To Love a Stranger (2 page)

He pushed Pierce toward the house just as a cloud of dust appeared over the crest of the hill.

“Dammit, I told you they were hot on my tail,” Ryan said as he hurried toward the barn to saddle Pierce’s horse. “No time to pack now, just take the money and go. I’ll bring your horse around to the back.”

Pierce didn’t want to flee like a coward, but he had no choice. The ranch was their home and he couldn’t let it be destroyed by a bunch of zealots masquerading as the law. He knew Riley Reed. He was a man consumed by his own importance, and men followed him unquestioningly. The vigilantes were quick to lynch and slow to listen to reason. There was talk of a federal marshal being assigned to the territory, but that hadn’t happened yet.

Chad went into the house and straight to the wall safe located in the office off the kitchen used to conduct ranch business. He grabbed a handful of cash, found Pierce in the kitchen, and stuffed a wad of bills into the pocket of his leather vest. Then Chad literally shoved Pierce out the back door. The loud tattoo of approaching horses’ hooves made haste imperative.

“Hurry,” Chad urged. “Ride like hell.”

“Dammit, Chad, I’m not guilty. I can’t just ride away without defending myself.”

“I’m thinking more clearly than you right now. Unless you want to get hitched to Cora Lee, or be hung from the nearest tree, you’d best hightail it for safer parts.”

Pierce grabbed his jacket from the hook beside the kitchen door and stepped into the bright sunlight, where Ryan was waiting with a sturdy black mustang gelding from Mexico known for his speed and ability to perform under duress.

“I’ve saddled Midnight,” Ryan said. “Hurry, the vigilantes are riding through the gate. Be sure and keep in touch so we can let you know when it’s safe to return home.”

Pierce nodded tersely, loath to leave but aware that he had little choice in the matter. He leapt into the saddle and dug his heels into Midnight’s sides. The animal hurdled over the fence just as the vigilantes thundered into the yard. Leaning low over Midnight’s neck, Pierce headed for open countryside, leading the vigilantes away from the ranch and his brothers.

“Go, Midnight, go,” Pierce urged as the stalwart horse stretched his sturdy legs to obey his master.

Pierce glanced back over his shoulder, cursing when he saw that the vigilantes were hard on his heels. They weren’t about to give up now that they had him in their sights. Bullets whizzed past him; he bent low over Midnight’s withers and dug in his spurs.

Midnight ate up the miles but was unable to shake his determined pursuers. Pierce knew the hectic pace he set was winding Midnight, so he headed for a canyon where he hoped to lose the posse. After an hour of hard riding he deliberately
set a slower tempo, hoping the vigilantes would do the same when they realized their horses couldn’t take the grinding pace. Unfortunately Pierce’s luck ran out. One of the men got off a lucky shot.

A bullet slammed into Pierce’s back, entering just below his right shoulder blade. The force of it nearly sent him flying off Midnight’s back. He fought to remain conscious as fierce, stabbing pain radiated throughout his body. He felt the wetness of blood, smelled its acrid odor, and felt blackness closing in on him.

Through sheer grit and determination Pierce managed to hang on. He had no idea how long he rode after that, for he may have passed out for a time, but when he looked back the vigilantes were still following.

Through a haze of pain, Pierce noted that he was entering a narrow canyon, whose walls rose high on either side. His brain was fuzzy, making coherent thought extremely difficult, but he managed to keep his seat Ahead of him the trail curved around a butte and he felt a glimmer of hope. Urging his tired horse to even greater speed, Pierce leaned over Midnight’s neck and whispered, “It’s up to you now, boy. Run as fast as you can. Lead them away.”

Disengaging both feet from the stirrups, Pierce leaned low over Midnight’s back, waiting for the right moment. It came when he saw a huge boulder resting at the foot of the butte. Abruptly he dropped off the horse’s back, rolling with the momentum of the fall to conceal himself behind the rock. He hit the ground hard, driving the breath from his lungs. The resulting explosion of pain sent
him spinning toward unconsciousness. He passed out scant seconds after he landed.

Pierce neither saw nor heard the vigilante party thunder by. The trail of dust raised by Midnight’s hooves and the bend in the road had prevented them from noticing that Pierce and his horse had parted company.

