Circle Eight: Vaughn (8 page)

Gibson’s gaze narrowed and his mouth tightened. A zing of pleasure sounded through her. She wanted to keep everyone on edge. They were more apt to make mistakes that way. She had experience at needling people until they caved—it was a staple of childhood. Elizabeth never thought the skills she’d developed as a sister would be helpful later in life.

“Do you have food?” she asked Tobias.

“Not much,” he admitted with a grunt.

“Then get it.” She used her most mulish expression. “We’re not budging unless we eat.”

It had been quite some time since they’d eaten the night before. They hadn’t had anything but coffee that morning before the Gibsons took them. She was exhausted, shaky and nauseated. Vaughn had to be in even worse shape considering his condition before last night. They wouldn’t last long without nourishment.

“Jeb, bring me the jerky outta my saddlebags.”

Relief washed through her but she didn’t show even a smidge of it. She turned back to Vaughn and found him staring at her. His dark eyes were full of regret. Elizabeth cupped his cheek, surprising both of them.

“I truly am sorry, Ellie. I didn’t expect to involve you.”

She accepted his apology. “Fine, then let’s figure out how to get away from these men. I need to get back to the Circle Eight.”

His mouth tightened. “I’ll do my damndest.”

“Both of you shut your yaps.” Gibson thrust a piece of beef jerky in his face. “You got two minutes to chow down ’afore we mount up.”

Elizabeth was too hungry to argue. She gnawed on the dried meat, not caring where it came from or what kind of animal it was. Vaughn did the same but it was difficult to chew jerky in two minutes. Jeb and Will took hold of his arms and half-carried him back to the horses.

“Let’s go.” Gibson pulled her to her feet and pulled her along. He crowded her against the horse’s belly, leaning down to speak softly. “You sweet on O’Connor?”

“I’m sweet on no one, Mr. Gibson. I want to go home. Now.” She wanted to push him away but refused to touch him.

“Not gonna happen, Elizabeth.” He grasped her waist and put her back up on the horse. If she wasn’t tied to him, she would be riding hell for leather away from them. She knew these woods and the horse, Charlie, and could get away. Her hand crept toward her pocket, ready to make use of the bullet.

She told herself it didn’t matter that she would leave Vaughn behind, at the mercy of the Gibsons. It was survival, wasn’t it? He got her into this mess and she had to get herself out. She met his gaze and saw the permission to go. Her hand wrapped around the grip of the pistol and her heart pounded.

Now. Now. Now.

Gibson snatched her wrist and tied it to the saddlehorn, the pistol still tucked into her pocket. It wasn’t because she hesitated over Vaughn. It couldn’t be. He was a stranger, a man she obviously didn’t know at all. He had outlaws chasing him, accusing him of stealing, and he had more than one name. She was slow because of the whole situation. That had to be the reason.

Instead of cutting off the circulation, however, Gibson surprised her by tying the knots more loosely. Not enough for her to escape but enough so she wasn’t in pain. It surprised her and angered her.

“Don’t give me special treatment, Gibson.”

He frowned. “I ain’t. Just tired of hearin’ you whine about it. ’Asides, we can ride longer that way.”

At this point, she didn’t know what to believe or who to believe. Both men confused and angered her. If only Hannah or Olivia or Eva were there to talk to. They were all far away, unaware she was even gone, that Martha was dead or that their house was burned to ashes. A well of emotion threatened to climb up her throat and she swallowed it down with effort. She would not start acting like a weak female now. She had to remain a Graham warrior or die trying.

Nicholas smelled the smoke before he saw it. The sun dipped into the horizon as the day wound down. A haze covered the sky in the distance. As they passed the great tree that marked the edge of the Circle Eight, his gut tightened into a Gordion knot.

“What is it?” Benjy squinted. “Is that smoke?”

Surprisingly, the boy had kept up the hard pace Nick had set. Truth was, he wanted to see how far he could push his younger brother, but he never found out. Benjy didn’t give in and he didn’t give up. He had the markings of a true Graham, if only he could act like one every day.

