Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) (14 page)

Stephen hobbled the last horse and removed the lead rope, throwing it over his shoulder. He turned to look over in George’s direction. The stallion wasn’t there. He scanned the surrounding hills and spotted George at the top of the next rise. “Damn. I’m going to have to make that big fellow a stronger hobble,” he told himself.

He began to march the 100 yards or so to catch up to George when he heard a shot.

He looked up and then gasped, horrified. Anger, like he’d never known before, welled in his chest. A man on a horse was hauling Jane away. It must be Bomazeen! The sight nearly stopped his heart. Then he spotted another horse and a body lying on the ground in Bomazeen’s wake.

Stephen sprinted the remaining distance to George, jerked the broken hobble off, and quickly threw the lead rope around the horse’s neck to make a rein. He jumped on the bareback stallion, pulled him around, and kicked hard.

The stallion responded, his powerful hips springing into a full run, as Stephen bent over George’s withers. Within seconds, they raced wide open across the meadow toward Jane. He saw Sam and Bear a couple of hundred yards off. Had Sam made that shot from there?

Ahead, one Indian disappeared into the woods, but George easily overtook the other mount carrying two people. He urged George close behind Bomazeen and aimed his pistol, but didn’t fire for fear of hitting Jane.

As soon as Jane saw him, she bit down hard on the arm holding her. When Bomazeen jerked the arm away, Jane leapt off the other side, falling like a rag doll.

Stephen fired his pistol, but Bomazeen swung away from the ball’s path, clinging to the side of his horse’s neck. He shot his second pistol, and this time grazed Bomazeen’s arm.

His heart clenched with his need to go back for Jane, but he forced himself to stay focused on Bomazeen. He would not allow the man to escape again. He had not been there the first time Jane was in real trouble, but he was this time, by God. And if he didn’t kill the man now, Bomazeen would come after Jane again. He wouldn’t let that happen.

This bastard was going to die.

He urged his stallion over and charged into the flank of Bomazeen’s mount, knocking the devil and his smaller horse over. He tugged George to a skidding halt and spun the horse around.

Like a cat that had fallen, his dark eyes narrowed and hissing through gritted teeth, Bomazeen quickly bounced back to his feet and faced Stephen. Brandishing a skinning knife, Bomazeen bristled belligerently, his expression murderous, ready to attack. “I’m going to use this knife to gut you. Then I’m going to use it to skin your bitch after I take her,” Bomazeen taunted, his voice spiked with venom.

Bomazeen was capable of keeping that promise. Stephen had to kill him.

He leapt off George. How dare the bastard touch his wife. Never again! He quickly yanked the hatchet off his belt, more confident using it than his small hunting knife. He’d had a hatchet in his hand since he was a boy. For the first time, he would use it to kill a man.

The nearness of the monster unleashed something within him. Seething with overpowering rage, he advanced, keeping one eye on the long knife in Bomazeen’s hand. Then he noticed the scalps
hanging from Bomazeen’s belt. The sight sickened him, especially the fresh white-haired one. Undoubtedly Mrs. Andrews’. He would make Bomazeen pay for that ghastly deed. Nothing mattered now but killing the viper that threatened Jane and had nearly murdered his daughters.

But he could not let his rage make him reckless.

Bomazeen came at him like a lightning bolt, fast and angry, targeting Stephen’s face.

Stephen jumped to the side and swung the hatchet at Bomazeen’s head, but the devil ducked and stabbed at him again, this time aiming for his stomach.

Stephen arched his back and narrowly managed to avoid the sweep of the blade’s path. He slung the hatchet at Bomazeen’s back but struck an arm instead.

Bomazeen’s howl filled the air between them and the forest beyond, while blood poured from the man’s gaping wound. But like an injured animal, the wound only seemed to make Bomazeen more ferocious. Bomazeen snarled at him, lifting a corner of his mouth. Stephen had never seen a man look more like a wild animal.

Unfortunately, the injured arm was not the one that held the knife. Bomazeen still gripped the weapon and kept the blade pointed maliciously at Stephen. Suddenly, Bomazeen leapt at him, but instead of using the knife, he thrust his leg out and slung his foot into Stephen’s knee. His leg buckled and he went down.

Bomazeen sneered at him with mocking ridicule then stabbed again, but Stephen rolled onto his right side, barely escaping the blade.

Bomazeen put his foot on top of the hatchet, pinning it to the ground.

