Chapter Eleven
Several cats and dogs lay sprawled in the dirt soaking up the noon day sun. Sheridan jumped out of the wagon and hitched it to the post near the blacksmith’s shop. Blue Lagoon was a thriving town with a two-story hotel, three saloons, two schools, and a church. It even had its own mayor, judge, and sheriff.
“I will not be long, Tom.”
Tom nodded and tipped his hat. “I will wait here, Mrs. Galloway.”
Jason Finchman the other cowhand who rode into town with her hitched his horse and walked to position himself on the boardwalk near the dry goods store. Sheridan had mentioned to Elijah that Beth was to travel into town for a few bolts of calico. He had named the ranch hands that should accompany her. However, Grayson had been fussy this morning. Possibly teething. So, instead of riding out to meet Elijah where he’d been rounding up cows that had strayed onto their neighbor’s homestead, Sheridan had ridden into town with the men in Beth’s stead.
Today was the first time she had come into town since Sullivan had visited the ranch. It had only been a little over a week, but it seemed like a lifetime. She was relieved Sullivan had not visited again, but she also felt on edge. He had hounded her for weeks, always sending one of his cowhands to the ranch with either a message or some gift. He had been persistent, so his silence now was effective. She was intimidated and she understood Elijah’s caution.
Sheridan adjusted her wide brimmed straw hat, seating it more firmly on her head. While it was not fashionable, without it her skin would blister in the summer heat. She walked down the street, her skirt swishing against her legs as she thought about the items she needed to purchase. She travelled down Baker Street, the most prosperous street in the town where there were a dozen bustling buildings, towards the general store. She strolled past Mrs. Henshaw’s bakery and her mouth watered at the scent of cake and coffee. She crossed the street and was about to ascend the boardwalk when two men stepped in her path, their faces blank.
“Excuse me,” she muttered politely and made to move around.
Sheridan frowned when they shifted with her, and then it occurred to her that they had deliberately blocked her path. “I do not understand why you are blocking my path gentlemen, please excuse me.”
“She seems hostile, doesn’t she?” the man closest to her demanded with a disgusting leer.
“She sure do,” the second man drawled with a leer chewing steadily on his jerky.
Hostile? Sheridan’s lips curled in disgust when he grabbed his crotch suggestively. She glanced around to see a few people watching covertly. She looked enquiringly at Mrs. Glibly, the mayor’s wife as she walked wide around them as if she did not see. At least a dozen people were standing around quietly observing. Surely these men would not act uncouth with the town’s people looking on?
The one that had the jerky in his mouth took malicious pleasure in informing her. “They don’t cotton too much to whores that pretend to be ladies.”
Sheridan’s stomach tightened in dread. “Please excuse me.” She would be polite even if it killed her.
They assessed her person in a way that made her twitch nervously. Disgusting reprobates.
“Mr. Sullivan demands your presence in the saloon.”
She inhaled sharply. The Saloon? No respectable woman would enter there. “You will move out of my way, gentlemen,” she snapped, not in the least intimidated by them. “I have no business with Mr. Sullivan.”
The boardwalk creaked and she glanced up to see Bartley exiting the saloon. He had the most salacious countenance, as he slowly roved her body with his slimy eyes. She fought not to show the nerves growing in her stomach. Sullivan’s goons had never bothered her so overtly in town before. Why would they do so now?
Bartley stepped toward her and she inclined her head to meet his steady regard. He lifted one of his hands and cupped her cheek, his thumb parting her lips and dipping inside her mouth. She stumbled away from him and stared at him revolted. “Don’t you touch me!”
She glanced to where she hitched the wagon and the colt she had nestled inside. Where was Tom?
She met Jason’s eyes and he walked over scanning the men. He seemed cool and controlled, and some of the tension eased from her. Jason paused beside her, his hands hitching in his belt buckle close to his gun strapped onto his thigh.
“Is there a reason you are blocking Mrs. Galloway’s path?” he demanded.
Quick as a snake and faster than she could track, the man directly in front of her punched Jason in the stomach, then stepped in close and slammed his knee into his face.
She jerked at the unexpected brutality.
Her eyes flickered to the few men and women that lingered observing them. Something was wrong. No one made any effort to approach them, and many people went about as if they did not notice she was being accosted. Jason lay on the ground, blood trickling freely from a deep gash in his forehead obviously unconscious, but no one made any attempt to intervene.
