Heart of Thunder by Johanna Lindsey
“I don’t give a damn who she is.” A big giant of a man spoke up. “I ain’t taking orders from no woman.”
“Look, girl,” Nate said now. “You better just take yourself on into El Paso, and leave us to our business. If you really are Samantha Kingsley, you’ll find your father waiting there for you.”
“I’m not leaving here until you let that man go,” Samantha said firmly. She knew she was taking a stand she might regret, but she was compelled. “He needs a doctor. I’ll take him to one.”
“Like hell you will!” Sankey shouted, and started toward her.
Without a thought, Samantha shot him. Quickly she turned the gun back on Nate. He was white-faced, as were the others. But she was still calm, in control. As usual, men had underestimated her.
“Now will you let him go?” she asked Nate quietly.
“There’s too much money at stake here. And you can’t shoot us all, girl.”
“Can’t I?”
It was bravado, by then. The shot had woken the two sleeping men, there were six of them against her. She couldn’t shoot them all at once. They all knew that. And Lorenzo? Was he still outside?
Samantha thought quickly, but didn’t know what to do next. Men like these wouldn’t think twice about shooting it out with a woman. But could she back down now?
“Dios mío!”
Samantha started at Lorenzo’s exclamation.
“I’ve never been so glad to see anyone, amigo,” Samantha said as he came in and moved to stand behind her. “I was afraid you had left.”
Lorenzo looked at her sharply and said furiously, “How can you stand there so calmly while he hangs there in torment? Do you not recognize him?”
She was shocked by the uncalled-for attack. “I’ve never met Antonio Chavez. How could I recognize him? And I’m hardly calm.”
“Por Dios. Look closer, little one.” Lorenzo realized his mistake and spoke softly. “It is Rufino.”
Her eyes flew to the man. “No,” she gasped! The black hair, the unrecognizable face. “No!” She ran to the man, forgetting everyone else, her gun limp in her hand. “It’s not.” The black clothes, bloodied, were the clothes Hank had worn when he married her.
She reached him, unaware of the smells, unaware of her heart’s wild beating, of her stomach twisting. It’s not him. It’s not him.
The words beat a tattoo inside her head as Samantha slowly, fearfully opened his shirt to find proof. Yes, the chest scars were there. The color drained from her face, and a scream tore from her throat. The scars were barely discernible beside the blackened, bruised skin across the whole of his stomach and rib cage. She collapsed on the floor, retching, the vision haunting her even with her eyes squeezed shut. Hank, oh, God! No!
Samantha was moaning, oblivious to her surroundings. Lorenzo had not moved from his position by the door. No one watched Samantha. It was Lorenzo, alone, who held the men at bay. Two six-shooters in the hands of a man ready to pull the triggers was a different story.
“What the hell got into her?” Ross grumbled.
“Talk to this one, Camacho,” Nate ordered, ignoring Ross. “You speak his lingo. Explain we got a job to do here.”
“There will be no talking,” Lorenzo said sharply before Camacho could open his mouth. “We will wait until la niña recovers. What to do here will be her decision.”
“Well, I ain’t gonna stand here and dance to no woman’s tune,” Ross said in a quarrelsome voice.
“Don’t push it, Ross,” Nate warned. “You want to end up like Sankey?”
“Hell, this one ain’t no crazy woman. He knows he can’t stand up to us all.”
“Do I, señor?” Lorenzo asked dangerously. “Perhaps you would like to find out what I think?”
Camacho grabbed Ross. “Ease off, amigo. This one is like me. He will not back down from a fight.”
“You think I’m afraid of a skinny—”
“Of course not,” Camacho said agreeably. “But his guns are not so skinny, eh?”
“Just what is your interest here?” Nate demanded.
“I will see the man released,” Lorenzo replied.
“And then?”
Lorenzo understood his anxiety and smiled darkly. “You need not fear me, señor. Chavez is my amigo, but I am not a vengeful man.”
