Early Dawn (10 page)

After guzzling whiskey with his brothers, Pete returned to bind Eden’s hands and feet. As always, he jerked on the rawhide until it dug into her flesh. He smiled into her eyes as he snapped the leather taut, knowing it caused her pain. Eden locked gazes with him but uttered no sound.

He looped the noose over her head. Then instead of grabbing her arm to drag her over to the others, as he always had before, he tugged on the rope.

“Crawl for me, bitch.” He leaned down to leer at her. “Show us boys how eager you are to play.”

Eden yearned to spit in his face, but fear of him squelched the urge. “I can’t crawl with my ankles bound.”

“You sassin’ me, bitch?” He drew his knife and thrust the sharp edge against her throat. “I told you to crawl!”

The glint in his eyes told her that he wanted to cut her. If she didn’t at least try to obey him, he might actually do it.

So she attempted to crawl. With her feet lashed so tightly together, it was impossible to inch one knee in front of the other, but she made an attempt anyway, only to topple. Unable to break her fall with her hands tied behind her, she fell face-first in the dirt. Pete grabbed her by the hair, jerked her to a kneeling position, and yelled at her to crawl for him again.

“I can’t!” she cried.

He pressed the knife against her throat. “You’re a haughty little bitch and need to learn your place. I said crawl.”

Eden tried, again and again. The last time she tumbled to the ground, Pete rewarded her efforts by burying a boot in her side. Pain lanced through her ribs, robbing her of breath. Black spots danced before her eyes as he dragged her by the hair the rest of the way to the fire.

 

Matthew lay on his belly in a copse of bitterbrush, watching the Sebastians abuse the woman. The bastards had built a fire, enabling him to see clearly. It was all he could do not to draw down on the sons of bitches when she was ordered to crawl and repeatedly fell face-first to the ground. When the toe of a boot dug deep into her ribs, he came close to jumping up yet again. But, no, now wasn’t the time. If bullets started flying, the girl might be hit. His aim was to rescue her, not get her killed.

Even sunburned, disheveled, and bruised to a fare-thee-well, she was younger and far prettier than he had imagined, with bright red hair and delicate features. Her hands and feet were tightly bound, and Pete had looped a noose around her neck.

Over the years, Matthew had collected several wanted posters and now knew each of the Sebastians on sight. Once she’d been dragged over to the fire pit, James and Charles, both staggering drunk, had entertained themselves with her. As if all the fight had drained out of her like water through a sieve, she sat, limp as a rag doll, staring into the fire, reacting to nothing they did. The blank expression on her oval face told Matthew that she’d moved outside of herself or was possibly in shock.
Sweet Jesus
. He wanted to help her, but he needed to be smart about it. Eventually the men would pass out. When they did, Matthew would slip into camp and get her out of there.

He settled in to wait, his stomach rolling with nausea. They played with her like a bunch of little boys with a captured butterfly, fighting for a turn, not caring if they damaged their fragile prize in the tug-of-war. Pete was the most vicious of the bunch. Watching him, Matthew itched to kill the scrawny bastard, not swiftly and mercifully, but inch by slow inch. The little shit wouldn’t think inflicting pain was so much fun when he was on the receiving end.

Matthew felt drained by the time the brothers grew tired and staggered off to their pallets. He watched them bed down with a bewildered frown pleating his brow. They had stopped short of actually raping the girl. What the hell was that all about? Without so much as a holey blanket to protect her from the cold, she lay curled in a tight ball near Wallace’s pallet, her face drawn and pale in the flickering firelight. Studying her features, Matthew guessed her to be around twenty years old. Had they tortured her like this every blasted night? In his heart, Matthew knew they had.

As the men settled down to sleep, scratching their crotches and farting, Matthew kept his gaze fixed on the girl. The noose was still around her neck, the loose end of the hemp knotted around Wallace’s wrist so she couldn’t roll away or try to loosen her bonds without waking him. She drew up her knees to partially cover her breasts, her eyes glazed and staring at nothing. Matthew’s heart hurt for her, and for a moment, his tender feelings tried to surface. He shoved them back down. Since Olivia’s death, he had learned not to let himself feel much of anything strongly except anger. Anger was safe. No matter how hot it burned, it didn’t hurt him in places so deep he couldn’t even name them.

