A_Wanted Man - Alana Matthews (20 page)

Jonah said, “Why are you doing this, Landry?”

“Does it really make a difference?”

“I think I have a right to know.”

“A right?” Landry laughed. “Now that’s just like you, isn’t it, Jonah? You think you have a right to know and do and say just about anything you want. Because you have money. You’re the big, rich man with all the privileges.”

“You want some of that money? Is that it?”

“Honestly? I couldn’t care less. I’m here for Gloria. She’s tired of waiting around for you to kick the bucket.”

“So that’s it, is it? The two of you did this together?”

Landry laughed again. “As you well know, Jonah, this ain’t the only thing the two of us did together. And I’m sorry to say that that mental case you’re fawning over right now is the fruit of my loins.”

“That’s no way for a father to talk.”

“Father? You never let me be a father to her. You were too ashamed to think some cowboy like me had soiled your bloodline.” He gestured. “Callie here knows a little bit about that.”

Jonah didn’t respond and Callie said nothing.

“Gloria didn’t want that little headache anymore than I did. You’re the one insisted she be born. And now look what we’ve got—a murdering psychopath.”

Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree,
Callie thought.

“I don’t get it,” she said to Landry. “If you haven’t been trying to protect Meg all this time, what
have
you been up to?”

“Trying to finish what we started yesterday afternoon. Claim Gloria’s inheritance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can see where you’d be confused, all these people trying to muddy up the waters with their own idiotic agendas. But the truth is simple enough. Megan here contacted me and wanted me to help her get her boyfriend out of a jam. And Gloria and I knew this was our perfect opportunity to clean some house and lay the blame on Little Miss Nutbucket and her friends.”

“How can you talk like that?” Jonah hissed. “She’s your own daughter, for godsakes.”

“Didn’t we just cover that ground? Keep up, Jonah. Your last few minutes alive, I want you to understand just how much your
own
daughter hates you.”

“I know I haven’t been the perfect father.”

“Perfect father?” He huffed a chuckle. “Ask Callie here something about that. You go and knock up her ma, barely eighteen years old, then pretend like she don’t even exist. How far from perfect you think that qualifies for?”

The knot tightened in Callie’s stomach but Jonah looked indignant. “Where did you hear that ludicrous story?”

“Where else? From Gloria.”

Callie frowned. “You said my
mother
told you that.”

Landry shrugged. “So maybe I embellished a little.”

“Or a lot,” Jonah said. “Don’t believe a word of this, Callie. I never went near your mother.”

“It don’t make a whole lot of difference,” Landry said. “In a few minutes you’ll all be dead anyway, and Meg and her friends will take the blame so Gloria can collect her rightful inheritance.”

“I don’t get it,” Callie said. “If Gloria’s behind all this, how did she get shot?”

Landry smiled. “That was just our way of convincing you folks that our story was true. I gotta say I didn’t want her going inside that burning house, but she’s a brave little filly, and she figured that would seal the deal.”

“Not to spoil your fun, but aren’t you forgetting something?”

“And what would that be?”

“Sheriff Mercer and Deputy Wilcox. They know you were the one trying to kill us in the woods.”

Landry shrugged again. “They’ve got no proof Gloria had anything to do with it, and she’s all I really care about. That’s why I’ve stayed at Pritchard Ranch as long as I have.” He smiled. “Besides, I was only trying to scare you folks off out of concern for Jonah. I knew these psychopaths had ahold of him, and didn’t want your interference getting him killed.”

“You think anyone will buy that nonsense?”

“You throw enough money at people, they’ll buy anything. I may do a little time, but it’s nothing I can’t handle and Gloria will be waiting for me when I get out.” His expression hardened and he gestured with the shotgun. “Enough chitchat. Show and tell is over. I think it’s time you do what I told you and start tying these two up.”

He stepped backward in the doorway, bent down and picked something up from the porch, then dropped it on the floor in front of her.

It was a large canister of kerosene.

“And when you’re done,” he said. “my little psychopath of a daughter is gonna start another fire.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

When he came awake, Harlan smelled smoke.

His head was pounding, a sharp wet pain coming from the back of his cranium, the night air cutting into it like a rusty blade.

He groaned involuntarily, and a voice above him said, “So you’re alive after all. Guess I didn’t hit you hard enough.”

Landry Bickham.

Hands grabbed Harlan’s jacket collar and Bickham started dragging him through the dirt, the smoke swirling around them now, getting thicker with each step.

Harlan’s world was spinning, nausea rolling through his stomach in waves. He wanted to fight back, but his strength had been drained by the blow, his muscles weak, his limbs refusing to cooperate.

Bickham kept dragging him, the dirt and rock cutting into his back, and Harlan twisted slightly trying to see where they were headed, wondering where Callie was, worried that she might be hurt.

Or worse.

He caught a glimpse of the cabin, smoke billowing out of its windows, and something thudded in his stomach. He didn’t know what had happened here, but the fact that Bickham was still alive and on the loose was not a good sign.

“You must be wondering what you got yourself into, Marshal. We’re working on a little weeny roast, and you’re the weeny. But don’t worry, I’ll tell ’em how you managed to save me right before the place went up.”

They approached the open doorway and Harlan knew this was his chance to make a move.

But could he do it? Did he have the strength?

There was only one way to find out.

As they passed through the doorway, Harlan felt the heat of the flames and willed his muscles into motion. Throwing his arms out, he grabbed hold of the doorframe with both hands, bringing Bickham to an abrupt halt.