Bartley hitched his gun belt higher on his waist and satisfaction resounded in his voice when he spoke. “I will be doing much more than touching you before the day is out, Sheridan,” he assured her with that disgusting smile on his face. “After Mr. Sullivan is done with you, I will keep you for a while before handing you over to the boys. But if yer good to me, I may not pass you over to them at all. It will only be me and Mr. Sullivan between those lily-white thighs of yers.”
The hollow dip in her stomach was more than unpleasant. “You are insane,” she breathed. “Elijah Kincaid will kill you if you so much as touch me.”
“Will he?” Bartley mused. “Never figured a man would be willing to fight over a whore.”
The other two men cackled as if he related some grand tale.
The fear inside her tightened its grip. She felt sick to her stomach. She could not believe what was happening. Even though she knew they wanted her land and wealth, never had they accosted her in such a vile manner.
Bartley touched her hips, and battling the panic that tried to claim her, she gripped the basket in her hand tightly and swung it at his head. She turned and dashed toward the wagon. Iron bands of arms circled her and pulled her back. She tried to pull away from them. A cry issued from her when the arms tightened painfully.
“You are needed in the Saloon.”
“Let go of me!” she growled. “You are mistaken if you think I will enter a saloon.”
Bartley guffawed, jerking her to him so she pressed against his chest. “She still is pretending to be a lady, boys. Everyone knows you are shacking up with Elijah Kincaid and that you were giving it to him before Thomas died. That makes you nothing more than a whore. Now Mr. Sullivan could have invited you to dine with him at his hotel. But such a fancy meal and setting would be wasted on you.”
The blood drained from her face and she stilled. How did they come by such knowledge?
The noon sun pressed down on her and a bead of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. Bartley pressed a kiss to her neck and she jerked her knees up, aiming for his nether region. Her skirt hampered her movements and he barely grunted.
His laughter taunted her. “Feisty…I like it.”
Her voice was hoarse with rage. “Unhand me sir or you will be sorry.”
Bartley’s eyes glittered with lust and possessiveness as he stared at her. “Do you think we believe Elijah Kincaid will fight us for a light skirt like you? Imagine our surprise when Ben Jefferson let us know you had been giving it to Kincaid and when Thomas found out he whipped you. Imagine that. All this time you were simply a no-account whore with money.”
He bent his head and tried to claim her lips. She twisted her face and his disgusting lips smacked her cheeks.
“I am going to have fun with you, darlin’. Unlike Mr. Sullivan I like my women with fight in them and you look like you have plenty.”
She pushed her hand between them trying to create space. When he refused to budge, she did not hesitate in bringing her knee to his crotch once again. He blocked her movement and pushed her away from him, jeering her with his coarse laughter.
Sheridan spun around and ran toward the wagon. Strong hands came around her and jerked her off her feet. She was spun around so fast, she felt dizzy. It was now one of the goons holding her.
“No missy, off to the saloon with you, and do not make me hurt you,” he growled.
Sheridan straightened her spine and curled her lips in disgust. “You are wasting your time. I am not interested in anything Mr. Sullivan has to say and you will release me, you slime. You will not hinder me further.”
“Mighty fine word you’re using ma’am. Hinder. What you figure it means, Omar?”
The goon chewing the jerky swallowed and a leer came over his face. “I was sort of figurin’ she is agreein’ with us that as a light tail she cannot expect to meet with Mr. Sullivan in any fancy dining room.”
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to shed any. The slimes were toying with her.
The goon shoved her towards Omar, and he snaked a hand out to haul her towards him, grinding his hips into her buttocks. He encircled his hands around her breasts, and squeezed painfully.
Bile rose in her throat but she tried to stay calm. “Release me, you sorry excuse for a human being.”
Bartley gripped her and started to drag her to the saloon. She refused to beg those who stood and watched as if they could not fathom what would happen to her. She eyed the baker contemptuously, and he had the nerve to blush and lower his gaze. She dropped her weight and dug her heel into the earth, refusing to aid them in any way. Bartley grounded to a halt and back-handed her viciously. The blow made her stumble. Blood dribbled from her lips. She wiped it slowly with the back of her hand as she glared at him.
“If you make me sweat and ruin my new vest, I will cut your clothes from you here in the streets. It is up to you.”
