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Chapter OneJune 7, 1859--Horse Head Crossing Stagecoach Way Station, Texas
Abigail Warren smiled at the man who sat across the table from her and lied with practiced ease. "I acted hastily and I am truly sorry." Lies--both lies. Abigail had given careful consideration to her earlier actions and she was not in the least sorry for anything she had said or done.
Reverend Rufus Abernathy was a pompous little man with thinning hair and a face like dough. Reaching across the rude table he touched Abigail's hand. "You must learn to control your wicked temper. Second chances are hard to come by."
Abigail moved her hand away. This was not her second chance it was her only chance. Perhaps she should reconsider. No! Closing her ears and her mind to any voice of caution, she told an even bigger lie and with no less difficulty. "I will be more careful in the future."
The weak rays of a sinking sun spilled through the open window of the way station's waiting room. The dying light accentuated the Reverend's puffy features making them appear swollen and distorted. "I take my position as your escort and guardian very seriously."
He wasn't her guardian. He was her jailor. And like every other man she had ever known he was a fool for flattery. Abigail laid her hand over her heart and said what she knew he wanted to hear. "In the future I will be more discreet." She smiled her most seductive smile. "I hope I haven't been a problem to you, Reverend."
Rufus Abernathy ran his finger around his cleric's collar. "I know of your past and I understand." On the end of a longsuffering sigh he added, "There are those who would try to take unfairadvantage if they knew that you..." He cleared his throat. "If I am to protect you, it is important that you behave in a ladylike fashion at all times."
So the Reverend was afraid someone might suspect what she was, or at least what she had been. That came as no surprise. Reflexively, she apologized again. "I am very sorry if my behavior was not in keeping with my new station in life." As she spoke, her mind hopped back to the events that had led to the Reverend's verbal rebuke.
She and Reverend Abernathy had been the only passengers on the stagecoach that arrived at the Horse Head Crossing shortly before five o'clock in the afternoon. As the driver pulled the mules to a halt, a gaunt disheveled man with an apron tied around his skinny middle rushed to greet them. His dun colored hair was in disarray and his perspiring face was troubled. Before the driver and the conductor could crawl down from their high seat he shouted, "We got problems boys. Last night a bunch of sidewinders stole every horse in the corral. They didn't bother to shut the gate so the mules are gone too."
The driver, a tall man with hawk-like nose and a complexion like leather, looped the reins he held between his fingers around the stagecoach's brake and crawled down the wheel and onto the parched ground. "Son of a bitch! Was it Injuns?"
Reverend Abernathy stuck his head out the coach's window. "Gentlemen, watch your language please. There's a lady present."
The drive mumbled a halfhearted apology. "Sorry, ma'am."
The man in the apron hurried to explain, "We ain't sure."
The driver raised an eyebrow. "We, Jed? I thought you ran this place by yourself."
"I do." Jed smiled. "I got lucky. Sheriff Martin come through here around noon today with a deputy and a prisoner. He done me the favor of hanging around for a while just in case them horse thieves decide to come back."
The driver smiled wryly. "Come back? For what?" He surveyed the dismal dusty scene around him. "There ain't nothin' here worth comin' back for."
Indignantly Jed replied, "That depends on how you look at things." He spat on the ground. "The Sheriff sent his deputy over to the way station at Valley Creek to bring back some mules so he has to wait around for him anyways."
The driver asked, "When will the deputy be back?"
"Damned if I know." Jed frowned. "I calculate sometime tomorrow."
The driver shrugged. "If he ain't back by noon tomorrow this team should be rested enough to make it to on over to the way station at Fort Stockton."
The conductor climbed down from his high seat, came around to Abigail's side of the stagecoach and opened the door. "Looks like we will be here for the night. You folks can wait inside the way station." He pointed to the man in the apron. "Jed will fix you some food and find beds for you."
For Abigail getting out of the stagecoach was not an easy task. The hoop she wore--it was really no more than a series of graduated steel rings suspended from her waist by cloth tapes--made it difficult for her to manage the two petticoats and the full-skirted dress that she wore over it. After some effort she squeezed through the narrow door, stepped to the ground and came around the coach to be greeted by a sight that froze the blood in her veins.
Halfway across the yard a dark-skinned man sat with his back resting against the trunk of a gnarled old mesquite. Except for the pair of fine leather boots that encased his feet he was buck-naked. He was also hobbled and his hands were tied. As if that weren't a cruel enough treatment, one end of a strand of wire had been wrapped around his testicles. The other end was entwined securely around the trunk of the tree. The hot sun beating down unmercifully on his bare body only added to his suffering.
A shiver of fear danced down Abigail's spine as she stopped and pointed. "God Almighty, who is that?"
Jed volunteered, "That there's Sheriff Martin's prisoner. He's dangerous. Don't git too close."
Anger loosened Abigail's tongue. "He looks nearer dead than dangerous." She was set to say much more when Reverend Abernathy grabbed her arm and pointed her in the direction of the way station. "It's not our place to ask questions. Come along."
As he propelled her across the dusty yard, Abigail struggled to pull her arm free. "Like hell!" Something had to be done for that suffering man.
Reverend Abernathy held on with concentrated force "Watch your tongue." Through clenched teeth he added, "This is not our affair."
As she came nearer Abigail was surprised to see that the prisoner was young and quite handsome. The heat from the sun had scorched his already tanned skin to a crisp. He lifted his face and looked directly into her eyes. The pain she saw reflected there imprinted indelibly in her mind. There was something else buried in the depths of those piercing ebony eyes, something desperate and dangerous. Despite the heat a second shiver of fear danced down Abigail's backbone.
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