Kate Wingo - Western Fire 01 (32 page)

Like combatants on the field of battle, she and Spencer took each other’s measure, neither willing to concede one square
inch of ground. Each prepared to fight to the death. Although to Mercy’s growing unease, Spencer was far better equipped for the bout.

Refusing
to surrender, Mercy used the only weapon at her disposal – the outrage of a woman scorned. “I can well understand your hesitancy to wed, but few men would go to such outlandish lengths in their attempt to avoid the altar.”

“This has nothing to do with our getting married
. And you know it.”

“I know no such thing!
In fact, I am at a complete loss to understand any of this,” Mercy informed him. “Now, you can either shoot me or tell me what this is all about.”

To her relief,
he holstered his weapon.

“So, you want an explanation, do you?”
Spencer jutted his chin in Gabriel’s direction. “Yonder is the offspring of the man who murdered my pa and two older brothers. Today, I aim to see that justice is finally carried out.”

Had the man taken leave of his senses
!?

“Are you drunk?”
Mercy blurted, wondering if Spencer had imbibed too much of the corn whiskey that Ginny earlier mentioned. “Because that is the only possible explanation that I can—”

“I’m stone
-cold sober.” Refusing to look at her, Spencer directed his gaze to the far horizon. “Eight years ago, that boy’s pappy, Luther Maddox, murdered every adult male McCabe, save for me. That was Maddox’s first mistake. His second mistake is that he wants his son back. And guess what? I happen to have him.”

Rather than clarify matters,
Spencer’s explanation left Mercy even more confused.

How can a dead man have committed three heinous murders?

“I am in a quandary. Gabriel’s father, Mister Maddox, is dead. And he has been dead for nearly nine years,” she informed him.

“How do you know
he’s dead? Did you see him die? Have you ever visited his gravesite?”

Flustered, Mercy tried to sort out the answer to each
of the questions posed. It had all happened so long ago. She’d been a young girl when Gabriel came to live with them, little more than a child, herself. Her parents had adopted the small babe when Mrs. Maddox was killed by Missouri border ruffians. How Mercy knew about the woman’s tragic demise, she wasn’t exactly sure. Perhaps she’d overheard the muffled whispers of her parents – she recalled that there had been many a hushed conversation in those days. But that was all that she knew with any certainty.

“I don’t know when Mister Maddox died, or where’s he’s buried,” she said at last.

“That’s because he’s anything but dead.”

“But Papa told us that
—” Her mind suddenly went blank, unable to recall what she’d been told. Desperate to prove Spencer wrong, Mercy tried to remember what exactly her father had said on that long ago night when Gabriel unexpectedly came into their lives. “My father said that . . . that Mister Maddox had taken a road from whence there was no return. I have always assumed that he meant Mister Maddox was in the grave.”

“You assumed wrong,” Spencer
said brusquely. “The bastard is still alive and kicking. Although he won’t be for much longer. Round about dawn, I posted a notice informing him where to find his long-lost son. And unless I’m far off the mark, he ought to be riding over that hill any minute now.”

Again, Mercy recalled the open
Bible that she’d earlier examined, the names carefully chronicled, the date of death the same for all three of the slain McCabe men. And she also remembered that Lydia claimed Spencer felt ‘personally liable’ for the tragic murders.

“This act of vengeance that you have planned
; it’s the real reason why you brought me and my family to Missouri, isn’t it?” she said accusingly.

“Listen, Mercy
. I don’t have time to be raked over the coals.”

“Then you had better make time,”
Mercy railed at him, her body shaking from the force of her emotions. “I thought you cared for me when all along—”

“I do care for you, damn it!
”

“No
, you don’t. All you care about is exacting your long awaited revenge. And it doesn’t bother you one whit who you hurt along the way.”

“That’s not true.” To Mercy’s surprise, the harsh lines on
Spencer’s face softened. “I wanted to bring you here so that you’d be safe from those murdering jayhawkers. That is until I found out that Gabriel’s last name was Maddox not Hibbert.”

“
And after you gleaned that
useful
bit of information, did you then decide to take us to Ned Sykes’ camp?” she inquired, curious to know the extent to which she had been duped.

Spencer
confirmed with a brusque nod. “I figured Ned and the boys would be only too happy to help me set the trap. But then you had to go and— Ah hell, you know what happened next.”

“No wonder you were so furious at me for setting those German prisoners free. In so doing, I unwittingly foiled all
of your well-laid plans.”

“I was furious at you because you betrayed my trust,” Spencer
rasped, his chest heaving with anger. “And in case you’re interested, after you let me love up on you, I seriously considered swearing off this whole thing, and just saying the hell with Luther Maddox.”

