All or Nothing (26 page)

Chapter 39

RuthAnne’s shoulders ached as she struggled against her bonds. The black velvet sky gave way to countless stars, winking and cold above, silent witnesses to her abduction.

Her beautiful black dress was torn and filthy; its low back had left her skin rubbed raw. Her body ached from the constant shudder of the wood wheels of the buckboard against the rocky road. It seemed like hours since she had been attacked, bound, and tossed aside like a sack of potatoes.

She heard the strain of leather harnesses and the squeak of the springs under the driver’s bench. Marcus’ back was toward her as he slapped the reins again over the dappled gray workhorse. The animal grunted as it submitted to the command and surged forward.

RuthAnne struggled to get her bearings as she lay bound in the bottom of the wagon. She could see nothing but the slatted sides and the starlight above. They were going up on the mountain road. How would Bowen ever find her now? He didn’t know where to come looking! Or if she were even alive...

She prayed silently as she wriggled her hands against the ropes. Marcus had spared no mercy when he bound her. RuthAnne gritted her teeth as fibers cut into her flesh; pain radiated from her hands. The constant rubbing made her skin raw enough to bleed. Tears of fear coursed down her cheeks. Her head swam. If she didn’t do something, she’d pass out for certain.

Think, RuthAnne!

In her mind’s eye, she saw flashes of the last time she and Mara had been in El Tejano’s hideout. His horrible mask, with vacant eyes and bloody grin; his eerie words,
all or nothing
, sealing their fate; the abject terror of knowing what he planned on doing to her. To Mara. Fleeing in the dark. The gunshots. Mara bleeding. Bowen.

She turned her thoughts to Bowen. How he’d held her close as they’d danced, completely unashamed of their growing affection for each other. He’d looked at her with love in his eyes and held her in his arms like something to cherish. His kiss lingered on her lips, resonated in her soul. He was her future. She had never known real love before this. Her sweet, deluded Evan once had grand dreams and plans, but even those had been a lie. He had died staring down a gun in the streets of Kansas City, following the lure of riches. Of an easier path. Something she had never understood.

Could greed alone have driven a man like Marcus to such lengths? The desire to prove himself as powerful beyond the abilities of his domineering mother? To prove he was more of a man than his lecherous father?
He
’
s turned from a mere thief into a murderer. He
’
s gone mad, and, Lord, if I ever needed Your protection, it is now.

“The Lord helps those who help themselves, Ruthie...” She could almost hear Bowen’s deep, gravelly voice whispering in her ear.

Thoughts of him lifted her from her terror and fed her resolve. His laugh. His glowering look of disapproval. His touch. Things she might never see or feel or say to him. This is what El Tejano was stealing now; their future together, which had been so clear earlier this evening, now but a prayer rising to the heavens.

Anger brewed in her belly. She started working at the ropes again, biting her lip, turning her injured fists in slow but constant circles. The cording was growing slack, stretching with the motion and sticky lubrication of her weeping wounds. Perhaps her own blood would prove to her advantage.
RuthAnne prayed silently as she continued to work the bindings, kicking and twisting in the back of the wagon.

Chapter 40

RuthAnne ceased her struggles as the wagon drew to a stop. Marcus’ back was still to her as he sat on the driver’s bench, a ghostly black figure haloed by the pale sliver of moonlight as it crested the ridge. He turned to her, his stare reminding her of an animal stalking its prey. He reeked of sour whiskey and sweat and seemed satisfied that she had given up her fight.

“We’re back where all this started, RuthAnne. I told you that you were going to die in that cave. I didn’t lie, now, did I?” He leapt easily over the driver’s seat and into the wagon’s bed beside her, checking her over. RuthAnne sucked in her breath and stretched her wrists as far apart as possible while he tugged at her bindings. Pain shot to her shoulders as she kept the ropes tight. She’d managed to loosen them, though the act had abraded her skin enough to draw blood; she’d be darned if he discovered her, no matter how bad it hurt. She battled the urge to scream, knowing they were in the middle of nowhere now. He spoke without whispering, showing his confidence that there was no help around for miles.

“This is where they did all of that hard work to clear the road. Nothing but rocks on every side. Very hard to track anyone here. So many footprints, so little soil to leave them in.” His lips curled into a wicked smile as he grabbed her roughly by the arm and hauled her out of the wagon.

Her dress tore on a splinter of wood. Someone would see it eventually when the horse found its way back, and they would know she survived the fire, if not the abduction. That at least was a modicum of relief. Maybe they’d find her out here yet.

