Turner's Vision (29 page)

Micah’s heart pumped with anticipation.

The smell of danger permeated the air.

Inside the cabin, Noah watched as Patrice once again loaded the extra guns and rifles he’d laid out for her, in the exact fashion he demanded.

All day, he’d set tasks for her which were precise and thought-consuming. When he ordered her to clean pots and rip material for bandages, she obeyed without complaint, moving in the same trance she’d been in since their arrival.

Micah had tried to intervene when Noah set her about sharpening all the men’s knives. The two men nearly came to blows again over his treatment of her. Yet, as the day progressed, with each new order from Noah a small spark of anger appeared in her eyes.

“Pay attention to what you’re doing there, Patrice,” he demanded when he caught her looking out the window into the dust of the evening. “Our lives could depend on whether or not you load those right.”

“I’m doing it just as you said,” she snapped at him. Angry eyes rising to meet his for a moment.

“I don’t want excuses, woman, just results.”

“You’ve been at me all day.” She jumped up from the chair, gripping the rifle in both hands. The knuckles of her hands gleamed white with tension in the dim firelight of the room. “My brother is out there, somewhere. I can worry about him if I want to, can’t I?”

“It’s good to see you worrying about someone other than yourself for a change.” With a quickness that surprised her, Noah grasped both of her arms in his own ironclad grip and forced her to lower the weapon. He pulled her closer, his face inches from her own.

“Micah can take care of himself, without your added worry and distraction. I need you here, focused on what you’re doing. I want you to be able to load those in the heat of battle, without any help from me or anyone else. Your life, my life, all of our lives may depend on that. Now sit back down, and repeat it one more time.” He shoved her back into the seat, then turned his back to her and studied the tree line once more.

Behind him he heard her slam her fist against the table, then pick up the rifle and begin emptying cartridges.

Good. Now she’s angry at me. When the time comes, she’ll be so busy doing her job and hating me, she’ll have little time to be afraid of that bastard, Stephen
.

Noah scanned the trees for any movement.

Patrice shoved the cartridge back into the chamber of the rifle.

“Clean pots. Rip bandages. Sharpen knives. Load guns. Unload guns. All that Yankee has done today is order me about,” she muttered to herself as she worked.

Setting it aside, she lifted the Colt. She pointed it directly at the back of Noah’s head, smiling for the first time in months.

“Stupid Yankee doesn’t realize I know how to use one of these things. Shot two of those damn Yankee renegades in the woods behind Royal Oaks. One more order, and I’ll make it three.”

Guilt made her lower the gun, her smile fading.

No matter how much she felt like taking out her anger on him, Noah was the man who’d brought her out of the nightmare onboard Stephen’s ship. Trouble was, the nightmare played over and over in her mind. Never stopping, never giving her any peace.

She’d begged Noah to help her out of the cell where her body had been soiled and abused so that she might jump into the ocean and end her misery.

The bastard refused, saying she had more to live for. He’d left her there to continue her debasement at the hands of the crew, albeit very infrequently near the end of the trip, until they reached San Francisco. He’d apologize as he tended the wounds on her body, promising he’d get her off the ship.

The night he’d rescued her, he bundled her up in a blanket and carried her out past the drunken guards to a carriage with Mr. Lee and Lin, promising they’d keep her safe.

Then he abandoned her.

Numb, wishing he’d let her end her life when she’d asked, she hadn’t remembered the trip out to the mountains. She hadn’t seen Noah again, not until he walked into the cabin days ago with Micah. The one member of her family she’d never wanted to know about her defilement.

She lifted the gun and pointed it at Noah once more.

He’d refused to let her end her life. Forced her to face the fact that Stephen was coming after her. Showed Micah the horrible creature she’d become.

She ought to blow
his
brains out.

“If you’re going to shoot me, get on with it. If not, put that gun down and reload the rifle,” he said without turning around.

She should.

She couldn’t. He’d been her only ray of peace in the darkness of her nightmare. Her only hope for so long.

She lowered the gun, tears flowing down her cheeks as she stared at the wooden floor of the cabin.

