Chapter Four

The aching in his gut festered and grew until Zachary was certain a hole would be gnawed straight through his middle. Every step his black gelding made brought him closer to a place he'd once said he'd never set foot in again—a place he hadn't seen in five long years.

He should have made this trip yesterday upon arriving back in Hackney, but Zachary hadn't been able to bring himself to do so. Even now he was fighting the constant urge to turn tail and run—never in his life had Zachary been a coward but damn, the thought of what was waiting for him at the end of this road had him feeling yellow.

The day was a pretty one at least. Bright sunlight filled a sky that was sapphire blue and dotted with cottony white clouds. Birdsongs filled the air. Spring was in full bloom and evidence of that was the aroma of wildflowers wafting on the gentle breeze as bees and butterflies swarmed about.

Yes, the day was beautiful indeed—and Zachary couldn't help but think it was simply mocking the turmoil that lived within him.

Pulling up on the reins, Zachary brought Blaze to a stop as soon as that white farmhouse came into view. Memories of the life he'd lived here came flooding back. The faces had become blurred now—a cruel trick that time played on the brain—but those memories were as vivid as if they'd been made yesterday. And, damn, they hurt.

Doing his best to turn off emotion, Zachary urged Blaze forward once more. Time had taken its toll on the land and buildings. The homes' white paint was faded and chipping away revealing the graying boards beneath while the black painted shutters hung crooked and broken. The barns and outbuildings looked as if time had taken one hell of a toll on them as well.

It was going to take a ton and a half of elbow grease to get the family ranch up and running again, but Zachary would do it. His parents had always loved this place and he owed it to them to see it restored back to working order. He never should have neglected it for so long.

The weeds had overgrown his mama's once beloved flower beds and the yard needed a good cut with the scythe. Zachary brought Blaze to a stop at the edge of the dusty porch and slid from the horses' back. The boots on his feet seemed to have gained twenty pounds apiece as Zachary struggled to lift them up the sagging steps.

Nearing that black front door, memories of his family overwhelmed him. His mama pulling fresh baked bread from the oven, while his pa boasted about how he'd gotten himself the best wife in Oklahoma. His sisters giggling at his antics while they practiced their arithmetic.

Quiet snowy days with the wind howling outside the windows but the fire warm in the hearth simmering venison stew. The family all gathered around the sitting room while pa read tales from a story book to entertain them and mama worked on whatever knitting project she had resting in her lap.

Laughter.

Warmth.

Love.

Blood.

Bullets.

Bodies....

Bile rose in his throat as Zachary turned and fled from the house, leaping off the porch and running until his tear blinded eyes failed to see a rock and he tripped before falling to his knees. Gasping for breath, Zachary fought back those tears and the urge to vomit. God dammit, he was nothing but a failure and a coward! Going in that house just how was something beyond his bravery—it couldn't be done.

It took several long minutes of catching breath and shoving down emotions before Zachary felt steady enough to rise once again to his feet. Swiping his arm over his face, he dried the dampness on his cheeks.

The house might not be something he could manage just now but that wasn't where he was truly needed anyhow. The fences, the barns, the outbuildings.... Those were what needed to be brought back to working order for the ranch to get back on its feet. Those were the places he would start.

A quick whistle brought Blaze to his side. Zachary led him toward the nearest barn with a plan forming in his mind. He would examine as much of the property today as daylight would allow to figure out just what supplies would be needed from town to get things fixed right. He may have failed at avenging his family but he'd make his pa proud one way or the other.

As evening approached, the only thing longer than the list of supplies needed for the homestead repairs was the list of needed repairs itself. Nearly every building seemed to have leaks in the roofs, hinges were rusted, the buggy and wagon both needed work. A lack of use and maintenance had rendered nearly every tool and piece of equipment either useless or in bad need of attention. He hadn't had the time to run every fence line on the thousands of acres that the farm possessed, but from what fence line he had observed, there wasn't a hell of a lot still standing strong. Not to mention the weeds, overgrown fields, weathered wood and peeling paint that seemed to abound—Zachary figured it would take months to get this place back to the condition his parents had always prided themselves on keeping it.

And he'd be doing it alone. Zachary didn't have anyone left.

Thunder rumbled off in the distance as the wind kicked up a bit. A storm was still miles away but it was moving in—the ache growing worse in his shoulder told him it would begin to rain within the hour. Which meant he could either hunker down here and sleep on his bedroll in the barn or he could ride back into town, possibly be caught in the rain a bit, but sleep in a dry, soft bed.

While Zachary didn't mind doing the first, his back much preferred the sound of the latter.

