Deborah Camp (12 page)

If any of the Colton gang were in the mine, she meant to kill them or be killed by them. She was sure one of them had shot Shorty and Rook. Rook’s people could avenge him, but all Shorty had was Cassie. She couldn’t wait for the sheriff or any other law officer to find Shorty’s killer. They didn’t care. Shorty was just another crazy old man to them, but Shorty Potter had been Cassie’s last link to love and kinship. Cassie wiped away the tears that filled her eyes. The time for tears was past, she told herself firmly. Time for revenge. Killin’ time. An eye for an eye, as the Good Book said.

Cassie looped the whip over her wrist, held the lantern aloft, and rose to her feet. Her finger curled around the shotgun’s trigger as she walked to the entrance. She stared at the ground, at the line separating light from darkness. She stepped into the dark, but the lantern divided it like a curtain being pulled back from a window.

It looked as she remembered it. Nothing but dirt and more dirt. Cassie steadied her jangled nerves as she tiptoed forward, aware only of the shadows moving overhead and the dull thud of her heartbeats. She and Shorty had mined this portion years ago, finding nothing but pebbles for their efforts. The lamp swung from her hand, sending light beams sailing over rock formations and cascading dust as she made her way along the remembered route. Straight ahead, a slight crook to the right, straight again. She felt for the jutting rock at eye level, found it, and went on. The rock was a signpost, telling her she still had a few yards to go before she reached unmined territory. There
wasn’t much left to the mine. Soon it would have been all done. Shorty would have had to admit defeat.

Found something, Cassie. Found something!

His mysterious announcement came back to her, making her wonder again if he had been daft or sound in the head.
What
had he found? Gold, or fool’s gold?

Her toe hit something that made a tinny sound and rattled ahead of her. Cassie smothered a scream, lowered the lantern, and peered ahead to find the thing she’d kicked. Nothing should be in here. Shorty had finished work for the day and had left his tools outside: the wheelbarrow, the lanterns, the picks and shovels. So what had she kicked? Sounded like tin. She couldn’t imagine what—

She felt, rather than saw, a change in the atmosphere. In a startling split second of time, Cassie knew she wasn’t alone. Someone was in the mine with her … just ahead of her … breathing heavily.

“Who’s that?” she demanded, her voice more of a shriek than anything else.

She started to lift the lantern, determined to see her foe. Light fingered the darkness, but not enough to reveal the interloper. Her mind told her to run toward daylight, but she couldn’t. Terror had rooted her to the spot. She was caught in a nightmare, unable to awaken this time to the comfort of reality.

“I got a gun,” she said, suddenly remembering the shotgun and lifting the muzzle higher. “I’ll kill you if you don’t show yourself.”

The light changed. A roar filled her head. The lantern was literally ripped from her hand. Cassie heard the glass globe splinter against the wall. Something swept a fraction of an inch in front of her face with such velocity that a rush of air made her eyes water. She choked out a sound of alarm as she scrambled backward, her senses telling her that whoever had taken a swipe at her was big—huge—overpowering. She lifted the butt of the shotgun to her shoulder, aimed it straight ahead and started to squeeze off a shot, but the giant struck out again, sending the shotgun’s muzzle up. The explosion ricocheted off the ceiling and Cassie fell backward. The hard ground came up, slamming
into her and taking away her breath. She tried to see through the pitch black because she knew someone was standing over her. She reached out, felt nothing, then groped for the shotgun or her whip. Dirt inched under her fingernails and sharp pebbles scraped her hands. Cassie began crying softly as a sense of futility washed over her.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice racked with sobs. “What do you want? Answer me!”

Hot, stinking breath blasted her in the face, and she felt the ripping of her own flesh.

Cassie screamed.

Rook felt as strong as a lion. He sat up in bed, issued a roaring yawn, and rotated his shoulder in its socket. The pain was tolerable. Not like yesterday. Had it been only yesterday?

He rubbed his jaw, testing the stubble. Yes, those were day-old whiskers on his cheeks and chin. Funny how the body could snap back after being on the brink of surrender, he thought as he flung off the covers and reached for his pants. He couldn’t remember Cassie undressing him, but he did recall the slip of her fingers through his hair. He’d always remember that. So unlike her, or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she’d been a gentle thing before her father was murdered. Murder tended to harden the heart. It sure had hardened Blackie’s. There was a time when Blackie would have laid his life down for Rook, but no more. Blackie’s heart was so hard that it knew no love or kinship.

