Stuck Together (Trouble in Texas Book #3) (21 page)

Except . . .

“The dog’s not here?” Glynna glanced around the room, calling for the dog, but she was nowhere to be found.

“That means,” Tina said, swallowing hard, “Virginia Belle took Livvy with her.”

Glynna and Tina exchanged a horrified glance, and together they dashed for the front door.

Vince realized just what a winding, twisting path they’d taken as they neared the narrow-necked canyon. They’d made their way back nearly to Broken Wheel.

“Luke, how close to town is this canyon?” He was thinking of the Kiowa coming and that Wilcox was too quick to pull a trigger. Vince’s family and friends were all back in town, where it was supposed to be safe. But they were bringing the trouble straight for them.

Luke glanced sideways at Vince. “It’s a few miles to the west. But the land is so broken, there’s no direct route back to town, except maybe on foot.”

“And of course Wilcox would never walk anywhere.” Vince glared at Luke, which wasn’t one bit fair. “And Indians are known for never getting off their horses.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “I see what you mean. This trouble could spill over to Broken Wheel mighty fast.”

“Not only that,” Dare said from Vince’s right, “if Wilcox is holed up in a canyon close to town, we might be riding straight toward the place where he meets up with Duffy, or whoever is selling him liquor. And that could mean we’re riding to face more than one man.”

From what should have been a simple if touchy situation, rounding up one worthless drunk, they’d gone to rounding up a group of men bent on keeping their illegal business secret. White men weren’t even supposed to live in Indian Territory, which was why Broken Wheel had always been a quiet little town full of unsociable types. Probably some of them were hiding from the law. Yet one of the few crimes committed against Indians the government would enforce was the ban on liquor sales.

Vince could see this ending up with soldiers coming in, the Kiowa being rounded up, maybe killing involved in that, and then whoever was left alive in the tribe would be penned up on a reservation, while every man in and around Broken Wheel was run out of the territory. Vince didn’t have much to lose, and Jonas could be a preacher anywhere. Lots of folks in the West would welcome a doctor like Dare. But Luke would lose everything.

As Vince and his friends rode slowly for the varmint
Wilcox, a war party of Kiowa rounded a mesa and came charging in from the south. They were all headed for the same rugged, flat-topped canyon.

Kicking his horse, Vince surged ahead of his saddle partners, driven to stop this before it turned into something a lot bigger than a cowpoke who’d drunk himself stupid and fired off some reckless shots.

He was ahead about ten paces when, just seconds later, Luke caught up to him. “You let me talk to ’em, Vince. I know you like taking charge, but I’ve got a better chance of calming Red Wolf and his people down.”

Knowing it to be true wasn’t the same as liking it. Even so, Vince eased back just a hair as they rode closer to the armed Kiowa. One of the war party screamed and raised his rifle high. A harsh guttural command given by Red Wolf stopped the next shout from his warriors.

Then, to Vince’s surprise, Red Wolf shouted, “Stop, Luke!” It was so fierce that Luke pulled up. They were close now, just twenty or so yards from the Kiowa.

“I’m here to make this right, Red Wolf.” Luke’s voice carried across the stony ground. “The man who shot you works for me, and I will see to his punishment.”

“I don’t believe in your laws, old friend. I trust you, but you can’t make promises for others. The best you can do is to arrest your man for another crime. You’ll punish him for that, but not for shooting at me as I stood peacefully beside you. That isn’t justice—not as the Kiowa understand it.”

Vince felt compelled to speak for the law in this mess. “I’m the sheriff in Broken Wheel, Red Wolf. I will arrest Wilcox for shooting you. I give you my word I won’t let a judge look away from this.”

Red Wolf glared at Vince, then Luke. One of his warriors roared a string of words in the Kiowa language. A rapid back and forth between Red Wolf and this man was interrupted by other warriors, all of them sounding furious.

Vince knew exactly how they felt.

“The rest of you stay back.” Luke spoke low enough to not interrupt the wrangling Kiowa, then rode even closer.

