A Bullet Away from Freedom (Preview)

Prologue

Huntington, Texas 1880

The autumn sun was setting in the west, creating the most amazing colors in the sky, a good hour before it would set. Twenty-five-year-old Molly Stone sat on the veranda of her large home in east Texas, sipping a glass of wine and wishing her life was different. She’d been so in love five years ago. Where had that love gone?

Molly grunted, a habit her husband, Garrett, hated. She couldn’t help it though. It expressed how she was feeling so perfectly. Shifting on the cushion that protected her from the hard white iron chair she was sitting on, she leaned on the table next to her and pulled the cushion so it was center on the seat.

Molly was a small woman, just a little over five-foot-two. When she was young, her mother had told her she would not have a good body for having babies. At first she’d wanted them with Garrett. Now she was glad she had never fallen with child. Her chestnut hair fell in waves when she let it free but typically it was in a braid.

Her mother had also told her the unique combination of her light brown eyes and chestnut hair would draw the attention of many men. She would need to be cautious in her decisions.

She thought about her mother’s warning as she rested her body down gently when the cushion was in the right place. She had to be careful. The strap from her husband’s belt had left several welts on the back of her right thigh. It had been a few days since she’d received them, so they would be healed in a day or two. She’d thought she’d made a good choice with Garrett. He was a distinguished gentleman, a man of wealth and power along with his family.

Garrett wasn’t home. It was peaceful in the house. They had a couple servants but they typically left Molly alone. She saw the looks they gave her. They thought she was pitiful. Pathetic. Even if they weren’t around when Garrett lost his temper with her, they saw the aftermath, and she knew sometimes they had to hear her screaming.

They had never interfered. On one hand, Molly understood. Garrett would have no problem dismissing anyone who said one word about the situation with his wife. The economic hardship that would cause their employees would devastate their families. She knew it was true because Garrett had allowed her to hire them.

Thinking back on it now, Molly didn’t know why he did that. He let her interview the candidates, form a small bond with them, get to know them a little, and they her. But when she gave him a list of her choices and he hired them, he’d instructed them not to have anything to do with her.

Several of her choices tried to talk to her anyway but were eventually seen by Garrett and abruptly dismissed. Then he would choose the next person on the list if they were available.

It wasn’t just the servants who had let Molly down in that regard. Most of Garrett’s friends knew how he treated his wife. She had heard them joking about it during their poker games in the billiards room where there were also card tables, dart boards and a small stage for charades and other physical games.

Not all of his friends were nonchalant. But most of them were and none of them did anything with their knowledge. She would never understand how he had such power. It certainly didn’t seem fair.

She took a sip of her drink and set the glass back on the table, leaving her hand wrapped around it as she stared out over the horizon. She’d met Garrett while traveling on a train. He’d had enough money to woo her even though he lived in Texas and, at the time, she lived a nomadic life, with a home in Oklahoma she stayed in half the year, and her aunt and uncle’s house in New Orleans. How he had fooled her with his charm and distinguished behavior!

The minutes crept past. The wind rustled through the leaves of the trees she was looking over. The veranda was two stories up, allowing her to see past them to the Texas plain beyond and the mountain the sun would eventually hide behind.

Molly turned her wrist and looked at her watch. It was almost seven. She had another forty minutes or so before it would be dark.

The Stone Valley Ranch where she lived with her husband covered over seventy-five acres of land. Garrett had many employees, several herds of cattle, horses to groom, sell, and board, and farmland adjacent to the ranch where Molly lived.

There were people constantly coming and going, walking all around the property. Garrett changed employees fairly often—often enough for Molly to wonder where he was finding them all.

They lived in a large town called Huntington in the southeastern part of Texas. As big as the town was, if he kept going through them at that rate, he would eventually run out and have to start rehiring men he’d used before.

Molly sighed, turning up her glass and drinking the last of her lemonade. She pushed off the chair, ignoring the sharp pain from her wounded skin to walk into the house. She wore a long flowing robe made with incredibly soft fabric. It was the only thing she could wear when her body had been beaten and was bruised in many places. Her face and neck were fine. Garrett made sure not to leave marks where they could easily be seen.

When she entered the kitchen, the cook, Emily, turned abruptly to her. Fear crossed her face for a moment and her eyes flicked to the door as it swung shut behind Molly.

“He isn’t here right now,” she told the cook. “I would like some coffee. Do you have some made?”

Emily’s eyes softened. She nodded and turned to the stove behind her, taking the coffee pot off the burner while at the same time reaching up to get a cup from where a dozen hung underneath the cupboard over the counter.

