Fetching Charlotte Rose (12 page)

Just as he was about to return to bed in an attempt to sleep for a couple of hours before work, something heavy and hard crashed into his skull. In a flash, the world went blacker than the moonless night.

Chapter Eleven: Not Your Fight

The next morning was Sunday, and Charlotte woke up to bright light from the sun streaming into the bedroom. She immediately felt that something was wrong. Ever since she and Max had married, she’d never slept in this late. Max always woke before the crack of dawn even on his day of rest, and his movements stirred her awake every time. She felt an inkling of fear, but she squashed it and determined that he must have been especially quiet in his morning activities that day.

When she didn’t find him anywhere else in the cabin, her fear took root. Tim found her standing by the stove with a puzzled expression on her face.

“What’s wrong, Charlie?” he asked, noticing her expression. Tim had used that nickname for her since she’d gotten married to Max, and Charlotte had actually grown fond of it.

“I have a terrible feeling, Tim. Max isn’t here.”

Tim cocked his head. “He’s not in your room?”

“No.” The fear that had taken root began to grow as she witnessed Tim’s facial expression morph into a worried frown that matched her own. They both knew Max wouldn’t leave them of his own accord, and certainly not without telling them.

Charlotte and Tim walked outside, and Charlotte screamed when she saw the blood on the porch. Tim removed a slip of paper tacked to the door, read it, and handed it to Charlotte. On it was scribbled a simple but devastating threat.

Tell the marshal, and I kill him… slowly.

Charlotte sank to the ground and gasped for air as she hyperventilated and sobbed. Tim had the opposite response to the same strong feeling of horror. He froze and stared, wide-eyed, into the distance. In the moments before he spoke, Tim’s expression changed from that of a scared boy into that of a determined man. He reached down and shook one of Charlotte’s shoulders.

“We’re going to find him. Help me come up with a plan.” Tim’s stern tone forced Charlotte to her feet. Tim strode inside, found Max’s gun and belt next to the bed, and buckled it around his hips.

“Do you know how to shoot that, Tim?” she asked in a trembling voice.

“Better than some. I’ve pulled a trigger twice in my life. Now, where could Simon be keeping him?”

Charlotte shook her head in dismay. “I have no clue!” she cried. “The only place I know Simon to stay is at the boardinghouse, and he wouldn’t dare keep Max there.”

“No, he wouldn’t. He used to own a house outside of town. I thought he sold it, but I don’t have any better ideas of where he might be. Do you?”

“No,” Charlotte wailed, hardly able to think about how to place one foot in front of the other, let alone how to find her husband.

“Let’s go there then.”

Tim saddled Max’s horse. They rode in the direction of Simon’s old house, with Tim in the saddle up front leading the mare and Charlotte riding astride behind him, her skirts hiked to an unladylike distance above her knees, which she didn’t notice for a moment.

* * *

Before he opened his eyes, Max felt the heavy twine digging into the skin of his wrists, which were bound behind him around a beam. He sat on dirt ground, and his head pounded with each beat of his heart. His mouth and throat felt dry and gritty with dust. As he drew nearer to consciousness, he drew nearer to dismay. He became aware of the fact that he’d been captured, and that meant he couldn’t protect Tim and Charlotte.

He opened his eyes, and the darkness he met in the room was not much brighter than the darkness behind his eyelids. As the seconds ticked by, his eyes slowly adjusted, and the rest of his senses awoke. He was in someone’s barn, evident by the smell of hay and manure. The sound of a nickering horse made its way to his ears through the thumping in his head. He struggled against his bonds and quickly learned it would be no use to do so. He was bound too tightly, so much so that the circulation to his fingers was all but cut off entirely. His fingers were numb, and he could barely move them.

The fear in Max grew the longer he sat alone without his kidnapper. Perhaps Simon meant to capture the three of them, and he got Max out of the way first to render the other two helpless to fight him. This thought filled him with such horror that he was relieved when he heard the barn door open and witnessed Simon approaching him, alone. He held a lamp that lit shadows across his face, giving the man an especially evil appearance. Max’s throat filled with sudden bile and revulsion at the sight of Simon’s pointy, shadowed features.

“It’s just you and me now, blacksmith.” Simon dragged a wooden stool across the floor and placed it directly in front of Max. He set the lamp on the ground and sat down.

