Satan's Angel Page 5

  It was foolhardy to have a woman along in this situation, even crazier to have an unwilling one. She would weep; she would struggle; she would beg and plead. She would do everything she could to slow them down, praying that her menfolk would catch up with her.

  And they would be after her. Father, brother, husband—no man would let this woman be taken from him. They’d come after him with blood in their eyes. No lawman or posse could pursue him with the tenacity and eagerness of avenging relatives. Even if this woman had no men to protect her, taking her would at least stir up the townspeople and ensure that he and his men would be followed.

  If he was smart, he’d put her down right now, leave her on the road for the posse to find. That would take a lot of the fire out of their pursuit. It would slow down the men who chased them, too, and reduce their number, for some of the men would have to take her back to Santa Clara.

  That was what he’d do—if he was smart.

  And he knew he wasn’t about to do it. Cool reason didn’t stand a chance against the sweet warmth that filled his chest as he held her. His arms curved around her protectively, and she cuddled into him as naturally as if she belonged there. She must be angry or scared, or both, but there was nothing to show it in the way she leaned against him, her hands curled into his shirt. It was almost as if she, too, felt she was his.

  Brody’s arms tightened around her. She was his. And there wasn’t any sheriff, any Ranger, any bunch of townspeople, who could separate her from him. Maybe he’d be dead in two days. But that was always a possibility, had been since he was a kid in the cribs of New Orleans, and, at least, until it happened, this woman, this princess, belonged to him.

  He was reluctant even to let her out of his arms. But he knew that that was going beyond the bounds of foolishness. Frank Landers had been shot in the fracas in town, and he’d tumbled from his mount. His riderless horse had run with them as they tore out of town, and Purdon had managed to grab the reins. Slight as this woman was, she was still an extra burden for his horse, and it made sense to put her up on the free mount.

  Brody sighed and reined in, signaling his men to stop. They had ridden hard since they’d left Santa Clara, and they were grateful for the chance to rest and regroup.

  “I’m going to put you down now,” Brody said softly in Amy’s ear, and she looked up at him and nodded. He leaned out of the saddle, letting her slide to the ground. He knew it was fanciful, but it seemed almost as if she were reluctant to go.

  Amy looked around her, pushing her windblown hair back from her face. Besides the man who had carried her, there were three men and four horses. The horses were lathered with sweat from the hard run. The men were a hard-looking bunch, dusty, weather-beaten and unshaven. One of them clutched his shoulder, and Amy could see the red staining his fingers.

  The men stared at her, and Amy moved uneasily beneath their gaze. For the first time the fear of a real physical threat shivered through her. She still didn’t know why they had taken her, but now she sensed that her situation was dangerous. She looked back up over her shoulder and watched the man who had carried her dismount. He came up to stand beside her, and Amy edged toward him.

  She felt no fear of him. From the beginning she had been unafraid of this fierce-looking stranger, hadn’t even seen the danger in his hard face and cold eyes. She had felt pity at first, then the security of his protection as they fled the gun battle. There had always been someone to take care of her. Now she put her trust in this outlaw who had held her, his body between her and the bullets.

  “Hey, Brody.” One of the men sauntered forward, leering at Amy. His gaze made her skin crawl, and Amy shivered, moving so close to Brody that her arm was against him. “Always thinkin’, aren’t ya? Not only getting’ outta town, but bringing a woman with us to enjoy.”

  Brody moved in front of Amy. He had no weapon, but his eyes were so black and hard that the other man fell back a step. “She’s mine.” His voice was flat, the words falling like rocks into their midst. There wasn’t a man there who had any interest in disputing them. “You understand, Purdon?”

  Purdon’s mouth tightened, but he gave a little grin and a shrug. “Why, sure, Brody, sure. Just funnin’ ya’ a little.”

  “Don’t.” Normally Brody would have given Purdon that way out to ease the humiliation of having to back down in front of the other men. He knew how to handle the volatile men who rode with him; it was one of the reasons for his gang’s success. But right now he wasn’t cool enough to manipulate Purdon. He was too filled with the red rage that had come upon him when Purdon looked at his woman. Never before had he felt such a fierce sense of possession about a woman, but he knew he’d kill any man who touched Amy.

