Texas Rebels: Egan. Linda Warren
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wrong with her? Her mind was straying into dangerous territory. She wasn’t that type of woman. But looking at Egan Rebel, she wanted to be.
With one swift movement, he was on his feet. She, on the other hand, was a little slower. Dawn was breaking over the valley below and she stood for a moment to gaze at the beauty of God’s creation. It was as if God had kissed the night into submission and now the sun could show its glory. It did, in beautiful rays of yellow, a breathtaking scene. She wished she had a canvas to paint it, but she would keep it in her memory for later. Just as she would the man standing beside her.
“I’m going to get some water,” he said.
She reached for her purse and pulled out a small sketch pad she kept.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to sketch this scene so I can paint it later.”
Egan shook his head and disappeared into the woods.
Rachel sat cross-legged with the sketch pad on her lap. She drew broad strokes. The scene before her faded and Egan’s face appeared. The strong lines, longish hair, hat, the shape of his eyes and that steadfast, masculine demeanor. It was all there with each stroke. She stared at it for a moment and then tucked the pad back into her purse. No matter what happened, she would have a memory of this unforgettable man.
Seeing her hairbrush in the purse, she pulled it out and attempted to work the tangles from her hair. A sound caught her attention and she turned her head. She froze. Fear leaped into her throat. Wild-looking dogs stood near the edge of the woods, baring their teeth and growling. A bearded man stood behind them with a rifle.
Rachel tried to get to her feet, but her shaky legs wouldn’t comply. Before she could process the situation, the man said something to the dogs and they charged toward her.
Oh my God!
She scrambled to her feet, trying to run, but the dogs were upon her. “Egan! Egan!” she screamed.
* * *
EGAN DROPPED THE CANTEEN and ran, the rifle in his hand. The scene before him chilled his blood. A dog was on Rachel, ferociously trying to reach her throat. She beat at it with a hairbrush, foiling its attempts. Two more dogs tore at her clothes. Another joined the attack. Rachel kicked and screamed, the sound disrupting the peace and quiet with spine-tingling terror.
He raised his rifle and fired. One dog went down. He fired again and another rolled to the side. A dog leaped up at the sound and Egan fired once more. The animal fell backward and rolled down the hill.
The dog on Rachel wouldn’t let go of its prey, and was too close to her for Egan to shoot without a guarantee he wouldn’t hit her. Running forward, he pulled the knife from the scabbard on his waist, then stabbed until the dog released her and lay motionless.
Rachel cowered there, covered in blood, the hairbrush clutched in her bloody hand. “It’s okay,” Egan told her. “I’m here.”
“There’s...more,” she gasped.
He raised his head and saw Izzy McCray and two more dogs about twenty yards away. Egan’s gun lay on the grass and he immediately reached for it.
“You killed my dogs, you bastard!” Izzy screamed.
“You’re next!” Egan shouted back. He fired over Izzy’s head and he and the dogs retreated into the woods.
Rachel shook from head to toe and her teeth were chattering. Egan pried the brush from her hand and threw it on the ground. Seeing the green sweater, he reached for it. With a sleeve, he wiped blood from her face and her throat. “Calm down,” he cooed, as if to a child. “I’m not going to let anything else happen to you. Take a deep breath. Take another.”
“E-gan,” she cried, and tears rolled from her eyes.
He dabbed blood from the scratches on her face and neck. Luckily, they didn’t look deep. “Come on, we have to get out of here. That crazy fool might be waiting in the woods.”
Rachel shook violently. Egan grabbed the duster and wrapped it around her. Then he looped her purse over his shoulder and lifted her into his arms. The rifle lay on the ground and he bent for it. Walking into the woods to where he’d dropped the canteen, he squatted and reached for it, while resting the rifle against his leg. He screwed off the top with his thumb and forefinger and put the canteen to her lips.
“Drink.”
She raised her hands and he saw how bloody and scratched they were. His gut tightened at what had been done to her. He should never have left her. Damn!
After she finished, he screwed the top back on and let the canteen rest on her chest. Holding her close, he got to his feet with the rifle in hand and then took off into the woods, trying to walk as fast as he could.
“Where are we going?” She laid her head against him, her blond hair matted with blood.
“My great-great-great-grandparents settled on Yaupon Creek and their cabin is still there. I try to keep it up. It has a bed and the bare necessities, but you can rest and I can clean your wounds. The only problem is it’s taking us farther from the ranch, but I think you need medical attention more right now.”
“Do you think he’s following us?”
Egan wanted to tell her no, but he wasn’t sure about crazy Izzy, and he wanted to be honest with her. On the other hand, he didn’t want to scare her to death. She’d been through enough for one day.
“Don’t worry. I have my rifle and we’ll be at the cabin in no time.”
Egan thought he was in good shape, but by the time he saw the one-room log cabin nestled on the bank of the creek his muscles were tight and aching. Tall oaks and scrappy yaupons surrounded the place. The view from the front porch was the same as it had been over a hundred years ago. The lazy creek flowed like a pale ribbon and was inhabited by fish, frogs, snakes and turtles. Animals came to drink at different times of the day. Enormous live oaks and cedars shaded it. The yaupons had been cut back for a better view of the valley below.
The steps creaked as he put his weight on them. He needed to fix that, but never seemed to find the time. Juggling Rachel and the rifle, he managed to open the door and carry her inside. “Doin’ What She Likes” by Blake Shelton blared loudly.
He laid her on the mattress of a single bed in a corner across from a stone fireplace.
“Where’s that music coming from?” She curled up on an old patchwork quilt of his grandmother’s.
“A transistor radio I keep on to discourage little critters from coming in. It works pretty good. If they hear a human voice, they go elsewhere.”
“How clever.”
“Yeah.” He turned off the radio. “Rest,” he told her. “I’m going outside to get more water.”
She sat up, her eyes wild. “Egan...”
“It’s okay. I’ll be right outside. The only way in is through this front door and I’ll have my eye on it. Just try to relax.”
It didn’t take him long to get the old pump working at the well. It had been repaired so many times, but still provided water. He filled the bucket and carried it inside, keeping his rifle in hand and a close eye on the surrounding woods as he did so. An armadillo rooted about and birds chirped. Other than that, it was just a normal day in the woods.
But it was anything but normal.
Rachel’s skin burned and she wanted to scream. But she feared if she started, she would never be able to stop. She kept her eyes open, because if she closed them, she could feel the dogs on her—their smelly breath, coarse fur and claws so sharp they’d ripped through her skin.
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