She poured a cup and handed it to Molly.

“Do you want milk in it?” she asked. “You like milk, don’t you?”

Molly nodded, pleased that Emily was speaking to her. “I do. Thank you.”

“Let me get it for you.”

Emily went to the icebox and took out a glass jar filled with milk. She brought it over and poured a small amount into Molly’s cup. She was very careful with it and replaced the lid, putting it back in the icebox.

“Thank you,” Molly said softly, stirring the milk in with the small spoon Emily had given her with the cup.

As Emily was turning away from the icebox, she said, “You’re welcome, Mrs. Stone.”

Emily stood up straight. Molly saw her eyes flicker to one side as her face paled. Molly turned around to see Garrett standing at the door.

His jaw was set and his gray eyes were narrow. Gone were the days Molly had considered him handsome. He was twice her age but had wooed her with charm and gifts. It took her too long to realize he only married her to try to have an heir to his fortune. She hadn’t given him an heir. She could only thank God for that.

“Emily, you may leave. I will send you your pay for today and yesterday. Please do not return.”

Molly stared at her husband, her lips pinched. She could hear Emily becoming distraught behind her. Slamming the cup down on the table hard, she glared at Garrett and strode past him, refusing to look at him again. She was done with this. It was time to make a plan.

Chapter One

Exactly one month later, Molly found the opportunity to put her plan into action. She had made another mistake that set her husband off. To her it was just something that might happen.

After Garrett dismissed Emily, he decided not to hire another cook. Instead, she would be making his meals. And if she got anything wrong, there would be what he called a ‘problem’ and what she called a ‘beating.’

She would have left sooner but she had to secure a train ticket that was open, so she could use it whenever she needed to.

She’d kept up to date on the schedule for the trains. She was waiting for one to take her to Louisiana. It was essential that it make a stop there, though she hoped the train continued on so no one would know where she was getting off. As far as she knew, Garrett was the only one who knew about her relatives in Louisiana. She wouldn’t go back to Oklahoma. Everyone knew about her ties there.

Molly pushed herself off the floor but Garrett brought his foot down on her back and made her fall flat again. She avoided smashing her face on the kitchen floor.

“Get your foot off me, Garrett,” she said defiantly. It was only in the last six months she’d started fighting back. She’d been unable to at first but as time went on, instead of becoming weaker and mousier, Molly had gained strength and resilience. She was just biding her time. She had a bag packed, waiting for her to make her move.

Molly knew this day was the day she would leave, even before Garrett threw his tantrum because she’d served him pork sausages instead of beef. She hadn’t done it on purpose. He hadn’t told her he wanted beef specifically and she knew he liked both.

Something had probably happened out on the ranch or in a business meeting that had set him in a bad mood. He took his bad moods out on her.

“Get your foot off me, I said,” Molly spat out, forcing her body up, turning to the side so his foot slid off her back and onto the floor. She sprang to her feet, albeit in a protective stance, ready for him to come at her again. Which he did.

She darted around the prep table, dodging his hands when he leapt toward her. He followed her around the table, screaming obscenities at her.

She had spent a long time not fighting back and instead pleading for him to stop hurting her. Now that she was standing up for herself, he had tied himself up in knots. His words were slurred and didn’t make any sense. Not because he was drunk but because he was furious and had lost control of himself.

She sneered at him. “I’m not afraid of you anymore, Garrett. You’ve hurt me too much. I’m leaving you. You hear me and listen to my words: I’m leaving you!”

Molly tried to dart toward the door but he blocked her path by jumping higher and further than she thought the old man was capable of. He was very agile for fifty. He was a rather young fifty anyway, probably because he’d been coddled all through his life, afforded luxuries because of his family wealth. He’d never really worked hard, though she had to admit he did a fair share of the physical labor around his ranch.

The thin gray hair on his head lifted in the breeze he created by moving so fast. She stared at his young-looking face, remembering how she’d thought while they were courting how well he had kept his youthful looks.

Now, in the midst of their angry argument, she didn’t see that youth anymore. He was a monster with wrinkles all over his face, bags under his eyes, evil emanating from him like a beacon. Looking at him now made Molly shiver. How could I have been so deceived?

“Get out of my way, Garrett,” she hissed boldly.

Instead, he took a few steps forward in her direction. She didn’t want him that close to her but didn’t like backing away either. It was a sign of submission.

Unable to resist the urge, she stepped back and kept going until she was pressed against the sink.

“You think you’re a clever girl, don’t you, Molly? You think I don’t know what you’re up to? You think I’m stupid?”

