Her name had been spoken by someone with a raspy voice. She started to struggle away, but whatever was poking her cut deeper, and she cried out with the pain of it. She heard the women around her screaming, and some man was waving a gun at them.
“Just stay out of the way, ladies, and nobody will get hurt.” Other men were joining him, and she saw a few people running. The band still played “Sweet Betsy,” and in the distance people went about their business, unaware of what was happening near the quilt booth.
Miranda watched a man with a stubble of a beard and a scar on his right cheek step closer to her. His steely blue eyes gave her shivers. He grasped her jaw and yanked her head around so she had to look up at a dark, ugly man with a deep scar across one eye, his nose, and lips, another scar across his throat. “This is Juan,” the blue-eyed man told her. “Ol’ Jake ever tell you about Juan?” He squeezed her jaw painfully, and she could feel blood soaking her dress at the side.
Juan! Jake had mentioned the name several times. She remembered him saying something about how good the man was with a knife. Terror engulfed her, for that knife was stuck in her side now. A little deeper, and she would be dead. Jake! These men were after Jake! The one called Juan rode with Bill Kennedy.
This couldn’t be! Bill Kennedy had found them after all! She tried to wrench free, but Juan just held her tighter, yanking the knife from her side and putting it against her throat, pricking the skin. “Take it easy, mujer bonita,” the Mexican growled in her ear. “We will not kill you yet. We will wait and do it in front of your husband. But first we will have a good time with you, no? Now, you take us to Jake, or maybe I will change my mind and kill you now. I can push my knife a little deeper next time and maybe go all the way into your kidney. It will take you a while to die, and it will be very painful, but I assure you, you will die!”
“Hey, what’s going on here?” Miranda could not see the man who had spoken the words. She only felt Juan whirl, heard a chopping sound and a grunt. More people screamed and ran, and Juan held a bloody knife before her eyes. Had he just killed some innocent man who had tried to help her?
“We would have waited for the shooting contest, honey,” the blue-eyed man told her, “but then there would be a lot of men around with guns. We prefer to do it this way.” He patted her cheek, hard enough to make it more of a slap. “Now, just tell us where to find Jake. Maybe we can get to him before the rest of my men find him and the kid. Is that where the little boy-pup is, with his pa?”
“You’re Bill Kennedy,” she said, the words choked. She was already beginning to feel weak from loss of blood.
The man in front of her grinned. “I see Jake told you all about us. Now, where is he, sweetie?”
“He’ll kill you. You know that.”
“You let us worry about that. You just tell us where he is, and we won’t hurt the kid. But it’s got to be quick, honey. If my men find him first and I’m not there, they might act without my orders and shoot down the little pup like a bunny rabbit.”
She knew by his eyes this man would think nothing of killing a little boy. She had to get to Lloyd, even if it meant telling these men where Jake was. Jake was the only person in this whole crowd of people who might be able to help this situation, but how many of them were there? Would she see her husband gunned down today?
“Randy,” Hetta Grant cried. “What is going on? What can we do?”
“Nothing!” Miranda answered in a low voice, terrified Juan or Kennedy would hurt the woman. “Just please stay out of the way.”
Kennedy squeezed her jaw again. “Smart woman. Now, where is Jake?”
Juan kept a strong left arm around her, moving a hand to close it over her breast and wiping the blood that was on his knife onto the front of her dress, pressing the flat of it against her stomach to warn her how easily he could sink it into her. Miranda felt sick with fear and dread. “You’re fools to do this with so many people around,” she answered, her voice shaking.
Juan gave her a jerk. “Do not waste time, woman!” he growled in a chilling voice. “Your son’s life is at stake!”
Lloyd! “He’s over at the stands…where they’re holding the horse auction,” she told them.
Kennedy grinned. “Let’s go!”
They hurried off, forcing Miranda to go with them. Shock and pain and loss of blood left her weak, and Juan had to half drag her to keep up. She sensed there were a couple more men following. All around them people scattered and women screamed. Miranda could feel blood trickling down her right leg under her dress. She walked as fast as she could to keep her feet ahead of Juan’s, but it was impossible, and his boots kept kicking into her ankles. When she would start to fall, he would hoist her up again, making sure to keep a hand over her breast.