CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE MORNING WAS going beautifully. The sun was hot on her back, the breeze refreshing on her face. The flowers were opening up and Josie was sure the images she was capturing were going to set a new standard. So much so, the photographic society would have to sit up and take notice regardless of the fact that she was a woman. She’d been waiting a long time for this opportunity. Being recognized by the society would guarantee her status. And that status would lead to her income and financial freedom. She’d been working a long time for her freedom.
She sighed as she lined up the last shot, biting her lip as she squinted through the lens. If there was a fly in the ointment of her day, her feelings for Luke were it. The man was a confusing mix of gallantry, sexuality and compromise. The latter being the confusion in the mix. Gallantry wasn’t that vital. Sexuality was as common as fleas on the ground, but a man who saw the value in compromise with a woman? That was like finding a unicorn prancing across the meadow. She didn’t know what to do with it. What to do with him. Dammit. Why did Luke have to make things so complicated?
Slipping the last of her tintypes into the exposure slot, she ducked back under the curtain, centering on the single pink wild rose in perfect bloom nestled between two jagged rocks. The way the shadow cut across the flower with subtle distortion was pure visual poetry. And if she could capture it, she would have a piece of art that would clear her path to recognition. Which was much more important to her future right now than the confusing nature of one Luke Bellen.
The one thing she’d promised herself as a child was that she’d never be caught in the same traps that imprisoned her mother. She would never search for herself or for security within a union with a man. That was folly because once a woman took her vows, she used up the last of her options. But then again, without marriage, a woman fought for any options she had and the struggle to keep them was ongoing and difficult. Which explained, at least to her, the popularity of marriage.
The shadow shifted with the changing light. Darn it. She pulled the hood off. Now she had to move the camera again. More focus and less daydreaming, that’s what was required here. She was too close to her goal to mess up this opportunity.
Picking the camera up, she moved it to the left, checked again and then nudged it forward. The light was changing fast. As she worked, she could hear the men in the background talking in a quiet hum. Now and then a horse would nicker or wuffle. It was a peaceful rhythm to work to.
A dull sound reverberated around the outskirts of her focus. Frowning, she blocked it from her awareness, mentally counting off the seconds to the proper exposure time. Then the first was followed by a second. A gunshot? She bit her lip, told herself it could just be a hunter and kept counting. This picture was going to be perfect. Just perfect.
“Josie,” Luke called softly.
As long as no one interrupted her before the exposure was finished. She ignored the summons. Low and urgent, it came again. Couldn’t Luke see she was ignoring him?
“Goddammit, Josie.”
Five seconds. That was all she needed. Five more seconds.
There was no pretending the next explosion wasn’t a gunshot. No telling herself it wasn’t closer.
“We’ve got to go.”
All around them were miles and miles of open country. Where did he think they could “go”? Surely, one more second wasn’t going to matter.
Footsteps pounded closer. Darn it!
She had a second to close the lens, protecting the image before Luke grabbed her by the upper arm and yanked her out from under the hood.
“My camera!”
“Leave it!”
No way in heck was she leaving her camera. Digging in her heels, Josie yanked her arm out of his grip. In a mad dash, she scooped up her camera. Hugging it against her chest, the tripod banging on her legs, she ran toward her wagon. Thank goodness she no longer worked with glass plates.
“Forget the wagon.”
“I am not leaving my wagon.” Every tintype she’d taken was on that wagon. Her developer was on that wagon. Her future was there.
Luke caught her arm. His fingers bit deep into the muscle. “Goddammit, Josie.”
She spun around, her hopes and dreams clutched in her arms. “I’m not leaving my camera. I’m not leaving my wagon. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
And maybe not even then.
“We’ve spotted riders, senorita.” Zach’s impatience was barely concealed from where he sat mounted, rifle across his saddle.
“Where?” She looked around. Nothing was untoward here, if you discounted Zach and his men’s hard-eyed expressions and drawn rifles.
The vaquero over at the ledge called something out in Spanish before heading back to his horse.
Zach cursed. “Montoya vaqueros are under attack.”
Oh crap. “Where?”
“Is it the Doc?” Luke asked.
“Si.”
“I don’t understand—”
Zach interrupted, “She will be safer here away from the fighting.”
Her brain finally caught up. “Bella’s doctor? The one they’re waiting on? He’s under attack?”
“Yes.”
Josie plucked at Luke’s fingers. He didn’t even sway. “You’ve got to go.”
“I can’t leave you here.”
“What am I going to do in battle besides get in the way?” Switching the camera to her left side, she swept her free arm wide. “Who’s going to look for me up here? I’ll be fine, but Bella needs that doctor.”
