The Ruination of Essie Sparks (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 2) by Barbara Ankrum Page A
Authors: Barbara Ankrum
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politician than soul-saver. And nearly everything he did, where it concerned the school, was done with his own deep pockets in mind.
Not that Laddner gave a damn about the little bastard who'd run . He did, however, admire the little rounder his resourcefulness.
He'd had taken this job a year ago after spending the last decade and a half fighting Cheyenne, Crow and Sioux. Now that they were in their proper place, locked up on reservations and on agencies, the war was over. But he found this guard work beneath him. Until this morning, he'd intended to leave this employ shortly and look for a job better suited to his particular talents. But today, his reasons for having taken this job became clear. It seemed particularly appropriate that Essie Sparks was the one who'd been taken, since she'd been a thorn in his side since day one. Sometimes, justice prevailed in a world full of injustice.
"With our limited resources, the boy is the least of our worries at the moment, Reverend."
The reverend scowled. "Make no mistake. A scandal like this could ruin this school, affect subsidies I'm paid by the BIA, Laddner. Including your salary. I want this headed off before the Bureau of Indian Affairs learns what happened here. I want that boy back before everything we've done is undone by that renegade. And I want Mrs. Sparks out of the grasp of whoever took her."
"We'll find them." He turned an unsettling look on Dooley. "But when we do, you know what must be done with regards to Mrs. Sparks."
"Done? I don't follow."
Laddner glanced grimly up the creek, then at the mountain vistas beyond. "I've spent most of the morning thinking about it. What she must be going through. A fine girl like her. Raised right. That scar-faced savage..." He shook his head and fingered the grip on his pistol. "There's no doubt that he will... defile her, as is the wont of all savages like the Cheyenne. We both know the outcome. We've seen it. You must recall that Brassler woman they brought back to the mining camp, found after a few days with those heathens who'd stolen her. And she was not even high-bred. Still," he said, letting this point sink in, "she never was right again. Not fit for human company. Screaming if a man so much as looked at her... only thing she'd tolerate was a pup who wouldn't leave her side."
"We don't know—" Dooley began, but faltered as Laddner tilted a look at him one might aim at a poor animal stuck in the ice. Dooley's frown deepened. "In that case, we must pray for her salvation and sanity."
Laddner sniffed, staring down at the water ruffling down the creek. "I think it would be... un-Christian-like to leave a woman, thusly ruined, to suffer the degradation, the humiliation that would be her fate. Puttin' her down is a mercy only we can afford her. But it's your call, sir. Considering she's got no one in the world to look out for her in her condition... except maybe you. Sir. It might fall on you."
A pregnant pause stretched between them and Laddner watched the possibilities riffle across the reverend's expression.
Dooley reddened and reached for the reins of his horse. Awkwardly, and quite reluctantly, he pulled himself back up into the saddle. "You see that renegade, whoever he is, hangs for what he's done. That's all I want to hear about when you get back."
With a smile, Laddner touched the brim of his hat to the man. "Yes, sir. I will most certainly do that."
* * *
At the river, he set her down on a rock, bracing a hand there to steady himself. He led the horse to the edge, then stooped himself to gulp a few handfuls of water. The afternoon sun had nearly settled between the mountains, but it would still be light for hours yet.
"Soak your feet in the cold water," he instructed. "We will leave again when Náhkohe has rested."
With a petulant look, she did as he asked. The river this high up was icy cold and she gasped as her feet touched it. As she soaked, he filled his water skin and offered it to her. She drank
Not that Laddner gave a damn about the little bastard who'd run . He did, however, admire the little rounder his resourcefulness.
He'd had taken this job a year ago after spending the last decade and a half fighting Cheyenne, Crow and Sioux. Now that they were in their proper place, locked up on reservations and on agencies, the war was over. But he found this guard work beneath him. Until this morning, he'd intended to leave this employ shortly and look for a job better suited to his particular talents. But today, his reasons for having taken this job became clear. It seemed particularly appropriate that Essie Sparks was the one who'd been taken, since she'd been a thorn in his side since day one. Sometimes, justice prevailed in a world full of injustice.
"With our limited resources, the boy is the least of our worries at the moment, Reverend."
The reverend scowled. "Make no mistake. A scandal like this could ruin this school, affect subsidies I'm paid by the BIA, Laddner. Including your salary. I want this headed off before the Bureau of Indian Affairs learns what happened here. I want that boy back before everything we've done is undone by that renegade. And I want Mrs. Sparks out of the grasp of whoever took her."
"We'll find them." He turned an unsettling look on Dooley. "But when we do, you know what must be done with regards to Mrs. Sparks."
"Done? I don't follow."
Laddner glanced grimly up the creek, then at the mountain vistas beyond. "I've spent most of the morning thinking about it. What she must be going through. A fine girl like her. Raised right. That scar-faced savage..." He shook his head and fingered the grip on his pistol. "There's no doubt that he will... defile her, as is the wont of all savages like the Cheyenne. We both know the outcome. We've seen it. You must recall that Brassler woman they brought back to the mining camp, found after a few days with those heathens who'd stolen her. And she was not even high-bred. Still," he said, letting this point sink in, "she never was right again. Not fit for human company. Screaming if a man so much as looked at her... only thing she'd tolerate was a pup who wouldn't leave her side."
"We don't know—" Dooley began, but faltered as Laddner tilted a look at him one might aim at a poor animal stuck in the ice. Dooley's frown deepened. "In that case, we must pray for her salvation and sanity."
Laddner sniffed, staring down at the water ruffling down the creek. "I think it would be... un-Christian-like to leave a woman, thusly ruined, to suffer the degradation, the humiliation that would be her fate. Puttin' her down is a mercy only we can afford her. But it's your call, sir. Considering she's got no one in the world to look out for her in her condition... except maybe you. Sir. It might fall on you."
A pregnant pause stretched between them and Laddner watched the possibilities riffle across the reverend's expression.
Dooley reddened and reached for the reins of his horse. Awkwardly, and quite reluctantly, he pulled himself back up into the saddle. "You see that renegade, whoever he is, hangs for what he's done. That's all I want to hear about when you get back."
With a smile, Laddner touched the brim of his hat to the man. "Yes, sir. I will most certainly do that."
* * *
At the river, he set her down on a rock, bracing a hand there to steady himself. He led the horse to the edge, then stooped himself to gulp a few handfuls of water. The afternoon sun had nearly settled between the mountains, but it would still be light for hours yet.
"Soak your feet in the cold water," he instructed. "We will leave again when Náhkohe has rested."
With a petulant look, she did as he asked. The river this high up was icy cold and she gasped as her feet touched it. As she soaked, he filled his water skin and offered it to her. She drank
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