Page 38 of Taming Elijah


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Beth screamed, pleading with him to take more men. Elijah wanted none of the ranch hands with him. If they rode into town like a posse it would spark a fight they were not ready for. The ranch only had thirty-two men, most of them he’d hired in the few days he had been back at the Whispering Creek. Sullivan and Bartley would have at least three times that amount of men riding for them. No, Elijah had done the right thing when he sent to the Triple K for his brothers, Joshua and Noah. Sullivan wanted Sheridan in a corner, never dreaming that a Kincaid would be invested. Elijah aimed to show him how invested he was. But he would be careful.

Though his colt was already strapped to his hips, he grabbed a Winchester from one of the ranch hands, launched into his saddle and rode away. An icy chill slid down his spine, and old nightmares tried to resurface. He buried them deep and tried not to think about Sheridan’s fragility. He did not know if he would reach her in time before they subjected her to the horrors he had seen other women endure in the West. There was a high chance she could still be in town. He would go there first, then onto the Crazy S if she was not found. What Elijah knew with bone chilling certainty was that he would break every man that touched her.

Disgust curled through him. No one had made any effort to aid her.

He rode Orion, a wild mustang he had broken, hard for thirty minutes to reach the town of Blue Lagoon. From the outskirts all seemed quiet, just another lazy Saturday afternoon. Only the street seemed a might empty for a day when most women would visit the general store, the mercantile, or the bakery. Men turned quickly at his approach, and their voices died down. He observed them from under the brim of his hat. In front of the blacksmith, a man sat on the porch looking at him curiously, and then spat over the end of the porch. The man’s stare was hard, ugly.

Elijah’s gaze shifted from left to right, taking in the situation in one swift, comprehensive glance. The man was a lookout. Elijah slid off his horse and tied his reins loosely on the hitching post. A few men tipped their hats to him and a few others wouldn’t look at him.

The man with the hard eyes glanced toward the alley at the side of the bank. The old man Macintosh, the owner of the dry goods store, puckered his brow toward the same alley, and then pretended he had not signaled. In the distance Elijah saw that the front door of the saloon was open

, but there was no one in sight. He would eventually go there, but he would first investigate the alley.

He crossed to where they sat, walked past them with long strides and stepped into the alley. He glanced quickly up and down the narrow street. At first he was not sure if the men he watched were affiliated with Sheridan’s abduction or not. Two waited, hands on holster, watching another fight against the wall.

Violence filled Elijah when he realized it was Sheridan trussed up against the wall. It tore through the cold control he had wrapped his emotions in on the ride to town. They would pay for putting their hands on her.

The two men that watched Bartley tussle with Sheridan had been amongst the men he had warned on the ranch. The Mexican and the large swarthy man. They had apparently chosen the hard way. They were so cock-sure in their invincibility no one watched the mouth of the alley. They were too absorbed in Bartley’s mauling of her. A dangerous quiet filled Elijah and he walked towards them silently.

Sheridan spat in Bartley’s face and he slapped her hard, causing her head to slam back, thudding too loudly against the building. Yet she did not cry out.

“You cowardly slime, Bartley. Three men to take one woman?” She taunted him all spit and fire, wild and defiant. Yet Elijah could hear the tremble, and fear in her voice.

He moved closer, sure and silent with a brimming fire of rage burning through his veins.

“Bartley!” Elijah’s voice cracked like a whip.

Bartley spun around shoving Sheridan away from him. She turned tortured, frightened eyes at Elijah, and the relief he saw in them made the pace he had punished his horse with worth it.

Bartley’s hand streaked for his gun, and Elijah moved, his retaliation brisk and brutal. Before Bartley even had his gun out of his holster, Elijah hammered back his gun, placing a slug in each of the men that watched, and one in Bartley’s gun hand. Elijah wanted to be quick and decisive because more would come, but Bartley he would not kill. The message had to be delivered.

Bartley screamed and rushed at him. Elijah grabbed Bartley gun wrist, and then whipped his right hand up in a short, wicked arc and slammed into Bartley’s chin. He sagged, and Elijah twisted Bartley’s fingers. It was the same hand Elijah had spied him trying to lift Sheridan’s dress with.

The bones snapped and the howl that came from the man was one of agony. Elijah jerked him into a rolling hip lock and flung him into the side of the building. Bartley hit the wall hard, however he managed to surge to his feet with a choking cry of anger. Elijah stepped in, giving him no quarter. A sharp left opened Bartley’s lips, and a vicious right hook in the ribs made him bend over groaning. He desperately tried to protect his face with crossed arms. But Elijah was remorseless.

“Elijah, behind you!”

At Sheridan’s sharp warning he spun toward the men racing into the alley, palming his gun in the same motion. He pulled the trigger without hesitation. The man who had meant to fire into Elijah’s back dropped his gun and grabbed his stomach with a confused look on his face. He toppled over face down into the dirt.

The second man charged at him, sweeping in low with a bowie knife in his grip, and Elijah shot his knee from underneath him. Two other men rushed into the alley and he did the same. Not killing them, but wounding so they would live with their decision for the duration of their lives. Six shots later, and he was out of bullets.

Elijah stalked toward the huddled form of Bartley, grabbed him by the belt and jerked him to his feet.

“You fight us for a whore?” Bartley snarled, spittle of blood trailing from his mouth.

“She is not a whore, and never will you refer to Lady Sheridan as such again.”

Bartley chuckled. “She ain’t no Lady. We know you were giving to the bitch before Thomas died. She ain’t nothing but a light skirt, a no account whor—”

Elijah slapped him with an open palm. The insult was unmistakable and rage filled Bartley’s eyes. Before he could react, Elijah slammed a fist into his filthy mouth. It smashed Bartley’s lips back into his teeth. Elijah slammed a right into his ribs and was gratified to hear a crack. Then he slammed him on the side of the face with an elbow that cut to the bone.

A warning shout from Sheridan had Elijah swiveling around with Bartley as a shield. Another one of Sullivan’s goons entered the alley with a hunting knife in his hand. The hard-eyed man Elijah had seen on the board walk. He released Bartley and slipped the knife from the scabbard in his boot and held it ready.

“Go inside the mercantile, Sheridan.”

“The whore ain’t goin’ anywhere.” The new-comer growled and rushed in low, knife swinging a little too wildly.

Elijah’s bowie was razor-sharp and it cut deep. The man screamed and staggered back, his face streaming blood. He fumbled for his gun, but Elijah gripped his wrist and jabbed his Adam’s apple with the handle of his knife. He made a strange gurgling sound and sank to his knees, eyes wide with fear.

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