“Is that heartfelt confession supposed to make me feel less like a whore?”
The accusation hit its intended mark, Spencer no longer able to hold her gaze. Refusing to leave it at that, Mercy said, “What, pray tell, caused you to change your mind? Was I no longer
loving
you up as well as you would have liked?”

From the angry flush on Spencer’s face, Mercy could see that she’d pushed him too far.

“You were lovin’ me up just fine and dandy,” he snarled, his lips twisted into an ugly sneer. “In fact, last night, I damned near come through the roof. It’s those graves over yonder that changed my mind.”

At the mention of his slain family, Mercy’s eyes watered. “The sins of the father are not visited upon the child,” she murmured.

“The hell they aren’t!”

Hearing that, Gabriel turned his head, clearly startled by Spencer’s vehement exclamation. Worr
ied that Gabriel might inadvertently discover that he was the subject of their heated debate, Mercy forced a soothing smile onto her lips.

“Everything is all right, Gabriel. There’s no need for alarm,” she called out.
Then, worried for the boy’s safety, she placed a hand on Spencer’s woolen-clad thigh. “Please let him return to the house,” she implored. “There’s no need for him to bear witness to this.”

Spence
r shoved her hand off his leg.

“And do you think
that I liked bearing witness to my daddy’s brains being blown all over the dining room table?” Spencer shook his head, his expression resolute. “The boy stays.”

Trembling, Mercy clutched the ends of her shawl. Having seen her own father murdered at the hands of evil, lawless men, she knew the painful heartache that Spencer had been forced to
endure. And she also knew that particular brand of bottled grief was a poison for which there was but one antidote.
Somehow
she had to persuade Spencer to take the cure.

“You know full well that Gabriel had nothing to do with Mister Maddox’s evil actions.”

“Mister Maddox!” Spencer derisively snorted. “Hell, honey, don’t you know? For the last eight years that bastard has been calling himself the Dark Angel.”

“Whatever name he is known by, killing the man won’t bring
back your father or your brothers.”

Spencer’s h
and tightened on the saddlehorn. “True enough. But it’ll finally give me peace of mind.”

“Will it?
And if so, for how long? Don’t you understand, Spencer? It’s not for you to decide who lives and who dies. ‘Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord.’ Only God can—”

“Don’t start spouting your B
ible verses at me,” Spencer said over top of her. “I intend to send that boy’s daddy straight to hell. And I aim to do it right here.
And right now
.”

Noticing the direction of his gaze, Mercy spun around. At seeing a
black-suited rider crest the hill, she knew that she had only seconds to act.

“Kill him and you
’ll become the next Dark Angel.”

Hearing that,
Spencer scowled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Glancing at the fast approaching rider, Mercy knew
that she had to hurry and make her case. “War makes us all walk a fine line between good and evil. And though you may not realize it now, your need for revenge will only turn you into that which you despise the—”

“Enough
, already!” Turning his head, Spencer set his gaze on the hillside.

“Gabriel
! Quick! Over here!” Mercy called out, fear lending a high pitch to her voice.

The child turned to her
. The gap-toothed smile on his face instantly faded when he saw a rider bearing down on him. Tossing his fishing rod aside, he ran toward her, throwing himself into Mercy’s outstretched arms. Terrified, Mercy clutched Gabriel against her chest, uncertain who she was more frightened of – Spencer McCabe or the man galloping toward them.

One thing she did know, no child should ever be burdened with the knowledge that
his father was a cold-blooded killer. Gabriel believed that his father was dead. She would do all in her power to ensure that he lived his life under that protective assumption.

Mercy turned to
ward Spencer. Cloaked in the afternoon sun, he looked like a fierce warrior. A warrior without fear. And without compassion.

“Please, Spencer!”
Mercy grabbed his stirrup. To her utter dismay, he completely ignored her, his gaze set on the horizon. “I’m begging you! Let Gabriel return to the house.”

Several seconds passed before Spencer finally deigned to
glance at her. “All right. He’s seen the boy. You can both leave now.”

Afraid
that there might be a time limit attached to his clemency, Mercy turned Gabriel in the direction of the house. “You heard him. Leave!” When Gabriel made no move to obey, she shoved him between the shoulder blades. “Now!”

With that admonition,
Gabriel took off running.

Spencer, looking none too happy,
said, “You, too.”

Mercy shook her head, stubbornly folding her arms beneath her breasts. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Disbelief flashed across Spencer’s features before hardening into a glacial resolve. “Believe me, Mercy. This isn’t the time or the place to pick an argument.”

