“Don’t think I wouldn’t,” Dunn said. “But gunshots carry a long way at night. And as I just told you, Saber is particular about how I’m to do it.”
That name again. “Who?” Nance asked, buying precious seconds. The pain was still too much to cope with.
“Never mind. On your feet.”
“I feel sick. You about kicked my head in.”
“You’ll feel a lot worse if you don’t do exactly the hell what I tell you to do. Now get up, damn you.”
Nance rose partway. She wanted to cradle her head in her hands, but couldn’t. “I tell you, I’m going to be sick.”
“You’re still breathin’,” Dunn said. He jabbed a thumb at the spare horse. “Climb on.”
“With my hands tied?” Nance snapped. “Be sensible, will you?” She had an idea. “Give me a boost.”
Dunn swore. His saddle creaked as he dismounted and let the reins drop. “Women are next to worthless.” He placed a hand on her shoulder.
Nance deliberately sagged against him so she could mentally mark the spot on his pants. She must not make a mistake.
“Stand up,” Dunn commanded, and hauled on her arm. “I don’t have all night for this.”
“That’s too bad,” Nance said, and drove her knee into his groin. He doubled over, gurgling and grunting, and Nance once again sought the sanctuary of the encompassing darkness. Dunn clutched at her nightclothes, but could not hold on. She forgot about the rattlers and the holes and sped like an antelope for her life.
Nance figured she had a minute, maybe two, before he was after her. Since he expected her to make straight for the ranch buildings, she veered to the west. She listened for hoofbeats but did not hear any.
Nance smiled. She had done it.
Then the staccato smack of churning boots burst her bubble of hope.
Incredulous, Nance glanced back.
Dunn was ten yards behind her. His high-heeled boots were not made for running, and he looked for all the world like a drunk weaving from too much alcohol. But he was gaining, and he had his Colt in his hand.
“No!” The cry was torn unbidden from Nance’s throat. She tried to go faster, but her body was at its limit. She changed direction, toward the house and her husband. In doing so, she inadvertently enabled Dunn to overtake her. All he had to do was cut off the angle.
Nance cried out as fingers locked in her hair. She was wrenched into the air and slammed onto her back. “All right!” she breathlessly declared. “I give up.”
Dunn reared over her. He arced the Colt on high. “Too late,” he snarled. “You had two chances. You don’t get a third.”
The Colt descended. Nancy Tovey attempted to twist aside, but the hand in her hair held her fast. He struck again and again and again. The crunch crunch crunch of metal on bone rang in her ears. But it was not the last sound she heard. The last was her whimper.
Chapter 18
Steve Pierce had lived what he liked to think of as an ordinary life. He had been born and raised on a ranch, so it was only natural that he lived, breathed, and ate ranching. He loved everything about being a rancher. The work agreed with him. Up at the crack of dawn, a hearty breakfast with his family, then busy, busy, busy all day, until sunset or beyond, when he would ride wearily home to supper. Then an hour or two of talk with his parents and siblings, and then early to bed in order to be early to rise. That had been his routine for as long as he could remember.
Then everything was shot to hell. Berto, dead. His father, dead. By rights, as the oldest, the running of the ranch should fall on his shoulders. He had been groomed for it since childhood, and should have no qualms about taking over. But he did. Secretly, he worried he was not up to handling the crisis they faced. So he was tremendously happy when his mother assumed the mantle. Her calm self-possession was reassuring to the rest of them, but especially to him.
But now the worst that could happen, had happened. Steve could still not quite believe it, hours after they discovered his mother was missing. His sisters were frantic. Armando was so upset he had withdrawn into a shell, like a turtle, and would not speak unless spoken to. As for Julio, he was nearly rabid, a boiling cauldron of seething emotions he made no attempt to hold in check.
It was close to noon.
Steve stood on the porch in the shade of the overhang, anxiously scouring the range from end to end. He had sent everyone who could ride a horse out to search. The vaqueros, most of the servants, his brothers and Dolores, had all been out since early morning. He wanted to go, too, but someone had to stay.
Steve squinted at the sun, then balled his hands into fists, the nails biting into his palms. They had to find her. They had to. She would be alive and unhurt, with a perfectly logical reason for why she had disappeared. She would continue to oversee the ranch, continue to make the important decisions he was glad not to have to make. Not decisions involving the everyday operation of the ranch. Steve could handle those. He knew cows better than anyone. Everything about them. From calving to branding, from roundups to driving herds to market, he was an expert.
No, the decisions Steve wanted nothing to do with, the decisions he feared, had to do with what to do about the murders. Julio and many of the vaqueros thirsted for revenge. They blamed the Toveys, and wanted to ride to the Circle T. What they would do when they got there was not entirely clear. They could not very well gun the Toveys down without proof the Toveys were involved. They still believed Jack Demp was to blame for Berto, and there had been dark muttering about treating Demp to a strangulation jig.
Steve was as upset as anyone about the deaths. But he had sided with his father, then his mother, in advocating that they proceed with care and caution. The last thing Steve wanted was to spill innocent blood. Julio was almost at the point of not caring so long as he had his vengeance, and once Julio reached that point, Steve wondered if anyone could hold him back.
Just then, the door opened and closed. Steve did not look around. “It is better if you stay in your room. I told you I would send for you when I have news.”
Trella came over, her arms clasped to her bosom, the dry tracks of tears on her cheeks. “I will go loco if I stay in there by myself any longer. I need someone to talk to.”
“You can talk to me, but I don’t know what good I will be.” Steve always felt uncomfortable around women, even his sisters. They did not think or act like men. He could never predict what they would say or do. He preferred cows, predictable creatures if ever there were any.
“This is a nightmare,” Trella said. “A nightmare that gets worse each day.”
Steve could not agree more.
“Who will be next? You? Me? Armando? Dolores? Someone is out to kill us. Each and every one of us.”
“We don’t know that,” Steve said.
Trella spun on him. “What will it take to convince you? How many of us must die before you face the truth?”
“I wish we knew what the truth really was.”
“It is obvious. Someone wants our rancho, and they will stop at nothing to get their hands on it.”