Luke was talking mostly to Red Wolf with some stumbling between English and Kiowa. Red Wolf raised a hand high, and Vince saw the white of the bandage around his side, beneath his shirt. The white looked garish against the natural colors of his buckskin clothes. His hair hung down in two long braids that dangled in front of his chest.

Then one of the Kiowa warriors raised a tomahawk. Vince tightened his hands on the reins to get to Luke’s side. Just then a bullet blasted out of the canyon, followed by a volley of shots.

Every man among them wheeled to face trouble. Vince soon realized, as he was sure they all did, that the shooter was out of range. The bullets were kicking up dirt nearly a hundred feet away. The best rifles around had a range of about three hundred feet, and the entrance to the canyon was four hundred or more. It had to be Wilcox, and there was a good chance he was drinking again or he’d’ve never pulled the trigger. And he’d’ve for sure quit firing after the first couple of shots fell so short.

Puffs of smoke exploded up from a jumble of rocks perched high at the mouth of a canyon.

Red Wolf roared an order, and his braves dismounted. Their horses wore no saddles and the Indians didn’t tie
them. The animals walked away from the noise, but they didn’t hightail it out of there. Instead they went to grazing.

Luke grabbed Red Wolf by the upper arm and talked so fast in Kiowa that Vince couldn’t keep the words separate, let alone hope to glean any of their meaning.

Luke slashed with his hand as he argued with Red Wolf.

No good in the verbal battle, Vince studied the range of fire and said, “Dare, I’m going to try and get behind him.”

With a jerk of his chin Dare said, “Let’s go.”

“No!” Vince said. “I said I’d go. I wasn’t inviting anyone.”

“You’ll need backup.”

“I’ll need someone shooting at him from here, as a diversion.”

The Indians broke off their talk. Luke slapped Red Wolf on the arm and turned to his Regulator friends. “They’re going to give us a chance. One chance to catch Wilcox and lock him up.”

Vince wondered how long the Kiowa would stay out of the fight. “I’ve got an idea, but I’m going to be the one to try it.”

“We’re in this together, Vince,” Jonas said.

“It’s risky.”

“My ranch, my risk.” Luke tugged on his leather gloves. Another bullet fired from the canyon mouth, and Luke studied the location of the gunman, his eyes blazing with anger.

“What I’ve got planned is a one-man job. I’m going to ease up to the side of the canyon mouth and scale that bluff. I’ll be in rifle range for a couple hundred feet, but I should be able to stay out of sight. The cover is only big enough for one man. Besides that, there are stretches
with no cover. I’m going to need him to be busy looking somewhere else.”

“So we’ll string out. We’ll use the cover one at a time.” Dare never did like to be left out of the action.

“I need the three of you fanned out here,” Luke said, “keeping his eyes away from the path I’m using. And we all know which of us is better at sneaking, because that’s what I did during the war.”

Vince saw the Kiowa horses grazing a ways off, but the Kiowa themselves had vanished. While Luke might be better at sneaking than his Regulator friends, he didn’t have a patch on the Indians.

“I’m surrounded by married—or almost married—men.” Vince thought of his mother. He wasn’t married, yet he had responsibilities. He gave Jonas a hard look. “If something happens to me, Missy is the closest thing to family Mother’s got left, and it ain’t very close. But I want your word you’ll care for Mother.”

“If you’re making arrangements for your death, then this is a half-wit plan.” Jonas was usually serene and wise; right now he looked mighty annoyed. “I don’t want to go back to town and tell Tina I let you get killed.”

Vince didn’t like it that Jonas had said
Tina
. Why not his sister? Why not his mother? Vince preferred to think that no one had noticed what had passed between Tina and him, but Jonas had pretty clearly noticed.

“Then make sure you keep that fool focused right on you when I’m slipping up on him.” Vince jerked his head toward a man-high slab of red stone sitting in the middle of the wide stretch fronting the canyon. “I’m going to try to keep him from seeing I’m gone. Let’s walk over this way.”

They walked, and before long the gunman fired at them.

Once they were hidden, Vince turned to Luke. “Trade coats with me.” Vince wore a long black duster. Luke wore buckskin. “Yours’ll fade into the landscape better.”