“I realize that.” Then,
so that he would know that she meant business, Mercy said, “And I happen to know that you’re in no a position to make me leave.”

“Damn you, Mercy. I ought to
—” Spencer broke off as the approaching rider crossed the stream, water noisily splashing in his horse’s wake.

Awestruck
, Mercy gaped in wide-eyed astonishment. The rider, if it was truly Luther Maddox, had an almost
biblical
air about him. Without a doubt, his long white hair and flowing beard put her in mind of an Old Testament prophet. Garbed entirely in black, he appeared to be a man of solemn, steadfast purpose.
Deadly purpose
judging from the two pistol butts protruding from his knee-length frock coat.

With a sinking heart,
Mercy realized that Spencer McCabe had met his match.

The rider
came to within ten feet of them and reined in his mount. Though the air fairly crackled with tension, to Mercy’s relief neither man unholstered his weapon.

“Are you the one who posted the message?”
The stranger’s voice was akin to a thunderous rumble, a deep baritone capable of leading whole armies of Christian soldiers into battle.

Clearly u
nimpressed, Spencer nodded. “Yeah, I’m Spencer McCabe.”

“Do I know you?”

“We’ve crossed paths a time or two.”

At hearing that, the other man’s eyes narrowed. In that moment, Mercy realized that the fierce, black-suited stranger was, indeed, the same man she once knew as Luther Maddox.
The dark brown eyes that now warily glared at her and Spencer were almost identical to those of the son, young Gabriel Maddox.

Maddox surveyed the surrounding countryside. “You’re one of the southern infidels. We tried eight years ago to drive you
godless folk from this holy ground.”

Spencer shrugged
and said, “As you can see, you didn’t exactly succeed. You missed one of us. And before this day is through, you’re gonna regret that you did.”

Realizing that the g
auntlet had just been thrown, Luther Maddox reached for both his pistols. At that same instant, Spencer whipped his Henry rifle out of the saddle scabbard in a lightning quick flash of metal. Terrified, a scream lodged in Mercy’s throat.

Amazingly, neither man fired a shot.

Without being told, Mercy instinctively deduced the reason: a man could possibly survive being hit by pistol fire; but no man could survive being blown in two by a high-caliber rifle fired at close range.

Knowing that the advantage was his, Spencer sneered and said, “You’d be wise to holster those pistols.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Maddox hissed.

“Because
I’ll then be merciful and ensure that your execution is quick. But if you’re hell-bent on suffering a slow and agonizing death, then you keep those pistols drawn.”

Muttering under his breath,
Maddox holstered both of his Navy Colts.

Spencer, the powerful multi-shot rifle braced against his shoulder,
glared at his foe. “Now this is what I call a bit of divine retribution. You’re outgunned, Maddox . . . just like my pa and two brothers were eight years ago. Kind of fitting, don’t you think? What with you blowing their brains out, and me about to do the same thing to you just a few feet from where they now lay.”

His eyes gleaming with an infuriated glare,
Maddox turned his head in Mercy’s direction. “I know you to be a Christian woman, a woman pledged to the cause of abolition. Are you going to stand by and let this southern savage kill a man of God?”

His plea struck a deep chord
. Unwillingly, Mercy recalled the westward journey that they’d made years before, the Hibbert and Maddox families just two of the many whose Kansas trek had been sponsored by the New England Aid Society, an organization dedicated to the principles of abolition. Even now, nearly ten years later, she could still recall her father and Mister Maddox seated around the evening campfire, avidly discussing their plans to make Kansas a free state. Those fireside debates had been intense, spirited even, but never once had either of them suggested that they should resort to cold-blooded murder as a means to an end.

What fateful chain of events had turned a God-loving man like Luther Maddox into a Dark Angel of Satan?

Was it the death of his beloved wife at the hands of Missouri border ruffians? Without a doubt, Mister Maddox had dearly loved his spouse.
Did his inconsolable grief then push him over the edge of reason and sanity?
Mercy briefly considered the notion before casting it to the wayside. In her heart, she knew that it was a pitiful excuse, at best. For there was not a one among them who had not suffered the heart-wrenching loss of a loved one.

Squaring her shoulders, Mercy leveled her gaze upon the man who had once been
her father’s close confidant. “I knew you long years ago, before your heart had become dark with hatred. My father may have agreed to adopt Gabriel, but he also vowed to have no further dealings with you. That’s the reason why I thought that you were dead all of these years. As far as my father was concerned, you
were
dead. Papa knew full-well that you’d sold your soul to the devil.”

