Chapter Thirty-Two
Henry hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until his chest began to burn. He exhaled sharply, the reins wrapped tightly around his fists.
Shadow pounded beneath him, muscles straining as they tore across the moonlit prairie.
Beside him, George rode hard in silence, his hat pulled low against the wind, but Henry barely looked at him. His thoughts churned too violently for conversation.
Dodge City.
He tried to calculate in his head again. It was at least two days riding at a hard pace, even if a man pushed himself and changed horses. He was hoping to catch them before they arrived, when they stopped to rest.
He did not know exactly how far ahead Victor was. Hours, perhaps, maybe more; every passing minute felt like sand slipping through his hands.
Henry stared out over the dark prairie stretching endlessly before them, silver beneath the full moon, and his stomach twisted.
If Victor reached Dodge City, then what?
Dodge was not some little settlement, where every face was familiar—it was sprawling and restless, crowded with cattle men, gamblers, drifters, merchants, saloons, and boarding houses.
Hundreds of people moved through it every day. Thousands, during cattle season.
How did a man find one woman in a place like that? How would he find one specific brothel when he didn’t even know its name?
What if they arrived too late, and Victor handed Ruth over and disappeared before Henry ever reached the place? What if she thought he wasn’t coming?
His grip tightened painfully on the reins.
No.
He shoved the thought away immediately, because the alternative was unbearable.
He’d spent most of his life believing loss was simply part of living. First, his parents. Then, the years afterward, when he’d been too busy surviving to think about what loneliness felt like.
Then, Beatrice had come into his life, and he’d believed he might find happiness again, only to be left more disillusioned than before.
And somehow, in all the years that followed, Henry had convinced himself he’d made peace with it. That he’d grown used to empty places, silence, and coming home to an empty house.
But now…
He thought about waking in the morning and never hearing Ruth humming in the kitchen again. Of never seeing Clara standing silently near the garden, waiting for him to notice her. Never again hearing Ruth laugh softly when George said something foolish.
Somewhere along the way, without realizing it, they had become his family. Not just a convenience that made his life simpler, but a real family.
Suddenly, Henry understood something that unsettled him right down to his bones: if he lost Ruth and Clara now, he didn’t think he could ever recover from it.
George shifted suddenly in his saddle and pointed ahead. “Henry?—?”
Henry looked up sharply and saw a dark shape cut slowly across the road, and for a moment, Henry thought exhaustion was playing tricks on him. The moon hung full and bright overhead, washing the plains in silver light and deep shadows.
He dug his heels into Shadow’s sides, and the animal surged forward beneath him immediately.
Cold wind lashed across Henry’s face, tearing through his hair and coat, but he barely felt it. His body ached from hours in the saddle and lack of sleep, but none of it mattered now.
Every terrible thought that had haunted him since waking to an empty house came crashing back at once. Ruth frightened and alone. Clara crying for her. The two of them being carried farther and farther away while he sat helplessly at home.
The sound of hooves shattered the quiet prairie night. Ahead, one of the men riding on the driver’s bench of the wagon twisted suddenly and looked back over his shoulder.
Henry saw his expression change.
“Someone’s behind us!”
Victor turned sharply in his seat beside the driver, and even from a distance, Henry saw recognition flash across his face.
“Faster!” he shouted.
But it was too late; Henry was nearly on top of them.
He leaned low over Shadow’s neck and glanced toward George.
George met his eyes and immediately understood. After all, they’d worked together too long to need words.
Henry veered sharply toward the team pulling the wagon, while George swung wide from the other side.
The horses pulling the carriage screamed in alarm as they suddenly found themselves surrounded. One of them reared, and the other jerked violently sideways.
The wagon lurched as the wood groaned, and the wheels bounced wildly over uneven ground. For one terrible moment, the entire thing rocked precariously, and then, the left wheel struck a ditch hidden beneath the grass.
There was a loud crack as wood splintered violently, and the wagon tipped hard to one side.
Henry heard horses shriek.
The entire wagon came to a stop, slamming into the ground and throwing up dirt and broken pieces of wood.
Shadow danced beneath him in alarm.
Henry did not wait before throwing himself down from the saddle.
“Ruth!” he shouted.
He ran toward the wagon, but he had taken perhaps three steps when a body slammed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He staggered, boots skidding in loose dirt, and instinct immediately sent his hand toward the revolver at his hip.
But Victor drove into Henry again, shoulder first, and both men crashed hard into the ground.
Henry’s revolver went spinning into the darkness, disappearing somewhere in the grass.
“Get off me!” he roared.
Victor laughed breathlessly as they struggled. “Little late to play hero, Collins!”
Henry drove his fist into Victor’s face, and the man’s head snapped sideways. Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth, but Victor struck back just as hard, and Henry’s vision flashed white as pain burst through his cheekbone.
He tasted blood immediately.
