A Hard Ride Home (14 page)

They were caught.

Beatrice began to cry. "It's too late."

Evelyn slapped her once, so hard it left pink welts across her pretty face. "Stay up here, both of you. Do you understand me?"

Jesse's heartbeat shuddered in his throat. "But if it's—"

"I said stay!"

Beatrice sank to the floor as Evelyn rushed down the stairs, her boots pattering on the wood. Another gunshot sounded, and Beatrice muffled a scream and cried harder, her skin going blotchy and red.

Jesse crouched beside her and took her hand, staring at the way her features twisted up, ugly with tears.

"I won't let them get hurt, Beatrice," he said, squeezing her fingers. "You stay, like Miss Devaux said."

It felt like he was inside a mason jar, the air too hot, his voice echoing like it belonged to somebody else.

Warren wouldn't harm the girls if he didn't have to.

Jesse walked down the stairs slowly, his legs shaking too hard to run. When he turned down the last flight, he saw John Harley and Wild Jack Reuben had crowded Josephine and Rose back against the bar, and he saw Roscoe on his side on the floorboards, unmoving, his white shirt dark and slick. He heard Elsie crying out hysterical, wet sounds in her native language, the sounds clipped and unfamiliar. Sara held onto her, the two of them crouching on the floor.

Warren's hired thug Curtis had a gun tilted lazily toward Evelyn's middle. He looked up at the stairs and smiled slowly, the toothpick in his teeth bobbing as he worked at it with his tongue. "There he is, Sir."

Jesse had to take four more steps to see Warren. He knew he was there before he looked. It felt like just the two of them in the room, the air prickling and sour between them.

Except it wasn't just the two of them, because Delia was there, gaunt and terrified with the barrel of Warren's fine silver pistol twisted into her dark hair.

"Do you happen to know where my son is?" Warren asked, holding Delia by her jaw.

Delia's eyes were closed.

"Easy now, little sister," Jesse said softly, watching Warren's face. "He isn't gonna hurt you."

"That's right. We're not here to menace these hard working young ladies, are we?" Warren said sharply, eliciting a groan from Harley who took his hands off Rose and kicked Roscoe in the gut instead.

Josephine sank to the floor and crawled to Roscoe, pulling him into her lap as best she could.

"Jesse," Evelyn said, "don't—"

"He went to the mine. Left in the night."

A muscle in Warren's jaw twitched. "Where's the girl who sent me word?"

"I'm here," Beatrice said from the stairs, her knuckles white against the handrail.

"Come," Warren said, pushing Delia away and beckoning with his open hand.

Jesse caught Delia and held her tightly, threading his fingers into her hair to keep her face pressed against him so she couldn't watch. He made shaky, hushed sounds at her as he kept his eyes on Warren's pistol.

The way Josephine shifted around on the floor beside him, breathing fast and determinedly, he knew Roscoe wasn't dead. All they had to do was keep still, keep quiet.

Beatrice's gaze remained low as she approached Warren, her fingers clutching at the back of every chair she passed as if she couldn't make her feet move without the help. She was still looking at the floor when Warren took quick aim and put a bullet in her head.

"Shhh." Jesse gripped Delia harder, kept her from looking. "Shhh."

It sounded like they were all screaming or sobbing. His eyes hurt and his face felt hot, but he wasn't sure if he was crying or not. He just held Delia and stared down at the mess of gore in Beatrice's short hair and the way her body didn't even twitch.

Evelyn sank beside Beatrice and covered her body and made a sound like nothing he'd ever heard, like a wail and a growl and scream all together.

"That's how we handle those who cannot be trusted," Warren said, watching Jesse. "Traitors."

Jesse crouched slowly, handing Delia over to Rose. "Go on now," he whispered. "Stay down and they'll leave you alone soon."

He heard Reuben's big bullwhip before he saw it. It caught him across his back and shoulder and he cried out and stumbled, barely managing to catch himself against the edge of a table.

"Not in here, Jack," Warren said.

Jesse knew, as he stood and walked to Warren shakily, that Warren might kill him right now, just like he'd killed Beatrice. A sob burned out of his throat on a held breath when Warren pulled him against his side in a cold, strong embrace.

"We have a great deal to discuss," Warren said at Jesse's ear, lips dry and hot. "Before I'm finished with you."

