Woman of Grace (36 page)

Romans 5:20

By dawn, the storm began to abate. Hannah lay there in the snug pine branch bower Brody had put together in the shelter of the dense ponderosa pines, wondering how much snow had fallen the night before. If it was deep, it would seriously impede any escape she might make—if the opportunity ever presented itself.

Brody lay beside her, snoring softly, his body blocking the way out. Though her feet were free, with her hands still tied she doubted she could crawl over him without waking him. Still, it was worth a try. Anything was better than the fate that lay before her.

As Hannah rolled over and pushed to her knees, their buckboard horse whinnied loudly. The shrill sound was quickly answered by another whinny, this time from further away. With a curse, Brody jerked upright.

“What the—?” His hand gripping his holstered revolver, he flung the blanket covering the bower’s entrance aside and peered out.

Hannah’s heart pounded a wild rhythm beneath her breast. Another horse … Was is possible someone else was riding up on the camp? Someone who might rescue her?

Then Brody gave a snort of disgust. He sat back and looked at her. “Nothing more than a riderless horse. Most likely some fool out in the storm lost him. Probably froze to death for his troubles.”

“Shouldn’t you go out and see if the man’s nearby?” she asked, fighting hard to master her renewed despair. “The poor man could still be alive and need help.”

“If he is alive, the only help he’ll get from me,” Brody drawled, “is a bullet to the head. I don’t need anybody sticking their nose into my business.” He paused to eye her consideringly. “Still, you’ve made a good point. If that horse’s rider’s alive, I can’t risk him showing up later, can I?”

He crawled from the bower. “Stay put if you know what’s good for you. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Hannah watched Brody stand and stride off through the knee-deep snow. She scooted to the bower’s needleframed doorway. About twenty yards away, just where a few scraggly pines met the open plain, a saddled horse stood.

The animal was a bay with a white star on its forehead. Hannah’s heart skipped a beat. The horse looked a lot like Devlin’s mount. But then, there were many bay horses out there with white marks on their foreheads.

Well, help or no, she resolved, using her bound hands to climb to her feet, this might be the only chance she ever had to make a run for it. If she could just put enough distance between herself and Brody before he noticed she was gone …

Hannah glanced around. Her best chance stood in finding some way to hide in the trees. She turned and sprinted for the densest, darkest part of the forest.

It felt good to move, to run again, to feel the wind on her face. The deep snow, however, combined with muscles stiff with disuse to impede her progress. Hannah shot a quick look over her shoulder, just in time to see Brody turn from the horse. As their gazes momentarily met, rage darkened his features. With a hoarse shout, he dropped the big bay’s reins and raced after her.

Terror sent the blood shooting through her veins, fueling Hannah’s sudden burst of speed. She ran, dodging through the closely spaced trees, her breath coming now in sharp gulps. Her long skirt, however, was her undoing.

As she leaped over a rotted log, her hem caught on a protruding limb. Hannah tripped and fell. Before she could struggle to her feet, Brody was on her.

“I told you to stay put!” He grabbed Hannah by the back of her jacket collar and jerked her upright. “Did you really think you could get away from me?” Brody shook her hard. “Did you?”

“It d-didn’t matter,” she replied between panting breaths. “I’ll never st-stop trying to get away. N-never!”

His face a mask of fury, he lifted his hand to hit her. “Why, you insolent little—“

“Lay one finger on Hannah, Gerard,” another male voice intruded just then, “and you’re a dead man.”

At the sound of Devlin’s voice, relief flooded Hannah. Thank the Lord, she thought.

With a feral snarl, Brody dragged her around to face in the direction they had just come, her body providing a shield before him. There stood Devlin, his Colt revolver aimed at them.

Her hungry gaze took in the sight of him. He looked half-frozen. Ice encrusted his hat and the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw. It stiffened his canvas jacket, denims, and boots. Though he gripped his revolver tightly, his gloved hand trembled. Exhaustion hung visibly over him, dragging him down.

Brody must have seen the same thing, for a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. The hand not holding her by her jacket moved surreptitiously. Hannah found the end of a gun barrel pressed to her head. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Toss your gun to me, MacKay, or
she’s
a dead woman.”

A guarded look in his eyes, Devlin went very still.

“Don’t do this, Brody.” Hannah twisted in her captor’s grip. “It’s over. Just let me go.”

“No it’s
not
over until I say it is,” he rasped, his lips close to her ear. “And don’t think for a moment I won’t kill you.” He lifted his head and laughed. “You believe me, don’t you, MacKay?”

For a long, tension-laden moment, Devlin said nothing. His gaze, full of frustrated yearning, met Hannah’s. Then, slowly, a look of defeat clouded his eyes. “Just let her go, Gerard,” he finally said. “Do what you want with me, but just let Hannah go.”

“Toss me your gun. Then we’ll talk.”

Devlin exhaled a weary breath, then threw his revolver toward Brody. It landed at Hannah’s feet.

Brody wouldn’t let her go. Hannah knew that instinctively. Just as she knew he would kill Devlin. But she couldn’t let that happen. She’d do whatever it took to stop him, even sacrifice her own life.

Brody chuckled again, and moved the gun barrel away from her head. “A hero to the bitter end, aren’t you, MacKay?” he asked as he directed his revolver at Devlin. “Well, this time it’s not going to do either you or Hannah any good.”

