Emmy (Gold Rush Brides Book 2) Page 13

  “Kirby, we know you’re in there,” Mason shouted to the chilly night air. Whispers of fog drifted up from his mouth with every breath. “Come out with your hands raised and you’ll live at least as long as your trial, I promise you that!”

  He was answered with a single gunshot that went wild, then the firefight began. He and his men dismounted, the horses tearing off toward the safety of the trees, and rushed the cabin, pressing their backs against the rough log timbers. With only two windows and one door, the men inside couldn’t shoot what they couldn’t see.

  “I can’t see ‘em,” came a shout from inside.

  “Where the devil’d they go?” shouted someone else.

  Mason waited a moment to let the panic fully set in, then shouted, “Now!”

  On either side of the cabin, Jake and David popped out in front of each small window and blasted whoever had the bad luck to be standing on the other side. Before anyone inside knew what was happening, they ducked out of sight again. Screams of pain and panic and fury echoed from inside.

  “Kirby! I’ll give you one last chance. Throw your weapons out the windows and come out with your hands high. You and your men will get a fair trial up in Nevada County, which I’m sure isn’t what you want, is it? Hey, is Sheriff Watson in there with ya? Tell him the same goes for him.”

  Once again, he was answered with a shot, but this one found its mark. Fred screamed from behind the cabin. Another shot rang out and the screaming stopped.

  “No!” Mason cried.

  How could they have gotten to Fred back there? They’d watched for hours and only seen the one man outside. Was there a window back there? That would be unusual, considering how expensive plate glass was in these parts. Besides, Fred would never have stepped in front of one.

  Mason’s heart broke, then turned black with hate for the man inside. He’d killed everyone in Mason’s life he considered family. Now it was time for Mason to kill him.

  “To me!” he shouted to Jake and David, who rounded the corner of the cabin in seconds and pulled the dead man off to the side. Mason backed up a few steps and took a running leap at the door, throwing his full weight against it. The flimsy thing barely resisted his bulk before splintering and collapsing inward. As he was falling to the floor, his deputies ran in behind him, guns blazing.

  It only took him a second or two to take a full survey of the room: One man dead with a gunshot wound to the head, another bleeding from a non-fatal shot to his shooting arm, Sheriff Watson trying to make himself the smallest target possible in a corner and Kirby standing in the middle of the room with his revolver smoking as he shot wildly at the three men bursting into his cabin.

  Jake took out the injured man quickly enough and David drew Kirby’s fire away from Mason so he could gain his feet. Kirby only had one man left, and that was the coward of a sheriff hiding under his arms like he wished they were his mama’s skirts.

  Coming from behind, Jake lunged at Kirby, knocking him to the floor. Kirby was a slightly bigger man, and almost gained the upper hand as they wrestled, but Jake was much younger. He managed to flip out from under him and pin him to the floor, but not before Kirby’s gun went off.

  Not wanting a stray bullet to hit any one of them, David kicked Kirby’s gun hand so hard that Mason heard bones cracking all the way across the room. If it had been any other man, he would have winced but it wasn’t any other man. It was Roy Kirby, the man who murdered his wife, the man responsible for Fred’s death, the man who tricked Emmy into marrying him. Mason couldn’t do anything but smile.

  Kirby grunted with pain but remained still, knowing he was beaten. David held his Winchester on him anyway, as Mason aimed at the huddled form of Sheriff Watson.

  “Time to face the music, Sheriff,” he said, edging closer to the man. But he wouldn’t move. He stayed curled up in a ball.

  “Come on, Watson. Who knows, maybe you’ll get a sympathetic jury. Time to go.” Still nothing.

  Mason reached out and prodded the man with the tip of his boot. Watson slid sideways and fell over, dead. Kirby’s last wild shot had torn into his chest, leaving him in a pool of blood.

  “Well, ain’t that just a dag-blamed shame,” Mason said, kneeling down to peer into Kirby’s fiery gaze. “You went and shot your last friend.”

  “Not his last friend,” said a husky voice from behind them.