Sheridan heard the promise in his voice. She swallowed the fear that was trying to cripple her and held her head straight. She walked behind him with Omar and his no name blackguard friend caging her from behind. She knew what they would do to her. They would beat, rape, and break her until she bent to Mr. Sullivan’s whims.
They would not know she was taken at the ranch. No one would inform them and it would be hours before they realized her whereabouts then probably days before Elijah, or anyone could find her.
She fisted her hands against her stomach and pressed deep hoping to still its nervous churning. She wanted to scream and cry, to rage at the terror that held her in such a tight grip. Her breath strangled as she realized this was possibly how Elijah’s wife had felt. Oh God. Sheridan braced herself as they stepped into the dim saloon. The smell of unwashed flesh and strong drink assailed her nostril. The noise in the saloon died down, but she did not take her gaze off Jericho Sullivan slouched behind a table in the far corner near the bar counter.
She saw what he would do to her in his eyes, from his slow perusal of her body. The smile that creased his face made the tears she had been trying to hold back spill freely. She took no comfort from the fact that he would keep her alive long enough to marry her and claim her wealth.
Hope surged when she realized Tom was missing. She prayed it meant he was trying to find a way to aid in her rescue, and not that he had deliberately made his escape and left her in their care. Regardless of Tom, she knew what she needed to do. Despite wanting to scream and succumb to her fear, she needed to fight, to stay alive until Elijah found her. Even if it took him days. She could only pray that she would be able to recover after how they would use her.
***
A boy rode hell bent onto the range on a horse that had seen better days.
“It’s Oliver…the mercantile’s son, Patron,” Miguel murmured from where he stood beside Elijah on crutches.
The boy was covered in a film of dust from his face to his boots. He tumbled off the horse and ran the rest of the distance to Beth who was walking Grayson cradled in her arms.
Elijah strode toward them, his chest tightening. He’d discovered Sheridan had ridden out, but he had relaxed knowing Tom and Jason travelled with her. While Tom was young, Jason was seasoned and had worked alongside Elijah’s in the war. Jason’s mettle was tough.
“Mrs. Galloway…she in trouble.” The boy’s panting voice travelled to Elijah.
Beth grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “What happened to, Sheridan?”
“Men took her and went into the saloon. She fought but they still dragged her there. There are talks that they will take her to the Crazy S after.”
Elijah went motionless, thought his heart hammered in his chest. “Tom and Jason?” he asked.
The boy turned his dirt streak pale face to Elijah.
“They are at the Doc...Jason was beaten…and they stuck Tom in the belly with a knife.”
Beth released the boy as if she had been burnt. She paled to a sickly white and turned in a daze, staring at Elijah with terrified eyes.
“They took Sheridan?” Beth gagged and started screaming.
Elijah’s gut tightened at the fear that crossed her face, and he then understood some of the nightmares that haunted Beth. He tried to take her son from her and she became even more frantic. He gently slapped her. Her screaming came to a sudden halt even though Grayson still wailed, frightened by his mother’s reaction.
Elijah kept his voice low and gentle. “Go inside Beth, Grayson needs you. I will bring Sheridan back.”
Beth searched his face for endless moments and whatever she saw reassured her. With a firm nod she pulled from him, crooning soft words to her wailing son.
Elijah turned to the boy. “Who took Mrs. Galloway?”
The boy still struggled to speak. “Men...some say they belong to the Crazy S outfit. Others say they are Mr. Sullivan’s hired hands. But Mr. Bartley was there. They dragged her into the saloon. No one helped her,” he ended hoarsely.
Elijah clasped his shoulder. “Thank you.”
The boy nodded and then his shoulder wilted as if exhaustion weighed on him.
“I will ride with you, amigo,” Miguel said and stepped toward him.
Elijah glanced at the sweating boy. “No. Take Beth and the boy inside. See that every ranch hand is armed and scattered across the range, but never too far from each other. If anyone approaches that is identified as Sullivan or Bartley’s men, shoot first and then question later. I will bring Sheridan back.”
“No... No,” Beth moaned weakly. “You cannot go alone, you need men. Please, Elijah, I know you have no love for her but do not go alone.”
He wanted to take the time to reassure Beth, but he could not. With a deep sigh he spoke, “See it done, Miguel.”
Miguel nodded sharply once. “Si, Patron.”
