Just Her Type (24 page)

“It'll be much harder to deal with you than it was with McCraven and Smith. Your loveliness urges me to be gentle with you, but gentleness won't work with you, will it? Must I resort to the same tactics I did with them?”

Refusing to let him see her terror, she stared at him steadily. “Since you failed to stop us by murdering Cameron and Pa, it seems a waste to try the same with me.”

“Not so, for once I'm rid of you, I can buy the
Bugle
outright.”

“Douglas will never sell to you! You overplayed your hand there. If you'd left him alone, you could have confused him with your web of lies as you did me. Now he'll never believe you! Do you think Luke will allow you to take advantage of my son?”

Viciously he gripped her face. “Fool! Why are you worrying about things that will happen after you're dead? You should be thinking about how you can avoid what I have planned for you.”

“Why? I can't stop you.”

When he grinned, her smile wavered. Never had she seen such a demonic glitter in anyone's eyes. “Trust me, Mackenzie, soon you'll beg me to allow you to do as I wished from the beginning.”

Like Lacey
. She remembered how, even half-conscious, Lacey had begged for his forgiveness. Terror clamped a vise around her. Squeezing, squeezing, until she was sure she would scream.

Rutherford ordered, “Take her out to the corral. I'll join you in a few minutes.”

Mackenzie's one attempt at resistance ended when her captors jerked on her arms so hard she feared they would break them. Biting her lip, she walked out of the house and toward the barns.

When a gate was opened, she was forced through. Her boots sank into soft goo. She heard chuckles and knew a man had steered her into the manure on purpose. Vowing not to give them any satisfaction, she said nothing.

Other forms appeared in the gray darkness. Mackenzie gasped as she recognized one by the remains of a bonfire. She pulled away and ran to her son. Douglas threw his arms around her. Whispering his name in his hair, she held him. Only now could she admit that she had not believed Rutherford when he had told her Douglas was alive.

“Horace?” she murmured, wanting as much information as possible before they were separated.

“Back in the colt barn. Rutherford locked me up in the house until—” He swore as they were yanked apart.

Mackenzie almost repeated the obscenity, but halted as she saw Rutherford by the embers.

“Such love between parent and child is exemplary,” he said. “Perhaps I was wrong to deal with McCraven and your father directly.”

“Don't threaten Ma!” cried Douglas.

Rutherford turned toward the boy. “Shut up! You wouldn't want her hurt worse because of you, would you?”

Struggling against the arms holding her, Mackenzie could not escape. Rutherford's smile returned as she moaned.

“That's better,” he murmured. “Now let's get started, so we aren't late for breakfast.”

His serenity terrified her. When the man holding her pushed her forward a half step, Douglas snarled his grandfather's favorite curse. A glowing brand was extracted from the coals. Rutherford took it. As her breath came fast and hard, she watched him raise it toward her. Heat seared her face, but the iron did not touch her. Looking past it, she saw Rutherford's smile.

“You've hinted enough times that there's been rebranding on the open ranges, Mackenzie,” Rutherford drawled. “An interest you shared with your underhanded husband, perhaps?”

“Cameron was—”

“Sticking his nose in where it didn't belong.” He moved the iron closer to her. “He got what we give to all trail detectives who come on the Lazy Bar R.”

“Cameron was not a trail detective.”

With a laugh, he jabbed the branding iron at her. She gasped.

“Stop!” screamed Douglas. “Don't hurt my ma!”

Rutherford laughed again. “Don't take me for a fool, Mackenzie. I know what he was. He tried to prove there was rebranding on the Lazy Bar R.”

“For the newspaper! He wasn't—!” She bit back her words as the iron inched closer. It was not worth arguing that he had slain Cameron by mistake.

“He was looking for trouble, and we gave him all he could stand and a bit more.” Rutherford smiled. “Now you want to cause the same trouble by snooping about.”

“No! I—” Again she silenced herself as the branding iron danced in front of her eyes.

“Lying won't help you.” He lowered the iron. “Perhaps, if you were a witness to a rebranding, you'd have less curiosity about it in the future.”