“Yep. Something’s wrong. You can ride hard, but can that pony?”

Benjy patted the horse between the ears. “Kickers is a fighter. He can do it.”

Nick took him at his word and kneed Rusty into motion. “Let’s go, boy. Fly.”

They raced across the field, the last mile seeming as though it were a hundred. The smoke grew thicker and he pulled up his neckerchief to cover his nose and mouth. When they rode atop the hill that led down toward the house, he stopped, stunned.

The house was gone. The barn was gone. Embers smoldered in what remained of the Circle Eight buildings.

“No!” The word was torn from his throat as he urged the horse to go faster, harder. He didn’t care if the smoke bothered the gelding. Nothing mattered but getting to the house. Where was Elizabeth? Where was Granny? And how had the fire started?

There hadn’t been any storms to speak of, but it had been a wet spring. There was no call for wildfires. Besides, the fire had obviously originated in both buildings; the ground between them wasn’t scorched. Someone had destroyed them deliberately.

White-hot rage pulsed through him. He would kill them. Whoever they were, he would put a bullet in their head until their brains decorated the blackened pile of rubble. He raced toward the house, heedless of the heat still coming from the remains of the building. The sound of Benjy riding behind him was the only thing he heard aside from his own heart hammering.

He yanked on the horse’s reins and jumped off before it stopped. A flash of white in the back of the house caught his eye. He skidded around the side and slipped on the warm ashes. Regaining his balance, Nick plowed ahead until he got to the rear.

The small white flash lay near his parents’ graves beneath the big tree. His stomach twisted as he ran toward it.

Martha.

“Granny!” The word was torn from his throat, although he didn’t usually call her anything but Martha. He dropped to his knees, his eyes stinging. First he would take care of the old lady and then he would look for his sister.

Martha was covered with dirt and soot where ashes had landed on her while the fire raged, her nightdress torn. Her face was the color of porridge. Nick leaned down and pressed his ear against her small chest. A flutter of a heartbeat echoed from within. A sigh of relief popped out of his mouth. Her skin was clammy and cold, but she was alive. Thank God.

“Martha, it’s Nick. Can you hear me?” He picked her up. She was so damn frail, weighing no more than a sack of coffee beans.

Benjy came tearing around the side of the house, his face a mask of worry. “There’s nobody else here that I saw. We’ve got four horses dead, two others missing.” He frowned at Martha. “Is she dead too?”

“No, she ain’t dead. Now get out of my way.” Nick pushed passed him and carried her back to Rusty. The horse stood where he’d been left, a matchless equine that was ground-trained. He gestured to the bedroll. “Spread the blanket on the ground.”

Benjy obeyed without a sound. Nick laid her down, then wrapped her up to warm her. “Martha. We’re here. Can you hear me?” He kept repeating her name, willing her to answer him.

“Should I go for the doc?” Benjy peered down at her, his expression holding more emotion than Nick had seen. The young man was terrified.

As his older brother, Nick swallowed back his own fear over the situation. “Do you remember where the doc lives?”

Benjy nodded hard, twice. “Yep.”

“Water your horse and then ride straight there and straight back. It’s a good hour round trip so you’ve got plenty of daylight left to burn. I’m going to build a small fire and try to get some water into her.” He kept his voice even and calm. “Can you do that?”

Benjy stared at Martha, his face as pale as hers, but he didn’t respond.

“Benjy? Ben?” Nick shook his shoulder. “Come back to me. I need you. Martha needs you.”

A shudder wracked his thin body and his gaze focused on Nick. “I’m here.”

“You heard what I said, right?”

A nod.

“Good. Then get moving. I don’t know how much time she has and I need to look for Ellie.”

At the mention of their sister’s name, Benjy’s gaze sharpened. His fear slowly slid away to be replaced with determination. Even better.

