Scars of the Heart Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2015

  A Kindle Scout selection

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  For my mother, Nancy. You were my first fan and have always been my rock.

  For Robbie, cherished friend and self-proclaimed “biggest” fan. I thank you for many years of being both and for your excellent critique services.

  For Joe – for believing in me, for flooding my life with light, for ‘us’.

  I love you all more than words can say.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter One

  “Go ahead and scream, missy. No one in this place will pay you any mind.” Tiny drained a quarter of the bottle’s contents before setting it on the nearby dresser, then moved one heavy foot toward her.

  A whimper escaped Carly’s dry, chapped lips as she pulled hard at the knot securing her wrists to the headboard. The rough rope tore at her flesh as another weighty step brought her tormentor closer. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to wake from this nightmare. She heard her small, shaky voice plead, “No, no, no.”

  They’d been riding together since late yesterday, straight through the night because of the full moon. Though the man called himself Tiny, he was anything but. Carly found him utterly repulsive—from his large girth to the patch covering one eye, from his pungent odor to his greedy chuckle. A trapper with some coin in his pocket, the man had been heading to Leavenworth, Kansas, in search of a saloon where he could indulge in whiskey, cards, and women. When he happened upon the opportunity to purchase Carly along the way, he struck a deal.

  A bump against the bed brought her gaze unwillingly back to the brute. Heady anticipation gleamed in his single red-rimmed eye. A wide, hungry smile split his face. Carly felt hot tears sting the corners of her eyes, then well and slip down her cheeks. She scrambled as far up the headboard as her constraints allowed. Calloused hands grabbed her legs, pulling Carly down hard onto the mattress.

  As Tiny moved atop the bed, his weight threatened the frame’s resolve. The stench of sweat, filth, and stale liquor threatened the resolve of Carly’s stomach. She buried her face into her shoulder, praying. She prayed to her blessed mother. She prayed to her dead father. She prayed to the God who had forsaken her.

  With a heavy whump, he fell upon her. And scream she did. The raspy shriek came from deep inside to scrape through Carly’s throat and bounce around the cheap hotel room. She drew a ragged breath to muster another cry but stopped short. Tiny lay still.

  For a moment she wondered if he had dropped dead, even hoped that her prayers had been answered and that was indeed the case. But steady, labored breathing indicated the oaf had merely succumbed to the enormous amount of whiskey he’d consumed.

  Relief washed over Carly. She inhaled slowly, trying to clear her mind and calm her nerves. He lay across her left leg, pinning her to the mattress. She tried to pull herself free, but neither the leg nor the sleeping log moved. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she braced her right foot on the man’s shoulder and deliberately began extracting her trapped limb.

  The push-pull method proved effective until Carly’s foot snagged in Tiny’s shirt. Her chest ached as she waited to exhale. Patience, she reminded herself, but desperation caused her leg to react of its own accord. The extra force stirred the man, but it worked in her favor. The ogre blubbered and rolled, allowing Carly to slip quickly off the bed, twisting and bending at an odd angle as the rope dug deeply into her wrists.

  She froze in place. Tiny now lay on his back, head lolling to the side. If he did open his eye, he would be staring right at her. She didn’t move, barely allowed herself to breathe, until a deep, steady snore filled the room. With her teeth, she worked at the knotted rope. After finally freeing herself, Carly grabbed her hat and tiptoed to the door, flinching when the ancient, rusty hinges groaned. The raucous rhythm from the sleeping giant continued. Without a backward glance, she left the room and inched down the creaky old staircase.

  Once outside, Carly forced herself to try and think rationally. Pausing briefly to get her bearings, she squinted against the intensity of midday. Although the hat was too big and completely disgusting, it did offer a bit of protection from the elements. Carly tucked her long locks up under the hatband while scanning the dusty street. The sidewalks were scattered with men, and recent days had taught her that the men of this savage land were ruthless and untrustworthy. She decided to search for a church or perhaps some kind-looking women. Carly spotted two nicely dressed ladies farther up the street. One carried a white parasol, angled purposefully against the scorching summer sun.

  Tentative at first, she headed in their direction. Building hope quickened her pace, but she’d made it no farther than halfway when Tiny came charging out of the hotel doors. He spotted her immediately, bellowed obscenities, and gave chase. Fear and the possibility of freedom afforded her trembling, exhausted body the speed and agility she needed to flee.

  Once again, fate intervened, clipping tremulous wings as Carly turned into a dead-end alley. She spun, searching frantically for a door or window. But the only way out was the way she’d come in, and Tiny’s barrel-shaped silhouette loomed in her path.

  Muddy shadows draped the passageway between the two plank-board buildings. Nonetheless, she could see the angry gleam in the man’s eye as he approached her, a leather quirt in one hand, a near-empty bottle in the other. Cringing, she sank back against a stack of rough wooden crates.

  “You little whore,” he growled. “I should think you’d know a good thing when you got it. I should think you’d choose me over this whip. But maybe you like it rough, eh?”