He stuck the iron back on the flames and nodded toward one of the men by the fence. A gate was opened, and a bound calf was pushed into the corral. It writhed and bellowed.

She gasped, “That's an OG Star calf!”

“Not for long, my dear Mackenzie.”

“No, you can't!”

“Can't I? O'Grady stole one hundred head from me. Then he whines when I take fifty back. If a few of his finest stud line got mixed in, it's his fault.” He snapped his fingers.

A cowboy pulled out another branding iron and, with his boot against the calf's side, put the iron on the animal. It screamed. As the smell of burnt flesh filled her senses, she feared she would be sick.

With a flick of the rope, the man released the calf. It hurled itself out of the corral. The branding iron was placed back on the fire to be readied for its next victim.

Rutherford moved between her and the coals. Gripping her chin in his hands, he forced her to look at him. “You've been a witness to a crime, Mackenzie. One you won't report in your newspaper, as you won't report anything else I wish you to keep silent.”

“I'll close the
Bugle
before I let you dictate to me what I can and cannot print.” She jerked her head out of his hand. “I let you intimidate me once with your anonymous note. Never again.”

“You need worry about no more anonymous letters.” His smile vanished as he growled, “I shall make my orders clear.”

“I shall never let you take editorial control! Never!”

“Then there isn't much reason to continue this, is there?”

She was powerless, and they both knew it. However, he had only a limited amount of time before she and the sheriff were missed.

He snapped his fingers again. One of the cowboys near the fire bent to pick up a brand. Carefully he handed the glowing iron to his boss.

Stepping toward her, Rutherford chortled. “As I said, your loveliness makes it much more difficult to treat you as I did your husband. It's too bad you never saw his corpse so you could understand what you are risking. I regret not having had more time to deal with Mac Smith, but his snooping was easier to stop with a single blow to the skull. What a shame to ruin your pretty face!”

The brand twisted in his hand. Hearing Douglas's shout for him to halt, Mackenzie could not speak as she leaned away from the glowing iron. When her captor jerked on her wrists, pain whipped through her shoulders. She screamed. She was released. As she sagged to her knees in the filth, Rutherford pressed the brand into her skirt. He stamped the fire out of the wool.

Tossing the brand aside, he snarled, “Next time, it won't be just your dress, Mackenzie. I'd hate to burn the Lazy Bar R into you, but you will listen to me.” Turning away, he ordered, “Take her back to the house. Once she has a chance to think, she'll come to her senses.”

“Douglas! Don't hurt …” she cried out. Then pain exploded through her head. She did not hear her wordless moan as she collapsed.

EIGHTEEN

Sunlight woke Mackenzie to agony. She put her fingers tentatively to the lump on the back of her head and cursed Rutherford.

Slowly, cautiously, she sat. Her eyes widened as she noted the chintz curtains in two windows. She slid off the bed. Somewhere in this fancy room there must be a weapon that she could use. Although her legs wobbled, she searched about. It took her only moments to realize how futile her hopes had been. Just a hairbrush and a metal pan sat on the marble washstand.

She went to the closest window. No porch roof edged her room. The tree branches were beyond her reach. Tying the bedsheets together would give her a way to scramble down the walls directly into the arms of one of the many men she could see working in the yard.

A movement near the corner of the house caught her eye. She pressed her hands over her mouth. Douglas was free! She watched him skulk across the yard. When he glanced toward the house, he raised his hand in her direction.

“Go!” she whispered.

He did not look toward her again. When she saw a man walking toward him, she wanted to call a warning. She leaned against the window frame in relief when the man was called away by one of his comrades. Her ears waited for an alarm to be sounded, but none came.

When she looked back to where Douglas had been, he was gone. Sinking to her knees, she rested her head on the sill. Her son had a chance of making it off the Lazy Bar R. She put her hands over her face and sobbed.

“Take him with you, Luke,” she whispered. “Don't leave him alone. You'll be all he has.” She put her hand against her abdomen. Luke would need Douglas, too. When Rutherford finished with her, she doubted if either she or her unborn child would still be alive.

