Night of Shadows (14 page)

Holding carefully to Becky's reins,
Melinda stretched out on the ground and closed her eyes. After about thirty
minutes, she noticed that the heavy puffing from the horse's breathing had
subsided. They were surrounded by still, blessed quiet, interrupted only by the
soft rustling sounds of birds fluttering through the scrubby pine forest.

She finally opened her eyes.

Despite the agony caused by
overtaxed muscles, bruises, and assorted scrapes, relief that she had managed
to get away brought her strength surging back. But as she sat up, a new fear
gripped Melinda.

The sun was now low in the sky. And
she had no idea where she was.

By the slant of the late day
shadows, Melinda guessed that the McClure place had to be somewhere to the left.
But in sprawling country like this with miles of wilderness and no roads, she
needed to have a better idea than this of just where she needed to go.

She recalled how Mac had loosed his
horse, Bismark, to find its own way back to the McClure ranch. Maybe Becky had
the same homing instincts, and could get them home before darkness set in.

Melinda climbed on the horse's back
and urged her forward. Becky with the very first step stumbled and almost fell,
then continued onward at a sluggish, lopsided gait. With sinking heart, Melinda
realized the horse had gone lame. She tried riding Becky for a while longer,
but knew she wasn't going to make it — at least, not if the animal had to carry
its own weight plus Melinda's.

She pulled up on the reins, and sat for
many long minutes while she tried to think of what she should do next.

Then the sound of shuffling leaves
nearby caused Melinda to freeze, and hold tightly to the reins to keep Becky
still. Maybe they had simply gone in a circle and were back where they had
started this mad escape. Or maybe they had been followed.

Then Melinda relaxed and released
her grip when she saw a mule deer doe followed by twin fawns amble into the clearing.

Becky's ears flicked forward,
causing the three animals to hesitate about ten yards away and stare in unison.
The doe reached down for a hasty bite of grass, but kept eyeing them warily. Finally,
the three deer casually moved on and disappeared into a thick growth of trees.

This sight more than anything
reassured Melinda that they were, indeed, alone. Otherwise, the wildlife would
be in hiding. Melinda smiled with relief. The sight of something from nature
that was so enduring helped restore her sense of calm.

Yes, she would have to spend the
night out here alone. But she would manage. She told herself that she was safe,
and tomorrow was another day.

Still, Melinda was reluctant to make
a move.

 By now, the trees were casting
their long shadows. And the silence of dusk hung over the forest, until it
suddenly came alive with the humming of insects. Melinda then spotted a
hollowed rock, which still contained a small pool of water left over from the
country's uncharacteristic recent rains.

That settled it then. Becky needed
the water, and she had her own canteen. And food. It was best to make camp here
before the sun completely disappeared and she was left at the mercy of creepy
night shadows that her imagination was too likely to reshape into all manner of
monsters.

And no matter if it was risky, she
needed a fire. She needed the light, the warmth, and the comfort.

Melinda swung heavily out of the
saddle, making sure that Becky's reins were tightly in her grip. She felt as
though the animal were her lifeline — her last remaining link to civilization. For
a brief moment, she thought of that bustling Atlanta office so far, far away.

Melinda pulled a rope from the
saddle and tied it firmly through the mare's halter. Then she slipped off the
bridle and fastened the other end of the rope to a tree. Melinda then tugged at
the saddle, letting it drop to the ground.

Becky's sweaty back steamed in the
cool evening air. The horse limped for several feet, and then itself. Then she
smelled the water, and eagerly lowered her head to drink until all the rain
pool was gone. Melinda wished there had been more, but it would have to do for
now.

Melinda retrieved her own canteen
from the saddle and drank her fill. She was sure they would be able to find
more water tomorrow by searching the lower canyon bottoms. Of course, she would
have to rely on her own two feet and lead the lame horse. But she could do it,
if she took her time. She just needed rest.

Becky began to peacefully graze as
Melinda stood looking around. Would Finch's people be able to track her? Maybe.
She spied a large, heavy limb that might serve as a club. It wasn't much of a
weapon compared with high-powered rifles, but it somehow made her feel better.

Melinda then thought of the chained dog.
Would they use it to sniff out her trail? Suddenly Melinda felt even less
secure. She rubbed her bare arms and shivered in the evening chill, berating
herself for not bringing a jacket.