U
nrepentant, Maddox pointed a finger at Mercy and said, “Daniel Hibbert knew the evil that lurked in the souls of these southern folk. If given the chance, he, too, would have taken up the sword to cast them from this place.”

“How dare you defile my father’s memory in so vile a manner!
He would
never
have condoned such diabolical—”

“Enough, already!” Spencer hefted the rifle
higher on his shoulder, an impatient look on his face. “You can either turn away, Mercy; or you can watch this bastard’s execution. It makes no difference to me.”

Desperate to forestall the unthinkable,
Mercy knew at that moment Spencer straddled the border between good and evil. If he pulled the trigger, it would bring about his fall from grace. From whence there would be no return.

Whatever it took, she would not let that happen to the man she loved.

“I’m begging you, Spencer. For the love of God, please don’t do this.”

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, sweetheart. God’s love
doesn’t mean much to a man whose family was gunned down by a pack of Bible-thumping murderers.” As he spoke, Spencer closed his left eye as he shifted the rifle into firing position.

“No!” Mercy screamed
. She beseechingly raised both hands. “If not for the love of God then what about the love that you bear for your unborn child?” As she spoke, Mercy swallowed a mouthful of bile, fear knotting her stomach into a tight, nauseous ball.

“Our baby doesn’t have anything to do with this, and you know it.”

“You’re wrong, Spencer. Our baby has everything to do with this.
Everything
. And I can prove it.”

Although
Spencer swore profanely, to her relief he also tipped the rifle barrel skyward. “You best make it quick, Mercy. My patient ran out eight years ago.”

Desperately hoping that she could
pierce the armor of Spencer’s fury, Mercy said, “This act of vengeance that you have planned is nothing more than a link in a long chain; a chain that will continue for generations unless something is done to break that link. Here and now.”

“Yeah? Just how do you figure that?”
Spencer countered, clearly dubious.

Nervously Mercy licked her lips, knowing that unless she could make a compelling argument, unless she could show cause and effect, Spencer would not hesitate to pull the trigger. She had to make him understand that it was not Luther Maddox she wished to protect, but rather, it was
him
, Spencer McCabe, whom she sought to save. Though Spencer was unwilling, or unable, to acknowledge it, his life, too, was in the balance. As were many lives.

Not so much as sparing a glance at Luther Maddox,
Mercy said, “Gabriel is only a boy. But when he reaches adulthood, he’ll come looking for the man who gunned down his father. And when our unborn child is old enough to carry a gun, he’ll come looking for Gabriel. If you slay Luther Maddox, the killing will only continue, generation after generation. Is that the legacy you wish to bequeath to our child? If it is, then by all means pull the trigger.”

By the time Mercy
had finished, tears coursed down her face. Filled with the dread fear that her argument would fall on deaf ears, she began to tremble uncontrollably.

Spencer’s hand
visibly tightened on the rifle barrel, his face a mask of implacable fury. “If you had a chance to kill the man who murdered your daddy, are you telling me that you wouldn’t make that bastard pay for all the grief he’s put you through?”

“I admit that . . . that there was a time when I, too, sought revenge. But now I know that life is a precious thing.
Our child’s life is a precious thing
.” Mercy put both of her hands over her belly; as though by such action, she could somehow protect the unborn child that she and Spencer had created. “Right now, at this moment, our child’s fate is in your hands, Spencer.”

Like a fierce knight of yore, Spencer sat astride his horse, his bearing erect, his
gaze resolute. Though she could not discern what he was thinking, Mercy knew that at that moment, Spencer McCabe was a deeply conflicted man. For eight long years, he’d wanted nothing save to avenge the deaths of his father and two brothers. After so long a wait, vengeance could now be had with a pull of the trigger. But his revenge would come at a steep price, no less than the future well-being of their unborn child.

The
moments slipped past in a tense silence. Then, his eyes wetly glistening with a barely repressed rage, Spencer removed his finger from the trigger.

“Maddox, you best ride as fast as you can ‘cause I’m liable to change my mind at any
moment.”

At hearing that,
Mercy nearly collapsed with relief. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she stifled a joyful sob.

“And the boy?” Maddox
jutted his chin at the farmhouse in the distance.

Spencer wasted little
time deliberating the matter. “He stays. This is his home now.”

His face twisted in a malevolent grimace,
Maddox dug his boot spurs into his horse’s sides, the beast rearing up on its hind legs. “Take heed, Spencer McCabe. Someday, I’ll return. At which time I shall shepherd you to the fiery depths of perdition.”