Beth screamed, pleading with him to take more men. Elijah wanted none of the ranch hands with him. If they rode into town like a posse it would spark a fight they were not ready for. The ranch only had thirty-two men, most of them he’d hired in the few days he had been back at the Whispering Creek. Sullivan and Bartley would have at least three times that amount of men riding for them. No, Elijah had done the right thing when he sent to the Triple K for his brothers, Joshua and Noah. Sullivan wanted Sheridan in a corner, never dreaming that a Kincaid would be invested. Elijah aimed to show him how invested he was. But he would be careful.
Though his colt was already strapped to his hips, he grabbed a Winchester from one of the ranch hands, launched into his saddle and rode away. An icy chill slid down his spine, and old nightmares tried to resurface. He buried them deep and tried not to think about Sheridan’s fragility. He did not know if he would reach her in time before they subjected her to the horrors he had seen other women endure in the West. There was a high chance she could still be in town. He would go there first, then onto the Crazy S if she was not found. What Elijah knew with bone chilling certainty was that he would break every man that touched her.
Disgust curled through him. No one had made any effort to aid her.
He rode Orion, a wild mustang he had broken, hard for thirty minutes to reach the town of Blue Lagoon. From the outskirts all seemed quiet, just another lazy Saturday afternoon. Only the street seemed a might empty for a day when most women would visit the general store, the mercantile, or the bakery. Men turned quickly at his approach, and their voices died down. He observed them from under the brim of his hat. In front of the blacksmith, a man sat on the porch looking at him curiously, and then spat over the end of the porch. The man’s stare was hard, ugly.
Elijah’s gaze shifted from left to right, taking in the situation in one swift, comprehensive glance. The man was a lookout. Elijah slid off his horse and tied his reins loosely on the hitching post. A few men tipped their hats to him and a few others wouldn’t look at him.
The man with the hard eyes glanced toward the alley at the side of the bank. The old man Macintosh, the owner of the dry goods store, puckered his brow toward the same alley, and then pretended he had not signaled. In the distance Elijah saw that the front door of the saloon was open, but there was no one in sight. He would eventually go there, but he would first investigate the alley.
He crossed to where they sat, walked past them with long strides and stepped into the alley. He glanced quickly up and down the narrow street. At first he was not sure if the men he watched were affiliated with Sheridan’s abduction or not. Two waited, hands on holster, watching another fight against the wall.
Violence filled Elijah when he realized it was Sheridan trussed up against the wall. It tore through the cold control he had wrapped his emotions in on the ride to town. They would pay for putting their hands on her.
The two men that watched Bartley tussle with Sheridan had been amongst the men he had warned on the ranch. The Mexican and the large swarthy man. They had apparently chosen the hard way. They were so cock-sure in their invincibility no one watched the mouth of the alley. They were too absorbed in Bartley’s mauling of her. A dangerous quiet filled Elijah and he walked towards them silently.
Sheridan spat in Bartley’s face and he slapped her hard, causing her head to slam back, thudding too loudly against the building. Yet she did not cry out.
“You cowardly slime, Bartley. Three men to take one woman?” She taunted him all spit and fire, wild and defiant. Yet Elijah could hear the tremble, and fear in her voice.
He moved closer, sure and silent with a brimming fire of rage burning through his veins.
“Bartley!” Elijah’s voice cracked like a whip.
Bartley spun around shoving Sheridan away from him. She turned tortured, frightened eyes at Elijah, and the relief he saw in them made the pace he had punished his horse with worth it.
Bartley’s hand streaked for his gun, and Elijah moved, his retaliation brisk and brutal. Before Bartley even had his gun out of his holster, Elijah hammered back his gun, placing a slug in each of the men that watched, and one in Bartley’s gun hand. Elijah wanted to be quick and decisive because more would come, but Bartley he would not kill. The message had to be delivered.
Bartley screamed and rushed at him. Elijah grabbed Bartley gun wrist, and then whipped his right hand up in a short, wicked arc and slammed into Bartley’s chin. He sagged, and Elijah twisted Bartley’s fingers. It was the same hand Elijah had spied him trying to lift Sheridan’s dress with.
The bones snapped and the howl that came from the man was one of agony. Elijah jerked him into a rolling hip lock and flung him into the side of the building. Bartley hit the wall hard, however he managed to surge to his feet with a choking cry of anger. Elijah stepped in, giving him no quarter. A sharp left opened Bartley’s lips, and a vicious right hook in the ribs made him bend over groaning. He desperately tried to protect his face with crossed arms. But Elijah was remorseless.
“Elijah, behind you!”
