To Have and to Hold (Cactus Creek Cowboys) (2 page)

The smell of blood from Ethan’s wound filled her nostrils and made her sick to her stomach. She shooed the flies away.

A cry from Cassie Greene riveted Naomi’s attention.

She looked out on the plain. The Indians had lined up for another charge. How many were still out there, twenty? Thirty?

It didn’t matter. There was no more suspense. No more fear. They would all die. She could face the certainty of death, but her pride wouldn’t let her face it cowering under a wagon. She would meet them on her feet, a rifle in her hands.

“Load for me,” she ordered Ben. Her voice was hoarse now, barely an intelligible whisper.

“They’ll kill you,” Ethan protested, pulling her back as she started to crawl from under the wagon.

Naomi turned on him. “They’re going to kill us anyway.” She heard her voice as though from a distance. She sounded slightly hysterical, but she felt utterly calm. Her gaze bored into him, and her voice dropped to a rasping whisper. “Don’t let them take me alive. I can stand anything but that.”

Ethan turned his eyes away. “You know I can’t do that.”

She grabbed him, made him look at her. “Promise me.” It was no longer a request.

He averted his face. “Christ!”

She seized his chin and forced him to look at her.

“I know what they do. I’d go mad.”

It was an awful thing to ask of a man. It was especially cruel to ask of a seventeen-year-old, yet Naomi didn’t hesitate. Her gaze, intense and resolute, locked with Ethan’s. “You’ve got to promise me.”

“All right,” Ethan replied, but he didn’t look at her.

“Swear it! I’ll haunt you if you don’t.”

“I said I would.” This time Ethan looked straight into her eyes, and Naomi knew he meant it. She rose to her feet.

At almost the same moment, the Indians charged along a broad front. Naomi lifted her rifle, but before she could bring it level, a series of thundering shots rang out and Indians fell from saddles like toys knocked over with the back of an angry child’s hand. Naomi stared dumbfounded as the attackers divided into two groups, wheeled in panic, and galloped off in opposite directions.

“What’s happening?” Ethan asked Naomi.

“Over there!” Ben cried, pointing.

In the distance Naomi could see a man’s head above the grass. Then he burst into full view. A rider on a great Appaloosa was galloping toward them.

No one followed him. He was alone. He had attacked the Indians all by himself. He had to be crazy.

Naomi looked to where she had seen the Indians disappearing, but they weren’t running away any longer. Attacking from opposite directions, they formed a semicircle around the rider. His only chance was to reach the wagons before one of their arrows buried itself in his back. His horse was magnificent. Such an animal could easily outrun the Indian ponies, but could he outrun the Indians’ arrows?

The whooping and screaming warriors loosed their arrows to no avail. Naomi was hopeful he would reach the wagons when she saw the closest Indian draw his bow. She fired at him but missed.

“Shoot him!” she shouted to Ethan, who had dragged himself from under the wagon to kneel next to her. “Hurry before it’s too late!”

Ethan didn’t hit the Indian, but he caused the brave to drop his bow. Before she could sigh with relief, an Indian rose out of the grass not thirty yards away.

The Indian leader she thought Ethan had killed! He drew his bow and aimed for the stranger’s back. Before she could shout a warning, she heard the twang of the bowstring, the zing of the arrow through the air, and the sickening thud as it buried itself in the man’s back.

Rifle fire burst from all around her, and the Indian fell to the ground, truly dead this time.

With a tremendous leap, the Appaloosa jumped over the Kessling oxen and landed inside the ring of wagons. The stranger toppled to the ground virtually under the hooves of the frightened, milling animals.

Before Naomi could overcome her shock, the man jumped to his feet, snatched the rifle from her, stumbled to a position at the end of their wagon, and sent a bullet into a brave who was about to use his hatchet to kill another ox. The stranger thrust her rifle back at her. “Load it, then bring me my rifle from my saddle.” He shouted to Ethan, “Give me your rifle!”

The sight of the blood staining the stranger’s shirt made Naomi dizzy. When she remained rooted to the spot, Ethan grabbed the rifle from her slack grip. “Get the rifle from his saddle. I’ll load for him.”

