Captive Bride Page 9

  “Did that savage hurt you?”

  Words in Davy’s defense surged to her lips, but she bit them back. She wouldn’t argue with him in front of his men. “I’m okay. Really I am.”

  “How did you get here? Where is he?”

  “I rode in. He let me go several miles back.”

  “Roscoe, take several men and see if you can pick up his trail. I want that bastard. Bring him to me—dead or alive.”

  Abby gasped, then found her voice. “Papa, no. He’s too far gone by now.”

  He locked gazes with her, his eyes darkening in anger. “Are you trying to protect him? After all he’s done?” He smashed one huge fist into the other. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

  The men crowded closer, their gazes curious.

  “Papa, can we go to the house? I’m tired.”

  He glanced at his men, then nodded. “Yes, of course.” He turned to his men. “Make way.” Stiff-necked and stiff-backed, he led the way to the main house. She was in for it now.

  Once inside, he pointed to the stairs. “Go to your room and take off that dress. You’re not an Injun.”

  “It was either wear this, or go naked. Would you have preferred that?”

  “Don’t sass me, girl.”

  More angry words sprang to her lips. Again she bit them back. Now was not the time. “Yes, Papa.”

  His voice softened. “I’m glad you’re home safe. I’ll have cook bring you something to eat and then we can talk.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Her legs felt like heavy weights as she climbed the stairs. Would her father understand her love for Davy? Would he try to keep her away from him? That is, if Davy lived—she shook her head and fought to keep her tears at bay. She would not think of that.

  A soft knock sounded at the door. She opened it to find Juanita the cook standing there with a tray of food. As she took the tray, she smiled her thanks. “Gracias, Juanita.”

  “Por nada, senorita. Your padre, he say you eat, then come to his study.”

  “All right.” As the servant scurried away, Abby closed the door and placed the tray on the bed, then perched on the edge. The hot soup and tea warmed her. She ate slowly, putting off the inevitable. Finally, after about 15 minutes, she rose to her feet. She couldn’t put it off any longer.

  In nightgown and wrapper, Abby descended the stairs and went in search of her father. She found him in his office, his feet propped up on the desk, and a glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes were closed.

  She tapped softly on the door. He opened his eyes, then gulped down his drink as if gathering courage.

  “Come sit down, Abby, my girl.” His mild tone belied the anger in his eyes. “Did you eat?”

  “Yes.” She sat, then swallowed the lump in her throat. Was this the proverbial lull before the storm?

  “Tell me everything that happened.”

  It wasn’t a request; it was an order. She nodded. “Yes, Papa.” She related everything that had happened—except the fact that she and Davy had made love.

  “So he kidnapped you to take revenge on me. He thinks I killed his father.”

  “He doesn’t believe it any longer, but he thinks Philip had something to do with it. After all, Philip did go to the Larson ranch to try to buy it, and when John Larson wouldn’t sell, they had a big fight. Did you know about that?”

  “No. Besides, we have only an Injun squaw’s word that it happened that way.” He stared at her over the rim of his glass. “Do you believe Philip had anything to do with it?” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Why, you do.” He slammed the glass on the table. It shattered, and glass flew everywhere. “My own daughter. I can’t believe it.” He leaned across the desk and grabbed her hands. “What has he done to you? How did he turn you against me? Has he filled you so full of lies that you believe everything he says?”

  “Papa, listen. He didn’t turn me against you. I love you, and I don’t think you’re involved in any way. I know you couldn’t kill anyone, but I’m not so sure about Philip. Davy wouldn’t lie about that.”

  “Davy? Tell me something, Abby, and by God, you’d best tell the truth. Did this Davy, this half-breed savage, take…advantage of you?”

  “You mean, did he force himself on me? No, he didn’t.”

  He must have seen something in her eyes because he cursed aloud. “Ohmigod, so he didn’t force you, but he compromised you. I’ll kill him for this.”

  “Oh, Papa, you mustn’t. I’m in love with Davy Larson.”