Molly wasn’t sure exactly how much Garrett knew, or if he was even talking about her plan to escape from him.

She screwed up her face. “What are you talking about? Get away from me. Don’t touch me.”

Her heart slammed in her chest, blood running cold when he chuckled wickedly and touched her with two fingers on her breastbone. He made a trail with his fingers up her neck, over her chin and to her lips, which he tapped with those fingers.

“Your mouth gets you in a lot of trouble, Molly. You should learn to keep it shut.”

Before she could say anything, he suddenly slapped her across the face. Pain split through her mind. Had he broken her jaw? Knocked out any teeth? Split her lip?

She instinctively gritted her teeth, which answered the first two questions for her. She didn’t taste blood so likely the third question was also negative.

She looked at him again, glaring with pure hatred. She had to get out of this situation, had to leave today. The train to Florida would be leaving tonight. Molly planned to be on it. Come Hell or High water. “You think you’re leaving?” Garrett asked menacingly. “You’re right. You are leaving.”

Molly didn’t like the sound of that. Garrett didn’t mean it the way she meant it. That became clear when his hands snaked up to her throat and she felt him applying pressure. He was going to choke her to death—he was trying to strangle her.

Fear and desperation clouded her mind. She slapped the counter next to her as the air in her lungs began to dissipate. The pain of his hands around her neck was dulled by the fear slicing her to pieces. Without thinking, she yanked open the drawer at her hand and felt inside for a large knife. There had to be one in there. She knew there had to be.

Her hand found the knife she wanted. Molly closed her fingers around the blade.

In one swift motion, she lifted it out of the drawer, drew back as far as she could and plunged it into his chest. It was awkward with his big arm in the way. But the moment it went in, Garrett released her and screamed. Blood flowed down his shirt, turning it crimson. He looked down at it, stunned.

The knife wasn’t in all the way, so Molly put her weight against the handle and drove it in until the handle met his skin. He fell to the ground.

Molly ran for her bag. It was time to leave.

Chapter Two

Marquez, a big intimidating man of Mexican descent with long brown hair to his shoulders and intelligent but menacing dark eyes, followed his charge out into the street. It was probably wrong to call Jeremiah Stone his ‘charge’ but that was the best way he could think of to describe it. His job was to make sure Jeremiah didn’t do anything to ruin the family reputation.

It was an impossible job. Jeremiah was a drunk, lazy man and not the most intelligent of the Stone family. His salt and pepper hair was constantly a mess. He was a forty-five-year-old in his teens. Not one to care much about his health, Jeremiah was heavyset. Marquez always knew when he was blind drunk because when was, the big red birthmark on his right cheek stood out from his pale skin more than usual.

Jeremiah was a depressed and lonely fellow who seemed destined to mess everything up wherever he went. Marquez had seen him shoot a man dead because he’d had a bad day and wanted to take it out on someone.

Jeremiah Stone is a violent lunatic.

But Marquez was paid a great deal of money to take care of Jeremiah, so that’s just what he was doing. Despite the fact it had set his face in a permanent frown.

Jeremiah stumbled out into the street, and Marquez followed him. Three prostitutes, their faces heavily painted like they were going on stage to perform, were heading for them, probably just crossing the street to get to the brothel, which was very near the saloon for the obvious reasons. Marquez knew the women were going to notice Jeremiah. If they didn’t, he would make sure they did.

He didn’t try to stop his charge when the heavy-set man threw his towel in the ring. He just waited while Jeremiah made a fool of himself. If he tried to physically attack any of the three women, Marquez would intervene. Otherwise, he would let the women deal with the drunk.

“Hellooooo, ladddiiieesss,” Jeremiah said, drawing out the words. He snatched his hat from his head and gave a wobbling bow to them as they continued walking. Two of them gave Jeremiah skeptical looks, while the third covered her grin with slender fingers.

“Get on outta here, you drunk!” One of the unhappy women responded, flicking her hand at Jeremiah.

He stood up straight, plopping his hat on his head and grinning wide at them. “You know who I am.  You know I got money. Who’s gonna give this old ham a good time?”

Marquez was amused by the looks of horror that came to the women’s faces. His face remained neutral, however. He rarely showed emotion unless he needed to. So far, he rarely found that need.

“I know you ladies like the money,” Jeremiah persisted when the women didn’t stop walking. He stepped in their way, forcing them to halt where they were. They stared at him. One of them turned her eyes to Marquez but only briefly. Seeing he wasn’t going to help or interfere, she apparently felt free to speak truth to Jeremiah Stone, a member of one of the wealthiest families in Southeast Texas.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a coward and lowlife drunk, Jeremiah Stone. We don’t want nothin’ to do with you. Get out of our way.”