Stephen had to release his grip on the hatchet as the man’s blade again sliced the air, plunging down in the direction of his head. Stephen rolled over just as the knife struck the ground where his head had just been. As Bomazeen pulled the weapon from the ground, Stephen sprung awkwardly to his feet and then scrambled away.

Bomazeen kept a foot on top of the hatchet and chuckled nastily. He raised an eyebrow, and stared with amused contempt.

Stephen lifted his chin and hardened his eyes, as anger rippled along his spine. He glanced sharply around him, searching for a weapon. He picked up a stone that more than filled his hand, and then barreled toward Bomazeen, clenching his jaw.

Wild-eyed, his greasy black hair hanging in his sweaty face, Bomazeen stomped forward, growling like a rabid animal.

As the beast came at him, Stephen’s heart hammered in his chest and his body tensed in readiness.

Bomazeen lunged, but Stephen blocked the knife with his left arm while his right hand slammed the stone against the side of Bomazeen’s head. The fiend’s knife sliced through his jacket and into his arm. But he felt no pain, his entire body taut with anger.

Blood flowed down the side of Bomazeen’s dirty face, but he did not falter. Instead, the man danced around Stephen, circling him, again and again, forcing him to repeatedly turn to keep Bomazeen in front of him. The silence between them became unbearable. Bomazeen was attempting to let fear build in him.

The strategy was ill-conceived. Instead of fear, courage grew within him. Pursing his lips tighter and girding himself with a resolve to end this battle, he imposed an iron control on his anger and waited silently, his face daring Bomazeen.

Bomazeen stiffened at the challenge. With eyes blazing hot, the man’s vicious glare burned through Stephen.

Then, like the snake he was, Bomazeen lurched and thrust repeatedly, struggling to plant the knife in his chest.

Stephen kept his weight centered and balanced on his toes. Over and over again, he moved outside of Bomazeen’s reach, turning, spinning, waiting for the right moment.

The impotent attempts to stab Stephen made Bomazeen shake with rage. The man’s vexation was evident and the serpent soon sprang at him yet again, teeth bared, his face twisted in anger.

Stephen leapt backward and then whirled as Bomazeen plunged on carelessly, losing his balance. Before Bomazeen could regain his footing, Stephen quickly pivoted to the side as he swung his arm powerfully in a wide circle and smashed the rock into the back of the man’s head. He heard bone crack.

“Now you die,” Stephen seethed.

Bomazeen stood, unmoving, then the knife dropped from his hand. The fiend sputtered incoherently and his face paled before he collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Totally lost to his rage, Stephen straddled Bomazeen and struck the murdering slave trader’s head repeatedly. He needed to dole out far more punishment than this evil man had life.

At last, he found the will to still the rage flowing into his hand. He rose clumsily, exhausted and breathless. He stood there, his head spinning, looking down with contempt and bitterness.

Then he heard Bear hastily ride up. Stephen looked up. Bear held George’s reins in one hand.

“Bomazeen’s dead,” Bear said firmly. “He’ll na harm Jane again. Ye need to go to her now.”

CHAPTER 15

J
ane’s name called Stephen back from the depths of rage. “Jane? Where’s Jane?” he asked, panting heavily, barely able to speak. He vaguely remembered her falling from the horse.

“She’s just down the hill a wee bit. Get on George now and we’ll go to her,” Bear urged.

“Is she…?”

“She’s hurt, but Sam is tending to her.”

His heart nearly stopped and bile rose in his throat. “How bad?”

“She was not moving when I saw her, but I do na know.”

Stephen glared at Bomazeen lying beneath him, wanting to kill the bastard again for hurting Jane. Nearly faceless, the head was a pulpy, bloody mush. His eyes turned to the now red rock in his right hand. He held something evil. He slung the rock as far as he could throw it.

“Forget that Satan’s bastard,” Bear urged. “Jane needs our help now.”

Bear handed Stephen’s panting stallion over to him and then offered to tie a band of cloth around his bleeding arm, but he waved Bear off. Jane needed him. He leapt up on George and took off at a gallop.

“Jane, my God, Jane,” Stephen cried, rushing to her side. He lifted her limp body into his arms with so much dread he held his breath. His fury quickly yielded to shock as he took in her appearance. Ugly scratches marred her face and arms, and dirt and little bits of rock covered her matted wet hair. Her gown was filthy and ripped in several places and her shift barely covered her breasts, but he saw no blood.

