Page 125 of Texas Glory
“Who has the money?” Cooper demanded.
“Go to hell.”
Cooper slammed Dallas’s head against the dirt floor. “I’m gonna take her into town tomorrow. If I don’t come back with the money, you’re gonna die a slow death. I spent time with the Indians, and I know how to keep a dead man screaming for days.”
He shoved himself to his feet.
“And if the money’s there,” Cordelia said, hating the plea she heard in her voice, “you’ll let him go.”
Cooper sneered at her. “If I get the money, then I’ll kill him quick. Like I said before, your brother paid me to kill him. I ain’t got no choice in the matter except to decide if he dies fast or slow. Now that decision is in his hands.”
He left the shack, slamming the door into place. Cordelia heard him lock the door. She leaned close to Dallas’s ear. “Does someone have the money?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“You’re safer … not knowing.” “I won’t leave you here.”
Grunting and groaning, he struggled to sit up, sweat beading his body, his muscles quivering with the strain. Roughly, he cradled her cheek and brought her face closer to his. “You will leave, dammit.”
“He’s going to kill you,” she whispered brokenly.
“Maybe.” He dropped his hand to the dirt. “Look, I think we’re here.”
In the dim light of the candle’s glow, she could see his hand trembling as he drew anXin the dirt.
“Well on north end.” AnotherX.
“The house.”X.
“Town.” He lifted his pain-filled gaze to hers. “Once you get into the hotel, wait in our room with the door locked until a man comes for you. He’ll say, ‘You hold my heart.’ Draw him a map. Go with him to the sheriff. There’s a chance they could get back here … in time.”
She knew from the resignation in his eyes that he thought the chances were slim. His face was a mask of agony as she laid her palm against his cheek. “Lie down. You need to save your strength. I’ll see if I can stop some of this bleeding.”
His breathing shallow, he stretched out beside her. She imagined each intake of breath was agony as his back expanded. She had no way to cauterize the gaping slashes. She tore off a strip of her petticoat and pressed it against the worst of his wounds, trying to stanch the seepage of glistening blood. The air hissed through his teeth.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do.” She glanced at his face. His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched. She touched his cheek, realizing with gratitude that he had lost consciousness.
She trailed her fingers along his sides where the whip had sometimes slithered. The cuts were shallow and had stopped bleeding. She wanted to curl beside him, wrap her arms around him, and take away his pain.
She hadn’t planned to fall asleep, wasn’t certain when she had, but she awoke to a scratching at the door. The candle had gutted and the small shed was wrapped in darkness.
The scratching intensified, then she heard a click, and the door squeaked open on dry hinges. A small silhouette stood in the doorway.
“Miz Dee?”
Cordelia rose to her knees. “Rawley?”
He took a small step forward. “We gotta go.”
“Where’s your father?”
“They’re all passed out, drunk as skunks, but we gotta hurry.”
Cordelia shook Dallas’s shoulder. He groaned. She slapped his cheek, alarmed to find it so warm. “Dallas?” She slapped him again. “Dallas, wake up.”
Moaning, he grabbed her hand before she could hit him again.