A shout from the yard brought her to her feet. Gripping the window frame, Mackenzie stared at the men who were gesturing wildly. Someone had discovered Douglas's escape.

Her door crashed open. She whirled to face a dark-haired man. A satisfied smile crossed his lips as he swaggered toward her. “Thinking of jumping, Mackenzie?”

“Just enjoying the view.”

His grin became a scowl. “I bet you are. Don't get too used to it. C'mon. Rutherford wants to see you. Now!”

“Let me get my boots.” She pointed to her filthy boots by the bed.

Mackenzie ignored his lecherous gaze as she lifted her skirts to slip her feet into the boots. She buttoned them in place and tried to steady her pounding heart.

“You sure look good all tousled like this, Mackenzie. Real good.” He stroked her tangled hair as he pushed her ahead of him out into the corridor.

She jerked her head away, and he chuckled as he took her to the room where she had spoken to Rutherford earlier. She smiled when she heard the clamor outside. Douglas must still be missing.

“Sit!” Rutherford ordered, pointing to a settee next to the fireplace.

Sitting on the same chair as before, Mackenzie was glad when Rutherford chose the one facing her without going through the farce of offering her something to drink.

Without preamble, he snapped, “Don't think your son will be free long.”

“He's ruined your perfect plan. He'll find help. Then you'll see how stupid you were to try to coerce us into being a part of your imperialistic dreams.”

“Don't be a fool! We'll have him before he gets back to Bentonville. I—” He glanced past her. “What is it?”

The man in the doorway twisted the brim of his hat. Mackenzie smiled. Any bad news he brought could be good news for her.

The tall man stepped into the room, then paused. “Mr. Rutherford, I—I …”

“Spit it out, Yale.”

“Sheriff Roosevelt is gone.” He cringed.

Fury gleamed in Rutherford's eyes. He stood and put his hand on Mackenzie's shoulder to keep her in the chair. “The sheriff is gone? How?”

“It appears the boy released him.”

“I thought you said the brat was gone!”

“We thought he was, Mr. Rutherford.” Yale gulped. “We just heard they're both heading toward Bentonville.”

He flung out his hands. “Then stop them! Why are you wasting time here when—?”

“Ain't no one to take. Everyone's busy on the south end of the home ranch.”

“What do you mean? What's going on?”

Mackenzie struggled not to smile. Douglas had done it! It was only a matter of time before Horace rounded up a posse and came to rescue her.

Yale whispered, “Someone spooked mustangs through the corral. The yearlings have broken down the fence and are headed in every direction.”

“Someone?” Rutherford pointed at her. “Your brat!”

“He's both a McCraven and a Smith after all,” Mackenzie retorted. There was no reason to hide her pride. “It's about time you learn how dangerous it is to deal with that mixture.”

“A Smith and McCraven who will be dead by one shot from a Smith and Wesson.” He smiled as she gasped when he touched the pistol on his hip. Seizing her arm, he pulled her to her feet. He propelled her toward Yale. “Take her upstairs while I get my horse. I'll halt Roosevelt and the kid.”

“You'll never catch them!” Mackenzie exclaimed. “When they tell the rest of the town what you've done—”

“Get her out of my sight. I'll deal with her after the kid and Roosevelt are dead.” He added in a sly tone, “Be a good girl, Mackenzie. I wouldn't want you to die before you attend your brat's funeral.”

Cold flushed through her. His vile laughter followed her as she was forced up the stairs and into the bedroom. The door slammed closed. A key turned in the lock. From the other side, her guard called, “Don't think of leaving, Mackenzie. You've got a lifetime invitation to the Lazy Bar R.” His laugh did not move away, warning her that he was staying by the door.

She sat on the bed. Rutherford could afford no more mistakes. Somehow he had to kill her and make both Douglas and the sheriff appear to be lying. She was not sure how, but she knew her life would end if Rutherford did not recapture her son. If he did, both of them would die.

Mackenzie paced from one window to the other as she watched the preparations in the yard. Rutherford was set to defy the law with his private army of gunslingers. She watched the sun setting over the western mountains. Night would be the perfect time for Horace to bring his men to the Lazy Bar R.