Dorothy Garlock (29 page)

“This ain’t like it was before, is it?” Pearl asked him.

“She does not appear to be as restful as before,” Abe agreed from his chair at the bedside. “I believe that my beloved Mary is suffering from some sort of nightmare, some worries that do not let her rest as she should.”

“It’s hard to have had her back, only to lose her again.”

“Yes, it is.” He sighed deeply. “Many tears and prayers went into watching over her sleep, but we must keep confident that she will once again return to us. To do any less would be a grave mistake.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Pearl agreed.

For a few moments, silence reigned in the small room, interrupted only by the wind and the lowing of the cattle in the pens beyond the ranch house. Finally, Abe breached the profound quiet, his voice hesitant and soft.

“Who . . . who is this Chester that Mary spoke of?” he asked.

Pearl’s heart fell at his question. Abe had put up a good front in the face of Mary’s hysterics, but he had not been immune to them. Rather, they had festered at his mind until he could no longer keep from giving them voice. She reminded herself that while Mary Sinclair was
not
the woman he believed her to be, that did not mean that his feelings for her weren’t real and that he could not be hurt in return.

“Chester ain’t nobody worth thinkin’ about, you hear,” she soothed. “Even if he might be in her head, poisonin’ her dreams and muddyin’ up the waters, he ain’t a gonna be doin’ us no harm, so don’t go wastin’ none of your time wonderin’ about him.”

Abe seemed to reflect upon what she had said, nodding and rubbing his heavy beard. “I suppose there is some measure of truth in what you’re saying,” he said. “If it is truly worth worrying about, then I will do so only after Mary has once again returned to us and we have an opportunity to speak about it together. Until then, I will pay it no mind.”

“That’s a right smart way of thinkin’ about it,” Pearl agreed.

Even as she encouraged Abe not to give Chester a thought, she found it much easier to offer advice than to put it into practice. It was hard not to wonder if Hallie was right—that regardless of where they ran to or what lives they tried to live, Chester would always be lurking around every corner, ready to ensnare them, making fear their constant companion. When they had first left Whiskey Bend, she’d thought that they left Chester Remnick behind as well, but they could not stop worrying about his following them. Not for the first time, Pearl wished she had shot him dead.

“If it is acceptable to you,” Abe said, rising from the chair with a stiff creak, “I believe I might get a bite to eat and a breath of fresh air. I hope it will not be much of an imposition upon you.”

“Not at all.” Pearl smiled.

“Thank you kindly.”

Once Abe had gone, she settled into his chair and dipped a strip of cloth into the washbowl that sat beside the bed and used it to cool Mary’s fevered brow.

“Oh, Mary,” she said, her voice cracking, “what a mess we done made.”

When she heard the low creak of a floorboard, Pearl assumed that Abe was returning for a forgotten item or to ask if there was anything she might want from the kitchen. But when she turned, her welcome for him turned to icy dread.

Coming in through the open window was Chester!

He was much as she remembered him; thin, his wiry frame still quite muscular, wild unwashed hair, clothing more than the worse for wear. But it was his eyes that sent fear racing through her. They were tight and piercing, like those of a wolf with the scent of blood in its nose, patient but determined as it stalked its prey, ready to sink in its fangs.

As he settled onto the floor, she noticed the long knife he held, its steel blade cold and glinting in the lantern light. Equally cold was the thin smile that spread across his cracked lips.

“I found you, bitch,” he boasted.

Raw fear convulsed Pearl’s body, making her limbs twitch and her stomach lurch. Her jaw seemed to work on rusty hinges, opening and closing of its own accord with only the oddest, most unintelligible sounds coming out. A terror-laden scream remained stuck in her throat, building up in intensity as if it were floodwaters behind an unyielding dam.

“Ches—Chest—”

Before she could finish her nightmare’s name, he was already across the room, the back of his fist flashing across her face, cracking against her mouth and sending stars flying across the blackness of her eyes. Instantly, coppery blood filled Pearl’s mouth. She toppled from her chair and fell to the floor. The room spun even as she lay still. Somehow, she managed to keep one eye open, unable to look away from the horror before her.

Chester stood beside the bed, his eyes riveted on Mary’s sleeping body. In a matter of seconds, Pearl had been forgotten by him. The object of his rampaging desire, the reason for which he had endured so much pain, was finally before him, and he drank in her image.