“You know she is right,” Zach agreed.
Luke was torn, she could see it in his face. She was touched, but time was wasting. She opened the back door of the wagon. “Go.” Setting the camera down, she scrambled up onto the bed. Kneeling and holding the door, she promised. “I’ll lock myself in my wagon. I won’t make a sound. No one will even know I’m here.”
“Fuck.”
She blinked. No one had ever said that word in her presence. It was a measure of Luke’s stress that he had.
“Who’s got a spare revolver?” Luke snapped.
“What’s wrong with yours?”
“Hair trigger.”
Stefano rode forward and handed Luke a gun.
“Thanks.” He handed the revolver to Josie. She took it gingerly.
“Do you know how to fire that?”
She nodded. He didn’t look convinced but also didn’t argue.
“Luke...” Zach said.
“Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
The vaqueros rode out.
“You’ve got six bullets,” Luke explained.
Six didn’t seem like much.
“The first two you’re going to use to signal for help if there’s trouble.” He held up a finger. “One shot. Count to three slowly and then fire again. Someone will come running.”
Swinging up onto Chico, he paused. “If I don’t come back—”
“You’ll come back.”
“If I don’t come back in three hours, ditch the wagon, hop on Glory and give him his head. He’ll find his way back down to the Rancho Montoya.”
“I can’t ride.”
“Then you’ll have to learn fast. The wagon’s too visible and too slow.”
More gunshots reverberated off the hills. Chico pranced. Luke’s jaw tensed.
Urging the horse closer, he hooked a hand behind her neck and pulled her forward. They were of a height with him on the horse and her kneeling in the wagon. His eyes searched hers as she balanced there. “Promise me you’ll do as I say.”
“I promise.”
His kiss was hard, quick and possessive. Her lips tingled. “If you don’t, I’ll hunt you down.”
“If you don’t come back,” she whispered against his lips, gripping his wrist, the conviction coming from someplace deep inside, “I’ll hunt you down.”
He shook his head. “No, you won’t. You’ll get your ass to safety.”
She wouldn’t promise that. He was too busy ensconcing her in the wagon to notice. The left door closed, then the right, and she was back in the familiar dark of her workspace.
His “I mean it, Josie” came through the door.
She placed her palm on the warm wood. “I know.”
But she wasn’t going to promise.
Chico galloped away. As his hoofbeats faded, she realized she was truly alone for the first time since coming out West. The vastness of the land surrounded her. The wagon was just a spec on its face. Gunshots reverberated. Birds tweeted. She could add her screams to the mix and no one would hear.
She was, utterly and completely, alone. Panic started to build. She wanted to get on Glory right now but not to ride back to Rancho Montoya. She wanted to be where Luke was. To know what he faced. To stand with him. But that wasn’t an option.
Still, she had to do something or she’d go crazy. The camera box whispered her name. She couldn’t lose that picture. And she was trapped here anyway...
Cracking the window to let in the teeniest amount of light, she took out the latest tintype. Her hands shook in a mixture of excitement and dread. It was bittersweet to be developing the photograph of her lifetime during the most dangerous time of her life. But maybe that’s what life was all about. Balancing your risk against the possible reward.
Developing the tintype was no less stressful than waiting on Luke. Wondering if he was all right. Wondering if he and the men were saving the doctor. They had to save him. Just as she had to save this picture. Assuming they didn’t die today, she still had a future to worry about. She couldn’t hide out in the West forever.
Despite her shaking hands and strained nerves, the developing went smoothly. When the process was complete, and the image was dry, she opened the window. Sunlight streamed in.
And she smiled.
The flower bloomed on the plate in endless gradients of gray. The shadow cast by the sun highlighted hidden depths of the wild rose, the slight blurring of the captured breeze added to the complexity. Letting her breath out, she placed it very carefully beside the picture of her puppy, Rascal, caught in the midst of stalking a grasshopper. Just as carefully, she layered a cotton cloth over both and closed the lid of the box.
Sitting down on the trunk, she took a breath. She’d done it. No one had ever taken the unpredictably of movement to create something more. Something new. This was art. Her art. And it was groundbreaking in a way that wouldn’t be ignored. Maybe others would even want to study her technique. There might be lectures and talks, a demand for work. Probably not forever, but it would be enough to give her a start. Clasping her hands in front of her, she tried to contain her excitement. She’d actually done it.
Outside the wagon, the familiar jangle of a bridle brought her to her feet. Luke was back! Full of excitement, she threw open the door. She expected to see Luke and Zach standing there flanked by the vaqueros. Instead, she tripped out into the arms of a smelly bear of a man with long hair, a tangled, bushy beard and breath that smelled like a rotten garlic clove was stuck in his teeth.
