One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose (13 page)

She swung her leg over her horse and leapt to the ground. “Get up, Travis,” she begged as she ran to him. “Please, God, don't let him be dead.”

He'd landed on his side and was half draped over a boulder. His head had struck the rock, and there were splatters of blood everywhere.

She knelt down beside him and gently turned him so she could see his back. She screamed then, a piercing, agonizing scream, and something seemed to explode inside her. She was filled with such rage she could barely think.

A shot stung the rock beside him. Emily came to her senses in the blink of an eye. She put Travis's gun back in his holster so she could use both her hands, put her arms under his, and began to drag him to safety.

She thought only to get him further into the forest. Then she saw a deep crevice between the rocks at one end of the bluff and turned around to drag him there. No one could get to him from behind, she knew, and they couldn't attack from the sides either. They would have to come at them head-on, and then she would shoot them down like the rabid dogs they were.

She didn't know where her strength came from, but she thought that maybe God was lending her a hand now. She tucked Travis into the crevice, rolled him on his side, and then took his gun in her hands again.

Roscoe came at them first. She shot him in the thigh. He yelped in fury and hopped back out of sight.

“The bitch got me, Clifford,” he roared. “I got to kill her now.”

“You hit bad?” Clifford shouted back.

“I'm bleeding like a pig, but it's just a flesh nick. I'm gonna kill her, all right.”

“Not till we take a turn using her,” Clifford shouted. “We'll hurt her good, Roscoe.”

The two brothers continued to shout at one another. They were trying to terrify her, as each described in vile detail what he was going to do to her. She was already scared out of her wits, however, and nothing they could say now would make it any worse.

As long as the shouts remained distant, she knew she and Travis were safe. She put his gun down on the ground next to her, lifted her skirt, and ripped her petticoat so she could fashion a bandage for him. There was blood on the front of Travis's shirt on the left side. She tore his shirt free, saw the small hole in his skin, and realized the bullet had gone straight through. His back was covered in blood. She pressed the cloth to the injury and used another long strip of her petticoat to wrap around him.

The shouting suddenly stopped. Emily grabbed the gun and waited. A second felt like an hour. Roscoe poked his head out through the branches of a tree. He moved back before she could aim.

“She's tucked in tight between the rocks,” he shouted to his brother. “The only way we can get to her is head-on. She'll kill us then.”

“Don't you worry none. We'll get her,” Clifford called back.

She didn't believe she could become more terrified. Then Rosco shouted to his brother. “We going to starve her out of them rocks?”

“No, we'll rush her during the night. She won't see us coming at her in the dark.”

She began to pray again. She knew their chances of surviving were almost nonexistent, but if God could please send them some help, she would be most appreciative. If He wanted one of them to die, then please let it be her. All of this was her fault, not Travis's, and he was just a good, decent man. He didn't deserve to die this way.

God didn't answer her prayer for what seemed like hours, and during that time she was taunted by the hoots and shouts of Clifford and Roscoe.

He did answer her though, and she realized then she should have been a little more specific with her request.

He sent her One-Eyed Jack.

“Miss Emily, are you all right?”

She heard the whisper coming from below the bluff.

“Who is it?” she whispered back.

No one answered until she repeated her question a second time.

“It's me—Jack.”

“Jack? Is that really you?”

“I just said it was.”

“Are you below Travis and me on the rocks?”

“I skittered out on a ledge. Don't worry; no one can get any higher without pitching off into the canyon.”

“Jack, the O'Toole brothers are trying to kill us.”

“I figured as much as soon as I heard the gunshots. I can't get to you, Miss Emily.”

“Could you please go and get help? Travis was shot in the back.”

“He's a goner then,” Jack whispered.

“No,” she screamed in denial.

“No call to shout at me.”

She heard the stubborn edge in his voice and knew he was getting his back up. God, she didn't have time for this. Didn't Jack realize how dangerous their situation was?

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “Oh, Jack, I'm so scared. Thank you for following us.”

“I didn't do it for him. I did it for you. I'm taken with you, Miss Emily, and I've come to declare my intentions.”

“Jack, now isn't the time,” she cried out. “Please go and get help for us.”

“It'll cost you. I'm wanting the five dollars back and five more so I can buy me some fancy courtin' clothes. Don't go getting the notion I'm wanting to marry you though. I got something else in mind.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want him to waste time talking, but she knew Jack well enough to understand he couldn't be pushed. He would leave to get help when he was ready and not a second before.

“Don't you want to know what I'm wanting?”

“Yes, Jack, tell me what you want.” She sounded frantic. She couldn't help it.

“I'm wanting you to have supper with me down at the dining room in the Pritchard hotel. You got to latch onto my arm and let me walk you in too, and you can't get up and leave 'fore I do. Is it a deal?”

“Yes, it's a deal.”

“I'll be leaving then.”

“Hurry, Jack, and be careful.”

Travis groaned then, but Emily couldn't take her attention away from the entrance to their hideaway long enough to see if his eyes were open or closed.

“It's going to be all right, Travis,” she whispered.

Clifford came flying across the entrance. She didn't even have time to cock her gun before he reached the other side. She had to put both hands on Travis's gun to keep it steady. Her arms were outstretched in front of her. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn't dare take her hand away from the gun to wipe them away. She needed to concentrate, and most of all, she needed to pray.

