Authors: DeAnn Smallwood
Chapter 39
Whip felt uneasy. Something gnawed at his gut, a lawman’s intuition that something was wrong.
He didn’t like the fact that he hadn’t been able to pick up tracks from the intruder. He’d ridden over the land several times where the steer was butchered, always losing the trail at the river. He was going back over it again later today just as soon as he finished some much needed repairs on the bunkhouse.
Whip felt pride for what he had accomplished so far on the Powder River Ranch. The cattle were thriving, and the men, though busy, seemed content. He planned on adding to his herd this fall, and it felt good. Heck, it felt more than good, it felt downright unbelievable that the ranch was holding its own and he’d be able to keep on all the men through the winter months.
The other unbelievable feeling was the lessening of the pain and hurt he felt when he looked at the cross on the knoll. He’d never forget his first love, never. But he knew now there was room in his heart for another love, another special woman with a saucy mouth, green eyes, and hair that begged for touching. Heather. His heart jumped at the thought of her name. Then, anger filled him. He was unable to go to her and proclaim this love. He was unable because of his inability to find and bring to justice a man that had eluded his grasp, but never his memory.
He tried to concentrate on the task at hand. The thoughts eased, but the uneasiness didn’t. What was his mind trying to tell him? He’d learned long ago to pay attention to this inner voice. He took a deep breath. Okay, he’d not only pay attention, he’d do something about it. He had about another couple hours work, and then he’d ride out again. This time he’d stay until he found answers.
Heather was enjoying her day. She loved the feel of Jesse’s warm body pressed against hers as the two of them guided the horse. It was a day made for being alive, for riding, for being one with the land.
Heather was glad she’d packed the sandwiches because she and Jesse were not going to hurry back to the ranch. They were going to enjoy the day, the sunshine, and the possibility of seeing the owner of The Powder River Ranch later. Her heart was light, and the horse, sensing her mood, seemed more surefooted than ever as they covered the ground to the pasture.
One look at the pasture and she knew she was right. It was almost time to move the herd on the rich grass. Heather slid from the back of the horse and rested one hand on Jesse’s leg. The little girl sat straight in the saddle, reins held tight in her hands, a miniature version of the horsewoman she would become.
“Well, sweetie, ready to get down? I thought we’d let Patch eat some of this grass while you and I tuck into the sandwiches. I put in a few of those sugar cookies you like so much. Molly had better not be gone too long. We’ll need her to replenish the cookie jar, won’t we?”
Jesse nodded, anxious for a cookie, but reluctant to get off Patch’s back and turn over the reins. Still, the sun was getting hot, and she turned her eyes from Heather’s face, glancing over her shoulder toward a group of cottonwoods offering shade.
The smile vanished from her face. Her eyes widened. Her body stiffened. Heather felt the change in the child. Fear. She turned in the direction Jesse looked. She saw the man, and the look on his face as he approached. It was a look of evil compounded by the gun in his hand. A gun pointed directly at her.
“Don’t move, lady,” he called. “I’ve got you covered. One wrong move and you’re dead. First you, then the little girl. Now, real slow-like. Get her off that horse and step away. Don’t get ideas. You won’t be the first woman I’ve killed. You likely won’t be the last.” His chuckle rent the air, a voice from hell.
“Do it,” he shouted, closing the distance between them.
Heather’s mind raced. There was no way she could get to the rifle in the scabbard. She’d put Jesse in danger. But she couldn’t let the man reach them. She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her or Jesse, but what she didn’t know was why. She’d never seen him before in her life. But she’d seen his kind. He was like a wolf that enjoyed the taste of blood and killed for the pure pleasure of it.
“Jesse,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”
The child gave a very slight nod.
“Lady,” the man hollered. “I’m giving you just a few more minutes to do as I said or I’ll start shooting. Get that kid down. Move away from the horse.”
“Jesse, I need you to be brave. When I say the word, you have to bend over Patch’s neck and ride as fast as you can for help. Do you remember how to get to Whip’s?”
Again, a nod.
“Okay. You have to hang on and ride fast, faster than you’ve ever ridden before. Don’t drop the reins, Jesse.” Heather whispered orders. Could Jesse do as she was asked? Her life depended on it.
