Unlikely Partners on the Run (Preview)

Chapter One

Wyoming Territory

1880

“Bastardo! God’s curse on you!”

Sofia Boone looked up and spat at the man standing over her. His fists were clenched and he had murder in his eyes, but her hate for him was stronger than her fear. It had been building for years. She couldn’t hold it back anymore, not even if he killed her for it.

Her attacker, the man she once loved, the man she wanted to burn in hell, was her husband Royce. He was more than six feet tall, muscular, strong, handsome for a man of fifty. Everyone in their little town thought he was a respectable cattle rancher, a pillar of the community.

But he was a devil, and she was the only one who knew it.

She struggled up from the paved stones on their kitchen floor, and her dark hair slipped over one bare shoulder. She raised a trembling hand to point at his furious face.

“Ojalá mueras! The devil eat your soul!”

His face twisted in in fury. He bent down to yank her to her feet and slapped her so hard her head jerked to the right and her ears rang.

“How many times do I have to tell you to speak English, you mestiza mongrel! Eh? Eh?” He shook her so hard that her hair jumped, then he slapped her again, and she spun into the wall and collapsed on the floor.

Sofia glared up at him through her hair and cursed in him English. “Monster! You’re a coward and you hate me for knowing it!”

He swore and kicked her in the stomach, and she screamed and curled up in a ball on the cold stone floor.

“How many men have you had, you little whore? I know you’re cheating on me, you’ve slept with every saddle tramp on this ranch! Admit it!”

He tangled his big hand in her hair and dragged her to her feet again as she shrieked in pain. Her head lolled back on her shoulders and her body swayed as he held her upright.

“Look at me and tell me you didn’t do it,” he panted. “You can’t even meet my eyes, you can’t say it!”

Sofia stared at him, bleary-eyed and trembling. Her mouth fell open in agony, and she forced it to form words.

“I never cheated on you,” she gasped, then laughed shakily. “But it would serve you right if I had, brute! When I think of all the handsome young men who wanted—”

He balled his fist to hit her again, but she pulled back and kneed him short and sharp.

“Arrgh!” Royce doubled up in pain and staggered against the wall, cursing her. “Witch! Whore! You brought it on yourself this time,” he groaned. “I’m gonna kill you!”

Sofia staggered back, laughing wildly, then lurched to other side of the big kitchen table. She snatched up a carving knife and held it in her fist. “Stay back or I’ll cut you!” she warned.

Thunder rolled overhead as a storm broke on the ranch house. Lightning flickered outside, followed by an electric pop, and furious sheets of rain lashed the windows as Royce struggled to his feet. He fumbled with his belt, and it jingled as he pulled it out of his belt loops.

“You’ve been asking for this for a long time,” he growled, staggering toward her.

“Stay away from me!”

Royce swung the belt over his head like a rope and brought the thick brass buckle whistling down onto the table, smashing their breakfast plates. Sofia turned her head away from the flying shards and was almost caught when he dove at her and grabbed for her arm.

She dodged away and put the table between them, clutching the knife like a madwoman. “I’ll kill you if you touch me!” she shouted and brandished the knife. “You’re never going to touch me again, you hear? You make me sick!”

He swung the belt in a furious arc over the table, and Sofia jumped back just in time to dodge the buckle. It hit a chair and struck off the arm with a shattering crash.

Royce pulled the belt back and swung it again like some evil cowboy. “Touching’s all you’re good for!” he shouted. “Why do you think I married you, if it wasn’t for your looks? For what you could do for me in bed? When a poor woman marries a rich man, that’s the deal!”

He swung the belt out again, and Sofia hissed in pain when the buckle cut her left arm as it hurtled past.

“I hate you—perro feo!”

A hungry look gleamed in his eyes, a look she’d come to dread.

Royce licked his lips. “Come here, you little devil. You do this on purpose, don’t you? You know it winds me up.”

Sofia sobbed and dove around the table again. “Stay away!”

He lunged across the table, scattering the broken dishes. He seized her and dragged her onto the table as she screamed and turned her face away.

“No, no, let go of me!”

He buried his face in her neck, and she grimaced and tried in vain to push him away.

“Help, help, somebody help me!”