At Sheridan’s sharp warning he spun toward the men racing into the alley, palming his gun in the same motion. He pulled the trigger without hesitation. The man who had meant to fire into Elijah’s back dropped his gun and grabbed his stomach with a confused look on his face. He toppled over face down into the dirt.
The second man charged at him, sweeping in low with a bowie knife in his grip, and Elijah shot his knee from underneath him. Two other men rushed into the alley and he did the same. Not killing them, but wounding so they would live with their decision for the duration of their lives. Six shots later, and he was out of bullets.
Elijah stalked toward the huddled form of Bartley, grabbed him by the belt and jerked him to his feet.
“You fight us for a whore?” Bartley snarled, spittle of blood trailing from his mouth.
“She is not a whore, and never will you refer to Lady Sheridan as such again.”
Bartley chuckled. “She ain’t no Lady. We know you were giving to the bitch before Thomas died. She ain’t nothing but a light skirt, a no account whor—”
Elijah slapped him with an open palm. The insult was unmistakable and rage filled Bartley’s eyes. Before he could react, Elijah slammed a fist into his filthy mouth. It smashed Bartley’s lips back into his teeth. Elijah slammed a right into his ribs and was gratified to hear a crack. Then he slammed him on the side of the face with an elbow that cut to the bone.
A warning shout from Sheridan had Elijah swiveling around with Bartley as a shield. Another one of Sullivan’s goons entered the alley with a hunting knife in his hand. The hard-eyed man Elijah had seen on the board walk. He released Bartley and slipped the knife from the scabbard in his boot and held it ready.
“Go inside the mercantile, Sheridan.”
“The whore ain’t goin’ anywhere.” The new-comer growled and rushed in low, knife swinging a little too wildly.
Elijah’s bowie was razor-sharp and it cut deep. The man screamed and staggered back, his face streaming blood. He fumbled for his gun, but Elijah gripped his wrist and jabbed his Adam’s apple with the handle of his knife. He made a strange gurgling sound and sank to his knees, eyes wide with fear.
Elijah looked at the men on the ground. They had intended to rape Sheridan, pass her around, break her spirit, slowly and completely. The memory of Bartley’s hands up on her skin had Elijah’s rage growing colder. But with calm he walked over to where Bartley lay on the ground. The man tried to push up himself and stumbled to his hands and knees, gasping and groaning.
Elijah flipped him over on his back with his boot and put a rifle he borrowed from the ground in Bartley’s face. Elijah looked down the barrel at Bartley. The man went white with fear, but Elijah felt no mercy. “It seems as if I was not clear before when you visited Whispering Creek. Sheridan belongs to the Kincaid’s. Spread the word to your men. If she is harmed, we will start hunting. You will be the first.”
Bartley’s eyes widened. “You marrin’ her?”
Elijah smiled coldly. “She is mine. That is all you need to know. Mine.”
“You do not know what you are inviting, Kincaid,” Bartley rasped coughing up blood. “Sullivan has made it known that no one should marry her. She is his. You cannot claim his woman. He will not let you. You do not understand what you are pitting yourself against.”
Elijah had a fairly damn good idea and did not care. After only being on the ranch for a few days and in town only once, he had come to understand more about who Jericho Sullivan was. The Sullivan Ranch was a tremendous power with many riders, all of whom were hired for their ability with guns as well as with ropes and cattle. Many referred to him as King Sullivan and he himself strutted around, referring to himself thus. He even owned the law in Blue Lagoon. He had called an election to choose a sheriff and a judge, and many had bowed to the men he wanted in office.
Something hard and brutal settled in the pit of Elijah’s stomach as he took on the storm he knew his words would unleash. “What’s mine stays mine.” He nodded toward where Sheridan stood. “And the woman’s mine.”
He looked in each of their faces memorizing them. They understood what he did and paled. “If anyone of you approaches this woman again, so much as looks in her direction, I will come hunting, and I will kill you,” he said in a bland neutral tone as if he spoke about the weather. When he was sure they understood his message, he slung the rifle to his shoulder and exited the alley.
They would heed the message, but Jericho Sullivan would not. Elijah needed to let the man understand first hand that when a Kincaid claimed a woman, that claim was absolute and unchallengeable.
He paused when he saw Sheridan still leaning against the side of the bank. Tears streaked her face, but they were silent ones. He walked toward her, his rage still clamoring, but the nightmares quieter.