“What about her?”
“That is a different matter.”
“But she said she did not know him,” Camacho pointed out, casting an uneasy glance at Samantha, who was sitting on the floor, shaking. He could face a man anytime. But he knew nothing about women, especially a woman who carried a gun. And this woman frightened him. She had already shot his friend without flinching. “Is she loca?”
“No. And it is no wonder she did not recognize him. You have changed his appearance,” Lorenzo replied coldly. “And, by the way, señor, she is who she claims to be. And she does know this man—very well. But her feelings for him…” Lorenzo shrugged. “I cannot—”
“Shut up, Lorenzo! You talk too much.”
He grinned and looked over to find Samantha glaring at him in the old familiar way. His grin widened. He had been afraid that he would have to handle the men alone, that she had completely broken down. He knew it would be better to keep her riled. That way, she would not lose control again. And he knew how to keep her riled.
“I was merely speculating, Sam,” he said innocently. “You see, I am confused. You claim to hate him and yet—”
“Damn you, shut up!” Samantha shouted, pushing herself to her feet. Her face was colorless, her eyes wild and glazed as she turned them on the men by the fire. “Bastards!” she hissed. Then she seemed to crumble again. “I wanted to see this happen to him. I wished it on him long ago.”
“Sam, are you all right?” Lorenzo called sharply.
She spun toward him with flashing eyes. There was relief in anger, and Samantha let it flow through her. It made her guilt less tormenting. “Just keep them away from me, Lorenzo. I’m going to cut him down, and if one of them makes a move to stop me, you shoot him.”
“You gonna let her get away with this, Nate?” Ross demanded belligerently.
Samantha turned and leveled her gun at the big Texan. His eyes widened, and someone whistled in surprise at her slow deliberate action. But Ross was goaded and drew his gun. She let him pull the long-nosed Colt from his holster, and then she shot it out of his hand.
“You open your mouth again, mister, and it will be the last words you ever speak,” Samantha told him icily. “The same goes for the rest of you. And you, señor.” She motioned Camacho with her gun. “You will assist me.” He stared at her and she snapped, “Comprende?”
The Mexican moved forward carefully. It was the last thing he wanted to do, getting close to a crazy woman.
Samantha stepped back, indicating that Camacho should cut Hank down. She kept her gun on him, ready for anything he might do with the knife he pulled from his belt. But he simply cut the rawhide, bracing Hank with his body, then lowered him gently to the ground.
“His horse. Where is it?” she demanded.
“In the back. I will get it.”
“No. You stay here where my friend can watch you.”
Samantha moved to the back of the barn, her legs like jelly. She found El Rey still saddled and led him to where Hank was lying half on the ground, half in the barn doorway. She looked down at him, mesmerized by a face she didn’t recognize.
“How will we get him to town, Sam?”
She looked up at the dark, inquiring face before her and slowly let the question bring her back to clarity of mind. “I don’t know. There’s no wagon or time to make a litter. He’ll have to ride with you, Lorenzo. El Rey can carry you both—if you can manage to support Hank.”
“I will manage.”
“You’ll have to hold him up,” she warned. “I think he has broken ribs. All…all those bruises. I don’t want him lying on them and bouncing.”
“I will see he has a gentle rid
“I know you will. I just…Look at him, Lorenzo.” She started losing control again, choked on a sob, but Lorenzo caught her arm and shook her.
“Not now, little one. Do not give in now. Let us get him safely away from here first. Then you can cry.”
“Cry? I’m not going to cry!” She jerked away from him, took a deep breath, and turned to Camacho. “Help us get him onto his horse. And be careful. I don’t want him waking up until I get him to a doctor.”
She stepped to the side to keep watch on the men so Lorenzo could turn away. Lorenzo and Camacho managed to get Hank into the saddle. There was a groan, and her eyes flashed. Her fingers tightened on her gun.
“Vámonos ahora, Sam.”
