All or Nothing (4 page)

“Do you think he’ll follow us, Ruthie?”

In answer, a shot echoed from the ridge behind, across the open desert.

“What was that?” RuthAnne spun on her heel but not before hearing another
crack!
She caught sight of someone leveling aim on them from the opening in the rocks. “Get down!” She dragged the air for her sister. Too late.

Mara’s breath came out in a whoosh, as if punched, her hand clutched at her side. “Ruthie...?”

Crimson bloomed across her white blouse from beneath her hand. Mara’s beautiful face turned marble-white as she drew away her dripping hand and gasped at the rapidly growing patch of blood. Mara sank to her knees. Her dark eyes rolled up to heaven as she collapsed.

“
Mara!
” RuthAnne rushed to her sister’s limp and bleeding body. “
Someone help us
!”

RuthAnne risked a look back over her shoulder at their attacker. The shotgun she had clung to would be useless at this range; she let it fall to the desert floor. She couldn’t see anyone to shoot at.

The rifle cracked again and again. A round ricocheted off of the rocks. A sting at her temple and RuthAnne’s head struck the ground with force; consciousness blurred with pain. Reaching for Mara, she faded into blackness.

Chapter 5

RuthAnne awoke disoriented, her head throbbing. She blinked into the darkness that enfolded her in a blanket of diamond stars as her vision adjusted. A band of brilliant white light appeared behind the jagged mountain peaks. The rising moon’s glow set the night sky ablaze. Her eyes stung. Her bruised body ached. Every movement caused ribbons of pain to shoot through her ribs, neck, and head.

She pressed a hand to her temple, her skin caked with dried blood that represented her brush with death. The scoundrel had simply grazed her. At the thought of him, she scurried away from an unseen force on her back like a crab. No sign of her attacker. She could have cried with relief, right there in the moonlight. But where was her sister?

“Mara!” Her voice choked; the raspy words burned like fire.

She searched the scene on hands and knees in the silver moonlight.
Lord, not Mara. Where is she? She
’
s just a girl...please!

Footsteps crunched on the gravel-filled dirt. Nowhere to hide, RuthAnne willed herself invisible. Her hand closed around a fist-sized rock. The bandit wouldn’t take her without a fight.

He knelt down beside her. A large, rough hand cupped her cheek in an all too familiar way. “You’re awake. Thank God.”

With a ragged battle cry, RuthAnne lunged at her would-be attacker with the stone, cracking him just above the shoulder. He shied away from the blow, and the lump of granite glanced off him. With little effort, he peeled it from her fingers. “You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not.”

The brigand picked her up like a child and marched her off to her doom. Terrified, she fought and bucked while he carried her. Tears of frustration streamed down her face; her hair, a mass of golden curls, tumbled loose about her as she thrashed in his arms. RuthAnne hammered at him with ineffectual fists. He carried her so easily, as if she were feather light, though he did pin her arms close against her body.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

His gentle tone stalled her efforts as she opened her eyes and looked at him. He didn’t wear a mask over the rugged planes of his face, days past needing a shave, his eyes glinting like shiny coins in the light of the moon.
Could that be a look of concern?

He shook out his dark, curling hair as he looked down at her with worry-filled eyes. She noted in her confusion that his hair needed cutting, as it fell past his ears and brushed the collar of his army issue shirt. A soldier? She blinked and ceased her struggle, a vain attempt to conserve her strength, though it left her nonetheless. She allowed herself to drift, helpless in his arms.

The next thing she knew, the soldier carried her through a carved wooden gate guarded by a fence of thorny branches and into an adobe-walled courtyard. He moved toward a low structure, one of several buildings within the outer wall.

Hammered tin lanterns hung from wrought iron hooks embedded in the mud brick walls. They glowed steadily against the darkness, their flames flickering in the slight breeze. Someone shut heavy, carved wooden doors behind them, and she pulled her head off the man’s shoulder with a start.

“Put me down. Please.” Her raspy voice held strength.

“If you’re certain you can walk, ma’am.” He lowered her to her feet, holding her waist as she found her balance, his touch feather-light. She read his concern with her condition in the furrow of his brow. He kept her elbow cupped with his strong hand.