  His tongue darted out to lick his thick lips. Carly looked around desperately, praying for an avenue of escape, indeed, a miracle.

  “Well, once I get you back to the hotel, I’ll finish what I started earlier, and rough it will be.”

  He chuckled. A trail of saliva clung to his coarse whiskers. Revulsion churned in the pit of her stomach. Shrinking, hoping to completely disappear, she envisioned what this ogre would do to her. Blast it all! Was she doomed to continue forever on this dark and dangerous road her life had taken a few short days ago?

  Tears threatened, but there was no time for crying. Her tormentor walked deliberately toward her, fl
ipping the quirt against his leg. Ducking her head, she tried in vain to hide beneath the wide brim of the dirty old hat.

  “So, you thought you could run away from ol’ Tiny, eh? I reckon not. I paid a tidy sum for you, and I aim to get my money’s worth, including what I just paid that weasel of a desk clerk for letting me know you took off. But first I’ll have to make sure you don’t ever try to get away from me again.”

  He raised the whip as he reached her. Carly attempted to dart past him but tripped over his outstretched boot. Falling hard to the ground, she received a stinging slice from the rawhide strips for her effort. He chuckled as he brought the leather down again and again. Wrapping her arms around her head, Carly rolled in the dirt, trying to dodge the cruel lashes. Angry red whelps formed on her hands and wrists. Blood stained her torn shirt.

  Finally, worn-out and quite drunk, Tiny stopped, unsteady after such exertion. As if he just remembered the bottle he held in his left hand, he turned it up and guzzled its contents. Cowering against the wooden crates, Carly stole upward glances from beneath her hat brim and tried not to whimper aloud. Fiery paths screamed across her back and arms. She didn’t know which to fear more—continued abuse from the quirt or what surely awaited her back in the hotel room.

  After Tiny downed the last amber drop, he looked at the bottle disbelievingly. Suddenly he threw the flask to the ground near her huddled form, cursing loudly. Shards of glass showered Carly’s legs. Towering above her, he raised a mighty arm as if to punish her for his empty bottle. Just as quickly, he dropped the heavy limb against his side. Slumping now, he seemed spent from his emotional and physical tirade.

  “Get up!” he bellowed.

  Carly staggered to her feet. Her quivering legs threatened to buckle even under her slight weight. Tiny’s thick hand closed painfully around her slender arm, jerking her back toward the main thoroughfare. She concentrated her efforts on keeping pace with him, knowing he’d just as soon drag as lead her.

  Once on the street, she scanned the area to see if anyone had witnessed the humiliating experience. They were near the edge of town, and the lashing had apparently gone unnoticed.

  But people noticed now though none intervened. They stopped and stared as the angry brute pulled Carly up the street back to the hotel. Everyone, including the desk clerk. Beady black eyes glared defensively from the pasty-white face as her captor dragged her across the lobby. She gave the traitor her fiercest scowl until her shin slammed against the staircase. Carly turned to look up into Tiny’s hungry, stained, and snaggle-toothed smile.

  #

  A pair of dark eyes narrowed with rage as they peered from the shadows across the street. Kade Roberts had noticed the fragile figure dart into the alleyway, but what caught and held his attention was the bulk of man in pursuit.

  A square-shaped head sat directly on a frame as wide as it was tall. Atop that head blazed a wild array of vivid red hair, salted with gray. A shaggy beard and mustache of the same bright hue hid most of the man’s face. Thick legs supported a potbelly and barrel chest. Even from this distance, the bully appeared filthy, drunk, and as angry as a bear rousted from his winter sleep.

  Having made it a habit of late not to mess in others’ affairs, Kade tried to keep walking, but sharp reminders from the past refused to let him turn and go. It was the black patch covering one of the man’s eyes. That and the quirt he held . . . and obviously intended to use.

  Kade clenched his teeth. A muscle twitched in his jaw. His hand involuntarily tugged at the gun he kept strapped to his right thigh, but he stopped, chastising himself. Slipping his six-shooter back into its holster, he returned to the shadows. He knew gunning a man down in broad daylight on a busy street would surely draw unwanted, dangerous attention. The town overflowed with soldiers from nearby Fort Leavenworth.

  Tamping down his anger, Kade watched and waited.

  The man, in his drunken stupor, actually missed his target about every other blow. Yet the whipping could not have ended soon enough for Kade. When the man raised the quirt again, as if to continue the lashing, Kade drew his gun, unable to tolerate any more. Slowly, he placed it back in its leather nest as the redheaded giant dropped his arm and dragged the whimpering youth up the street and into a hotel barely fit for occupancy.

  #

  The brilliant orange orb of the sun sank below the horizon, leaving behind a pink-and-purple-painted sky. The streets grew darker and the hour grew later, but still Kade watched. Calmly perched on two legs of a wooden chair, he appeared to be dozing on the porch of Lucille’s boardinghouse across the way from the hotel. Though he’d pulled his sweat-stained hat down over his face, he could still see the lobby doors from under its brim. He patiently continued his vigil.

