To Love a Stranger (30 page)

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make you docile, even if it means putting a child in your belly every
year.” He grinned, eyeing her with relish. “Keeping you pregnant is a chore I’m going to enjoy.”

He kissed her on the lips again, hard, then turned and strode away.

“Don’t you dare hurt Cully,” Zoey hissed after him.

“Just show up on time to the church,” Willoughby returned over his shoulder. “You’ll have to take my word that he’s alive and well, for you’ll not see him until after the ceremony.”

Zoey caught hold of the porch railing to keep from collapsing as Willoughby rode away. He had won, she thought disconsolately. There was nothing more she could do now to keep from marrying the greedy banker. She had to endure his mouth and hands on her and somehow survive being bedded by a man she despised. For Cully’s sake she’d do whatever was required of her.

Her hands spanned her still flat stomach as she shed silent tears for her unborn child. Pierce’s child. Vaguely she wondered if things might have turned out differently had she told Pierce she suspected she carried his child. She supposed nothing would have changed. Pierce never wanted a wife, and a child would only complicate his life and make him hate her for tying him down even more. By now Pierce had obtained his divorce and forgotten all about her. Had he wanted her, he would have come after her long before now.

Frustrated beyond human endurance, Zoey feared there was no way out of this marriage to Samson Willoughby. But once she knew for sure that Cully was free, Willoughby wouldn’t find her the obliging wife he expected. She would have to
find a way to escape before Willoughby found out she carried Pierce’s child.

Cully groaned and opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was walking into the bunk-house, then his head exploded and everything went black. He slowly pushed himself upright, holding his head until the world stopped spinning. When he finally felt strong enough to open his eyes, he saw nothing familiar. He was sitting on a bunk inside a small, dark room whose only light seeped in from between the cracks of the boarded window and from underneath the door.

Staggering to his feet, he went to the door and tried the latch. Locked. Mustering his strength, he pounded on the door until he heard a voice on the other side advising him to stop.

“Where am I?” Cully asked through the panel.

“None of your business. You’re still alive, ain’t ya? There’s food and water, all the comforts of home. I’ll bring more when that runs out.”

Cully recognized the voice of his captor. “Pete? Is that you? What’s going on? Let me out.”

“You ain’t going nowhere, Cully. Not until the boss says so.”

“You’re working for Willoughby! Damn your soul! He better not hurt Miz Zoey.”

Pete gave a nasty laugh. “Don’t worry about the woman, worry about your own future. Willoughby is gonna take good care of Zoey Fuller.”

Cully cursed long and fluently as he turned back to the bunk to take stock of his surroundings and to think. His prison was an ancient one-room shack that had been hastily repaired to keep him from
escaping. A bare bunk, a lopsided table, and two rickety chairs were the only furnishings. A sack of nonperishable food rested upon the table beside a canteen of water. A bucket for waste sat in another corner.

Boards were nailed across the one window, and the door was barred on the outside. Cully stared at the light that spilled through the numerous cracks in the walls and began to entertain a slim hope of escape. He hadn’t lived all these years without learning a thing or two.

Before darkness brought an end to his observations, Cully had located two weak places in the walls that had been hastily repaired, places that demanded further investigation. As he munched on jerky and hardtack and drank from the canteen, he decided to tackle the walls in the morning, when he could see what he was doing.

Cully awoke at daybreak and went immediately to the planked wall to study the situation. He realized it would take a great deal of time and patience to break through the large hole that Pete had repaired by nailing a board over the opening. Unfortunately his efforts would produce enough noise to alert even a deaf man. Dejected, Cully sank down on his haunches to rethink the situation.

Four days later Cully was no closer to escaping than he had been the first day. He could hear Pete moving around outside and tried talking him into letting him go, to no avail. A welcome break came when Pete told Cully he was returning to town for instructions and supplies. Cully almost shouted aloud for joy. If Pete stayed away long enough, he was positive he could gain his freedom.

Cully set to work the moment he heard Pete ride away. He’d already searched the small room for weapons or tools and found nothing. But he didn’t let that stop him. Finding the weak place in the hastily patched wall, Cully began kicking the board with his booted foot. He worked a long time, tiring both legs before realizing it was going to take more than a few well-aimed kicks to knock loose the board. Thoroughly winded, he sat down to take stock of the situation.