“She’s knocked out by the fall is all. She’ll come around,” Sam said. “I checked and she appears unbroken. Can’t tell if she hit her head or if the wind got knocked out of her.”

He gently stroked her head, trying to feel for head wounds, adding his blood to the mess of her hair.

“Let’s get her back to camp,” Bear suggested.

Stephen handed her to Bear while he mounted George, and then Bear lifted her up to him. He cradled her in his arms and hugged her gingerly. Putting his face next to hers, he gently kissed her temple. Then he looked down at her, horrified to see that he had gotten blood all over her. He tried to wipe her face with his hand, but only made a bigger mess of it.

“We’ll get you both cleaned up when we get back to camp,” Sam said.

“The other brave? Is he still close?” Stephen asked.

“He got away. He disappeared into the foothills,” Bear explained. “I can catch up to him”

“No, let that brave return to his village,” Sam said. “Better for Wanalancet to learn we killed Bomazeen. Maybe then he’ll give up his designs on Jane.”

“Take us back to camp,” Stephen ordered.

By the time they got back to camp, Stephen saw John and Little John returning from the river with a string of good-sized trout. The two were happily admiring their catch until they caught sight of him and Jane. John dropped his fish and pole next to Little John and ran towards them yelling, “Stephen! Jane!”

William woke up when he heard the commotion. “What the devil happened?” William demanded, clearly horrified by the sight of the two.

“The girls. Where are they?” Stephen demanded. When William didn’t answer immediately, Stephen urged his stallion to the other side of the wagon. They were absorbed in a game of checkers. Relieved, he pointed George back to the others.

“How badly is she injured?” John asked Sam.

“She’s unconscious, but she’ll come around. Bomazeen tried to snatch her again. Grabbed her at the creek. We gave chase and she took a fall from the bastard’s horse,” Sam explained. “That blood on her is mostly from the knife wound on Stephen’s arm. Stephen killed Bomazeen. There were two other braves—I killed one, one got away.”

After Stephen dismounted, carrying Jane, he pushed past William as his brother reached out to help carry her. He gently laid her down on the pallet William had just vacated and covered her with the new wool blanket John had quickly retrieved from the wagon. He bent to kiss her lips, then stood and strode over to face William. “Where the hell were you when all this was going on?
Didn’t you see the three of them ride up to the creek?”

“I laid down for just a minute. I guess I dozed...” William answered.

Stephen’s fist hit William’s face before his brother finished his sentence.

Taken by surprise, William went sprawling on his back.

He leaned over his brother and grabbed a fistful of shirt. “You damn idiot. She could be dead. Your job was to watch camp, not sleep you lazy fool.” He threw William back down in disgust and stood.

“Stephen’s right,” Sam said, anger in his voice, just below the surface. “We’ll never make it to Kentucky if we don’t stay alert. We can’t afford to be careless.”

“I…I never meant…” William started, looking at Stephen. “I can’t believe all this happened and I slept through it.”

Sam stood in front of William. Sudden anger lit his eyes and hardened Sam’s face. “It doesn’t matter what you meant. What matters is what happened. Within a few weeks, we will be out of these tame colonies and the life of every one of us depends on each of us being alert. More alert than we have ever been in our lives. You have to notice everything. Hear everything. Nothing is insignificant. If there’s a twig broken that shouldn’t be, if the birds aren’t singing, if insects quiet down. If anything is not as it should be, notice it. It could mean the difference between disaster and life.”

“I heard the rifle shot,” John said, “but I thought it was just you or Bear shooting game.”

“No,” Bear explained, “when we saw that devil carryin’ our Jane off, Sam leapt off his horse and brought his rifle to his shoulder. I
told him he could na make the shot. Must have been 200 yards. But he did, with lethal accuracy. He hit the Indian in the lead, sendin’ him tumblin’ forward directly into the path of his own mount. The horse stumbled over the body, buckled and fell. Bomazeen and the other brave maneuvered around the dead Indian and his horse, but Stephen soon caught up to Bomazeen and sent the bastard where he belongs—hell.”

“Is she dead?” Little John asked, his lower lip quivering.

“She just bumped her head is all,” John replied. “Can you hurry down to the creek quick as you can and get a couple pails of water? We’ll get Aunt Jane cleaned up and dinner started.”