She opened the saddlebag, and took
out the matches. But she soon discovered she was no girl scout. Although she took
about twenty minutes to gather a huge a huge mound of wood, it was damp from
the rains and she couldn't seem to start a fire.

Finally, in desperation, Melinda
realized she had only two matches left. After gathering her wits, she
recognized what she needed to do next. She collected small twigs and dry grass,
piling them underneath her carefully constructed tepee of wood. Then she
ignited the smaller fire, and reverently nursed it until its heat began to
spread to the larger sticks.

Soon, she had a roaring campfire.

Melinda examined the two matches
left in the box, and hoped she wouldn't have to depend on them for future
nights. But now was now, and she could not worry about tomorrow.

The sound of steady munching from
Becky reminded her of her own hunger. She took out all the food from the
satchel, and arranged it on a rock in front of her. Although she was tempted to
gobble everything at once, she forced herself to eat sparingly. She put away
the rest of the food, realizing that she might need it for later.

Then she stretched her hands out to
the campfire.

The pleasant woody pine smell and warmth
momentarily gave her a sense of well-being. But the light of the fire
also heightened her awareness of the deep, inky blackness now surrounding her.

Through Melinda kept trying to stave
off a growing sense of panic, she realized she had never felt so alone. She rubbed
her hands together nervously, and stared out into the void. The trees rustled
quietly as a gust of wind lifted their branches. It sounded spooky out there.
Like Halloween.

Melinda knew she would get very
little sleep tonight.

The campfire flickered in a gust of
wind, throwing sparks and smoke her way. As Melinda waved her hand, coughing
and choking, the sound of a sharp thud caused her to freeze. Then, she realized
that it had been only Becky stomping a foot, probably to rid herself of some
insect. Melinda gritted her teeth, stared into the fire, and tried to control
her stampeding imagination.

She spent the next few hours
torturing herself, wincing at every little rustle that could not be attributed
to the wind. She put her head down on her arms that were draped across her knees,
but couldn't hide from her fear. She began trembling with terror, cold, and
exhaustion.

"I can't take this any
more," she groaned.

The independent woman in her was disgusted
to feel the tears sliding down her cheeks. Her self image as the woman who
could master any situation was slipping fast. She didn't think she could feel
any worse than this. But then she became aware of movement off in the distance.
It was a steady sound, drawing nearer and nearer.

Melinda raised her head slowly,
somehow fearing that a sudden motion might bring whatever was out there down on
her faster. She stared at the fire, but it was simply too late to try putting
it out now.

So instead she reached over cautiously
and grasped the heavy branch she had selected as a club for self-defense. She
scooted back, inch-by-inch, into the brush and out of the light of
the flames. And, for once, darkness was her friend, serving as a cloak of
invisibility.

She stood in a half crouching
position. She gripped the weapon, bringing it higher. And then, strangely, a
primitive instinct for survival overran the fear. She was prepared to kill, if
necessary.

The thing — it was big — was coming
closer. She grasped the stick tighter.

And then she saw her monster move
into the light — a tall gray horse, with Mac aboard.

Stiffly, Melinda straightened up
and moved back into the campfire's light. Mac dismounted. She wasn't sure if
she should be overjoyed or not as she caught sight of his thunderous expression.
She just stood, staring numbly, as she held onto the stick.

"Either drop that thing, or
use it," Mac growled. "You're making me nervous. You look like a
wildwoman standing there."

Melinda dropped the stick. Then,
impulsively, she ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck. He
responded with a strong hug. Then she started kissing him passionately. And he
kissed back. They hugged some more. Then they kissed some more. And finally she
just collapsed into his arms.

Though he continued to hold her, Mac
spoke sternly.

"All I wanted you to do was
wait. Couldn't you do that one little thing for me?"

Melinda squeezed him tightly. "This
has been the most awful day of my life. I've been shot at. I almost fell into a
pit with big, sharp spikes. I was attacked by a vicious dog..."

"Well, if you'd stayed where
you belonged, none of this would have happened at all."

Melinda released her grip and
stepped back from him. "You're really mad at me, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. You were
almost killed." His voice was frosty. "I saw what happened. I was out
looking for you — saw it all through my binoculars. I was too far away. There
wasn't a thing I could do to help you. Do you have any idea how that made me
feel? To almost lose you like that?"

"No," Melinda answered
meekly.