  “What? What kind of foolish talk is that? You don’t even know the man. He’s a savage with a price on his head.”

  “But I do know him. I met him a few years ago.”

  “When? Where?”

  As Abby explained, his bushy eyebrows lifted. “So because you ‘met’ him a few years ago, when you were a child, you think you’re in love? My God, I thought you had a brain in that pretty head. After Philip finds out about this, he may not want you.”

  Abby clenched her hands into fists. “Well I may not want him, especially if he stole Davy’s ranch.”

  He struggled to his feet.

  “You’ve had enough to drink, Papa.”

  “No, not yet.” He grabbed a bottle from the liquor cabinet, then turned to face her. “Tomorrow, we’ll go into town and you’ll tell the sheriff exactly what you told me.” He staggered from the room.

  “Oh, no, I won’t,” she yelled at his retreating figure.

  The tears came.

  Once the floodgate opened, it wouldn’t close.

  ****

  Miles away, as the sun sank below the horizon, Davy rode slowly toward town. Night fell quickly, blanketing the earth in dark shadows. He turned his horse down a back alley, stopped and scanned the area. It appeared empty. He slipped from the saddle and led his mount behind a stack of crates. If he figured right, Winston’s office would be the second one from the end. He crept forward, making no noise. When he neared the building, he saw light shining from under the door. Good. Winston was here, but was he alone?

  A glance upward showed the upstairs window open, and boxes leaning against the wall gained him access in only a few minutes. He peered inside. It was a storage room of sorts. He climbed in and bumped into a box and it slid toward the floor. He dove for it and caught it in time. He stepped into the hallway and peered down the dark passageway. All the doors were closed. No one had heard. Light shown from the stairs, and he tiptoed to the landing, then paused and listened for any sound from below. If Winston wasn’t here, he could search the lawyer’s files. Two strides took him to the first step.

  The sound of footsteps sent him scurrying back into the shadows. Then the front door opened and Winston’s voice echoed in the stillness. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Davy thought he heard a twinge of fear in Winston’s voice. A man answered, but the words were so low that Davy couldn’t make them out. He crept back to the landing and down the top three steps.

  “Come with me,” Winston ordered, and the two dark figures at the base of the stairs disappeared. The second man looked familiar, and the hairs on the back of Davy’s neck stood.

  Davy muttered a curse. He had to get closer. Instinct told him these two were up to no good, possibly in cahoots—and probably involved in the death of his father. He made his way down the remaining steps. The second step from the bottom creaked loudly, and he froze in place.

  After a moment, when no one came to check, he moved forward, removed his hat and laid it on the stair. He peered around the corner just in time to see Winston close the door of his office. He tiptoed to the door and slumped to one knee, afraid he would cast a shadow. He put his ear to it but could hear nothing.

  A quick glance showed the far door ajar, and the transom open. He crawled the ten feet and peered into the room. Silver Feather stood at Winston’s desk. A curse rose in Davy’s throat, and he clamped his lips shut. What the hell?

  Winston opened his safe, pulled out an envelo
pe and handed it to the Indian. “All right, you’ve got your money. Now you need to leave the area. Go back to your village and stay there.” The lawyer slammed the safe door shut.

  Silver Feather’s body went rigid. His hand flew to the hilt of the knife tucked in his waistband. Davy sucked in a breath as he waited for the warrior’s next move. If Silver Feather was in cahoots with Winston, he didn’t like it—and didn’t like Winston.

  “I do not take orders from you, white man. I have done what you asked. I will go when I am ready.” Silver Feather’s soft voice belied the dangerous tone.

  “You have to go now or else—”

  “Or else what?” When Winston made no move, the Indian nodded. “It is as I thought. Your words are like the wind—empty.”

  Right before Davy’s eyes, Winston’s demeanor changed. His tone became soft and persuasive. “It’s just that I think it would be better if you go. People are beginning to ask questions.”

  “About what?”

  “Well, you were the last person to see John Larson alive. I didn’t think his wound was so serious that he would die of it, and nobody else did either. Furthermore, you haven’t found Abigail O’Sullivan—”

  “I thought she was your woman.”

