The Half-Breed's Woman Page 21

  Callie felt the blood rush to her face in embarrassment at his bald statement, but for now, there was no fear. As he stalked away to join Blocker, she only felt relief that he’d left Carlos untouched.

  She looked up and met Jeremy Naylor’s admiring gray stare.

  “Miss—”

  “Please, call me Callie, Jem. Don’t you think it’s about time we dispensed with formalities?”

  “You are my sister-in-law, after all,” he mused.

  Callie looked down. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I…wasn’t sure about you,” she answered honestly, looking up into his eyes once more. “I wasn’t sure I could trust you.”

  Jeremy sagged back against the tree trunk. “And now?” His gaze roamed over the campsite, watching Blocker and Lane.

  Callie smiled and shook her head. “You won’t hurt your brother. You worried over him too much last night—” her voice caught in remembrance.

  “You’re right,” he reassured her swiftly. “I wouldn’t hurt him or Bren…ever again.” After a moment, he asked, “Did…Jax tell you all those things? About what happened to him and Brendan—”

  She nodded, not looking at him. “These are the same men.”

  “The same men who…killed their mother?” Jeremy’s tone was incredulous. “But—how?”

  Callie began to tell him the story, starting with the destruction of the Quartz Mountain encampment and the torture of the young boys. She finished with Jax’s killing of Crooked Elk. She spared no detail, including the plans Dunstan Treadwell had had for her when she came of age.

  When she was done, Jeremy moistened his lips and turned his head away from her, scanning the underbrush on the far creek bank.

  “Callie—you’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you?”

  She didn’t reply for a long moment, her gaze shifting again to Carlos. Asleep, the resemblance to Jax McCall was remarkable. She studied him a few minutes before she answered.

  “When I was a child, I used to dream about getting old enough to go to all the balls, have my “coming out” party, marry someone rich and handsome—and have lots of children.” She shook her head. “You know, Jeremy, none of that matters now, except the last part. Being Jax’s wife…having his babies—”

  “I know,” he comforted. “I—had a wife. We had dreams, but…”

  Callie looked up, stunned. Somehow, she’d never pictured this man with a wife and family of his own.

  He saw her expression, and a wry smile twisted his lips. “You can’t imagine it?”

  “I’m sorry—I never thought—” Callie could feel her face grow warm as she stammered.

  “I had a son, too, Callie. He was so curious, you know? Into everything…”

  “What happened?” she asked, unable to help herself.

  Jeremy’s tone became hard-edged. “They made the mistake of traveling—just as you were—by stagecoach. Melinda was from St. Louis, and she was homesick. She wanted to go for a visit, to show Patrick off to her family. He was four years old—and no one in her family had seen him.” He looked away.

  “Their stage was attacked two days out, by a band of Apache and some Mexican comancheros. Many times, the Apache take…prisoners. Women and children become wives and property. But—not that time.” Jeremy’s voice became harsh as he spoke, and Callie could hear the lingering rough traces of sorrow and anger. “I suppose she put up a fight.”

  Callie reached out, blinded for a moment by her own tears. She laid her hand on his arm. “They…killed them?” she whispered.

  He nodded. Then, “Killed them. Scalped them. Mutilated—” he stopped himself, shaking his head as if to clear it.

  “I am so sorry—” Callie felt the air rush out of her in a gasp. No, she thought, she really hadn’t had a hard time of it at all.

  “I—shouldn’t have brought it up,” he muttered, visibly reining in his emotions.

  “Please. I’m glad you told me.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Does Jax know about any of this?”

  “No. Jax and I…haven’t spoken for several years.” He sighed and glanced down at Carlos. “You’ve brought a lot of changes, it seems, Mrs. McCall. I just hope it’s not too late.”

  ****

  Jax and Bren crouched a few yards from the camp in the underbrush. They’d tied their horses even farther down the line of trees and worked their way toward the camp, knowing it was risky during these late afternoon hours.

  The sun was dim in the December sky, but still provided enough light for the brothers to be seen, should anyone be looking. That was the thing about Blocker, Jax thought. He considered himself extremely cunning, when in fact, he was just plain dumb. Cruelty was no substitute for guile.

