Christine Dorsey (6 page)

“Some.” Samantha stood. “You rambled on a bit, but never about anything I could understand!” This lying to him was second nature to her now. She was doing it without the slightest compunction—her father would roll over in his grave—and for no good reason. It even occurred to her that she’d like to ask him about being a doctor.

But it was better if she didn’t know anything more about him. Samantha was honest enough—with herself anyway—to realize she’d formed an attachment to the stranger. It was one-sided, and obviously brought on by the intimate care she’d given him. But it couldn’t go any further.

And she didn’t want to talk about Lydia with him.

Samantha wiped her hands down the sides of her skirt. “Well, you should be getting back to sleep. You need your rest.” It was too dangerous to try and tie him now but she’d sneak back while he slept and bind him. He acted decent enough now, but he was weak, almost at her mercy. Samantha couldn’t forget the first time she saw him—riding toward their cabin, sent by Landis Moore. He was bent on hurting Will and her then, and as soon as he was strong enough, he’d no doubt try again. What was she going to do with him?

“Thank you.”

His softly spoken words stopped Samantha as she reached for the lantern. She didn’t expect anything close to manners from one of Moore’s men. “For what,” she asked, yanking the lantern off the hook. Oscillating light splayed across him when she looked down. He really was a handsome man. She’d noticed it before when she compared her patient to the man in the daguerreotype, thinking that if he were cleaned up and shaved, he would be. But now she realized he just was, scruffy beard, scraggly hair, and all. Maybe those captivating green eyes made the difference.

He watched her now, a slight frown creasing his brow, and she remembered what he’d said, and that she hadn’t responded. Clearing her throat, Samantha looked away. “It was nothing.” She wished she weren’t so aware of him as a man.

“Still, I’m grateful.”

Samantha glanced back to see him smiling at her. His face was mostly in shadows but not so much that she couldn’t make out his features. She’d once thought a smile would transform his face and it did. Hurrying toward the door she left him in darkness.

Charity lifted head from paws, looked around, yawned, and rolled to her side as Samantha entered the cabin. She pulled the twisted string through the latch—not much protection from invaders—and glanced toward the loft.

The morning would be soon enough to tell Will about his new job. He would take care of their visitor from now on. Of course she’d see the bushwhacker good and tied first, but then Will could take care of his needs.

And she could get back to working the farm. A couple days of picking corn would purge this obsession she had with Captain Morgan. Then when he left, she wouldn’t have to worry about it again.

But when she crawled under the quilt and fell asleep, she dreamed of the Rebel, waking up with her heart pounding and a strange warmth in her stomach. Clutching the quilt to her chest, Samantha looked out the one window in her room. The palest hint of dawn bleached the night sky with streaks of gray.

After thrusting her unstockinged feet into shoes, Samantha grabbed up Captain Morgan’s revolver and headed for the stable. Charity trotted along into the yard, finally veering off toward the stream. The barn was dark, and Samantha waited for her eyes to adjust before moving closer to the captain.

He was asleep. One end of the rope was attached to a board separating the stalls. She laid the pistol on the ground well out of reach of the Rebel and carefully pulled the other end of the rope to his side. Quickly she tied it around his wrists, jumping out of the way and grabbing the gun when he jerked awake.

“What the hell are you doing?” She could make out his struggles in the dim light. Samantha watched as he seemed to realize his predicament. He quieted, straining to see her. “What’s wrong with you? Are you crazy?”

“No.” Samantha remembered she wore only her nightdress and backed farther into the shadows. “At least I’m not crazy enough to let you loose now that you’re better.” Charity started barking, that wild yelp she had when excited, and Samantha figured she’d flushed a quail.

“What’s gotten into you, lady? And what the hell are you doing with my gun?” Jake gave one more tug on the rope, then flopped down on his back, exhausted.

“You needn’t act coy with me. I know why you came here, and—”

“Why I came here! I’m here because some idiot shot me. Now untie this damn rope.”

Samantha ignored his tirade as Charity ran yelping into the barn. The dog jumped on the captain, eliciting a grunt of pain, and bounced in front of Samantha still barking shrilly. “What is it, Charity?” Samantha felt a prickle of fear. The dog didn’t act like this over a bird.

Then she heard the horses, and ran to the barn door.

“What is it, damnit?” Jake strained to sit up. “Who’s out there?”

The young woman turned toward him, and in the faint light from the open door, he could see the anger and hate marring her pretty face. “It’s your friend Landis Moore.”

W
hy did she tell him that?

Samantha bolted through the door, chiding herself for her stupidity. Now all Captain Morgan had to do was call out and Landis Moore would know he was here. Wounded. And tied up. Oh, God!

Charity yelped and raced about, slowing Samantha’s dash toward the house. Then suddenly the dog swerved into Samantha’s path, tangling with her legs and the shoes she’d been too rushed to fasten, and sending her sprawling in the dust.

“Oh, get off me!” As if to apologize, Charity now leaped onto her mistress, lapping the dirt from Samantha’s face with giant swipes of her tongue. “I’m not playing,” Samantha spat between licks, but it was useless. By the time she managed to scramble to her feet, Landis Moore and two other men seated on their horses, not ten feet away, were watching her.

Samantha tossed back her braid, looking to the ground for Captain Morgan’s gun. She couldn’t find it! Somehow as she’d fallen or tumbled around with Charity, the revolver had disappeared. It was there someplace among the clumps of grass and weeds but she couldn’t see it, and Landis Moore’s voice reminded her there wasn’t time to look.

“Seems you’re having more than your share of troubles here, missy.”

“What do you want, Moore?”

He leaned forward, resting his wrists across the saddle horn, and chuckled, the sound making goose flesh crawl down Samantha’s back. “Now that’s not a very neighborly question. I heard you had a problem out here the other day and thought I’d see if you needed any help.”

