Anora's Pride Page 19

  “Where you going?” Eddy called as Jesse wheeled Sully around, back in the direction of Boulder Springs.

  Home.

  He didn't say it out loud, but the one word pounded over and over in his head and kept time with the way Sully's hooves pounded the frozen ground beneath him. Like Anora, Jesse had never found a place that truly felt like home to him. Till now.

  Home. The picture conjured up by that one word had nothing to do with the ramshackle shack where he'd been hanging his hat lately, and everything to do with a certain cinnamon-haired woman who kept the home fires burning.

  He never should have listened to her and left her alone at the ranch. He should have insisted she move into town and stay with Lettie. Better yet, he ought to have bundled her onto the train himself and sent her to stay with Rose till Rosco was either dead or behind bars. Dead being his preferred choice.

  Jesse'd never been much of one for formal prayer, but he raised his eyes heavenward and intoned a silent plea for Anora's safety. Hell, he would have sold his soul, what was left of it, to the devil himself if he thought it would help keep Anora safe.

  He crested the ravine above the ranch at the same instant the moon peeked out from a gap in the clouds. The ranch lay spread beneath him like a fuzzy white patchwork quilt. The pristine white covering blanketed the landscape's flaws and blemishes and smoothed out the harsh lines of bleakness and neglect. No light showed from the cabin's window. Beyond it the barn lay in dark, snow-shrouded silence.

  Sully whinnied softly and danced nervously in a circle as they approached the barn.

  “Easy, boy.” Jesse spoke low-voiced as he patted the animal's sweaty neck soothingly. He opened the barn door and urged Sully inside. The hair on the back of his neck seconded his bad feelings and cut through the pervading stillness. A stillness that ought not to be there. Charlie should have heard him by now. Should have called out.

  The back of Jesse's neck positively bristled. He unholstered his Colt and dismounted. His feet made no sound as he moved across the hay-strewn barn floor. From the rear of the barn he heard the cow and her calf moo plaintively.

  He discovered Charlie gagged and bound in the last stall. Jesse removed the man's gag and cut his bonds.

  “Sorry, Marshal,” Charlie said, as the gag was removed. “There were too many.”

  Jesse leapt to his feet. “Ride into town. Bring back help.” He raced through the snow to the cabin, and his heart hit his knees as he reached the unlocked door. A beam of moonlight followed him in and tumbled across the empty bed. Maybe she'd made her way outside and managed to hide in the dark till Rosco left. So where was she now? Had Rosco taken her hostage? His fingers trembled as he lit the lantern. The light flared, throwing grotesque shadows on the walls and ceiling. Highlighting the still-as-death white face of his wife, lying near his feet.

  He dropped to his knees. Anora's hands were lashed behind the back of an upended chair. Her eyes were closed. Lamplight reflected off the dark pool of blood staining the floor beneath her.

  “Dear Lord.” He pressed his fingertips to the side of her neck and probed the faintly beating pulse. She was alive. He pulled out his knife and hacked at the ropes binding her wrists. His blood boiled at the sight of her raw and bleeding flesh. How long had she struggled to get free?

  “You'll pay for this, Rosco.”

  Gently he scooped Anora up in his arms.

  There was so much blood her nightrobe was soaked clear through. What had that monster done to her? He laid her on the bed, relieved to see her eyelids start to flutter. She was coming to.

  It wasn't long before her eyes flew open and fastened fearfully on him. He started to summon up a reassuring expression that vanished as she let out an earth-shattering scream and pulled her knees to her chest.

  “Ssssh,” Jesse said soothingly. “It's me, Jesse. He's gone. You're going to be all right.”

  She let out a second cry, a sound both numbing and bone-chilling, the likes of which he'd never heard uttered by anything human. Jesse had never felt as powerless as he did at that moment, helpless in the face of Anora's pain.

  “You're bleeding bad,” he murmured, leaning close. Her chest heaved as she fought for breath and struggled against the pain. “Do you know where you're hurt? Can you tell me?”

  “Feels like...I'm being...split...in half...with an ax,” she said, panting between the words.

  Jesse laid one trembling hand upon her distended belly and felt the telltale tightening of her contraction.