  Shorty Reeves whistled contentedly as he began to dig the graves. The shadows of the afternoon had lengthened, and Blocker had put on a pot of beans over the fire. He tended to them while Bobby Lane lay with his head pillowed on his saddle, nursing his whiskey bottle.

  Blocker and Lane both kept looking toward where their three prisoners sat. Jax grew more apprehensive with every minute about the way they looked at Callie, even at Carlos. They barely spared Jeremy a glance. There was no doubt of what they intended for him.

  From where Jax and Bren hunkered down in the gnarly brown branches of dead undergrowth, they could see Jeremy and Callie speaking quietly. From time to time, both Callie and Jeremy glanced at Carlos, and it wasn’t hard to see the worry in either of their faces.

  Brendan and Jax had been in position, watching, for over an hour. Knowing the country as well as they did, there was little doubt as to where a snake like Blocker would hole up for the night. This little campsite was perfect. Jax and Bren both had used it occasionally in the past.

  Things had settled some, in the camp, after Callie had slapped Bobby Lane. It had been all Jax could do not to go in right then.

  But Brendan had restrained him, nearly taking him completely to the damp ground. A reluctant smile touched his lips in remembrance. That would be a first, and only because Jax was already so weakened by the poison in his system, the loss of blood. Stupid, though. That small scuffle could have ruined everything.

  Callie had bitten down, hard, on Lane’s bottom lip, drawing blood. When Jax had started up, Brendan had yanked him down, putting him off balance. “No, Jax. Not yet. She took care of it.”

  Jax’s anger flared at his brother’s calm demeanor but in seconds, he had control of himself again. He glanced away.

  “She ever do that to you? Bite you like that?” Brendan murmured.

  Jax’s quick anger dissolved completely with the realization that Bren was teasing him, trying to calm him down, return some caution to his own uncharacteristic brashness. “No. But then, I never used Lane’s charming tactics, either.” His eyes narrowed as he watched Lane sway drunkenly. “Bastard.”

  Brendan grinned. “It’ll be all right. You gotta have some patience.”

  Jax gave him a ghost of a smile. It was a familiar phrase. One he always used on his impulsive younger brother. His head still wasn’t as clear as he would’ve hoped before taking on this particular bunch of men. The pounding headache was receding, as Jem had told him it would, but his limbs felt weighted, and he knew he’d be at a disadvantage when the fighting became physical, as it surely would. Just holding a gun steady would be hard enough.

  Now, as Lane strutted back toward Callie once more, Jax growled low in his throat, every muscle tense.

  Brendan laid his hand on Jax’s shoulder. “Easy, brother. Let’s just watch…”

  “I can’t. I’m going in.”

  Brendan pushed Jax down roughly. “Hold up, Jax. We still don’t know where Dick Wiler is. We’re already outnumbered.”

  Jax sighed in impatience. Lane was talking to Jeremy now. Jax spoke as he kept his eyes on Lane. “Wiler could be dead, for all we know. Maybe…he’s not riding with Blocker anymore.”

  “Yeah, could be. Or maybe he’ll show u
p for dinner here in just a few when the beans are done, Jax. We can hold off at least that long.”

  Brendan was right, of course. Caution was all-important. But dammit, it was so hard to just sit here and watch. To listen, straining to hear, only catching a word every now and then. And they couldn’t wait until it was full dark. Although, the cover of darkness would give them the advantage, Jax felt certain that things would come to a head before then. Once the shadows were a little deeper, he and Bren would have to wind their way around the edge of the clearing into the stand of trees behind Blockers’ campsite. What they needed was a distraction.

  Callie had the derringer with her. Jax had checked the valise, and the gun was missing. He only hoped she remembered the gun held but two bullets. Would she have the opportunity to use it? he wondered. Would she find it within herself to try and kill again? That would be the hardest part for her.

  “What do you think?” Jax murmured. “You think Wiler’ll show?”

  Brendan shook his head. “No. My gut feeling is that he’s either dead or he’s quit Blocker’s gang, for whatever reason. From what I’ve managed to hear of their conversation, none of them has mentioned him, either.”

  Wearing a drunken smirk, Lane stood above the three hostages, under the cottonwood tree.

  “Damn it,” Jax swore, starting up from where he crouched. “I’m goin’ in.”

  “No, Jax! Not yet. He’s going for the kid.”

