Passion's Fury (13 page)

Zeke was still covering his eye with his hand, and on his way out, he paused and whispered fiercely, “I’m gonna get you for this. You just wait. You won’t get away with this.”

“You touch me again,” April lashed out, “and so help me, I’ll claw both your eyes out!”

He started toward her, but Whit slammed a beefy paw on his shoulder and shoved him toward the door. “Get the hell out of here, boy, and leave her alone. I’ll be so goldarned glad to get you away from that filly. I’ve never seen you with such a hankerin’.”

The door closed behind them, and April sighed with relief. Exhausted from the encounter, she fell asleep.

The sound of voices out in the hall woke her. The room was dark. Night had fallen. Instantly, she was alert, and she slipped out of bed and tiptoed quietly across the cold, rough floor to eavesdrop by the door.

Whit and Zeke were drunk, and their voices slurred as they argued. Zeke was more belligerent than Whit. “I tell you, we’re gonna do it. I aint passin’ up a chance like this, no matter what you say.”

“You’re crazy!” Whit was struggling to keep his voice down. “Vanessa told us to get her sister up to that monastery and high-tail it home, and we shoulda been up there and back by now.”

“This ain’t gonna take long. How long do you think a horse race takes, you old fool? All we gotta do is be at Cheaha Mountain by mornin’. It’ll all be over soon and we can be on our way. That sonofabitch downstairs says this man’s got a horse that can beat my Satan, and you and me both know that ain’t so.”

“Yeah,” Whit countered. “And he also says this man up at Cheaha has got the fastest horse in three states. You just might get beat this time. What you got to bet, anyhow?”

“I tell you, I ain’t gonna lose.” They argued awhile and then April heard Whit sigh in defeat. “All right, all right. We’ll go have your dadblamed horse race, but if’n you get beat, don’t say I didn’t warn you. And I ’magine since we ain’t got no money, you’re gonna have to put Satan up against his horse. You just might lose him, boy.”

Zeke laughed. “I ain’t never lost a race yet, and I ain’t gonna lose this one. Now I’m goin’ downstairs and send word that at daylight, we’re havin’ ourselves a horse race at Cheaha mountain. I’m gonna watch the bettin’ start.”

She stumbled wearily back to bed and fell asleep again. Soon, Zeke was shaking her roughly. “Wake up and get dressed. I’m racin’ my horse this mornin’, at first light. If I ain’t there on time, folks will think I forfeited. We gotta move. Now get dressed—fast.”

She dressed hurriedly, while he waited outside. Then she left the room and, as she started through the door, he reached out to dig his fingers into her arm. “Remember,” he warned. “You kick up a fuss, and you’ll be sorry. I don’t want to break that pretty neck o’ yours, but I will if I have to.”

They stepped out into the hall, and from the glow of Zeke’s lantern she saw that Whit was passed out cold, dead to the world. He lay on the floor, stretched out and snoring. Zeke snickered and steered her by. “The old goat never could hold his liquor,” he murmured.

Outside, the wagon was waiting, the mare hitched up. Behind, Zeke’s proud black stallion pawed and stamped his feet in anticipation of the race, as though he fully understood what was going to happen. Zeke checked to make sure he was tied to the rear of the wagon, where he had been tied since they’d kidnapped April. Then he helped April up onto the bench before climbing up to take the reins.

April was frightened to be alone with him. Oh, why had Whit drunk so much?

The wagon lumbered along. Zeke didn’t speak. Deep inside, April felt an ominous chill. Something about this was not quite right. Would Whit catch up with them? She was sure of only one thing. Before the day ended, she had to escape Zeke Hartley, even at the risk of her life.

Chapter Eight

Zeke knew exactly where he was going. They left the main road leading to Talladega and headed eastward over a rough trail. Ahead, she could see the big mountain known as “Cheaha,” dense with tall green pines.

The gray light of dawn melded into a blue brilliance, but even the sun’s glow could not ward off the damp chill in the air. The peak of the mountain was invisible, hidden by a giant gray hand of fog.