  Mason whirled around and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. A small man with a bushy black beard hidden under a bandana was standing in the doorway holding a gun in one hand.

  Emmy was in the other.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  As the men faded from her sight, Emmy leaned on Blaze’s shoulder, stroking the horse’s neck the way he liked. He reciprocated by nuzzling her hand and chuffing at her. It was so comforting to have him with her, otherwise she’d be completely alone.

  That would have terrified her a few days ago, but she’d learned a lot from the sheriff and his men, and she was feeling more and more confident in herself every day. It seemed like years ago that she’d run away from New York, and she was no longer the same woman. Mason’s men had taken her under their wings, mostly when Mason wasn’t watching, of course, and taught her the basics she needed to stay alive in the wild.

  David took her hunting one time and showed her how to set up a rabbit snare. It wasn’t as effective as a gun but he said Mason would have his head if he handed his weapon over to her.

  Fred taught her which berries, mushrooms and nuts were edible and admonished her to never eat one she didn’t recognize because it might make her sick…or dead.

  Jake even gave her an extra flint so she could practice starting a fire. Mason had chuckled at the sad little wisp of smoke that was the only result of her first attempt, but that had only made her more determined to show him she could do it. Over and over she practiced, imitating Jake’s method of putting a little patch of moss on broken-up twigs, and over and over she ended up with a single tendril of smoke wafting up to mock her.

  Tonight would be different. Mason wasn’t standing over her shoulder, teasing her and making her nervous. Plus, if she didn’t get the fire going, she was going to be mighty cold all night. The sun was already close to the horizon, so the first thing she needed to do was try her hand at catching a rabbit.

  Edging a little deeper into the woods, she spotted a faint track that David taught her might be a rabbit trail, and it didn’t take long to find the burrow. She only had a little trouble remembering how to set up the little net, but was pleased with the result. Ideally, she would have figured out a way to scare the critter out of its hidey hole but aside from stomping around on top of it, she wasn’t sure how. Hopefully it would venture out soon enough for dinner.

  On her way back to the clearing, she collected supplies to make a fire. A handful of twigs here, a little patch of dry moss there and some good-sized sticks. Once it was burning nicely, she’d go collect heftier pieces of wood to keep it going. There was enough within a few steps of the clearing to keep her warm for a week, but she only needed enough for the night. But right now she needed to get the blasted thing started.

  She couldn’t help envisioning Mason’s face when he arrived back at the clearing only to find leftover rabbit and a blazing campfire. It would prove to him, once and for all, that she was a changed woman. She wasn’t the same mollycoddled child who’d shown up on his doorstep stomping her feet and expecting to be taken care of. This trip had taught her how to take care of herself, mostly, and she couldn’t wait to prove it to him. He’d warmed to her, certainly, but the satisfaction of that scene would be sweet.

  But then a darker scene played out in her mind, unbidden. There she is, sitting by her fire, smug and full, but Mason never comes back. Worry gnaws at her and sleep is a distant memory. Then the dawn comes, slow and torturous. She gave Mason her word that, if they weren’t back by dawn, she’d ride north to Nevada City. She waits until the sun has fully risen over the tree line, much later than she promised, then
carefully snuffs out what remains of the dying embers, mounts Blaze with tears in her eyes and takes to the road. Alone.

  “No!” she mumbled to herself, shaking away the vision. That would not be the way this journey ended. It couldn’t.

  Busying herself with building a fire, her thoughts shifted to what would happen after they caught Roy. They’d all return to Nevada City, where a trial would be held. There was no doubt of his guilt in her mind, and surely an impartial jury would see it the same way. But how long would a trial take? And where would she stay? If he refused to sign the annulment papers, who would take in the wife of a murderous highwayman and how long would it take to obtain a divorce? How would she earn her keep?

