said. Luther pulled a long knife and began poking them with it.
While the leader waited and watched for full dark, Luther pressed the point of the knife against her throat and giggled when he drew a drop of blood.
Anna stood perfectly still, refusing to move or cry out. She knew she couldn’t get away if he wanted to kill her, but she wouldn’t play his game.
Each cut drew one bubble of blood. Two, three, four pricks. Luther watched each drop slide down her throat and melt into the lace of her collar.
“It’s dark enough,” the leader whispered as he shoved Clark and her out of the infirmary and around to the back where they’d left horses tied. A small wagon train of settlers had been picking up supplies before dark and the outlaws had no problem blending in among the other visitors.
Anna forced her mind to notice every detail as she dug her heel hard into the ground before they lifted her onto the horse. The outlaws had brought two extra horses. She knew they hadn’t planned on Clark, so the other mount would have been for McCord.
She smiled. It had been three days since McCord left. If they expected to pick him up here, then they hadn’t caught, or killed him. He was alive and she had no doubt he’d be coming after her.
All she had to do was stay alive until he reached her.
Chapter 8
Ranger McCord delivered the letter to the Quaker in charge of the territory. He stood, forgotten, as the man read suggestions from the governor of Texas. McCord could tell by the way he folded the letter away that the Indian agent didn’t plan to put any new policies into action. The Indian Wars, which had been raging for thirty years in Texas, Kansas, and New Mexico, would continue. He’d ridden all this way and risked his life for nothing.
Thorn and his men wanted the trouble to continue, so they could play off both sides. Now they had won, not by interfering, but by the indifference of one man.
The Quaker looked up as if just remembering Wynn was in the room. “Thank you for delivering this,” he said in a tired voice. “I have no reply.”
Wynn backed out of the office and walked to his horse. He’d planned to find a meal and a bed for the night, but all he wanted to do was get back to Anna. She’d never left his thoughts. The possibility of asking her to marry him crossed his mind more often than he wanted to admit. He had a good-sized spread from a land grant his father bought fifty years ago. They could settle down in south Texas where things were calm and be hundreds of miles away from the fort line where trouble blew in with every new wind. Behind the line of forts a man could raise his family and worry about crops but here life was never easy.
He didn’t want her to just let him in when he came back. He felt a hunger for something that might fill a hole in his heart that he’d been ignoring since the war. For the first time in more years than he could remember, Wynn wanted to stay.
Smiling, he wondered if she wouldn’t mind wearing a ring and a gag. He’d never get used to that accent of hers. If he could just keep the woman quiet, she’d be darn near perfect. He didn’t even care if she could cook. Hell, he’d been eating his own grub for so long, any food that didn’t crawl off the plate looked good to him.
McCord swung into the saddle. He’d trade mounts at the edge of camp and make a few hours of hard riding before he slept. With luck he’d be back to Anna in two days.
As he always did, his mind focused on his goal and he rode hard with little food or sleep. Only this time he didn’t feel like he was running away from something. This time he was riding toward her.
He was three hours out of Camp Supply when he saw soldiers riding fast. Wynn knew who they were by the way they sat their saddles. Seasoned soldiers, Cunningham and the two other Texans.
The men pulled their mounts up when they reached McCord, but only Sergeant Cunningham stepped down.
McCord slowly swung from the saddle, knowing something was wrong when his friend didn’t smile. “What is it, Dirk?”
Cunningham didn’t waste words. “From the markings, two men, probably