New Frontier of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 2) (30 page)

He sat in the deep grass, slumped over.

Stephen urged George on and raced up to Sam. His brother cradled Catherine’s head in his lap.

Stephen’s insides tightened as he dismounted. “My God, what’s happened?”

“We shouldna shot her. Now that big fellow will be a coming after us,” Bud complained, as he towed Sam’s horse behind his own mount. “I thought we skirted around their camp on our way out of town to avoid tangling with them again. I told the men to wait for us near the creek like you said.”

“My plan changed when I saw him out here with just that woman with him. I figure that rider we heard coming in a hurry was one of them. He’ll go back and get the others. I doubt the Captain is foolish enough to come alone after five men. Then they’ll follow our trail to where our men are waiting. We’ll set
ourselves up further down the road and ambush all of them. Just like shooting dumb buffalo. Hell, we might even skin them when we’re through.”

Bud snickered. “You always was a smart one.” His brother turned to look at the buckskin. “You sure got yourself a fine-looking horse here.”

“That horse is just the beginning. These are rich folks. After we kill them, we’ll double back tonight and get the rest of their horses, must be at least a dozen of them we can sell up in the Ohio Territory or in New Orleans. We’ll also get their money and take our pleasure in their women. We left a prize back there dying with her man, too bad I didn’t get a chance to taste her,” Foley said.

He found it difficult to hurry. His left arm still hurt enough that he could only ride at a slow lope. Trotting pained him even more. His jaw clenched in fury at what the Captain had done to him. He could still feel the fingers of his missing hand. He kept looking down where his hand ought to be. The sensation was driving him crazy.

But he’d paid the Captain back now. He wouldn’t be kissing that black-haired beauty anymore. A person shot with a large-caliber gun, if they didn’t bleed to death, would soon die of the wound.

His only regret was that someone had interrupted his plan. He had intended to take the Captain’s woman right then and there as part of his repayment to the arrogant son-of-a-bitch. He would have made sure that the Captain was still alive enough to hear him do it and hear her screams. That would have been all the better.

As soon as they’d heard a rider coming though, he’d told Bud to grab the buckskin while he took a quick shot at her. Then they had left in a hurry.

But he had a new plan now and he would keep the buckskin. He liked this horse. He’d wanted one like it all his life. Buckskins had more stamina, harder feet, and stronger legs than other horses. The Captain should have traded him for the whiskey as he’d offered. If he had, his woman would still be alive.

He remembered those days scouting for the Red Coats. They had paid him handsomely. He was just doing a job like everyone else. That didn’t make him a traitor. If the lobster-backs had won, he’d have been rewarded for his service to the Crown, not considered a traitor. He’d have been a hero. Well, I get my own rewards now. He peered back at the fine horse Bud towed. That horse was one of those rewards, and he had waited long enough to ride him.

“Hold up,” Foley bellowed to his brother. He pulled a small jug out of his saddlebag and took a long drink of whiskey. Then he stepped off his mount, dragged the rein over the horse’s head, and handed it to his brother. Since he only had one hand to hold the reins, Bud had tied a knot in them to hold them together.

He took the buckskin from Bud, and tried to put his boot in the stirrup.

The horse sidestepped and his foot fell out. “You stupid son of a…,” he cursed. He yanked down hard on the bit, deliberately hurting the gelding’s mouth.

The buckskin set back, dragging Foley along. It was all he could do with one hand, even though he was a big man, to hold onto the stout horse. The gelding’s eyes bulged with equine fury as it tried to rear up. When the horse strained against him, he yanked hard enough on the bit to tear the mount’s mouth.

Serves him right.

Foley grabbed the braided handle of the horsewhip he kept on a loop around his wrist. He grunted, bristling with indignation. Holding both the rein and the whip’s handle tightly in his hand, he viciously slapped the horse across the muzzle. As blood streaked the buckskin’s nose red, he smirked, glad he had let the rebellious animal know who was in control.

But the horse reared, whinnying. With ears pinned back like arrowheads nearly flat against his head, the gelding strained against him, pulling his head up. Then the buckskin jerked his head down and crow hopped, yanking the rein out of Frank’s hand and causing him to lose his balance. He tumbled to the ground.

Neighing in a loud prolonged cry, the gelding reared and pawed the air.

Screaming, he rolled just in time, feeling the horse’s deadly hoofs pound the ground right next to him.

Despite no longer being controlled by the reins, the rebellious beast seemed to want to continue to fight him. The horse’s nostrils flared with heavy breathing and the damn animal turned to kick him, throwing both back legs high up into the air.

He quickly rolled away, narrowly escaping the buckskin’s left rear hoof.

Seething with anger, he cursed, as the horse took off at a full gallop. “Bastard!” he shrieked after the animal.

“Frank, let’s get. That rider we heard could be coming after us,” Bud complained. “You can get that horse later.”

Foley snatched his own horse’s reins from Bud, then spit. “I’ll get them all.”

CHAPTER 29

S
am stared up at Stephen, anguish suffocating his soul as he held Catherine, limp and bleeding, in his arms. The ache in his heart became nauseating and his throat tightened as he tried to speak. “Foley…he shot her. They ambushed us. I should have heard them.”

Stephen quickly dismounted and knelt beside them both. As his brother checked Catherine’s pulse, Sam continued to press his hand against the wound, trying his best to stop the pouring blood.

He fought to keep his emotions in check, but he was failing, miserably. His whole body quavered with heart-crushing foreboding. “She’ll die, and she’ll never have a chance to be happy. She said she loved me. And, oh God, I turned my back on her. I literally turned it, Stephen. That’s when Foley shot her. If I hadn’t turned and stepped away, I would have been the one shot.” A sharp stab of guilt buried itself in his chest.