“Hola, señora. We were just about to knock.”
“It’s senorita.” Pushing away from his chest, Josie wiggled out of his arms. She didn’t fool herself that she was successful because of any weakness on his part. She’d felt the muscle under her hands. He’d wanted her out of the wagon.
“My apologies.” His tone made a mockery of the words.
With feigned calm, she closed the door to the wagon behind her and turned back around to face them, dropping into the shyness that used to consume her life. Hiding in the illusion, she took stock of her situation. There were four men in all. She didn’t need to be told they were bandits. Their filthy attire spoke volumes. Men who had no respect for hygiene had no respect for anything else.
“Thank you.” It was a stupid thing to say, but manners were all she had to work with right now. She spared a brief thought for the revolver sitting in a box in the wagon. Six bullets would be very welcome right now.
“You are here alone, senorita?”
Was there a right answer? She didn’t look up. “Yes.”
“I find it strange that a beautiful woman such as yourself would be left unchaperoned.”
“These are modern times,” she whispered. “I don’t require a man’s escort to go where I need.”
He looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head. Clearly, her suffragette speech was better saved for back East where it was no more appreciated but at least politely tolerated.
“Do you think me a fool, senorita?”
She kept her head down, buying time with meekness. “I don’t know you well enough to think anything.”
His eyes narrowed and that false friendliness disappeared from his tone. “I asked you a question.”
He likely wasn’t going to believe the truth any more than a lie. She waved her hand to the hill. “I’m taking pictures of the flowers.”
“You drove a wagon all the way up here to take pictures of the flowers?”
“Yes.”
“I think you are perhaps a little loco en la cabeza.”
That did not sound flattering. “I don’t understand.”
He made a circular motion by his temple.
Would being crazy help or hurt? “I wouldn’t say so.”
“The crazy never see themselves as such.”
She whispered, “Now you’re just being insulting.”
Looking over his shoulder, he said something in Spanish. The men laughed. “You are the one who takes pictures of flowers when you could just pick them.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I would see your pictures.”
She crossed her fingers behind her back. “I haven’t developed them yet.”
“I think you are lying, senorita.”
Oh no.
“I think you came up here in your fancy wagon to this place where no one ever comes to meet your novio, eh?”
“My what?”
“The man you meet.”
He thought she’d come up here to spark with a man? That meant he didn’t know about Luke and the others. That had to be an advantage. He was waiting on an answer. She shrugged.
“Which of the Montoya men do you wait upon?”
Wracking her brain, she tried to remember the name of one of the more obscure vaqueros. She came up blank.
“You are ashamed, perhaps?”
Shame she could work. One of his men chuckled, the sound making her skin crawl.
“It is a shameful thing for a woman to be out meeting a man without a chaperone.”
She peeked out from under her lashes and whispered, “We’re going to be married.”
At that, they laughed outright. She would laugh, too, if anybody told that tale to her, but she’d seen her mother go through the same self-delusion too many times. She knew how to make this believable. It was time for indignation.
“You don’t know him like I do. He loves me!”
“And yet he is not here, and we are.”
“He will be, and when he arrives, you’ll be sorry.”
“For what? A man cannot be blamed for speaking to a beautiful woman.”
The wind shifted and his body odor surrounded her. She ducked her head again and itched her nose, pretending to sneeze. She didn’t know if bandits would be offended by someone vomiting on their boots, but she might be about to find out. Why hadn’t she paid more attention? Why had she been so sure she was safe? Texas wasn’t bucolic Massachusetts. It was wild and untamed and dangerous. She wouldn’t forget again—assuming she even got the chance.
She didn’t like the way the men were looking at her, as if she was a prime slice of beef ready to grill.
“I think you should come with us, senorita.”
“My fiancé will be coming for me.”
She was beginning to resent how just saying the word fiancé sent the men into guffaws. It wasn’t so inconceivable that someone would want to marry her.
“I am afraid we must insist.”
He took her by the arm, his grip only tightening at her resistance.
Darn.
“It would not be gallant of us to leave you here.”
One man with a pointy face and an aura that made her think of vermin, sidled closer.
“I would not mind relieving this one’s disappointment.”
She would. It took everything she had to keep her head down. Her fingers clenched into a fist. The revolver was just five feet away behind the thin wood walls of the wagon. She had to get to it. She hadn’t saved her virginity to lose it this way. That was so unfair, she wouldn’t accept it.
Renewed gunshots echoed out from below. One of the bandits strode over to the ledge and then came back. He said something in a rapid spate of Spanish.
