Trail Angel (34 page)

“Caleb.” Annabelle thought at first he might be dead, for he hadn't moved even after falling face-first into the dirt. “Can you hear me?”

With her hands bound, she managed to get into a kneeling position beside him. She leaned forward, putting her head against his back, reassured to feel the slight rise as he drew breath. He groaned and shifted beneath her, getting his mouth out of the dirt, his face swollen and red.

“Can you sit up? If you untie me, I might be able to get your binds undone.”

He looked at her, but it seemed his eyes couldn't focus. “It won't do any good. We won't get away.”

“We have to try.” Annabelle pivoted her back to his. Her shoulders burned with the effort, but she scooted closer to Caleb, using her legs for leverage. When she judged herself near enough, she looked back to him.

“Now, see if you can get your hands on my ropes.” He didn't move. “Caleb?” He breathed strangely. At great pain, she looked over her shoulder and saw him crying.

“I'm so sorry. I should have told you about the gold.”

Gold?
“None of that matters now.” She shushed him, like cooing to a child, afraid his sobs would draw the attention of someone outside the tent. “All that matters is getting away.”

She felt him moving behind her, breathing loudly through his nose, blowing out phlegm. He cleared his throat. His voice sounded stronger. “I'm going to get us out of this. It was my fault, but I'll fix this.”

Annabelle wasn't confident, but his hands tugged against her ropes. If they got the ropes off, what then?
It's merely a tent.
Even without a knife, there had to be a way to get out from under the backside. Caleb worked at the ropes, but they weren't growing any looser. Her hands had so little feeling, she wasn't sure if she felt his touch or only his efforts moving her arms. She wondered how much longer they would be left alone.

“Hurry!”

“I'm trying.” His efforts were accompanied with much grunting and uneven breathing. “I can't get my fingers loose enough to grab hold of the rope.”

“Do your best,” she said, not wanting to discourage him. “But hurry.”

Josey will come for me.
Despite everything between them, she knew that much, but she was just as sure Josey would be walking into an ambush.
Was that their purpose?
Harrison had seemed eager to challenge Josey in Omaha.
What did Richard have to do with that?
None of it made any sense to Annabelle. Caleb had talked about gold, just as the road agents had before the attack, but that didn't make sense, either. The gold was in Montana.

Annabelle choked back her curiosity, not wanting to distract Caleb. Escape was their best hope. Annabelle felt slackness in the ropes, a tingling sensation in her fingers, like pricks of ice or fire. “I think you're getting it, Caleb.”

Then, another voice, only too familiar.

“Damn. I had hoped to interrupt as you were making your escape. Annie, you never cease to disappoint me.”

Annabelle and Caleb froze at the sound of Richard's voice. He hunched his shoulders and bowed his head to stand in the tent. The boy beside him didn't.

“Lucifer, check her binds.” Putting his boot to Caleb's shoulder, Richard pushed so Caleb landed heavily on his back. He crouched before Annabelle while the boy pulled tight the knots. “I thought by now you would be much further along than this.” There was a light in his eyes she rarely recalled seeing when they were together. “You're not very good at this game.”

“I don't understand your game.”

“You've never understood much, have you?” He popped up and moved past her to Caleb. The knots were even tighter when the boy finished and went to stand by his master, his dark face impassive to her pain.

“I don't think I want to understand.”

This amused Richard. “That's probably for the best. What you don't know can't hurt you, right? Except you didn't know what a bad boy Caleb had been, and I'm afraid that's going to hurt you.”

“Let her go, Captain. She had nothing to do—” The rest of whatever Caleb intended to say was cut off when Richard put his boot to his throat. The sound of the man's choking put a taste of bile in Annabelle's throat.

“It's too late to play hero, Caleb.” With a final kick, Richard stepped back and allowed the man to breathe. “Caleb wasn't exactly a reluctant participant in this scheme, were you, Caleb?”

His breath coming in choking gasps, Caleb couldn't speak.