“Wait just a moment.”
“Sam—”
“I have a few words for these gentlemen,” she said in a carefully controlled voice. “Go! I will catch up.”
Reluctantly, Lorenzo urged El Rey forward. Samantha kept her gun on the men while El Rey moved away. After the horse had gone far enough that they could barely hear its hoofbeats, she spoke.
“You have wasted your time here, but I will see that you are paid.” Her eyes locked with Nate’s. “Only there will be no reward for El Carnicero. I will see to that, too. As of now, consider yourselves fired.” She didn’t flinch from the look in Nate’s eyes.
“Now, look—” he began.
“You had better let me finish, mister.” She cut him off smoothly. “Because I dearly wanted to kill you tonight. The night isn’t over, and I’m not gone yet, so I’d be holding my breath if I were you.” When he clamped his mouth shut, she added, “Now I’m not asking you to believe me. You’ll find out soon enough that everything I’ve said is true. I’m Samantha Blackstone Kingsley, and when I get through with my father, he’ll wish he never had a daughter. But that doesn’t concern you.”
She waited to see how her words were being taken. Not one of them moved, but she didn’t relax her guard. It seemed the two troublemakers were taken care of, Sankey lying on the ground, possibly dead, and Ross holding his hand, murder in his eyes. She knew his type. He wouldn’t try anything further.
She set her gaze on Nate again. “Now, I’ll be going to El Paso—you can even follow if you like. Only you stay away from my father until tomorrow. I don’t trust myself to see him tonight. If you don’t do all I say, I will probably hire men just like you to track you down and do to you what you did to my…friend. You can doubt that, but you’re advised not to.”
She slipped out of the barn, running around the tangled brush to the front of the house. Lorenzo was waiting there with his horse, Hank before him in the saddle of El Rey. Lorenzo had fooled them and had doubled silently back to guard Samantha.
Without a word to him, she mounted, and they rode toward El Paso. She didn’t bother looking back to see whether the others were following.
Chapter 35
A CANDLE flickering on the tall round table lit the narrow hall. Against the wall were two wooden benches reserved for patients waiting to see the doctor. Samantha sat on one bench, Lorenzo on the other, across from her. She had declined the use of the comfortable parlor in the front of the house. The sky would be lighting with the dawn soon. They had waited for hours.
Finally the doctor came out of his office and stood above her, listing all of Hank’s injuries, going into great detail. Samantha gripped the bench for support. She had prayed for a learned doctor, not some country horse doctor who treated people as a sideline, and this man was certainly knowledgeable.
Finally she couldn’t stand any more details. “Doctor, will he mend?”
“There’s no way of knowing that, miss. You can never tell about bones, whether they will set straight or not.”
His tone was reproving, as if she were questioning his abilities. He was tired. They had awakened him to tend Hank, and he had been at it for hours.
“But will he be all right, doctor? Can you just tell me that?”
“It’s too soon to say.”
“I believe la señora wishes to know if he will live,” Lorenzo put in quietly.
The doctor frowned. “Of course he’ll live. He’s taken a bad beating, but I’ve seen worse.”
“But his leg. It bled badly on the way here.”
“Not enough to matter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Look, miss, right now the worst that could happen to that young man is if infection set in, causing blood poisoning. I might have to take the leg off if that happens.”
“No!”
“I said that was the worst. And even if it were necessary, he seems healthy enough. He would survive it. But that’s not likely to happen. The wound was clean. I don’t foresee any trouble there. His fingers were in worse shape. They should have been seen to sooner.”
“It shouldn’t have happened to begin with,” Samantha said tiredly.
“Well…but things like this do happen. Why just last week—”
“Doctor, is it all right if we see him?”
“I wouldn’t advise it right now. He didn’t come to while I worked on him, which was a blessing. He’s resting quietly now. His breathing is normal. And rest is the best medicine at this stage. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to see him. I suggest you get some rest yourself, miss, or I’ll end up treating you, too.”