His gaze fell on one of the chairs, specifically on the one with wobbly legs. Realizing it wouldn’t take much to wrest one leg free, he soon had the sturdy chair leg in his hands and began to batter it against the board. Unfortunately the nails held. Cully had no idea how much time had passed until he heard Pete hollering at him through the door.

“What in the hell are ya doing, Cully?”

“Beating out my brains,” Cully yelled back.

“Stand back, I’m coming in with fresh water and food. The boss says you’re to live a few more days. Don’t try anything funny, I’ve got my gun out.”

“What do ya think I’m gonna do?” Cully retorted, clutching the chair leg and pressing himself against the wall behind the door. “I’m unarmed.”

The bar made a scraping sound against the door, and Cully smiled in anticipation. As the door inched open he gripped the chair leg and raised it over his head. When Pete stepped inside, Cully brought the club crashing down on Pete’s head. Pete went down, but the blow didn’t completely knock him out. He had the wherewithal to send off a wild shot. The bullet caught Cully in the thigh. Cully grunted, staggered, then brought the club
down again and again, until Pete lay still as death.

Pete’s horse was tethered nearby. With difficulty Cully limped to the animal and pulled himself onto its broad back. Before riding off, he bound his bleeding wound with his bandanna, hoping he wouldn’t bleed to death before reaching his destination, and praying he’d be in time to help Zoey.

Cully didn’t dare ride to the Circle F, or even into town. He knew Willoughby wouldn’t hesitate to do away with him if he showed his face in town, and that would leave Zoey without protection. There was only one place Cully could go, one person he could confide in. And the good Lord help them all if he failed.

No matter how long or hard Pierce drove himself, he could not forget Zoey. He recalled every tantalizing inch of her. The softness of her skin, the sweet taste of her, her taut, athletic body, the firmness of her breasts. He had initiated her in the ways of love and she had been an apt pupil, turning to wildfire in his arms, branding him with her passion. Indeed, the physical part of their short-lived marriage had been very real and intensely satisfying.

Despite all those wonderful things about Zoey, he knew she would be better off without him. His deep-rooted fear of intimacy made him terrible husband material. Zoey was loyal and loving and much too good for him.

Ryan’s voice interrupted his reverie. “Are you coming, Pierce? Those cows in the west pasture won’t wait for branding.”

“Be right with you,” Pierce said, striding toward
his horse in angry steps that matched his mood.

He paused with one foot in the stirrups when he noticed one of the hands riding in, leading a horse that appeared riderless. Then he saw a man slumped over the saddle, and a frisson of foreboding slid down his spine.

“Looks like Red riding in, Pierce,” Ryan called as he spurred his horse to meet the riders. Pierce mounted quickly and followed.

From a distance Pierce couldn’t tell whether the man slumped in the saddle was alive or dead. His right pant leg was blood-soaked, and a bandanna was wrapped around his thigh.

“What happened?” Pierce asked as he and Ryan met the riders.

“Don’t know, boss.” Red nodded toward the wounded man. “Found him lying on the ground in the south pasture. His horse was grazing nearby. Had to tie him to the saddle to get him here.”

“He’s still alive, then?” Ryan asked.

“He was. Lost a lot of blood, though. Appears to have a gunshot wound.”

“We’ll take it from here, Red. Go on back to your duties,” Pierce said, taking the leading reins from Red’s hands. “Go fetch the doctor, Ryan. The poor bastard’s in bad shape.”

It wasn’t until Pierce reached the house and carefully lowered the wounded man from the saddle that he recognized Cully. The breath caught in his throat as he imagined the desperate circumstances/involving Zoey that must have brought Cully to his door in such sad shape.

Pierce’s worst fears were realized when Cully regained consciousness briefly and recognized Pierce.

“Thank God,” Cully gasped, as if the effort to speak was too much for him.

“What is it, Cully? Who shot you? Is something wrong at the Circle F?”

It took several agonizing moments for Cully to gather his wits. “Zoey needs you. Willoughby…” Words failed as Cully sank into a pit of blackness.