“It looks like my friends have found some strangers roaming our land.”
“This is Montoya land.”
“It is no longer.”
Sam would have something to say about that.
“It might be your novio.”
Luke!
He let her go. She ran over to the ledge and looked down. It was pointless without her spectacles. Pulling them out of her pocket, she settled them on her nose and gasped. There was Luke being pushed along before a group of men. She would recognize that arrogant swagger anywhere. His hands were tied behind his back. With a hard shove he stumbled into the middle of the circle. One man stepped forward. She assumed he must be in charge. Words appeared to be exchanged.
Don’t be aggravating, please.
It was a vain hope. The man struck Luke down. He fell to his knees.
Stay down. Stay down.
But she knew he wouldn’t. Luke wasn’t a quitter. He was more the type to stand up and spit in his enemy’s eyes with his last ounce of energy. Reality settled in with grim clarity. They’d been captured.
She turned back and squared her shoulders. “I’m not leaving without my wagon.”
She’d managed to sound calm when in fact she was terrified. She’d never done anything like what she was planning before. Up until now, the biggest deceit she’d ever pulled off was pretending she wasn’t resentful while kneeling in church, and honestly, no one ever truly believed they were fooling God.
“You will have to.”
“I can’t. It’s too valuable.”
“The wagon stays.”
“I can’t possibly fit all those boxes on a horse. And they’re far too valuable to leave here.” She put extra emphasis on the word valuable.
He stilled. “What is in the boxes?”
“Gifts.” That wasn’t a lie. Some she was planning to give away as presents.
“Wedding gifts?”
“Yes.”
“I would see.”
No!
“Jefe, we have delayed too long.”
Saved by impatience. She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not leaving my wagon.”
He bit off a curse. With a snap of his fingers he summoned the pointy faced man. “Jorge, check the wagon.”
He got halfway in and grabbed a box. Fortunately, it was the heavy one with the iron tintypes. “It’s heavy. Too heavy for the horses.”
“Basta. We will bring the wagon back to camp and sort it out there.”
With a jerk of his thumb, Jorge asked, “What about her?”
“She can drive the wagon.”
They highly overrated her skills. She had to back up three times during which she angled the wagon the wrong way twice. Then she did it a fourth time just because she could. Their exasperation was palpable.
“You!” Jefe barked to a heavyset man. “Take over.”
The man leaped from the horse onto the wagon seat. She blinked. Luke was right. It apparently was a useful skill to have. She scooted over as he took the reins.
“Thank you.”
All she got in response was a grunt.
She made it a mile down the road before her stomach started rolling. She didn’t fight it. Putting her hand over her mouth, she groaned. “I’m going to be sick.”
Fat Man swore. Opening the window behind the cab, she scrambled into the back so fast she kicked the driver in the head. He swore again and lashed out. She didn’t even care about the glancing blow to her hip. Diving for the bucket, she grabbed her puke pot and heaved into it so loudly no one asked what she was doing. Between heaves, she could see the box where she’d put the gun. Just six short inches to her left. Her fingers tingled with the need to open that lid and lift it out. Did she dare?
Before she could decide, Jefe snapped at her to come out. She curled her fingers into a fist. Darn.
She didn’t need to fake unsteadiness as she climbed out the front window and sat on the seat. Leaning her head back against the rough wood, she took slow steady breaths.
“You do not ride well in wagons.”
That was the understatement of the year. Eyes closed, she shook her head. “No.”
“I like this.”
Cracking a lid, she glared at him. “I could ride with one of you.” It was a gamble that they wouldn’t take her up on it, but she didn’t want them suspicious. The beginning of a plan was forming. But for it to work, she would need her gun. And she would need them to continue to see her as weak and harmless. She never thought she’d be grateful for a weak stomach.
“I believe I will keep you where you are,” Jefe said. “The sickness will keep you quiet.”
She let her moan convey the proper response. Leaning to the side, she fumbled for the ladle in the water bucket. She almost toppled off the seat.
Falling back against the seat, she took a sip. No sooner did the water hit her stomach than it started rebelling. Jefe motioned with his hand. He couldn’t want what she thought he wanted.
“What?”
“Stand up.”
“I can’t when the wagon’s moving.”
Fat Man pulled on the reins. Glory came to a stop. Grabbing the metal rein wrap post, she stood. Jefe nudged his horse up close to the wagon. Before she realized what he intended, his hands were all over her, feeling her breasts, between her legs, down her thighs. The men laughed and offered encouragement. Clenching her fist, she gritted her teeth and strove for meek. When he was done, he grunted and sat back in the saddle.
“You may sit back down.”
