Sweetwater (Birdsong Series) (17 page)

Emily was talking to herself. She’d been talking to
herself, all day. It made the time pass faster and it reinforced her
to do
list. She needed to be able to
concentrate on all the things that were necessary to set up house.

“A dog,” she stated, as she swept the hearth. “I want a
dog—a really big one.” She was bent over, with her head half-way hidden
in the fuel box, when she thought she heard a sound coming from the kitchen.
She paused for a moment.

“Blake? Are you home already?” she hollered, excitedly.
“I’m a mess. I wasn’t expecting you for hours yet.”

No sound came from the kitchen. Having received no answer
to her query, she shrugged her shoulders, thinking she must have been mistaken
and turned back to her work.

As she cleaned off the final trace of smoke and ash, Emily
was totally unaware of the evil in the eyes staring at her, from the nearby
kitchen doorway. So lost in the work she had just completed, she wasn’t aware
of anyone entering the room—until she heard his voice.

“You always did like to keep things clean,” a gruff voice
said, in a low and menacing tone.

Startled, Emily bumped her head on the firebox as she
whipped around to confront the intruder. “You!” Her hand tightened on the
broom handle.

He chuckled without the least bit of humor. “Yes, little
girl. It’s yer old pappy come fer a visit.” He held out both his arms to her
and invited her into his embrace. “Ain’t you gonna come and give me a kiss to
welcome me home?”

“You’re repulsive. Get out!” Emily shrieked, as she stood
up and instinctively, backed away from the man.

“Now that plum hurts my feelin’s, daughter. I went to a lot
of trouble to track you down and now you don’t even want to see me.” Lucas
took a menacing step forward, his eyes never leaving Emily’s frightened face.

She remembered the rifle was resting on the other side of
the fireplace, just behind the chair. If she could get to it, he’d be forced
to leave. Stealthily, she moved closer to the chair.

“You know you’re not welcome here. When Blake gets back,
he’ll have you arrested.”

Lucas laughed loudly at that statement. “I’m shakin’ in my
boots, little girl. The doc, yer so fond of, is layin’ dead, half-way ‘tween
here and Hays City. You don’t think I’d let him live, do ya? Not after all
the trouble he’s caused me.”

Emily’s heart jumped up into her throat at the possibility
of Blake being dead. “I don’t believe you, old man. You’re a liar and a coward.
Blake is too smart for the likes of you.”

He continued to grin, showing his yellow, rotten teeth.
“We’ll see, girlie. We’ll see. Fer now, I think we should relax and get
reacquainted. Have some fun. You ain’t no scrawny kid, no more. I could see
that by your round little bottom sticking up in the air, when you were bent
over cleaning that log box. And it ain’t like we’re blood related. I ain’t
your pa.”

Emily knew exactly what he was getting at and she’d kill
herself before she’d allow him to lay one filthy hand on her. Quickly, Emily
calculated the time and estimated how long it would take Blake to make the ride
from town to the farm. Closing her eyes, for just an instant, she prayed he
would arrive in time to save her. She needed to keep Lucas talking until then.

“Why did you kill Dusty? He was no threat to you?” She
stepped one step closer to the door.

Lucas spit on her recently cleaned floor. “He was weak.
Damn runt never wanted to do what was necessary to get the job done. Lazy, too.
Hell, I thought about gettin’ rid of him fer years. It’s not like he was my
boy. Couldn’t trust him and I’m glad to be shed of him.”

“I hate you!” Emily screamed.

The old man slapped his right hand over his heart and
stumbled back a couple of steps with a look of pain across his
face—before he starting laughing. “Ooh, I’ll never get over that,
girlie. That was a arrow straight through my heart.”

Then he grew dark and serious. “Now get your fine ass into
that kitchen and fix me up some grub. I ain’t ‘et for nearly two days and I’m
a starvin’. Then, later, we’ll get down to the fun stuff . . . now git!” The
serious tone of his voice caused shivers to run down Emily’s spine.

She tried looking for a solution to this very real threat,
but could only think of one thing. Her eyes darted to the shotgun resting just
a few feet away. She knew he was up to no good and it would be hours before
Blake arrived—if he arrived. She would have to save herself.