Bickham stumbled slightly and released Harlan’s collar, and now Harlan twisted onto his stomach and lunged forward, grabbing Landry’s leg.

Bickham cursed and tried to kick him loose, but Harlan hung on, pulling out and upward, sending Landry sprawling. He hit the floor with a thud, and it was only then that Harlan realized the entire interior of the cabin was ablaze, flames crawling up the walls toward the roof.

Harlan willed himself to his feet, the room spinning, the fire growing around him. But now Bickham was upright and fumbling for his gun, gripping it with both hands as he aimed it in Harlan’s direction.

He fired and Harlan dropped to the ground again, narrowly avoiding the hit. Something cracked above him and a piece of the cabin wall came loose, splinters of fiery wood showering down toward him.

Harlan scrambled out of the way, and saw that Bickham was getting to his feet now, trying to clear smoke from his eyes as he pointed the barrel of the gun in Harlan’s direction again.

The flames were growing in intensity and there was no place for Harlan to go. No way to avoid the shot.

But just as Landry was about to pull the trigger, there was another loud crack and a chunk of the roof caved in, a blackened, flaming beam of wood dropping down toward him. He snapped his head upward, saw what was coming and dove, but the edge of the beam caught his shoulder, knocking him forward.

He skidded across the floor, flames jutting up from the back of his jacket. He screamed in horror as he struggled to pull it off, then suddenly, another beam fell, the roof crashing down on him, the flames consuming him like a ravenous beast.

Harlan watched it all in a kind of stunned slow motion, but he didn’t waste any time mourning the man’s death. He knew that Callie and the others had to be in this cabin somewhere and he needed to get to them, fast.

Climbing to his feet again, he spun around and saw two doors, one of them already engulfed in flames. Fighting the smoke, he staggered to the door on his left, hoping and praying he had the right one. He pressed his hands against it, feeling for heat, then threw the door open.

He saw Callie cuffed to a bed post, her terrified face lit up by the flames. And to his surprise, Jonah Pritchard and his granddaughter Megan were sitting on the floor next to her, both bound with ropes. Pritchard was coughing violently, choking on the smoke.

As the flames started to eat up the doorway behind him, Harlan crossed to them, surprise and relief in Callie’s eyes.

“Thank God,” she said. “Thank God you’re alive.”

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Just the smoke. You need to get Jonah out of here.”

“First things first,” he said, then grabbed hold of the cuffs with one hand as he reached into the watch pocket of his jeans with the other, fumbling for the key.

It wasn’t there.

“The key,” he said. “I don’t have the key.”

“Landry. He must have taken it from you. That’s how he got loose.”

Harlan yanked at the cuffs, but they were securely fastened to the wooden bed post, impossible to break. Jonah started coughing again and Callie gestured. “I’ll be all right for a few minutes. You really need to get Meg and Jonah out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I’ll be fine. Just hurry.”

The smoke was growing thicker. Harlan swiveled around and found the window, then crossed to it and shoved it open, smoke immediately swirling toward it as cool air rushed in. Returning to Jonah, he quickly untied his bonds then pulled the old man to his feet.

There was no time to untie Meg.

“I’ll get your granddaughter,” he said. “Wait outside the window.”

Jonah stifled a cough and nodded, then hurried across the room and climbed through the window, turning back to wait for Harlan. Harlan scooped Megan up in his arms and she groaned, but offered little resistance as he carried her through the smoke and handed her off to Jonah.

“Can you handle her alone?” he asked.

Jonah coughed, nodded. “I think so.”

“Get as far away from this place as you can,” Harlan said, then took a gulp of the fresh air and turned around, swaying slightly, the pain from his head injury weakening his knees.

Fighting his way through the smoke, he crossed back to Callie who was coughing violently now, struggling to free herself from the cuffs.

“I can’t get them loose,” she gasped. “There’s no way to do it. Just go, get out of here before this place comes down.”

“Forget it,” Harlan told her.

Stepping back, he raised his right foot and slammed the sole of his boot into the bedpost.

It splintered slightly, but held fast.

The flames were getting closer now, crawling up the walls of the bedroom, eating their way toward the roof, the heat nearly as stifling as the smoke.

His head swimming, sweat pouring, Harlan stepped back and raised his foot again, slamming it into the post.

More splinters, but still no joy. He’d been running on pure adrenalin and he was losing strength fast.

“Go!” Callie shouted, her gaze on the flames. “Get out before it’s too late!”

But Harlan refused, again stepping back and raising his foot a third time, mustering all the strength he could manage. Then he slammed it home and the bed post finally gave, coming apart from the frame. He kicked it again and again, breaking it loose, the flames crawling across the floor toward them as Callie finally pulled the cuffs free.

Relief charging through them, they both stumbled to the window and dove through the opening, rolling onto the dirt outside. Then they were on their feet and running, getting as far away from the cabin as they could.

And as they collapsed to the ground, the flames consumed the old structure as what remained of the roof finally gave way, fiery timbers cracking and tumbling until the walls started to cave in.

They stared at it in stunned silence for a moment, then Harlan touched the back of his head, feeling the wetness there. Callie moved over to him and checked it.

“He got you pretty good,” she said. “You’re gonna need stitches.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harlan told her. “All I care about is that you’re alive. I don’t know how I would have functioned without you. I tried that and it didn’t work.”

She smiled now, leaning her head on his shoulder, tears filling her eyes, glistening in the flickering firelight.

“I love you, Harlan. I’ve never stopped loving you. Even when I hated you.”

“I know,” he said. “I know.”