Daylight was waning when Pierce opened his eyes. When he tried to move, agony overwhelmed him. He lay back, breathing deeply to control the pain as he tried to recall why he was lying in a pool of blood behind a boulder. It took a moment of intense concentration to remember what had happened. With total recall came the realization that he had to get out of there fast, before the vigilantes doubled back to look for him.

It would soon be dark, Pierce reflected, which would make it difficult to locate him. Of further help was the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. A pop-up storm would be most welcome, for it would make tracking him difficult.

Dragging himself into a sitting position, Pierce took a moment to gather his strength and get his bearings. There were bound to be ranches in the area. And if he wasn’t mistaken, the town of Rolling Prairie was not too far away.

Realizing time was running out, Pierce staggered to his feet. He swayed dangerously, then moved one foot in front of the other by sheer dint of will. Blood soaked his clothing and he wondered how much blood a man could lose before dying from it.

Pierce made slow progress through the canyon, remaining conscious by listing in his head all his
reasons why women couldn’t be trusted. He began with his own mother, who had abandoned her family for a traveling salesman when they lived in Illinois. Embittered by his wife’s desertion, their father had eventually sold their farm and home-steaded to Montana, reminding his sons repeatedly that trusting females could lead to trouble, and more often than not he’d been correct.

Chad had learned his lesson the hard way. He’d courted Loretta Casey, the town beauty, and had even become engaged. But the fickle miss had backed out after Chad had lost his heart to her. Loretta dumped him for an eastern dandy who offered her a chance to live in a big city, which Chad had steadfastly refused to consider. As for Ryan, he found women too demanding for his liking. The one girl Ryan had taken an interest in had insisted that he work in her father’s mercantile and stop his wild carousing. Ryan might have been wild, but he loved ranching.

Pierce thought back over his own mistakes, beginning with the day he’d married Polly Summers. He’d been just twenty-one and in love, or so he’d thought. He’d assumed he was getting a shy virgin and discovered he’d married an experienced woman who quickly found other lovers to fill her empty hours. When he’d found her in bed with Riley Reed, her former lover, he’d kicked her out. Trey Delaney, Pierce’s father, had wielded his substantial influence to obtain an annulment. His mother and Polly had both left their marks on Pierce. He’d vowed he’d not become a three-time loser.

Stumbling through the dark canyon, Pierce remained
conscious by recalling his mother and reliving the anguish her leaving had caused the family. As he’d grown older and wiser, Pierce had never forgotten his lesson. Women could ruin a man’s life. He enjoyed sex, and applied himself with zeal each time he went to town, but it was strictly lust-driven. He had his favorites among the women plying their trade above Stumpy’s saloon, but none of them meant more to him than a good lay.

Pierce had reached the end of his endurance. It had begun to rain by the time he climbed out of the canyon, and his mind was no longer lucid. Was he hallucinating or did he actually see the dim outline of a ranch house in the distance? He was so parched his throat felt as if it were on fire, and his mouth was drier than a desert. Though lightheaded from loss of blood, he forced himself to continue, knowing that once he stopped he was a goner. If wild animals didn’t get him, the vigilantes would.

Pierce stumbled to his knees. Pain exploded through him. He wanted to lie down, to shut his eyes to lose his pain in unconsciousness. He fought the urge to give up as the ranch house took form in the darkness. He blinked. It was no mirage, the structure was real, rising not one hundred yards in front of him.

Light spilled from the downstairs windows, drawing Pierce like a beacon. In a final burst of energy, he staggered forward, halting when he reached the front porch. He wasn’t thinking clearly, he realized as he paused to catch his breath. He couldn’t just barge in on people he didn’t know
and wasn’t sure he could trust. He needed water and rest before his mind could work clearly enough to assess the situation.

He spied a pump in the yard and approached it with measured steps. No one was around, which seemed strange on a ranch this size. Using the last of his strength, he worked the pump handle and knelt to catch the first rush of water in his mouth. He drank greedily then thrust his head under the flow. When he was sufficiently refreshed, he dragged himself around to the back of the house, seeking a shed or outbuilding in which he could take shelter. He saw something better. The entrance to a root cellar.

Prying open the door, he quickly stumbled down the few steps onto the dirt floor. Once the door was pulled back into place, Pierce was engulfed in total darkness. Using his sense of touch, he located a sack of potatoes and rested his back against it. Having exhausted the reserve of energy he’d drawn upon to reach this place, Pierce finally allowed himself the blessed relief of unconsciousness.