Immediately, Lucas was in her face, tobacco spit dripping
from his chin. “Don’t even think it, darlin’. I’ll snap yer neck before you
ever get yer fingers around the barrel,” he snarled. To make his point, he
grabbed her by the throat and squeezed just hard enough to shut off her air
supply, then he tossed her aside, laughing.

Emily stumbled away, and headed for the kitchen. As she
rubbed her swollen neck, she thought of another way to stall for time. She’d
cook up a big meal—one that took a lot of time to prepare. Buying time
was her only strategy.

An hour had passed when Lucas stomped into the little
kitchen, madder than hell. “I ain’t stupid. It don’t take no hour to fix some
eggs and taters. Fry me up some bacon, too. And hurry it up. I know yer a
wastin’ time, hopin’ fer someone to come ridin’ in and save ya. But it ain’t
gonna happen. I told ya. I done shot him.”

“I don’t believe you, Lucas. You’re a liar.”

He suddenly grabbed her arm and twisted it up behind her
back. The sharp pain was excruciating and forced her up on her toes. Emily was
afraid the bones were going to snap.

“I don’t give a damn what you think, little girl. I’m in
charge and what I say is law.” He brutally shoved Emily back against the
stove, causing her to burn her hand on the kettle, now boiling rapidly.

As she pulled back in response to the pain, she thought
about grabbing the kettle and spilling its contents over her stepfather. She
needed to do it quickly—take him by surprise.

“There ya go again. A’fore ya can heft that kettle off the
fire, I’ll have ya down on the floor with yer bloomers down around yer ankles.
You ain’t smart enough to take me, girl. I think I’m gonna punish ya fer all
yer thinkin’.” He laughed loudly, knowing she was his for the taking.

Emily’s eyes dimmed in defeat. She had no choice but to do
exactly as he demanded. She quickly finished his food and placed it on the
table in front of him, praying he’d choke.

Lucas shoveled the food in as fast as he could get his mouth
around the spoon. He ate like an animal, Emily thought. It was disgusting
watching him devour his food. She could feel her stomach roll over as bile
filled her throat. She was going to be sick.

“Fetch me somethin’ to drink. And it better not be milk!”
Lucas shouted, with a mouthful of eggs.

Thank God, Emily thought. It got her away from the table
long enough for her stomach to relax. She had used all the water in the pail,
for the soup she’d been preparing for supper, so she would have to go outside
to the pump. She grabbed the bucket and headed for the door when she was
grabbed by the waist and thrown to the floor, forcing all the air from her
lungs. Scared and in pain, she heard Lucas roar with glee while watching her
gulping for air, trying to regain her breath.

“You goin’ somewheres? I’ll kill ya first. Now get yer ass
up off the floor and pour me some of that coffee.” He pointed to the pot on
the back of the stove.

Against her will, tears started cascading down Emily’s
cheeks. The last thing she wanted to do was show Lucas she feared him. She
had tried to be brave, but she now feared her situation was hopeless. It was
as if she was five years old again and the old man’s will was law. As she got
to her knees, Lucas put his big boot against her bottom and pushed her back
onto the floor. He cackled like a lunatic.

Once again, Lucas ordered Emily to stand up and fetch him
some coffee.

Warily, Emily stood up . . . watching for another trick.
Cautiously, she proceeded to the stove and grasped the coffeepot, carefully
pouring a hefty amount into a large mug. She smiled as she handed it to the
old man.

She watched has he drained that cup . . . then waited.

Earlier that morning, Emily had discovered rats in the
cellar and wanted to stop them before they multiplied and threatened their
winter food supply. Not being able to find a suitable container for the
poison, she used the large mug to mix the liquid. She’d set it aside, until
after it was washed thoroughly—which it hadn’t yet been. The dregs of
the poison had settled in the bottom of the cup.

The rich dark liquid flowed down his chin and over the sides
of the cup, but she was certain that he had ingested enough of the tainted
brew.

It didn’t take long, as Emily noticed the furrowing of
Lucas’ brow, soon followed by a slight grimace of his mouth. Suddenly, he looked
up at her with a feral look of hatred. As he said, he wasn’t stupid.

