A Time for Everything (46 page)

“
Shut up!” He yanked her
gown up to her hips and started to wriggle out of his pants. “I
gave you the chance to be with me proper-like. But no. All you
wanted was Beau. You know what? He can have you for all I care, but
I’m gonna have you first.”

He hooked his fingers into her drawers
and ripped them from her body, wedging himself between her legs.
She screamed beneath his hand again, the muffled sound mixing with
her sobs as hot tears streamed from her eyes. Oddly enough, she
worried less about her own life than she did about Beau — if he
woke to find her raped and murdered, he might lose his mind. And
Jonny would be without him…

Someone crashed through her door. “Get
off her!”

Everything happened in a nightmarish
blur of movement. Beau grabbed Harry by the shirt collar and threw
him to the floor. Circling around, he positioned himself between
Portia and her attacker, crouched and ready. Harry sprang and
slashed out with his knife. Beau caught his wrist and rammed him
backward into the wall. A picture of Ezra and Beau’s mother fell
from its hook. Glass shattered onto Harry as he bashed his head
into Beau’s. Beau stumbled, and Harry tackled, knocking him to the
floor.

Wild-eyed Harry strained over Beau,
neck tendons bulging. He tried desperately to sink a knife into
Beau’s chest. Beau clenched Harry’s arm with both hands. His arms
quaked. The knife inched closer.

Portia had to act now — she would not
let Beau die by Harry’s hand. Her eyes locked on the bottom dresser
drawer.

Frank’s pistol.

She flew off the bed and dove for the
dresser. Yanking it open, she fumbled inside for the gun, found
cool metal, and closed her hand around the grip. She swept it out.
On her knees, she turned to face the chaos. Her thumb cocked the
hammer, her finger hugged the trigger. Harry broke loose from
Beau’s grip, recoiled his arm, and brought the knife down in a
sudden strike.

In a split second, Frank’s
terse instruction bolted through her mind: ‘“
Point, aim, fire — don’t think, just hold it steady, line up
the sights, and pull the trigger.
’”

And that’s what she did.

The gunshot reverberated through
Portia’s body. Her ears rang like she was standing inside a
clanging church bell. The knife fell from Harry’s hand and
clattered silently to the floor. Blood bloomed across his
shirt.

He lifted his head and looked at
Portia. A million unspoken questions swam in his eyes. He toppled
off Beau and hit the floor.

Beau flipped to his hands and knees
and crawled to Portia. Blood wept from a nasty red gash on his bare
chest. “Po — look at me! Are you all right?”

His voice shoved past the ringing in
her ears. She tore her sight from the first man she’d ever shot and
met Beau’s frantic eyes. Trembling, she set the gun down and let
him gather her in his arms. From the corner of her eye, she spotted
Ezra and Jonny in the doorway.

Jonny didn’t need to see this. She
waved at them to get back. “No, get out of here. Go!”

