Holt's Gamble (6 page)

Holt swayed and managed to evade the deadly swipe of Talbot's extended knife, sending Talbot crashing into the wall of iron tools behind Holt. The tools clattered noisily to the floor around Talbot, but he struggled to his feet. He rose like an angry bull, punishing Holt's injured shoulder with a brutal blow which sent Holt crashing against the cluttered workbench. Before Talbot could hit him again, Holt grabbed an iron rod and brought it down hard against Talbot's upper arm.

Talbot moaned in pain, clutched his arm, and staggered backward against the handle of the bellows.

In the shadows against the far wall, Kierin had wasted precious moments trying desperately to pry Kyle Jessup's gun from beneath him, but he was far too heavy for her to move. Her eyes searched the darkened room frantically for a weapon as Holt and Talbot fought. Then, she spotted the end of an iron poker sticking out of the glowing fire. If she could only get to it...

Holt leaned against the wall, his face the color of chalk. The room swayed and darkened in crazy patches as he fought the blackness closing in on him. He stumbled toward the girl in a last-ditch effort to protect her; his last conscious thought was that he had failed her.

Horrified, Kierin watched him sway on his feet and stumble toward her, then pitch forward, landing facedown on the floor in the center of the small room.

"Oh, no..." Kierin breathed. "No."

John Talbot grinned and pushed away from the fire pit, crossing the distance to Holt's body in three easy strides. He knelt beside Holt and pushed the unconscious man over on his back.

"All these years..." Talbot murmured with a satisfied look on his face. "All for nothing now, Holt. You lose." Talbot raised his knife high in the air over Holt, his features twisted with rage. But just as he began his downward thrust, he heard Kierin scream and caught her movement out of his left eye. She flung herself at him, brandishing the red-hot-tipped iron, and before he could protect himself, she swung the hot metal at his face, striking it with violent force. A single cry escaped his lips as his cheekbone shattered beneath the impact of the blow which sent him crashing like a toppled tree to the floor.

The odor of his burned flesh assailed Kierin and her stomach roiled as she looked at Talbot's ruined, bloodied face. There had been no choice, she told herself. No choice at all between his life and Holt's. An odd sensation formed like a knot in her chest as she remembered how Holt had fought for her.

Holt
.

Kierin knelt beside him and desperately searched for a heartbeat at the side of his throat. She was rewarded with a weak pulse, and she let out a long sigh of relief. He was alive. His wound was still bleeding and his skin felt cool and clammy to the touch. Her limited knowledge of medicine told her that he would die of shock if she couldn't stop the bleeding and get him warm. Ripping the red silk of her dress, she tore a strip and pressed the cloth against his wound firmly to stanch the flow. With her free hand she rubbed vigorously up and down his arm, trying desperately to warm him.

Holt's eyes flickered open at her touch and she could see that he was struggling to focus on her face. His eyes rolled closed again momentarily as he fought the pain that engulfed him.

"Mr. Holt?" she whispered, touching his face, willing him to stay conscious.

"Where—where's Talbot?" His voice was a croaking whisper.

"I think I killed him," she said, looking back at Talbot's still form. "We've got to get out of here. Can you help me? I can't get you up alone."

Holt blinked his eyes, fighting the blackness that threatened to descend again. "I don't know. I'll try."

Kierin helped him sit up, supporting him with her arm behind his back. He stopped there for a moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

"Can you make it?"

"Listen to me," Holt said, his words slurring slightly as he spoke. "If I can't, you get yourself out of here—"

"No-"

"Go
without
me," he told her. "Go to the wagon train camped just outside of town.... It's the Kelly train." He paused, catching his breath. "Find a man named Jacob. He's a friend of mine. He'll help you."

Kierin wrapped his good arm around her neck and stubbornly pulled him to his feet.

"I... won't... leave you here to... die, Mr. Holt," she told him, struggling to balance beneath his weight. "But don't you go falling on me. I don't think I could get you up again."

"Wait." Holt stopped her as they started across the small room. "My gun. Where's my gun?"

Kierin's eyes frantically searched the room until she found the weapon near Talbot's body.

"It's there," she told him. "Can you stand by yourself?"

He nodded. "Get it," he told her. A tremor passed through him as she released her hold on him, but he didn't fall.

Kierin retrieved the gun quickly and returned to him. She slipped her arm around Holt and held the heavy gun up with a trembling hand.

Holt shook his head. "Can you shoot a gun?"

Kierin hesitated. She had never shot one in her life. The most she'd ever done was hold her father's old hunting rifle. "No."

Holt blew out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. "Can you hold the damn thing straight?"

Kierin swallowed hard and nodded. "I think so. But what if-"

"Bluff."

Heaven help us both,
she thought, pulling him upright.

The pair struggled to the door and Kierin fought back the tears that threatened to blur her vision. Truly, she didn't know if she could simply leave him if he fell again to die of his own wounds, or worse, at the end of a hangman's noose. He had tried to save her life and nearly given his own in doing so. No. She knew she would not leave him to die alone.

Holt and Kierin staggered out onto the darkened street, moving slowly and trying to stay in the sheltering shadows of the poplars. His weight was almost too much for her small frame, but she stubbornly refused to give in to her need to rest. He leaned more heavily against her with each passing moment.

