Pemberley Ranch

tears of relief. She buried her face into his vest, sobbing incoherently, feeling his strong arm embrace her, taking in that sweet aroma of cologne and leather and sweat and masculinity that would be forever the smell of her William. His attempt to console her only drove Beth to tighten her grasp.

“Shush… shush…” he murmured, “everything’s going to be fine, Beth… everything’s going to— freeze, you son-of-a-bitch, or I’ll blow your goddamned head off!”

Beth’s head jerked up from her comfortable position. A glance at Will’s stony face told her his words were meant for another. It was then she realized that Will’s right arm had not embraced her; it, in fact, was pointed straight out. Beth’s eyes ran down the length of his arm and the barrel of his Winchester to see over her shoulder that there was not one body on the ground by the pigsty but two—and one was weeping.

“Please, please don’t shoot me, Mr. Darcy!” sobbed Billy Collins.

“I won’t, if you lie still!” Will half-turned Beth away from any line of fire.

Collins ran his hands through his hair, which caused him to scream. “Please! You have to let me up! Please! He’s all over me!”

Darcy was relentless. “Stay still, damn it!”

Beth narrowed her eyes in concentration. Collins didn’t seem to be injured, but there was something strange on the back of his head and jacket. Something pinkish-gray… Her eyes slammed wide open in recognition—she knew what was all over the protesting man. Holding back the bile that rose in her throat, she turned her face back into Darcy’s vest. But as tightly as she closed her eyes, she could not shut her ears.

“I’m… I’m going to be sick—” Collins’s words were cut off by retching. Darcy’s concerns were only for his beloved.

“Are you all right, Beth?” She nodded into his chest, not trusting herself to speak. The sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of others.

“Will! Are you… oh, for crying out loud!” Fitzwilliam’s sarcastic voice was balm on Beth’s frayed nerves, as was her father’s cry of relief.

“I… I’m fine, Father,” Beth managed, remaining deep in Darcy’s one-handed embrace.

“Everything secure?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah,” Fitzwilliam answered, “Our arrival really took the fight outta ’em; we only had to shoot a couple. What about here?”

“Help me, Fitzwilliam,” moaned Collins. “Whitehead tried to use me as a shield and… and Darcy shot him and… and his brains are all over me!”

“Oh, shut your piehole, Collins, or it’ll be your brains all over Whitehead! How d’you wanna handle this, Will?”

“This rifle’s getting heavy,” Darcy said. “Cover him, will you?” Beth heard Fitzwilliam command Collins to move slowly off Whitehead—there was the sound of metal on wood—and now two arms held her close.

There was the sound of more arrivals as Fitzwilliam whistled. “Ooo-wee! You plugged this sum-bitch square in the right eye, Will! Blew the back of his cotton-pickin’ head clean out! No wonder Collins is cryin’ like a baby. Damn good shootin’.”

Darcy’s voice was ice-cold. “Right eye? Then I missed, Fitz. I was aiming for the bridge of the bastard’s nose. Sorry to make such a mess, Collins.”

Beth whimpered and drove her face deeper into his vest.

“Darcy…” Bennet’s voice carried a warning.

“Sorry.” To Beth, Darcy repeated, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“It’s okay,” she shakily returned. “Just hold me.”

In a lighter tone, Darcy asked, “Far be it that I look a gift horse in the mouth, but what the hell are y’all doing here, Fitz? I thought I told you to guard Pemberley.”

Fitz laughed, “You did, an’ that’s just what I was doin’, ’cept we got real worried about the wagon not showin’ up last night. About an hour before dawn, Gaby had enough an’ ordered me to take some boys an’ see what the delay was.”

“Ordered you? Gaby?”

“Damn right, she did! Said, ‘With my brother gone, I’m in charge of Pemberley, and you’d best do as you’re told!’ Sounded just like you, boss!”

Darcy laughed, and Beth couldn’t help joining him. She chanced a glimpse at Fitzwilliam, keeping her eyes away from the wreckage that was once George Whitehead.

“Well,” said Darcy, “I’m mighty glad to see you, Fitz. When I saw y’all charging across that rise, I never been so happy to see an order of mine disobeyed in my life!”

“Me too,” Bennet added. “You saved us all, Fitzwilliam.”

The crowd moved closer to get a better look—Beth estimated it was about a half-dozen—when there was a disruption. The men parted before a short, female figure.

“Lily!” cried her father. He tried to pull her away from the scene, but she would have none of it; she fought him off and approached the body, whimpering.

“George? George? Are you dead, George? Are you dead?”

Bennet tried again. “Lily, please—come away from there.”

“No!” she screamed. The glare in her eyes, tinged with a hint of madness, held everyone at bay. She drew closer to Whitehead. The girl had changed into plain dress, and the makeup was washed from her face. She looked like the Lily of before, but there was something that told Beth that that girl was gone forever.

“George? Why, George? Why did you do it? Why did you throw me away—why did you give me to… to Denny? How could you betray me? I loved you, George. I gave you everything. Do you understand? Everything!”

Beth could no longer watch and turned again into Will’s strong chest.

“No—don’t touch me, Father! Did you know what that did to me, George? Did you know what he did to me? Did you? Damn you, did you?” She punctuated her screams with kicks to Whitehead’s limp body. She kicked him again and again, crying, “Damn you to hell! Damn you to hell!” in time with her kicks. The sound of foot striking body pounded into Beth’s head, again and again.

Beth’s nightmare only ended when Bennet was finally able to control her hysterical sister and carry her back to the house. Everyone stood silent—the only sound was Lily’s anguished howls.

A lone rider dashed hell bent for leather in the early morning light.

Normally, Pyke would be scared stiff riding on uneven terrain on a strange horse, but he was too terrified to worry about what he was doing. Unlike everyone else, he had recognized the Pemberley riders as soon as they made the top of the ridge. At Denny’s fall, he instantly knew the game was up, no matter what happened to Whitehead, and Pyke’s only thought now was escape. In the chaos of the battle, he had been able to secure a horse and slip away unnoticed. He took no chances; he rode like a demon, crouched down low in the saddle, expecting a bullet in the back at any time. He would not look back and see if he was followed, for he was afraid he’d see a whole posse giving chase.

Pyke rode hard towards the B&R. He had to get out of the county, and he wasn’t going empty- handed.

Darcy sat on the porch steps, drinking a cup of coffee and listening to the reports, while Beth was glued firmly to his side, holding one of his hands.

“All my boys are okay,” Fitzwilliam was saying. “I figure we shot about four of ’em, not includin’ Whitehead.”

“And we got at least three more,” claimed José. “How many bodies we got?”

“Nine,” said Peter, “and five prisoners. Our only casualty is Ethan.”

“How is he?” Darcy demanded.

A worried Mrs. Bennet spoke from the door. “Will, he’s in bad shape. We need Charles.”

“All right; I’ll go get Doc Bingley right away,” Fitz said. At that Darcy stood.

“You’ll be coming with me, Fitz. We’ve got to check on Sheriff Lucas, too. Bring two men. This ain’t over with