Son of a Gun. Joanna Wayne

open spaces of a ranch that might not really be his legacy at all.

      Chapter Two

      The truck jerked to a stop. Bodies squirmed and stretched. Belle balled her tiny hands into fists and swung them in the air as if she sensed the excitement growing around her.

       The back doors squeaked open and a welcoming burst of fresh but frigid air filled Emma’s lungs. The darkness of night had set in completely since their last stop. She cuddled Belle closer inside the folds of her rebozo.

      “El fin de la línea,” Julio called.

       The end of the line. They’d made it safely.

       An elderly man near the door stuck his head out and then frowned. “No Dallas.”

       “Esto es Dallas, anciano,” Julio insisted.

       But they were clearly not in the city. Others began to voice their fears.

       “Estamos en Dallas?”

      “Espero que no sea probemas.”

      “Tonto,” Julio quipped. “If I let you out in the middle of town, you’d be arrested in minutes. You can see the highway from here,” he shouted over their complaints. “Catch a ride into town or walk. You’ll be in the outskirts of Dallas in less than a mile.”

       Emma didn’t complain. If he was telling the truth, she could make that even carrying Belle. As soon as she came to a convenience store, she’d call for a cab and have it take her to the nearest cheap motel.

       The grumbling and curses continued, making it clear that the occupants didn’t trust Julio. Not that they could do anything about it.

       Emma placed Belle on her lap while she gathered her rebozo and wound it around her as she’d seen other mothers do, knotting it into a sling so that it would keep Belle cuddled against her chest and leave both hands free as she climbed from the trailer.

       The woman who’d befriended her and fed Belle pushed a plastic bag holding a pacifier into Emma’s hand. “This one is sterile. To comfort the infant until you find milk.”

      “Gracias.” Emma slipped the wrapped pacifier into the deep layered folds of her wrap and reached for the paper bag that held her new purchases.

       Julio grabbed Emma’s arm when she reached the door and yanked her back into the trailer. “You stay.”

       Her stomach rolled. Not this. Not again. “The baby,” she whispered, as if that would make a difference to this beast.

       He shoved her against the wall. “Do as I say or you won’t be getting out of here alive.”

       One of the men looked back, shame in his eyes that he didn’t have the strength or the courage to stand up for her. She avoided meeting his gaze, not wanting him to get shot on her account.

       Dread ebbed through her veins. Would she never be free?

       Once the trailer was empty except for her and Belle, Julio shoved her against the wall and slammed the double doors shut. A few minutes later, they were bouncing along again, litter left by the former occupants rolling and scratching along the floor.

       Emma’s body was jerked around like a marionette, and she struggled to make certain it was just her shoulders and elbows that banged into the side of the trailer and not Belle’s head.

       Belle began to cry and Emma offered her the pacifier. The baby continued to wail, fighting the nipple. Eventually she locked her lips around it and stopped fretting.

       Emma fought the growing panic as the truck rumbled along. The thought of rape made her violently ill. But how could she fight him off? Julio was twice her size and carrying a weapon.

       Had she escaped ten months of captivity only to be raped and killed by some half-drunk thug on a deserted road? And if she was, what would happen to Belle?

       The answer to that was too heartbreaking to consider. Emma would have to find a way to save them.

       Unfortunately, no miraculous ideas came to mind.

       Belle was sleeping when the truck bolted and then jerked to a stop. Emma’s heart jumped to her throat when the doors clanked and rattled open. She jumped up as Julio climbed inside, the illumination from his flashlight in the confines of the trailer casting a demonlike glow about his face.

       An owl hooted in the distance. The wind whistled through the tops of trees. But there were no highway sounds. No lights behind him. No sign of anyone to hear if she screamed for help.

       Julio moved toward her, the smell of whiskey strong on his fetid breath. “Put the baby on the floor,” he demanded, “and then lie down on your back.”

       “You don’t want to do this,” she said.

       “Sure I do, mujerzuela.”

       She shook her head at the cruel taunt. “I’m not a slut. Please, I’m a mother. Let me be. I paid my money.”

       “I’ll let you be when I’m done with you. Do as I say and I won’t hurt you or the baby. Cause trouble and you both die here. Now, put the baby down and spread your legs.”

       It was foolish to try to fight him. It would get her hurt or killed. Then the monster Caudillo would have won without even being here.

       She was still standing when Julio put his hand beneath her skirt and trailed his hand along her thigh, inching closer to her intimate areas. Emma’s insides rebelled and her instincts took over. Her knee flew up and caught him in the crotch. He yelped and staggered backward. She swung at him and her fingernails dug into the flesh below his left eye, leaving two bloody trails.

       He muttered curses and recovered his balance, slapping her so hard her brain seemed to rattle in her skull. Belle began to wail. If Emma didn’t stop now, the baby would surely get hurt.

       She was about to give in when she spotted the sharp blade of a knife he grasped with his right hand.

       “Please, no. The baby needs me.”

       He spit in her direction, the spittle falling short and landing near her feet. “Should I cut your pretty throat or just shred your face so that you never tempt another man again?”

       “Please. Mercy. Please.”

       He dabbed at the blood on his face with the dirty cuff of his sleeve and then swung at her. The knife slashed her left arm a few inches above the elbow, barely missing Belle.

       Julio swung again, but this time he missed completely and lost his balance when the blade connected with nothing but air.

       Bracing herself with her left arm against the side of the trailer, she got in a quick kick that struck him in the back of the knee. He fell facedown onto the hard, filthy floor.

       Emma scurried to jump out the back door. Expecting to hear Julio’s footsteps behind her or the sound of a gunshot, she didn’t look back until she reached the cover of trees and brush at the side of the narrow dirt road where they were parked. To her amazement, there was no sign of Julio.

       She shuddered at the icy sting of the wind in her face and the feel of warm blood running down her arm. Working quickly, she tightened the rebozo around the wound, hoping the pressure would slow the bleeding.

       Belle started to cry. Emma fought back her own tears of fear and frustration. She had had no idea which way she should go, but she stumbled ahead, vaguely aware of the snowflakes sifting through the canopy of pine needles and melting against her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around Belle and held her close in a futile effort to keep her warm.

       Finally, she stepped into a clearing and spied a stretch of barbed-wire fencing. Relief pumped a reviving surge of adrenaline though her veins. If there was a fence, civilization couldn’t be that far away. Her pace quickened with her pulse.

       Careful not to let the barbs touch Belle’s tender skin, Emma stretched the top wire so that