Finally able to force her legs to move, Naomi hurried to the Appaloosa. She caught up the reins, then led him back to the wagon, pulled the rifle from its scabbard, and handed it to the man.

“Can you load this rifle?” he asked.

“No.” She had never seen a rifle like that.

Without looking at her, he emptied two rifles, which he handed to Ethan and Ben. Still keeping his gaze on the Indians, he snatched the rifle from Naomi’s hands. He took a handful of large, long shells from his pocket and started forcing them into a slot halfway down the stock. Naomi watched, fascinated.

Once finished, he leapt to his feet and stepped around the end of the wagon so he had an uninterrupted field of fire at the attacking Indians. They had an equally uninterrupted field of fire at him, but the barrage of rifle fire that erupted from his weapon had a devastating effect on the Indians. As fast as he could pull the trigger, fifteen bullets exploded from the rifle. The Indians had no time to attack while he reloaded. There were a half dozen empty saddles when the stranger slumped back to reload.

“Where did you get that rifle?” Ethan asked in shock.

“In the army,” the stranger replied, busy thumbing bullets in the chamber. “In a few years, the Indians will have a thousand just like it.”

The thought of what could have happened if they’d had them today turned Naomi’s blood to ice.

“Do you think they’ll charge again?” Ben asked. The twelve-year-old was on the cusp of maturity, young enough to be excited but old enough to understand the finality of death.

“We’ll see in a moment,” the stranger replied.

“You’re wounded.” Naomi pointed to the bloody shirt.

“I’ve had worse,” the man said. With that, he reached around and pulled the arrow out of his back and tossed it away.

Naomi gasped in horror. How could he do that like it was no more than extracting a splinter?

“You’d better see about that leg,” he said to Ethan.

Apparently feeling he couldn’t be outdone without calling his courage into question, Ethan yanked the arrow from his leg. He turned so white Naomi was afraid he was going to faint.

Willing herself not to be sick, Naomi said, “I’ll get something to bind your wounds, but you need to see Papa.”

Naomi ran to their wagon, but when she returned with a roll of flannel a moment later, the stranger was using Ethan’s shirt to bind his leg.

“Save that for people who need it,” he said.

“Like you?” She couldn’t understand how he could ignore his wound. It had to be extremely painful.

“I’ve been hurt worse, but I’ll let you bind it if it will make you feel better.” Before she could object, the stranger removed his shirt and turned his back to her.

Ever since the nightmares began, Naomi had struggled to keep from being sickened by the sight of blood. Faced with a ragged, oozing wound, she could only remain steady by focusing on the rest of the man’s back. That was nearly as dangerous. Compared to her brothers’ youthfully thin bodies, his shoulders were broad, the smoothness of his skin disturbed only by the heavy cords of muscle underneath, scars from old wounds, and something that looked like welts. Good heaven! Had the man been beaten?

Her father shoved Naomi aside. “The man could bleed to death before you stopped staring at him. I know how you feel about blood. See if you can do something to calm Cassie.”

“I can’t leave until we’re sure the Indians won’t attack again.”

“I’ll call you if they do.” It was the stranger who spoke.

He looked at Naomi over his shoulder, his expression one of amusement mixed with curiosity. His nearly black eyes seemed to pin her in place. She hesitated a moment before nodding in acknowledgment and turning away. Once her feet were in motion, they moved so fast she was almost running. She had to slow down before she collided with the Greenes’ wagon. When she climbed inside, she found Cassie holding her husband’s body as she rocked from side to side, her face streaked with tears, her infant son’s cries unheeded.

Naomi barely knew Cassie. Unwilling to be part of a large caravan, their group had hired Roy Greene to lead them to Santa Fe. They’d seen no reason to object when he said he needed to bring his son’s family along. Abe Greene had been friendly, but Cassie kept to herself, rarely leaving their wagon. Only fifteen, she seemed more child than bride and mother. Unsure of what to do or say, Naomi picked up the baby. He looked so much like his father it made Naomi want to cry.

“He’s dead,” Cassie wailed. “What am I going to do?”