  Purdon looked away. “Sure,” he said again and backed up.

  Brody relaxed. He nodded toward the man who was holding his shoulder. “You get hit, Jimmy?”

  The man nodded. “It went clean through, though.”

  “Good. At least we don’t have to dig it out.” Brody went over to look at the wound. The young man paled when Brody pulled his shirt away, and Brody brusquely ordered him to sit down on a rock. He examined the injury; it was still oozing blood, and he knew that riding wouldn’t help it any.

  Brody started to tear off one of his own sleeves to bind the wound, but Amy tapped softly on his arm. He glanced up and found her holding out a long piece of white cotton cloth. He realized that it must be a ruffle from her petticoat. He couldn’t understand her. She was bound to know that she’d be better off if one of them was dead, or at least slowed down. So why had she offered help to Jimmy?

  Brody took the cloth from her and tore it in half. He folded one half into a compact pad and placed it over the wound. Then he wound the other strip around Jimmy’s shoulder and chest to hold the pad in place. Brody doubted it would hold well. Still, it was better than nothing.

  “Can you ride?”

  The young man nodded. “I’m all right.” Brody knew the boy was lying. The jostling would make for a hellish ride. But the alternative, being caught by the posse, was a powerful incentive to keep up.

  “Good. Now let’s get these off, quick.” Brody help up his hands, showing the manacles and chain.

  They lacked the tools to knock the manacles apart, and the butt of a gun wouldn’t do it. Finally Brody had to settle for spreading the chain taut across a rock and letting one of the men shoot it in two. Amy’s heart was in her throat as she watched. It looked dangerous, and the last thing she wanted was to be left with these men without her protector around. She closed her eyes. The loud report of the gun made her jump. Opening her eyes tentatively, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the black-haired man rising from where he had knelt.

  “All right. Let’s go.” Brody didn’t like the weight of the manacles, and the dangling chains were a bother, but at least he could move his hands freely now. They couldn’t waste any more time; he’d get the manacles off when they reached the hideout.

  One of the men handed Brody a revolver, and he tucked it into his belt. He turned to Amy. “You’re going with us,” he told her, his voice harsh. He had to make her ride with them, even if it meant frightening her into it.

  Amy nodded. She couldn’t imagine what else she would do. They had left the road and she had no idea in which direction the town lay. She had no water, food, or a mount. If Victoria were here, she would doubtless be able to make it on her own, but Amy knew she couldn’t.

  Brody looked down at her. Her eyes were huge and blue, full of trust as she gazed up at him. He felt as though he could drown in those eyes. How could she look at him like that?

  Her bonnet had been knocked off during the escape, and it hung down her back, dangling by the ribbons still tied under her chin. Her fine hair had straggled loose in the wind and hung in disarray. Brody couldn’t resist reaching out to touch it. It was as soft as corn silk beneath his fingers. He smoothed it back from her face. He wanted to sink his hands into it and ru
b it against his cheek.

  Amy recognized the look of hunger in his eyes. It took her breath away. He was staring at her the way men looked at Victoria, only franker, harder. No man had ever gazed at her like that. It made her feel hot all over. It was strange and a little scary—and exciting.

  Brody forced himself to pull the bonnet up onto her head, covering the shining temptation of her hair. The color rose in Amy’s face, and she turned her eyes down as she retied the bow under her chin.

  “I’m going to put you up on Frank’s horse.” Brody nodded toward the animal. Belatedly he thought to ask, “Can you ride?”

  “Oh, yes.” That was one thing Amy knew she could do as well as anyone else.

  Brody doubted that. All his men rode good horseflesh; he saw to it. Landers’s mount was a far cry from the gentle mare Amy probably rode at home. But he would keep a close eyes on her; if he had to, he’d lead her horse and let Amy hold on to the saddle horn.

