Free Mittman, Stephanie by Bridge to Yesterday Page B

Mary Grace felt dizzy and sick to her stomach.
Sloan sat rigidly against her. "Mason'll sure be mad if she's gettin'
poked."
    "Well,
if it is Westin what's got her, I'd be surprised if he could do much with her.
But if he's still alive, he mighta been willin' to poke anybody what wants
what's left of 'em. I'd guess between her looks and his remains, it wouldn'ta
been much to see."
    "You
suppose she's got them freckles even where the sun don't shine?" Harlin
asked.
    The
baby stretched in Mary Grace's arms and made a sucking sound. Sloan tensed, and
she felt his hand move by his side. Was that the click of the hammer being
pulled back? The baby smacked his lips again, and she pushed her knuckle
against his lips. Accepting the substitute, he rubbed his sore gums against her
finger noisily. It was the best Mary Grace could do. She just had to hope the
Tates couldn't hear through the adobe floor.
    Another
set of footsteps joined the others. Mason Tate's voice filled the ancient ruins
and echoed in the musty cellar around the hidden threesome.
    "From
the looks of it outside, they was here. I'd guess Sloan Westin isn't takin' off
his boots behind no pearly gates, Harlin. I found this," he said, and Mary
Grace wondered what he was showing his brothers.
    "S.
W. And that's her hair, all right," Wilson agreed. She could feel Sloan
nodding in the dark.
    "And
look here," Harlin said, apparently showing him the petticoat. "And
it's ripped, too."
    "And
Emily not cold in her grave. I thought you gelded him, at least, Harlin. Ain't
that what you said?"
    "I
guess I shoulda aimed better when I run 'im off. If Emily hadn'ta been
screamin' so 'bout how sorry she was, I'da been sure to get 'im in the balls.
Still, I musta done him good. Ain't nobody caught 'im with their woman since I
found him between Emily's legs...."
    Mary
Grace could feel the heat rising from Sloan's body, despite the fact that she
leaned away from him. His body was taut, the breathing controlled. She
shivered, but he was lost in the moment, his body rigid in the face of danger.
    "What
are we gonna do now?" Harlin asked.
    "We're
gonna go rescue Horace and Miss O'Reilly," Mason answered calmly.
"Then we're gonna cut off what's left of Sloan Westin's privates and feed
them to Dukeboy."
    "Yeah!"
shouted Harlin, his voice covering the sound of Mary Grace's retching.
"Let's get 'em."
    They
waited for the clatter of horses' hooves before Sloan threw back the trapdoor.
Light and fresh air streamed into the kiva, and Mary Grace gulped in big
breaths of it. Upstairs, Sloan cleaned out a cup with a whisk of the forgotten
petticoat and filled it with water. He handed it to Mary Grace, who took it
gratefully with both hands.
    "Drink
it slowly," he warned her. "I don't know where the next drop'll be
comin' from."

CHAPTER 5
    Sloan
was surprised
at how easy it was to convince Mary Grace that the safest place for them to
spend the night was in the Sinagua Indian ruins. After all, the Tates had
already been there and moved on. The poor girl must have been too tired and
confused to argue. But not too tired to mash up the green squash he had been
fortunate enough to find and to feed it to his very hungry son.
    Boy,
that little fellow could eat! The squash disappeared faster than a rabbit at a
coyote convention. And the water rag didn't seem to be satisfying his thirst.
He kept turning his head in Sweet Mary's arms and trying to find a teat worth
draining.
    "There's
nothing for you there, Paddy," she said. "I'm not your mama." To
Sloan it wasn't clear who she was reminding, the baby, herself, or him.
    "Ben,"
he corrected. "After my father. Which is just where he's going once we get
outta this mess."
    "You're
taking the baby to see your parents?" Mary
    Grace
asked. She was sitting with her legs spread wide, stretching the skirt like a
hammock for the baby to lie on while she changed his diaper. The cold of the
floor must have been freezing her little ass off, he thought, judging from how
cold