Nearby, he heard George shouting, and Henry twisted his head just enough to see him fighting a man beside the broken wagon. George landed one hard punch before the man drove a fist into his ribs.
Victor slammed his elbow into Henry’s stomach, and the air rushed violently from his lungs. Henry doubled over instinctively as the world around him tilted. The moon overhead blurred and grass beneath him seemed to shift.
His head was ringing now as Victor shoved him hard onto his back and climbed to his feet, breathing heavily.
Then, Henry saw him reach beneath his coat, and time stopped as Victor pulled out a revolver. Moonlight flashed against the metal.
Henry froze.
Victor wiped blood from his mouth and smiled. “Looks like this ends here,” Victor said quietly.
Henry stared at the gun pointed toward him, and oddly enough, he wasn’t afraid. At least not for himself.
Victor raised the weapon a little higher.
Then, suddenly, there was movement from the back of the wagon, and Ruth launched over the side. Her body collided directly with Victor’s back, and he shouted in shock. The revolver flew from his hand as both figures fell to the ground.
Henry did not move as he stared at Ruth. Her hair had come loose completely and spilled around her shoulders. Her wrists were still partly bound, and dirt streaked across her face and dress, but she’d somehow managed to throw herself at Victor with enough force to knock him flat.
Victor cursed furiously beneath her, and Henry moved instantly. He dove forward across the grass and grabbed the revolver before it disappeared into the shadows.
Then, he stood as silence settled across the prairie.
The men fighting George had gone still.
Henry stood breathing hard, blood running from his split lip, his entire body aching from the fight. The revolver was heavy in his hand.
Ruth had pushed herself upright in the grass, and her eyes found his.
Moonlight spilled across the broken wagon and bent grass, silvering the world in cold light. Henry stood with Victor’s revolver held tightly in both hands. His chest rose hard with exertion, every muscle in his body trembling from adrenaline and exhaustion.
Victor remained on the ground where Ruth had knocked him down, dirt streaked across his face and coat.
For the first time in years, Henry saw real fear in the man’s eyes.
“Henry!”
Henry whirled around. and as he did. his stomach dropped.
One of Victor’s men had George now. The ranch hand stood several yards away with his arms pulled roughly behind him while another man pressed a revolver against the side of his head.
George’s face had gone pale beneath the moonlight.
“Now, that’s unfortunate,” Victor drawled.
Henry swung the gun back toward Victor instantly.
“If you shoot me,” Victor said mildly, “your friend dies.”
Henry’s grip tightened around the revolver as he looked toward George and then back toward Victor. His mind raced. He could shoot Victor right now, if he wanted to.
Years of hatred and resentment and fury sat coiled inside Henry’s chest, and for one ugly moment, he imagined pulling the trigger and finally ending all of it.
But George was family.
He swallowed. “Ruth.”
Her eyes snapped immediately toward him.
“Get inside the wagon.”
Ruth stared at him. “What?”
“Go.”
Ruth nodded before she hurried away, stumbling once in the grass before catching herself. Henry watched her reach the broken wagon and disappear toward the back.
Victor laughed softly. “You always did have a weakness for playing hero.”
Henry kept the gun fixed on him. “Shut up.”
Victor slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, raising both hands slightly. “You know,” he said conversationally, “this could’ve been avoided.”
Henry stared at him in disbelief. “Could’ve been avoided?”
Victor shrugged. “If you’d just accepted your place years ago.”
Henry frowned as Victor smiled coldly.
“You were never supposed to have more than me,” he said, “but you never learn, do you, Collins?”
Henry shook his head. “I’ve never done anything to you,” he said.
Victor’s smile thinned. “You never had to,” he said. “Your mere presence was enough.”
Henry frowned.
“Do you know how tired I am of hearing your name?” Victor continued bitterly. “It’s Henry Collins this and Henry Collins that. You think you’re better than me because you built something with your own hands!”
The words startled Henry because, buried beneath the hatred, there was admiration, too—or, perhaps, obsession.
Victor exhaled sharply. “The great Henry Collins,” he mocked as his eyes slid toward the wagon. “Tell me, how do you expect to save them all now?”
“Let him go,” Henry said.
“Now where’s the fun in that?” Victor asked, tilting his head. “We’re only just getting started.”
“I’m not playing this game, Victor,” Henry snapped. “Let George go—now.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Victor said. “I’ll let your little foreman go if you turn your horse around and leave without the girl and her sister.”
“I’m not going anywhere without them,” Henry said.
“It’s sweet how much you care for that little soiled dove,” Victor mocked. “That will make it all the sweeter when I take her from you.”
“You’ve lost, Victor,” Henry pressed. “Can’t you see that?”
“Lost? Oh, no … I don’t think so,” he said. “As far as I can see, we’re at a bit of a stalemate?—?” He stopped short. “What’s that?”
Henry’s heart lifted as he slowly turned his head toward the distant rise overlooking the road.