  Located on the Missouri River, Leavenworth had been named after Jesse H. Leavenworth, the government agent assigned to Kiowa-Comanche affairs. The town bulged at the seams with folks from neighboring towns who were interested in the Doolittle-Leavenworth conference. Kade suspected the one-eyed drunk was a trapper, probably in town to spend recent gains. His appearance certainly didn’t suggest newfound wealth, but Kade had seen it too often before. Men like that placed whiskey and women before a bath, clean clothes, or even food. He hoped his suspicions would prove right. If so, his plan for the evening just might pan out.

  He didn’t have to wait much longer. The hotel doors opened, and through them swaggered the grizzly giant, pulling the reluctant waif behind him. Predictably, the pair headed straight for the saloon. Kade rose casually and crossed the street to the Silver Spur. He reached the double doors before they even stopped swinging.

  The redheaded tree trunk strode to the bar, ordered a bottle of whiskey, and turned to survey the room. His grip around his captive’s slim wrist remained strong. Kade ordered a beer and took a long, slow swallow. He leaned his elbows on the polished oak and studied the large room in the mirror behind the bar.

  A heavy blue haze hung just below the ceiling. Bawdy laughter and amplified conversation mixed with the off-key piano polka to create a near-deafening roar. Scattered tables accommodated men of every size and stature. Some played games of chance. Others held a drink in one hand, a woman in the other. About a dozen scantily clad females sashayed through the room wearing gaudy makeup, cheap perfume, and permanent smiles. But none of that interested him just now.

  He watched the one-eyed man pull the cork with his teeth, spit it aside, and upend his bottle, draining several inches from it instantly. Lowering the decanter, he seemed to focus on a table near the back of the room. Three gentlemen were just settling down with a fresh deck of cards. Master and slave made their way across the busy area.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  The men eyed the newcomer warily, then assessed his companion, who hid beneath the brim of an old hat.

  “We’re playing serious poker here, friend,” one of the gentlemen answered.

  “I’m serious as they come.” The big man chuckled and set his bottle on the table. From his pocket, he pulled a wad of bills.

  Hungry glances ricocheted around the table. The gambler who’d spoken earlier nodded toward an empty seat. With a chortle, the barrel of a man pulled another chair to the table with the toe of his boot and roughly shoved the youth to a sitting position. After another long draw from his bottle, he sat down and reviewed his cards, one at a time, as they were dealt him.

  Kade nursed his beer and continued to casually watch the man with the patch. Two hours passed as the money on the table made the rounds. A slick dresser with a thin mustache and foreign cigarettes ran the game for a while. Fate proved fickle, and eventually most of the money sat before the newcomer. One of the others complained good-naturedly, threw in his cards, and gathered his remaining money. Laughing, he informed his companions that since Lady Luck had forsaken him, he would go in search of a different kind of lady.

  “That’s it for me as well,” said the man who had agreed to let the stranger join the game.

  “Aw, come on
boys. I’m just gettin’ warmed up.” The redhead leafed through his money, making a rough count.

  Kade approached silently and stood across the table from the arrogant ogre. The man’s bold stare traveled the cowboy’s towering height. When their gazes met, Kade held the other man’s captive. He waited until the mountain began to crumble and his red-rimmed eye twitched. His sights darted around the table. All grew quiet, and Kade finally spoke.

  “Need another player?”

  Chapter Two

  Both gamblers sized up Kade. Fancy Pants took a drag from his sweet-smelling cigarette and squinted his black eyes as the smoke spiraled upward. No Neck licked fat lips with his thick tongue and appraised Kade with his one good eye.

  “I can clean your pocket as good as any other.” The redhead chuckled, then bellowed to a passing barmaid for another bottle.

  Glancing to the other man as a courtesy, Kade received a polite nod. He swung his leg over the back of a chair and settled himself in, adjusting his gun belt. He noticed the bigger man watching him nervously. When No Neck raised his sights from the holster to Kade’s face, he cleared his throat, then pulled the cork from his new bottle. After taking a large gulp, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth, still clutching the whiskey.

  “Name’s Tiny. What’s yours?”

  Kade stared at him for several long seconds, then queried, “Does it matter?” The man shifted his focus from Kade to the other gambler, then back.

  “Well, no. Just thought we could—”

  “Deal,” he ordered, pulling a half-smoked cheroot from one pocket and neatly folded bills from another. He struck a match on the edge of the table and lit his cigar. His gaze never left Tiny’s face. The ogre looked quickly to the other player, who had yet to say a word. Calmly stubbing out his cigarette, the man merely cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. Tiny tilted the bottle once more, then dealt.

  An hour passed. Kade ordered another beer and watched his prey. Tapping his cards on the table nervously, Tiny forced a chuckle and upped the ante ten dollars.