Dear heavens, he’d been checking her for weapons. Her knees gave out and she sat. Thank goodness she hadn’t picked up the gun.
Fat Man shook his head. “You are a weak woman. Too weak for this land.”
She might be too weak for the wagon rides, but the rest? He was wrong. So very wrong. Like a heroine in one of Savage’s novels, she had hidden grit. And as soon as she discovered it, they were going to regret kidnapping her.
Another half mile and her stomach revolted again. This time Fat Man scooted clear when she dove for the back. When she was done and returned to the front, they went through the same procedure. Jefe patted her down. And Fat Man made comments.
“You should stay back there.”
“It’s too hot.”
He grunted.
She got another sip of water. The warm liquid felt good against her raw throat.
Jefe took the ladle back from her. Instead of hanging it on the hook, he dropped it in the bucket.
“What’re you looking for when you search me?” she asked him.
“To see you don’t bring a gun out of there.”
She looked at him. “I can’t ride a horse, what makes you think I can shoot a gun?”
He spat to the side. “You really are useless.”
Her stomach heaved. This time she retched over the side, aiming for his leg. Swearing, Jefe yanked his horse away just in time. The spasm was over quickly. There wasn’t much left in her stomach.
“No more water for you.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“You only throw it up.”
She nodded. The next time she came back out of the wagon he didn’t search her. She could tell from the tension they were getting closer to their destination. Covering her mouth, she moaned, “How much farther?”
Fat Man cast her a wary glance. “Five minutes.”
It was now or never. This time when she headed for the back, he practically threw her through the opening. She almost puked for real when she landed. The revolting stench of vomit overpowered everything. Feigning retching noises, she opened the box where she’d hidden the gun. Unbuttoning her dress, she took the gun out of the box and gingerly tucked it into her camisole between her breasts, tying it there with the strings. Thankfully she wasn’t wearing a corset. It would have been too tight to fit. She wasn’t going to ever tell Luke that. He’d never let her hear the end of it. She then tucked a small knife in her garter and then there was only one thing left to do before going up front. Her knees quaked.
Please don’t let him search me.
Feigning more retching, she opened the trunk containing her chemicals and paused. Was she doing the right thing? She wasn’t even sure how long these things took. With no other option, she opened the jars, letting the air in. She looked at her tintypes one last time. So much work. So much beauty. Her future in layers of tin. She could only save one. Regretfully setting Rascal’s image aside, she studied the remaining two options. This was so hard.
“What are you doing back there, woman?”
Heart pounding in her chest, Josie made retching noises again before moaning, “Yes.”
She was taking too long. They were getting suspicious. Making a decision, she slid the tintype up under the back of her skirt. Working it beneath the waist band, she tucked it into the waistband of her pantaloons. As the sharp image bit into her skin, panic set in. This was never going to work. The gun was too obvious. The tintype poked out. She should put everything back before it was too late. Taking a breath, she summoned Luke’s face. Then Bella’s. Then Tia’s. She didn’t have the luxury of fear. She was the only hope they had. Very slowly she arranged the chemicals one last time and closed the box from which she’d retrieved the gun.
Crawling back to the front, the clunk of the gun against the side was shatteringly loud to her ears. The tintype cut into her back. They had to notice it tucked there. How could they not notice? Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Fear cut into her breathing. It was crazy. She was crazy. This was never going to work.
Fat Man cut her a disgusted glance. She hunched over as if her stomach hurt, folding her body over the gun so they wouldn’t notice the bulge, hoping her hair, which had long since fallen out of her bun, would cover the points of the tintype. She moaned again. How long did she have?
Jefe looked at her and shook his head, but he didn’t ask her to stand and he didn’t search her. So far, so good. The wagon continued to bounce and sway. Sickening fear blended with bitter nausea until she couldn’t tell the difference.
“How much farther?” she asked Fat Man again, licking her dry lips.
“We’d be there already except for this nag.”
She hoped he suffered for that disrespect. “Glory is a good horse.”
“He is nothing.”
There was a clearing ahead. From that direction came the sound of men’s voices. They were almost there. Oh God. She wrung her hands together. Oh God.
Please don’t let Luke be dead.
Please don’t let me be wrong about the timing.
The wagon hit a bump. Terror swept under her skin in millions of tiny pin pricks. She wanted to scream, to jump, to run. She sat there and moaned again.
Please don’t let me die.
Please, please, please.
Please let this work.
The group entered the clearing. Men immediately surrounded them. Ahead, against the rocks sat the Montoya men. Luke swore. Zach shook his head. Only Stefano smiled.
Behind her the chemicals fermented.
Please. Please. Please.