The Sebastians had drunk so much whiskey that Matthew doubted it would take long for them to lose consciousness. Soon, Pete was snoring and sputtering. Moments later, James joined in. Wallace was the last to fall into a booze-induced coma. Even then, Matthew remained in hiding. He would have a better chance of getting the girl safely out if he waited for the fire to die down.

When at last the flames flickered out and the camp was illuminated only by glowing embers, Matthew slithered forward on his belly, the Winchester at the ready in his left hand, his holster flaps unfastened in case he needed his Colts. If those snakes woke up, all hell would break loose.

 

Eden had just drifted off into a fitful sleep when a hard hand clamped over her mouth. She jerked awake to see the silhouette of a man hovering over her.

He bent low to whisper, “If you want to get out of here, don’t move and don’t scream.”

Eden’s heart caught. One of her brothers? She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, and his gruff whisper made it impossible to recognize the voice, but who else would be crazy enough to enter this camp and risk his life to save her? She nodded ever so slightly that she understood the warning. The next instant, she felt him sawing at the rope around her neck. When the rough hemp fell away, he leaned over her to cut the rawhide that bound her hands and feet.

When Eden was finally free, he retrieved his Winchester and helped her to stand. Her legs had gone numb from lack of circulation, making it difficult to walk. When he saw she was having trouble, he shifted his rifle to his left hand, bent at the knees, looped a hard arm around the backs of her thighs, and tossed her over his shoulder. Still badly bruised from the pummeling from Pete’s saddle horn that first day, Eden’s stomach contracted against a stab of pain, and a knifing agony in her ribs quickly followed. It took all her self-control to stifle a scream.

This wasn’t one of her brothers, she registered dimly. He wasn’t as tall as Ace but was loftier than Joseph, David, or Esa. So who was he, and why was he helping her? She didn’t dare ask for fear of waking the Sebastians. Not that she really cared what had inspired him to help her. She burned to get away. God existed, after all, and He had answered her prayers.

The man moved with amazing silence through the brush until he reached a tethered horse and pack mule some distance from camp. After lowering Eden to the ground and waiting for her to catch her balance on tingling legs, he fished in his saddlebag and handed her what felt like a shirt and sheepskin jacket. The canopy of the trees around them blocked most of the moonlight, making it difficult to tell for sure what he’d given her.

“Get those on and sit tight until I get back,” he said softly.

Peering at him through the blackness, Eden still couldn’t make out his face. She wanted to ask where he was going, but her vocal cords were so bruised from the noose, she couldn’t get the words out.

As if he read her mind, he added, “I’ll get you a horse and scatter the others.”

Eden clutched the clothing to her breasts. Though this man was a complete stranger, she didn’t want him to leave her. Her voice little more than a croaked whisper, she cried, “What if they wake up? They’ll shoot you, sure as the world.”

“They won’t wake up until the horses take off. By then, I’ll be riding back this way, hell-bent for leather.”

He disappeared into the darkness. Eden donned the shirt and jacket he’d given her. Then, clasping her throbbing ribs, she stood near the horse, terrified that she would soon hear shooting.

 

Matthew desperately wanted to open fire on the Sebastians when he got back to their camp. Only concern for the girl’s safety forestalled him. He believed he could hold his own against the five men, but what if something went wrong? If he were hurt, she would pay the price. He couldn’t take that chance, not with her life hanging in the balance. Once they reached safety, he would double back. If luck was on his side, he’d be able to pick up the Sebastians’ trail again.

Hating that he couldn’t kill the men he’d been tracking for so long, Matthew saddled a horse for the girl, counting on the rush of the night wind through the trees to drown out the sounds he made. Then he mounted up and followed the high line, slashing the reins that anchored the remaining equines to the tautly stretched rope.

“Hee-haw!” he yelled, slapping rumps and waving his hat.

The horses reared and then bolted every which way. To make sure they kept running, Matthew drew one of his Colts and fired three shots into the air. Goal accomplished. The animals would run now until exhaustion made them stop.