“I can walk, sir.” RuthAnne swallowed, wincing at the pain in her throat.

He took a long look at her before turning to walk into the adobe
casita
. He didn’t glance back to see if she followed. After only a moment’s hesitation, she entered the dimly-lit room.

Mara lay on a cot, a white blanket drawn up to her chin. An egg-sized bruise rose at her hairline. Her breath drew steady and even. She slept the deep sleep of one who might not wake again. RuthAnne fell to her knees, hands searching her sister’s body. Feeling blessed warmth in her skin. Too much warmth. A fever. “The gunshot wound?”

A dark-haired, dark-skinned woman stepped forward out of the shadows, rosary beads clacking in her hands. “This is not a fatal wound, though loss of blood may be. We removed the bullet, cleaned her. She hasn’t woken since the captain brought her to me. Her bleeding has slowed, which is a good sign. Time and prayers are what she needs now.”

RuthAnne noticed the native woman chose her words carefully as she explained Mara’s condition.

The woman’s slender fingers absently stroked and then moved on to the next bead on the strand, each one a prayer. The action mesmerized RuthAnne, along with the gravity of all that had transpired.

“Oh, merciful Father...” She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

“She is your...sister?” the woman said.

“Yes. Her name is Mara. I’m RuthAnne Newcomb. We came from Kansas City, on our way to Tucson, when...” A fist of emotion welled in her throat, making it hard to breathe.

“Ah. I am Mariposa Cruz. You’ve been delivered to our chapel.
Misión Rincon Del Sol
.”

“A chapel. Here. In the middle of nowhere?” RuthAnne’s mouth dropped. First the soldiers above, and now this place? Words escaped her at the miracles. She let the tears openly fall down her cheeks, gratefully clasping the tanned and gentle hands of Mariposa Cruz.

The woman’s profile suggested a heritage of mixed descent; both Mexican and Indian, with her thick braid of ink-black hair streaked with gray and her strong but lovely profile lined with age and sun. She moved to cool Mara’s forehead with a damp cloth and crooned to her in a language RuthAnne didn’t understand.

“You and your sister were attacked, on your way to Tucson.”

RuthAnne jumped at the deep voice that shattered the mystery and commanded immediate attention.

She turned for a better view of the soldier who had brought her to this place. His hazel eyes were heavy-lidded, his face lined and tanned with the sun. He loomed larger than life as he stepped toward her. His military issue gray shirt and blue trousers were dusty and worn from days of use; in need of a bath, from the scent of him. Grief welled in her throat as she realized how closely death had touched her, and this man saved their lives. He seemed uncomfortable with her scrutiny, shifting his weight before he spoke.

“You were far from the road. It’s lucky we heard you.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it, sir. You were an answer to prayer. I’m very grateful.”

He frowned. “I’m not looking for your gratitude. Someone shot your sister, almost mortally wounded you, as well. I need to know what happened.”

He towered above her in a resolute stance. His boots shoulder width apart, his expression grim and official. RuthAnne wanted to pummel him again for his lack of understanding.

“An explosion caused the rockslide. Dynamite. The stage went over the side, all to cover up a robbery. We lost everything we had to that animal. We barely escaped with our lives. Is that enough
information
for you, sir?” She shook with anger. How dare he interrogate her at a time like this?

“Would you recognize him again?” His voice boomed. His hands flexed into fists, as if he already knew the answers to his questions.

“He wore a mask. Some foul thing he made himself out of sackcloth. Holes for eyes, a red slash for a mouth. I didn’t see his face.”

“Did he say anything, do anything to you before...?”

Mariposa shot him a look of warning. RuthAnne caught the significance. If he didn’t stop soon, the woman would surely force him out the door.

“Do you remember anything he said, before you got away?”

“I don’t...”

“Think!” he commanded.

“That’s quite enough for tonight, Captain.” Mariposa stood, dark eyes flashing with disapproval.

“No. It’s all right.” RuthAnne waved the native woman off and stared the soldier down. “He said something in Spanish. Words that translated vicious and cruel, just like the man who spoke them.
Todo o nada.”