“My sweet Mary,” he muttered.

With a gentle touch, Chester wiped his hand across Mary’s brow as she slept fitfully, undoubtedly running from him in her dreams. He was her horror brought to life, a nightmare that drew breath, threatening her at her most vulnerable. When he pushed a strand of hair from her cheek, she shivered, as if she were somehow aware of how precariously her life hung in the balance.

“Your darlin’ Chester is back,” he said proudly.

Then, with the suddenness of a rifle’s crack, his demeanor changed from day to night, his eyes going flat and hard. Pearl watched as his gaze shifted to where she lay on the floor, struggling to maintain her grip on a consciousness that grew more slippery with every passing second. In her waning lucidity, she wondered if he was suddenly thinking of that fateful day when she put a rifle slug in his leg.

“You bitch,” he hissed and Pearl knew that he was.

When he knelt beside her, wincing from the effort of moving his injured leg, he held the knife before her eyes, turning it this way and that so she could see every inch of the blade. If she hadn’t already been paralyzed by fear, Pearl knew that the sight of the weapon in Chester’s hand would have done the trick.

“Now we’ll see who has the upper hand,” he said as Pearl’s world went black.

Chapter Twenty-seven

H
ALLIE STOOD ON
the long porch and took a deep breath. On the distant horizon, the golden setting sun clung to the low clouds. Life at the Morgan ranch had begun to settle, calming itself for slumber and the promise of yet another day. Even with all that had happened with Mary, Hallie’s heart still held bright hope for tomorrow, although she wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. The night that lay before her seemed to be a peaceful one, full of nothing but stars, gentle breezes, and, she hoped, Eli’s tender kisses.

“And maybe more,” she whispered to herself.

She had been apart from Eli for much of the busy day, caring for Mary and helping Pearl with the housework, all the while keeping an eye and ear out for Fawn as she pranced in and out of Mrs. Morgan’s room. As much as the young woman’s presence galled her, Hallie did her best not to pay Fawn any mind. She had had only a few glimpses here and there of Eli, all of which were sprinkled with smiles and blushes, the memories of the night before shared without a word.

She’d never felt like this before.

Although she still lived with the fear that Chester would somehow track them to the ranch, and was troubled by what had happened to Eli in the cemetery, she felt a sense of belonging, a feeling of hearth and home that she had not experienced since leaving her parents’ home in Ohio.
With Eli Morgan, I am beginning to know love.
She wanted to share her night at his side. Stepping down from the porch, the hard ground crunching beneath her booted feet, she set off in search of him. She first headed for the barn, hoping that just maybe he had the same idea and was waiting for
her
, thoughts of their night together exciting him as much as it did her.

Suddenly, a sharp crack split the silence, freezing Hallie where she stood. With horror, she realized that what she had heard was a gunshot.
It came from inside the barn, from where I expected to find Eli!
The last time I heard such a sound was . . . when Pearl put a bullet in Chester’s leg!

“Eli!” she screamed, her voice cracking as she began to run.

Eli’s clenched fist slammed hard into Seth’s rib cage, lifting the man’s body from the dirt floor. Beads of sweat fell from his brow like rain. At the point of contact, Eli could feel heat roaring through his muscles as Seth’s midsection seemed to give way, the air driven forcefully from his lungs. The banker staggered, wobbling backward on unsure legs, his eyes wide with fear.

“You goddamn bastard,” Eli roared.

He fell upon Seth, flinging a left hand that smashed into Seth’s jaw, sending his head spinning to the side and blood pouring from a split lip. Eli threw another blow, then another, then even more, each landing, each hurting. The barn was soon filled with the odor of sweat and blood, the sounds of flesh striking flesh, the grunts of pain and exertion. The gun and hammer were abandoned somewhere underfoot.

Eli’s strength seemed to be endless, fueled by a fiery rage that threatened to devour him. Year after year of frustration, the gaping loss of his dear brother, and all that had occurred while he was in the army blackened a part of his heart forever. Now he was punishing the man who had begun the madness, who had brought misery to all those around him; now he would exact a terrible vengeance for all that had been taken from him.
If I have to, I will tear Seth McCarty limb from limb!

