike anything she’d ever felt in his arms. Briefly, she wondered what he was going to do before he killed her. Would he be merciful or would she take the memory of his touch, of his brutality to the grave with her? No! She clung to the memory of Tom’s caress, his touch and prayed for a quick death.

“Because you’re a thief. You stole this from me, from my family. I aim to return it to the rightful owners,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and clammy.

Her mind swam with confusion. Was the man crazy? “This ranch has been here for three generations. My grandfather started it when the only thing here was brush and Indians. How could I have stolen anything from you?” She clawed and kicked in his embrace.

“But you see your father—the lying snake—cheated my brother out of this land. It should have been his, should have belonged to me.” Anger twisted his words. “It was promised to me. Instead, I have to deal with you. You're just like your father, a liar and a thief. Nothing but Tom’s whore, taking him into your bed like some cheap floozy. Makes a man wonder, ya know? Must be something ‘bout you that keeps him coming back time and again. I almost want to know, but then again, I don’t think that boy ever had a lick of sense.”

Rylee shook her head, her hands wrapped around the arm around her neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Please, God, don’t let him kill me, please. Tom! Tom, where the hell are you?

“You will.” He snickered. “Before I’m finished, everyone will know who and what you are.” His laughter held a tone of insanity. The sound grated over her exposed nerves like nails on the slate board in a school room. “Or rather, were, since you won’t be around to remind ‘em.”

Rylee screamed. The sound was cut off by his tightened grip around her windpipe, the choked gurgle that emerged barely loud enough to be heard over the roar that filled her ears. Spots danced before her eyes and a strange, unsettling snarl echoed through her. His arm loosened as she teetered between awareness and the dark pool of unconsciousness beckoning like an oasis. She wished it would reach out and take her, sparing her from the torment.

He shifted and let her fall to the floor. He crouched and wrapped his hands around her throat again. Leather bit into her flesh as he squeezed. “I saw you, wrapped in his arms, moaning like some harlot. Lettin’ him ride you when you wouldn’t spit on the rest of us if we were on fire. You disgust me, you slut.” His hot breath stirred her hair. A trail of spittle oozed down his face to drip onto her cheek.

“Please don’t,” she croaked, her nails scratching along the backs of his hands.

“I have to,” he whispered, his indifferent sneer the last thing she saw as the darkness rose up to pull her under. “It’s the only way. I’m sure Tom will understand. He’ll see what I do.”

~ * ~

Tom patted the sleek neck of the massive work horse and draped the line over his withers. Stout and well broke, the animal had proven he could pull his weight all day without tiring, something he knew Rylee would take pride in. He glanced up at the shout from the porch to see Sally waving frantically at him. Leaving the gelding standing in the corral, he trotted over to the house. “What is it, Sally? I’m working.”

“I got eyes, Tom. ‘Sides that, you know well as I do she ain’t gonna come to collect them horses. It’s up to you to take ‘em home.”

“Some reason you’ve decided—”

“Yes.” Sally strolled along the length of the wrap-around deck. A gasp escaped her throat. “What’s that?” she demanded, a gnarled finger pointed across the pasture.

Tom hopped onto the porch and trotted over to where his cook stood. He frowned as he recognized the black curl of smoke in the pale blue sky. The tendril drifted along the horizon, dipping and swaying with the wind. “Looks like smoke.”

“Well, ain’t you smart?” Sally planted her fists on her apron-covered hips. “Can’t be good, ain’t been a drop of rain in weeks.”

A niggling doubt took root in his mind as he glanced behind him. The fire was to the east, approximately where Rylee’s barn was. There was too much smoke to write it off as a simple campfire. Yet there was nothing, no word from his riders.

An icy fist tightened around his throat as he realized that the thin black tail that soared upwards could only mean one thing. A wave of dizziness hit him and Tom clutched at the railing tightly. No! Dear God no, please don’t let me be right, not this time.

“Tom?”

He ignored Sally’s baffled tone and leapt from the porch to run toward the barn. Tom grabbed the trailing rein to one of the hand’s horse and swung into the saddle. One stirrup flopped wildly as he spurred the animal toward the rising smoke. The puzzled shouts of the men in the yard barely reached him as he leaned low over the horse’s neck and drove him on.

Tom’s stomach dropped as he galloped past the juniper trees his men had been camped under. He pulled up sharply as his eyes caught the scene before him. Flames devoured the house ravenously. Their insatiable onslaught had already consumed the back half of the structure. One wall had weakened and collapsed, leaving a clear path of destruction. In the yard the old dog was running in circles, barking madly. The bare yard bore marks of the flames. Streaks of charred ground led from the smoldering fire to the house. Horror washed over him as he saw the roaring flames lick toward the sky. The roaring inferno swelled around him, dragging him into a terror-filled void where the only sounds were that of flames greedily eating the wood.

“Rylee!” Tom screamed, his gaze darting around the yard, an unnaturally dead space with nothing to indicate her presence. A hard, uneasy feeling settled over him and he shuddered as he slid from the horse. A lonely feeling unlike anything he’d ever known raked at him. “Rylee, where are you?” He yelled, panic tightening his voice with each passing moment of silence. “Dear God, Rylee answer me!”

The sickening scream from inside the cabin renewed his terror and Tom whirled to watch as the hungry flames devoured the roof. He jumped when half of it collapsed inward. Resounding and permanent, the crash drowned out the dog’s cries and sent up a wave of sparks and embers that fell helter skelter. It clicked in his mind that the dog wasn’t barking randomly. No, she was roaring her displeasure, her fear at the house.

Without a thought to safety, Tom darted for the house. His heart pounding and palms sweaty, he lunged onto the porch. Fire nibbled at the gaping doorway, having already devoured the door itself. He darted through it.