“We’re doing fine. And you’re no neighbor of mine.” Samantha took a step toward the house, only to have one of Moore’s men sidle his horse that way, blocking her path.

“Not a neighbor?” His dark hooded eyes widened in mock surprise. “You must not of heard.” Moore hiked himself up in the saddle, straightening the paunch that hung over his pants. Too much gluttonous eating and drinking, her father had said ten years ago when they’d first run across Moore. At the time he was in his twenties, a dark-haired, swarthy character, and a bully. But none of them realized then how dangerous he really was.

“Heard what?” Samantha hated to ask but then she didn’t have much choice. The three horses kept inching forward, forcing her back closer to the barn. When was Captain Morgan going to call out to his friends? Maybe he couldn’t hear them. She’d closed the barn door and there were no window slits in the front.

And Will. What was he doing up at the cabin? She hoped he didn’t do anything foolish.

“I bought the Colt place. It butts up to yours, now don’t it?”

“The Colts wouldn’t sell to you! They wouldn’t sell to anyone. They’ve worked too hard.” Samantha paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “What did you do to them?”

“Why Miss Emery, you wound me. The Colts and I transacted a business deal. We—”

“You lying bastard! The Colts came out here about the same time as my parents. They wouldn’t have anything to do with you!”

“Now you’re talking foolish, girl.” Moore and his men made no pretense of hiding their actions now. The horses backed Samantha against the sod walls of the barn. Bits of dirt crumbled into her shoe. “Maybe you need to be taught some manners. What you think about that, boys?”

Both “boys” readily agreed, and Samantha tried to ignore their leering faces as she stared back at Moore. “Get off my property!”

He laughed harshly then leaned forward and grabbed Samantha’s braid. “Big talk for such a helpless little girl.” His tug pulled her against the side of his lathered horse. He bent down and Samantha could smell his sour breath as he spoke. “And one running around in her nightclothes. Some folks might say you was asking for it.” He gave a savage yank, then let her loose. Samantha stumbled but stayed on her feet. Little comfort as the three men glared down at her.

Samantha’s heart beat frantically and she clutched her hands together to keep them from shaking. She wouldn’t show them how truly frightened she was. She wouldn’t! No matter what they did.

“You think about it, little lady.” Moore jerked his head to the side, and the two others turned their horses. “Moving might be the best thing for you, too. We’ll be back.”

Samantha collapsed against the dirt wall, locking her knees to keep from sliding to the ground. They were riding away. They were actually leav—

Moore was almost out of the yard when he reined to a stop, turning his mount in a tight circle. “Where’d you get that horse?” he yelled. Samantha’s gaze shot to where he was looking, and her heart sank.

There in plain sight was the Rebel’s horse. They’d put him in the small paddock beside the barn after Will fixed that stretch of fence. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But now the eastern sun shone off his chestnut coat and Samantha couldn’t think of a single way she could have gotten a fine animal like that. Not to mention that Moore probably recognized it as belonging to one of his men.

Samantha wondered briefly why Morgan hadn’t yelled out, but dismissed that thought as Moore trotted back toward her.

“Answer me, girl. Where’d you get him?”

“I traded.” Samantha swallowed. “A stranger came through here last week needing food and clothing.”

“And he traded that for a horse?”

Moore obviously didn’t believe her, and why should he? Her lie was stupid. The other two men were walking their horses up to join their boss. Samantha glanced toward the cabin and caught the glint of sun off a gun barrel poking through the paneless window. She hoped Will wasn’t going to shoot. He’d never hit even one of them, and they’d be on him before he could reload.

“A horse for some food don’t make much sense, girl.”

“It does if you’re starving,” Samantha answered with as much certainly as she could muster. She must have been convincing, or maybe Moore had noticed the gun pointed his way by this time. For whatever the reason he signaled his men again, and they all cantered out of the yard.

“You think about it, little girl” drifted back to her across the prairie as they galloped away.

“Sam! Sam! You all right?”

She was and she wasn’t. Samantha waved briefly toward Will as he raced across the yard. His shirttail was flapping behind him and his large flat feet were bare.

“I thought they were going to hurt you sure,” he said skidding to a halt in front of her. “What’s wrong? Oh no, what’d they do to you? I should have shot them.” He grabbed his sister’s shoulder.

“No.” Samantha tried to say more but she was shaking so badly her teeth were chattering as if a winter wind had swooped down on them. “I...” she started only to be interrupted by yelling from the barn.

“What in the hell is going on out there? Someone get in here!”

Samantha straightened, folding her arms across her chest and looking at Will. She’d totally forgotten about their visitor. But he wasn’t going to stand for that now. He was hollering his head off, the sound ringing out loud and clear. Why hadn’t he made his presence known before?

Following her brother into the barn, Samantha bumped into him when he stopped suddenly.

“Hell’s bells, why’d you tie him up?”

“Because he’s the enemy. And watch your mouth, young man. You’re not too big for me to—oh my heavens!” One look at Captain Morgan, and Samantha forgot her brother’s cursing. She dropped to her knees in the straw. “What have you done?”

“Ouch! Damn, would you be careful?”

“This isn’t my doing,’ she yelled back, but her hands gentled on his wrist, where the rope had cut into his skin.

“I suppose I tied myself to this board.” Jake gave his arms a jerk, yanking on the stall siding and sending the twined rope digging further into his torn flesh. He mumbled a string of curses he’d learned in the army, not giving a damn if she liked it or not. Stupid woman.

Samantha waited till he ran out of steam then went back to untying his wrists. Besides tightening the knot and cutting up his arms, he’d managed to pull the board loose from its support. “Something else to fix,” she complained before blowing a strand of hair from her face.