Captive Bride Page 5

  Guilt rode with her. How could she be so attracted to Davy Larson? Her kidnapper? Her father’s enemy? Whatever she felt, she had to squash it like a bug. Or get as far away from him as she could. She renewed her vow to escape.

  As they passed the corral, voices rang out.

  “Shut up. I thought I heard something.”

  “You’re hearing things. There ain’t nobody there.”

  Ahead, Davy stopped, his hand reaching for his gun. He whirled to face her. “Don’t make a sound, Abby. Not a peep, you hear?”

  His voice was so cold a chill swept over her. Her foolish, romantic thoughts disappeared, replaced by the hard reality of reason. This might be her only chance to escape: she had to take it. The sheriff was out there, surely he would protect her.

  Davy must have sensed her intent for he grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap. At the same time, he clamped his hand over her mouth. She struggled against him, her hands clawing at his, but her efforts were futile.

  The voices drew closer.

  “Dammit, Roscoe, there ain’t nobody here. That Larson kid is too smart to show up here.”

  Roscoe? Roscoe Brannon, her father’s foreman. She had to let him know she was here. She renewed her struggles but could not pry his hands from her mouth.

  “Shut up, Pete. I know I heard something.”

  With a muffled curse, Davy slapped Abby’s horse on the rump. The startled animal crashed headlong through the brush. As he did so, the pack mule broke free and followed her horse. Davy cursed and placed his hand over her mouth, then led his mount into a strand of pine trees.

  In a matter of moments, Roscoe and two other men rode by, hot on the trail of her horse and the pack mule. Her spirits sank. Roscoe had taken the bait like a hungry trout. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back. Crying wouldn’t solve this problem.

  The dark clouds parted, and the moon’s glow showed the way to a shallow ravine. Only when they were well into the ravine did he remove his hand from her mouth. She sucked in a deep breath.

  “Dammit! That was close,” Davy mumbled. “Too close.”

  “Not close enough,” she muttered.

  “Sorry I had to do that, but I thought you were going to yell.”

  “I was. I want to go home.”

  “Sorry, not just yet. I’m not in the mood for a necktie party. Your pa’s men would’ve strung me up if they caught me.”

  “That’s not true,” Abby protested. “They would’ve taken you to the sheriff.”

  “Hah! They would’ve delivered me to your father or put a noose around my neck and delivered my carcass to him.”

  “My father is a law-abiding citizen. He would’ve let the sheriff handle it.”

  “Don’t be so naïve, Abby.”

  “I know my father.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  His arm tightened around her shoulder and pulled her back against his chest. “Now we have to ride double. That’ll slow us down, and we don’t have any supplies. Dammit.”

  The feel of his hard body sent her desire spinning into motion. She leaned forward but he held her tightly. “If you let me go, you can easily escape to the Llano Estacado, and I won’t tell anyone where you’re going.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe you?”

  “I give you my word.”

  “You’re an O’Sullivan. Your word means nothing to me.”

  “You bastard! How dare you. When they capture you, I was going to put in a good word for you, but now you can rot in hell for all I care.”

  ****

  As Davy settled Abby in front of him, he knew it was a mistake. Her soft derriere nestled against his lower body, and his response was immediate. He shifted uncomfortably. Her hair fluttered, silken strands tickling his nose. Oh, how he wanted to wrap his hands in that ebony waterfall of hair, wipe the tears from her eyes and make sweet love to her. But that could never happen. If he got out of this, she’d never want to see him again. He could hardly blame her.

  He loosened the reins, letting his horse pick his way through the ravine. Abby’s horse would lead O’Sullivan’s men on a wild goose chase for several miles. It’d probably be close to morning before the frightened animal stopped.

  By that time, he needed to be a long ways from here.