  The men mounted. Amy walked calmly up to the bay that Landers had ridden. She reached up and stroked its nose, speaking softly to it. Brody came up behind her, and she turned and smiled. “What’s his name?”

  “Who?”

  Her smile broadened. “The horse.”

  Brody lifted an eyebrow. What the hell was she doing wondering about a horse’s name at a time like this? Yet he couldn’t help but grin a little. “I don’t know. He probably doesn’t have one.”

  “But he has to have a name. I’ll think of one for him.”

  “All right.” Brody thought about bending down and kissing her on her pert little nose. On her eyes and cheeks and chin and sweet, sweet mouth. He wet his lips and glanced away.

  Amy’s soft voice pulled him back. “Uh, I need a leg up.”

  “What? Oh.” He cupped his hands for her to use as a step as she climbed into the saddle. He wasn’t used to riding with women.

  She placed her left foot in his hands, grasped the saddle horn and swung lightly up. She took up the reins competently and turned to look at Brody. He mounted his own horse, and they started off, Amy riding beside him.

  ***

  Victoria hurried to the telegraph office to cable her father. Once that was done, she pondered her next move. As she had told the men in the sheriff’s office, it would waste precious time to wait for Ed Stafford.

  She had to do something now. The only problem was, she didn’t know what. She could get a horse and ride back to Austin, where she could probably hire men to track Brody down, but that, too, would eat up valuable time. Or she could follow the gang herself. She had no doubt that she could handle the riding that would be involved, and she was an excellent shot. But tracking was something she was inexperienced in. Moreover, however good she was with a gun, she had never used one on a human. And she was only one person. There had been at least four men in that gang—and who knew how many more had been waiting to join them outside of town? She wouldn’t have a chance of subduing them.

  Still, what other choice did she have?

  Only Slater. He had said he would ride after Brody as soon as the doctor removed the bullet. What if he’d really meant it? What if he could do it? He had lost a lot of blood, and he would be weak and in pain. But he was whipcord tough; she had felt the lean strength in his body as they walked down the street. She had sensed his bulldog determination. He was, after all, a Texas Ranger, and they didn’t come any tougher than that. If any man could do it, it would be Slater. He might not be as quick or skilled as he would be under normal circumstances, but he would still do a darn sight better than either she or the town’s posse could do alone.

  With luck, even if they couldn’t catch up to them, maybe they’d be able to push Brody too hard for him to pause to. . .do anything to Amy. Victoria’s mind skittered away from that thought. Her father would follow them after he arrived in Santa Clara, and he would doubtless bring some of his men with him. She and Slater could leave her father a clear trail to follow.

  But it would be a while before Slater was able to sit a horse, and in the meantime, she had a lot to do. First on the list was the matter of a horse. Victoria had no intention of being left behind when Slater and the posse rode out.

  She went first to the livery stable, where she examined the animals carefully. The owner of the stable had only one horse, a paint gelding, that Victoria thought had the strength and stamina to last on the rough journey ahead. The owner wanted an exorbitant amount for the animal, but she wasn’t in a position to walk away from the deal, so after a minimum of bargaining, she purchased the horse, along with a saddle and bridle.

  Using nearly all the money her father had given her and Amy for the month in San Antonio, she also bought a bedroll, the minimal food and supplies she would need on the trail, and a rifle. There was a pistol in her bag at the hotel, for Victoria had lived too long on the ranch to feel completely secure without a firearm within reach. But if she was going up against Brody’s gang, she wanted a Winchester as well.

  She returned to the hotel with her purchases and found her bedridden chaperone in a panic over the length of time Amy and Victoria had been gone. Naturally Victoria’s story only increased the woman’s hysteria. Victoria didn’t waste time listening to Mrs. Childers’ wails and entreaties, or arguing with her over the merits of chasing down the outlaws. She just pulled her pistol and riding clothes out of her bags, loaded the guns, and neatly rolled up the ammunition and supplies in the bedroll. Now she would be ready whenever Slater could leave; all she had to do was change into her riding skirt and blouse.