Rook checked his wound and was pleased to see that the bleeding had stopped during the night. He finished dressing and combed his hair with his fingers as he glanced out the window for a sign of Cassie.

“Cassie?” he called, moving into the other room and expecting to find her there, since she wasn’t in the garden or out by the coop. A shallow pan of gummy oatmeal sat on the stove waiting to be warmed for his breakfast. He went out onto the porch.

“Cassandra Mae!” he called in a singsong voice that he knew would irritate her. “Where are you?”

Birds chirped in answer to his summons. Curious, Rook
thought, loping down the steps and around to the back of the cabin. Where the devil could she be? He went over to Irish and stroked the chestnut’s lean neck as he searched for any sign of Cassie.

“Where’s your keeper, Irish?” Rook whispered, smiling when the horse pricked its ears forward. “Has she gone into the woods to bag some rabbits for my supper?”

He looked toward the dense woods, thinking how lonely the place was without Cassie to tease and torment. He led Irish to the water trough and greener grass. He tied the gelding there, then went back into the house for his own breakfast.

The oatmeal stuck in his throat and the coffee was so strong it could walk across the room. Rook ate in thoughtful silence, wondering if Blackie was in Arkansas or if he’d taken the gang into Indian territory. He pushed aside the bowl of sticky oatmeal and perused the Spartan room. What kind of life had Cassie had before he’d ridden up on her? She and her father had no packhorse, no buggy, no wagon, no transportation at all. They’d had no garden, no money, no means of support. They’d had no other relatives and no friends except for Jewel. Cassie’s life had been like the cabin she lived in—bare, dark, and grimy.

He wandered outside again and lifted his eyes to the bordering hills, thinking of the towns he’d lived in, the people who had ridden in and out of his life, the rich fabric of his own existence. He’d been lucky, having been given opportunities to better himself and experience the good life. Opportunity hadn’t paid its respects to Cassie. She didn’t know how to have fun, how to laugh, how to bat her lashes and flirt outrageously. Maybe that was what intrigued him. Her total lack of pretense was fascinating and foreign to his experience. Every woman he’d ever met was skilled at seduction, but not Cassie. Shorty Potter had taught her how to snare a rabbit but not how to capture a man’s attention.

“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie,” he murmured, tracking the area with his dark eyes. Where the devil had she gone? Wherever she was, she was on foot. Was trouble brewing? Was that why he was edgy this morning?

He pivoted sharply and strode with purpose into Cassie’s
bedroom and straight to the chest of drawers. Sliding open the top drawer, he pushed aside Cassie’s undergarments and felt cold steel. He lifted out the gun and enjoyed the weight of it in his hand. He turned the revolver over, running his other hand along the ivory handle and remembering when Blackie had given it to him four years ago.

“Every man has to have a means of defending himself,” Blackie had said, placing the gun in Rook’s hand. “Even you.”

“I hope I never have to resort to this means.”

“Better learn to clear the holster and shoot straight,” Blackie had advised with a treacherous grin. “ ’Cause sooner or later you’ll be called on to use it.”

Rook rearranged Cassie’s feminine clothing before closing the drawer and taking the gun with him into the other room. Cassie thought she’d hidden the sidearm from him, but he’d found it days ago. Now, if he could only find the bullets …

He sat at the table to dismantle and clean the six-shooter. He’d learned to shoot straight. In fact, he was a faster draw than Blackie, although Blackie would rather have his tongue cut out than admit it. Blackie had to be the best at everything. If he felt someone was better at something, he eliminated the competition.

That’s why he shot me in the back, Rook thought, staring down the short barrel and remembering flashes of that night when a bullet had convinced him that blood wasn’t always thicker than water. He knew I’d beat him in a fair fight. Blackie knew he wouldn’t have a chance drawing on me, so he snuck up on me. Snuck up behind his own brother. Sneaky sonofa—Rook chopped off the thought out of respect for Jewel. Sneaky mother—No, that wouldn’t do either.