“Ride to Whip, Jesse. Ride fast. Don’t look back. Don’t stop until you reach him. Get him back here as quick as you can. I need you, Jesse. I need you to do exactly as I say. You may hear a shot, you may hear me scream, but you cannot stop. Understand? You cannot stop.”
Heather waited a precious second, fearing a bullet with every delay.
“Get ready. Hold on tight and RIDE.” With the last word she slapped Patch hard on his hindquarters and yelled, “Ride. Ride. Ride.”
The horse bolted and tore off away from the field, hooves kicking up clods of grass and dirt. The little girl lay low over his neck, her small arms wrapped around him, her body urging him on as she swayed from side to side.
Heather held her breath, praying that Jesse would stay on the horse, praying that she wouldn’t let go of the reins, praying that the man, now only a slight distance away, would shoot her instead of the child molded to the horse’s back.
A shot rang out. Followed by a string of cuss words and shouts.
But Heather didn’t hear the words or the angry shouts. She only felt.
She felt the impact as the bullet found its mark. She felt instant pain. The side of her head was on fire and then, blessedly, she felt nothing as welcome blackness claimed her. She didn’t hear the man curse as he jumped from his horse. She didn’t feel his kick. She didn’t see him raise his rifle to take aim, then slowly lower it, an evil grin on his face. She didn’t hear the sound of his laughter as he rolled her over and bound her hands behind her back. She didn’t feel him lift her with him onto the horse’s back. She didn’t hear the sound of her blood dripping onto the saddle as she lay face down across his lap.
Whip was putting away his tools when he heard the sound of hooves pounding across the open yard. He threw down the hammer and ran toward the sound. He recognized Patch, but it took him a moment before he realized the small lump hanging on to the horse’s neck was Jesse.
“Whoa there. Whoa.” He grabbed hold of the horse’s bridle and pulled his head around stopping all forward movement.
Then, with trembling hands he attempted to pry the child loose from the horse.
“Jesse. Jesse, let go. You’re all right, honey. It’s Whip. You’re safe.” He lifted her rigid body from the horse and held her against him. She gasped for breath. He lowered her to the ground supporting her with his hands wrapped around her small waist.
Jesse’s head was thrown back, her eyes glazed as her mouth worked frantically. With each movement of her mouth, air was expelled. Whip feared the wind had been knocked out of her. Then he realized she wasn’t trying to breathe. She was trying to talk.
“Jesse, slow down. What happened? Where’s Heather?” Fear closed its fist around his heart.
Something had happened to Heather
. Whip’s world stood still.
“Jesse, try to tell me. You’re all Heather has now, baby. You’re the only one who can help her. What happened?”
Jesse’s eyes filled with tears, her small body gripped with a shaking ague. When Whip tried to pull her to him, to comfort her, she shoved him away, gripping his shirt with her fists.
“Aaaah, Aaaah,” she cried. Then, “Maaa, Maaa.”
“Ma?” Whip asked, puzzled.
Her head shook violently no.
“Maa, Maan.” She took another gulp of air expelling it loudly. “Mmmman. Man. Man,” she cried. “Man.”
“Man,” Whip repeated, his voice loud. “Man, Jesse? Man?”
She nodded her head.
“Mman. Hhh.” She gulped again as the words tore from her throat. “H-Heather. Man-Heather.”
“Oh, God,” Whip moaned to himself. “Jesse, you’re doing real good, honey. Are you telling me a man has Heather?”
Jesse nodded emphatically. Then she raised her small arms, extending one in front of the other miming a rifle. “Bbb, BANG.” The word exploded.
“Can you show me? Can you take me to Heather?” His words were tangled with fear and anguish. He had to get to Heather, and he had to get there quickly.
Jesse nodded.
By now, several of the hands had rushed over. Whip motioned to one of them.
“Get horses. Get my horse and you come with me. I’ll need you to bring Jesse back if we don’t find Heather. Go, man. We don’t have any time to waste.”
In minutes he had Jesse in front of him, her hands clutching the pommel as Whip spurred the horse faster and faster.
Time stopped as they sped toward the pasture following the little girl’s points and gestures. Every so often, a word formed on her lips as she directed them to where she had left Heather. That she was speaking was lost on Whip. He had thoughts only for the woman he loved. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose again.