For once, Vince wasn’t wearing the black broadcloth pants that made him feel like a lawyer. For long rides he wore brown canvas pants. The color was lucky because they’d help him to blend in with the surroundings.

Looking disgruntled, Luke handed over his coat. Vince shoved his at Luke and pulled the buckskin on.

The man shot again and again.

“What is that fool shooting at?” Dare asked. “Hasn’t he figured out we’re out of range?”

“Probably just wants us to be too afraid to come any closer,” Luke muttered. “And that doesn’t have a single chance of working, so let him waste his bullets and let’s hope he runs out.”

“We should’ve checked with Tug Andrews to see if Wilcox stocked up, or with Dodger to see how hard he dips into the bullets you keep around the bunkhouse.” Vince looked around the canyon. “You all stay here for a bit. Make it so one or two of you is visible now and then. That way he’ll think we’re back here taking shelter.”

“Don’t tell us how to create a diversion.” Dare crossed his arms. “It’s insulting and you’re wasting time.”

Vince left his friends to handle their part of this lame-brain plan. Out of sight of the shooter, he angled toward another jumble of stones. Wilcox—assuming it was Wilcox—was giving his position away with every shot, the idiot. Vince would have to slip along and belly-crawl when he
got closer, but for now all he needed to do was keep out of the line of sight, and the stones were scattered in a way that made that easy. Vince would be up that canyon wall and behind Wilcox, able to disarm him, without the drunken coyote even knowing anyone was coming.

That was if everything went like he’d planned. When did that ever happen in a gunfight?

“Go get Missy and the children. We need to fan out.” Tina raised her voice to call, “Livvy, here girl.”

Glynna had turned to run through the diner to gather help, but then stopped abruptly and grabbed Tina’s arm. “Why are you calling the dog? Call for Virginia Belle, for heaven’s sake.”

“Should I?” Tina was surprised by the suggestion. “What chance is there that Virginia Belle will come when she’s called?”

“Well, at least try that first!” Glynna shot up the steps and into the diner, a shortcut to her house.

“Virginia Belle? Mrs. Yates? Mother?” Just to be thorough, Tina yelled, “Livvy?” At this point she just wanted someone, anyone, to respond.

There was nothing except the sounds of Glynna yelling for her children, a door slamming shut, pounding feet, and shouting for Missy.

“Mrs. Yates?” Tina had no idea which direction to go. Mother had headed south last time, so Tina dashed toward that end of town just as Paul, with Janny on his heels, came running for her. She wanted to send each searching in a
different direction, but she didn’t dare let the children go out there alone.

More running feet and she saw Glynna enter the saloon. A woman never went into a saloon. Even Tina, who’d stood just outside the door of Duffy’s Tavern dozens of times, and even peeked inside on occasion, had never entered the place. Then Glynna was back, with Duffy and Griss right behind her. They headed for the general store. A moment later, Tina noticed them twist the knob. The door didn’t open. Where was Tug Andrews? Maybe he snuck in a nap after dinner?

Duffy and Griss gave up and headed for the livery.

Missy came running toward Tina just as Glynna rushed over.

“Duffy said he’d find more men. I told them we’d split up and take the south and west sides of town. He’s gonna cover the north and east sides.”

Missy looked at the five of them. “Is it safe to split up? What about that prisoner who broke jail? Will she be out there?”

Tina inhaled as slowly as a panic-stricken woman could. “Dare seemed sure she was long gone, and we have no choice but to trust him because we’ve got to find Mrs. Yates. Glynna, you take the children and go west. Missy, you come with me to the south.”

Shaking her head, Missy said, “You go with them and I’ll hunt on my own. I don’t think Glynna and the youngsters should be on their own.”

Paul drew his gun and checked the load with quiet confidence. “She’s not alone. I’ve got a gun and I’ll protect my ma.”

Looking at Paul and his calm eyes, Tina decided she had to let go of her image of him as a child. The boy was grown now, and that was that.