“Shut up!”

Sofia clawed at him, and her frantic eyes fell on the knife. She’d dropped it on the table, but now she snatched it up again.

“Get off me!”

Royce tore her blouse open, and she gripped the knife, screamed, and plunged it into his neck.

“Gah!”

She yanked the knife free, and blood gushed out of her husband’s neck, drenching his shirt and hers. Sofia shoved him away and scrambled to the doorway.

Royce stumbled backward, eyes wide with shock, one hand clamped to his throat. Blood gushed from his mouth, and he staggered back, then slid down the kitchen wall.

Sofia sobbed, dropped the knife, and fled. She raced into the hall and flew up the back stairs of the big ranch house to the second floor. She burst into their bedroom, locked the door behind her, and started throwing money and clothes into a carpet bag: cash, gold, her little cache of jewels. The ruby necklace and earrings, the turquoise rings, the silver bracelets, the diamond brooch and bracelet.

Thunder crashed in the sky, and the house shook. Sofia grabbed up the carpet bag and caught sight of herself in the bedroom mirror: her wild hair, her dark, staring eyes, and her blood-soaked shirt.

She threw the bag down and snatched a change of clothes out of a drawer. She dressed with trembling fingers, grabbed the bag again, and yanked the door open to flee.

She blew across the upper hall, glided down the stairs, and paused for a split-second outside the kitchen door. It was the only way out that wouldn’t be visible from the front of the house.

She took a deep breath and pushed in.  To her staring amazement, the kitchen was empty, but there was a trail of blood leading to the interior door.

Somehow, Royce had followed her.

Sofia whirled, then danced back in horror to see Royce leaning in the doorway: bloody, dazed, but holding a gun. Their eyes met for a instant. Then Sofia turned to flee, and the gun went off.

One of the kitchen chairs exploded into splinters. Sofia threw herself on the kitchen door, yanked it open, and plunged out into the rain. The doorway splintered as she fled, and she sprinted across the back yard to the barn as fast as she could run.

The barnyard fence exploded as she sped past it and plunged into the barn. She threw open a stall door, saddled their fastest horse in record time, grabbed the bag, and vaulted onto its back.

She sent the horse galloping out into the deluge, spurring it madly straight for the pasture fence. Leaning down over its neck, she drove the horse to the fence, then up and over.

The horse landed solidly on the far side, and Sofia urged it on as fast as it could fly. The rain lashed her, plastered her hair to her head, blinded her, soaked her to the skin. But for the first time since she married Royce, she felt free. A tangle of emotions swirled in her chest: guilt, hope, fear, elation—and the dawning knowledge that she might have killed a man.

She sobbed, kicked the horse savagely, and clung to it as it sped over the boundary of Royce’s ranch and onto the open road toward town. Lightning branched across the sky, and the horse tossed its head and screamed, but she seized the reins and forced it to keep going.

She had to get to the train depot before Royce sent his men after her.

Chapter Two

“Oh, all the fancy ladies in Wyoming
And all the little tartlets in Cheyenne
Can’t hold a candle to my darlin’ Floreen
Even though she looks just like a man.”

Zeke Boone sputtered with laughter and bumped his blond head into a porch post outside Miss Betty’s, the biggest and most popular cathouse in Silver Creek. He turned to grin at his companions: another man and three soiled doves who had followed them down to the brothel door.

The other man was tall, dark, and dressed like a Mexican grandee. He stared down at Zeke with an expression of barely-disguised contempt.

“You need to sober up.”

The young women crossed their arms and laughed at Zeke scornfully. “So you think we look like men, do you?”

Zeke turned to face them with some difficulty. He bowed with an exaggerated flourish. “With the greatest respect in the world, ladies… you look like men wearing wigs.” He burst into laughter and added, “And you smell like them, too!”

“Oh!”

One of the girls turned and flounced back inside, but the remaining two retorted:

“And you’re too drunk to get anything for your money!”

“Next time ask for a girl with patience!”

Zeke’s face twisted with startling speed. He was suddenly holding his gun, and the girls shrieked as the dark man lunged for his gun hand. The two men wrestled for control, and the gun went off with a pop.