Thick, acrid, the heavy smoke hit him like a punch. The collapsed portion of the roof burned, destroying Rylee’s kitchen. A harsh, wracking cough from down the hall pulled at him and he raced along. His arm braced over his throat to block the smoke. He pushed through the door and froze. Lying in a broken heap on the floor, blood caked around her nose and bruises on her throat, was the one he’d been searching for.

Indistinct and desperate, Tom could heard the shouts of men coming from outside as he knelt next to Rylee. Choking on the smoke, he rolled her over. His heart clenched at the mass of bruises discoloring her face and neck. He swallowed against the burning in his throat. Relief flooded him when she moaned weakly, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

Time seemed to come to a halt. Each beat of his heart stretched on as he scooped her up desperately. He bent over her, holding her tightly against his chest as a beam fell. The flames embraced the wood, creeping across the floor toward them. There was nowhere to run. In desperation, Tom searched the room. His gaze fell on the window. Half formed and vague, the idea hit him to escape that way. Wrapping her in a thick blanket from the bed, his eyes darted around the smoke filled room, landing on a chair.

His eyes barely registered the ghostly figure beyond the glass as he threw the only thing he could. The glass shattered, dancing like diamonds as it cascaded down the wall. The roaring of the flames drowned out the ping of the glass hitting wood. Huge wracking coughs ripped at his chest as he hefted her into his arms and passed her to his waiting foreman.

Strong hands grabbed him, pulling him from the sill. He barely felt the rip of glass along his flanks, or the blood as it oozed from the minor wounds. Instead his gaze was fixed hard upon the woman Sam was uncovering in the yard. Smudges of soot and grime covered her face along with the bruises he’d noticed. Several small jagged cuts danced across her nose and her hand was grotesquely swollen and discolored

“What about the house?” Joe asked, his eyes on the destruction.

“Let it burn,” Tom choked out, his hands on his knees as he struggled to draw air into his starving lungs. He straightened and trotted to where Sam was, concern pulling at him like an unseen rope. “How is she?”

“Needs a doctor.” Sam glanced up at him, concern and banked anger in his knowing look. “She’s in a bad way. Whoever did this didn’t intend for her to survive.”

“I’ll fetch him.” Tom glanced up at one of his youngest hands as the slim, pock-marked boy galloped from the yard. The screech of wood falling onto itself raked across his skin like the scream of a panther and he flinched. He fixed his attention on Rylee and pushed the hair from her face, ignoring the stares of his men. Tom pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes, pain unlike anything he’d ever felt before ripping at his insides.

“Look around,” he ground out. “Someone set this and I want to know who.” Raw fury clawed at his guts as he thought about someone trying to kill Rylee. His Rylee. The culprit better hope the law got to him before Tom did.

The assembled cowboys shared uncertain glances but separated to search for tracks. Tom ignored the burning in his throat and sank to the ground next to Rylee. He smoothed her hair from her forehead, his mind a tangled mess.

“Boss?” Sam’s voice broke into the scrambled thoughts and he glanced at him. “What’s on your mind?”

“I should have been here, Sam,” Tom muttered and clung to Rylee’s good hand. His gaze remained on her face as she twitched but didn’t otherwise move. “Maybe I could've stopped this, saved her house—”

“Or got yourself killed.” Sam shook his head, “There’s no way of knowing. Could be that the fellers who done this would have waited until you left.”

“I still should have—”

“Mr. Duncan.” Young and freckle-faced, the lean young man who stared at them twisted his hat nervously in his hands. He glanced behind him past the dying flames that had devoured the cabin.

“What is it, Billy?”

“Found a camp up yonder, beneath them trees. Fire’s cold, though. The only tracks lead into town.”

Tom followed the youth’s gesture and felt his stomach drop. Rage, hot and potent, filled him as he stared up the rise to the low-hanging branches. “There should be two riders…”

“Sorry, boss, ain’t nobody up there. Don’t look like they’ve been there for some time.” Billy shifted, his spurs jingling faintly as he stepped away from Tom. Fear colored his face as Tom swore loudly and profusely.

“Uh, Tom?” Joe trotted up; his gaze darted between the trio of men. “Found fresh tracks here in the yard. There were three of ‘em, headed south by the look of it.” Joe frowned, unease on his face. “Found this.” He held out an intricately carved silver flask. Tom caught the glance the young drover shot at Sam when Tom swore even harder.

“There’s an old barouche in the barn. Hitch it up. I’m takin’ Rylee home with us,” Tom ground out as he pulled her into his embrace. “Someone get Roy out to my place. I want to talk to him.”

Wordlessly, Sam, Joe, and Billy darted off toward the barn. The sounds of frightened animals and the dying fire faded into the growing silence. Tom watched them go, a cold rage growing inside him unlike anything he’d ever known.

He glanced up at the gentle touch on his shoulder into Joe’s concerned gaze. “What?”

“Boss, your arm.” Joe pointed carefully.

Tom looked at his arm and swallowed, charred and torn, his shirt did little to hide the burn that would scar him for life. With a sad, self-depreciating chuckle he turned to look at Rylee. “It doesn’t matter. Find the two riders that I sent over here. Find them and bring them to the house. Use whatever force you need to and take as many as you want. You understand me?”

“Sure, boss.” Joe shifted uncomfortably. “I’m real sorry ‘bout this, boss; I should have come back.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Tom waved him away, barely aware of the sound of his riders galloping away. A bitter pang of self-incrimination shot through him. “She’s mine, I should have been here to save her and I wasn’t.” He shook his head sadly. “I wasn’t.”