  “The baby.” He caught one of her cold-as-death hands between both of his.

  “No.” It was a hopeless attempt at denial. “It's too soon.” Twisted up with another spasm, she squeezed his hands so hard he bit his lip and held on till she slowly eased her grip.

  Reluctantly Jesse freed his hands and reached to push a sweat-dampened hank of hair off her face. Her skin felt flushed. He rose and tugged off his jacket, then fetched a cloth and a basin of cool water. He added wood to the fire and filled the kettle, placing it to boil. After rolling up his sleeves he washed his hands thoroughly, using lots of soap and clean water, ever conscious of the torturous moans and cries from the woman on the bed. His fault. All his fault.

  Anora's labor was mercifully short. Once the birthing pains stopped, she appeared to drift off to sleep. Jesse hoped it was a healing sleep. She'd need all her strength.

  Their daughter, so small and perfectly formed, lay lifeless, smaller than the span of his hand as he cradled her in his palm. He washed the blood from her doll-sized body and held her for a long time, just looking at her, marveling at the perfection of her tiny limbs. The faint blue marbling of veins visible through her translucent skin.

  She had no eyelashes or eyebrows, yet a crown of dark, downy fuzz covered her head. Tenderly he wrapped her fragile body in a clean towel and wondered what color her eyes would have been. Dark like his? Or green like Anora's? A vast and bitter emptiness soured his innards. He'd never see her ride or toss a ball or hear her call him Da-da.

  Night lifted to reveal the shadow of day as Jesse remained by Anora's side. His infant daughter hadn't lived long enough to draw her first breath, while his wife hovered between life and death. All because of Rosco.

  In the powerful light of that early, empty dawn, Jesse acknowledged what he knew he had to do.

  Anora slowly surfaced from the inky blackness that continued to call her back, beckoned her into a safe, warm, feelingless place, away from the light and the pain she instinctively knew awaited her.

  Reluctantly she raised her lids and focused. The first thing her conscious mind identified was Jesse. He sat, knees apart, with his head bowed. She heard the harsh rise and fall of his breathing. His hands were clasped in a prayerlike position, but there was nothing pious about the emotions she felt emanating from him.

  Before she could open her mouth to ask him what was wrong, the night's incidents came crashing back. Rosco. The pain. Excruciating pain.

  “Jesse?” Her lips felt huge and swollen, the corners cracked and dry. His name came out an unrecognizable croak, but it was enough to capture his attention. When he glanced her way through soulless eyes, Anora wished she'd never woken up.

  She couldn't bear it. Not the way he grazed her cheek with his fingertips. Or his eyes, so full of bleak despair, a black and lonely pain. It was a look that surpassed all degree of the pain that had ripped through her body last night.

  Such pain.

  Weak and drained as she was, she pressed a hand to her flat and empty abdomen, then lifted her head up off the pillow and looked around the room. “The baby?”

  She didn't need to see him shake his head. She sank back weakly, closer to understanding the terrible darkness that bound Jesse in its grip. She wrapped her arms about herself and pressed her lips tightly together, rocking from side to side, in a gesture of silent, useless comfort.

  Jesse rose and stood with his back to her as he stared out the window. Her arms ached to reach for him. If only they
were able to share their sadness, to help each other ease the burden weighing at their souls. But he remained unreachable.

  It seemed an eternity before he turned. When he did the bleakness was gone. Replaced by something far more chilling. A primitive expression devoid of feeling. As if Jesse had lost all grip on the human emotions that separate man from beast. She knew what he was going to say even before he spoke.

  “I have to go.”

  “Jesse, leave it. What's done is done.”

  “Don't you see? It's not over. It'll never be over until I do what I know I have to do,” Jesse said harshly.

  “I lost my child. I can't bear it if I lose you, too.”

  “What makes you think you ever had me?”

  Anora stifled a gasp at the cruelty of his words. Aching, numbing loss swept through her with the power of a flood-ravaged river, and she felt as helpless as something caught in its current, unable to fight her way free. Unable to fight with Jesse or for Jesse. She watched through pain-dulled hopelessness as he pulled on his coat.

  “Charlie'll be back anytime with the doc.”