  Back in San Francisco, Jack and Dell had arranged a special deal with Sam Arbuckle, the proprietor of a boarding house, where she would help with housework in exchange for room and board. Looking back, her contributions had been meager and pathetic. That Sam had honored their agreement, even though she was so lacking in basic skills, was a testament to his decency. They were all so kind to her, and had told her to contact them if she had any troubles. She had to believe that, with their contacts, they would help her find a situation in town.

  But how would she get there? She had no money and no prospects. Maybe Mason or his men could help her find temporary work. She wouldn’t need much, just enough for the $30 ticket back to San Francisco and a little extra for a room at Sam’s, if he couldn’t be persuaded to let her work again — and she would hardly blame him for it.

  A blackness washed over her at the thought of leaving. She’d grown so fond of these men. David and Jake were hilarious jokesters, and Fred already seemed like family to her. If it hadn’t been for him, the other two probably wouldn’t have had the nerve to defy Mason by teaching her.

  Then there was Mason. Strong, tall, tormented Mason. His parting words to her reverberated around inside her head until her tummy was warm and tingly. “It’s been a downright privilege to know you,” he’d said, before kissing her hand, like a gentleman. It still tingled where his lips had touched.

  Truth be told, it was her privilege to know him. He was oblivious to how much he’d taught her, but faithfulness, hard work and true honor were foreign concepts to her before meeting him. His dedication to tracking down his family’s killer and then his doggedness at hunting Roy awed her. She could only hope that someone would love her that much someday.

  A tiny part of her wished Mason would be that someone, but even she could see that would never work. Aside from the fact that a man in his position wouldn’t hold that position for very long if he married the former wife of his own wife’s murderer, he didn’t love her. Perhaps he’d grown to appreciate her, maybe even like her, but he was still mourning the loss of his wife and child.

  Besides, she wasn’t even entirely sure of what she wanted anymore. The last few days had opened up a whole new world to her, one in which she was responsible for herself. Who was to say these feelings for Mason were even real? Perhaps they were simply a byproduct of their traveling together combined with her sympathy for his plight.

  It was all irrelevant anyway. When the men returned, they’d go back to Nevada City and she would find work until she earned enough to go back to San Francisco. She would have a fresh start in a town where no one knew of her shame, where they wouldn’t judge her. She could quietly divorce Roy and start a new life and one day, hopefully, find love.

  The frantic squeal of a rabbit snapped her out of her reverie and she was surprised to see a small flame licking at a twig. She’d built a fire! The rabbit was screeching like crazy, but she wanted to build the fire up a little before abandoning it to fetch dinner.

  When it was burning brightly, she scampered off into the woods to retrieve the now-subdued rabbit. He was fairly large but not fully grown like the ones David had shot. Plenty for dinner for her. Gathering up the net in her arms, she trotted back to the clearing.

  “Now what?” she wondered aloud. She’d watched David kill and clean the rabbits he’d been feeding them, but she’d never done it herself. Should she wring its neck? Hit it over the head? Shoot it? Her gun was in her saddlebag, but that seemed so…violent.

  She wasn’t even sure how to hold a live rabbit while trying to figure out how to kill it, so she cuddled it like a puppy or kitten or baby. The terrified little creature buried its head under her arm and snuggled in as far as it could go.

  “Awww.” The poor trembling bunny’s tawny fur was so soft and warm against her stroking hand. “Come on now, let’s have a look at you.”

  The moment she looked into the rabbit’s frightened brown eyes, her appetite evaporated. It was so darling and soft and…darling! Gazing into the rabbit’s eyes, she could see it only wanted to be free to live its life. It hadn’t bargained for getting caught in a trap. It was just hopping out of its burrow, probably looking for its own dinner. It had no idea its own hunger would lead to its demise. All it wanted was to escape and forget the whole thing had ever happened.

  That sounded all too familiar.

  “You’re just like me, aren’t you, little guy? Well then, neither of us is going to die tonight.”

  As much as she enjoyed a good rabbit dinner, she couldn’t kill this poor little bunny. She’d have to make due with the provisions Mason had given her, as unappealing as they were. She gave the rabbit a little hug and set it gently on the ground. It took a tentative hop, as if making sure it was really free to go, then tore off for the bushes.