“You’re right, Paul. Glynna’s probably in better hands with you than me.” Tina turned to Missy. “The two of us will team up. And we need to get going now.”

The first cry of “Virginia Belle” went up from the far side of town. It was Sledge Murphy’s voice. Close after was another man’s voice, Duffy most likely, though he and Griss sounded a lot alike. It galled Tina that the two were being so helpful.

With a quick jerk of her chin in agreement, Missy said, “Let’s go.”

Missy led the way, with Tina hard on her heels. As they plunged into the rugged undergrowth and dodged the red rock slabs—many of them tall enough to hide an addled woman—Tina called for Virginia Belle, and Missy even eventually called for Livvy.

Neither of them got so much as a whisper of response.

Movement was what drew a man’s eye. So Vince inched forward slowly, doing what he could to blend in to the rocky ground, the clumps of winter-dried weeds and stumpy mesquite. Vince made himself to look like just one more brown lump in a brown and lumpy landscape.

He’d advanced nearly two hundred feet and was well within rifle range now. He had cover, but nothing that would stop a bullet. He slithered along, finding dips in the rugged ground, some so small he was hiding more in Wilcox’s mind than in truth. He dragged himself along on
his belly with waving bunches of grama grass as his only shield, then made it behind another slab of rock. He had twenty feet of open space ahead. His only hope of getting across was if Wilcox wasn’t looking this direction. Then there was a copse of young cottonwood trees and a tumble of rocks, more tall grass, and then another open space before Vince reached the bluff on top of which Wilcox was perched.

Vince kept getting closer and closer. For the next twenty feet he’d be exposed, and moving so slow that even a half-wit had a good chance of hitting what he aimed at.

Even if Wilcox missed, he’d know Vince was coming and that would put an end to Vince’s hopes of scaling the cliff and getting a drop on him.

Vince eased along when he wanted to clear that stretch at a dead run. He crept like one of the desert critters, blending in, staying silent. Seconds passed between each move. The day was starting to wear down, and the shadows grew longer from the canyon walls. Vince could use those shadows when he got to them, but he had no notion of waiting for them to come all this way. He didn’t think the Kiowa were that patient, and truth be told, he wasn’t either.

Another inch, then a foot, then a yard. Vince thought back to the war.

He’d been a spy. His mother’s Southern accent was easy for him to mimic, and he’d spent time in his childhood visiting his grandparents at their plantation. He could talk to the Southern soldiers and mix in with them.

He even had sympathy for them, because he knew they were fighting for their homes. So he’d made his way to a camp and hid in the darkness, sometimes almost right
under their guns. Then he’d pick a moment and join the Southern forces.

He felt like that now. Like a sneak and a spy. A lot of people would’ve thought those were insults, but Vince liked knowing he could keep up his guard, pretend to be who he wasn’t. He was a natural at ignoring how he really felt and adopting a manner that suited him for whatever reason. He’d learned all those skills—sneaking, spying, pretending, hiding his feelings—from a lifetime of dealing with his father.

Hard to like the idea that handling his father had trained Vince for war.

A coyote’s howl jerked Vince back to the present. He realized he’d gone into his daydreams for a while. Slowly he advanced another yard, then another.

A shot blasted out of the canyon, and Vince braced himself to rush for cover. The young cottonwoods weren’t much, but they were closer than the rock. But he’d be pinned down there.

Thankfully the shot wasn’t aimed in his direction. Soon return shots came from Dare and Luke. Vince risked a glance backward and saw that his friends had moved in closer, to just out of rifle range.

They were diverting Wilcox’s attention, all right. Vince picked up speed and got himself behind the cottonwoods. He let himself rest only a few moments, then went on—faster now as he skirted the trees and the rock pile. He scrambled with speed behind the tall grass.

He saw the shadows stretching toward him. That darkness would hide him almost as well as a real barrier. Shadows
wouldn’t stop a bullet, but they could keep a man from pulling the trigger to begin with.