The women fled screaming, and the dark man yanked the revolver out of Zeke’s hand. He spat, “What’s the matter with you! It’s bad enough that you’re embarrassing Royce by drinking and whoring. But when you do it in the same town he has to live in—”

Zeke twisted out of his grip and screamed, “The devil fly away with Royce and his reputation! I’ll do whatever I want, when I want. That’s the only good I get from being Royce’s brother, and I’m going to enjoy it!”

The dark man raised his head to stare across the street. “Now you’ve done it,” he muttered. “There’s the sheriff.”

Zeke turned to look at the older man, standing in the doorway of the town jail. “I’ll take care of him.”

He grabbed the revolver and popped off another shot. It shattered the jailhouse window and sent the sheriff scuttling back inside.

The dark man snarled, “Give me that, you idiot! Now Royce is going to have to pay you out of trouble again!”

He snatched the gun, stuck it in his belt, and shoved the younger man down the sidewalk.

“Get on your horse, if you still can. I’m taking you back to the ranch.”

Zeke listed to one side as he staggered to his horse. “You got a nasty mouth, Diego, anybody ever tell you that?”

The whistle of a departing train made them both look up. The depot was across the street in full view as the engineer blew the last-warning blast.

Lightning forked the sky overhead and drops started to patter down on the street as Diego pulled himself up on his own horse. “Come on, Zeke. Let’s get back before we get soaked.”

Zeke struggled up on his mount, and was just turning its head when a frantic rider came roaring up to the train depot. A young woman threw herself down, ran to the ticket window, and hurried up onto the train as they watched. The porters started to pull up the metal steps to the cars as the train prepared to leave.

Zeke blinked and tilted his head owlishly. “Hey, Diego,” he blurted, “It’s Sofia!” He started laughing again. “Looks like she’s leaving Royce at last!”

Diego frowned and followed the woman with his eyes. “I think you’re right,” he muttered. “Stay here. I’m going to go see if it’s her.”

He dismounted and jogged across the street to the depot. He tried to climb up onto the car, but the porter grabbed his arm. “Sir, do you have a ticket?”

Diego scowled at him. “Let go of my arm!”

“You can’t get on the train without a ticket, sir.”

Diego shook him off. “Do you know who I work for? Get out of my way!”

The whistle shrieked again, and the train began to move. Diego pushed the porter so hard that he fell, then grabbed the metal rail and tried to climb onboard.

But the porter grabbed him by the coat and yanked him backward. He sprawled onto the platform, spat curses at the porter, and threw him off.

He jumped up and sprinted after the train, but it was picking up speed, and he finally had to slow down, then stop. He watched it until it faded into the distance, then growled a string of profanities and gave up the chase.

He turned to match back to the ticket office and slapped his clenched fists on the counter. “Where is that train headed?” he demanded.

The clerk stared at him. “Why… it’s a cross-country run,” he stammered.

“Where’s the last stop?”

“San Francisco, sir.”

Chapter Three

Wade Walker crouched in the dirt and ran brown fingers over a deer’s hoofprint. He raised gray eyes to a low ridge in the distance and squinted up at the sky. It was heavy, striped with layers of gray clouds, and it was about to burst on his head.

The breeze freshened and ruffled his dark hair as he stood up again, mounted his horse, and urged it on, following the tracks. It was the same buck he’d been tracking for most of the day.

Maybe if he was lucky, he could get it before the sky opened up on him.

He spurred his horse to the top of a small rise, and the skirts of the ridge ahead swam into view. To Wade’s satisfaction, the buck was standing a few hundred yards away, and it lifted its head at his approach.

He slowly pulled his rifle out of its scabbard, raised it to his eye, and fixed the buck in his sights. His finger found the trigger, curled around it.

Crack.

* * * * *

Thirty minutes later, the first house outside Silver Creek moved into view. Wade pulled his hat lower over his brow as the raindrops started to multiply. He glanced up at the sky. It was black now, threatening a real gale, and he nudged his horse into a trot.

He hated Silver Creek, but he couldn’t seem to stay away. He’d been back for about a year, taking odd jobs to stay in that one-horse town, passing up the big, well-paying jobs he could get in places like Kansas City or Cheyenne.

