Audrey and the Maverick (23 page)

Outside, the ground was alive with running sheep. In the darkness, it was impossible to distinguish who were his men and who weren’t. Lambs were being trampled by the terrified flock. Men on horseback were shooting into the white, fleeing masses. One man, over by the barn, plucked lambs out of the flock and bashed them against the barn.

Julian couldn’t risk opening fire on them from the house—he didn’t want to draw the trouble to Audrey or the children. At least while the bastards were shooting the sheep, they weren’t attacking his men. He shoved his way into the charging, bleating flock, trying to cross the current to get to the barn where he could take up a defensive position.

Taking aim at the man battering lambs, Julian picked him off with a clean shot to the head just as he straightened with another little victim in his hands. Julian moved around the corner of the barn and found a man dragging himself toward the barn’s open doors. Julian made sure no one was lying in ambush from inside, then crossed to the wounded man. A dark wetness spread across his back. He’d flopped facedown on the dirt. Julian rolled him over, hoping he was one of the bad guys, not one of his own men.

Audrey’s brother stared up at him. Julian cursed as he took hold of the boy’s face, trying to get Malcolm to focus on him. “Tell me, goddammit, tell me you’re not part of this!”

“Came…to help…brought Jace.”

Julian holstered his Colt and hoisted the boy across his shoulder, then made his way back to the house. He doubted there was anything that could be done for Malcolm, but it was far better that he die with his sister near him than bleeding out in the dirt, alone.

Burdened as he was, Julian’s balance was off. The sheep almost knocked him down twice. He made it to the back porch and banged through the kitchen door. Bertie was there, at the stove. As gently as he could, he laid Malcolm out on the table.

“Get Audrey,” he ordered her. He gripped Malcolm’s hand. Gunfire grew loud and active outside. He bent over the boy’s chest, his hands cupping Malcolm’s face.

“Wait, boy, wait for her,” Julian begged, a litany of urgent words spilling from his mouth. “Please, just wait. Please, God. Don’t go. Don’t you goddamn dare go.” Malcolm’s skin felt cold beneath his hand.

And then Audrey was there. “Malcolm! Oh, Malcolm! What happened?” Her hands were frantically working him over, looking for the wound. She couldn’t find any, but when she pulled away, the front of her robe was stained from blood draining down the side of the table. Julian pressed Malcolm’s hand into hers as he became aware of an orange light illuminating the room.

The carriage house was on fire.

Julian moved aside, surrendering his spot to Audrey. He dragged Bertie out of the kitchen, to his den. He picked up a rifle and loaded a dozen cartridges in it, then handed it to her. He took up the other two and loaded them. He slung one over his shoulder and left the other for Audrey.

“Do you know how to work one of these?”

“You bet I do, Mr. McCaid.” Bertie took the rifle and dropped a handful of extra cartridges into her apron pocket.

“Kill any bastard who comes in the door.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You keep them safe, Bertie.” He checked the lock on the front door, then went back into the kitchen. Audrey was sobbing over her brother’s body. The sound filled his brain, blocking out all other thoughts. He wiped the heel of his hand against his cheek, mixing his tears with Malcolm’s blood as he stepped back into the chaos outside.

A man rode by with a torch, his face covered in a black hood. Julian raised his Colt and blew him off his horse. He found three more with torches. Their hoods hid their identity but flagged them as the enemy. He made his way into the heart of the camp. The flock had begun to spill outside the confines of Hell’s Gulch land, straight into the waiting guns of a dozen raiders. Julian and several of his men whom he’d been training for a night such as this went forward to meet them. But they weren’t needed; one by one, the enemy dropped. A sniper.

Jace!

Before Julian was halfway to the gate, the sheriff’s remaining men took off, heading back toward town. What was left of his flock leapt over the bodies, human and woolly, and ran into the black night.

Audrey looked up as a knock sounded at the back door. A man she didn’t know poked his head around the door. He had soot stains on his cheeks and hands. He took his hat off, turning it restlessly in his hands, spreading black dust across the brim as he hovered at the doorway. He looked from her to her brother to the children whose weeping filled the room.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Miss Audrey, but I came to get you. You gotta come with me. Jenkins was shot!”

Audrey looked at Malcolm’s still form. She couldn’t leave him. Not yet.