A moment later the gun was lifted from her hand and a cotton kerchief thrust into them.

“Don’t give in to it now, Patrice,” Noah said above her. “We need you to help us put an end to Stephen.”

He slipped one hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “You can do this. You are too strong to let that monster win.”

She stared into his beautiful green eyes, strength and belief in her written in the mossy depths. With a nod of her head, she wiped at the tears then reached for the rifle. “Let me get back to work, Yankee.”

Focused on her task she felt him still watching her, then he went back to his task of setting up their defenses.

For a moment she’d thought he meant to kiss her.

Thank God he hadn’t.

It would destroy her.

* * * * *    

The call of the whippoorwill sounded just after dusk.

Its mate answered.

Micahmoved back behind a cedar, silently unsheathing the bowie. An arrow landed just in front of the tree, close to his moccasins. He picked it up and felt along the side.

Twenty notches. Twenty men. Stephen must’ve brought all his crew and members of the Chinese tong that supplied the opium as well.

A twig snapped up ahead and to his right. A second sounded farther behind the first. He listened to them pass by.

The quiet sound of air escaping hit his trained ear. One of the braves had taken out a man, probably at the rear of the group, silently slitting his throat.

A movement came from his right. Turning, Micah ducked as he brought his left arm up to fend off the blow. His right slashed at the main body of his attacker. The man let out a scream, which was answered by several guttural screams in front and behind them. Bodies flew at Micah from both directions. He ducked and weaved from the blows. Continually moving farther back toward the cabin, he saw one of the warriors lift a dark-clad body and smash it to the ground, slashing at its neck with his knife.

Micah grabbed the foot assaulting his ribs, twisted it and jammed his fist into the man’s windpipe. A third body hurled itself at him. This time Micah used the force of the man’s motion to send him flying into a cedar.

All movement stopped. Micah signaled Waiska, the warrior closest to him. They took off at a dead run for the cabin, dodging trees and limbs as they went.

The night sky lit up in front of them. Sung’s flash charges went off in succession, illuminating the attackers for the men inside the cabin. Cracking rifle fire erupted from in front of them just as the two reached the clearing.

Suddenly, lights exploded above them, alternating flashes of colored light with the pitch-black night. Micah and Waiska dropped to the ground, squinting to give their eyes time to adjust to the pulsating lights.

Scattered in front of them, between the trees and the cabin, five darkly-clad bodies lay face down in various positions of death.

Waiska pointed to their left, showing Micah three men nearest the barn. Then his finger traveled to the right. They could see two men creeping along the wall of the house where Sung was stationed. Directly in front of them, on the right side of the main cabin, were three more men, hiding from the guns inside. That accounted for eighteen, including the bodies left in the woods behind them.

But nowhere did he see anyone matching Stephen’s bulk or Gibson’s height.

Directing Waiska to take the men on the right, Micah started for the ones nearest the barn. He stayed in the protection of the trees as he worked his way around to the left. Noah and the good Father’s gunfire from the cabin kept the men pinned down.

He waited for another of Sung’s rockets to pinpoint the three men hidden near the barn. As soon as the light faded, he darted behind the closest one. He gripped his enemy around the throat, the bowie knife cutting off any further sound from the man. Letting the body drop to the ground, he kicked out to connect with the second man’s face, whipping him backward. Then the bowie again ended any further interference. The third man ran at him, flying into the air only to be stopped in mid flight by rifle fire from the cabin.

Micah hunkered down behind the water trough trying to see Waiska and the men near the cabins. The big warrior held down one man while systematically fending off the leaps and kicks of the other oriental fighter. Sung set off another rocket. Micah saw the group nearest the big cabin. Noah signaled from the window where the men were. Once the sky was dark again, he moved onto the porch, firing his weapon as Noah exited the house, firing his own six guns.

The gunfire was returned, and Micah knew they were in for some kind of fight.

Hidden behind several barrels, he reloaded and kept up his coverage. One of the men ran around to their flank. Micah caught him in the chest. A second rushed the porch with guns blazing. Noah cut him down, half the distance from the cabin. The third had Noah in his sights, taking aim on him just as a flying knife knocked the gun out of his hand. At the man’s scream, Noah turned and filled him with lead.