He’d made a name for himself as a first-rate hunter of animals and, occasionally, humans. He knew the wilderness for five hundred miles around, and he could command good money.

But because he had a hole in his head, he kept coming back to Silver Creek.

Wade sighed in defeat as he sent his horse into the city limits. The main drag consisted of two rows of clapboard buildings facing one another across a dusty street, with a tiny train depot at the far end.

The biggest business within a hundred miles was the Boone Ranch, the Lazy B, and the Boones had a finger in almost every other pie in town: the bank, the mercantile, the office of the town’s solitary lawyer. The family pretty much owned Silver Creek, and he didn’t like to do business there because of it. But he had a fresh carcass on his hands, it was about to pour down rain, and he needed a fast buck.

As he moved onto the main road, he noticed the town was deserted for a weekday afternoon. Usually there were old men gossiping on a bench outside the mercantile, women going in and out of the shops, men driving their buckboards into town to pick up supplies. But not today.

He was just about to put it down to the weather when a solitary figure tossed away an apple core and pushed off a porch post. And that lone figure explained it all.

It was Zeke Boone, and Wade grimaced in recognition and cursed under his breath. No wonder the street was empty. Zeke was crazy as ten monkeys, fast as lightning, and fond of killing. And it looked like the young gun wanted a word with him, because he sauntered out into the street to block his way.

Zeke was in his mid-twenties, but he looked like a schoolboy. He had sandy blond hair that fell down into his eyes, tanned skin, and a lean build. He dressed like a cowhand in a plain shirt and jeans.

Wade pulled his mouth to one side. That was what always messed with his head when he faced off with Zeke. The weird guilt he felt for wanting to kill a man who looked like a shavetail kid.

Lightning flicked in the sky behind Zeke’s head as he smiled and nodded. “Howdy, Wade! It’s been a while.”

Wade’s eyes flicked over Zeke’s bleary eyes, his puffy face, the way he listed slightly to one side. He pinched his mouth into a straight line and thought:

Crazy always and drunk today. Must be my lucky day.

He pulled his horse to a stop and leaned over the pommel. “What can I do for you?”

Zeke sauntered over to put a hand on his horse’s bridle and grinned up at him. “You’re always looking for a job, ain’t you? I got a business proposition for you.”

Wade tried to keep the scowl off his face as he muttered, “Why don’t you tell me later. It’s about to storm and I’ve got to take care of this carcass.”

An ugly look gleamed in Zeke’s eye, and Wade let one hand fall to his revolver. But the dangerous look slowly melted into a smile, and Wade moved his hand away from his gun.

That was another thing about Zeke. He was near-impossible to read. He might save a man’s life when he was blazing mad, and he could kill that same man with a grin on his face.

He’d done that more than once.

Wade watched him closely as he shrugged and turned to point at the doctor’s office.

“Fair enough. Just meet me at Doc’s in thirty minutes. Don’t be late.” He grinned, tipped his hat, and veered off across the street, and Wade watched him go grimly.

It wasn’t a request, and he wanted to tell Zeke Boone to cram it where the sun didn’t shine. But he was tired, it was about to rain, and he didn’t particularly want a showdown with the best-known lunatic in three counties.

It looked like he was going to the doctor’s.

Wade sighed, swore under his breath, and sent his horse trotting to the butcher’s to sell the deer.

* * * * *

Wade arrived at Doc Mitchell’s exactly thirty-five minutes later. The doctor’s house was a two-story log cabin dating from the frontier days of the territory. It sat square in the middle of town, and even though it was in glaring contrast to the newer, neater buildings, nobody dared to complain.

Doc dated from the frontier days too, and nobody complained about that, either. He was the only sawbones within fifty miles of Silver Creek, and he was too old and too fractious to care if they shot him. He was, therefore, the only man who could say whatever he liked to the Boones.

Wade took off his hat as he climbed the porch steps. The possibility that Doc would pin Zeke’s ears back was the only pleasure he expected to get from his visit.

He rapped on the door with his knuckles, and Doc’s irritable voice called out, “You must be a stranger. Ain’t nobody else bothers to knock!”

Wade chuckled a bit to himself and opened the door. But his smile faded as Doc’s parlor swam into view.

