Captive Bride (9 page)

Not until he got the answers to his questions.

An hour’s ride took them to a high ridge above the meeting place. A trail led up into the foothills to a vantage point he’d selected earlier. The view from here would allow him to make sure O’Sullivan had come alone. He didn’t trust O’Sullivan—or any of the people with him. When Davy found the place, he dismounted then motioned for Abby to do the same.

He climbed the rocky slope to a place where two boulders formed a vee. From here, he could see for miles and miles in three directions. He studied the land below. In the distance, he glimpsed a small plume of dust.

Davy retrieved his field glasses from his saddlebag. He knelt by Abby and focused in on the rider.

A single horseman. Sam O’Sullivan.

He turned his attention to the surrounding area, scanning every inch of the vast prairie, every rise, every clump of trees. He fully expected O’Sullivan to be accompanied by the Rangers.

“Is it my father?”

He nodded and handed the glasses to her. As she took them and lifted them to her eyes, he added. “I thought Winston would be with him. If you were my woman, nothing could keep me away.”

“But I’m not your woman.”

Something in her voice—a hint of disappointment? Of confusion? Maybe hope—caught his attention. Was he looking for something that wasn’t there? Had never been there? And never would be?

“Besides,” she added, “I’m sure Philip did not come because you said only my father should come.” She turned her back to him.

“Of course, that must be it. Even though he hasn’t been seen with Silver Feather and the others, I guess that doesn’t mean anything either. I guess he’s too busy in town with his lawyering? Stealing other people’s land?”

She whirled to face him. For a moment he thought she was going to strike him. Then he saw the hurt in her eyes. Regret washed over him. The pain mirrored there told him she’d had the same thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She remained silent.

After a long moment, he took the binoculars from her, then turned his attention to the approaching rider. Again, he swept his gaze over the countryside. Finally convinced no one was following O’Sullivan, he shoved himself to his feet. “Let’s go. Your father is almost to the meeting place.”

He grabbed her arm to help her up, but she jerked away. He thinned his lips and strode to his horse. Her footsteps followed him.

In fifteen minutes he reined in his mount and dismounted, then motioned for Abby to do the same. He pulled his rifle from its boot and cradled it in his arms. A horse’s whinny alerted him to O’Sullivan’s arrival. When the rider appeared, Davy saw he wasn’t armed. At least visibly.

“Daddy!” Abby darted forward.

He caught her arm. “Stay behind me.”

“Get your filthy hands off my daughter,” O’Sullivan yelled, his face red, lips pinched. “You dirty coward.”

Davy bit harsh words back. “I’d rather we talk than fight.” He kept his words calm and even.

O’Sullivan hesitated, then nodded. Davy could tell it took a lot for the man to remain calm.

The man turned to Abby. “Abigail, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m all right, Daddy.”

“Good. Why are you dressed like an Injun?”

“My wedding dress was ruined. I had to have something to wear.” She ran her hands down the soft fabric, then locked gazes with her father. “Where’s Philip?”

O’Sullivan’s mouth drooped into a frown. “He had to go into town.”

“Oh,” Abby said softly.

The hurt in that one word gut-punched Davy. Despite the fact that he wanted her to be angry with Winston, he hated the pain he heard in her voice. She’d suffered enough.

“You,” O’Sullivan barked. “Tell me what this is all about. Do you know who I am? I’m going to have your head for this. I don’t know you, and I don’t know what we have to talk about, but let’s get on with it.”

From the authoritative voice, Davy knew the old man was used to being in charge. He decided to let Abby’s father stew for a few more minutes. “I know who you are.”

He motioned at two boulders several feet away. After O’Sullivan sat, Davy squatted on his haunches. Abby knelt several feet behind Davy.

“Well? What do you want? I don’t know you. I’ve never had any dealings with you. Is it money you want? I’ll give you anything, just let my daughter go.”

“I don’t want your money. I want answers. You might not know me, but you knew my father. As I’m sure you know by now, my name is David Larson, and my father was John Larson. You now own my ranch. I want to know how you got it, and I want it back.” He watched the array of emotions that flashed across the man’s face. “But mainly I want to know if you killed my father.”