Mac agitatedly began to unsaddle
his horse. "You have no idea what lousy timing you have. You're lucky I
found you. You're lucky you didn't cause more trouble than you could ever
imagine."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really. But as it turned
out — you gave us a break. You found by accident what we've been after for
several days now. So I guess we owe you at least that much."

Mac tethered his horse, then knelt
down beside his saddle. He began pulling out a blanket from a bedroll. He
handed it to her, and she gratefully wrapped it around her bare arms. Then she
sat down on a log next to the campfire. He sat on a rock opposite her, still
glaring.

"Why should I trust you?"
Melinda asked. "You don't trust me enough to tell me what's going
on."

Mac took a deep breath. "I
can't."

"Then you know all about those
horses Finch has hidden away?"

"I do now."

"And you're not going to tell
me what it all means?"

"Please, Melinda. Be patient. Just
a while longer."

Mac reached into his saddlebag and
pulled out the same dog-eared deck of cards he had found at the shelter when
they were stranded together in the flood. He began shuffling, and gave her a
big grin.

"We can't go anywhere until
morning. But at least we know how to pass the time until then."

"Come on, Mac," Melinda
said gently. "Who are you protecting? Is it Preston?"

Mac said nothing. He picked up the
cards he had dealt himself and started arranging them.

"We have to go to the
police," Melinda said. "I've just been shot at. Almost killed. Whatever
it is you're doing, you don't have the right to put all of us at risk this way
just to protect your brother. And what about Joan? We need to be out there
looking for her."

Mac continued to stare at the cards
as if in deep concentration.

"You've found out
something!"  Melinda burst out. "Please, Mac. You have to tell me
what you know about Joan."

"We think — she's alive. That's
all I can tell you. We really don't know for sure."

Melinda was unprepared for the
tremendous emotional impact caused by his words. She bit her trembling lower lip,
fighting the tears. Her depth of feeling was caused both by the hope that Joan
might still be saved — and by the possibility that it was already too late.

After a night of irritating card
games followed by a fitful rest, they broke camp at daybreak.

Melinda rode behind Mac on Bismark as
they led the lamed Becky back to the ranch. Melinda was bone-tired and sore,
drooping against him, and guilty on occasion of falling into a dead sleep with
her head resting against his strong back.

When they finally arrived at the
ranch, he pulled her off the horse and lifted her into his arms. As he carried
her up the stairs and to her room, she was aware of voices sounding like
Harriet, Preston, and even Scott Bradford expressing their concern.

"No, she's fine," Mac
kept repeating. "Just exhausted. Let her get some sleep."

She was left, once more, in
Harriet's stern care.

She vaguely remembered a hot bath,
and the fresh smell of a newly washed gown being slipped over her head. Harriet
forced some food down her — biscuits, with a little jam. And warm milk.

The milk, Harriet explained, was
laced with "a bit of something to help you sleep." Melinda remembered
being instructed that more food and drink were on the table by her bed. And
then she rolled into bed and profound unconsciousness.

Much later, Melinda jerked awake.
She was bathed in sweat.

She had been tortured by a confused
dream involving pursuit by gunmen and a savage dog with fangs protruding from
the face of Roy Finch.

In the darkness, she could see
nothing. But she remembered where she was, safely in bed at the McClure ranch. Melinda
tested muscles that at first could hardly move from stiffness. And no wonder,
she thought, as she recalled the previous day's events.

The luminescent dials of the clock
near her bed confirmed the worst. It was near midnight. She had slept through
the day, and half the night. She remembered Harriet mentioning a sedative.

Had she been drugged on purpose? To
keep her out of the way? If so, what was so important about this night?

Melinda started to switch on the
light of the lamp by her bed. Then she thought better of it. Someone might be
watching outside the door, to see if she was stirring.

She remembered a candle on the
dresser, got up, and fumbled her way over to it. She bent down, trying to see
if Harriet by some miracle had left her dirty clothes on the floor.

They were gone.

Melinda cracked open the bathroom
door, and risked slipping her hand inside to flick on the light. By allowing a
tiny shaft of the beam to shine through, she was better able to see. And she
noted that Harriet had emptied the pockets of Melinda's clothes onto the
dresser before carrying them away.