Royce Boone, the man who owned the whole county, was splayed out across Doc’s dining room table like a Thanksgiving turkey. Royce was a big man, and his arms and legs dangled over the edges of Doc’s makeshift surgery table. His neck and chest were covered in blood, he was pale as a ghost, and he looked half-dead.

Zeke, on the other hand, was lounging against the fireplace smoking a cigar, as if his brother got his throat cut every day.

Wade nodded grimly and closed the door behind him. He knew instantly what had happened and why. But he couldn’t let the men in that room see it.

He put on a scowl and yelped, “What in the everlasting—”

As he watched, Doc pulled the last stitch closed, tied off the knot, and cut the string. “Yeah, she finally cut your throat, didn’t she?” he told his scowling patient. “You’re lucky she didn’t have a gun.”

Royce glared at the doctor but could only make strangled mumbling sounds.

Zeke nodded to Wade as he entered. “Well, here’s our tracker at last! Took your time, didn’t you?”

Wade shot him a frowning glance but didn’t reply, and Zeke pushed off the fireplace, trailing cigar smoke. “You came to town at a good time, my friend. My brother there”—he nodded toward Royce—“had a little tiff with his wife.”

He ambled up close and smiled in a way that sent a thrill of disgust down Wade’s spine. “You know how these little lover’s quarrels can be,” Zeke added softly. “They get out of hand real easy.”

Wade rolled his eyes to Royce’s shirt. It was red from the collar to the hem. “Looks like she tried to kill him,” he growled, and Zeke laughed, a peal of merriment that made Royce scowl and gargle at him.

“Yes, I guess she did! She’s Mexican, after all. Hot blood, you know.”

“What do you want with me?”

Zeke reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “Well, I’ll tell you, Wade. Little Sofia’s run off, and we want you to go get her and bring her back to the arms of her lovin’ husband.”

Wade couldn’t keep his lip from curling. He turned on his heel and would’ve stalked off, but Zeke grabbed his arm.

Wade shook him off. “I track animals, not people,” he snarled. “Find somebody else!”

Zeke waved the bankroll in the air. “Five thousand dollars, Wade,” he whispered. “Easy money.”

Wade licked his lips and hesitated. He’d fallen into a bad habit of doing pretty much any job offered. He’d gotten so he didn’t ask many questions. But there was no way he was doing this job.

“There are plenty of bounty hunters in the territory. Go find one!”

Zeke’s voice stopped him at the door. “There ain’t any as close as you are now.” He narrowed his eyes in apparent confusion. “You got a name for being a hard man. Don’t tell me you’re going soft.”

Wade paused with his hand on the door.

Zeke added, “Royce’s gonna be real grateful when you bring his wife back. She stole a lot of money this time. The sheriff would go after her just for that, if he wasn’t such a yellow belly.” He laughed softly.

Wade shot him a troubled glance. “You got a man, that big Mexican. Why don’t you send him? He’s already on your payroll.”

Zeke shrugged and put the cigar to his lips. “She’s a Mexican, too,” he replied easily. “Can’t trust ’em. They’ll turn on you to protect their own.”

Wade snorted and yanked the door open, but to his angry surprise, Zeke shoved it closed.

Zeke’s eyes burned like he was possessed, but gradually the crazy look faded, and he smiled and relaxed. He stuffed the bills into Wade’s shirt pocket and leaned against the door.

“Just bring her back, Wade. She left town on the train to San Francisco. Like I said, Royce’ll be grateful.” An ugly gleam returned to his eyes as he pushed his finger to Wade’s temple, like the barrel of a gun. “He can make your life a living hell, too.”

Zeke smiled again and opened the door. “He’ll be expecting to see you back at the ranch within two weeks. Don’t make us come after you.”

Wade scowled and stormed out of the house, down the porch steps, and over to his horse. The clouds had broken at last, and it was raining sheets. He got soaked to the skin, but he saddled up, turned his horse’s head, and sent it trotting down the muddy street.

What he wanted was to put his fist in Zeke Boone’s crazy face. But a new idea had occurred to him, a better idea.