Evelyn looked up at him, her bloodshot eyes wild. Neither of them moved as they stared at each other, breathing hard. Jesse wanted to say a lot of things, wanted to tell her he cared about her, that he wanted them to look after Roscoe, that Emmett—

Jesse closed his eyes, pressing his lips together hard. Warren nosed at Jesse's cheek and his composure snapped with a strangled, quiet moan. He stepped over Beatrice's small boots when Warren took him by the elbow and led him out of the Weeping Willow and onto the dusty street.

Riding behind Curtis, Jesse kept his eyes closed and his breath shallow so he didn't vomit. He had to hang on tight, his cheek pressed up against Curtis's sweaty back. They thundered up the hill and he wanted to let go, to tumble down into the dirt and break his neck, but he knew Warren wasn't going to let him go like that.

Warren hadn't said much, but his eyes promised a reckoning, and Jesse struggled to catch a single full breath. The tightness in his lungs left him dizzy, everything hazy like he was drunk. He wished he was. He wished he had Elsie's bottle of laudanum—enough to make his heart slow, enough to make it stop.

They stopped just outside the gate to the Grady ranch, where Emmett's old rope swing still swayed from a knobby, sprawling oak. Curtis twisted and pushed Jesse down from the horse, his jumpy gelding nearly trampling Jesse before he could scramble out of the way.

Warren dismounted and crouched behind Jesse to stroke the back of his neck with his knuckles as Curtis and the others hitched the horses to the fence.

"Quiet down, boy," Warren said in low tones. "I won't kill you until my son returns."

Jesse shouldered away from the touch and looked up at the other three as they approached like vultures.

Harley pulled his hat off and wiped at his bushy mustache. "What's the word, boss?" he asked, baring a rotted grin.

Warren stood and gestured at the weathered rope hanging from the tree. "String him up."

When Reuben drew his knife and sliced the broken seat-board from the bottom of the swing to fasten a noose, Warren stalked up and yanked the rope out of his hands. "By his wrists," he said impatiently, gesturing for Jesse.

That was enough for Jesse to get an inkling of what he meant to do. When Curtis tried to haul him up, he elbowed him in the belly and dashed off—even managed a solid run before Curtis caught up to him and got him by the arm and twisted it back until he couldn't take another step without snapping it.

"Quit that jerking and be still," Curtis said, dragging Jesse over to the rope. Jesse dug his heels in and bucked every step until Warren stepped close and punched him in the gut so hard he retched. It hurt like Warren put his fist right through him.

When he caught his breath enough to stop seeing foggy bits of black all over, his arms were stretched up over his head, knotted tightly in the rope.

The hemp was soft. He looked up at it, at the pale gray knots. He watched the rope and trembled, the muscles in his stomach twitching and tensing with every panicked sob he swallowed around. He stared past the rope and his shaking fingers, at the pale green leaves above and the clear sky above that. For all the stifling heat, it was a pretty day.

Warren stood close in front of him. "Look at me."

Jesse curled his toes and shook his head. He was too tall for them to tie up proper, and his boots were still planted firmly in the grass. "No, sir."

Warren snorted like he didn't care one way or another, and Jesse didn't have time to work out what that meant before Reuben started laying into him with his bull whip. The first snap sent Jesse twisting like he'd been set on fire. He tried to curl away and caught the next strike on the thin skin over his ribs. It landed again, and by then he was fighting the rope and crying out. His knees buckled and he struggled to get his footing back, the strain too hard on his shoulders and wrists.

He begged senselessly, stuttering out sounds that weren't words. He needed them to stop, please, just long enough for him to catch his footing.

Every strike felt like a lick of fire.

Reuben didn't hit him for long. The whip stopped flying and Jesse hung there, his head lolling back, tears streaming into his hair. His fingers kneaded toward the sky, curling and uncurling like he could climb up and away.

"You know this pains me, Jesse," Warren said, sounding gentle, like he really meant it. He came close, put his hand in the sticky heat at Jesse's back as if to steady him as he cut the rope and let Jesse's bound wrists fall.

"I never would have hurt you if you'd simply obeyed me," he murmured, hanging onto Jesse to keep him upright.