“Let’s get this old girl out of here...might buy us some extra time if anyone is crazy enough to think you’re still alive.” Removing RuthAnne’s ankle bindings, his hand traveled to her calf, cupping it with warm, despicable fingers. His hand traveled further to her knee; she kicked at him, and his grip tightened painfully before he released her.

He slapped the draft animal on the hindquarters, sending it up the winding road. RuthAnne stumbled on the loose rocks as she watched the wagon disappear around the bend.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Marcus sneered, pushing her in front of him. “There’s nowhere to turn around until it reaches the other side of the mountain.”

They trudged uphill. Silver starlight painted the manzanita bushes black, their leaves a ghostly gray. Their thorny branches reached like lost souls into the heavens. Tore like demons into her bare legs. She was bleeding. He continued to push her uphill, deeper into unfamiliar territory.

“Where are we going?” she demanded after a long while. Her slippers shredded against the rock. Her beautiful dress now slashed to ribbons. He smugly pushed her to rest on an outcropping of rock. Below, there was a scattering of lights. In the crystal clear desert night, she made out the tiny town that was Tucson. The lights of the fort looked much closer.

“Somewhere Captain Shepherd’s quite familiar with.” He sat down heavily, taking in the expansive view.

RuthAnne felt small, keeping as still as possible at his side.

“You know, I’ve known him since I was a boy. He was a new lieutenant in the army back then. Thought my father was a great man. Can you imagine? Anyone thinking Edgar Carington was great?” His laugh was hollow. “There was a group of men who made a lot of promises to important people, mainly those who were running the rail lines westward. The plan was to keep the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe rolling through the West. If the rail lines were able to dip down into Tucson, the people would come. The city would grow. But the Apaches had other ideas. No one wants to be butchered by a band of Indians, and they were only too happy to provide, waging all out war on the territories.

“The cavalry couldn’t promise safety. But there were people who had a lot of money invested in getting the railroad into Tucson. So, they enlisted some helpful citizens to speed things up a bit.”

“The people responsible for Camp Grant?” RuthAnne guessed. She knew the stories of the massacre still haunted Bowen. That incident had defined him as a man, and as a soldier, but it had also stolen his faith.

Marcus waved his hand as if swatting a fly. “Indians killing Indians. All they did was provide incentive. They were visionaries. Of which my father played a great role. Unfortunately for him, things didn’t go as planned. Because of a certain soldier who refused to look the other way, there was too much attention paid to the slaughter.”

“Bowen...”

“Yes, your Captain Shepherd was the only one in his patrol who refused to report back as directed. He dragged the reputations of Tucson’s finest through the mud. He was willing to take them to trial to pay for their actions. At the risk of his military career. At the risk of his very life. Well, fortunately for Tucson’s finest, they managed to find a sympathetic judge. They barely saw the inside of a courtroom. It didn’t matter. Shepherd had already done enough damage in the newspapers. The rail line executives changed their minds and turned the lines north, through Flagstaff. Tucson remains the fair-haired stepchild, waiting last in line. It’ll be years before the train reaches these parts.”

Her heart stopped as he unsheathed his Bowie knife and idly inspected its shining blade.

“So, as the story goes, men like my father were shamed but left to their business as usual. Such travesties have a way of being smoothed over by time, but some have difficulty paying for their sins. They turn to liquor. Gambling. Women...or all three. Mother can’t stomach it anymore. It was her plan for me to be promoted around the ranks. Her idea for me to become a general eventually. I suppose that’s a military wife’s idea of the ultimate accomplishment. Father will never make it. He’s too weak. So, she placed all of that hope into her only son.” His laugh was bitter, his voice wistful as he went on.

“I was simply biding my time at my last assignment until my time was up, pushing papers at the supply offices and trying to figure out how to escape this curse of a military son. With so much untamed wilderness, a man can make a mark for himself out here, if only he has some seed money...”

RuthAnne held her breath as she listened to him baring his soul. He meant to kill her for sure.

He turned, focusing his attention on her. “I saw how many shipments never made it to their destinations. Payrolls and supplies stolen by bandits or Indians and written off as a loss.”

“So, you stole from people who had nothing...it’s morally reprehensible.”

“Who said I had morals?” He winked. Clearly, Marcus Carington had no conscience at all. “I knew what was coming over the mountains and when. Planning a furlough home to see the old man a few times a year was easy enough. No one seemed to notice that is when El Tejano did his best work...It was a simple plan, really. One I’d been managing quite handily. Evan thought it was brilliant.”

“Evan?” An icicle dug its way into her heart.