In a moment’s time, he was on his feet and lunging for her.
With one hand on his now recoiling stomach, he reached out and grabbed onto her
securely, with his other hand. It was amazing, the strength he possessed even
after having been poisoned. Lucas staggered toward the stove and the lighted
lamp sitting upon the shelf. He dragged her out the door, knocking everything
aside.

Across the yard, ignoring the protestations of the angry
geese, he continued to pull Emily. The harder she struggled, the tighter he
held on, cutting off all circulation to her arms and hands, his ragged nails
cut deeply into her tender flesh. Emily screamed, knowing that it was a futile
attempt to get help.

Lucas was practically blind by the time they reached the
closed doors to the barn. He struggled to stand upright, but never lost his
vise-like grip on Emily. Once inside, he threw her to the floor and fell down
beside her.

Emily noticed his breathing was labored and he sweat
profusely, but he was still conscious. She couldn’t believe that the small
amount of arsenic in the cup would have such a profound effect on the big man,
and so quickly. She tried to scoot back, away from him, but he reached out for
her and once again, he held tight.

“Damn you. I had plans.” He struggled to speak. “You
ain’t won yet, girlie.” Lucas managed to secure a rawhide rope around her
hands and pulled it down through her feet, tying her to a beam, before he
passed out.

Emily began to sob with relief. Surely Lucas was dying and
Blake would find her tied up in the barn. Looking over at the vile man, she
wondered what created a man such as he? How could a man turn into such a
monster? She remembered all the horrible things she had witnessed as a child.
He was at the center of it all and she was glad he was dying. His chest was
still rising and falling, but she hoped it would soon still. She closed her
swollen eyes and thought of Blake.

It was then that Emily smelled the smoke.

* * *

It had been a long and tedious day. Blake’s mind had been
filled with erotic images of Emily, lying on the bed and wrapped seductively in
just a smile. Thoughts of her luxurious black hair caressing her bare
shoulders and lying in curls about her perfect nipples delighted his
imagination. He grew hard, just thinking of her. He had to get home to her
soon or he’d lose his mind. Smiling, he imagined what his life would be like
after he took Emily for his bride.

Blake nudged his horse in an effort to pick up the pace. If
he hurried, he’d be there in thirty minutes or less. He’d kiss and fondle
Emily first, and bring her to paradise. Then they’d have dinner and he’d
repeat the loving, all over again. Yes, sir. He planned hours of sexual
pleasure for the two of them.

“Whoa!” Blake commanded, as he pulled back on the reins. He
smelled smoke, and in this dry prairie country that was almost always a bad
sign. His eyes darted around, scanning the horizon, looking for the telltale
sign of fire, curling high into the air, but he saw nothing. He strained to
see a plume, but there was nothing visible. Slowly, he proceeded, keeping a
sharp lookout for trouble.

Blake hadn’t yet reached the top of the ridge when his blood
ran cold. A black trail of smoke had risen above the hill. The farm was on
fire—Emmie’s farm.

Pressing his heels into the horse’s flanks, Blake rode like
a bat out of hell toward the offending smell of burning lumber. As he cleared
the ridge, he saw the devastation. Never slowing, he rode faster to find
Emily. Surely, she would have gotten out. He heard a loud and agonizing sound
in his ears as he neared the farmhouse. It was his own voice, he heard,
screaming in anguish and abject terror at what he saw.

“Emmie! Emily!” He shouted over and over, as he ran
frantically from the totally engulfed farmhouse to the blazing barn. Surely
she had escaped. He tried the doors . . . the windows, any opening he could
find. The heat of the flames prohibited him from entering. He rushed to the
side of the barn and kicked at the timbers, but part of the loft caved in,
blocking his way. Blake frantically ran to the stock tank and tried to fill
the buckets with enough water to get him inside the barn, but it couldn’t be
done.

“Emily!” he shouted. “Angel, where are you?” Blake’s voice
was hoarse and his eyes stung from the realization that his love may not have
survived. He knew she wouldn’t abandon her farm, but would stay and fight the
cursed flames.

Falling to his knees in disbelief, he came to the
realization that it was hopeless. It was futile to think anything would be
spared. He could do nothing to save whatever was still in the house or barn.
The heat was so intense, he had to pull back and just watch it burn. As his
hopes continued to fade, his eyes kept searching the fields, beyond the barn,
for the sight of a ravishing brunette.