Renegade Bride (48 page)

She inhaled sharply and sat down on the chair beside him. "You have every right to hate me. I don't blame you. But, Seth, I... I didn't come here for myself. I came for Creed—"

He shoved away from the table, knocking his chair to the floor with a bang. "Well, you needn't have bothered."

"It's not what you think. He's in terrible trouble."

"Only if he comes near me again."

She stared at him for a moment, then handed him the crumpled up paper.

"What the hell is-?"

"It was in Creed's room along with my scarf. Read it."

"I don't—"

"Read it, Seth!"

His eyes dropped to the paper. He read it and reread it, then looked up at her. "What is this?"

"L. for LaRousse. Pierre LaRousse. Don't you see? He's laid a trap for Creed with me. Creed thinks LaRousse took me. I was safe all along, but he doesn't know that. Creed's gone there alone. You have to stop him before LaRousse kills him."

A fleeting look of dread flickered in his eyes before he shuttered the expression. He tossed the paper on the table. "No, I don't. I don't owe Creed Devereaux a damn thing. He can ride into the camp of old Satan himself for all I care and I wouldn't lift a finger to help him."

Shaking her head, she said, "You don't mean that."

"The hell I don't."

She took a shuddering breath. "You're angry. I know you are and with every right. But Creed is... was your best friend. He never meant to hurt you. You must know that."

His icy gray eyes met hers and he grabbed for the whiskey. "Get out, Mariah. I haven't finished my bottle."

Blood pounded in her ears. "He needs you."

"
I
needed you!"

Mariah felt the color drain from her face. "Oh, Seth... do you hate me so much you'd let Creed die?"

He stared at her without a trace of forgiveness in his eyes, then turned back to his bottle and filled his glass with the clear amber liquid.

She grabbed the crumpled note and moved to the door, shaking her head. "Maybe I was wrong about you, after all. Maybe you can live with yourself if he dies. I know I never can." Turning, she disappeared out the door.

Seth listened to her footsteps clanging down the wooden steps until the sound disappeared. He closed his eyes and slugged down the whiskey then flung the empty glass across the room. It shattered into a thousand pieces. Just like his heart. Damn them, he thought. Damn them both.

Chapter 25

On the street, Mariah ran smack into the black-haired bouncer, Pete, who was waiting for her. Steadying her with his hands, he frowned down at the desperate look on her face. "Miss? Are you all right? What in tarnation is going on here? First you run out of
The Exchange
like your tail's on fire... now—"

She clutched his arms. "Pete, do you know where the Stinking Water Valley is?"

"'Course. Everybody knows. Can't come into the gulch from the north or west without passin' through it."

"Can you take me there?"

"Now?
I don't think..." The pounding of hoofbeats coming up behind him drew his eyes away from her.

"Mariah!"

She whirled to see Wade Bender and Jesse Winslow tearing up the street, shouting to her. She ran out to meet them. "Wade!"

Vaulting off his horse, Wade grabbed her by the arms, looking as if he'd seen a ghost. "You're all right! Where have you been? Creed told us—"

"You
saw
him?" she cried. "Where is he?"

"Going after you... or... so he thought. Hell."

"You let him
go?"

"He thought the bastard had you! We all did. He rode off before I could stop him. Something about having to go alone. But I couldn't let him. I ran into Jesse on my way here. Where were you, Mariah?"

"I—I was with Desiree Lupone."

Pete stepped into their circle. "Will someone tell me what's goin' on?"

"Does Seth know about this?" Jesse asked.

"He knows," she answered. "He won't help Creed."

"What?"

"Never mind. You won't change his mind," Mariah told him. "We're wasting time."

Jesse scowled and reined in his prancing appaloosa. "What do you mean, we? You're going to go to your room and stay put."

Her eyes flared. "No, I'm not. I'm coming with you."

"Not a chance," Wade told her, mounting his roan. "We can't be worrying about you when we're after a man like LaRousse."

Pete fingered the gun holstered at his hip. "You're goin' after Pierre LaRousse?"

"If we're not too late," he said. "Get her to her room."

"Jesse, please, wait—"

"We'll find him, Mariah. Now, go on."

Heart sinking, Mariah watched as Wade and Jesse galloped off down the street, Mahkwi running at their heels. Beside her, she felt Pete touch her arm.

"Miss?"

Desperate, her eyes settled on the row of horses tied up outside a nearby saloon and particularly on the white-stockinged chestnut. The butt of a rifle protruded from the scabbard beneath the saddle. They wouldn't leave her behind. She had to go and find Creed. She had to help him. None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for her. Crossing to the hitching rail, she threw the reins over the chestnut's head and slipped her foot in the stirrup.

"Miss!" came Pete's shocked whisper. He looked over his shoulder. "What in tarnation do you think you're doin'?"

"Taking a horse." She swung up on the mare, hitching her skirts up out of the way, leaving the white ruffles of her pantalets showing.

Pete let out an exasperated breath and grabbed the reins. "Holy Smokes! You can't do that. That's horse stealing."

"So shoot me," she said fiercely, yanking the reins around toward the street, "or join me. But whatever you do, get out of my way."

Pete jumped back as she kicked the horse's flanks and galloped off down the street after the others.

"Holy smokes," he muttered. Pacing back and forth in the middle of the road, he watched her disappear into the blackness. Then, with an uneasy look toward the saloon, he kicked at the dirt and grabbed a dun horse.

