Chapter 19
“What do you mean?” Wilder asked, feeling shaky and on the verge of losing his biscuits. “They want her to be Draven’s mate? Because it’ll be over my dead body.”
“Nothing so dire,” Isis assured him. “They’re hoping to give him a shove in the proper direction. Draven Masters is protective of Abigail. She reminds him of a woman he met when he was young, though he doesn’t recall who.”
“It’s not as if he’s old. At best, he’s in his late twenties, but I’d venture to say he’s closer to twenty-three or four.”
She waved a hand. “People mature faster in this century due to hardships.”
Why was she so blasé? What was he missing?
“What hardship did he face?” he asked.
Her eyes held approval, or rather, Cookie’s did. The Goddess superimposed on the elderly man’s visage was disconcerting.
“His love was married off to another, thanks to the Fates. A man very much like Bartholomew Mercer.”
Curbing the urge to swear, he asked, “Was it a youthful crush or true love?”
“You are wise to ask.” Her eyes grew sad. It was well known Isis was a romantic at heart and had a weakness for star-crossed lovers. “It was a true love match, and now, she suffers abuse at the hand of a husband she’ll never love.”
“Dear God! Couldn’t Draven save her?”
“The Fates wiped his mind immediately upon her betrothal, much like they did your Abbie’s.”
Rage boiled in his veins, and the desire to retaliate against those meddlesome witches burned him up inside. “Let me get this straight. He doesn’t know about his life at all? Or is it just of the girl?”
“He knows one of the Sisters of Fate is his mother. She hasn’t hidden it from him, but other than his French heritage and an aching sense of loss, he has no recollection of anything before coming to Perdition Ridge.”
Draven’s protective feelings for Abbie made a helluva lot more sense.
“Has he tried to recover those memories?”
“He knows there’s no point. His mother has made no secret of holding the key hostage until he agrees to his destiny. Only then will they restore his mind.”
Wilder considered what she’d told him. “Who is she? Can she be saved?”
“She can.”
“But you won’t tell him,” he said flatly.
“The young woman is inclined to believe Draven is faithless and has abandoned her. But I’ll not anger the Fates by telling him, no.”
“And will you reveal her name to me?” It was a long shot, but maybe with her soft heart, she would provide contact details. “Granted, it’s a technicality, but you aren’t breaking your promise to keep it a secret from him.”
“Wait until the time is right. You’ll know.”
“That’s cryptic as fuck,” he muttered. “But okay.”
She laughed, and Wilder would swear the room lit with her merriment.
“Her name is Céleste Duval, and she’s from a wealthy French Creole family in the place you call Louisiana.” Isis stood and circled him to touch the crown of Abbie’s head. “Cookie is getting impatient, and I must go or upset the balance further.”
“Wait!” He jumped up. “What about Abbie? How do I heal her and get home if I’m battling the Fates to do it?”
“Trust her.”
He frowned. “I do.”
“Hm, perhaps. But have a care, Beloved. Someone covets your prize.”
With those puzzling words, she shimmered away, leaving a dizzy Cookie in her place. Wilder helped him to the chair, taking his place just as Abbie returned to consciousness.
“I have to see her home. Will you be all right, sir?”
“Get on with ya. The day I need someone to wipe my behind is the day they can put me in the ground,” the man grumbled.
Wilder drew out a one-ounce gold nugget and pushed it toward him. “I know you said no charge, but I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality. And if you have more of that stew and biscuits, I’m happy to take some off your hands for Abbie’s father.”
Five minutes later, they were on the boardwalk, heading back to the hotel.
“Your thoughts are churning,” Abbie said.
“I’ve got a lot to proc—” He stopped and stared.
When she realized he wasn’t beside her, she returned. “What’s wrong?”
“Abbie, you spoke! Twice!” His elation echoed in the street, turning the heads of those close by.
Her expression was pure shock as she pressed her hand to her throat.
“I did. Oh my god, Wilder. I did!”
Laughing, he scooped her up and swung her around.
“One healing down, two more to go,” he said, grinning with happiness.
“Two?”
“Your memories and restoring sight to your eye. Later, if you want the scars removed, we can do that too, but those are the least of our concerns.”
“Do you think it’s possible?” Her tone indicated she feared it ever happening.
“Better. It’s probable.”
Hand in hand, they crossed the street, lost in their happiness. The footfalls behind them registered too late.
The impact of the bullet in Wilder’s back coincided with Abbie’s bloodcurdling scream. He wanted to assure her he would be fine, but darkness encroached on his vision, and his knees gave out. Only after he was facedown on the wooden slats did the lack of feeling in his legs register.