  Anora took in every detail of his exhausted features and killing eyes. He was right. The Jesse she loved wasn't capable of deliberate murder. Unlike the stranger before her.

  “Jesse. You're not like them.”

  “Who?”

  “Your pa and your brothers. I know all three lived and died outside of the law.”

  His look spoke volumes. Told her more than she wanted to know about the outlaw Quantrills. A legacy Jesse had spent his whole life fighting. Till now.

  “Don't you see?” Anora made one last, futile effort. “Your going after Rosco this way makes you no better than them.”

  Jesse jammed his hat on his head and gave her a world-weary look. “Don't you think I know that?” Then he was gone.

  Anora stared at the door, as if she could reach through those flat and peeling panels, as if the power of her love could bring Jesse back, even as she knew no power on earth could combat the dark forces roiling within him.

  Her eyes burned, then boiled over with hot, salty tears. Tears for a love uprooted before given a chance to flower or bear fruit. Tears for the child she would never know. Tears for the one man she could never have.

  Exhausted by grief, unable to move, Anora let her tears continue to fall. Tears for her mother. Her father. Her brother. And the empty bleakness that was now her life.

  In the early morning light Jesse barely noticed the way light, powdery flakes of snow filtered down from the sky. Once the snow stopped, he no longer worried about losing Rosco's tracks, for the trail, which Rosco made no effort to cover, led him and Sully over the ridge and into the next valley.

  From the valley it appeared Rosco had headed for the distant hills. Intent on the other man's trail, Jesse felt a calmness and peace the likes of which he'd never before experienced, and he stopped pushing Sully to the maximum of the animal's limits. Time ceased to exist. As did cause and effect. Death and life. Nothing was real outside of the upcoming confrontation. Something Jesse now accepted to be as inevitable as drawing his next breath.

  He paused and took a swig from his canteen, neither knowing nor caring how long it had been since he'd eaten or slept. Two days? Three, perhaps. It didn't matter. He was primed and ready.

  The newly fallen snow masked what should have been a relatively familiar terrain. As if the clean virgin whiteness could cover up the filth and ugliness of a world gone mad. A world where vermin like Rosco got within reach of decent folks, near enough to wreak havoc in their lives.

  “Last time, Rosco.” Jesse spoke aloud, his words a thin white puff encircling his head, his breath warm in the snow-frosted air.

  Sully treated Jesse to a knowing look, as if he understood both the words and the importance of their mission. Jesse gathered the reins more firmly and touched his heels to Sully's flanks in silent agreement.

  Pictures of Anora tiptoed through his mind. Tied up and drowning in a pool of blood. The way she looked as he left, so pale and unmoving. As if she'd given up the struggle. Juxtaposed on top of that was a picture of their dead infant daughter, no bigger than a kitten in his palm.

  Resolutely Jesse banished the images to the nether regions, the area he termed “silent hell,” aware as he did that no matter what happened, he'd never be completely free from the haunting of his memories. Knowing he would always blame himself for what had happened.

  Long ago, Jesse’ d learned to trust his instincts, and it was instinct that told him when to slow. He knew, without being able to pinpoint how, that he was close to Rosco. He sat alert, gaze combing the hibernating countryside, ears pricked for the faintest sound. Beneath him Sully stopped abruptly, flattened back his ears, and rolled his eyes.

  Jesse leaned forward and stroked the horse's sweaty neck. “Exactly,” he murmured under his breath. “You can smell him too, can't you, boy? Like a cornered rat.”

  It seemed that not a single living thing moved in the stillness. As if he and Sully were lone survivors after a terrible war. Yet Jesse knew the battle was yet to come.

  He narrowed his eyes as he slowly surveyed the landscape, and forced himself to think the way Rosco did. The man knew Jesse was on his trail; therefore he'd be sure to hole up someplace where he had the best advantage.

  Jesse studied the ridge of mountains that circled him on two sides. His gaze passed over the rugged contours, then backed up to home in on a specific place in the rock face. A faint, dark shadow that seemed more pronounced than all the rest. Perhaps the opening to a cave? He headed Sully in that direction and hadn't gone more than a few yards when his mount buckled beneath him.

