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  Freddie

  GUILFORD CROSSING BRIDES

  BOOK 2

  Margaret Tanner

  Copyright © 2018 Margaret Tanner

  Thank you for downloading this e-book. It remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author and publisher. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. No alteration of content is allowed. If you enjoy this book, then please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy.

  This story is a work of fiction, and some literary license has been taken regarding setting. All characters are a figment of the author’s imagination.

  Cover Art by Susan Horsnell

  Acknowledgement: Thank you Susan Horsnell for your on-going help and support. Couldn’t have done it without you my friend.

  Heat Level: Mild/moderate sexual content.

  Chapter One

  Guilford Crossing, Texas 1870’s

  I don’t like it, Pa.” Freddie Guilford stuck a colt in her belt.

  “It sounds mighty suspicious,” Alex said.

  “They’re paying big money so it’s worth the risk.” Sam Guilford glared at his daughters.

  “We’re the ones who could be ambushed if anyone found out what we’re carrying.” Alfie sided with her sisters.

  “No-one knows about it,” Sam snarled. “None of you are too old to feel my belt around your legs. Don’t forget it, either.”

  Freddie knew it was useless arguing with Pa when he got into one of his moods. The problem was, these episodes were becoming more frequent and nastier. From being ornery he had become downright vicious.

  “Where’s your brother?”

  “He’s hitching up the horses.” Freddie picked up her Winchester and filled the pockets of her coat with bullets. She much preferred a rifle to a hand gun. She had a bad feeling about this job. Carrying the several boxes of rifles and ammunition Pa had picked up yesterday was bad enough. Delivering them to Everton, a ghost town off the beaten track, and exchanging them for gold dust, was fraught with danger.

  Normally she wasn’t afraid to drive the freight wagon between Guilford Crossing and La Grange because she knew the route like the back of her hand. It was driving across country that worried her most. If something went wrong, there was little chance of anyone coming to their aid.

  “Maybe one of us should go with them to ride shotgun,” Alex said.

  “No. You and Alfie have got your own run to worry about.”

  Alfie and Alex always traveled together sharing the driving duties and riding shotgun, whereas their brother Billy always drove, with Freddie riding shotgun. He wasn’t capable of using a weapon now, a bullet at Gettysburg had seen to that.

  “Go on git, and look after your brother.”

  Freddie picked up her hat and clamped it on her head, and carrying her Winchester, walked out of the room, waving to her sisters as she did so.

  The early morning sun beat down on her, a prelude to a ferociously hot day. It was going to be a long, hard trip.

  The team was already hitched up to one of the smaller Guilford Freight wagons. Billy sat in the driver’s seat ready for them to roll once she climbed aboard.

  “Did you bring plenty of water?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “All right.” She leapt up on to the seat beside him. “We better be going, Pa’s got us on a tight schedule.”

  As always she thought, wondering why her father was suddenly getting on her nerves. He’d been demanding and ornery for as long as she could remember. His one saving grace was the way he treated Billy. Kindly would not be an apt description, but he never yelled or abused him like he did his daughters. She sometimes wondered whether the war had sent him loco as well. The townsfolk didn’t like him, in return he detested most of them.

  They passed the cemetery before Billy slapped the horses’ rumps and yelled. “Giddup.”

  As they traveled along the dust churned up by the wagon wheels and the horses’ hooves almost choked her.

  The further away from town they got the more her foreboding grew. She couldn’t understand why she felt so bad about this job.

  Who would want six boxes of repeating rifles and ammo? What would they do with them? If they fell into the wrong hands, she shuddered to think of the damage they might cause.

  ****

  After about two hours they pulled up at one of their usual stopping places to rest the horses. A clump of trees offered some shelter from the searing heat. She swiveled around in the seat to reach into the wagon to grab a canteen.

  Meanwhile, Billy had jumped down and strode around to the back of the wagon to unload a water barrel for the horses.

  “Can you get that bag with the biscuits in it?” she called out.

  “Yeah.”

  Freddie took a few swigs of water from the canteen before passing it over to her twenty-eight-year-old brother. He was six feet tall, but had the mind of a four-year-old. She had only been a child when Pa had returned from the war with him, his once pristine grey uniform dirty and stained, hanging in tatters from his thin frame. A thick bandage kept the top of his head from splitting open.

  Time and Doc Stewart’s treatment had fixed him physically; there was nothing he could do to heal his troubled mind. A few of the newer people living in Guilford Crossing called Billy loco, while the older townsfolk treated him with kindness.

  He took several mouthfuls of water before walking off to attend the horses’ needs.

  One son and three daughters Pa had, and she often wondered if he treated them harshly because they were hale and hearty while his son was a broken wreck of a man. It wasn’t our fault she thought, clamping down on her bitterness.

  Had Ma lived things might have been different for them. The war and Billy’s affliction had driven her to an early grave, no-one would convince her otherwise.

  At twenty, she was the oldest of the girls. She bit into a biscuit left over from supper last night. It was a little on the stale side although quite edible. They would have supper and bed down on the trail, not at the ghost town, it would be too spooky. Pa expected them to be home in time for supper tomorrow.