Jesse's hands were trapped between them like he was praying, and he could smell his own blood and feel the way his back had gone hot and raw. He let his face press against the sun-weathered, warm skin at Warren's throat and breathed from his nose in noisy whuffs.

"You took something that was mine, and corrupted my son," Warren said with a sigh, stroking the back of Jesse's head. "And now, Emmett will have to see the error of his ways."

Warren grasped him tighter, his palms spreading across the worst of the torn flesh at Jesse's back, and the pain sparked out like a log dropped into a fire, taking Jesse away with it.

*~*~*

Delia dashed out into the street when they rode up to the Weeping Willow. Emmett nearly ran her down before he could rein in to a halt and dismount, his legs numb and trembling from riding hell for leather across the prairie from Fairhaven.

She wailed like a banshee, making no sense at all, tugging his shirt until Evelyn caught up to her and peeled her away. Delia's loose hair stuck all over her face, caught up in her tears and sweat.

Emmett held onto hope until he looked at Evelyn.

"It was yesterday. We couldn't stop them," she said. "I'm sorry, Emmett."

Delia collapsed at Evelyn's feet in the dust, grabbing at her skirts, crying like a babe.

Charley and Ira caught up, rumbling to halts around him. The air smelled like blood and horse sweat.

Emmett whirled, looking up the street to the lot in front of Milton's, where the doctor left wooden caskets for younger men to take away and bury in the boneyard outside of town.

A single casket rested on blocks.

He took one jerky step, then another, determined to see. He had to see him, and then he'd dig the grave himself.

"Emmett!"

Someone reached for him and he pushed the touch away viciously, unable to focus on anything but that narrow casket.

"Emmett—damn it!"

Evelyn trotted out in front of him and pushed him hard, her hands strong. He stopped and stared down at her, and the horizon tilted as she yelled, "That's Beatrice! It's Beatrice. Emmett!"

He blinked, eyes hot. "Where is he? Where's Jesse?"

Evelyn's head shook faintly, as if she was choking on her own breath, and he reached out and took her by her slender shoulders and gave her a shake to get the sound out.

"At the big house," she said in a rush, reaching to dislodge his hands, throwing them off like they were vermin. Her chest heaved. They were both breathing hard.

He'd been riding and riding and he was too late.

Evelyn pulled a sweaty strand of hair away from her face and dragged it behind her ear. Her hands were dirty. "Warren came down with his boys and killed Beatrice and took Jesse. Roscoe's shot, but Doc thinks he'll live. It was yesterday."

It was too late. Emmett placed his fingers against the warm handle of his pistol. "I'll kill him."

For a moment, Evelyn's mouth opened and she frowned. Then her shoulders shifted back and she nodded, just once. "Bring him back here, Emmett."

Emmett turned back to look at the heap of mousy brown muslin shaking in the street. Delia lifted her head and watched him, and he understood what they needed, that they needed to bury their own, that these women needed to wash him and dress him and put him in the ground.

"I'm with you," Ira said softly, close beside Emmett, placing a strong hand on his shoulder. "To the finish."

They only paused long enough to change horses and load their weapons.

"He might still be alive, Emmett," Charley said, hurriedly loading his rifle from the stores they brought back from the mine.

Emmett couldn't bear to hope, and he couldn't bear to consider what they'd find if that were the truth. So he said nothing. His fingers trembled until he closed them around a cold, hard cartridge. "The Mayor has three armed men. His ranch hands might take up arms, but they're untried. Scare 'em off if you can."

As his deputies shuffled out of the jailhouse, Emmett took Ira by the elbow to stop him. "Stay back. None of those girls could hit the broad side of a barn. Someone gets by us and comes down here to raise hell, they'll need protecting."

"Sheriff…"

"You've done your part, Durn." Emmett let go of Ira's arm when he realized he was squeezing it bruise-hard.

"All right, Sheriff. We'll be waiting for you. For all of you."

Josephine stood outside of Doc Milton's as Emmett and Charley passed. She had her hair pulled back in a bloodied braid, her dress stained dark along the front. She crossed her arms and watched them, her pale mouth set in a hard line.

Emmett rode up to his father's house for the first time in six years. He followed the winding path up the hill from the town and rode below the oak where his father'd hung a swing for his fifth birthday. The seat was gone now. All that remained was gray hemp swaying in the wind.