  For a moment she paused and held the royal-blue blouse in front of her. She smiled. The color set off her complexion well and turned her eyes a vivid blue; it was far more complementary to her than the dull brown of her traveling dress. She caught the direction of her thoughts and frowned at her reflection. What a thing to be thinking of! This was no time for feminine vanity. She had to be all action now, with the same kind of competence and toughness that Slater would expect from a man, or she would endanger their mission.

  Victoria laid the blouse aside. She had better see how Slater was doing. He might be coming around already.

  There were several people loitering in front of the doctor’s office, and Victoria wondered sinkingly if the doctor might turn her away as a mere curiosity-seeker as well. But he seemed to have accepted her as his assistant, for he opened the door to her cheerfully.

  “Come to see our patient, eh?” he asked, looking amused. “Well, I wish you more success with him than I’ve had.”

  “He’s awake?”

  “Oh, yes.” Dr. Bauer pulled a droll face. “Very much so. And he’s asked about you.” He didn’t add in what terms.

  But Victoria didn’t need clarification. She was certain nothing the Ranger had had to say about her had been favorable. “Good. I need to talk to him.”

  She walked past the doctor into the back room. Slater was there, but no longer on the table as she had expected. He was standing, one hand braced against the wall. He looked as washed out as a man as tanned as he was could look, and a fierce frown creased his forehead. His eyes focused on her with an effort, and the frown deepened.

  “You.” The tone of his voice implied anything but joy at the sight of her.

  “Yes. You’re up.”

  “Very perceptive.” His tongue stumbled a little over the word. He wet his lips. “Yes, I’m up and relieved of the contents of my stomach, as well.” His eyes were accusing. “Thanks to you and that sawbones.”

  “Please. Don’t be so effusive in your gratitude. I wouldn’t expect any thanks for saving your hide.”

  “Lord.” He brought a hand to his head. “The way you and Bauer talk, you’d think a bullet in the arm was one step away from the Grim Reaper. You didn’t save my life, lady. You just put a bandage on me.”

  Victoria pressed her lips together tightly. Only the fact that she desperately needed Slater’s help kept her from letting him have a few choice words. Thi
s man must be the rudest and most ungrateful wretch in the world! When she could trust herself to speak again, she ignored his comments and said only, “Did you mean it when you said you were going after Brody?”

  “Of course I meant it.”

  “Naturally he did,” Dr. Bauer said from the doorway. “The man’s insane. I’ve been trying to tell him there’s no need for him to leap on his horse and chase the outlaws. The townspeople will get up a posse.”

  Slater gave a snort that indicated his opinion of such a posse. “Yeah. That’s why I have to leave before they manage to obliterate Brody’s trail.”

  “I’m afraid he’s right,” Victoria added. “I’ve talked to the deputies and the other men. I don’t think they’ll be any use in catching Sam Brody.”

  Slater glanced at her, startled, then mockingly inclined his head toward her.

  Dr. Bauer stared at her, shocked. “You can’t mean that you think he should go after Brody’s gang!”

  “Normally, no. He’s lost blood, he’s in pain, and he’s still feeling the effects of the chloroform.”

  The doctor nodded emphatically, reassured.

  “But—”

  “But?”

  “But there’s no one else to go. No one else here can do it. And somebody has to go after them. Someone has to get Amy back. Her life is at stake. And there’s no one else to do it but him.”

  The doctor looked from Victoria to Slater. Slater gazed back without expression. “She’s right, you know. I’m the only choice.”

  “But you’re in no condition to ride!”

  “That’s why I’m going with him,” Victoria said.

  “What!” The two men chorused and whirled to stare at her.

  “Miss Stafford, you can’t be serious,” came from the doctor.

  “You’re crazy,” Slater echoed.

  Victoria gazed levelly back at them.

  Slater sagged back against the wall, rubbing his forehead, and let out a short, decidedly rude curse.

  Victoria ignored him. She was used to similar reactions from men who didn’t know her. She was also used to handling them, which often meant riding over them roughshod. “When will you be ready to leave?” she asked Slater. “Tomorrow morning?”