Wade pulled a thoughtful hand over his chin. Over the last five years he’d built up the reputation of never saying no to good money, of never getting too curious about a job. The Boones believed he was a mercenary. That he didn’t care who he killed.

They were wrong, but maybe he could use that. Yeah, maybe that would come in real useful.

He glanced back at Doc’s log house, then turned his horse’s head in the direction of the train station.

Chapter Four

The door slammed shut behind the stranger and Doc Mitchell leaned back in his chair to survey his handiwork. “That’s a bad gash, Royce, but you were born lucky. A hair to the left and that knife would’ve severed an artery. I think you’re gonna live, long as you don’t start coughing up blood.”

Royce glared at the doctor. His little whore of a wife had messed him up good, and she was gonna pay. He was gonna make Sofia sorry she’d ever been born.

But he clenched his fists in frustration, because he had to get his revenge through other people. He was hamstrung, stuck. He couldn’t ride, he couldn’t talk, he couldn’t even eat. Doc had told him he was gonna have to sip through a straw until his throat healed up, and that could take months.

Royce swore in his mind and motioned as if he was writing. To his relief, Doc took the hint.

The older man sighed and stood up wearily. “Yeah, I know you can’t talk, and you’d better not try for a while. I don’t have no chalk board, but I’ll see if I can find a paper and pencil for you.”

Zeke leaned against the fireplace mantle and watched him with indolent amusement. Smoke spiraled from his cigar as he drawled, “Well, I’ll say one thing, Royce. This is the longest I’ve ever seen you with your mouth shut!” He laughed and sputtered more smoke into the air, and Royce swelled up in impotent rage.

The doctor returned, and Royce snatched the paper and pencil out of his hands. He scribbled furiously and held out the paper for Zeke to take. His younger brother sauntered over and read it lazily. He raised his eyes in mild astonishment.

“Why do I have to babysit Wade Walker?” he complained. “Ain’t we paying him to do a job for us? If you want me to go after Sofia, just say so. I’ll do it for free.”

Royce made a grumbling sound and scribbled on the paper again. Zeke glanced at it to read:

CAN’T TRUST HIM. GO WITH HIM, MAKE SURE JOB’S DONE RIGHT.

“Aw, blast it, Royce. If I’m going, why does he have to go at all?”

Royce scribbled again and stuck the paper out.

MAKE SURE YOU DON’T GO TO A BAR OR A CATHOUSE INSTEAD! FOLLOW HIM AND DON’T COME BACK WITHOUT SOFIA!

Zeke chuckled and nodded to concede the point. “I guess you’re right. It’s hard for me to keep my mind strictly on business, I admit it.”

Royce scrawled his reply: SEE TO IT THAT YOU DO THIS TIME.

Zeke snatched the paper out of his hand, crumpled it up, and threw it into the fireplace. Royce watched in outrage as his little brother laughed in his face, flipped him a finger, and blew out of the house.

Damn him, Royce fumed. He’s bleeding me dry, and he thinks he can because I’m his brother. Well, as soon as I pay Sofia back, I’ll take care of him, too.

He’ll have to get a job for once in his life. We’ll see how well that works out for him!

His head swam, and he closed his eyes and lowered his head to the table. He’d lost more blood than a hog at pig-killin’, and he was barely strong enough to be angry. He was gonna have to entrust things to his brother, and that was another way of saying they were going straight to hell.

He smashed his fist onto the table, and the resulting wave of weakness almost made him pass out. Doc’s trebly voice swam above him from somewhere out of his sight.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to rein in that temper, mister! You bust those stitches and you’ll have to come right back here. I stitched you up with a lick and a prayer, and you’re lucky it worked. The second try won’t go as good, I can promise you that.”

Royce smashed down his fury long enough to recover, then gestured again for the paper. He felt Doc press it into his hand, and he wrote:

STAYING HERE WITH YOU UNTIL I CAN TRAVEL. SLEEPING IN YOUR BED, YOU CAN SLEEP ON THE COUCH.

The old man’s face wrinkled up, and he retorted, “You’re sleeping on the couch if anybody is, I can tell you that right now. Lessen you want me pick up stakes and leave this one-horse town, and then all of you can whistle for a doctor! The new one’ll charge more than I do, that’s a promise. Now you settle down, if you want me to help you. I’ll get some chicken broth, and you’re gonna have to sip it slow.”