He started to rise from the chair but froze when he heard the pounding of feet outside. Well, it’s about time, he thought; then he glanced around frantically for a place to hide the gun. When she saw him with this, she’d get that scared rabbit look on her face and—

She came bursting into the cabin, slid to a stop a foot from him, and stared at him in wild-eyed terror. He glanced
guiltily at the gun in his hand and puffed out a sigh of aggravation.

“Cassie, I was just cleaning it. I didn’t mean to—” He cut off his explanation, realizing that she wasn’t even aware of the gun he held. The terror on her face had nothing to do with him. “Cassie?” he asked, putting the gun down and curving his hands around her shaking shoulders as he got to his feet. “What in hell happened to you?”

Her eyes focused on him, but there was no sign she had seen or heard him. Her hair was a tangled mass. Tears had made paths down her dirt-smudged face, and she was breathing raggedly as if she was on the verge of collapse. She dropped the shotgun and whip she was again carrying, unable to support their weight another second longer.

“Cassie? What happened?” He tightened his grip on her shoulders and comprehension entered her blue eyes. “Are you running from your shadow, or did something really happen?” He ran his hands down her arms and then began to notice other things. Her ripped sleeve. Her torn skirt. He stepped around her, and his stomach lurched. Her shirt hung in tatters against her back and flecks of blood stained the fabric. A slow, mean trembling overtook him.

“Who did this?” he asked, growing cold with fury as he faced her again. He bent his knees until he was eye level with her. “Cassie, tell me who and I’ll kill the son of a bitch.”

She didn’t answer. Shock had paralyzed her tongue and weakened her powers of reasoning. Rook let go of her and retrieved the shotgun. He checked to make sure it was loaded and started for the door.

Cassie blinked after him for a few moments before the realization of what he was about to do gave her back the power of speech and movement. The rock hardness of his jawline left no doubt that he was hellbent on killing whatever had harmed her.

“Hey, there!” she called after him, moving shakily to the door. “Hold up a minute. It wasn’t a man that did this.” She leaned a hand against the frame to help support her weight and used her other hand to motion him back
toward her. “Come on back in here. Neither one of us is in any condition to go looking for more trouble.”

He turned and was struck by the vision of her in the doorway, hair spilling like pale sunlight over her shoulders, eyes as brightly blue as the sky, her lips parted like two rose petals. Tender yearnings touched his heart, and he averted his gaze from the source of them.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m shook up is all.”

He stared at the shotgun, amazed by his own primeval passion to protect the weaker sex.

“So who did this to you?” he asked, taking the porch steps two at a time.

She stared at her clasped hands. “A bear.”

“A bear?” he repeated, following her into the cabin. “Where did you meet this bear?”

“I …” She raised a trembling hand and pressed it against her throat. “I need a drink.”

“Where do you keep the whiskey?”

“Whiskey?” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Not whiskey! I want some water. I ran all the way back here and I’m dry as a bone.” She went to the sideboard and poured a measure of water from the pitcher into a tin cup. She made little slurping sounds as she drank, making Rook smile affectionately at her. Cassie looked away from his smile, but it lingered in her mind and made her feel less afraid.

His hand curled around one of hers and Cassie drew a sharp breath. Her gaze flew to his. He was still smiling, and she felt timid and meek.

“Come and sit down. Catch your breath,” he said, tugging gently on her hand until she followed his lead and sat at the table. “That’s better.” He sat next to her, only then releasing her hand. “Now tell me about it.”

“I went to the mine,” she said, staring blindly at the leftover oatmeal in his breakfast bowl. She couldn’t look at him because every time she did she got that funny feeling, and she didn’t trust that feeling. “I was looking around and … and … it was a bear!” Her eyes widened as the
episode came back to her. “I didn’t see it. It just came out of nowhere. I didn’t have time to shoot or nothing.”

“You wrestled a
bear
and came out of it with a few scratches?” Awe unloosed his jaw. “Girl, you are something. What happened to the bear? Did you throttle him good and proper?” He reached for one of her hands again and turned it palm up. “Lordy, your hands are small. I never realized how delicate—”

She snatched her hand from his and averted her face. “Don’t do that. I was lucky that old bear didn’t eat me.” She rested her head between her hands and closed her eyes. “I sure never expected to find that kind of animal in there.”