Читать книгу The Sheriff of Horseshoe, Texas - Linda Warren, Linda Warren - Страница 12

Wyatt drove past the large, two-story colonial house to the barn and corrals. A light was on in the barn, so he knew Tripp was there. He grabbed his rifle from the back seat and climbed out.

As he did, Tripp emerged from the barn, leading a brown mare with a blaze of white down her face and one white-stockinged foot. Tightening the saddle cinch, Tripp said, “That didn’t take you long. What’s the rush?”

“I had a jailbreak tonight.”

Tripp lowered a stirrup and turned to face Wyatt. “Damn. So who are you after?”

“Zeke Boggs.”

Tripp stepped away from the horse with a frown. “He was in Bramble a couple of weeks ago scaring all the women to death. Horace locked him up and then escorted him out of town.”

Wyatt shoved his rifle into the scabbard on the saddle. “We’ve all been lenient with Zeke, but this time he’s crossed a line. He helped a female prisoner escape and I have to find him fast.”

“What!”

Wyatt put his left foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. “Do you mind if I go through your land to get to his shack?”

“Of course not. Do you need any help?”

“No. I can handle Zeke. Thanks for the use of the horse. I appreciate it.”

“Her name is Blaze—she’s a workhorse. She won’t let you down and she’ll carry you right through those brushy areas.”

“I owe you.”

“You sure do,” Tripp said. “I had my arms wrapped around the most gorgeous woman in the county.”

“Give Camila my best.” Blaze was prancing, ready to run.

Wyatt held her back, glancing at Tripp’s leather house shoes.

“Those are really bad for your cowboy image.” With that, he shot out of the yard, but not before he saw Tripp’s wide grin.

PEYTON WASN’T SURE how long they had been driving, but it seemed like hours. She kept pushing on the door with her body in hopes it would come open. Tumbling out onto the road seemed a good alternative to her current situation. It was probably rusted shut, though. The rope cut into her skin and it burned and hurt like hell.

They were now on nothing more than a dirt track, bumpy and narrow. Her insides were being jostled like something in a blender and she felt nauseous. The truck’s one headlight picked out a heavy thicket. Where were they?

In her mind the answer came a little too quickly—somewhere where no one will find you.

She swallowed hard to block her thoughts. The sheriff will come. Although he annoyed her, he appeared competent.

The stench in the truck was getting to her. Could one expire from odors? She’d never thought much about death before her father had become ill. She didn’t like the idea of it then and she certainly didn’t like it now. How could she get away from this horrible man?

Suddenly the beam of the headlight exposed a clearing with a small dilapidated shack and an attached lean-to. A creek or river flowed nearby. Two rusty trucks were parked to the side and weeds flourished around them. Junk and clutter filled the yard, from an old washing machine to a pile of cans and bottles.

Definitely a place where a body could be buried without anyone ever finding it. A nervous hiccup slid down her throat.

Zeke stopped the truck and reached under the dash to disconnect the wires. The engine sputtered away. And then there was silence.

“This is it,” he said proudly. “My home. I need a woman to take care of it.”

A bulldozer would take care of it. The words died in her throat. To get away from him, she was going to have to use some of the tactics Giselle had talked about. They hadn’t worked on the sheriff, but Zeke was a simpleton and she had a feeling she could work that to her advantage.

She shifted to look at him. “Please let me go. I don’t know anything about your ways or how to live in the wild. I’m a city girl.” She dropped her voice to a soft pleading. “Please, just let me go.”

And if you don’t, I’ll start screaming and lose what composure I’m managing to maintain.

“No,” he replied stubbornly. “You’re mine now.”

She bit her lip to keep the screams inside her. But she wasn’t giving up. She just had to bide her time.

Zeke opened the door and got out, looking back at her. “Git out,” he ordered.

She scrambled out, eager for fresh air. The rope cut deeper with each movement, but she was able to stand on her feet, her lungs soaking up the night air untainted by filth.

She held out her hands. “Would you please undo these? The rope hurts.”

He shook his head. “No. You’ll run away.”

“Where would I go?” She glanced around at the thick woods.

He didn’t respond, but turned and grabbed her arm, leading her toward the shack. No way was she going inside. Once she did, she knew there would be no escape.

She staggered on purpose. “I feel faint,” she murmured, and sank to the ground.

“What’s wrong with ya?” He squatted beside her, peering into her face. She forced herself not to recoil from his closeness.

“I don’t know. I just need to rest.”

And to think.

He waited.

Peyton took a long breath, grateful for this reprieve. Any other time the moonlight would have been breathtaking as it bathed the forest in an effervescent glow. The water rippled pleasantly, crickets serenaded and the place was eerie and peaceful at the same time. But there was nothing peaceful about her situation. How would she get away from him?