  What if they couldn’t find the town? She had never been out this way before. What if they dropped the guns off and the gold dust wasn’t there? She fretted and fumed about Pa sending them on such a mission. Surely cousin Chad could have done it. He and his father ran the freight from Houston to La Grange, while they did the La Grange to Guilford Crossing, and cousin Jeb and Uncle John did the Austin to Guilford Crossing run. Pa probably hadn’t told the others about it because he wouldn’t want to share the gold dust.

  Billy came and sat down beside her. Perspiration ran down his face. He grabbed the canteen and took several long swallows. “Good.” He wiped his hand on his sleeve.

  Freddie leaned her back against a tree and placed her hat over her face. A short nap would prepare them for the roughest part of the journey – traveling into the unknown. Pa had told her to turn left at the crossroad instead of going straight ahead to La Grange like she usually did.

  She always enjoyed going to La Grange and spending time with Steve and Ruth McDonald. Steve was the circuit preacher who lived on a small ranch. Pa paid him to use a large barn on the property to store freight and produce brought in from Houston by her cousin and Uncle. They in turn took the freight to Guilford Crossing where it was picked up by another cousin and taken to Austin. Their freight company ran a service stretching from Houston to Austin and beyond.

  Freddie must have dozed off. She woke with a start to hear Billy snoring loudly. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She felt as if unseen eyes were watching them. Tarnation woman, you’re letting your imagination run wild. />
  “Wake up.” She gave Billy a shake. “We have to be off. If we’re late getting back Pa will have my hide.” He wouldn’t say anything to Billy, she would be the one receiving the cuff over the back of her head, followed by the raving and ranting. One of these days he would push her too far and she would turn on him, as sure as God made little green apples.

  She climbed on to the wagon, making sure the Winchester was handy before giving the signal to get the horses moving.

  After an hour or two the ground became drier, more inhospitable. The heat was scorching, the vegetation reduced to cactus and scrubby trees. They were heading directly into the canyon country.

  She shivered in the heat. Marauding renegade Indians and outlaws on the run frequented the canyons, which were riddled with caves and crevices, where they could hide out for as long as they wanted.

  They crossed a dried-up creek bed, the wheels of the wagon crunching on the loose pebbles. A battered, bullet riddled sign with the words, Everton – 3 miles, was propped up against a large rock, with an arrow pointing straight ahead.

  She nervously glanced around. The whole area brooded silently with no birds and no animals. Except for the cactus, everything else looked dead.

  Freddie decided to hide the rifles and ammunition here just in case they were double crossed. With Billy’s help, they hid the boxes under piles of dead reeds, an exhausting job in the heat.

  Chapter Two

  They journeyed for another mile or so. Suddenly a shot rang out.

  “It’s an ambush,” she screamed. “We’ll make a run for it, there’s room to turn the wagon. Come on, Billy, come on.” Another shot from somewhere above them whistled past her head.

  “Yah. Yah.” Billy cracked the whip over the horses’ heads. Freddie grabbed her Winchester and let off a couple of shots

  “No matter what, don’t stop,” she screamed.

  Billy turned the wagon so sharply it tipped over and they were flung out. “Go home Billy. Get Pa.” He took off like a scalded cat.

  Freddie drew her colt before scrambling behind the wagon. Her Winchester had been flung out of reach. The horses were still harnessed together, but didn’t appear hurt, thank goodness. She couldn’t cut them free, just hope and pray they wouldn’t be shot.

  If only she had her Winchester, she could do more damage with it as she was an expert shot. Her hand gun skills weren’t so great. The firing started up in earnest, at least three guns she surmised, emptying her own weapon. Grabbing a handful of bullets, she re-loaded. Perspiration dripped from her brow. She was in a heap of trouble.

  Damn, Pa. There was no such thing as easy money. The sudden silence grew ominous. Were they trying to circle her?

  The firing, when it started again, came from a different direction. Her supposition had proven correct. She let off a couple of shots then wished she hadn’t. Are you loco? They might have thought you were dead. If she could find somewhere to hide, wait them out perhaps, she might still get out of trouble. Frantically she looked around.

  Suddenly a shot rang out. She screamed with pain as a bullet slammed into her shoulder with such force it knocked her backward. Her head hit the ground.

  Through a blurry mist Freddie saw the outline of a man. She screamed when he kicked her in the ribs.

  “Wake up,” he snarled. His backhander across the face had her seeing stars. He pushed a gun against her forehead. “Where are the rifles?”

  “In the wagon.”

  “Liar.” He punched her in the face causing blood to spurt from her nose. “There was nothing in the upturned wagon.”

  “Maybe they fell out.”

  Another kick in the ribs left her gasping for breath.

  “Sonofabitch, it’s a gal,” were the last words she heard.

  ****

  Freddie woke up and struggled to open her eyes. Her vision was blurred. She blinked several times trying to focus her eyes. When she took a breath excruciating pain shot through her shoulders and ribs.