Even as Eli threw another punch, this one lancing forward and smashing into Seth’s nose, flattening it and sending a shower of blood down the front of his shirt, he could not bring himself to enjoy the pain he was inflicting. It was a chore, a duty that must be done, not a pleasure. Without the gun that had given him a backbone, Seth McCarty was what he had always been: a conniving coward. Now defenseless, the fight was easily beaten out of him.

It was finally another punch to his gut that brought Seth down, dropping him to his knees in a cloud of dust, his eyes lowered, his hands raised above him in surrender, begging for an end to his punishment.

“No . . . no more,” he panted, his mouth a crimson soup of blood and spit.

“You had this coming, you son of a bitch,” Eli snarled.

“Don’t—don’t hit me . . . again.”

Towering over Seth’s broken and bleeding body, Eli felt no triumph. Even if Seth were to go to jail for what he had done, his hopes at the bank and with Fawn utterly destroyed, none of that would bring back what he had taken away; Caleb was dead.

Leaning down, Eli grabbed the beaten man by his now-filthy shirt and began to lift him back to his feet, muscles straining, the banker’s limp body offering no resistance. But suddenly, as if he were a wounded animal biding its time, patiently waiting for the hunter to come near enough to lash out violently, Seth’s hands shot forward and grabbed Eli’s right arm, directly on the spot the bullet had entered his flesh.

“I hurt you before and I’ll do it again,” Seth cried through darkened, bloodstained teeth, a broad evil smile spreading across cracked lips, his eyes wild as he began to squeeze with all his might.

“Aaarrrrgghh!”
Eli screamed as the pain coursed up and down his arm. The agony was so great that his vision swam, stars shooting every which way. It was as if he had been shot all over again, a white-hot poker painfully burning his flesh.

He tried to get away, to push Seth from him and relieve the agony that nearly overwhelmed him, but the other man held steady, refusing to let up for a second, maniacally laughing.

“You are going to suffer, you bastard,” Seth cackled.

Eli’s strength rushed from him. Darkness and stars continued to vie against each other at the edges of his vision. Nausea roiled in his gut as his legs trembled, finally buckling and sending him hard to his knees on the barn floor. It was then that Seth released him, sending a bony fist of his own crashing into Eli’s jaw, driving him flat.

“You’re not so tough now, are you?”

Before Eli could do anything to defend himself, Seth began to rain kicks upon him, thudding blows that knocked against Eli’s ribs and arms.

“You’ll not have Fawn!” he shouted. “Never, never, never, never!”

Eli was about to give up, to surrender to the inky blackness that was broken only by another sharp pang of pain, to stop fighting and accept the release the darkness was offering, when a scream split the air in the barn.

“Leave him be!”

As he lay on his side, one cheek pressed into the dirt floor, Eli recoiled with horror at the sound of the voice. Venturing a look through the slits his eyes had become, horror passed over him even greater than the pain of Seth’s attack.

S
tanding in the barn’s open door was Hallie!

She stood with her hands clenched tightly to her heaving chest and her green eyes blazing with anger.

“Don’t you dare lay another hand on him,” she yelled, her voice cracking.

Seth looked over his shoulder at the newcomer, an expression on his face not of concern or anger but rather of glee, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Welcome, welcome!” he exclaimed. “I must admit that you’re certainly a sight for sore eyes!”

“Don’t . . . don’t you . . . touch . . . ,” Eli muttered.

“Don’t I what?” Seth asked as he looked down at Eli’s crumpled body, spittle hanging from his split lips. “Don’t you see that this is perfect? Now, before I finish you off, you can watch as I take her from you just as you took Fawn from me!”

His eyes filled with horror, Eli watched as Seth began to step toward where Hallie stood frozen in place from shock and fear.
He means to have his way with her, and then kill her!
If he did not stop Seth, if he allowed him to get his hands on Hallie, Seth would be taking yet another person he loved away from him forever!
And that I will not allow!

“No, you won’t,” Eli snarled.

Kicking out one boot, he clipped Seth in the back of the leg and unbalanced the man long enough for him to strike. As if he were a wildcat springing from atop a boulder in the mountains, talons raised to rend flesh from bone, Eli leaped on Seth, his anger giving him strength. Even though his arm still throbbed in agony, he began to throw punches with wild abandon, his body straddling the startled banker.