Travis opened his eyes and looked at her. He saw the gun in her hands, heard her sob low in her throat, and wanted more than anything to take her into his arms and comfort her. He couldn't move. He knew something was wrong, yet he couldn't figure out what it was. He thought he must be pinned against something, and whatever it was was burning the hell out of his back.

He tried to focus on his surroundings. Emily was sitting in front of him with her back pressed up against his chest. There were two long lines side by side in the dirt leading up to her, and he had to think about it for a long while before he realized someone had dragged something heavy across the narrow clearing.

She'd dragged him to safety. Dear God, it all came back with startling clarity then. He'd been shot, and Emily was sitting in front of him to protect him. The O'Toole brothers must still be out there, and he'd left Emily to fend for both of them.

She needed to get the hell out of there.

He whispered her name and willed himself to stay awake. “Emily, what are you doing? You've got to leave.”

She didn't turn around when she answered him. “It's all right, my love,” she whispered. “You can sleep now. I'll keep you safe.”

Who was keeping her safe? No, no, it was wrong. He should protect her, he knew, and, Lord, he didn't want to sleep; he wanted to take the gun out of her hands and shoot the bastards because they'd made her cry. Then the black waves were suddenly rushing toward him, and he was once again pulled under into the dark.

She didn't know how long she sat there, hoping and praying. Their situation was becoming hopeless. Dusk was fast approaching, and she doubted help would arrive before nightfall. She reminded God that hopeless situations weren't difficult for Him, and though she didn't know what would happen, she was fully prepared for the worst. Only one thought drove her now. She would die protecting the man she loved.

T
he sound of gunfire at close range jarred Travis awake. It took him a long while to find the strength to open his eyes, and when at last he succeeded, he thought he was looking up at the blue sky.

Suddenly the sky began to move. He couldn't understand what was happening. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the whispers floating around him, and when he was able to focus again, he saw a man leaning over him . . . a big man, with blue eyes. Was it Cole? No, he realized, it wasn't his brother. It was someone else.

The stranger was moving him. Travis's head dropped down to his chest, but his eyes remained open. He stared in puzzlement at a gleaming gold object the stranger wore clipped to his leather vest. He thought it was a pocket watch.

He heard Emily whisper. She asked the stranger if there was still time to get to the Perkinses' home before dark, and it was only when she called the man “Mr. Ryan” that everything clicked into place. His gaze moved from the gold case up to the blue eyes, then back again.

No, it wasn't a pocket watch as he'd assumed. It was a compass.

The bastard pulling him every which way was wearing Cole's compass. Travis became incensed. He let out a low growl and tried to rip his brother's gift away from the stranger, but, damn, he was so weak, he couldn't even lift his hand.

The effort drained his strength. He felt as though someone had put a hand on top of his head and was shoving him under the water again.

And then he slept.

*  *  *

Travis came awake with a start to find Millie Perkins leaning over him with a razor in her hands. Instinctively, he knocked the razor out of her grasp and sent it flying across the room. It landed on the dresser, skated across, and dropped to the floor.

He'd given Millie quite a start. She jumped back and let out a shout. “Lord, you're quick. I see you've finally decided to come back to us.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Off and on, almost four days now. You needed sleep to get your strength back, at least that's what the doctor told us. He must have been right because the glazed look is gone from your eyes now. I was going to shave you,” she added with a nod. “You could sure use it. You're starting to resemble a bear.”

Travis rubbed his whiskered jaw. “I'll do it,” he said. He yawned, stretched the muscles in his shoulders, and felt only a twinge of fire. “I was shot.”

“Yes, you most certainly were,” she agreed. “They got you in the back, but more to your side than in the center. The bullet went on through, and the doctor assured us there isn't any chance of an infection now because you didn't catch a fever. You were sure lucky. You had an angel looking out for you.”

Travis smiled. “I must have,” he agreed. His gaze slowly moved around the room. It was familiar to him, and it took him a minute or two to realize why. He was in the same bed Emily had slept in.

One thought jumped to another. “Where is she?”

Millie seemed hesitant to tell him. “I assume you're asking me about Emily. Do you remember any of the last four days? No, I don't suppose you do,” she continued before he could answer. “Emily sat by your bed day and night, worrying and praying about you. Yesterday your sleep turned real peaceful, and when Doc Stanley came back by, he convinced her that the worst was over and that you would be just fine.”

“Where is she?” he asked again. He could tell something was wrong from the way she was nervously smoothing down her apron and looking everywhere but at him. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like her answer.

She took a step back before answering. “She's gone.”

He immediately threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Millie's hands flew to her eyes, and she turned around so quickly she almost lost her balance. He realized then he didn't have any clothes on, let out a whispered expletive, and dragged the covers back up. He leaned against the headboard and muttered, “Damn, I'm weak.”

“You should be weak. You lost some blood, but not too much, according to Doc Stanley. It was the hit you took to your head when you fell off your horse and struck a rock that made you sleep so long.”

“I fell off my horse?” He was horrified by the mere thought. Cole would have a heyday with that bit of news if he ever found out. His brother would never let him live it down.

“Millie, you can turn around now.”

She was blushing like an old spinster and still smoothing her apron when she did as he suggested.