“What the fuck do you want, Simon,” Max asked, his voice hoarse.

A grin spread across his face. “Revenge,” he replied. “If it weren’t for you wasting space in this town, things would be different. Tim wouldn’t have made such a foolish decision to go against me, and Charlotte wouldn’t have been distracted by your strange type of charm, if it can be called that.”

“Then kill me and get it over with. But be forewarned that the marshal will know exactly who did it. You’ll swing from the highest tree in Weston, and most everyone will come to watch. I regret I won’t be in attendance, since I reckon it’ll be good entertainment. I can just imagine it, the noose tightening around your lily white neck and your tears dampening the rope before it repays your cowardice with death.”

Simon drew back his fist and punched Max so hard that he almost fell unconscious again. His head hung forward, and blood from his nose dripped onto his trousers. Though his voice sounded far away, Max heard Simon say something that sent a chill down his spine.

“I’ll be sure to relay your brave words to Tim as I beat him bloody and Charlotte when I fuck her in all three holes.”

* * *

Tim and Charlotte arrived at the house previously owned by Simon, and Charlotte felt her spirits sink as they neared. At any other time, the sight of children playing in the grass and a mother humming while hanging laundry would have been pleasant, but to Charlotte this meant only one thing—Max wasn’t there.

Tim came to the same conclusion at the same time because he said, “We’ll keep looking.”

He dismounted and spoke to the woman hanging laundry. He asked if he might look in her barn briefly, and the woman granted the small favor. Shortly after peeking inside, Tim walked back to Charlotte and the horse, shaking his head. He remounted.

They rode in the direction of town silently, each knowing that the other was deep in thought about where else Simon might have taken Max. The horse clipped along on the path at a cheerful pace that belied the misery of their journey. As they rode, Charlotte had an idea.

“Tim, I just remembered something. The day I was evicted, Simon informed me of a room for rent in a house. I can’t think why he would tell me about it, since it’s not in his nature to be helpful.”

“You’re right about that,” Tim replied. “Maybe he owns the house. Where is it, do you know?”

“A mile west of town, according to him. He described it as a green cottage with a white picket fence.”

Tim turned the horse around. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up, Charlie, but I think you might’ve figured out where Simon is keeping Max.”

Tim and Charlotte elected to walk the last quarter mile to the house in order to limit the chance of being spotted. The cottage could be seen in the distance. As they neared, it became clear to Charlotte that Simon’s description of the place had been exaggerated at best. The green paint peeled away from the wood, and nearly every white fencepost was broken or crooked. Weeds grew tall and thick along the path that led to the door.

A weathered barn stood a few paces away, and the door to it was open. Tim and Charlotte crouched behind a collection of tumbleweeds and observed the house and barn for a long while. Charlotte’s legs cramped from the position, but she didn’t dare shift lest the noise give away their presence. After what seemed like hours, they saw exactly what they’d hoped to see—Simon exiting the barn and walking to the house. As soon as he closed the door of the house behind him, Tim and Charlotte exchanged a look that they each read perfectly, and they crept at a light jog to the barn together.

Charlotte covered her mouth to stifle a scream when she saw Max’s slumped, unconscious body tied to a beam. They rushed to him. Tim pulled out a knife from his pocket. He sliced the twine above Max’s purple fingers as Charlotte observed with horror the caked blood in his dark hair.

“Quick,” Tim whispered to Charlotte. “We have to get him awake and out of here.”

“Max, darling,” Charlotte said through her tears. “Wake up.” She placed her palm on his hot forehead and trailed her fingers down his bruised cheek. He didn’t move.

Tim lightly slapped his face on the side that wasn’t bruised and shook his shoulder, to no avail.

“How will we get him out of here? We can’t carry him,” Charlotte said in a frantic whisper.

“No,” Tim agreed. He drew the gun from its holster on his right hip and said, “You keep trying to wake him. I’ll stand by the door and watch for Simon.”

Tim took his post by the barn’s door and Charlotte searched for some clean water. She found a bucket half full of water and sprinkled some on her tongue to test it. Clean enough. She hauled it over to where Max sat and ripped off a strip of her petticoat. After soaking it in the water, she proceeded to dampen Max’s face by pressing the cloth against his skin. He moaned and moved his head a little but still didn’t open his eyes. She soaked the cloth again and held it to a cut on his lip. His mouth opened and he began to suck the water from the cloth thirstily.