  “Carlos—”

  As Lane started for the boy, Carlos shifted against Jeremy, giving Bren and Jax their first good look at his battered face.

  “Jesus!” Bren whispered.

  Jax remained silent. He felt the breath rush out of him as he took in what Blocker’s men had done to Carlos. As he looked at the boy, he felt as if he were looking at himself, watching his own unspeakable torment on a day thirteen years past. He was just as helpless to stop it now as he had been then.

  ****

  As Carlos half-sat against Jeremy, he looked as if he were peering from raw slits of flesh. “I’m cold, Miss Callie,” he mumbled.

  Callie reached to smooth his black hair away from his forehead, putting herself between him and Lane. “I know, Carlos. I’ll see if I can’t get you a blanket.”

  “He don’t need no blanket,” Bobby Lane said. He raised the whiskey bottle to his mouth, finishing it off, then threw it with remarkably good aim for the amount of liquor he’d consumed, smashing it against a nearby tree.

  A grin spread across his thin lips as he reached for Carlos again, dragging him to a standing position. The boy’s eyes cracked open. “He don’t need no blanket cause he’s gonna be dead soon. Lookee over there, boy, where ol’ Shorty’s diggin’. There’s your blanket! Mother earth’s a-gonna cover you and keep you nice and warm. Soon as we’re done with ya, of course.”

  Callie stood up quickly, her eyes blazing. “Leave him alone!” She reached to wrest Carlos from the man’s grip, but Lane knocked her aside with a shove and dragged Carlos over to the fire. He pushed the boy down to his knees, then turned back to Jeremy and Callie, giving them a laughing sneer.

  Callie felt Jeremy start forward, as if to go after the outlaw, then stop himself, remembering he was tied. Carrying a length of rope, Lane returned to where the dazed boy sat. Efficiently, he tied it around Carlos’s legs and stood, dragging him to a low-limbed mesquite tree. “Shinny on up there, Shorty.” He nodded to a strong limb extending over their heads.

  Reeves gave a high-pitched laugh that echoed across the clearing to where Jax and Bren crouched, and did as Lane directed. Lane threw the end of the rope up to him. Reeves yanked on it, hoisting Carlos into the air, perilously close to the fire. Reeves tied the rope securely, then came back down the tree trunk.

  Bobby Lane was already stripping away Carlos’s shirt, literally cutting it from his body with a sharp knife. The boy’s lips compressed into a taut, straight line, but he made no sound.

  The three men stood, watching Carlos. “Puts me in mind of that time at Quartz Mountain,” Blocker gloated. He turned to reach for the end of a stick protruding from the campfire. “Let’s see if he squeals like that little Injun bastard did.”

  Callie came to her feet and strode toward them.

  Just as Blocker started to lay the glowing wood on Carlos’s ribs, Callie rammed into him, knocking the hot stick from his ham-fisted grip. He turned to her in surprise. “What the hell?”

  “Ooh, she’s got a temper, Wolf,” Lane chortled. “Bet I can tame it down some, though.” He advanced on Callie, his blue eyes wild, and crazy-drunk.

  Callie faced him, so desperate to stop what they were doing to Carlos that she gave no thought to her own fate. Lane’s hand snaked out, clamping about her wrist. He pulled her to him, swinging her around, pinioning her to one of the tall cottonwoods that ringed the campsite. He leaned into her, breathing his whiskey-sodden breath directly into her face. She turned her head away from the fetid odor, and he slapped her.

  Callie heard Reeves’ laughter from somewhere in the distance, then Jeremy’s muttered oath at his own helplessness.

  “Where’s your marshal now, you uppity bitch? Huh?” Lane grabbed a handful of Callie’s hair, forcing her head around to look at him. Carlos gave a stifled yelp of pain and Callie’s stomach turned at the accompanying hiss of burning flesh from where he hung. She gazed defiantly into Lane’s smarmy expression.

  “He’ll come after you,” she swore. Her voice trembled in seething anger. “And when he does, he’ll send you straight to hell.”

  Lane’s smile fled, his expression clouding, and Shorty abruptly stopped giggling.

  Blocker’s uneasy snort broke the tense silence. “Says you. From what I hear, McCall’s in an awful bad way. Maybe even dead, by now. Maybe he ain’t comin’ after all. It don’t make a damn one way or the other, though. We’ll get him.”