“We’ll take care of you and your baby.”

But would they? The twelve families in the train represented the entire population of Spencer’s Clearing, a small Kentucky community near the border with Tennessee. Something had forced them to leave their homes and head west. No one would tell Naomi the real reason, but they kept away from other people and went out of their way to avoid contact with the army. She was sure someone had committed a terrible crime.

When the nightmares started, she was afraid
she
had.

“No one likes me,” Cassie moaned.

“We don’t know you.” At least that was true.

Cassie’s sense of wrong abated her crying. “I’ve seen the way you look at me and Abe. It’s like you can’t wait until you can get rid of us.”

“It’s not that,” Naomi insisted. “We’re a small community. Most of us are related. It’s like we’re one, big family. We don’t know what to do with outsiders.”

“You don’t want to know outsiders,” Cassie accused.

The baby was nuzzling Naomi. “I think the baby’s hungry.”

Cassie looked down at her husband. “He wanted to stay in Alabama, but his father insisted there was nothing left after the war. He said the future was in the West.” She looked down at her husband. “He doesn’t have any future now.”

Naomi wondered about her future. Why hadn’t they stayed in Kentucky? Would they end up like Abe?

***

“What’s your name?” Dr. Kessling spoke without looking up from bandaging Colby’s shoulder.

“Colby Blaine.”

“I’m Roger Kessling. You’ve already met my daughter, Naomi, and my sons, Ethan and Ben. I don’t know what you were doing out here, but I don’t know if we’d have survived if you hadn’t shown up.”

“I can’t be sure we’re out of the woods yet,” Colby replied. “Those damned Comanches have been known to spread their attack over several days. How much ammunition do you have?”

“You’ll have to ask Roy Greene. He’s leading this outfit.”

“Where is he?”

“He went ahead to look for a camping spot.”

Colby didn’t know a guide named Roy Greene, but he didn’t think much of any man who’d leave his caravan in the middle of Comanche country. “This is a dangerous route for a small train. Why didn’t you stick with the trail to Bent’s Fort? You’d have had army protection most of the way.”

The change in the doctor’s demeanor was subtle but unmistakable. “We’re a close-knit group. We’re more comfortable traveling by ourselves.”

“Even in the middle of Comanche country?”

“We were told that attacks were unlikely now that the war’s over.”

“Most of the army is still stationed in the Southern states. There’re only enough troops to cover the most dangerous parts of the most popular trails. This isn’t one of them. An experienced guide would know that. Where did you find this Greene fella?”

“You’ll have to talk to Norman Spencer or Tom Hale. They hired him. There, you’re all bandaged.” The doctor stood. “You’ll have to take it easy for a while, but you look healthy enough for it to heal soon.”

“Where’d you get those streaks on your back?”

It was the younger of the two boys who asked, the one who looked like Naomi.

“You shouldn’t ask questions like that.” The older boy turned to Colby. “Ben doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“I do, too,” Ben insisted. “He doesn’t have to tell me if he doesn’t want to.”

“I don’t mind,” Colby said. “The man who adopted me after my parents were killed was a mean son-of-a-bitch. When he didn’t like something I did, he took his strap to me.”

“Gosh! My father would never hit me.”

“You’re lucky.” Colby studied the horizon for a full minute. “I don’t think the Comanches will come back today, so we’d better decide what to do about your ox.”

Both boys turned their gazes to where the ox had sunk in its traces. “They didn’t have to kill it,” Ethan said.

“We’ve got to butcher it to save as much meat as possible,” Colby said. “Can you walk well enough to help us get it out of the harness?”

“I can do it.” Ben stretched to his full height and squared his shoulders. “I’m strong.”

Colby grinned. “I’m sure you are, but I need both of you. That’s a big ox.”

“I’ve never seen anyone butcher an ox,” Ben said. “How are you going to do it?”

“Just like you would a pig,” Colby said.

Before they could get the ox out of the harness, they had to unhitch the other five oxen. After that, it was a simple matter to remove the harness from the fallen ox. Colby had just made the first cut when he heard a voice behind him.