When they broke through the trees, Whip saw the pasture and the churned up ground. There was no sign of Heather. He vaulted from his horse and rushed over to the trampled ground. He put one lean finger on a spot of red soaking into the ground. Blood. He stood up, a haze engulfing him as his heart beat with deafening cadence. He took a deep breath. It would do Heather no good if he gave in to the fear and hopelessness washing over him.
“Take Jesse back to the ranch. I’ll go on. When Buster shows back up, tell him what happened. Tell him Heather’s been shot and the dirty.” He swallowed back the epithet, seeing the horror on the child’s face. “The man that did it has her.”
Without waiting to see his orders followed, he mounted his horse. Leaning over its side, Whip’s eyes never left the ground as they searched for tracks. Seeing them, he spurred the horse forward.
Chapter 40
The trail wound up into the hills. The man either didn’t know, or didn’t care, that he was leaving a map behind him. A map that Whip was following as quickly as possible.
Whip slowed his horse to a stop as he neared an open area banked by a rock-strewn mountain. He was familiar with the area and knew of several small caves around there, any of which would offer protection for the man while placing Whip out in the open, an easy target. Time was running out. He knew that if he moved too quickly or without thinking through every angle, he would risk getting shot, or he would risk Heather’s life, if she was alive. He stopped that thought before it could grow. She was alive. He knew it. He felt it.
He spent a precious minute studying the situation. Then, resolutely and with purpose, he turned his horse back the way he came. He’d have to use valuable time and circle the mountain, coming in from the back side, picking his way easy and slow with the hope of catching the culprit off guard. It was the only way.
Minutes went by like hours. When he was as close as he dared ride, he slipped from his horse, tying it to a tree branch. Whip took off on foot. Gratitude filled him for the lessons taught when he was with Buster’s people. He put those lessons to good use now, making sure each step was carefully placed before allowing himself to move forward. No pebble was loosened; no sound was made.
Finally he saw what he’d hoped for. He was looking down on a cave ledge and the flattened body of a man and a gun. The man was scanning the open meadow where Whip would have been picked off as easy as a bear picking berries. His throat was dry. He searched for a glimpse of Heather, but saw only the man’s back. She must be further inside the cave.
With a supple movement, Whip crouched over and picked up a couple of rocks. With a snap of his arm, he threw them into some bushes at the edge of the meadow. The man reacted the way Whip had hoped he would. He rose to his feet and fired off a shot in that direction.
“Whip Johnson,” the man called. “I know it’s you. Been watching you and your woman. She’s right pretty. Pretty like your first one.” The maniacal laugh floated up to Whips ears. “You got that one killed and, if you don’t show yourself, the one inside the cave will be next. I come back for you. I got nowhere else to go, I’m tired of spending my life running from you. You hear me, Johnson? I got nothing to lose. But you? You got lots. You got another woman to bury.”
Whip fought back the bile rising in his throat. He fought down the strong and primal urge to come roaring at the man, to get his hands around the killer’s throat. But he was a lawman, sworn to uphold the law. He’d hunted this man too long to let anger and hate rule his good sense.
The man’s every nerve focused on the meadow before him.
Whip lowered his rifle to the ground. He tensed his body into a coil of muscle and, pushing with the balls of his feet, flew off the mountain rim. When he hit his target, the impetus carried them both dangerously close to the overhang’s edge. The man underneath made no attempt to shake him loose. The air had been knocked out of him. There was no fight left, and he lay there, unconscious. Whip kicked the outlaw’s rifle away from the body. He bent over, hands on his knees, and took in deep gulps of air, glad he hadn’t been the one on the bottom.
Scared of what he’d find, Whip rose shakily to his feet and went to the back of the cave. Heather, hands tied behind her back, lay on her side, blood trickling from the wound at the side of her head. He saw the rise and fall of her chest. She was alive. He didn’t take precious time to exam the gunshot. The killer might come to any second. Quickly, he untied Heather, aching at the sight of the raw burns the rope had made around her wrists.
Using the same rope, he threw the outlaw onto his stomach, and with the ease of someone used to roping calves, tied his hands to his feet. It was an uncomfortable position, but one that would render him helpless.
He had no choice but to leave Heather while he clambered up the side of the mountain to his horse. Leading it back down, Whip dropped the reins at the mouth of the cave. With his heart pounding in his throat, he hurried to Heather’s still form and curled her into his arms. For a moment, he closed his eyes in a prayer of thankfulness as he felt her heart beating steadily against his chest.