“El Tejano...” Mariposa’s grave eyes locked on the soldier’s.

“He intended to rape and murder us, Captain. Thank God he didn’t get the chance to do either. Does that answer your question?” RuthAnne’s voice shook, whether from anger at this man before her or in awe that they had survived such a horror, she wasn’t sure.

Just then, a man who could only be the priest came into the room through the paneled door. Short of stature but portly enough to fill the brown, coarse robes. His steel gray hair tumbled over his round, kind face. He reassured her with warm and rich brown eyes. “My dear child. Praise the good Lord that you were not injured worse in this horrible attack.”

“Thank you...”

“Father Acuña is the priest of this chapel,” Mariposa said.

RuthAnne’s throat tightened again as the kind priest squeezed her hand, tenderly, in introduction. Mariposa apprised him of RuthAnne’s harrowing experience as the captain stepped back into shadow.

“Our driver...” RuthAnne could imagine his broken body at the bottom of the chasm. “We’ll need to see to it he gets a proper burial, Father. He was a good man. A God-fearing man.” Suddenly, it seemed very important that they go back and find his broken body.

“It’s already been done, my dear. Captain Shepherd’s men have taken care of it. He’s a rare man, this soldier.” Mariposa took her hands again, holding them gently.

“But, I only just told him...”
He ran me through the wringer, and he already knew the truth?
RuthAnne’s head went swimmy, her breath whooshed out with the violation.

“You only confirmed what he already suspected.”

RuthAnne looked up sharply, but the captain had left as silently as he’d entered.

“You are welcome to stay here as long as you desire,” Father Acuña said. She nodded in thanks as he took his leave.

Exhausted beyond belief, she accepted Mariposa’s hand and allowed the woman to lead her behind a screen to a wooden stool where a full washbasin and a rough-looking yellow sea sponge waited. A clean muslin nightdress hung from a wrought iron hook on the wall, and a thin towel lay draped over the tri-fold privacy screen.

“It isn’t much,
señorita,
but it will help you feel better.”

“It would be
señora
, wouldn’t it? I’m a widow...”

Mariposa’s eyes widened then filled with kind understanding. She helped unfasten the buttons on RuthAnne’s boots, released the hooks and eyes at the back of RuthAnne’s bodice, and folded the torn and ruined traveling garments, stained with her sister’s lifeblood. RuthAnne knew she would never wear them again.

She carefully finished undressing and discreetly wrapped the thin towel around her waist to perch on the stool. She slipped her feet into the metal tub and wrung warm water from the darkening sea-sponge. At that moment, the magnitude of what had happened hit her full force. The trunks full of clothing that were on the stage, her mother’s silver hairbrush and hand mirror, Evan’s cufflinks and epaulets from his Confederate uniform, her father’s books...lost. Forever.

But they had their lives, thanks to a soldier who did not know them. RuthAnne momentarily closed her eyes, letting the sponge drip cleansing water down her neck. She focused on the beeswax candle as it burned from the rough-hewn side table. Its flame flickered and filled the room with an amber glow.

Mariposa’s shadow filled the screen. “It was a blessing the captain found you, as far from the road as you were.”

“I’d all but lost hope when we heard them above us...” Despite the warm water, gooseflesh erupted over RuthAnne’s bare skin at the memory.

with the

“Bowen Shepherd and his men were on their way out to meet with a band of Apache. My people.”

“Aren’t the army and the Apache at war?”

“Not all of us. My
familia
...my tribe remains in supplication to the army. They have exchanged peace for food, shelter, and information, of course. They trust Shepherd. And only Shepherd.” She spoke it as simple fact.

RuthAnne couldn’t help but wonder. What kind of a life did this captain lead? A soldier who made peace with enemies? A man who’d abandoned her at this small mission church without even saying goodbye?

She swallowed hard as she washed the dried blood from her arms and between her fingers. RuthAnne finally stumbled across the tears that had been so long in coming. Tears for a man she barely knew. For a sister who would live only by the grace of God. For Evan. She missed him now more than she’d dreamed possible. She closed her eyes and prayed.

Chapter 6