“Evan and I were in the war together.” Marcus flexed his long fingers, reaching one to trace the line of RuthAnne’s jaw. She shuddered in revulsion.

“He told me in a letter that he married himself a sweet little thing. Young. Innocent. A talented seamstress who would work her fingers to the bone to keep him an honest man. But Evan Newcomb and honest didn’t go together. When the request came through for uniforms to Fort Lowell, an order large enough to outfit an entire brigade, I knew just the man to fill it. A word to my father, and the deal was set. All Evan had to do was promise to enclose a few
extra items
in the bargain.”

“Extra...you mean smuggling?”

“Opium to sell to the weak fools who’ll buy it. Dynamite, guns, and ammunition—the tools of my trade. I knew the times and locations to strike. We were to split the profits and make thousands. He would close up shop, and we’d do it again in a different city under a different name. But then Evan threatened me. My business. Said he wanted to go straight. That you all could make it on your own.” He spat into the dirt.

RuthAnne looked up with the shock of realization. The remembrance of Evan’s body in the street, bleeding. At the hospital. His life slipping away. This was all Marcus’ doing.

Marcus’ eyes were cold. “He was in too deep, and so were you...you just didn’t know it yet.”

“You murdered my husband?” Her heart thudded in her ears. She remembered the crowd outside the train station. The concerned faces as she watched her husband’s life snuffed out like a candle.

“Think about it, RuthAnne. Taking money off of the top of orders was just the beginning. As an equipage supply officer, I’ve been kept abreast of every shipment. Every stagecoach that’s carrying more than its fair share, whether or not their driver is alone. All of the guesswork removed...quite a coup for my
alter ego
. “

“El Tejano...”

“He was a legend when I was a boy. I used to love reading stories of him, robbing stagecoaches and wagon trains. The locals even talked of him being the Robin Hood
of the desert. He stole from the wealthy, left coins and clothing for those in need. He was a hero...”

RuthAnne gulped around the lump in her throat. “Except you aren’t sharing your wealth with anyone. Not even the man you claimed was your partner. You’re no hero. You’re a common thief. And a murderer.”

She heard the crack of his hand like a gunshot in the still, night air. The sting erupted across her cheek; pain radiated from the impact and rocked her to a heap. RuthAnne tasted the copper of her blood, warm against her tongue. She let out a whimper, scrambling to find something to hold, to cling to. Her hands only found pebbles and dirt.

“That’s enough soul-searching for one evening. I’ve something else to show you.” His hands were rough as he hauled her to her feet; he pushed her up the slope behind them, higher up the mountain ridge. Away from the road. Away from all hope of discovery.

Chapter 41

With General running at full speed, Bowen tried to coax more out of him. Hooves thundered on the rugged dirt road, dust leaving a trail that would be easily identifiable from the mountain pass if the moon were up any higher in the summer night sky. Still, they had a good half hour before it crested the ridge and revealed their pursuit. By then, they would have reached the mine entrance...if indeed he had located the right one.

Clenching his teeth, he gave another swift kick. He heard the animal’s grunt of complaint. General’s nostrils flared like a dragon’s, his head down and mane flying. Bowen knew the horse was giving all that he had to give. Like it or not, he’d have to deal with what he found when they got there. He just prayed to God he wasn’t too late. The very prayer made his heart hurt. How long had it been since he’d sworn off praying? The Lord must have more important things to do than listen to the likes of him, but for RuthAnne, he’d try anything.

They maneuvered their way up the mountain road until they reached the point of the rockslide. Charley slowed his pace, leaning over with a decisive gaze, and dismounted.

He carefully crept around the spot of road, kneeling down. He observed the dirt and the way the rocks had parted or compressed into the ground under the weight of the wheels. He nodded. “They stopped here. Then the wagon went on. With a lighter load.”

“They got out. But which way did they go?” Reggie took off his hat and scratched his sweaty head. Saguaro cactus stood straight and tall in the darkness, their arms raised in a silent salute, the only witnesses to the event.

“Up,” Bowen said. “They went up the ridge. Leave the horses here. We’re following on foot.” He slipped his Spencer rifle from its holster and slung it over his shoulder. He was off up the rock trail with Charley before the others had even dismounted.

“This path leads only one place.” Charley’s broken English followed him, voicing what the others already knew. “Ghosts of my ancestors are there. Very sacred ground.”

Bowen squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his scalp. It was a path he always led a wide berth around. It made sense. “He’s taking her to Camp Grant...or what’s left of it.”