“That’s it, my love,” she said, feeling a surge of hope. She filled the bucket’s ladle with water and held it to his lips, and he drank. His eyes opened suddenly after swallowing a few gulps. He looked at Charlotte with amazement and hope.

“Drink some more,” she said, and had a sudden flashback to the day they met, the day he ordered her to do the same.

He drank and then reached his hand up to touch her arm. “Are you real, Charlie, or am I dreaming?”

“I’m real, darling, and we need to get you out of here. Can you walk?”

Charlotte could tell that Max’s mind was processing the information available to him, including the desperate edge to her tone that indicated they were not yet out of danger.

Max’s gaze found Tim at the door. He struggled to his feet. Tim didn’t look at Max, instead keeping his eye fixed on the door of the house, the gun in his hand for immediate use. “Glad you finally woke up,” he said, his voice deeper than how Charlotte remembered it.

“Are you two here alone?” Max asked, incredulous. “Didn’t you bring the marshal?”

“No, Max,” Charlotte answered. “Simon left a note saying that if we did he would…” She choked out the last words. “Kill you.”

“Is that my gun?” Max asked as he walked unsteadily toward the front of the barn with his arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. “Where’s Simon?”

Tim didn’t answer Max’s first question about the gun. “He’s inside the house. I’m going to shoot him when he comes out.”

Max leaned against a beam near the door where Tim stood. “Give me the gun, Tim.”

Tim turned his head to look at him then, his eyes shooting daggers. “Like hell I will, Max. This is my fight, not yours.” He returned his gaze to the house.

“Tim,” Charlotte said in a pleading voice. “Do as Max says.”

Tim ignored her. Max stood upright from the beam and walked to where Tim stood. He placed one hand on his shoulder and reached down. He wrapped his hand slowly over the barrel of the gun, and Tim let it go without further resistance.

“You and Charlotte already saved my life, son. That’s enough heroics for one day.”

“We haven’t saved it yet,” Charlotte hissed. “Simon is still in the house.”

“He’s not much of a threat now that I’m untied and armed,” Max responded. “Let’s go.”

The three of them walked out of the barn and headed for the path.

“Go up ahead,” Max said to them, placing himself between his two rescuers and the house. He walked backwards with his gun trained on the front door as they moved away. Simon didn’t make an appearance. When the house was out of sight, Max stuffed his gun in his trousers, and they walked the quarter mile to the horse without incident.

Max untied the mustang from the tree and held the reins. He looked at Tim and Charlotte with confusion when they didn’t make a move to mount. “Go on,” he said. “What are you two waiting for?”

“Waiting for you to mount the damn horse,” Tim growled. “If you honestly think I’m going to ride instead of you when your head is bashed and you’re bleeding from places I’ve never seen bleed, you have another think coming.”

Max stared at him. “All right, Tim. Geez.” He mounted. “Land’s sake, when did you get such a mouth on you, son?”

“You’re pissing me off,” Tim replied. “And I was scared as hell Simon had…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Charlotte could hear the trace of a sob that choked back his words.

Max heard it too. “No worries, Tim. We’re safe now, and Simon will pay for what he’s done to all of us.”

Chapter Twelve: Brave Man, Capable Woman

Max was right. The marshal arrested Simon later that day, and he informed them after they signed their statements that Simon would likely go to prison for a long time, now that he’d committed a violent crime that could be proven.

The doctor bandaged Max’s head and attended to his other wounds, then instructed Charlotte to observe him overnight. She held his hand all night long and watched him sleep, waking him every once in a while to assure herself he was alive.

Max woke up the next morning in a foul temper. He demanded that Charlotte make his eggs a certain way and not screw them up like she did the last time, and he yelled at Tim for leaving the door open when he left to feed the horse. Tim and Charlotte exchanged looks and rolled their eyes behind his back every time Max barked an order or scolded them for a petty reason, but they did his bidding in silence without argument. They were both so happy he was alive they would have done anything he asked, and they suffered his ill temper in good humor, grateful just to hear his voice, loud and snarly though it was that morning. Charlotte suspected it was more than a headache that had put him in such a bad mood, and they finally learned what was truly bothering him when they sat down to lunch. He ignored the food on his plate and bellowed at them, pounding his fist on the table once before speaking.