  About three miles down the ravine, the land rose. A kick of his heels sent his horse up the slope to level ground. At the top, he turned. All clear. He mentally mapped his route to the Comanche village. He had to speak to his mother. His parents’ bedroom had been ransacked. Drawers had been opened and clothing strewn all over the room. Someone had evidently searched for the deed—and found it. Even though he hated Sam O’Sullivan, he couldn’t see the Irishman ransacking someone’s house. Maybe he’d hired someone to do it. Who had been the last person to see his father alive? His instincts told him the answer to that question was maybe the most important clue to the killer’s identity.

  Abby’s head lolled back against his chest. Her rigid body had finally relaxed, becoming soft and warm against him. Exhaustion had taken its toll on her. Even though he was also tired, he shrugged it aside. He was used to hard traveling. With the moon so bright, he could put several more miles behind them.

  A few hours before dawn, he found a secluded glade. He dismounted and pulled Abby into his arms, then lay her down in a patch of soft grass. She mumbled something but didn’t wake up. Davy quickly made a small fire and spread out the blanket, then returned, picked her up and placed her on the blanket.

  The damp cold seeped into his bones, and he lay beside her and pulled the blanket over both of them. She felt perfect in his arms, like she’d been made just for him. He laughed at his own foolishness. Thinking of how she’d react in the morning when she awoke next to him brought a smile to his lips. She’d be madder than a wet hen.

  As sleep claimed him, he cursed himself for a fool for embarking on such a stupid course of action. He must have been out of his mind to think it would work. Billy had been right. What had kidnapping Abby gained him?

  Nothing but a whole heap of trouble.

  Chapter Five

  Abby snuggled deeper in her warm cocoon, refusing to leave her safe haven. She didn’t know what awaited, only that she wasn’t ready to face it. Shards of memory surfaced, and she pushed them away, unwilling to do anything but return to her sanctuary. A soft puff of air caressed her cheek and tickled her nose. As she reached up to rub her nose, her hand brushed something warm. She rolled over and opened her eyes—and stared into Davy’s face.

  “Good morning.” He yawned.

  The feel of his body next to hers unnerved Abby. She was in his arms, the hard length of him pressed intimately against her. Heat surged through her body like a wildfire.

  “Did you sleep well?” His voice was a soft caress, teasing and arousing. He leaned toward her and kissed the top of her nose. His hand snaked around her waist, cupped her derriere and pulled her into the cradle of his hips until she felt his arousal.

  “How dare you!” She pushed the blanket aside and sat up.

  Davy grabbed her, drew her back down and wrapped the blanket over them. “You’re letting in the cold air.”

  “Let me up this instant.” Suddenly, a thought struck her. “You didn’t— We didn’t?”

  “Nope.” His brown eyes mocked her. “Disappointed?”

  “Oh, you, you… You’ll pay dearly for this. When my father catches up to you, I’m going to make him...shoot you.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be more than willing.” Dave threw the blanket aside and stood, then stared down at her. “Just trying to stay warm.”

  Abby fidgeted under his scrutiny. “Well, since we only have one blanket—” She jumped to her feet. “What the hell am I doing making excuses for you? I’m tired, I’m cold, I’m hungry, I’m tired of sleeping on the ground, my wedding dress is ruined, my wedding was a disaster,” she stomped her foot, “and I’m tired of...crying.”

  A strange expression flitted acr
oss his face, then he turned and disappeared into the woods. She picked up a rock and threw it at his retreating figure. “I hate you.”

  In the shadowy pre-dawn light, she retreated to the other side of the glade and took care of her personal needs. When she returned, Davy was nowhere in sight. His horse grazed under the trees. Her kidnapper had grown careless.

  She walked slowly toward the horse, taking care not to spook him. As she grabbed the reins, she crooned soft words to the animal. The big gelding nuzzled her hand. “Sorry, boy, I don’t have a treat for you.”

  She looped the reins over the horse’s head. As she put her foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle, her heart pounded crazily in her chest. Escape! Freedom was within her grasp. With a soft nudge of her heels, she prodded the animal into a walk.

  As they left the glade, a whistle pierced the air. The horse’s ears stood up, and he stopped. “No, no, no,” Abby yelled and kicked him harder in the flanks, but he refused to move.