“You sure about that?” he asked, sloppy grin still plastered on his face.

“Yeah, we’re sure,” another woman replied. “Get out of the way!”

Jeremiah studied the women for a minute before stepping aside so they could continue to the other side of the street. As they passed, he put out one foot and tripped the lady passing closest to him.

Marquez saw what was happening before it happened and was there to catch her when she stumbled, putting out one arm, which she grabbed hold of. She gave him a grateful look before sneering at Jeremiah.

“You are a hateful man!” she spat out, righting herself and hurrying to catch up to her friends, who hadn’t stopped. They turned to see what was happening just in time to greet her with arms that pulled her along, away from the vile drunk in the middle of the street.

“Come on, Jeremiah. Let’s go to the cafe. You can get some coffee and sober up.”

“Don’t wanna sober up,” he responded. “Don’t like life, so I gotta be drunk.”

Marquez didn’t know how to respond to that. He shook his head, grabbing Jeremiah by the shoulder and steering him to the covered walkway. “Come on,” he repeated.

“Why you gotta spoil my fun?” His charge mumbled, looking funny being pushed to walk faster and taking small steps so he didn’t trip up. He reached out and caught the pole holding up the roof of the walkway and pulled himself to it. Marquez pinched his lips together.

This man is so frustrating.

“Why we gotta go to the deli?” Jeremiah asked. “Why not just go back to Crook’s Crossing?”

Marquez cringed at the name of the saloon, and shook his head. “Because coffee ain’t what you’re gonna drink if we go back there. You need to sober up. You don’t want Garrett seeing you like this—he’ll be furious. You two have some important meetings today and he’s gonna want you sober enough to understand what’s going on.”

Jeremiah spat into the dirt. “I never understand what’s goin’ on! I don’t wanna be in no meetings.” He took off his hat and ran a hand over his damp, sweaty hair. “It’s hot for this time of the mornin’, ain’t it?”

Marquez grunted in answer. It wasn’t hot. He was just drunk. He stood still, watching Jeremiah slouch against the pole and close his eyes.

“You ain’t sleepin’ right here on your feet, Jeremiah,” Marquez barked in a voice loud enough to wake up his charge. “Come on, I’m takin’ you home. We’re just gonna take a chance that your brother don’t see you.”

Jeremiah chuckled, slapping one hand down on Marquez’ shoulder. He could only do that because he was at the top of the three steps and Marquez was still on the ground. The bodyguard was several inches taller than him; Jeremiah was thicker in the gut with less muscle, but shorter at 5’11.

Marquez didn’t find Jeremiah in the least intimidating.

“Ol’ Garrett ain’t gonna see me. He’s with that little wife of his, probably givin’ her the belt for talkin’ back.” He laughed uproariously while Marquez felt sick to his stomach. He’d been sorry for Molly from the very beginning but wasn’t hired to protect her. He was hired to protect her abuser and the rest of the Stone family.

Someday he would get his revenge on these people. The wastrels of life had no real meaning in the scheme of things, whether they were wealthy or not. Jeremiah had all the money, power and notoriety he wanted and this was how he chose to spend it—because he “didn’t like life”. Marquez would have been glad to switch places.

“I’m just gonna sit here for a minute,” Jeremiah stated, dropping to the top step and leaning against the pole of the railing. “You sit, too. Or go shopping. Do something…but stop standing there staring at me.”

Marquez averted his eyes. In the distance, he could hear the train horn blast. He wondered if it was coming or going.

Chapter Three

Over and over and over, the memory played in her mind as Molly rode her horse at the fastest gallop the animal could do. She heard the train whistle. That meant her train was there. It was early. Would it leave early, too?

She’d seen the knife go in, the stunned look in his eyes, she could still see it. It replayed in her mind, torturing her. She had killed him, taken the life of another person.

Molly couldn’t resist when the tears stung her eyes and nose. She sobbed, her shoulders jerking, still holding her head up, looking where they were going, unwilling to give up. She was sapping all her strength in those moments. When would she be able to rest or sleep ever again? There would be nightmare after nightmare, she knew it already.

Molly had never felt so dirty in her life. She had killed Garrett. Had it been justified?

He was trying to kill me, after all, wasn’t he?

Regardless, she was now a murderer. She had ended a human life. God would never forgive her. She would never forgive herself.