“Cully, what about Zoey? What happened? Did she send you? What about Willoughby?”

To Pierce’s chagrin, Cully had passed out, leaving him with a million questions and more fear than he’d ever known.

C
ully didn’t regain consciousness immediately. The doctor had arrived, treated the wound, and said the old man was in serious condition. Infection raged throughout his body, and Cully thrashed feverishly about in the bed. Pierce could make little out of the old man’s wild ravings, except for Zoey’s name, which he muttered repeatedly.

Fear raged through Pierce. He didn’t know what had happened at the Circle F, and Cully couldn’t tell him. What could have possibly happened to bring Cully here, wounded and near death?

Pierce didn’t see how it could involve Willoughby. Zoey held the confession that could ruin the banker, and he wouldn’t dare do anything to risk his reputation. Pierce would never have let her leave Dry Gulch had he thought she’d be in danger. If Zoey were safe, however, Cully wouldn’t be here now, fighting for his life.

“Has Cully said anything yet?” Ryan asked as he walked into the room.

“He’s still unconscious,” Pierce replied. “His fever
is down some. I hope to God he makes it.”

“Only one thing would bring him here, Pierce. Zoey is in trouble.”

“I can’t wait around here any longer. I’m going to ride to the Circle F and find out for myself. Everything was going well before I left. Damn, not knowing is driving me crazy.”

“Don’t you think it’s time to admit you love Zoey? I’ve seen how you’ve been these last few weeks. You’re not yourself, brother. You miss Zoey and you know it. Why fight it?”

“You know why as well as I.”

“Then why did you refuse to—”

Just then Cully groaned and said something, halting Ryan in midsentence. Pierce bent over Cully, encouraged when the old man opened his eyes and seemed to recognize him.

“Cully, it’s Pierce. Can you tell me what happened?”

Cully wet his lips and tried to focus his gaze on Pierce. His voice came out thin and raspy. “Pierce? That you? I made it?”

“You were brought in by one of the hands earlier today. I won’t lie to you. You’re in bad shape, Cully. Your wound was left untreated too long. Who shot you? Why didn’t you seek help right away?”

“No time,” Cully gasped. “Willoughby …”

“What about Willoughby? Did Willoughby shoot you?”

“His man did.”

“Why?”

“I was being held prisoner at an old mine. I reckon Miz Zoey was balking at marrying Willoughby,
and the only way he could force her to comply was to make threats against my life. I was shot as I escaped. All I could think of was getting to you.”

Dismayed, Pierce gaped at him. “What! How could Willoughby force Zoey into anything when Zoey held Willoughby’s confession? She could have ruined him had she chosen to do so.”

“The confession was stolen,” Cully muttered. “There was no one left to guard the ranch when Miz Zoey left suddenly to follow you. To make matters worse, the money from the sale of the cattle was stolen before we returned to the Circle F. Miz Zoey needed that money to pay the taxes. Willoughby loaned her the cash, but she had to agree to marry the bastard to get it.”

Cully began coughing. Pierce held a cup of water to the crusty old cowhand’s lips and he drank greedily, but it did little to revive him. Cully lay back and closed his eyes.

“What do you make of it, Pierce?” Ryan asked.

Though Cully’s explanation left much to the imagination, Pierce had gotten the frightening message, and the urgency of Cully’s words.

“Zoey can’t marry Willoughby,” Pierce said, his voice low and strident.

“You and I know that, but looks like Zoey and Willoughby don’t,” Ryan said. “Did you ever let Zoey know that you didn’t—”

“No, and I know what you’re going to say. I’m a stubborn fool who can’t let go of the past to make a future with Zoey. Don’t lecture me, Ryan, I’m in no mood.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Let Willoughby bully Zoey into marriage?”

“I’m riding to the Circle F.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. Someone has to stay behind to run the ranch and look after Cully. He’s not out of danger yet. I can take care of Willoughby on my own.”

“Good luck,” Ryan called as Pierce strode from the room.

Thirty minutes later Pierce had packed his saddlebags with supplies and ammunition, strapped on his guns, and was ready to leave.

“Tell Cully not to worry,” he told Ryan in parting. “I’ll set things right with Zoey. Tell him to concentrate on getting well.”