Breathing deeply to steady his nerves, he slid into clear view of the shooter and looked up. Wilcox stood behind a boulder high up on top of the canyon wall. He was concealed from anyone straight ahead of him, but Vince was off to the side and could see the sidewinder clearly. In fact, Vince could’ve probably put a bullet into Wilcox from where he was hiding. But a shot upward while lying on his belly was tricky, and Vince’s position would be given away.

Being careful not to draw Wilcox’s attention, Vince closed the distance between him and the shadow. Once there, he had thirty more feet to the wall of the bluff, where Wilcox couldn’t see him anymore, not without coming right to the edge of the canyon top and looking down.

Vince glanced up. Wilcox took a long pull on his bottle. A few more feet of progress and finally Vince belly-crawled into the shadow cast by the lowering sun. Moving steadily, he picked up speed and was soon against the rocks.

He could now see Jonas, Dare, and Luke, and they saw him. Luke tugged on the brim of his hat, and Vince nodded back. Vince saw Luke talking, and neither Dare nor Jonas even looked over. They were cautious men and too savvy to give him away by so much as a glance, just in case Wilcox hadn’t drunk himself cross-eyed.

From his vantage point, Vince could see a few of the Kiowa, too. They had taken cover, and he’d have never seen them if he didn’t know they were there.

Vince let himself relax for a minute, then gazed straight up the canyon wall. He needed to scale this cliff and, once he was up on Wilcox’s level, end this thing. He touched his
Colt, hooked with a strap over the trigger so it wouldn’t fall out of his holster while he crawled.

He hoped he could avoid shooting, but he’d do what he had to do. He took off his buckskin gloves and tucked them away, then reached for his first handhold.

“She dropped a handkerchief last time,” Tina said. “Why couldn’t she have done that again?”

She and Missy rushed here and there, looking behind every clump of grass and rock big enough to hide a woman. They’d been at it for at least half an hour and had left Broken Wheel far behind.

“Virginia Belle, where are you?” Missy shouted.

“Maybe since she fired you, she’s not answering.” Tina looked at Missy and knew her furrowed brow matched Tina’s.

“Then you holler. I’ll keep quiet if you think it’ll help.”

“Let’s listen for a while instead. Surely Mother or Livvy would make some sound walking along. Livvy yips all the time.” Silence prevailed as they kept walking. Tina could almost hear a clock ticking away, counting down the time Virginia Belle had been lost, maybe hurt, maybe snakebit.

Tina came up close to a steep rise of rock. It had the beautiful stripes of red running crossways that made this area different from any place Tina had ever seen. She looked at that wall of rock and knew Mother hadn’t kept moving forward. If she’d come this way, this would have stopped her. To go left or right? Which way?

Tina stood in front of a swaying cluster of mesquite that seemed to grow right out of the rock. Then, because
she had no idea where to go next, Tina looked closer at the clump of stunted trees. It formed almost a solid wall in front of the striped stone, but a gust of wind made the mesquite bend and dance. Tina saw something she couldn’t quite make out behind the thick copse of trees. She narrowed her eyes at the rock behind the trees, or rather the lack of rock.

A sudden stomping of footsteps from their left whirled them around. Tug Andrews came out from behind a couple of scrub junipers, looking surprised to see them. “Uh . . . sorry to . . . to startle you, ladies.”

Tina remembered that the general store had been locked up when Glynna was looking for help. She wondered where Tug had been, and with everyone running out of town, how had he even known they were out here?

“Mrs. Yates wandered off again,” she explained.

Tug swallowed hard and tugged at his bristly beard. “I heard. How long you been lookin’?”

“We’ve been out here for the better part of an hour.” Missy’s voice broke.

“Now, don’t get in a fret. I’ll help you find her.” Tug kept worrying the gray whiskers on his chin. The beard had never seen a trim. He yanked, and Tina noticed he had a makeshift bandage on his hand. And if she wasn’t mistaken, there were several spots of fresh crimson blood dotting it, so his wound must be fresh. He had a battered buckskin coat that had the look of being made by hand. It had beadwork on the fringe that looked similar to a coat Luke owned, one made by the Kiowa. Tug wore a fur cap, and his coat was tied tight with a leather belt. He was bundled up as if he planned to be outside a long time.