  Through half closed eyes she saw a roof with broken wooden shingles. I could kill for a drink of water she thought, wondering where she was, and how long she had been unconscious. A couple of hours she guessed, going by the position of the sun streaming through the broken roof. Every bone in her body ached, while her shoulder throbbed.

  This is the end of the line Freddie Guilford, get set to meet your maker. According to Preacher Steve, God was merciful. He had better be after all her years of cussing and taking his name in vain.

  She had never killed a man, wounded yes, surely that should count in her favor. Had never robbed anyone, either.

  The door swung open with a squeal of rusty hinges. A grubby cowboy stepped over the threshold. By the low-slung twin colts he wore she figured he was a gunslinger. He made no attempt to hide his face, meaning they aimed to kill her no matter what.

  “Where are the guns?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Missie or I’ll shoot ya here and now.”

  “Yeah?” Freddie decided if she was going to die, she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  “Be nice to me and I’ll make sure ya live.” He leaned down to squeeze her breast and his rancid breath was nauseating.

  “Go to hell, you sonofabitch.”

  “Bed faggot.” He rammed his fist into her face. “Ya’ll be begging for death once me and the boys finish with ya.”

  By now she couldn’t speak, there was too much blood running into her mouth. He swung around and stomped off. Her position was going from bad to worse. She had to get away somehow. They hadn’t tied her up, probably figured she had nowhere to go. They had taken her boots which would make escape harder. Better to die of thirst out in the open than to put up with what those fiends had planned for her.

  She shouldn’t have goaded him; most women would have pretended to be nice and weaseled their way out of trouble with their feminine wiles. Not her, though.

  She felt so sick and sorry for herself, she didn’t know how she could even think at all. Be smart, Freddie. Bide your time. The main problem being she didn’t have much time.

  She could smell beans and bacon cooking and it made her nauseated rather than hungry. Trying to move into a more comfortable position she groaned as pain shot through every bone in her body. The only grain of comfort she had was Billy must have escaped, otherwise they would have taken pleasure in telling her. Whether he could make it home was the question. If he did, would he be able to tell Pa what had happened.

  Thank goodness those evil varmints didn’t get hold of the rifles or ammunition. If they really tortured her would they be able to break her? She had been in dire positions a couple of times before, had even shot a man in the leg once. Never had she been in such perilous straits as this.

  She had tried to warn Pa about this job being dangerous, only he wouldn’t listen, now she was the one paying for his greed.

  Since childhood, she had jumped to do his bidding. Not anymore. If she got out of this alive she would refuse to do any job that worried her.

  It was terrible being so alone. She would never know the love of a good man, would miss out on the joy of having babies. The thoughts running through her brain were idiotic considering the danger she was in. It did stop her from screaming and sobbing in pain.

  The door was flung open with such force part of the wall splintered and a tall man dressed all in black, entered. Ivory handled guns stuck out from fancy holsters. “Now gal, you will do as I ask, unless you want me to strip you naked and tie you to stakes with your legs spread-eagled. My men can then have you as often as they like, and believe me, they haven’t had a woman for a while so they will be like rutting bulls.”

  Freddie cringed, and pain shot through her causing an involuntary groan as she fought to suppress it.

  “Think about it, gal, it won’t be pretty if those animals start on you.”

  “Go to hell.” She barely recognized her voice it was so husky. “Do what you like, I’ll tell you
nothing.”

  His laughter sent chills down her spine. “If you weren’t so dirty, I’d mount you myself.” He stepped closer. “You have an hour to decide. Be sure you make the right decision.” He swung around and left the room, leaving her on the verge of collapse.

  Chapter Three

  Nick Brown had felt uneasy for the last couple of hours and didn’t know why. Something had spooked his horses to such an extent they galloped up and down in their paddock. Thankfully it was well fenced.

  He sniffed at the air. Was that smoke he smelled? He scanned the sky, but failed to see any smoke. It was too late to investigate now with only a couple of hours of daylight left.

  First thing tomorrow he would ride up and take a look around. Maybe there were rustlers. His small herd would hardly be worth their time. It wasn’t as if he had prime beef. Most of his herd were the off-spring of wild cattle separated from the main herds as they passed through Everton years ago, before the Chisholm Trail had become popular.

  He stepped back inside his cabin. Time to have supper before it got too dark. He rarely lit the lamp in the summer, merely adjusted his lifestyle by eating before sundown. Beans were on the menu tonight. He gave a bark of laughter, beans were on the menu most nights. Occasionally he would kill a steer and smoke it which would keep him going for weeks. Potatoes were one of the few vegetables he could grow in the dry, hungry soil. Eggs from his chickens were always plentiful.

  His kitchen and parlor, if you could call it that, was not a bad size, certainly big enough for his needs. The simple, isolated life out here appealed to him. He hated people, greedy, grasping and cruel had been his experience of them.

  He poured himself a cup of water from the bucket on the table and sat down in an old leather armchair, stretching his legs out in front of him. It was too hot to light the fire; besides, he didn’t have anything to cook.

  In the back yard, he had constructed a small fireplace, which he used for his daily coffee. After eating the beans, he debated about opening another tin, then decided he could do without it.