“What are you doing?”

He turned to see a tall man probably in his mid-forties regarding him with a frosty glare. “We’re getting ready to butcher this ox.”

“That’s not your ox. Who said you could butcher it?”

“The doctor is busy trying to make sure nobody else dies, and his daughter is sitting with the woman whose husband was killed. The boys are helping, but you can take over for me if you want.” He held out the bloody knife.

The man recoiled.

“Round up as many people as you can so we can get this done quickly. This place will be thick with wolves by nightfall.”

“I haven’t seen any wolves.”

“You didn’t see any Indians, either.”

The man clearly didn’t like being spoken to in that fashion. “I’ll speak to the doctor.”

“Who is he?” Colby asked after the man stalked off.

“Norman Spencer,” Ethan told him. “He was the richest man in Spencer’s Clearing.”

“I guess he would be if the town was named after him.”

“It was named after his grandfather, even though
our
grandfather helped found it.”

“Norman is only nice to us because he married our cousin,” Ben added.

Before Colby could return to butchering the ox, he heard a galloping horse approaching. He tossed the knife to Ethan, grabbed his rifle, and stepped around the corner of the wagon.

“That’s Mr. Greene.” Ben had followed him. “He’s our guide.”

“I heard gunshots,” Greene said as soon as he dismounted. “What happened?”

“Indians,” Colby said.

Greene looked around. “Anybody hurt?”

“Abe got an arrow in his eye,” Ben told him. “He’s dead.”

Greene paled, turned, and ran toward his wagon. The moment he disappeared inside, Cassie’s wails grew in a steady crescendo. Less than a minute later, Naomi emerged from the wagon. She glanced toward the family’s wagon, blanched, and turned in the opposite direction.

“I guess she doesn’t want to help with the butchering, either,” Colby commented.

“Naomi gets sick at the sight of blood,” Ben told him.

“She was fine until a couple years ago,” Ethan said.

“What happened?”

“Nobody knows. It came on real sudden.”

Colby figured it wasn’t that simple. Things like getting sick at the sight of blood didn’t just
come
on
real
sudden.
Something had to happen to cause it, most likely something really bad. He wondered what it could have been. Naomi didn’t seem like the kind of woman to give in to something like that. But he couldn’t be sure what kind of woman she was as long as she avoided him like he smelled bad. Which he probably did. Taking a bath hadn’t been much of a priority recently. It was hard to defend yourself against an Indian attack when you were naked, up to your waist in water, and your rifle and horse were twenty feet away. If he had to be scalped, he wanted to have his pants on.

Several people helped butcher the ox, but it was hard to concentrate with Cassie’s hysterical demands to go back to Alabama coming from the next wagon.

“Can’t say I blame her,” one woman said as she lifted the heart from the carcass and dropped it into a bowl. “She’s lost her husband and has a new baby. How’s she going to find another husband out here?”

“This country is full of men without wives.” This from a woman cutting meat into strips for drying.

“Considering what most of them are like, I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t marry a man with no more than a horse and rifle to call his own.”

The woman Colby had hoped to marry had felt the same.

When the carcass had been stripped of everything that could be used before it spoiled, Colby stood and stretched. “You can bury the carcass and offal if you want, but I suggest you move to a new camp and leave everything to the wolves. They’ve been cleaning up the prairie for thousands of years.”

“I’ll have to confer with Mr. Greene.”

That from Norman Spencer, who had watched while others worked. Colby figured Norman thought he had too much money to have to work like everybody else, but that wasn’t what bothered Colby.

People seemed willing to help with the butchering, but they spoke to him only when necessary. When he spoke to them, they mostly responded with a nod or shake of their heads. Only Ethan and Ben seemed comfortable talking to him. Naomi wouldn’t even look in his direction.

Then there was the way the people acted toward one another. During the butchering, they broke into three distinct groups. They exchanged looks filled with unspoken anger and resentment as though bitter over a long simmering disagreement. Colby had been in trains where people kept their distance because they didn’t trust strangers, but these people came from the same small community. If they disliked each other so much, why had they agreed to leave Kentucky and travel together?