Suddenly screams emerged from the cabin behind them. Both men turned to see the wooden building erupting in flames. Lin ran from the house, her hair a flaming mass behind her. Noah knocked her to the ground and smothered the flames. The screams continued and Micah ran into the burning building.

“Patrice!” He coughed as smoke rushed in to fill his lungs. “Damn it, where are you Patrice?”

“Micah!” She screamed from the back. “He’s here!”

Stephen.

Cold dread settled over Micah. He advanced through the smoke and flames to the sound of his sister’s voice. He tripped over something and landed on his hands and knees. Turning it over, he saw it was Mr. Lee. Next to him were the bodies of Martha and Mary. Blood covered their bodies.

Crawling low, Micah made his way to the back bedroom, from where Patrice’s cry had come. Timber fell around him. The flames grew wilder.

“Stephen! Let her go, you son of a—”

“Don’t malign my mother, Micah.” The jeering voice came from just the other side of the window. A gunshot splintered the wooden frame.

Micah crawled to the edge of the window and peered over to see Stephen holding Patrice several yards behind the cabin, an Arkansas toothpick of his own against her throat.

“Damn.” He ducked back into the cabin just as a second shot came at him. The smoke inside so thick he could hardly see through it.

“Howard! He’s out back, and he’s got her.”

“That’s right, officer,” Stephen taunted. “She’s dead already. No matter what you two do, she dies. It’s your choice, though, how quickly I do it. Do you rush me and kill her quick? Or do you drag it out and make her suffer? Which is it, big brother? Which do you choose?”

More gunfire erupted to Micah’s left. He took the chance to escape the consuming fire all around him, throwing himself up and over the ledge of the window. Through his burning, teary eyes he watched Stephen shoot at Noah to his right. Noah returned fire in Stephen’s direction, but well above his head, away from Patrice.

Micah shot to Stephen’s left, drawing his attention away from Noah. Stephen fired in Micah’s direction, then back to his right at Noah.

Micah ran into the trees behind his target.

Flames from the cabin spread out the back of the house, igniting the last of Sung’s fireworks.

As the ground shook from the explosion, a screaming figure hurled itself at Micah from behind. Turning, he fired at the knife wielding, blonde banshee.

Despite the bullet slamming into her chest, Julia’s momentum carried her forward. Her knife buried itself into Micah’s shoulder as he turned to deflect it from his chest.

“You’re a dead man, Micah,” Stephen flung Patrice and the Colt away from him. He ran at Micah, his knife coming down at his brother, angled to take away his life.

A shot rang out from behind him, and Stephen fell at Micah’s feet.

“Where’s Gibson, Stephen?” Micah knelt down next to his brother, clutching at his bloody shirt.

“You don’t know, do you?” Stephen laughed, then gasped at the effort is cost him. “He’s not here, big, perfect brother.”

“Where the hell is he?” Micah clutched Stephen’s battered body closer. He shook him with the rage building inside him.

“By now…I’d say he’s…killing…your wife…fool.” Stephen gasped in one last ragged breath, then collapsed dead in Micah’s hands.

Looking at Micah through tear-filled eyes, Patrice felt Noah remove the gun from her hands.

She stood staring at her two brothers.

One dead, the other bleeding and in soul-wrenching torment, all because of her. She felt herself being lifted into Noah’s strong arms, and carried away from the devastation. Noah set her down under a tree, leaving her momentarily.

Then a cool cloth ran across her face.

The dam finally broke when the cool water hit her skin. Anger flowed over her in the flood of memories. She struck out at the irritation, connecting with Noah’s chest. No longer able to control her rage or her tears, she blindly pummeled him as she screamed out her hatred for the men who’d abused her body and her anger at the betrayal of the brother who gave her into their hands.

Her tirade ended with Noah locking her arms against his chest, his own arms wrapped around her back. Her screams turned to sobs.

From behind the cabin an animalistic cry erupted from Micah, rending the night.