  “Going somewhere, Miss O’Sullivan?”

  Abby’s shoulders slumped. She’d been so close to freedom.

  He appeared at her side. “Sorry to spoil your plans, but I don’t fancy being left out here on foot.”

  “And I don’t fancy being dragged all over west Texas.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Especially by a jealous, revenge-seeking half-breed Indian.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them. Incredible pain crossed his face before his features hardened into an unreadable mask. But she refused to retract them—she wanted to hurt him. He was the criminal here, and she didn’t owe him anything.

  He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped his mouth shut. Instead, he grabbed the pommel and vaulted up behind her. “You’ll just have to suffer my company a little while longer.”

  She leaned forward but could not escape contact with the hard wall of his chest. “Aren’t we going to eat? I’m hungry.”

  “Stop your whining. Comanche women can travel all day on foot with no food and very little water, and they don’t complain. They’ve been forced to run all their lives ever since the white man came.”

  “Well, I’m not one of your Comanche women, and I want to go home. Now!”

  “Not just yet. I still have some unfinished business to take care of. We’ll eat later. The sun will be up soon. We’ll stop then. I want to put some miles behind us while it’s still cool.”

  “We lost the pack mule and all the supplies.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. How does rattlesnake sound?”

  “Yuk, yuk! No way.”

  His chuckle sounded in her ear. “I thought you were raised out here and could take care of yourself. Isn’t that what you said?”

  Knowing he wanted a rise out of her, she refused to take the bait. “What happens when we get to your mother’s village? What will they do to me?” The horror stories she’d heard of the brutal Comanche floated ominously in her mind.

  “Don’t worry. You’re with me. You’ll be safe.”

  “Safe?” She made a very unladylike sound. “Why should I feel safe with you—my kidnapper?”

  “Because I’m all you’ve got right now.”

  As his words sank into her consciousness, she realized they were true. Not many people entered the stronghold of the Comanche. They very name Llano Estacado scared white men and other Indians alike. Her father would brave hell itself for her. Of that she had no doubt. But would he pay—with his life? His life for John Larson’s? Would Philip do that for her?

  “Davy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you going to kill my father?”

  A long moment ticked by, then he answered. “If I find out he killed my pa, or had any part of it, yeah, I’m gonna kill him.”

  ****

  Abby stiffened in his arms. As much as he didn’t want to hurt her, Davy told her the truth. He planned to kill anyone—and everyone—who had any part in his pa’s killing. And he was willing to die for his revenge. Her sniffles told him she was crying, but he hardened his heart. Nothing would deter him from his goal.

  “You will give him a chance to prove his innocence, won’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be sure.” He tightened his arms around her and kicked his horse into a slow trot. His gut told him Silver Feather and the others weren’t far behind. The Comanche tracker would travel hard, but hopefully the white men with him would slow him a little bit. Davy needed a few hours to get into the Llano Estacado and hide in its many hidden canyons and arroyos. Even then, Silver Feather would be hard to lose.

  Another thought entered his mind. Silver Feather would most likely guess Davy would head for his mother’s village. Perhaps he had given up following them and hightailed it there. Perhaps even now he was ahead of them. Watching…waiting…

  An hour later, morning dawned, bathing the land in its golden glow. Davy reined in his horse and stared out across the vast expanse that lay before them. He knew, and loved, this harsh, yet beautiful land, having spent a lot of his childhood traversing the area. His mother had wanted him to know his Indian heritage and he’d spent summers with the tribe. As a kid, he’d had very few white friends and had taken almost immediately to the Indian way of life.

  “Why do they call it the Staked Plains?” Abby’s question broke into his thoughts.

  He chuckled to himself. “No one ever asked me that question. It is said the conquistadores named it that.”

  She turned and arched a dark eyebrow at him.