  Winston’s face turned red, and his lips thinned into a sharp line. “Not any more. From what she told her father, she knows about the railroad and that I had a fight with John Larson, and his son is still alive.”

  “Not for long. I will find Running Wolf, and I will kill him, but not for you—for me. I will take vengeance on him.”

  The malice in Silver Feather’s voice stunned Davy. What in blue blazes had he ever done to deserve so much hate? That wily old warrior had been the last person to see his father alive. What had happened on the trip to the Larson ranch? That was one question he intended to ask Silver Feather.

  “He is hiding in Coyote Canyon,” Silver Feather continued. “I go now. Running Wolf’s spirit will leave us soon.”

  What the devil— Hiding in Coyote Canyon? The Indian must have lost his mind. Davy hadn’t been anywhere close to that place in a very long time. It was far north of the village.

  “Why do you hate him so much?” Winston asked.

  “It is of no matter to you. I will leave now.”

  “Go out the back way. I don’t want anyone seeing you leave my office.”

  For a moment, Davy thought the Comanche would argue with the lawyer, but he merely nodded. Davy shoved himself to his feet and hurriedly made his way back to the stairs. He tiptoed up to the landing, then down the hallway to the open window. While he wanted to stay and beat Winston to a bloody pulp, gut instinct told him to follow Silver Feather. He had a few questions that needed answering.

  Davy stepped out onto the roof, then sat and slid on his rear end to the edge. At that moment, the back door opened and Silver Feather stepped into the alleyway. Davy shrank back. After looking in all directions, the Indian disappeared into the darkness. Davy climbed down and raced for his horse. He had a hunch the wily old Comanche would head toward his village, and he needed to head him off before he got there. With a fluid leap, he vaulted into the saddle. A quick jab in the horse’s flanks sent him hurtling into the night.

  A mile out of town, he reined in his horse. Ahead, silhouetted against the moonlight, sat Silver Feather, his head turned toward his pursuer, listening…waiting. Davy steered his mount behind a tree. He sensed that somehow Silver Feather knew of his presence. Tales of the man’s magical powers ran through his mind, sending shivers down his spine. It was said the old warrior talked with the spirits.

  But the spirits would not help him tonight.

  As dark clouds scudded across the moon, Silver Feather gazed up into the sky and raised his hands. A low rumble of thunder echoed across the prairie. The wind swept across the open ground in huge gusts. The sky seemed to open up, and rain drops pelted the ground.

  After a few minutes, Silver Feather turned his horse and rode west. Davy waited a few minutes, then headed the same way, keeping to the line of trees that overlooked the prairie below. Spidery fingers of light flashed across the dark sky, revealing his prey. Silver Feather came into view, making no effort to hide his trail. If he were worried about being followed, he gave no sign of it.

  The rain grew heavier, the terrain more dangerous. A curse escaped Davy’s lips. The Indian had called for the storm to hide his tracks, and now it came—strong and harsh. He would never again question Silver Feather’s magic. Now the words in Winston’s office made sense—Silver Feather had known he was there.

  His horse stumbled in a gopher hole. With a curse, Davy stopped. He could go no further tonight. He had to find shelter. Tomorrow, if he could, he’d pick up Silver Feather’s tracks. His questions would be answered.

  Chapter Ten

  Warm thoughts of Davy lulled Abby to sleep. She hugged her arms around her chest. Memories of their time together caressed her body, bringing an aching need only he could assuage. Where was he now? Was he alive? Yes, he must be. If not, surely her heart would know. She sent up a prayer that God would keep him safe.

  Driving rain battered the windows while the shutters slapped against the house. The noise startled Abby from her slumber. She bolted upright in bed. She slipped from bed and padded over to the window. Lightning lit the sky in eerie streaks. Thunder sounded like a freight train bearing down on her.

  A harbinger of doom?

  Davy was in danger—she just knew it. She grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, then pulled a chair next to the window. There’d be no more sleep for her this night.