An image of the red-haired woman from the saloon suddenly came to mind. She was a puzzle. She seemed soft yet stubborn. Vulnerable yet strong. Innocent and yet dressed as a prostitute in a brothel. Instinct told Zachary she needed his help. The way his parents had raised his had him wanting to help her. The hell his life had been the last five years told him it truly wasn't any of his business and the woman was probably better off without his aid.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Zachary went to the barn and downed the last of the water from his canteen before pulling a piece of jerked beef from the sack in his pocket and let it hang off his lip as he gnawed at it.

Hefting up the saddle, Zachary tossed it over Blaze's back and readied him for the trip to town—if he was to stand any chance of beating the storm, it was going to have to be a quick one.

***

Pounding in her head greeted Samantha as her eyes fluttered open. Letting out a groan she raised her hand to her hair and felt a welted lump that caused her to wince. Attempting to sit up, dizziness overwhelmed her and her stomach turned.

She'd never in her life hit her head quite that hard. Speaking of the situation that had led to this headache... why was Samantha back in her room at the saloon instead of in jail or at the docs?

Moving much more slowly than she had before, Samantha got to her feet, holding the bed post to steady her trembling legs. Her tongue felt rough and swollen so she shuffled to the water pitcher and somehow managed to pour a bit into a glass though some sloshed over the sides.

A quick glanced toward the window proved that it was growing dark behind the curtains and rain was steadily pinging against the glass. A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Had she been unconscious the entire day? It would seem the answer was yes which only made her worry for the state of her head grow.

A quick glance around the room revealed that her belongings were nowhere to be seen—probably being held hostage by Thomas, though Samantha could not see what he stood to gain by doing so. Her brain was having trouble understanding anything at all. It felt slow and sluggish. Samantha wondered about Athena. Was the horse okay? As if her thoughts had drawn the man, the door to her room suddenly opened and Thomas was there. He wore a scowl on his face that tugged down the edges of his mustache.

"Glad to see you're finally awake."

"I'm leaving, Thomas. You'll do well to simply let me go." Samantha stated, somehow managing to keep her voice steady despite the unsteadiness she felt in her head. She was having trouble focusing her eyes as her vision swam and she was grateful for the chest of drawers she stood beside as she leaned her hip against it.

Thomas snorted as he rose to his full height and stared her down. "I spoke with the marshall and paid the money asked to keep him from throwing you in jail for resisting arrest and attempted horse theft. The horse is mine and so are those belongings you had to cover the money I paid. You can earn both back but you're going to have to work here just like the other women do for two weeks before I feel you've earned what's owed to have your things and your horse."

Samantha stood firm. "I won't. I'll be leaving here tonight. You can keep the belongings but Athena is mine."

"The law disagrees." Thomas didn't appear fazed by her false confidence. Samantha was having a harder time remaining on her feet. Her stomach turned again and had she had any food inside she would have lost it. Her head was swimming and it seemed the walls themselves were spinning around her. "Get ready for work, girl."

Samantha clutched at the dresser beside her in and swallowed hard. She should be angry, frightened, desperate—something! She couldn't focus on any one emotion with her mind so clouded and full of fog. Thomas was still talking but she couldn't make out the words—it all just sounded like a dull hum in the air.

"Goddammit, stop ignoring me!" Thomas bellowed. He strode forward and grabbed her by the arm in the same place his fingers had bruised her the night before.

"Stop..." she muttered just before she dry heaved, causing the pain in her head to become nearly unbearable and her vision to momentarily go black.

"I'm tired of your stubbornness, bitch!" A fist fell heavy on the side of her head. Stars exploded behind her eyes.

Voices filled the room. She recognized Caroline and Eleanor's concerned cries. Thomas continued to shake her as she whimpered through the pain.

That hand struck her again. Then suddenly the room stilled. Through pain-hazed eyes, Samantha saw a familiar silhouette enter the doorway. A low growl rumbled in the air. "Get your goddamn hands off that woman now."

Thomas released his hold on her so quickly, that Samantha's legs buckled. She was scrambling to find something to hold onto in her confusion and weakness when she was suddenly pulled into two strong arms, lifted from her feet and cradled against a broad chest that smelled of horse, sweat, and witch hazel.

Somehow, Samantha felt safe cradled against Zachary this way. She felt safe in a way she hadn't felt in two and a half long years—or perhaps longer if she were being honest.

It was getting harder to hold onto conscious thought—consciousness in general. The world kept coming in and out of focus. Zachary didn't speak as Samantha felt herself being carried through the saloon. She saw nothing other than the black, dusty fabric covering his chest and the metal of the bullets in his bandolier dug slightly into her cheek.

Rain drops fell upon her skin as the wind whipped against her hair. Samantha's eyelids grew heavier. Her head hurt bad. Very bad. Deciding to be vulnerable and depend completely upon someone else for the first time in so very long, Samantha gave in to the darkness and let unconsciousness overtake her.