Melinda saw the item she so
desperately sought — the pill bottle with the few remaining matches. Eagerly,
she grabbed for it. In the dim light she retrieved a pair of jeans and a warm
pullover sweatshirt from a dresser drawer. She donned them, then placed the
candle and matches in her pocket.

Melinda was ready for action.

She walked to her bedroom door,
stood, and listened. Then she reached out to try the doorknob. It didn't budge.
She pushed hard on the door, without result. It was either locked, jammed or
braced from the outside.

Someone had made certain that, this
time, Melinda Bailey would stay put.

Melinda angrily walked over to her
bed and sat down to think. This time, she flicked on the lamp. There was no need
to worry now about the light. With the door secured, no one would be watching
her room.

Absently, she reached out for one of
the stale biscuits still left beside her bed. She gnawed on it as her stomach
rumbled in grateful anticipation. She swallowed, then reached for another.

Spying a pitcher of water, she poured
herself a drink. Realizing how parched her mouth and throat felt, she downed
two glasses before finally feeling satiated. Then she paid a visit to the
bathroom and brushed her hair.

"All dressed up and no place
to go," she mumbled as she surveyed herself in the mirror.

At first, the background droning
noise did not register with her until it became steadily louder — and
recognizable.

The airplane!

Turning off the lamp, Melinda tiptoed
across the room. She eased open the sliding door to the veranda and stepped
outside. A quarter moon provided enough dim light for her to barely see the
ground that tonight seemed a great distance below.

Holding onto the railing, Melinda leaned
outward to examine the vine-covered arbor ending just a few tantalizing
feet below her. Melinda knew that the plane was a key clue, perhaps the final
one, linked to Joan's disappearance.

She must act at once, or she would
lose all courage.

Taking a deep breath, Melinda
turned around to grasp the metal railing and began easing her body downward. Finally,
she stretched her toes until they touched the top of the wooden arbor.

She released her grip on the
railing, and braced herself against the wall. Sagging under the full weight of
her body, the arbor swayed dangerously. But there was no going back now.

Fighting a dizzy sensation, Melinda
guided her feet carefully down several of the wooden slats. Both hands now
gripped the top of the arbor. Ever so carefully, she worked her way downward
until, suddenly, the arbor snapped. She plunged backwards. In a split second,
the back of her head hit the ground, joined instantly by the rest of her body.

Melinda lay stunned for a minute, before
she groggily raised herself into a sitting position. She moved her arms and
legs carefully to make sure there was no damage.

Then, recognizing that the
commotion might have alerted someone, she rose quickly to her feet. Half
stumbling, she ran away from the house toward the now waning sound of the
airplane motor. Melinda wondered if the mysterious rider she had spotted before
was anywhere in the vicinity.

As she scanned the corrals, there
was no sign of movement. Becky was there, though, her white spots distinctive
in the dim lighting. She nickered softly at the sight of Melinda.

Melinda put a finger to her lips
and whispered. "Hush now. What did I tell you about doing that?"

When Melinda moved into the
underbrush, out of sight of the house, she dared bring out her small candle
and, using one of the precious matches, lit it. She cupped it with one hand to
mask the conspicuous light as she made her way toward the sound of the airplane.

Shadows danced eerily ahead of her. Though
she was aided somewhat by the partial moonlight, it was clumsy going as she
kept tripping and stumbling. She hoped no one was near enough to hear.

After what seemed like an eternity,
Melinda found the dim road leading in the direction of Eagle Ranch. She stayed
off the road, choosing the greater security offered by the covering of nearby
brush.

This time, when she came to the
fence marking the property line, she ducked through the wires and kept going.

 Finally, as the roar grew louder,
she stopped to see if she could spot the plane's shadow against the bright
night sky. There!  It rose like a dark hawk, banked, and circled off. It had
already landed. Its murky mission accomplished, it had taken off again. And now
it was gone.

Melinda sighed in frustration. Too
late. All her effort was for nothing. But she had come this far. She might as
well visit the landing strip, which was much closer to the McClure place than
she had reckoned. Besides, it was one element of this mystery that she had missed
seeing in her reckless explorations of the day before.

This time, she moved much more
carefully. Every so often, she stopped to catch her breath and listen. She was
rewarded with the sound of a vehicle engine starting up, and the low murmur of
voices. She decided it would be safer to blow out the candle, place it in her
pocket, and trust the moonlight from here on out.

Finally, as she crept up to a stand
of trees, Melinda realized she had reached the clearing where the plane had
landed.