“He’s hurt bad, miss. He needs you.”

Audrey pushed up from the table, but Bertie wrapped an arm around her waist. “Don’t go. It ain’t safe.”

“The killing’s stopped,” the man assured them. “The men have all run off. It’s done. Miss Audrey, come quickly. Come now.”

The gunfire had indeed stopped. Men were throwing buckets of water on the burning carriage house. They wouldn’t be able to do that if the ranch was still under attack. With Jenkins hurt, there was no one to tend the wounded men. She had to go.

“I have to, Bertie. Stay with the kids and let Julian know where I am.” She followed the man outside.

Franklin caught up to Julian. “Boss, I saw Hadley among the sheriff’s men. Clear as day ’cause he weren’t wearing no hood like them others.”

Julian considered all the things that had happened with Hadley. He must have been in on the sheriff’s little operation from the beginning. He’d worked Audrey. He was probably the one responsible for that first sheep slaughter the night he injured himself. God. He and Audrey had babied the bastard, sheltered him among them. A wolf among sheep.

“Who’s left? Who did we lose?”

“I know fer sure we lost at least four. Several more are injured. Cookie and Jenkins are settin’ up a hospital in the tent. No count on the toll to the flock.”

“How many of the bastards did we get?”

“No idea yet. I got some men going after the flock. Gotta stop them before they run themselves to death. Soon as I can, I’ll get collecting bodies.”

Julian looked around his once peaceful ranch. Hundreds of sheep were down, not all of them dead. The scent of mud and blood, smoke from the gunfire and his burning carriage house combined to sear his nostrils, sending him back to nights like this in war, ugly times he’d thought long behind him.

“Get a detail together to deal with this mess. Save the sheep you can, kill those you can’t. We’ll take the skins and do what we can with the meat.”

“Yessir.”

“And, Franklin, get a wagon ready. We’ll load the bastards in it and take them to Defiance. See who claims their hell-bound souls.”

Julian headed toward the brightly lit cook tent serving as a makeshift hospital. Several pallets were laid out with men on them, being tended by Giles and Jenkins.

Tiredly, Julian crossed the slaughterhouse floor of his ranch, returning to Audrey. He stepped into the kitchen, taking in the room’s setting in a glance. The children were sitting on the benches around the table where Malcolm still lay, now dead. Cloths had been wedged around his torso, soaking up his draining blood. He was sick of this night. Bertie sat with Amy on her lap and an arm around Colleen.

“Where’s Audrey?” he asked.

“She went to help Jenkins.”

“When?” Julian asked, his voice quiet and calm.

“Not five minutes ago.”

“Alone?”

“No. One of your men came for her. Said Jenkins had been hurt.”

Julian cursed and ran out the back door, hurrying to the corral where the enemies’ horses, still saddled, were being gathered. He took up the reins of one and led him out into the night, carefully picking his way among the wounded sheep. Where would the sheriff’s men have taken Audrey? Clearly not through camp to the front gate. They would have gone where the fewest of Julian’s men were.

Julian mounted and set his heels to the sides of his horse, now charging through the bloodied pastures into the dark night. He followed the trail road that wound its way through the back acres of his property. Across a creek, the narrow road split to the southwest and the north. He turned toward the north, figuring they would try to get back to town where there were more men.

Julian heard the wagon before he saw it, moving at breakneck speed. The night was dark. He could just make out the three people sitting on the front bench. A shimmering light on the horizon caught his attention. Riders were coming in, a couple with torches.
Shit.
He leaned forward, over his horse’s neck, intent on getting Audrey away before her abductors’ reinforcements joined them.

He was almost to the rear edge of the wagon bed. Urging his horse forward, he jumped from his horse to the wagon. Balancing precariously, he hurried forward. The driver felt him board the wagon. He cast a look over his shoulder, and Julian saw his face. Hadley!

The bastard turned the wagon sharply, hoping to make Julian lose his footing—he almost succeeded. Julian grabbed the back of the bench seat as the wagon bed tilted. Audrey was holding on tightly to the wildly careening wagon. The man next to her raised a Colt. Before he could take aim at Julian, Audrey grabbed his hand, distracting him. Julian grabbed his shoulder and neck and gave a sharp twist, then shoved his corpse from the wagon. Next was Hadley. Julian wrapped an arm around Hadley’s neck, squeezing tighter and tighter until the boy had to release the reins and focus on their fight.