  “Surprised? That a jealous, revenge-seeking half-breed would know about conquistadores?” Although he tried to keep his voice light and nonchalant, as before he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  A flush tinged her cheeks. “I’m sorry about that. I was mad, and I wanted to hurt you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m used to it, and believe me, I’ve been called a lot worse.” He shrugged.

  “I know people can be bigoted and cruel. I never thought I was one of them.”

  “You’re not. It’s just the...circumstances. That’s all.” Davy wished that was all it was, but deep down he knew different. It was one thing to spend a few hours learning to fish with an Indian kid, but another thing to associate with him in the white man’s world.

  “Yeah, the circumstances.” She huffed out a long sigh.

  “Anyway,” Davy continued, “it’s said the white man named the Llano Estacado which means ‘staked plains’ because cowboys crossing it drove wooden stakes into the ground to mark their trail.”

  “It looks like a sea of grass. I can see where they’d get lost.”

  “The white man gets lost, not the Comanche. This is home.”

  “It looks harsh,” Abby said, “and unforgiving.”

  “It can be.” Davy clucked to his horse. “There’s a place up ahead we can stop and have some breakfast.”

  “But, but there’s nothing out here.”

  “There is if you know where to look.”

  Two miles later, Davy glimpsed a clump of yucca plants that marked the entrance to an arroyo. You could see for miles and miles out here and any movement attracted attention. He wanted to be below the skyline and conceal the smoke of his fire. He turned his mount and rode into the draw. A hundred feet down, several small trees offered inviting shade.

  He slid from the saddle then held his arms up for Abby. When she willingly slipped into his grasp, he turned his head to hide his surprise. While he unsaddled the horse, she sat under the trees, took her handkerchief and wiped her face and neck. Again, remorse nipped at his heels, but he forced those thoughts aside. He had to stay focused.

  “Can I have some water?” She licked her lips.

  “Yeah.” He grabbed his canteen, uncapped it and held it out to her. “One swallow only.”

  With a nod, Abby took it, then gulped down the tepid water. She went to take another drink, but Davy jerked it away. “Sorry. No more. Not until we find some.”

  The pathetic look on her face made him relent,
and he handed the canteen back to her. “All right. One more drink.”

  She took a small sip and gave it back. “Thanks.” She waved a hand at the surrounding area. “Is there a river or stream or a water hole out here? And food?”

  “If you know where to look.”

  She shrugged. “Well, I certainly hope you know where to look.”

  He chuckled. “I do.” He capped the canteen and looped the strap over the saddle horn. He’d let her have his drink, and the horse would need water real soon. If his figuring was right, they should reach water by late afternoon. “Speaking of food, I believe I promised you some breakfast.” He pulled his rifle from its boot and turned to her. “Do I need to tie you up? Or are you going to stay put?”

  She didn’t answer immediately, just chewed on her lip as if trying to decide. Finally, she nodded. “I’m staying put.”

  “Do I have your word on that?”

  “I’m an O’Sullivan. I thought my word didn’t mean anything to you.”

  “I’ve reconsidered.” He led his horse into a patch of shade, quickly unsaddled the animal and tied the reins to a bush. With a glance at her, he made his way down the draw. Hopefully, he’d get lucky and find a prairie chicken or maybe a jackrabbit. Otherwise, it’d be berries and yucca flowers.

  He got lucky and found a covey of quail. A couple of well-placed shots brought down two of them. He hated having to use his gun because noise traveled a long way out here, but Abby needed food. When he returned, she sat in the shade near the horse. As he walked up, she scrambled to her feet. “I’ll gather wood,” he said and tossed the birds at her feet, “if you’ll clean them.”

  A frown touched her lips. “I-I don’t know how.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Then I’ll clean them, and you can gather wood.”

  “All right.” She scurried away.

  When she returned with an armful of dry branches, he’d already cleaned the quail. In a few moments, a fire blazed. She watched as Davy banked the fire to control the smoke. Only a faint wisp escaped. He skewered the birds, and soon the delicious smell of roasting meat wafted over the camp. The aroma whetted her appetite. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this hungry. Probably never.