The ruckus brought the Sebastian brothers reeling to their feet. Still sloppy drunk, they staggered about for a second, clearly confused. All Matthew needed was that second. With a sharp dig of his boot heels, he urged the horse beneath him into a flat-out gallop, intent on reaching the girl and getting her out of there as fast as he could.

When he arrived at the clearing where he’d left her, she was trying to mount Smoky, who kept sidestepping so she couldn’t get her foot in the stirrup. Anger surged through Matthew when he realized she was trying to make a run for it. If the horse had cooperated, she would be long gone by now.

At his approach, she whirled to face him, her eyes narrowed to peer at him through the shadows, her sunburned face pinched with fear.

“Where the
hell
do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

She clamped a slender hand over her side. “You scared me half to death.” Her voice was still hoarse and strained. “I thought you were one of the Sebastians. When I heard the gunfire, I thought . . . I thought they’d killed you.”

Matthew swung down from the saddle. “It was me doing the shooting. I told you I needed to scatter their horses. Lucky for you, Smoky is a one-man horse and won’t let anybody but me ride him. You’d be in a hell of a fix if you got lost out here.”

He caught her at the waist and lifted her onto the back of the stolen gelding. She gasped as if his hold caused her pain, but there wasn’t time to focus on that. He retreated a step and nudged his hat back to see her better. His sheepskin jacket nearly swallowed her. She’d rolled up the sleeves to free her hands, creating pillows of leather and fluff around her delicate wrists.

“One thing,” he said softly. “If you want to make it out of this alive, you’ll do what I tell you, when I tell you. Are we clear?”

“Perfectly clear.”

With a curt nod, he climbed on Smoky, grabbed the mule’s lead rope, and called softly over his shoulder, “Let’s ride!”

He set out at a fast clip, glancing back over his shoulder only once to make sure the girl was following him and could handle her mount. To his surprise, she rode as if she’d been born in the saddle. He thanked God for that, because it promised to be a hair-raising night.

 

Who was this man who had plucked her from the arms of death? As Eden followed him through the moon-washed darkness, she asked herself that question countless times. The howl of the wind made it difficult for them to talk, but he could have at least given her his name. His failure to do so worried her. She couldn’t see him clearly enough to tell if he was clean-cut or a no-account. What if he was another outlaw? Maybe he had an ax to grind with the Sebastians, and stealing her from them was his way of getting even.

He set a bone-jarring pace that sent pain shafting through her body, especially her ribs, making her wonder if the toe of Pete’s boot had fractured some bones. No matter. Broken ribs were painful, but they didn’t usually prove fatal. All she could do was clench her teeth, hang on tight to keep her seat, and pray her rescuer didn’t turn on her once they got safely away.

 

An hour into the journey, Matthew began to regret his harsh manner with the girl. God only knew what trials she had endured, and he’d had no business getting angry because she tried to run off. If he’d been in her shoes, he probably would have done the same. She didn’t know him from Adam. She must have been scared half out of her wits when she heard the gunfire. He might have at least tried to reassure her.

When he noticed that she was lagging behind, he decided it was safe to slow the pace for a while. The Sebastians wouldn’t be able to find all their horses until dawn, if then. Spooked equines could run for miles before they finally stopped to rest, and he figured the gang’s horses, abused more often than not, had stronger reasons than most to go as far as possible. The way Matthew figured, he and the woman had a good head start. He also had a few tricks up his sleeve that would throw the Sebastians off their trail, most of which he’d learned from them, the rotten sons of bitches.

When the girl drew abreast of him, Matthew shifted in the saddle to look at her. Words had never come easily for him, and after three years on the trail with only his animals for company, they came harder now. He jerked off his hat, pushed his hand through his hair, and then plopped the Stetson back on his head again.

“I, um, shouldn’t have jumped down your throat back there. It’s just . . . I don’t like anybody else messing with my horse.”

Her voice wasn’t quite as rough now. “If I hadn’t heard the gunfire, I wouldn’t have tried to run. If something had happened to you, what was I to do, wait there until the bastards found me? I’d rather take my chances in the wilderness.”