Two figures stood side-by-side. Both had on the clothes of vaqueros, their hats pulled down low and dripping raindrops from the brims. Both had pulled their pistols from their holsters and the barrels glinted in the light of the lantern. Both guns were aimed with deadly accuracy on Kurt’s chest.
But what was so startling was that the figures were mirror images of each other. Bandanas were pulled up over their noses. They were of the same size and build and, in the dim light of the cave, their hair appeared to be the same dark color. In the shadows cast on their faces by the faint light, their eye-color was indiscernible.
Kurt’s heart pounded and rose to his throat as he stared at what seemed to be twin apparitions, a figment of drunkenness, when everything seen is doubled. Slowly sanity returned, and he knew he was facing Jared and his half-breed brother. But they looked so much alike he couldn’t tell which was which.
“Move away from her slowly, or by God, I’ll kill you, Vandiver.” Even as Jared spoke, it was impossible to tell which figure the voice belonged to. It was so controlled that the bandana over his mouth didn’t move with the expulsion of his breath. “You’ve only got three shots left, unless you’ve used one we don’t know about, which makes your position even more precarious. We have twelve shots between us. No matter how you add it up, you die. Move away from Lauren.” There was steel in the level voice.
Lauren was finding it hard enough to focus, and now she was seeing four Jareds instead of two. His voice sounded faraway and indistinct, but somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered that he was here. Regardless of what he had said in the past, or what he had done, he was here to save her from Kurt Vandiver. When Jared spoke her name, she reacted by jumping slightly, and this drew Kurt’s attention. With uncanny speed, he turned his gun onto the figure crouching at his feet.
“You aren’t going to shoot anybody, Lockett, unless you want your bride to die. Even if you got me, I would kill her, too, before I died. No way I could miss. I suggest that you and that bastard brother of yours put down your guns and stop playing masquerade games.” He laughed as he saw them glance at each other out of the corner of their eyes. “Now!” he command
ed.
Reluctantly the men let their pistols drop from their hands. Kurt moved with cautious steps closer to the brothers, but even at a distance of a few feet, he couldn’t make out which was which. He kicked the Colts dropped in front of their boots out of their reach, and stepped back hurriedly. He wanted to yank the bandanas from their faces, but he wasn’t quite that brave. The dangerous stance of their bodies and the fierce hatred glowing out of their eyes were identical.
“Which one of you hombres is Jared?” Neither so much as blinked. “Which one is Jared?” Kurt’s suddenly soprano voice betrayed his frayed nerves. The two figures could have been statues. “Then I guess I’ll have to kill both of you. I can’t very well rape this woman with one of you breathing down my neck, can I? And I’m in a great hurry to do just that.” He paused, hoping that the threat would goad Lauren’s husband into revealing himself, but both remained motionless, knowing well his intention. They knew, too, that Thorn was waiting…
Kurt Vandiver took advantage of having the mighty sons of Ben Lockett held at gunpoint. Since he was going to kill them, he might as well have some fun first. “I wonder if she’s as hot as that Mendez woman. Took quite a bitch to keep a stallion like Ben satisfied all those years. I think Duncan was planning on getting a piece of that himself, but Lauren came out of the house too soon. Was that slice across her throat as clean as he bragged it was?”
A vile-tasting fluid filled Lauren’s mouth and she almost gagged. The two men appeared unaffected by Kurt’s taunts.
“All right, then,” he said. “I gave you both a chance to stand up like men.” He took careful aim at one of them. Lauren held her breath. She thought that Kurt was only bluffing. He would never kill a Lockett for fear of the reprisals. He was basically a coward.
Refuting her supposition, the pistol shot exploded in the room of the cave. She watched both men, her hands covering her mouth, trapping her scream and terror inside. For long moments, neither of them moved: then, as a dark stain began to spread on one’s shirtfront, he fell backward against the rock wall and slumped to the ground.
Her husband or her brother-in-law had just been murdered. It was too much to grasp. Her head was pounding and the rock room was spinning, dancing crazily in front of her. It couldn’t be Jared over there bleeding, motionless and unconscious… dead.
Something tapped against her knee and she flicked it away. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want anything to interrupt her grief, her disbelief, at what she had just witnessed. Finally she forced her eyes away from the inert body across the cave and looked down at the persistent nudging. It was the barrel of a rifle.
Her befuddled mind couldn’t imagine how the weapon was moving of its own volition. Her eyes painfully focused and traveled down the length until she saw the gnarled hands of Jack Turner holding it by the butt, moving it just enough to poke against her knee and get her attention.
Crazy Jack wasn’t dead! He looked at her through eyes glazed with pain, and tried to communicate a silent message to her. She glanced at Kurt’s bulky silhouette, his back to her, as he threw disparaging remarks at either Rudy or Jared, whichever it was who remained alive.
Lauren knew what Jack wanted her to do. But she knew she couldn’t do it. Everything she had ever been taught, every principle she held, forbade the action Jack was urging her to take. Even if she had the physical strength and the mental capacity to do it, she knew she could not. It wasn’t right. Nothing justified it. Nothing.
Jared? Her baby? At what point did wrong become right?
Why didn’t this dark, moist, dreary room cut out of rock stop moving? Her head throbbed. She couldn’t swallow. Her stomach wasn’t going to hold what was in it much longer. Splattered blood was drying on her skin.
Has my baby survived this? Yes, please, God, she prayed. And my husband? Is that him lying over there with his blood flowing onto the ground? No! Jared! she screamed, but made no sound. She was stunned, dazed, weak.
Metal clicked on metal as Kurt cocked his pistol again.
God, please don’t ask this of me, she begged. What if I miss Kurt and hit someone I love instead? I don’t know how to fire a gun. God, please, let there be another way.
It was too late. Kurt was taking careful aim. Of their own volition, her hands reached out for the rifle. The dizziness and blurred vision vanished. With heightened clarity, she pointed the barrel at the broad back and pulled the trigger even as she heard the blast from Kurt’s pistol.
The rifle butt slammed into her chest with unbelievable force. The echo of the rifle shot joined that of the pistol and bounced off the stone walls, filling the small, dank chamber with a deafening racket.
Then there was another explosion. This one was in Lauren’s head. It was louder and more terrifying than the ones preceding it, and reverberated in her mind, blocking out conscious thought. Bright yellow flashes burst in her brain with the rhythm of heartbeats. Then all went black as she surrendered to blissful oblivion.
Chapter 26
Peace. Serenity. Silence. All welcome.
Dreams.
The Prathers’ parlor. Lauren was sitting at the piano playing, though no notes sounded. Her dress was lacy and white, startling in its brightness.