She could distinguish the
headlights of a large van, most likely the one belonging to Eagle Ranch. The
bright spots of light emanating from flashlights traced movements of about a
half dozen people.

Melinda still did not know what she
was seeing, though fear tickled her scalp. She knew only that extreme danger
lurked here. And despite their bravado, this was far too big for even the
McClures to handle alone.

She had to go back, possibly steal a
vehicle at the McClure place, and find help. Just as she moved backwards, however,
she stepped on a dry branch that cracked like a shot in the night. Then, she
felt a hand close around her mouth.

She bit it hard, and tried to
scream. But the hand clamped down tighter.

"Melinda!" Mac whispered
hoarsely. "What the hell are you doing here? You're going to get us all
killed."

Dropping his hand from her mouth,
he held it up in a gesture of silence as he listened. "They're coming. They
heard you."

Just then, three dark figures
detached themselves from the shadows of the nearby trees. In the dim moonlight,
she recognized them as Finch's men.

"Run!" Mac shouted.

Melinda turned and bolted. Concern
for Mac made her pause, however, as she heard behind her all the shouts and
grunts amid a terrible commotion. Then there was the sickening thud of a heavy
object colliding with flesh.

"That takes care of him!"
a coarse voice said. "Get the girl!"

 These words inspired her to flee
in blind panic. She heard thrashing sounds behind her, indicating at least two
men were giving chase. She knew if she could get far enough away, darkness
would hide her.

But unexpectedly her foot jarred
against a tree stump, hurdling her face forward into a dry, scratchy bush. Still
dazed, she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. Someone grabbed her arm and
brutally jerked her to her feet.

"That's as far as you
go."

Melinda reached up to her stinging
cheek and dabbed at blood that was oozing from a scratch. The man had a firm
grasp on her other arm.

"Over here!" he shouted. "I've
got her!"

A beam of light stabbed in their
direction, temporarily blinding her. Moments later, two other men approached as
they dragged Mac's still body between them. Melinda's captor dug his fingers
into her arm cruelly, urging her to follow.

They walked for perhaps a half mile,
until they reached a small shed at the side of a clearing. The two men dragged
Mac inside and unceremoniously dumped him on the floor. Melinda was shoved in
after him. The door slammed, and she heard an outside lock click. She caught a
few fragments of conversation as the men walked away.

"...should kill them now. That
other girl..."

"Ask Roy...Preston still needs
to finish the job..."

When they were out of earshot,
Melinda weakly dropped to her knees beside Mac, whose still form was barely
visible in the dark. With shaking hands, Melinda fished out the candle and her
last match to light it. She held it above Mac's pale face. Was he dead? Critically
wounded?

Her mind replayed the crunching
sound of the blow she had heard. She stretched out her legs and cradled his
bruised head on her lap. His expression was clear and unguarded, much as it had
been that day — oh so very long ago — when she had watched him sleep in the
chair beside her bed. She gently rubbed her fingers across his forehead, as she
tried to assess the damage. Always, when she had been in trouble, Mac had been
there for her. Why had she never learned to trust him? And because of her
stupidity this time, he might even die.

Her fingers rested gently on the
pulse along the side of his neck. It seemed to be growing stronger. Please,
God, let him live.

A powerful emotion swept her as she
stroked his head.

"Oh, Michael," she
whispered softly. "My darling. Please forgive me."

Her lips gently caressed his
forehead. She knew he was unable to hear her. Otherwise, she never would have
dared to utter the words that came pouring out from the depths of her heart. They
were words born of emotions long submerged. The simple truth was that she loved
him, even after knowing him such a short time. She urged Mac to answer, gently
rubbing his face and hands to arouse some response.

Then, at long last, he turned his
head slowly from side to side. He groaned loudly, and began to stir.

"Take it easy," she
cautioned.

Mac lifted his head from her lap,
winced, and looked around. Then he slowly raised himself into a sitting
position. He grasped his head in both hands and groaned. Then he took the
candle from Melinda's hand, held it up, and looked around the room.

"Where are we?"

"Some sort of storage room."
The trembling in Melinda's voice was as much from relief as it was from the
stress of her most recent ordeal. "I'm glad you're okay."

Mac looked at her with dark eyes
full of keen awareness. "I wasn't completely unconscious. And I have to
confess I was enjoying myself."