She knew Zeke would be racing in a dash race, when horses and riders are pitted against each other for a particular distance. With a backward glance at Satan, she decided he would probably be capable of running two, even three miles at a stretch. He was a strong, powerfully built horse, obviously of good stock, and would probably win the race.

If he lost, what would Zeke pay his debt with? Had Vanessa given him any money yet? Surely not. Vanessa didn’t have any money. Had Zeke perhaps wagered his horse?

They rounded a banked curve, and Zeke gave the reins a quick jerk bringing the wagon to an instant halt. There was a man standing in the middle of the road with a rifle pointed straight at them. “That’s about as far as you’re going, mister,” the gunman’s voice boomed.

April looked at the stranger with interest. While he seemed dangerous, she decided he was a cut above Zeke’s caliber. He had a nice face, stern, but not sneering. He was tall, well-built, and wore clean clothes.

She watched as Zeke forced a smile to his lips. “My name’s Hartley. I come to race, and—”

“Yeah, we heard you were coming.” The gunman moved closer, his eyes flicking over April. With a polite nod in her direction, he turned his attention back to Zeke. “This is as far as the wagon goes. The woman stays with us.”

“Us?” April blinked. She only saw one man.

He swung the barrel of his rifle upward to the bank and she saw another man perched up there, also holding a gun.

“I’d rather keep her with me,” Zeke laughed nervously. “See, she’s a bit crazy in the head. Keeps tryin’ to run away. Her family asked me to take her to the monastery up in the mountains so the monks can keep her from runnin’ wild. I’d feel better if—”

“The boss don’t care how you feel, mister,” the gunman snapped. “We got this place well posted, and we’re a bit particular about who comes around. We been watching you ever since you left the Talladega road. Now if you want to race the boss, you just untie your horse and go with Tom up there. The lady stays with me.

“Otherwise”—his hands gripped the rifle tighter—“I suggest you turn around and head out of here pronto.”

Zeke held up his right hand and said, “All right. We’ll do it your way. It won’t take long nohow.”

April saw the gunman smile. His eyes met hers, and he said quietly, “My name’s Edward Clark, ma’am. You don’t have no call to be scared of me. The boss just don’t want no women around when he’s racing.”

She returned his smile. She liked this blond young man with the dark eyes and neatly trimmed blond beard. “I won’t be any trouble,” she said demurely, wondering how soon she could slip into the woods and escape.

Zeke untied his horse and then snapped, “Look, I’m holdin’ you responsible for this girl. If she gets away, so help me, I’ll have your hide. Now the best thing to do is let me just tie her to that tree over there.”

“She won’t get away, Hartley.” Edward returned the challenging glare. “I’ve got strict orders from the boss not to let that happen. He also said she’s not to be mistreated, and I think that includes not tying her up. So you best just be on your way, before he changes his mind about this whole thing.”

April was listening to the exchange of words, and suddenly she blurted out, “How did your boss know I was even along? Does he know about me? That I was taken from my home against my will?”

Strange looks passed between the two men. They remained silent, and she cried, “Well, answer me, Mr. Clark. Does he know I’m being held against my will?”

“Yes’m, he was told you’d say that,” he answered quietly, reaching to grip her arm tightly with a leather-gloved hand. “You just come on with me. There’s a shack close by, and I’ve got some hot coffee. I expect you could use some.”

To Zeke he said, “Tom’s waiting around that other bank. He’ll take you to the boss. It’s about another mile on up that road.”

April allowed him to lead her through brambles and beyond thick scrub underbrush. In the summer, when there was new foliage, the way would probably not be passable.

As the shack loomed ahead, she gave him a quick smile and said, “Thank you for not letting him tie me up.”

“I just take orders like the other men around here,” he replied gruffly. “And I sure hope you don’t give me no trouble, miss. I’d hate to get rough with you.”

It was not, she realized, going to be as easy to escape as she had thought. It would be best to pretend defeat and catch him off guard. “I won’t give you any trouble, Mr. Clark,” she whispered, putting a whimper into her voice.