Samantha sighed and nodded. She was drained. Sleep would be heaven. It might wipe away this nightmare. If only for a little while.
Lorenzo walked her to the hotel where her father had once stayed. A quick word with the night clerk proved he was there now. But the haggard-looking young man behind the counter wasn’t at all accommodating. When Samantha asked for a room, he gave her a quick look, then insisted on being paid in advance. But she had no money, nor would she accept Lorenzo’s.
“My father is registered here. He will pay for my room.”
“I will need verification,” the clerk insisted. “If you’d care to wait until a decent hour, I’ll be happy to inquire of Mr. Kingsley—”
“The hell you will!” Samantha cut in sharply.
“This is not necessary, Sam,” Lorenzo said calmly as he placed a few bills on the counter.
But Samantha snatched the money and stuck it back in his hand. “No. I’ve had my identity doubted once too often tonight. I’ll pay for that room myself, or I’ll sleep out in the street. Besides, I want you to stick around—if you will—to stay with Hank until he’s better. I want you to be my guest while you’re here.”
“I will stay, Sam, because he is my friend. I will not take pay for it.”
A tired grin came slowly to her face. “Suit yourself, amigo. But with pride like that, you’ll never get rich.”
“Look who talks of pride,” he chided, waving the money she had thrust at him.
She turned once more to the clerk and pulled her gun out of her holster. “As for you, I want a room and I want it now.”
The young man backed up so quickly he slammed into the key board behind him. “Take any one you want!” he gasped, and scrambled to grab a room key.
“No, you jackass,” Samantha said. “I’m giving you my gun. Here.” She shoved it across the counter. “It’s worth a good deal more than a night’s stay. If I don’t reclaim it tomorrow, or rather, later today, you can throw me out and keep it. Now. The key.”
He picked up the gun before tossing the key down, then resumed his insolent manner. Samantha ignored it this time. What did it matter what he thought of her?
Lorenzo bid her good-bye. He wasn’t going to stay in the same hotel. “There are cheaper places,” he pointed out when she started to protest. “As you said, I may not get rich, but I do not live beyond my means, either.”
She was too tired to argue and let him go, promising to meet him at the doctor’s house in the afternoon.
It was full dawn by then. Pink light spilled in through the windows of the room she entered on the second floor. Somewhere in this hotel was her father, sleeping. She wa
Where was the Samantha Kingsley who had sworn to see Hank horsewhipped, tracked down and killed? She should have been jubilant to see Hank beaten, and instead she had crumbled like a pathetic, spineless woman. Why did it tear her apart? And what could she say to her father, knowing what he had allowed to happen?
Samantha fell on the bed, pressing her palms to her temples. Soon enough, she would find answers. Soon enough.
Chapter 36
SAMANTHA had only just fallen asleep when there came a persistent knocking, then hammering. She covered her ears, but the pounding continued. A voice was calling her name.
She knew the voice.
“Come in!” she shouted, so her father could hear her over the noise he was making.
The door flew open, and Hamilton Kingsley stood there, dressed in an impeccably tailored gray suit, looking splendidly well despite the tired lines under his eyes. She saw surprise register on his face, then delight, and then a smile that made the lines under his eyes seem to disappear.
“I didn’t believe it was you, Sam! The way they described you—You’re all right? I mean—”
“Yes, of course! Don’t I look just fine?”
Her sarcastic tone stopped Hamilton cold, and, after a moment, he stood back to look her over.
“As a matter of fact, you look terrible. What did they do to you, Sam? I want the truth.”
“Don’t you dare change the subject!”
He was baffled. “What?”
“How could you, father? How could you let those men torture him!”
“Him?” Hamilton stood back, frowning. Everything Nate Fiske had just finished telling him was apparently true. He hadn’t believed it.
“So you do know Chavez.” This was not a question, but a continuation of his thoughts. “He was one of El Carnicero’s men, then. I was right about him!”