  An hour later, Abby shoved herself to her feet. Perhaps a cup of hot tea would send her back to sleep’s oblivion. She opened the door and walked down the hallway to the stairway. Her father’s bedroom door stood ajar. She glanced in—empty. Was he still nursing the whiskey bottle? Had she hurt him that bad? But what about her happiness? Didn’t she deserve to love, and be loved?

  At the foot of the stairs, she paused. Silence greeted her. With a sigh of relief she headed for the kitchen. As she heated water, a loud pounding sounded at the front door.

  “Sam, open up. It’s me, Philip.” The knocking continued.

  Abby ran to the door and jerked it open. Philip stood there in the rain. Water dripped from his hair and his clothing. A wild look in his eyes made her step back. “Philip, what’s wrong?”

  “Abby? Is it really you? I didn’t know you were back. Thank God you’re safe.” He leaned forward and embraced her. “I’ve prayed for your safe return. My prayers have been answered.”

  To her surprise, Philip’s touch repulsed her. She broke away. “What’s wrong? Why are you here and in the middle of a storm?”

  He didn’t seem to notice her withdrawal.

  “I need to see your father.”

  He tried to step into the house, but she blocked his way. “You’re dripping wet. Let me get you a towel.”

  “I need to see your father now.” His voice rose to a shrill note.

  “Abby,” her father’s voice sounded behind her, “get him a towel.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Come in the study, Philip.”

  As the two men disappeared down the shadowy hallway, Abby found a towel and hurried back to the study. When she walked into the room, the men stopped talking. Philip stood by the mantel, and she handed the towel to him.

  “Thank you.”

  “What’s the matter? Why are you here—like this?” The wild expression in his eyes told her this wasn’t the man she knew.

  Philip glanced at her father, then back at her. “I need to talk to your father in private, Abby. Why don’t you go to your room?”

  “What? How dare you! This is my home, and you can’t give me orders.” His audacity left a bad taste in her mouth. Had she married him, would her life have been a long battle of wills? Of taking orders?

  “Well, I can,” her father said and glared at her. “Leave us alone. Now.
This is men’s talk.”

  “No, I won’t. This is about me—and Davy. I have a right to know.” Abby stomped her foot.

  “Davy? You know your kidnapper by his first name?” Philip screamed.

  “Did you have anything to do with John Larson’s death?” She grabbed his arm. “You went out to his ranch and fought with him. Did you kill him?”

  He shoved her hand aside. “You think I’m a murderer? I don’t believe what you’re saying. What did that half-breed do to you? How did he turn you against me?”

  “Abigail,” her father stood and waved his hand at her, “go to your room this instant.”

  Her father’s face was beet red, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He looked as if he may have a heart attack at any minute. She took a deep breath to gain her composure, then left the room.

  As she ran up the stairs, the door shut behind her. But two could play this game. Little did they know one could hear everything that went on in the study from the upstairs spare bedroom. She’d discovered that early on and had eavesdropped many times. She dashed into the room and hurried to the fireplace. Voices came up the chimney as clear as a bell. Fingers of fear curled around her heart and squeezed. She was afraid of what she might hear but couldn’t pull herself away.

  Her father’s voice came first. “This has gone far enough, Philip. I never meant for it to go this far.”

  “Well, you started it, Sam. You wanted the Larson ranch, had to have it because of the railroad. I just delivered it.”

  “Nobody was supposed to get hurt.”

  Abby clasped her hand over her mouth to keep her scream bottled up. She slumped to her knees and clutched her hand to her heart. Her worst fear had been realized. Her father and the man she thought she loved were both involved.

  “Well, I didn’t kill anyone,” Philip whined. “Larson was alive when I sent him home with the Injun, who, by the way, paid me a visit tonight. I thought the crazy old fool was going to kill me.”

  So that’s what sent you out in the storm. Fear.

  “And,” Philip continued, “he’s headed after Larson’s kid. Said he knows the half-breed is hiding out in Coyote Canyon, so I sent the Rangers there. Hopefully, they will solve all our problems.”