“I won't say it was Caleb's idea. Caleb has never been what you would call a man of ideas. But he was plenty ready to quit the army and ride off a rich man.”

Watching Richard was like seeing another man dressed in her husband's clothes. He spoke with her husband's voice, resembled him in feature and manner, but it was a different man.
He can't be the man I married.
Annabelle wanted to believe that, but as she studied him, she recalled the times his mask slipped. A sharp edge of temper. A cruel glint in his eye. A cutting remark with no remorse. All of them dismissed as aberrations, waved away to the stress of life. In truth, they had been glimpses into a black soul she refused to concede belonged to the man she'd wed.

“I don't understand, Richard.”

He turned from Caleb to look on Annabelle. “He really hasn't told you about the gold? I guess that's one time he wasn't lying.” Richard kicked Caleb again for emphasis. “He was supposed to bring the gold, but Caleb tried to be clever.” Another kick. Caleb had stopped reacting, and Annabelle wondered if he were unconscious or dead. “How do you forget to bring that much gold?”

The newspapers had been filled with stories of lost Confederate gold, as if some mishap of accounting had been responsible for Southern defeat. Annabelle had never believed any of the tales—until now. “You took gold from the army?”

His voice turned vicious. “The gold was for guns. The army was already beaten.”

The extent of her husband's betrayal was horrible to contemplate, and Annabelle let her bitterness show. “You don't know that.”

“I was there!” he screamed. She braced for a strike, but it never came. He leaned down, their faces only inches apart, a white-hot fury in his eyes. “The guns wouldn't have made a difference. We lost the war when England decided to remain neutral. Oh, but there were plenty of Englishmen who were willing to
sell
guns to us, if you sneaked enough gold into Mexico to buy them. What good would that have done? Another year of killing? We had seen enough of that.”

Caleb roused himself. “I just did what you wanted.”

“Yes, and after we had it, you were awfully quick to agree to steal it from the others, and even quicker to betray me.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“I would have been, if I hadn't convinced them I was trying to stop you.” Richard looked to Annabelle. “I've always had a gift for convincing people of what I want them to believe, wouldn't you say, Annie?” Annabelle looked away.

“I can get you the gold,” Caleb said. “Just let her go.”

Richard kicked him again. “I was supposed to already have it.”

Caleb's breath came in uneasy gasps. “I told you. They will trade the gold. For us.”

Another kick. Annabelle winced at the sound. “You think anyone would hand over even a pinch of dust for you?” Richard kneeled beside Annabelle. With the back of his hand, he stroked her cheek as a lover might. She shuddered, but her reaction only seemed to excite him. “My dear Annie is now the key. I had planned on you being my insurance that no one would follow us. Your parents will give up the gold for your pretty little ass, I should think.” He reached down and pinched her hard.

Annabelle hid her pain. “And then you'll let us go?”

Richard's smile was cold. “Yes, then I will let you go,” he said in a voice one would use with a small child. He'd always been able to make her feel stupid in a way no one else could. She had given up trying to understand why. Yet even after seeing his savagery unmasked, a part of her hoped to appeal to him.

“Don't do this, Richard. You loved me once.”

He laughed. “Don't be such a child, Annie.” He grabbed her jaw roughly in his hands. “And don't look so hurt. Most men don't love their wives. Everything had to be so perfect in your world, didn't it?
You
had to be so perfect. Well, you aren't perfect, are you?”

He placed his hand heavily against her abdomen, and Annabelle struggled to keep tears from flowing. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction. She didn't know what to say. After the miscarriage, she had blamed herself for his inattention. Now it was clear to her: Her husband had probably put no more thought into their nuptials than he would in bargaining for a horse.

She had been too young to see it at the time. In her naiveté she thought he must love her if he married her. Later, a part of her had come to believe all the books and poetry and women's gossip about love were lies told to little girls so they would grow up obedient to their fathers and husbands, hoping vainly that they would be rewarded with the myth of love. Even with the lesson learned, she'd been quick to forget it with Josey. He could be so cold, no more capable of love than a wolf or other wild beast. And yet, when she was alone with Josey, there were moments of sweetness and gentleness that she had never seen with Richard.

