Carolyn Davidson - Runaway

“You hurt, girl?” he asked bluntly.

“No, sir.” She shook her head, pressing back against the wall, brushing distractedly at her clothing.

“You particularly attached to these men?” Will asked harshly.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’m bleedin’ bad,” the wounded man whined, and then, at Will’s vengeful glance, subsided.

“I’ll pull out my knife, but that’s all the help you’ll get from me,” Will told him, fury alive in each word. “If I had my way, you’d be on your way to a hangin’ tree.”

“She was askin’ for it.” He twisted his head to inspect his injury, then yelped as Will’s hand grasped the handle of the knife and pulled it from the wound in a swift movement.

With contempt, Will wiped the blood from the blade against the victim’s pant leg, then slid it into the sheath inside his own boot. “You’d do well to shut up while you’re still able to talk, mister, or the next thing she’ll be askin’ for is your head on a platter,” Will said with deceptive mildness.

The cowhand stifled his muttering and appealed with an uplifted hand to his employer.

“I’ll give you a rag to wrap your shoulder with, Hopkins, and then you’ll be out of here. You’d be advised to make tracks before this gentleman changes his mind. From the way that knife stopped you dead, I’d say he’s quite a hand in a fight.”

Will turned to where Cassie sat against the wall, and dropped to one knee beside her. “Sure you’re all right?” he asked. At her quick nod, he lifted her to her feet, steering her outside to sit atop a bale of hay.

“I’m sorry, Will,” Cassie said softly. “I truly didn’t say or do anything to give them leave to act that way.”

“Just bein’ here was enough of a nudge where men like those two are concerned.” He tilted his hat back and surveyed her, his eyes still dark with the residue of anger. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Cass. Just remember that.”

With long strides he walked to where the older man stood. Gesturing toward the barn, he was sending several men on a mission, guaranteed to rid his operation of the pair of troublemakers. His look toward Will was apologetic, and his hand swept out in a gesture of respect.

Will grasped it firmly and shook it, then dipped his hand into his side pocket. Quickly he counted out cash, paying for the horse he’d chosen, and turned to where the mare was tied to the top pole of the corral.

Motioning Cassie to join him, he handed her the reins. “The fella’s gonna write me up a bill of sale. We’ll get some food from the house. Just have to tell the cook he sent us.” Gathering up the reins of his stallion, Will started toward the house.

Breakfast had been scant—flat biscuits and some stringy, dried meat that required an enormous amount of chewing. Food freshly cooked would taste like manna from heaven, Cassie thought, trailing behind Will.

Tying the reins to a hitching rail near the back door of the big farmhouse, Will shot her a glance. “Wait here. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Cassie nodded, then turned to the brown mare. She lifted one hand to touch the side of the animal’s jaw, felt the flinch of alarm as the horse responded to the unaccustomed handling. “It’s all right, girl. It’s all right,” she murmured beneath her breath, feeling a measure of bravery as she increased the pressure of her stroking.

“You ride much, ma’am?” From behind, the raspy voice startled her and Cassie jerked. The mare whinnied, tossing her head, and Cassie turned quickly.

The tall man from the corral had followed them, and now he eyed the young woman before him, her face flushed from the sun and no small amount of anger. “She’ll settle down,” he said quietly. “You married to that cowboy?”

Cassie swallowed, wary of the lie she must tell. Her chin tilted as she considered the man who watched her. “Will Tolliver’s my husband, yes,” she said finally. “I’m Sarah Jane Tolliver.”

“You’re not in trouble, are you, Sarah Jane Tolliver?” The eyes watching her narrowed a bit, taking on a speculative gleam as he awaited her reply.

Cassie stiffened, her gaze meeting his. “No sir, mister. I’m not.”

“I’ve got a daughter about your age, girl. I’m not sure I’d want her ridin’ around the country dressed in a man’s duds, drawin’ the eye of every cowhand and stray Indian.”

Cassie’s mouth firmed, her jaw tightening at his words. “That Indian in the barn didn’t hurt me.”

“You didn’t answer me, girl. I asked if you do much ridin’.”

“Not much, lately. But Will says I can handle her all right.” Cassie drew in a deep breath. “Mister, that Indian in the barn was trying to help me.”

“He was part of the problem, miss. He’s already on his way.”

She flinched at his words, but subsided, aware that nothing she said would make a difference.

His dark eyes gave her one more measuring look before he turned to the house. “Here comes your husband now, ma’am. I told him to get some grub from the cook.” His long fingers reached up to sweep the hat from his head and he nodded once in her direction. “A pleasure to do business with you folks. I’m only sorry I had those roughnecks on my crew.”

“What did he say to you, Cassie?” Will had helped her astride the saddle, adjusted the stirrups and snugged her moccasin-clad toes into them. Now he mounted his stallion, leading her horse behind him until the ranch was almost out of sight.

Cassie held fast to the saddle horn, riding the easy gait of the mare, aware of her swishing tail and the tossing of her head. “I don’t think he believed you, Will. He wanted to know if I was really your wife.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I lied, sort of.”

“I’ll bet you blushed. Did he believe you?”

Cassie’s mouth tightened and she unfastened the reins he’d looped over the saddle horn, holding them firmly in her right hand. “I don’t lie well,” she admitted.

He turned to flash her a look of sober admiration. “I’m glad to hear that. My mama always said a man’s word is his honor. If I have to start pickin’ apart everything you tell me, we’ll be in for a hard time together.”

“My mama always said that lies multiply like flies. You have to tell another to hide the first, then another…” She caught her breath with a sob. “Let’s not talk about mothers, all right?”

Will urged his stallion into a faster pace and cast a quick glance to check on Cassie. “You’d better leave those reins alone and let me lead your horse for now. We don’t have time to talk about much of anything. We need to put some miles between us and Texas.”

The darkness surrounding them drove Cassie close to the small campfire. She’d unrolled the blanket Will had assigned her and snuggled it around herself, her head resting on one corner of it. He’d chosen to sleep behind her instead of across the clearing, and her awareness of his presence was more than enough to keep her eyelids from closing. As were the mental images that insisted on floating through her mind. Memories of her mother, dying yet determined to keep her daughter free of the man who watched like a vulture from the corner of the room. Memories of blood, crimson against the pale flesh of her hands. The loneliness of her flight beneath the shadows of midnight, amid the night sounds. And now the image of the two men who had put their hands on her today.

“Cassie?” Raspy, his voice invaded her thoughts, a welcome invasion, she decided, given the turn they had taken.

She rolled to face him, finding herself tucked up neatly against his chest. Drawing in a breath of surprise, she scooted back a bit, only to be captured by a long arm that snagged her waist, holding her firmly in place.