Recalling his weapon, he fumbled for the revolver, earning himself a heel stomp on his fingers and a wicked kick to the ribs.
Thank Christ Abbie had the presence of mind to run.
“Grab her!”
Energy crackled in the air around them, and simultaneous shouts rang out.
“Gotta do everythin’ myself,” a man growled.
The thud of Abbie’s body hitting the ground caused Wilder to cry out.
“Abbie, get up,” he shouted, using his upper body to drag himself toward her. “Abbie!”
Booted feet blocked the sight of two men picking her up and dragging her toward the alley.
“Don’t look for her. You’ll be contacted where to drop the gold.” Fleshy hands patted his pockets, stripping him of his valuables. “Stupid, Easterners!”
Bartholomew Mercer.
With his disdain and distinguishable voice, he gave himself away. And if Wilder didn’t bleed out before Castor or the others found him, he’d be able to get help for her.
His magic was tied to the earth, and he prayed Isis was still around to hear.
“Goddess, hear my plea,
Assist me in this time of need.
Gift my powers back to me,
So that I might save my love, Abbie.”
Although his cells warmed, he wasn’t able to manipulate the wooden planks or the ground to slow their escape.
The heating of his body gave him hope. If he could teleport, he might get help to save her.
Closing his eyes, he envisioned the restaurant as they’d left it, but when he lifted his lids, he was still on the boardwalk where he’d been left to bleed out.
He reached back with his uninjured hand, feeling for the wound. The pain was minimal, but when he drew back his hand, it was drenched in blood. He was losing too much, too fast.
“Grant her power, Exalted One. Please,” he whispered, and he drifted into unconsciousness.
Soft hands stroked his brow. For a moment, Wilder pretended it was Abbie and imagined this was all a horrible dream.
He cracked a lid, only to find himself alone.
Witnesses remained at a distance, as if fearing to come to his aid.
What had he expected? They’d landed in the Wild West, lawless except for a brave few.
Gus Green’s self-appointed job was to watch over Crazy Mary when Sheriff Thorne couldn’t.
He’d never seen the dark-haired man before today, but Mary seemed at ease with him in a way she’d never been with anyone else.
Although it caused his heart to ache, he wasn’t fool enough to believe she’d ever fancy someone as young, as stupid, or as lowborn as him, to say nothing of his criminal background.
She was a true lady despite her bad luck.
Still, Gus intended to be her protector whenever the others couldn’t.
Hadn’t he confronted Pa, even at the risk of getting beat, hoping to stop him from hurting her in the alley a little over a year ago?
He’d failed to get her away, but thankfully, Draven had arrived to prevent any real harm.
Then, learning from his mistake and knowing he wasn’t so strong as to confront Harlan during the bank heist, Gus had fetched Jonas and Draven.
Although she was alive, Mary suffered from him butting his nose in.
She might still be mostly whole had he kept his mouth shut.
Right now, he faced another such moment. If he got the gambler and the Sheriff, she might be injured again. But if he waited, biding his time, he might be able to sneak in and free her.
No one interfered as Bart shot Mary’s dark-haired suitor in the back, nor when he robbed the guy and left him on the wooden planks for dead.
Gus had a split second to make a choice.
Turning away from the man’s suffering, he darted down the neighboring alley in the same direction as Bart and his henchmen.
When he got to the end, he stayed at the opening, letting the darkness hide him.
Seemed his whole life had been spent hiding.
From his Ma’s gentlemen friends, then Pa, when he’d become useful as a warm body to point a barrel at.
Only Sheriff Thorne treated him with any respect. Ruffling his hair instead of boxing his ears when he did wrong. The gambler was never mean, but he tended to look straight through Gus, as if he didn’t see him at all.
Peering closer, Gus saw one man binding Mary’s hands as the other stuffed a kerchief into her mouth. Her feet were next before they tossed her onto the buckboard like a sack of grain. Their only attempt to hide her was a canvas tarp.
“Well done, gents. And now for your payment.”
Two shots were fired. The back of the head for the closest and the heart of the second as he turned from the tailgate.
The buckboard strained under Bart’s weight as he climbed onto the seat and flicked the reins.
Gus hugged the wall as he passed by, not giving chase.
He had a good idea where the merchant was headed.
The caves west of town were notorious hiding spots for bandits and killers on the run.
He’d follow at a safe distance, then circle back to tell Jonas of the location if he couldn’t save Mary himself.
Fairly positive his plan was a good one, Gus ran for the stables to saddle a ride. Thankfully, Sheriff Thorne had posse horses at their disposal.