****

Marcus grabbed RuthAnne’s arm, halting their progress. Looking around in the growing light of the moon, he searched for his bearings.

“Lost?” She was amazed at the flippant tone in her voice. She found a certain freedom in knowing she was doomed. There’d be no more cowering as she faced off with him.

With a sneer, he shoved RuthAnne roughly to the ground. She fell back against a mound of earth, her breath forced from her lungs in a whoosh, and blinked at her surroundings. The rise appeared to be the slumped remains of a ruined adobe brick building. Her mind clicked, realizing this was important. This used to be a structure. There were burned out remnants of charred roof beams. Beyond, she noted a line of rock that had once been a wall. Someone lived here once.

“Not lost. Just...listening.” The stand of saguaro cactus had given way to low mesquite trees and brittle brush, tinged silver against the midnight blue sky. He looked nervous. “Did you hear something?”

“Couldn’t be the voice of your conscience, could it? You don’t have one.” Once again, her head was rocked by his open palm. A thin line of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. She touched it with tender fingers, watching Marcus like one would watch a coiling rattler.

He slipped the knife from his belt again, this time angling it toward her cheek. “Hold your tongue, RuthAnne, or I’ll cut it out.”

After a moment, he returned the Bowie knife to its leather sheath. He smoothed back his black hair, usually so well-kept and now wild from their journey. She observed him while he transformed from panic to calm.

“We’re here. This is what I wanted you to see.” In the light of the moon, he pointed out the sunken evidence of round wickiups where the Apache had made their homes in that desperate time just a few short years before. “This hanging valley once housed a small band of Apache. The cavalry had all but starved them out, you see, left them begging for aid. The army took them in even though men like my father railed against it.”

“A true visionary.” RuthAnne spoke below her breath, and he went on as if he hadn’t heard her.

“The leaders sent six of their own people, and hired a group of Mexicans to carry out the attack alongside almost a hundred of the Papago Indians, the Apache’s sworn enemies. A brilliant campaign, actually. They attacked before dawn, setting themselves into a thousand-year-old war and came out on top. I wish I’d been there. Laying in wait that night while their prey lay sleeping, not a hundred yards away...”

“You’re sick. It was a slaughter. Women, children, the aged...murdered...”

“The road to progress is paved with blood, my dear. Some escaped, but not many. They hid like animals in the caves. This mountain is riddled with tunnels. Caves. Abandoned mines. See the entrance, just there? Behind that outcropping? The story goes, a young cavalry soldier was surveying the aftermath. He found a woman in there. Crazy. Terrified. She almost killed him, thinking he had come for her, like the rest.”

RuthAnne saw the open mouth of the cave hidden behind creosote brush and boulders. Her mind opened to the picture he was painting. A woman’s dark eyes full of fear, anger, and agony of having lost her child and husband in the night. Mariposa had nearly dealt Bowen a lethal blow; he still carried the scar to prove it. Her heart surged with the memory of touching the scar, his rough, warm flesh beneath her fingertips.

Marcus’ voice was thick as he blotted drying blood from the corner of her mouth. His hand was almost gentle on her cheek, trailing down her neck.

“If only she’d succeeded, you might have fallen in love with me instead. We could be having a very different conversation right now.”

She wanted to wrench herself away from him, his breath, and the heat of his eyes. “You don’t know me as well as you think.”

He dragged her sharply to her feet and pushed her into the opening of the cave, into complete and utter darkness. The cave walls threatened to close in over her, and yet she reached out with her soul, praying to her Father in heaven, hallowed be His name. For the peace that passes understanding.

RuthAnne knew Marcus could kill her at any moment. If she died, she would be reunited with her brothers in heaven. Would Evan be there? She wondered. He had not been an honest man, but his redemption was between him and his Savior...who knew what happened in that moment between this world and the next? Did God give the lost one last chance to take His hand?

And what of those she loved that she would leave behind? She tried to turn her thoughts to Mara, so that she could pray for her sister’s well-being. But Bowen’s face was all she could see. RuthAnne couldn’t stifle the sob that wracked her body. She stumbled on the uneven floor in the darkness.

Behind her, Marcus struck a match on the rock wall. Firelight pushed back the darkness in a flash of amber. He held it to the end of a branch wrapped with kerosene-soaked cloth. The tang of acrid smoke filled her nose, burning her lungs. Overhead, the leathery flap of bat wings made her shudder.

The last time she’d been here, Mara had been with her. They’d been bound for escape. Now, it was clear; this would be her tomb.

“Go.” Marcus shoved her back, and the two descended into the bowels of the mountain.