Pierce awoke to more physical pain than he’d ever experienced in his entire twenty-eight years. His mouth tasted of blood and his head felt as if a herd of wild horses were stampeding inside it. The pain in his back was beyond description. He was smart enough to know that if the bullet didn’t come out soon, blood poisoning would kill him.

Little pinpoints of light caught Pierce’s attention and he glanced upward, noting that the floorboards above were slightly uneven, allowing him glimpses into the room directly overhead. From the
amount of daylight visible, Pierce deduced that he had remained unconscious all night and far into the morning. He was thirsty again, and far weaker than he’d been the night before. Then he heard footsteps on the floorboards above and his attention sharpened.

The sound of voices raised in anger filtered down to him. Pierce strained to hear and could just barely make out the words. The voices were those of a man and woman.

“I’m sick of these delays, Zoey. If you don’t set a date for our wedding soon, my bank will foreclose on your property.”

“You know as well as I, Mr. Willoughby, that there is no mortgage on the Circle F. My father owned the ranch and land free and clear. If your bank holds the mortgage, it’s a forgery.”

“Are you suggesting I’m dishonest?” Willoughby blustered.

There was a pause and Pierce wondered if the man named Willoughby had frightened the woman into silence. But evidently she had more mettle than he gave her credit for.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, Samson Willoughby. You’re a liar and a cheat. I wouldn’t marry you under any circumstances. Besides, I already have a fiancé whom I love very much. We’re to be married soon. He won’t let you get away with this game you’re playing with me.”

“A fiancé,” Willoughby sneered. “I don’t believe there is a fiancé. Where does he live? Why hasn’t he come forward before now? You’re a terrible liar, Zoey.”

“Look who’s calling the kettle black,” Zoey retorted.

“You can’t hoodwink me, my dear. I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember. At first your father stood in our way, but his death changed everything. You love this ranch, don’t you? Well, I’m fond of it too. Our lands adjoin, only yours has rich grasslands and water rights that mine lack. Together we’ll own a large portion of Montana. If your so-called fiancé doesn’t show up soon, you’d better be prepared to marry me or lose your land.” He tipped his hat. “Good day, my dear.”

Zoey Fuller slammed the door behind Samson Willoughby with enough force to rattle the hinges. Two weeks! She’d been putting him off ever since her father’s death six months ago. Zoey knew Willoughby was lying about the mortgage. Yet her search for the title to the ranch had been futile. It had to be here somewhere, but where?

The mortgage papers Willoughby had flashed before her looked like the real thing, but Zoey knew her father wouldn’t mortgage the ranch without telling her. Money had been tight, but they’d always come through the hard times without sacrificing the ranch.

Blond and blue-eyed, twenty-two-year-old Zoey Fuller was a rare beauty who didn’t comprehend the devastating effect she had on men. She’d had beaus, but none she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Her father had given her free rein after her mother died when she was twelve, and during those years she’d acquired a mind of her own and a temper to match. She was equally as comfortable in flannel shirt and denim pants as she
was in a dress. Since Robert Fuller’s death, she’d run the ranch with the help of Cully, a crusty old cowhand who’d worked for her father for as long as she could remember. If he had another name, he’d never divulged it to anyone as far as she knew.

Now Cully was the only hand left on the place. The others had either quit or been driven off by Willoughby’s men. Raiders had been systematically stripping her ranch of livestock, and she was on the brink of bankruptcy. After her father’s death, Zoey learned that ranch hands were reluctant to work for a woman.

With Willoughby and other ranchers in the area offering higher wages, Zoey was between a rock and a hard place. Willoughby was breathing down her neck, and time was running out. When no fiancé showed up she’d be forced off her land. Marrying Willoughby wasn’t even an option she’d consider. She wouldn’t have that liar and cheat if he were served up on a silver platter.

Zoey left the house in a wretched mood. There was so much to do and so little time. It was nearly impossible to run a ranch with only Cully to help with the chores. Perhaps she’d go into town later today and try again to recruit hands. Her last two trips had been a waste of time. Willoughby had spread the word that employment at the Circle F would be temporary, that the ranch was in deep trouble financially.