A trace of fear flitted across the Irishman’s face before he quickly hid it. “I don’t know who killed your father. The sheriff thinks it was some drifter who knew Larson won a lot of money that night and followed him, then robbed him and killed him.”

“My father wasn’t much of a poker player, Mr. O’Sullivan. How did he get into the game?”

O’Sullivan shrugged. “He was already there when I arrived at the saloon. He was a grown man and made his own decisions. I didn’t ask him anything. As far as your ranch goes, I bought it. Fair and square. I have the deed to prove it.”

Davy’s fingers tightened around the rifle. “Who did you buy it from? My father would never sell his ranch. Never!”

O’Sullivan’s face turned a bright shade of purple. “Are you calling me a liar? I don’t have to discuss my business affairs with you. Just who the hell do you think you are?”

Davy fought to keep his temper under control. His fists fairly itched to smash into O’Sullivan’s face. “I’m the man who has your daughter. You’d best not forget that.”

“Daddy, please,” Abby said. “Tell him what he wants to know. For God’s sake, answer his questions and end this madness.”

O’Sullivan sat there for a few long moments, evidently torn between his pride and his love for his daughter. “Very well, but you must promise to release Abby.”

Davy shook his head. “I make no promises until all my questions are answered.”

“Daddy,” Abby said, “how did you get his ranch?”

O’Sullivan groaned. “Not you too. I bought it—from Philip.”

“From Winston?” Davy jumped to his feet. “How did he get it?”

“He said your father sold it to him.”

“When? When I left five days before, my father said nothing to me about selling the ranch. When did he sell it to the lawyer?”

O’Sullivan shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

“Who found my father’s body?”

“Philip. He said Larson was alive when he found him.”

Davy jumped to his feet. “He was alive? No one told me that. Did someone fetch the doctor?”

“The doc was out of town. Your pa died on the way home.”

Davy bit down on his bottom lip. Nothing made sense. “Why would Winston want my ranch?”

O’Sullivan shrugged again.

“Because the railroad is coming,” Abby said, “and they wanted your land.”

Davy whirled to face her. “What?”

“How did you know that?” O’Sullivan asked, a look of surprise on his face.

Davy locked gazes with Abby. “How
did
you know that?”

“Your mother told me. She said Philip came to the ranch, that Philip and your father had a fight, then your father threw Philip off his ranch.”

“Abby, for God’s sake,” her father shouted, “who’s side are you on? What has he done to you?”

“I need the truth!” She jumped to her feet. “I need to know that neither you nor Philip killed John Larson. Just tell me you didn’t do it.”

“How could you even ask such? Of course I didn’t kill him. It pains me you would even think I’d do something like that.”

Just then, a shot rang out. The bullet slammed into the dust at Davy’s feet. “Damn you, O’Sullivan. I told you to come alone.”

“But I didn’t—”

With the butt of his rifle, Davy knocked O’Sullivan to the ground. He grabbed Abby’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“No. Let me go. You hurt my father.”

“He’s just knocked out. He double-crossed me. Let’s get outta here.

“No, no. I’m not going with you. You go now, and save yourself.” She turned pleading eyes up to him. “Please go. They’re trying to kill you.”

“You’re going with me, Abby.” He scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder, then ran for the horses amid a barrage of bullets.

****

As Davy pulled her onto his lap and galloped up the ridge, Abby fought back tears. Not again—yet here she was across a saddle like she was nothing more than a sack of grain.

Damn Davy Larson! Damn Running Wolf! His name seemed appropriate because he always seemed to be running—and dragging her with him.

Bullets whizzed by the horse, and she heard Davy’s curses. Her mind refused to accept the fact that someone had fired at them—and could easily have hit her. What kind of rescue attempt was this?

She tried to make sense out of what had just happened, but the constant jolting of the horse and the dust that threatened to gag her sent all rational thought flying. She gritted her teeth and braced herself to endure the ride.