He cushioned her body with his as he rode back to his ranch. Tears formed in his eyes as the realization of how close he’d come to losing this woman that held his heart and his reason for being. He tenderly brushed his lips across her forehead.
They were nearing the ranch when she stirred, a moan passing between her lips. She opened her eyes.
“Whip,” she said weakly. “I-I’ve been shot.”
“I know you have, sweetheart. But thank God the bullet only grazed the side of your head. A hair more and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He hugged her even tighter against him.
“Jesse?” Her voice faint.
“She’s okay, honey. She came through for both of us.” Then, realization dawned on him. “She’s talking, Heather. Jesse is talking. She told me about you. She . . .” Then he stopped, looking down at the woman in his arms. Her eyes were closed and she had once more surrendered to the pain and shock. This time, though, his heart was lighter. His Heather was okay. Jesse was okay. And his quest was ended. The man who had stolen five years of his life, to say nothing of the woman he’d loved, was tied in a cave, waiting for justice.
He hadn’t gone much farther when a group of riders approached riding hard, but it was the man in the lead that gave him the relief he needed. Buster.
In a few minutes the brave was briefed, and he and the men left immediately to go to the cave. Whip spurred his horse on. Heather needed care. She needed rest and she needed him. He needed her, and he hoped against hope that he hadn’t waited too long to tell this precious woman what she meant to him.
In minutes, he was kicking open the cabin door and laying Heather gently on his bed. Taking the teakettle from the stove, he poured some warm water in a pan and, getting a cloth, set to cleaning her wound. Just as he’d first thought, the bullet had grazed her forehead. It would be painful, but it would heal. Wringing out the bloody rag, he started to tremble. The close call swept over him. He staggered over to the stove and, with shaking hands, poured himself a cup of coffee. He was taking a gulp of the strong liquid when he heard a weak, but beautiful, voice, a voice necessary to his life.
“None for me, cowboy?”
With a smile on his face, his heart in his eyes, he knelt by the side of the bed and gently raised her head, placing the cup to her lips.
“You scared the hell out of me, Heather Campbell.”
“I scared myself, Whip.” She paused, taking another sip of his coffee. “Tell me what happened. Tell me everything. But first, tell me, did I hear you right, Jesse is talking?”
“She is. It’s an effort, but I have a sense that she’ll gain ground quickly.” Then, sitting beside her, he told her what had happened after she’d been shot. He downplayed his role, but Heather could read between the lines and knew she owed this man her life.
She reached out her hand and placed it over his. “Whip, I’m so sorry. He-he killed your wife, and then after five years came back for you.”
Whip nodded. “But it’s over, Heather. I’m free. I’m free of the despair and doubt that has plagued me. I promised justice, and justice has been served. But in the process, I almost lost again.”
Her look was one of puzzlement. “What, Whip? What did you almost lose?”
“You. I put you in danger and, with my stubborn focus on my mission, I almost lost the person I value most.” He pulled her to him, his hand tenderly brushing her hair from her face. He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose.
“I love you, Heather Campbell. I want you in my life forever. I want us to combine the two ranches and our two lives. I want us to be together until we’re old and gray.” Then he paused. He’d taken for granted she felt the same way.
“Do you? Do you, Heather? Do you love me?” He waited, not daring to breathe, not wanting to live if her answer wasn’t what he hoped.
“I do. I love you so much that the thought of life without you scares me. Oh, Whip. I never thought I’d hear you say those words.”
A smile creased his face. “You know, Heather, your father was right. I understand what he meant.”
“My father?” she asked, puzzled.
“Yes. He said that as long as he had you, he had his heather. Well, he was right. As long as I have you, heather will grow and thrive in Wyoming. You are my Wyoming Heather.”
She closed her eyes, her heart full. “Whip, you meant it? We’ll combine our ranches?”
“You bet, honey. And if beef prices stay up, we’ll be sitting pretty.”
“Pretty enough to build on a couple more rooms to my, our house?”
“Well,” he said, “yeah, but why? It’s plenty big enough for you, Toby, Jesse, Molly, and me.”
“Mmm, hmm.” She smiled. “But Alice said there’s an Orphan Train coming through next month and I thought . . .” She left the sentence unfinished, her eyes twinkling at the look on his face.
“Well now, Heather,” he drawled apprehensively.
“Yes, Whip?”