From behind them, the sound of hoof beats on the dusty street stopped Kierin's heart cold. She was afraid to look; afraid to move. Her heart sank along with her hopes of escape. Talbot's men had found them.

Beside her she heard Holt's soft curse as he turned to look back at the shadowed rider who slid from his horse and hurried toward them. Fear like she'd never known welled in her throat, choking back the knot of tears that formed there. It couldn't end like this. Not after all they'd already been through.

Kierin raised the gun with a wobbly hand and pointed it at the approaching man.

"Don't come any closer," she warned in a low, shaky voice. "I'll shoot."

Chapter 3

"Miss Kierin?"

The deep, gentle voice came from the shadowy figure approaching them. Hope surged through Kierin. That voice... she knew it.

"It's all right, ma'am," the man told her, moonlight finally touching his craggy features. "It's me... Scudder Brown." Kierin didn't know whether to laugh or cry, for the urge to do both was equally strong. Trembling with relief, she lowered the gun.

"Mr. Brown!" Her words came out with a rush of air. "Thank God, it's you. I was sure you were one of Talbot's men."

Brown dropped the reins of his two horses and caught Holt as he slumped toward Kierin. She staggered when Holt's weight was lifted from her. The blacksmith slung Holt easily over his beefy shoulders.

"But—why? Why would you risk coming back?" she asked as Brown pulled her down an alleyway beside the Mercantile, out of sight from the street.

"I don't reckon I could'a lived with myself if I hadn't come back for the two of ya. There's some things a man has to do so's he can wake up and live with himself in the mornin'," Brown explained simply. "Where's Talbot?"

Kierin swallowed the lump that formed in her throat at the memory. "He's dead, I think."

"You
think
?"

"There wasn't time to be certain. We left him in your shop."

Brown nodded. "Let's get out of here. Can you sit a horse? This one here is your friend's." He patted the neck of the Appaloosa stallion.

"Yes. I'm a good rider," she answered truthfully. She quickly explained about the Kelly train and Holt's friend Jacob. "Holt needs a doctor, but it's too dangerous to try to get him to Doc Taylor's."

Brown agreed and shifted Holt's weight across his shoulder. He stripped a rolled blanket from behind his saddle, then tossed it over Holt's naked back.

"I know the wagon. I'll take you there. I just hope your friend is still alive when we get there."

Brown's words sent a chill through her, though she knew there was every chance he was right. Holt's color had worsened and he was shivering uncontrollably. If only they could make it to the wagon, maybe there was a chance.

"You're gonna have to ride with him, ma'am. Well make better time that way."

The blacksmith slid the semiconscious man onto one of the horses, propping him up until Kierin had mounted behind him. She wrapped one arm around Holt's chest, tightening the blanket around him, then grabbed the reins with the other hand. Brown mounted his own horse and spurred him forward. Kierin did the same, and though she kept a watchful eye on the street behind them, no one followed.

In minutes, they reached the sheltering cover of the tall cottonwoods that lined the banks of the sprawling Missouri River. Holt's head fell against her shoulder as he slipped in and out of consciousness. His soft moans told her the jostling ride was causing him a good deal of pain, but there was no help for it. They would have to move fast to escape the ever-widening arc of Talbot's men searching the town for them.

The April moon hung high in the cloud-swept sky by the time they reached the wagon train encampment, little more than a mile from town. The canvas-topped wagons sprouted like giant mushrooms in the darkness along the lush banks of the great river. Kierin's arms ached with her effort to hold the tall man upright.

The encampment was quiet. Only the snapping of an occasional burning twig in a campfire or the gentle lapping of the water intruded the night's stillness. Brown slowed his horse as they approached a wagon standing slightly off by itself, parked beneath a huge cottonwood. Brown nodded toward it.

"This here is the wagon," he told her quietly, dismounting. He helped Kierin down and then balanced Holt across his shoulder again.

A knot of fear twisted her stomach as she approached the wagon. How would she ever explain what had happened to Holt? What if he died? Would Jacob blame her? Certainly, he could blame her no less than she already did herself. Though logic told her that she could not have changed what happened tonight, she could not help feeling partly responsible for Holt's condition. Now two men were dead and Holt was barely alive—all because of some ridiculous bet over her. Kierin swallowed hard and straightened her shoulders with resolve. There was nothing to be done for it now. All she could do was try to get Holt help as quickly as possible and put the consequences out of her mind.

She stepped out of the shadows and lifted her fist to rap on the side of the planked wagon, but the sound of a cocking gun stilled her movement. She froze with her hand still poised above the wood. In the darkness beneath the wagon, she caught the glint of steel and knew the barrel of a gun was pointed directly at her. Behind that she could see the whites of a man's eyes, but no more. She opened her mouth to speak, but her traitorous voice failed her.

"What you be wantin' here 'round my wagon?" came a deep voice from the shadows.

"A—are you... Jacob?"

"That be the name my mama give me. Who's axin'?"

She glanced back nervously at Brown. "My name is Kierin McKendry. It's about your friend, Mr. Holt."

"Clay?" A burly black man rolled out from beneath the wagon, his face etched with concern.

"Yes, he—he's been hurt—"

"What? Where is he?" Jacob demanded. He followed her gaze back to Brown and rushed to Holt's side. Laying a hand almost tenderly on Holt's back, he lifted the blanket to get a better look at him. Then, he wheeled angrily on Brown and Kierin.

"What
happened
to him?"