With great effort, she lifted her head to study the surroundings. They had crested the rise and now rode into a dense strand of trees and brush. Once out of sight, Davy reined in his mount and pulled her upright in his lap. She sucked in a deep breath of air.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, except my insides are jolted everywhere.”

“Sorry.”

“Davy, you must leave me here. Before they catch you—and kill you.” She fisted her hand in his shirt front. “Please.”

“Would you care, Abby?”

As she stared into his dark eyes, she realized she did care—a lot. “Yes,” she whispered and leaned into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll go with you.”

“Do you mean that, or are you just trying to get me away from your father and Winston?”

Abby searched her heart for the truth. “Maybe both.”

“Where would we go? Hide up in the mountains and live always looking over our shoulders? You’d gradually come to hate me. I couldn’t stand that. Like you said, we come from separate worlds.”

“Your mother followed your father into a different world.”

“That’s true, but my father wasn’t a wanted man, and he had a home to give her. I have nothing.”

“But—”

He stopped her words with his fingertips. “No. You’re right. I have to release you. I have come to care for you. I will hurt you no more.”

“What will you do? Where will you go?” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she swiped at them with her hand.

“I will not lie to you, Abigail O’Sullivan. I’m going to find Winston, and I’m going to get the truth from him one way or another. What he says will decide his future—and mine.”

“And mine.” She reached up and ran her hand down the hard line of his jaw. “Then I will stay with you.”

“No. The path I ride will be very hard—and dangerous. You must go back to your people.”

His voice was firm, his mind made up. She looped her arms around his neck and raised her lips to his. “Send me back, Davy, tomorrow. Tonight I give you my love.”

Chapter Eight

As the sun dipped behind the mountain peaks, the temperature dropped quickly. The chill settled around Abby’s shoulders like a damp cloak. She snuggled closer to Davy. “How much farther? It seems like we’ve ridden for hours.”

“Only another mile or two. Are you cold?”

“Yes.”

He pulled his horse to a halt and angled in the saddle. He tugged a shirt from the saddlebag and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Thank you. Where is this place we’re going?”

“It is a cave deep in the mountains. I have stayed there many times while hunting.”

“Will Silver Feather find us there?”

“No.”

“Good.” As Abby thought about what the night would bring—and the consequences she’d face, her heart pounded against her ribs. Her father would probably disown her and her friends desert her. Most of her friends looked upon the Indians as savages and enemies.

And Davy? How would he react? He’d already said they lived in different worlds. Would he leave her in her world? What about Philip? Despite her earlier belief that her father and Philip were innocent of John Larson’s death, doubt now clouded her mind. Her father’s reactions to Davy’s questions, coupled with the fact that Philip had argued and fought with John Larson, gave her serious pause. What if Davy killed Philip? Would he be tried for murder? The questions sent tremors coursing through her body.

Davy must have felt her shudder because he pulled the shirt tighter around her. “You’re shaking. Are you still cold?”

“No,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Then why do you tremble?”

“I am afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of what tomorrow will bring.” She slipped her hands around his waist, reveling in the feel of the hard planes and muscles of his body. When had she stopped seeing him as her enemy and started looking at him with longing and desire beating in her heart?

Love? She asked herself the question: did she love Davy?

Could someone fall in love with a stranger in just a few days? Even though she’d known him briefly years ago, he’d been a boy then and she a silly, naive girl. Now he was a man, and she a woman. The fire that burned inside her threatened to consume her. One thing however was clear. She didn’t love Philip. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit Philip had always been her father’s choice, not hers. She’d loved the idea of marriage, not the man.

“We are here.”

She glanced up. Oak trees butted up to a rock face, and clumps of mesquite encircled a small clearing. Overhead, a silver moon peeked from behind dark clouds.

“I don’t see a cave,” she muttered.

Davy laughed. “It is there.” He pointed to a dark shadow behind the trees. He slid from the saddle and then held out his arms to her. She went into his arms. He carried her across the glade and through the trees. At the entrance, he sat her on a flat boulder by the entrance. “Wait here until I get a fire started.”

“Okay, but how? We don’t have any matches or flint.”