But Jonny’s attention was focused
solely on the window. He pointed and screamed, “Pa — the
barn!”

~~~~

Yellow light
flickered
across the ceiling. Panic
ignited in Beau’s veins. Steeling himself for what he was about to
see, he scrambled to his feet and peered through the glass. Down
the hill, flames engulfed the stable roof. He scooped up Portia’s
pistol, took off down the hall, and snatched the rifle from his
room. He thundered down the stairs with Pa, Jonny, and Portia right
behind him.

Gesturing for everyone to stay back,
he flung open the door. His stomach churned at the sight of flames
licking the night sky. Rifle ready in his left hand and pistol in
his right, he flattened himself against the wall and sniffed the
air. The house, for now, seemed to be unscathed. Leading with his
rifle, he peeked outside to see if Harry acted alone or brought
reinforcements. No one else was in sight.

Turning to Po, he cupped her cheek
with one hand. “Stay here with Jonny.”

She shook her head, crying
frantically. “No, Beau, please!”

“
For now, you’re still my
employee, and I’m not asking.” He pressed the pistol grip into her
hand and closed her fingers around it. “Keep our boy safe. If you
have to, run out the back and to Bessie and Isaac’s house.
Understand?”

Tears still streaming, she nodded
reluctantly. It was all he could do to not take her in his arms and
tell her it would be all right. But he couldn’t spare anymore time.
He pulled Portia and Jonny into a quick embrace and raced out the
door with Pa. They had to save the horses if they could.

The old man could still run when he
needed to and was only a step or two behind Beau when they reached
the stable. The fire hadn’t engulfed the whole structure yet. It
was contained to the roof and left side of the building.

“
I’ll get Scout, you get
Crazy Girl,” Beau said.

Pa shrugged out of his night shirt and
ripped it down the middle. He tossed one half to Beau. Both men
dropped their rifles just inside the door. Pa headed straight for
Crazy Girl’s stall, while Beau went for Scout. The horses whinnied
in terror.

Scout reared. When he landed on all
four hooves again, Beau caught his bridle. Flames reflected in his
terrified brown eyes. He pulled Scout’s head to his, shushing and
rubbing his neck before quickly wrapping the piece of Pa’s
nightshirt around his eyes. Infernal heat curled Beau’s eyelashes
and scalded his bare skin. A burning timber tumbled into the
adjoining stall as Beau led Scout outside. Pa had already gotten
Crazy Girl out. She remained surprisingly calm as he unwrapped her
head and shooed her into the paddock.

“
Come on, boy,” Beau
encouraged, trying to pull the stubborn stallion through the
paddock gate. He’d never acted like this before.

“
Walk on now, Scout, walk
on,” Pa hollered, holding the gate open wide.

Scout tugged against his master,
neighing and huffing, locking up his rear legs. This wasn’t like
him. Under the sweat and ash, hairs prickled on the back of Beau’s
neck. He ripped the cover off Scout’s eyes, but before he could let
go of the bridle, the horse jerked his head to one side and reared
back. Beau pitched forward.

A gunshot split the smoke-filled air.
A bullet whistled by Beau’s head. He hit the dirt, bit his lip, and
tasted blood. He didn’t have time to marvel over how Scout had
saved him. The horse galloped down the drive toward the main road,
but other hoof beats came from the wagon path behind the house.
Riders were gaining on them fast. Harry hadn’t been alone, after
all.

Lying flat on the ground,
Beau waved at Pa, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t been hit. “Get
down!” Spotting the rifles they’d left in the barn, he belly
crawled to the doorway and grabbed them both. He looked over his
shoulder. Pa had followed him from behind the paddock fence,
crouching as low as his knees would allow.
Thank God.

“
Give it here,
Beauregard.” Pa reached through the fence slats.

Beau handed him the rifle butt first.
“Take cover.”

Beau wanted to run straight to Portia
and Jonny, but he knew better. War had schooled him in more than
just pain and agony. Running across open ground for the house would
make him easy pickings for any shooter. It could also draw unneeded
attention to his son and soon-to-be wife, particularly if his
conspirators assumed Harry would handle that end of things. Beau
clenched his fists. He’d come too close to losing her already. He
had to keep a clear head.

I promised Frank I’d keep
her safe. I’m a man of my word.
He had to
trust Portia, had to believe she would survive — she knew how to
shoot and would keep both herself and Jonny alive.

He dove behind two rain barrels that
sat at the corner of the stable and paddock fence. Pa hunkered down
between the fence and the corner of the stable. Everything they’d