Royce glared at the old man and fairly ground his teeth in rage, but there was nothing he could do. He was as helpless as a baby, and it made him so mad he would’ve wrung the old man’s neck if he only had the strength.

But he didn’t, so he laid on that hard table with his hands folded over his ribs like a corpse, and waited there until Doc got back and dribbled broth into his mouth from a spoon.

It was all Sofia’s doing, all her fault, and she was going to pay dear for it. If he had to chase her to the gates of Hell, he was going to get his revenge.

Chapter Five

“Look at her shirt!”

The swaying of the train car had lulled Sofia to a light doze, but the loud whisper woke her. She opened her eyes and glanced at a pair of matronly women sitting two seats behind her. They were staring at her blouse, and her, as if she was smeared with dirt.

She glanced down at herself. To her surprise, there were still faint pink streaks of blood on the white linen blouse, even though it was a fresh one.

The blood on her skin must not have washed completely away.

She adjusted one shoulder and turned around to confront them. “I spilled wine on my blouse,” she retorted defiantly, lifting her chin proudly before turning back around.

Hateful old cows.

She glanced uneasily at the passing scenery. That ghoul, Diego, had wanted to stop her so badly he’d tried to jump on a moving train. She pressed her lips into an angry line as she stared through the window.

Diego was Royce’s creature, a monster who felt no pity. It was a shame he hadn’t fallen when he’d jumped. Maybe then he’d learn what it was to be knocked on the ground.

Sofia caught a faint reflection of herself in the window, and she frowned and dug in her bag for a little mirror. She lifted it to her face and gasped.

Her right eye was swollen, and a greenish bruise was ripening around it. Her lower lip was cut in two places and also swollen.

She put a stricken hand to her mouth, and fresh anger surged up in her. She’d been feeling guilty about stabbing Royce, in spite of everything, because she might’ve killed him and hadn’t meant to. But the reminder of what he’d done to her vaporized what guilt she had left.

Because she hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d never cheated on him, though she’d had plenty of chances. She hadn’t been cold, hadn’t nagged him, hadn’t raised a hand to him until he started beating her.

She stared out the window dully, wondering how her fairy-tale marriage had gone so wrong. It had seemed like her dream come true, at first: the handsome older man, the important rancher who’d dropped everything else in his life to woo her. It had felt wonderful to be the center of so much attention, and from such a wealthy man.

Her mother had been thrilled, all her friends had been jealous, and she… she’d been eighteen and swept away by the flowers and candy and expensive gifts that her parents had been too poor to give her. And when Royce had taken her in his arms and introduced her to things she’d never felt before, she’d fallen head over ears in love with him.

Worshipped him, really.

Sofia pressed her brow against the window. That young bride could never have dreamed of hurting her sweetheart. Grief stuck in her throat, a burning lump that usually meant tears. It hurt to admit it, but the man she once loved didn’t really exist. He was a character, like in a play.

Royce had put him on like a suit of clothes, and just long enough to snare her in his web. Once she was well and truly caught, the mask had dropped, and he’d tortured her like a spider torturing a fly. He’d accused her of cheating if he even caught her talking to another man. He made her dress like a nun, told her she couldn’t wear jewelry in public, threatened to cut her hair to shame her.

He’d forbidden her to write to her family, cut her off from her friends, made her stop going to church or even to town.

She would’ve had to leave him even if he hadn’t beaten her, just for her own sanity. And now that she was free, she had to stay free. If he caught her this time, he’d murder her.

A little flick of motion on the edge of her sight made her raise her head and frown. Ponderous clouds were piled over the plain like towering black mountains, a vivid thread of lightning flicked across them, and rain slanted down onto the earth, but a tiny wagon and little horses were moving toward town even in the downpour.

Sofia straightened in alarm. The tracks ran parallel to Royce’s ranch for miles, and it looked like… yes, that must be their hands, riding hell for leather to town.

They’d found out.