  Grabbing his rifle, Jesse kicked his feet from the stirrups and jumped clear of the snow-covered trap. Luckily they'd been traveling slow. Sully had managed to stop on the precipice of the booby-trapped pit. If they'd been going full-out, his horse would have likely broken a leg, while he wound up, ass over teakettle, buried in a snowdrift.

  Sully whinnied softly at Jesse, almost a question.

  “ ‘S okay, boy. Good boy.” Jesse started toward the horse, only to give a startled cry as his feet flew out from underneath him and the world turned upside down as he dangled, feet first, five feet off the ground.

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  * * *

  Chapter 21

  This sudden sequence of events proved too much for Sully. The animal turned tail and galloped back the way they had come.

  “So much for loyalty,” Jesse murmured, as he eyed his rifle on the snow below him, about an arm's length from where he dangled like some fly caught in a spider's deadly web.

  Gritting his teeth with the effort, Jesse attempted to bend at the waist, to pull himself up to a point where he could grab his legs. If he could manage to even partially right himself he could get hold of the knife sheathed at his waist and cut himself down.

  To grab hold of his legs was one thing. To actually defy the laws of gravity and pull himself upright was quite another. Cold beads of sweat popped up on his face. Maybe the sweat would freeze in the frigid air and he'd dangle here till spring thaw, strung up like some damn human icicle.

  The picture wasn't a pretty one. With a muttered oath he released his tenuous hold and hung gasping for breath. White vapor clouds appeared with each breath and taunted him with their fluidity. Surely the blood rushing to his brain would help him think. To figure a way down from here before Rosco arrived and smeared him with some foul-smelling concoction designed to attract every wild animal in a hundred-mile radius. It wasn't the way he'd pictured his final days.

  His thoughts turned to Anora. In some ways it would be better for her if he didn't return to Boulder Springs. Jesse interrupted himself. He couldn't think about the future. He had to focus all his energies on the here and now. Remember the reason he was here in the first place.

  Maybe this wasn't Rosco's trap at all. Maybe—

  Jesse yelped as a shot whistled past him. Now he was bein
g used for target practice. Not an overly comforting prospect. He held his breath and listened, knowing the shot had come too close to be anything other than deliberate.

  Several long minutes passed without a repeat, and he had just redoubled his efforts to free himself when he heard the second crack of rifle fire. Seconds later he landed on his back in the snow, while the sound of the shot still echoed through the surrounding hills.

  Damned if someone hadn't gone and shot him down. After he struggled to catch the wind that had been knocked out of him, he grabbed his hat in one hand, his rifle in the other and belly-crawled for cover, trying to gauge the direction of the shots. Was there one shooter or two?

  He hoped one. Both his gut and his ears told him the shooter was up near the mouth of the cave where he'd been headed. His gut also told him Rosco wasn't finished with their game of cat and mouse. If all the outlaw wanted was to see Jesse dead, he'd have lowered his aim by a couple of feet. Nope, Rosco had to be looking forward to this upcoming confrontation as much as Jesse was. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he anticipated the battle of wits that lay ahead.

  Hugging the tree line for cover, Jesse slowly threaded his way to where the beckoning black hole sliced through the rock.

  As he approached the cave, Jesse's mind fired up a picture of Anora, white-faced and bleeding alongside their tiny infant daughter. He tightened his grip on the rifle. Soon, justice would be his.

  Crouched behind a boulder a scant ten feet from the entrance, Jesse plotted his strategy. He could rush Rosco and trust that the element of surprise was on his side. Or he could continue as he was, his tread silent on the snowy ground, and keep himself well hidden. His rifle rested heavy in his hands, and he patted his waist where his loaded pistol also lay within easy reach.

  He leaned against the tree trunk behind him, sucked in a ragged breath, and stared up at the midafternoon sky. The cold mountain air stung his lungs. He could wait for dark, but he didn't rightly know that darkness would afford him any great advantage unless Rosco grew edgy and careless. His only other choice seemed to be waiting here till curiosity got the best of Rosco. Sooner or later the other man was bound to show his murdering face. As Jesse stared at the dull gray shards of hilltops, poking through in spots where the snow had started to melt, he had another idea. A better idea.