  A loud crack nearly deafened Emmy, and she watched in horror as a bullet tore through the rabbit and it fell to the ground. Blaze whinnied and stamped his feet as a dark form stepped out from the long shadows of the woods. The same bearded man who’d held a revolver on her at the robbery was doing the same now.

  “You’re wrong about that, you know,” he said in a hoarse growl. “You’re both going to die tonight.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “You!” Emmy cried, unable to stop herself. Of all the miserable thieves from that robbery, this one was the worst, the most eager to kill. She recalled the frustration in his tone and posture when Roy let her keep her trunk. “How did you find me?”

  The man circled around her to pick up the rabbit while still keeping her in his gun’s site. “Psh, easy,” he said from under the same bandana he wore during the robbery, his bushy beard sticking out of the sides. “I followed you out of town. I seen your men head east but you weren’t with ‘em. Roy and the boys will make quick work of them, and I get to take care of you.”

  “What…what do you want?” She couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice. Would he rape her before he killed her? The thought was unbearable. Almost as unbearable as the thought of Roy killing Mason.

  A hint of disgust colored his grunt as he threw the rabbit at her. “The same thing I’ve wanted since I first laid eyes on you — to see you dead. But first, clean that and make me supper.”

  He had to be joking. “Why? So you can kill me afterward? Make your own supper, you hound!”

  Before she could so much as blink, the man stepped forward and slapped her so hard it brought tears to her eyes. “I’m the one that says around here, you hussy! I can draw it out or make it quick. Which would you prefer?”

  As much as she wanted to defy him, she was more afraid of what he might do to her if she continued. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she gently picked up the dead bunny, stroking its soft fur and whispering a prayer for it…and herself.

  A knife whooshed past her, embedding itself in the dirt inches from her foot. “Don’t get any ideas cuz I’ll be aiming right for your heart,” he said, looming over her. “Hurry up.”

  She sobbed quietly while cleaning the rabbit as best she could, but she made a terrible mess of it. David made it look so easy but there was hardly meat left to eat on the small body when she was done. Fashioning a spit from a stick, she set the meat to cook and gingerly laid the knife next to the fire before scooting away from it.

  Whil
e she worked, the gunslinger pawed through her saddle bag and pocketed her pistol, her only chance at surviving this. With a smug smile he sat down across the fire from her.

  He was quiet as he studied her. Finally, “You sure did get ugly, din’t ya?”

  She bristled at his words, but kept her eyes averted. He seemed overly happy about her rashy skin, which barely had any grease left on it. She’d meant to apply some more but had forgotten in all the excitement. Lord only knew what he would have said about that if he’d seen it.

  “If only Roy could see ya now. He wouldn’t think you’re an angel from heaven no more. He’d see ya for what ya really are. The devil.”

  Emmy wondered what Mason would do if he was in this position, powerless with a gun held on him. Like a bolt of lightning, the answer came to her. He would use his words to stay alive for as long as possible and hope that, somewhere along the line, he’d have a chance to overpower the other man. Considering how much this gunslinger apparently hated her, it was her only chance.

  “I don’t think so,” she said with a confidence she didn’t feel, adding what she hoped would sound like a condescending chuckle. It was a risky move but her gut told her that begging for her life wouldn’t get her very far with this man.

  He blinked. “Have you taken a gander at yourself lately? First off, you’re dressed like a man, which Roy don’t like. Second, your perfect white skin is all blotchy and scabby. Third, what happened to those pretty yellow curls? Tucked up under that bandana and hat. Makes ya look more like a man than ever. I’m tellin’ ya, Roy would beg me to kill you, if he laid eyes on ya.”

  The man sat smugly across the fire from her, his gun casually propped on his crossed legs, but ready to shoot if she moved a fraction of an inch.

  “Bet he wouldn’t. He’s so enamored with me that I bet he would not only not beg you to kill me, but he would kill you if you so much as harmed a hair on my pretty little head.”