Tears burned Sofia’s eyes, and she pulled her mouth down in a bewildering mixture of shame, grief, regret, and… anger, followed by frustration, fear, and dark elation. She might actually be a murderess, and that possibility horrified her. But she’d done what she had to do to survive, and she could never regret that. Royce had tried to kill her and failed.

Sofia watched as the riders moved toward town. No one in Silver Creek would ever believe her side of things, though. It was Royce’s town and Royce’s law, and as soon as those riders got there, the hunt was on.

Royce’s men were coming for her. If they caught her, there’d be no trial, no judge and no jury. Just a bullet in the skull.

Sofia closed her eyes. She had to disappear so completely that Royce would never find her again. And the easiest place for her to disappear was Mexico. She would blend in there in a way she never could in an Anglo city. Her money, such as it was, would go further.

She opened her carpet bag and took inventory of its meager contents. She had her jewels and as much money as she could grab, so she wasn’t completely destitute.

She could get lost in Mexico, because she knew it better. She could run to her cousin’s house in Albuquerque on the way down and stay until she decided where to go from there. Her cousin had been her childhood friend. He would hide her from unfriendly eyes.

She might even go to the ports in western Mexico to get on a ship and sail so far away that no one would ever find her. Sofia closed her eyes, imagining it: starting over completely fresh, completely free of Royce and his jealous eyes watching her every move. Even the mental image flooded her with joy.

But that pleasant fantasy burst like a soap bubble as the clack of the rails slowed. Sofia sat up and peered out the window.

The train was slowly grinding to a stop. Somehow, Royce had caught up to her.

Panic exploded in her chest like a burst of fireworks, sizzled through every nerve. Sofia stood and moved nervously to the back of the car. Her heart was slamming against her ribs as she opened the door and slipped out onto the vestibule, clutching her carpet bag.

She leaned out just far enough to look out. Her heart jumped into her throat to see five men on horseback at the front of the train. They’d ridden it down, made it stop.

Sofia turned and grabbed the door handle of the next car, yanked it open. She hurried down the car at a fast trot, trying not to run. The other passengers were already staring at her bruised face and split lip.

She stared anxiously through the glass panel in the door before moving outside to the next car. She had her hand on the knob when she glimpsed more mounted men riding past on their way to the front of the train.

She stood there in electrified silence, waiting for the last one to pass before she pulled the door open and plunged across the vestibule.

But the next car wasn’t a passenger car, and when she yanked the handle, the door didn’t budge. Sofia yanked again, as hard as she could, but it held fast.

She glanced back over her shoulder, and to her horror, she glimpsed motion through the glass panes of the car doors. Two cars up, a man in a duster was talking to a passenger.

They were going car to car, searching for her.

Sofia sobbed and yanked the door handle, then dropped her bag and put her shoulder to it, beating it with every ounce of strength: once, twice, three times.

She glanced over her shoulder again, and the man was just opening the door of the last car.

She sobbed and rammed the car door again, so hard she gasped in pain, and to her desperate relief, it cracked open. She snatched up her bag, plunged inside, and whirled to lock it behind her.

She turned to press her ear to the door. She heard everything clearly on the other side, and when the back door of the last car opened, she paced backward in terror, her eyes glued to the door.

The door handle rattled, rattled again. A man’s voice shouted, “Hey Zeke! Send somebody up to the front to get the key to the baggage car. The door’s locked!”

Sofia’s heart constricted in terror. Zeke had come for her. That sadistic, slavering predator was outside, circling her like a wolf circling a deer.

Panic reared up above her like a wave, crashed over her, and swept her reason away with it. It turned her into a hunted animal, and she plowed through the crates, stumbling over bags and trunks on her way to the back door.

She opened it just a crack to peek out. To her thunderstruck surprise, the mounted men were moving down the track with a handcuffed man riding behind them.

The train jerked, then jerked again, and slowly started moving.

Sofia’s mouth fell open slightly in amazement. They hadn’t come for her.

They’d been searching for someone else, probably a rustler or horse thief. It hadn’t been Royce’s men.

Sofia’s knees buckled and she slumped to the floor of the car. She beat her fists against her brow, weeping first in relief, then in anger.

She clenched her hands and glared at the riders through her tears, thinking: I won’t let you make me this afraid again, Royce.

I’m done being afraid.

I’m done!