"What the hell are you doing, Loudin?" he muttered to himself as he mounted and kicked the stolen horse into a lope after the woman he'd been sent to watch.

* * *

Pulling Buck to a halt under a stand of cottonwoods lining the nearby creek, Creed leaned over his saddle horn. His breath came in short, painful gasps. Sulphurous fumes from the nearby springs only added to the nausea rising in his throat. He twisted his left hand in Buck's mane, pressing his other forearm against his throbbing rib.

Sweat trickled down his cheek and between his shoulder blades, soaking through his elkskin shirt to his capote. Peering into the darkness, he tried to guess LaRousse's position. He pictured Mariah, terrified and alone, waiting for him. If LaRousse had touched her...

Creed ruthlessly checked the feeling. Emotions had gotten him into this trouble in the first place. It was his fault she was here. His fault she'd become tangled in this whole mess. To get her out, he'd have to use his head, which at the moment, was anything but clear. Uncorking the top on his canteen, he took a long drink of water and surveyed the dark landscape ahead.

The Stinking Water Valley was a sprawling bottom land that bordered the gentle swell of the Ruby Mountains. With numerous smaller hot springs dotted through it, he knew the main springs were another half-mile up the valley in a ravine of rocks and gnarled pine.

Above him, the half-dome of stars winked mockingly and the full moon painted the land under the trees in long shadows. Steam rose eerily off the surface of the water as it fingered into the cold night air. The only sound that broke the silence was the quiet gurgling.

Pierre LaRousse was a madman, but he wasn't a fool. The spot he'd chosen to meet was well protected from surprise assault. Nearly impenetrable. The advantage was LaRousse's. He was waiting somewhere ahead, with the darkness and fog to hide him. There was only one approach. The direct one.

There was only a slim chance he'd get Mariah or himself out of this alive, he thought futilely, but he had to try. He was, after all, the one the bastard wanted. Tonight, it would end. At last.

He nudged Buck forward, pressing deeper and deeper into the nightmarish fog shrouding the river. The cool breeze swam through the mist like a capricious child, opening brief rifts of moonlit clarity, only to close around behind him again like a trap door. The sound of Buck's hoofbeats echoed like thunder in the silence.

He slid his revolver out of his holster and eased the trigger back. Cradling it in his left hand, he dropped it to his side, blinking back the sweat trickling down his brow.

Just ahead, the fog swirled away. Standing in his path, he saw Pierre LaRousse, looking like Satan incarnate, feet planted, rifle primed and pointed at Creed's chest. The eagle feather tied in his long, loose hair fluttered silver in the moonlight, flicking the streaks of black warpaint slashed across his cheeks. His eyes shone brightly with an unnatural light.

Buck snorted and half-reared at the sight. Creed pulled him to a stop.

"So... you 'ave come, Devereaux." LaRousse's voice held a sinister rasp. "I knew you would."

Creed's hand tightened around the gun. "Where is she?"

LaRousse smiled. "Put down your gun."

Creed smiled and instead, raised the tip of his gun toward LaRousse. "We are both men with nothing to lose tonight, Pierre. Send her out to me and let her go. Then, you can do what you want with me."

Pierre sauntered a step closer. "Ah, 'ow noble of you. Just like your father. But you see, your father was a fool. And so are you
, mon ami sans dussein
." His laugh reminded Creed of the yip of a coyote.

The tip of Creed's pistol wavered. Suddenly, he knew. She wasn't here.
Le bon Dieu
, she wasn't even here! It had all been an elaborate bluff to—

A rope sailed over his head from behind and cinched around his chest and shoulders before his dulled reflexes could react, yanking him painfully sideways. He cursed, scrambling for a hold on the saddle, but felt himself falling... heard the gun in his hand retort and the bullet pull wild, pinging off the rocks somewhere in the darkness.

The ground came up to meet him with a breath-stealing thud that sent agony crashing through him. Blackness swooped in on him, like the ebony wing of a bird of prey, snuffing out sight and sound and pain. She was safe, came his last fleeting thought. At least she was safe.

* * *

They rode in silence, four abreast, with Mahkwi at their heels. Only the soft plodding of the horses' trotting hooves against the spring-softened ground disturbed the unearthly quiet of the Stinking Water Valley.

Wade and Jesse had given her a thorough tongue-lashing and then agreed to let her come—when they realized, first, that there was no time to turn back and second, that she might actually prove useful in holding the horses for them when the time came.

She didn't argue. Nor did she promise to stay behind when they found him. If they found him.

Squeezing back the thought, she inhaled deeply of the fetid, sulphurous air and fought the panic rising in her throat. They would find him. They had to.

Crossing a stream, they moved closer to the thick tendrils of fog encasing the edge of the valley. She glanced at her companions, each lost in his own thoughts; Wade, whose jaw hadn't stopped working once, fidgeted with the gun at his hip; Jesse, whose brooding mien lent him a particularly dangerous air; and Pete, who stared unblinkingly ahead, no doubt wondering what he had let himself in for.

The fog thickened as they went, making the going more treacherous. Strangely, not a night bird or insect broke the uneasy silence. Only the moonlight, it seemed, dared intrude on this unholy place.

Far ahead, the high pitched whine of a gunshot stopped them short. A single shot—followed by a deathly silence.

"Creed!" Mariah breathed, surging forward.

Jesse reached for her reins. "Mariah, don't."