  Callie’s eyes went to Carlos.

  “Yeah. We forgot to say just why Shorty tangled with the boy,” Blocker said with a sneer. “Took the kid a long time to give it up, but Shorty, he has a way of makin’ people want to talk—or wish they was dead.”

  She tore her gaze away, unnerved by their casual cruelty, but before she could speak, she heard Jeremy’s voice behind her.

  “Cut the boy down and let them go, for God’s sake. I know where there’s a treasure that could set you all up for the rest of your lives.”

  ****

  “Sure ya do, doc,” Shorty chortled, leaning on his shovel.

  But Wolf Blocker dropped his branding stick as he moved away from Carlos, and Jeremy breathed a sigh of relief. He had Blocker’s attention, at least.

  “What kind of a treasure?” Blocker asked. His odd, mismatched eyes narrowed speculatively.

  Jeremy chose his words with care. “Jewels. Rubies. They’re all yours, if—you let the two of them go free.”

  Blocker came to stand in front of Jeremy. Suddenly, he reached down and, with an unnatural strength, effortlessly hauled him upright.

  Jeremy’s legs buckled. He’d been sitting too long in the cramped position. Blocker pushed him back against the tree and held him in place, an evil grin splitting his face.

  “Naw, doc, you ain’t gonna bargain. Cause if you really have them rubies, they ain’t gonna do you no good from your grave.” He glanced meaningfully over to where Shorty cheerfully dug the third shallow trench, whistling tunelessly as he turned the earth with his shovel. “I can make you beg for your final resting place…or, I can give it to you real quick-like. All depends on you.”

  “Cut that boy down,” Jeremy demanded, his eyes clashing with the bigger man’s, and holding.

  “Or what?”

  Tension sparked the deafening silence, as neither man spoke. Blocker’s lips parted in a tobacco stained grin, and he began to laugh, obviously enjoying the power he held over Jeremy. He released his grasp on Jeremy’s shirt, shoving him away.

  “Hell, I don’t give a damn about no rubies,” Bobby Lane shouted impatien
tly. “I just want a good lay. An’ I’m about to get it.” He pushed Callie down to the ground roughly. She gasped, rolling away from him. She tried to kick him, but he deflected her foot and came astride her, shoving her skirts up over her face.

  Callie pushed at the torn material, as Lane smiled. “Yeah, you want to watch ol’ Bobby, don’tcha, Miss Priss. Think you’re so high an’ mighty. Little rich girl. You’re gonna know you been screwed when I’m done with you, that’s for sure!” He fumbled with the buttons on his Levis for a minute, then he laid flat upon her to stop her squirming and twisting.

  Callie felt the hard metal of the derringer next to her hand, through the material of her dress. She had forgotten it, in all her concern for Carlos. Now, she slipped her hand inside her pocket, her fingers wrapping around the small butt of the gun.

  It was now or never.

  Chapter 26

  Lane pressed his hard arousal against Callie’s flesh, grinding himself harshly into her pantalettes. His strong, fetid breath stung her nostrils, his eyes dancing with the gleam of madness as he managed to finally undo his pants. He laughed softly, his tongue darting out to wet the inner circle of her ear.

  She wanted to scream in revulsion, to shout at him to get off of her. Instead, she pulled the pistol from her pocket and positioned it as best she could just under his ribcage, pulling back quickly on the trigger.

  Bobby Lane stiffened in shocked, painful surprise. Jax had cautioned her to use the weapon only at close range. Two inches should be close enough. But she began to doubt that she had caused him any damage. He didn’t move. He lay still atop her, looking down at her.

  “Well, you little whore,” he muttered finally. “You’ve murdered me, for sure.” His voice was almost conversational, and Callie began to shake at the enormity of what she’d done. He smiled at her, his teeth red with blood that rose up from his lungs; with his next breath, she heard a scratchy rattle from deep in his chest. The blood dripped from his mouth and spattered her cheek, his grin widening.

  She screamed and shoved at him, trying to push him off of her, but he still held her under him with a tight grip. Gradually, she felt it loosen. She was powerless for a moment to do anything. Her resolve threatened to desert her, but she immediately yanked it back, holding it close to her, if not for herself, for Carlos.