He grinned. “That’s good. I find you awful pretty, miss, and I wouldn’t want to hurt you. The boss wouldn’t like it, either, but he’d kill me if anything happened to you.”

Nodding, she started walking once again, but this time she took sneaking glances around her. The woods were quite thick, but if she kept her bearings and used the mountain as her point north, she could move southwest and eventually find the Selma railroad. There was also the Coosa River and the possibility of a flatboat heading down to Montgomery. All she had to do was get away and stay out of sight. Freedom was at hand! Her heart was beating with excitement, and she hoped Edward Clark did not notice.

He opened the door of the shack, and she stepped inside to the shadowed light. There were two bunks, neatly made up with sheets, blankets, and pillows. The floor was swept. There was a small fireplace with a coffeepot hanging over the smoldering logs. A crude table and two rickety-looking chairs were the only other furnishings.

“Why is the shack hidden so deeply in the woods?” she asked innocently as Edward took a tin mug from the mantle and reached for the coffeepot. “It must be hard to get to.”

“We keep watch,” he said simply. “There are always two men. One on post. The other staying in here most of the time. It’s closer than the main house, and when strangers come up, we don’t like them to know they’re being watched till we know what they’re doing and who they are.”

“Makes sense.” Her voice was casual and she gave him an appreciative smile as he handed her the steaming mug of coffee. “Thank you. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since yesterday.”

“I thought you looked a little pale and cow-eyed.”

She told him she was recovering from a fever, and he nodded and suggested she sit down.

“What kind of race is it to be? A dash race? How long will it be? Two miles? Three?”

He laughed and sat down opposite her, propping his booted feet up on the table. “My, you got a lot of questions. And how come you’re so interested in horse racing?”

She explained that her father had raised some of the finest horses in the South, and she was puzzled to see a furrow of suspicion appear upon his forehead. “What’s wrong?” she asked suddenly. “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

“No,” he snapped, then added quickly, “They’ll be racing two miles. There’s a course marked off. We have a lot of dash races around here. Especially on the weekends. The boss likes to try out his horses. He breeds and raises horses. We’ve got some mighty expensive stock around here.”

“Which explains the heavy guard,” she offered, but he just looked at her closely and made no comment.

Perhaps a half hour had passed since they had left Zeke, on his way to race his horse. In an equal amount of time, he could return. Hoping she did not sound as nervous as she felt, she took a deep breath and said, “I would like to go outside.”

Edward had been staring into the fire, and he glanced up sharply. “Huh? What did you say?”

She glanced away, trying to look embarrassed. “Sir, there are things a lady must do, and—”

“Oh, sure, sure.” His feet hit the floor with a thud and he stood up. “We’ll go outside. I didn’t think—”

“You aren’t going with me?” she asked incredulously, widening her eyes.

Now his cheeks flushed. “Well, ma’am, I can’t let you just up and go outside. I was told to keep an eye on you, and—”

She got to her feet and pretended indignant anger. “Sir, there are some things a lady does that a gentleman does not ‘keep an eye on.’ Surely you can grant me five minutes of privacy.”

He ran his fingers through his beard, his eyes boring into hers. “All right,” he said finally. “But I’ll walk outside with you and stand in front of the shack. You step around back, and I’ll give you just five minutes. Now don’t you try to run off, because you’ll just get lost in these woods, and—”

She cut him off by snapping, “I have no intention of wandering out there among the snakes.” She walked by him, swishing her skirt as she passed.

Once outside, she walked quickly around the corner of the shack, down the side, and to the rear, out of Edward’s vision. She kept right on going, moving as fast as she dared but careful not to step on a twig that might snap and signal that she was moving beyond the rear of the shack. Neither did she want to stumble and go toppling headlong among the weeds and rocks. It was important to make as much distance as possible in only five minutes, but she could not take any chances.

She lifted her skirts as she stepped along, feeling her pantalets rip and tear as she scraped bushes along the way. Her heart leaped with joy when she saw the washed-out ravine, just ahead. Free of debris, it was like a clearly cut path leading downward, and once she stepped into it, she broke into a run.