Richard watched her. “I suppose you believe the soldier boy loves you.”

“I don't know.”

“Oh, come now.” He prodded her with a finger, nearly pushing her onto her back. “I saw you riding together. A husband can tell when another man has eyes for his wife. Has he had you yet?” His hand fell to her leg, his forefinger tracing the curve of her thigh. The fabric of Annabelle's riding pants suddenly felt too thin. “Do you believe his love will last once his passion has been satisfied?”

Annabelle grew dizzy. Richard smiled at her, and she was more frightened than before. “I suppose there's only one way to find out. But now that you know I am alive, I wonder: Would you be a bigamist? Would you bring God's scorn upon the man you love?”

Still fighting off tears, Annabelle stoked her anger, hoping it would ward off despair. “Why do you care?”

“It amuses me to think of it. And amusements are so hard to come by here.” He smiled at the boy, still standing impassively at the tent flap. The boy didn't look anything like Richard, even accounting for the difference in skin color, yet Annabelle wondered if he was the son she'd been unable to give Richard.

“I suppose the point will soon be moot. Harrison's had his eye on you since Omaha. The man's besotted. I suppose he's weary of squaws and whores, though I tried to explain that one hole's as good as another. He'll understand once he's had you, I suppose.”

Annabelle cringed at the thought.

“Now, now, dear. I'm not going to just
give
you to him. He's going to have to
earn
that sweet meat.” He squeezed her thigh. “I told him he could have you only after he killed soldier boy. He's been aching to do that almost as much as—” Richard's hand moved roughly over her body, forcing her legs apart even as she squirmed from him “—well, you can imagine. If he's smart, soldier boy will never see him coming. So you see, my sweet, you've got no cause to worry about bigamy, unless you decide to marry Harrison.”

He looked away, as if in deep thought. “Something tells me that after Harrison's through with you, that won't be an option.”

Richard rose and turned. Caleb was on his feet, too, having somehow managed to work free from his ropes while Richard talked. With hands clenched together like a club, he struck Richard across the back of the neck, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Caleb stepped forward, his boot drawn back to kick Richard when the boy sprang out from his post by the tent flaps. Annabelle saw a flash of silver in the lamplight. Caleb, off-balance, tumbled back against the tent post with the boy on him. He landed hard with a grunt as a whoosh of air escaped his lungs. The boy stood, and Richard rose to join him, petting him on the head. Annabelle had to crane her neck to see Caleb, the wide handle of a Bowie knife lodged in his gut.

Richard leaned over Caleb, his voice almost tender as he reached for the knife. “You won't be needing this,” he said. With a sharp twist of his wrist he pulled the knife free.

Annabelle knew she would soon be alone. She sat with Caleb's head in her lap, stroking his hair, more for her own comfort than his at this point. She had not moved as she counted down the hours until morning, and her backside and legs had grown numb from the weight of his head and shoulders. Having Caleb there had provided some warmth as the ground grew cold beneath her, but the warmth had drained away from him along with everything else.

She had been so furious at Caleb's betrayal, the idea she wished now for his survival seemed absurd. Yet she prayed, realizing her fear of being alone outweighed her anger at Caleb.

Any woman would have pitied him.
Left alone together, she did what she could for him. Tearing away strips from the bottom of her shirt to use as bandages, she had tried to stop the bleeding. Wild-eyed, Caleb had thrashed so much at first he bled even worse.

“Stay calm, Caleb. We'll get you a doctor soon.” She spoke in smooth, measured tones, as one might talk to a nervous horse.

Caleb saw through her empty promise. “It won't matter. I've been gutted.”

A note of plaintive surprise in his voice broke Annabelle's heart. She had him hold the bandages to the wound to staunch the blood and guided his head onto a small pillow she'd found. She sat down and slid her body under him, smoothed his hair with her fingers, like stroking a cat. The motion calmed him.