worked for was burning down behind them. The horses and mules they
couldn’t save whinnied and screamed, still trapped inside. It
strangled his very soul, knowing they were helpless to escape. But
he had to deal with the intruders first, or he could lose much more
than his horses.

Rifle held ready, Beau peered around a
barrel and counted one… two… three riders veering away from them
and headed across the front side of the house. Two of them had
covered faces, but one hadn’t bothered to hide. Beau recognized him
right away — Randal. The authorities had arrested him and the
others the night of Oliver’s suicide, but they didn’t have enough
evidence to charge them with any crimes. They had bellowed and
bawled so much when they were hauled to jail, Beau didn’t think
they’d cause any more trouble. Not with their lifeline, Oliver,
severed for good.

By God he wouldn’t make the same
mistake of underestimating Randal twice. He took aim, zeroing in on
that stringy, greasy hair. His finger hugged the trigger. Until he
saw something that sent a river of ice down his spine.

“
Stay down!” Portia
whispered to Jonny. She tried to keep the fear
from her voice but did a terrible job of it. The poor boy wept
pitifully, tucked under her arm like a frightened chick.

With the pistol barrel, she pulled
back the curtain and peered outside, pressing herself against the
wall like Beau had done. Light and various shapes moved around but
were hard to make out.

At first.

Squinting past the distorted glass
into the night, she recognized men on horseback carrying torches.
Bandanas covered their faces from the nose down. Dark hoods hid
them from the eyes up. They rode toward the giant oak tree in front
of the house. Something bounced along the ground behind one of the
riders.

“
Oh, God, no.”

That something was a man.

“
What’s happening, Po?”
Jonny cried. “Is Pa all right?”

“
I don’t know.” Was it
Beau, Ezra, Isaac? Fear coiled itself around her insides and
squeezed. She wanted to vomit.

Windows shattered in the study. Portia
screamed. A torch landed on Jonny’s desk. Flames ignited the
curtains, climbing up the fabric faster than she thought possible.
Either those intruders were trying to flush them out or were simply
bent on destroying everything Beau owned. The fire reached the
ceiling, crawling across the plaster. Burning pieces of it landed
on Shakespeare’s bust and her desk, catching fire to her
stationery. Smoke clogged the air.

The intense heat melted into her
reasoning. They had to get out and quick, but which way? Sweat
glued her nightgown to her skin and dripped into her eyes. Jonny’s
panicked wailing didn’t help either.

Portia grabbed his shoulders and gave
him a solid shake. He quieted down long enough for her to say,
“Jonny, I need you to stay calm. You’re the man of this house right
now, so we have to work together. Understand?”

Lip still quivering, he
nodded and took her hand. She couldn’t rush out the front door with
everything happening out there, but they had to flee from the
fire.
Beau said run out back to Bessie and
Isaac’s house.
She dragged Jonny along
through the kitchen and to the back door. Nothing was burning in
there, but it wouldn’t take long for the fire to reach it. She took
a final glance at her beloved water pump, reached for the door, but
hesitated.

Another one of Frank’s
brisk lessons surfaced in her memory.
Expect the unexpected.
Holding the
pistol ready, finger on the trigger, she pushed Jonny behind her
and took a deep breath. Then she yanked the door open.

Someone stood there on the other side.
Not Beau or Ezra. A large man, face covered, his huge hand reaching
toward her. Not thinking twice, she stuck the gun in his face and
fired. He toppled backwards and hit the ground with a
thud.

Two bullets down. Four to go. Keeping
the gun ready, she scanned the backyard and saw nothing moving. She
pulled Jonny’s hand, but he wouldn’t move. He stood frozen, staring
at the dead man with huge, frightened eyes.

“
It’s all right,” she
said. “Come on. We have to get you to Bessie and Isaac’s
house.”

“
What about you,
Po?”

Smoke plumed from the barrel of her
gun. She had enough bullets to take down the rest of the intruders
if she was lucky. “I have to help your pa and grandpa.”

“
No! I want to go with
you. Don’t leave me, please!”

“
Come on!”

Still transfixed on the dead man, he
let her drag him away. Heading toward the wagon road that led to
Bessie and Isaac’s house, her lungs ached. Fear wedged itself in
her throat. She gasped for air. She’d never been to war, knew
nothing of strategy. What if she was doing this all wrong? What if
she got everyone killed? First Harry, then that man she’d shot in
the face. Was it necessary? She could have aimed to wound, not
kill.

Oh God, what have I
done?