Stephen drew his knife and cut a large section off of Catherine’s petticoat. “Allow me to have her,” Stephen said, as he folded the cloth into a square. “I’ll check her wound and tend to it. She’s still alive. We just have to stop the bleeding.”

He reluctantly laid her shoulders down on the ground and stood up. He gazed at her through glistening eyes. It was sickeningly familiar. And just as senseless. Catherine, possibly also lost too soon.

He remembered kissing her. Kisses that freed passion held too long at bay. Kisses filled with the promise of love. Kisses that offered a new chance at life.

Now, that murdering thief had stolen all that and more.

He wanted to scream. He clenched his fists at his sides. How could he have let this happen? He should have gone after Foley immediately. He’d known the man was a killer. Why hadn’t he? He knew the answer. Because he wanted to love her more than he wanted revenge.

He loved her.

He loved her! He was certain of that now. He had never been more certain of anything.

Then desperation gripped him. Was she slipping away? He shuddered and glared down, nearly senseless with worry, barely able to breathe. He tried to focus on what Stephen was doing.

“God, don’t let her die,” he begged.

“The blood flow is slowing,” Stephen said.

He sucked that small offer of hope into his lungs and knelt next to Stephen. They began examining the wound carefully. The lead had passed across the very top of the muscle between her neck and shoulder, just above the collarbone. Whenever Stephen lifted the cloth, blood seeped down both sides of her left shoulder.

“The ball hit the very top of her shoulder muscle,” Stephen said, “not bone or lung. Fortunately, the path of the wound is
rather small. No more than a half inch. With that high caliber weapon, another inch further down might have killed her. The good news is that since it was so powerful, it passed cleanly through her. We must keep pressure to the wound or she will lose even more blood. This cloth is soaked through. Use your knife and cut up the rest of her petticoat. Do it now Sam.”

Stephen’s tone seemed to bring Sam out of his shock. He hastily cut off a good size piece of petticoat and then, after Stephen removed the saturated cloth, gently applied pressure to the wound himself. He hoped they could stop the bleeding entirely.

“Are you sure she won’t die?”

“I’m sure of it. She’s strong and she has a very good reason to live,” Stephen said looking at him.

He prayed his brother was right—on both counts. The ball had not hit anything vitally important, but she had lost a lot of blood as well as all color in her face. And there was always the risk that the wound could fester and poison her.

“Foley and his brother rode up to us right after they shot her. I was on the ground holding her, afraid she was dying, trying to stop the blood pouring out of her. Unfortunately, my rifle was still on my horse. They heard you coming, grabbed Alex, and took off in a hurry. I started to throw my knife or use my pistol but I didn’t want to release the pressure on her wound. My hands were so slippery with her blood, I probably would have missed anyway.”

“He just had to have that gelding, one way or another,” Stephen said.

Sam took a quick peek at Catherine’s wound. “The blood flow has slowed considerably. Cut another bandage and then take over
for me,” he said, his anger heating as shock yielded quickly to fury.

After Stephen finished folding the new piece of cloth and one more for later, he exchanged it for the soaked one.

Sam stood and looked down at his hands. Catherine’s blood covered them and saturated the edges of his shirt sleeves. The sight made his own blood boil inside him. “I’m going after them,” he hissed.

“Sam there are two of them and Foley’s three other men will not be far off. Don’t go. Wait till I and the others can help you,” Stephen pleaded.

His rage mounted with each beat of his thundering heart. “This isn’t about all of you. Or all of his men. It’s about that traitor and me. Stephen, promise me you’ll take care of her, now, and later if need be.”

“I promise, Sam. If you must leave, take George. He’ll take good care of you. My rifle is loaded.”

“William and the others would have heard that shot and will be on their way.” He turned to leave and grabbed the reins of the big stallion. “Get her a doctor.”

“Sam, please don’t do this,” Stephen nearly begged.

“He has to,” Catherine said in a hoarse whisper. “He needs to end this.”

At the sound of her voice, he turned back abruptly. He bent down and took hold of her hand. As he pressed her fingers against his cheek, he locked his eyes on hers, hoping he could convey all the love he had failed to show before. He swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing he might never have a chance to look into those beautiful eyes again, and placed a gentle kiss on her palm. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Her kiss
reassured him. She would live for him. But she wanted to give him even more.

“Sam…take this,” she said.

He took the finely made dagger in its silver sheath from her hand and attached it to his belt. He also took the love he saw in her eyes.

“Bring it back,” she said, her voice weak and little more than a whisper.

“I will,” he said and then gently kissed her again. “I will love you forever.”

He forced himself to stand, then turned, and jumped on George, urging the big horse into a thunderous run.

The horse seemed to sense Sam’s urgency and flew through the pasture. The pounding rhythm of the big stallion galloping at full speed filled his head and calmed him. She was going to be all right. He saw it in her eyes. He felt it in her kiss. All he had to do now was kill the whoreson.

As they galloped, the horse’s strength seemed to pass through to him. He understood now why Stephen thought so much of the impressive stallion.

George would easily catch up to Foley. He had no doubt about what he had to do. He would not hesitate. He just had to catch up to them.

The big stallion raced up a hill, seeming to be unaffected by the steep incline even at a full gallop.

As they reached the top of the rise, Sam saw his own horse running riderless towards him. He was not surprised. Horses can sense a bad character ten times faster than a man can. He noticed
blood streaked across Alex’s muzzle. The bastard’s despicable deeds had no end. His anger flared higher still.

Beyond Alex, more than a hundred yards off, he spotted them.

He tugged George to a stop. It would be the second time he used the Kentucky rifle to shoot a man from a fair distance. The first time was when Indians and that evil slave trader, Bomazeen, abducted Jane.