“Take the reins, Audrey!” Julian ordered.

She struggled to grab them. Hadley was thrashing about reflexively, fighting for air, fighting to be freed of Julian’s grip. She finally got the reins in hand and drew back on the team.

“Julian—he killed Malcolm!” Audrey said as the team slowed to a stop.

Hadley was insane. Why hadn’t Julian seen it before? “That true?” Julian asked the man who struggled and writhed within his grip.

“He was going to warn you!” Hadley choked. “He was supposed to be one of us!”

“Well, he wasn’t, was he?” Julian straightened, drawing Hadley up with him. A hard right cross sent him flying from the wagon. Looking up, Julian could see the riders with the torches had come much closer now. He climbed into the front bench and took the reins from Audrey. Turning the wagon around, he headed back toward the ranch where the orange flames of the burning carriage house glowed like a beacon.

“Hold on, Audrey. We’ve got incoming riders. I want to get you back to the house before I deal with them!”

He snapped the reins and the edgy horses broke into a fast run. He shouted at them, pushing them harder as he sent a quick look over his shoulder. They weren’t moving fast enough. The men were close. Too close. They would never make it home in time. Gunfire sounded behind them. Julian cursed.

“Audrey! Quick! Get down on the floor and stay there until I tell you!” He grabbed the back of her robe and helped her down to huddle on the floorboards as another bullet whizzed past them. Julian drew his Colt and aimed at one of the torch carriers, reaching his mark.

In moments, they were surrounded. Two men moved ahead of the horses. Grabbing their bridles, they forced them to slowly stop. Two more men yanked Julian from the bench, tossing him to the ground before the wagon had fully stopped. They kicked at his sides, his head. Julian hooked his foot around one of them and knocked him to the ground. He rolled over on top of the man, wrapping his hands about his neck in a chokehold. The other man yanked at Julian’s hair, trying to pull him off the now-still man. Julian shrugged free of him. His head buzzed. His ribs hurt. His nose felt broken. Though he was now surrounded, no one was fighting him. He became aware of the reprieve as the silence carved its way into his consciousness. He struggled to his feet, turning in a slow circle to look at the wide ring of men surrounding him, some on horses, some on foot.

“Jesus! Look at his back!” One of them cursed.

From her vantage point beneath the wagon bench, Audrey watched Julian standing among the men like a wounded buffalo in a circle of wolves. She tried to identify the men, but the hoods they wore made that impossible.

“Think we got us a deserter, boys?” one man scoffed. “The army take the lash to you, McCaid? You a runner? You’re lucky they didn’t shoot you dead. Maybe you should start running now.”

“I’m no deserter.” Julian’s voice was deep and calm. Audrey counted ten men. She became aware of something hard and long digging into her side under the bench. She moved slightly, quietly, trying to push it from under her. A rifle!

“I seen stripes like that on a nigger,” a man said. “Maybe he’s a white nigger.”

“There ain’t no such thing.”

“Sure there is. I had me one in New Orleans once.”

“That what you are, boy?” another asked.

“What I am,
boy
,” Julian quietly answered, “is more man than you will ever be.”

Audrey had never asked what had happened to him. The scars were horrendous. And she knew he was sensitive about them, for he didn’t like his back touched. It hurt her to have him standing exposed for these men to revile.

One of the men prodded his horse into a slow walk. The others followed, moving in a widening circular direction around Julian and the handful of men standing inside the circle with him, one of whom had a whip.

Julian kept his senses trained on the one with the whip, anticipating the coming violence. He didn’t have to wait long. He heard the singing of the lash as it sliced through the air to land in a cutting touch against his back, shredding and leaving faster than it took Julian to feel the sting. Still he didn’t move.

He thought back to that time, sixteen years ago, on a summer night like this one, when he and his cousin were making their way through the stinking, snake-infested swamp separating the plantation from the river.

That night, there had been only three men. And despite the fact that it was legal for men to own other men, to treat them with less care than they gave their hunting dogs, Julian’s young mind believed in human benevolence. It was not an error he would make tonight, not with Audrey still hidden in the wagon only a few steps away.