“She needs both of us and until the rest of the family gets here, we’re her only hope.” Nick wasn’t sure how much he believed what he said but he sure as hell hoped it was true.

“Ellie. We have to help Granny and Ellie.” The young man’s voice was still high, a boy in the growing body. No matter what, Benjy was still a child. It was up to Nick to be his parent, his protector, his brother.

“Yes, now get moving so we can do what we must. To the Graham.”

The battle cry was the final impetus and Benjy leapt to his feet. With one last look at Martha, he took off running toward Kickers. Nick had no doubt his brother would get the doctor and return as fast as he could. Nick set about making camp and starting a small fire. He always had gear with him and he boiled some water and made coffee while he waited for Martha to wake up.

“Nicholas.” Martha’s voice was no more substantial than a puff on the breeze.

His throat tightened as he looked down into her pain-filled eyes. “I thought you were a goner for sure.”

“I hoped someone would come.” She wheezed out a painful breath.

“Matt had a feeling something was wrong.” Nick would never question his oldest brother’s gut again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.”

“Pshaw, Nicholas, you’re here now.” Martha blinked slowly, as though it took monumental effort to perform that simple act.

“Can you tell me what happened? Where’s Ellie?” He needed her to talk.

“Don’t know. There was a naked stranger who came three days ago in a bad way. Ellie nursed him until he was back on his feet.” Martha sucked in a shaky breath.

“A naked stranger?” Nick’s ire surged. What the hell had Ellie been thinking? “Did he do this?”

“No, there were three men who came last night, took them both and burned everything. Ellie warned me to run. She saved me.” Martha closed her eyes and was still.

“Martha?” He patted her papery cheek, the lump in his throat growing by the second. “Granny?”

“I’ve always wanted you to call me that.” The older woman smiled and was still once more.

This time Nick knew she was gone. The tough old bird had held on through the night, alone and cold, until he arrived. If Matt hadn’t sent him to check on things, she would have died, shivering and without her family. He kissed her forehead, pretending there weren’t tears rolling down his cheeks. No matter the blood ties between them, she was family. Kin was kin.

He sat on the ground, holding her as the evening closed in around him. The heat of the day prickled his skin but he stayed where he was. She deserved much more than the simple homage he offered. Martha Dolan had raised Hannah since she was a seven-year-old orphan. The older woman had then adopted the unruly Graham clan as her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, providing her wit and humor, her love and patience, her sharp tongue and knowledge.

Now she had left them, gone to take over heaven, more than likely. He smiled down at her, already missing her wild and inappropriate comments. There wasn’t a sentence she left unsaid. Martha left behind a legacy the Circle Eight would always cherish.

Hoof beats in the distance told him someone was close by. He laid her down on the ground with reverence and got to his feet. The pistol was in his hands before he stood. When his younger brother careened around the corner and slid off the saddle, Nick was momentarily nonplussed. He had no idea the boy had that kind of skills on a horse. He was a Graham, after all, but hell’s bells, the boy moved as one with the beast.

“The doc is fifteen minutes behind.” His breath gusted in and out with each word, like a wild punctuation mark. “How is she?” He peered at Martha, his gaze hopeful.

Nick’s heart was heavy. “She’s gone.”

Benjy’s hope turned to bewilderment and then to anger. “No, she ain’t. You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. She lasted long enough to tell me what happened. Ellie got taken by three men, along with some other fella she helped.” Nick understood his brother’s emotions, considering he struggled with the same ones.

“She can’t be dead. Granny told me she would be here for me, no matter what. I kept coming back for her.” Benjy’s face crumpled and he dropped to his knees.

Nick had no idea the boy had developed such a relationship with Martha. After a few moments, he sat beside him, not touching, but close.

“She would want us to find Ellie.”

Benjy turned and looked at him, dry-eyed. “Somebody took her?”

“Three men.”

“We’ll find them and kill them. Nobody takes a Graham.” Benjy surged to his feet. “We can bury Granny and then we go after Ellie.”