“This is all mine,” he said again in that proud tone.” My brother’s wife and her family live farther west, but this land is mine and they can’t take it. If you marry up with me, it’ll be yours, too.”

Responding would be like talking to the trees, so she didn’t waste her energy.

“I make a lot of money selling my moonshine. I got the best still in the county, all copper. You can have the money, too.”

The man was off his rocker. Suddenly an idea came to her. She moaned and held her tied hands to her face. “I feel like I have to throw up. Please undo the rope.” She had seen him use this little trick and she hoped it worked.

Without a word, he removed the rope and she had to restrain herself from cringing as his thick fingers touched her wrists. She flexed her fingers. “Thank you.” The sheriff had said something about using honey instead of vinegar. Well, she was going to honey ol’ Zeke to death.

“Are ya better?”

“I could use some water, please.”

He pointed to something that looked like a well pump. “There’s plenty.”

Was he serious? Without a doubt he was. “Would you get some for me, please? I’m so weak.”

He grabbed her arm in a viselike grip and hauled her to the well. “Don’t try anything. Remember I still got the gun.”

Oh, God! Stay calm.

When they reached it, she knelt and her capris soaked up the mud around the well. Zeke pumped the handle and water spurted out. She cupped her hands and pretended to drink, but let the flowing water run through her fingers and onto her clothes.

“See I told ya I got water. Now let’s go inside. Ya can cook us up somethin’ to eat.”

Like hell. She stood and linked her fingers together, making a two-handed fist. It was now or never.

“Let’s go,” he said as he stepped closer.

With every ounce of strength she had, she swung her clenched hands at Zeke’s face. There was a loud pop, skin connecting with skin, and to her surprise Zeke went down. She took off at a run for the woods, not looking back.

THE THICK WOODS and brushy undergrowth impeded Wyatt’s progress. But Blaze was everything Tripp had said—a real workhorse. She picked her way through the thicket easily, never faltering. Luckily there was a full moon to light the way.

The heat was oppressive in the deep woods and every breath of air was a godsend. The mosquitoes were thick and he wished he’d taken the time to put on a long-sleeve shirt. But his only goal now was to reach Zeke’s. He feared for Ms. Ross’s safety.

He finally reached the Brazos and he urged Blaze faster as they followed the riverbank toward Zeke’s property. Reaching the clearing, he dismounted and looped the reins around a drooping tree branch. He pulled the rifle from the scabbard and moved toward the shack.

As he drew closer, he saw Zeke’s truck and stopped. Zeke was here. Was Ms. Ross? An owl hooted, breaking the unending silence. Something rustled in the bushes and Wyatt scanned the perimeter of Zeke’s cluttered yard. Where was he?

He heard a moan. It sounded like a wounded animal. As Wyatt watched, a form rose in the moonlight. Zeke. He rushed forward and pushed Zeke to the ground, holding the rifle on him.

“Sheriff,” Zeke blubbered in surprise, holding a hand to his head.

With a foot on Zeke’s chest, Wyatt asked, “Where’s Ms. Ross?”

“Who’s that?”

“The woman you took from the jail,” Wyatt replied.

“The fancy lady?”

“Yes. Where is she?”

Zeke rubbed his head. “She hit me.”

Wyatt removed his foot, not in the least surprised.

“Where is she now?”

“Don’t know. Don’t want a woman who hits.”

“Why did you take her in the first place?”

“She wanted out of jail and I git her out.”

“Why didn’t you let her go?”

Zeke frowned. “’Cause she’s mine.”

Wyatt exhaled deeply. “Zeke…” Just then, headlights darted though the woods. A door slammed and Stuart charged into the clearing with his gun drawn.

“Over here!” Wyatt called, and pulled Zeke to his feet. “Cuff him,” he said to Stuart.

As Stuart snapped handcuffs onto Zeke’s wrists, Wyatt asked again, “Where did the woman go?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Zeke muttered. “She hit me.”

Stuart looked at Wyatt. “What do you think?”

Wyatt glanced toward the woods. “I think she’s out there somewhere.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take Zeke and lock him up, then get together a posse. We have to find her.”

“Are you staying here?”

“Yes. I’ll start searching.”

Stuart grabbed Zeke’s arm. “What were you thinking? You can’t just take a woman. That’s kidnapping. Now she’s lost out here.”

“Don’t care.”

On the way to the truck Stuart continued to reprimand Zeke, but Zeke stuck to his “don’t care” reply. Ms. Ross had shattered his illusion of what a woman should be. Wyatt thought Ms. Ross was good at shattering illusions.

Wyatt removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his arm. Hot sweat trickled down his back. Why did Ms. Ross have to speed through his town?