Four

Marty struggled against her ropes. It was no use. Wylie made sure she wouldn’t get free. After a half hour of trying, she finally gave up. She needed to rest and think.

Logan looked up into Cinda’s face. “Mama, I hungry.”

“I know, Sweety.” Cinda and Aunt Ginny hadn’t had any luck getting loose, either. They all had red, sore wrists.

“Logan?” Marty said sweetly. “Do you want some of the chocolate cake Aunt Ginny made yesterday?”

Logan nodded his head eagerly.

“I’ll give you some, if you go into the kitchen and get me a knife.”

“Marty!” Cinda exclaimed. “Logan, don’t you dare touch any of the knives.”

“But I want cake. I hungry,” Logan whined.

“Marty, how could you? He’s just a baby. He could get hurt,” Cinda scolded, appalled at the thought of her little boy carrying around a knife.

“He’s the only one not tied up. If we can’t get him to help us, we could starve to death. Have you thought of that?” She could tell Cinda could feel the bite in her words.

A painful expression passed across Cinda’s face as she contemplated their possible fate. “Okay, Logan, go get a knife for Aunt Marty.” Logan jumped from her lap and ran to the kitchen. “But get a little one and be careful.”

The three could hear noises from the kitchen but couldn’t see the three year old. They heard a crash.

“Logan!” Cinda screamed.

Marty held her breath. She could never forgive herself if Logan got hurt. She could picture him lying on the floor, bleeding, with a knife stuck in his chest.

“Logan?” Marty called cautiously. “Are you okay?”

Logan came out of the kitchen with a big chocolate grin and two handfuls of chocolate cake. “I doed it myself,” he said proudly through a mouthful of cake, spraying crumbs on the floor.

Marty let out a sigh of relief.

“Good job, Sweety,” Cinda complimented through her tears. “Come sit on Mommy’s lap.” After finishing his cake, Logan laid his head on his mother’s protruding tummy and went to sleep. Cinda and Aunt Ginny also fell asleep.

Marty kept working at her ropes to no avail. After an hour Logan woke up. Marty watched him wander around the room. Finally, he settled in the corner where Cinda kept his blocks. He stacked them and knocked them down. The crash woke Cinda and Ginny.

Logan ran off into the kitchen. He reappeared a moment later with the biggest kitchen knife they had. He walked slowly, staring wide-eyed at the large shiny blade.

“Careful, Sweety.” The tension in Cinda’s voice sent shivers crawling up Marty’s back.

Marty held her breath. Please don’t get hurt. Logan walked up to her and laid the knife gingerly across her lap and ran off to play with his blocks. Marty let out a sigh of relief only a moment before Cinda and Ginny did.

“We got the knife. Now what do we do with it?” Aunt Ginny asked.

Cinda scooted her chair around to Marty’s lap, but she couldn’t reach the knife with the way she was tied. Marty tried to wiggle it off her lap into Cinda’s waiting hands.

“Here it comes,” Marty said.

The knife slid off her lap and hit its target. Cinda fumbled with it before it toppled out of her grasp and landed on the floor with a devastating thump.

Marty vigorously rocked her chair back and forth until she toppled over again. She hit the floor hard. It seemed much harder than the first time she did it. She would have a dandy bruise. Cinda guided her verbally until she had the knife within reach. She worked on the ropes that bound her. Her hands ached and cramped, but she kept at it until she was free. Then she cut loose Cinda and finally Aunt Ginny.

Cinda rushed over to Dewight, who was leaning against the wall asleep. Cinda’s sudden appearance startled him.

“I wasn’t much help, Miranda,” he said to Cinda.

“You did your best,” Cinda said. Marty joined her.

A single tear rolled down Dewight’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Miranda.”

Cinda brushed back his hair. “It’s okay.”

Marty was about to cut Dewight free but noticed the dish cloth wrapped around his wrist and ankles. They weren’t even knotted, just loosely tied. He could have gotten free anytime. He was bound in mind more than physically. Why hadn’t the man named Keegan tied him securely? She took off the bindings and went upstairs to change.

She returned a few minutes later in her layered riding attire, complete with chaps for protection and warmth.

“Where do you think you are going?” The trill in Aunt Ginny’s accusation grated on Marty’s nerves.

She strapped on her Colt and ammunition belt, then donned her calf-length canvas duster. “I’m going after Dani and Davey.”

“You can’t be serious. Those are dangerous men. We’ll send word to your brothers, and they will get them back,” persuaded Aunt Ginny.

“They will be long gone by then. The best chance we have is for me to go, and go now.” Marty would leave with or without Aunt Ginny’s approval.

“Cinda, tell her she can’t do this. It’s dangerous,” Aunt Ginny demanded.

Marty looked at Cinda. Would she support her or try to stop her? Not that it would do any good.

“What is it you think I can say to change her mind?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny snapped. “Say something. It’s not right for a lady to go gallivanting across the countryside by herself.”

Marty kept her eyes locked on Cinda’s. Marty had never acted like a lady. She wasn’t about to start now. She wondered what her sister-in-law would say. It didn’t really matter; Marty was going anyway. No one could stop her from getting her nieces back. No one.

Cinda reached out a hand and clasped Marty’s forearm. “Bring them back safely.” There were tears in her eyes.

“What?” Ginny exclaimed. “You can’t be serious.”

Cinda caressed her plump belly with her other hand and said, “If I could, I’d go with you.”

Marty knew she meant it. Cinda loved the girls as much as Marty did. Marty also knew her delicate sister-in-law wouldn’t survive the trip. Cinda would be a liability, and Marty would have to look after her as well. She put her hand over Cinda’s and squeezed. “I won’t come back without them.”

“It just isn’t right, I tell you.” Ginny shook her head.

“I’ll pack you some food,” Cinda said and headed for the kitchen.