Once more, her gaze met Devlin’s. Through the sudden sheen of tears glazing her eyes, she saw him smile. A surprising look of peace softened his rugged features. Then Brody’s gun clicked as he cocked it to fire.

With a fierce cry of protest, Hannah flung her bound hands back into the air, hitting the gun. At the same time, she rammed her body into Brody’s.

He grunted in pain, stumbled backward, then fell, pulling her with him. The gun slipped from Brody’s grip and sank in the snow. In the next instant, he shoved Hannah roughly from him and pushed to his knees.

By then Devlin was upon him, slamming into Brody with such force both men fell back into the snow. There they fought. Fists struck hard. Bodies twisted and turned. Grunts of pain mingled with those of exertion.

Hannah climbed to her feet and backed away from the two battling men. It soon became evident that Devlin couldn’t long prevail against his opponent. He was just too worn out. He’d need help or Brody would yet win the day.

Frantically, she began searching for the revolvers. Both had fallen somewhere in the deep drifts, and trying to find even one of them in the now trampled snow was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Still, Hannah scooped and swiped with bound hands at any likely spot, her unprotected fingers soon turning cold and painful.

Then, with a jarring blow, Brody hit Devlin square in the jaw, sending the big foreman flying backward. His gaze snagged on something lying nearby and, as he bent and extricated the object from the snow, Hannah saw it was one of the revolvers.

Panic-stricken, she groped wildly about where she thought she had seen the other revolver fall. Her hands numb now, she almost missed recognizing the hard metal of the gun when her fingers glanced off it. Then, blessedly, she had it in her hands.

Even as she lifted the weapon and turned toward the two men, Brody was aiming his gun and cocking it with deliberate purpose. Devlin, climbing to his knees, froze when he heard the deadly sound. His gaze resolute, he stared up at his enemy.

“Say your prayers, MacKay,” Brody said with cold disdain. “For all the good it’ll do you.”

Hannah aimed, closed her eyes, and fired.

The gun blast sent her reeling. In the next instant, Brody Gerard gave an agonized cry, wheeled around, and pointed his gun at her. She was going to die, Hannah thought in a split second of recognition. Then Devlin threw himself into Brody. The revolver fired, piercing the mountain air with a quick, sharp, deadly sound.

Late that morning, Jake Whitmore and the rest of the posse rode up to the camp. After taking one look at Brody, tied to the buckboard’s front wagon wheel with his right shoulder swathed in bandages, they turned to see Hannah and Devlin seated around a blazing campfire and sipping steaming cups of coffee. The sheriff shook his head, then dismounted.

“Looks like you’ve kept yourself well-occupied since we parted yesterday,” he observed with a wry smile. Jake ambled over to the campfire to warm himself. “Any coffee left?” he asked, indicating the blackened tin pot hanging over the fire.

Devlin took another swallow from his cup, then nodded. “Sure, enough for all of you, I’d reckon.” He smiled. “Glad to see you finally made it.”

“Yeah, we thought we’d just make it in time to help you tie up any loose ends.” Jake glanced at Brody. “See you had to shoot him.”

“Actually, Hannah shot him. I just beat him up a bit.”

The sheriff graced her with an admiring look. “Well, congratulations. Didn’t know you were an expert marksman, Miss Cutler.”

“I’m not. That was the first—and hopefully only—time I’ve fired a gun.”

“Are you okay, Hannah?” Concern in his eyes, Jake looked her up and down.

She had thought she’d had enough time to calm down and regain her composure. But in the ensuing time since they had finally subdued Brody, tied him up, then treated his shoulder wound, Hannah realized she had just barely begun to realize she was finally free. Soon, she would be heading home—to Culdee Creek and her son.

Tears filled her eyes. “Not really, but I will be once I’m back home. I’m just … just so g-grateful—” Her voice cracked and then the tears came.

Devlin poured his coffee into the fire, stood, and gently took Hannah’s cup from her. Setting it down, he grasped her hand. “We need to talk. Really talk.” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Jake and the others can see to Gerard now. Let’s take a walk.”

Startled, Hannah wiped away her tears and nodded. “Okay, Devlin,” she answered cautiously. “If that’s what you want.”

He led her from the camp, out of the forest, and back onto the open plain of the park. Before them spread an endless sea of white. The sun, climbing now into the clean, clear blue sky, caught in the myriad tiny snow crystals, causing them to glint like so many precious diamonds. After the terror and ugliness of the past several days, it seemed to Hannah the scene before them was surely something like heaven must look.

They walked for a time along the base of a rocky bluff, until they were far from sight and earshot of the others. Finally, though, Devlin pulled her to a halt.

“I nearly didn’t live to see this day,” he began suddenly. “I almost died out there in the storm.”

She gave a small jerk, filled anew with the realization of how close Devlin had come to losing his life. “I-I didn’t even know you were out here, or that close.”

A long silence ensued.

Why was she suddenly so afraid of him, or what to say? Hannah wondered. Conversation, even in their most hostile times, had never been lacking. And it wasn’t as if Devlin didn’t have some feelings for her. He had risked his life to bring her back. But then, Devlin was a man who unflinchingly met his responsibilities. And he had most certainly felt responsible for what had happened to her.

She needed more, much, much more, though, than that. Yet she feared … she feared Devlin’s unflinching sense of responsibility might color, distort even, their relationship from now on, changing it into something neither of them would ultimately want. Something God wouldn’t want either.