If only I’d known he wanted beef sausages. He would have gone to his saloon and drank with his brother and Marquez and the rest of them and I would have been able to go to the train station in peace. He would never know what happened to me. I would have simply vanished.

But that plan hadn’t worked the way she wanted. Garrett had messed up her plans completely.

And now he was dead.

Tears streaked from her eyes, pooling up in her ears and making her hair wet. It wasn’t like her—she wasn’t violent. She was a calm, friendly, nice person.

Her thoughts made it impossible for her not to bawl. She didn’t care about her red face and eyes. Let the people see it. They probably all knew what Garrett was really like and never lifted a finger to help her. Not one! She couldn’t wait to get away from Huntington. She would never come back. Never.

Molly reached town and would have to go down the main road, and then take a right to get to the train station. It wasn’t until she got in town that she regretted not trying to disguise herself somehow. Everyone knew her. They knew she was married to Garrett. If she went through town like a bat out of Hell with the destination of the train station, everyone would know something was up.

She had to be quick, though. She didn’t want to miss the train. That would completely ruin her chances of escape. It was now a life or death situation.

Molly passed the saloon, relieved that no one was lingering outside. Unfortunately, she spotted Jeremiah and Marquez, Garrett’s brother and the younger brother’s bodyguard, sitting on the steps outside the dress shop. It confused her for a split second. Why were they in front of a dress shop? She was riding fast and passed them by, but her eyes met Marquez’, who jumped to his feet when he saw her.

Renewed fear struck her in the heart. Marquez also knew how Garrett was. Would he follow her and force her to go back to the ranch with him? Was he loyal to Garrett that much?

The truth was, she didn’t know the answer to that question.

She turned off on the side road, looking back toward the dress shop she’d passed. She was disheartened to see both Marquez and Jeremiah were running after her. They were on foot but they would have no trouble getting to the train station on their own power. They’d just get there after her.

She urged her horse to go faster. She just needed to get on the train. She’d be able to stay away from them if she could just get on the train. Neither of them would have tickets and they wouldn’t be let on without one. She had one already. She didn’t have to stop to buy one.

Molly continued to think encouraging things until she got to the buggy lot of the station. She didn’t tie up her horse. She wasn’t going to see him again. He would likely find his way home.

She slid out of the saddle, quickly untied her sack from the back end and grabbed her skirt, lifting it so she wouldn’t trip, then ran with all her might to the end of the building, so she could go around to the platform where the train was.

She could see it. It wasn’t moving. There were voices: people were still getting on and off, lingering on the platform and in the station lobby.

Molly looked for a way to mingle in, hide herself in the crowd but it would be too sparse. She glanced back one more time and saw Marquez was very close to the station, closer than she would have expected. Jeremiah was back in the distance. He wasn’t equipped to run like a deer, while his bodyguard apparently was.

She took off across the platform, heading for the cars away from the train engine, which she always thought was so loud; loud enough to give her a headache.

She stopped at the car she wanted to board, which was almost to the back of the train, hurriedly showing her ticket to the attendant. He took it from her, ripped off a stub from the end and handed it back.

“Have a good trip, Miss,” the attendant said, nodding and smiling at her.

Molly wondered if her previous weeping showed on her face. The attendant wasn’t acting like it. She figured she must look quite a mess.

“Where is the washroom?” she asked.

“We have one room for men and one for women, Miss. In the second to last car. That way.”

He pointed. Molly nodded and thanked him.

Once she was on the train, she knew she was safe. Her heartbeat slowed down a bit as she moved down the aisle, sack slung over her shoulder in a casual way, contrasting sharply against the bloody dress she was wearing and the state of her appearance.

She hadn’t noticed there was blood on the front of her shirt until she got to the washroom, where a mirror showed her exactly what it looked like. She stared in awe, wondering why the attendant had seemed so happy. Her hair was a mess, many strands straying from the braid, her face was indeed red on her cheeks, her chin and a bright spot in the middle of her pale forehead. Her hazel eyes stared back at her, still wet with tears, though none were falling down her cheeks.

The front of her dress was definitely bloody. She wouldn’t be able to change in the washroom, there wasn’t enough room. She pulled a shawl from her sack and pinned it in front of her so it would hide the bloodstains.

A flash of Garrett’s face filled her mind, his eyes wide, his mouth opening with nothing coming out, the blood gushing down his shirt…

New tears came to her eyes. Molly forced them down, pulled in a deep breath and left the washroom, hoping she’d been in there long enough for Marquez not to see her.

She chose a bench seat facing the front of the train. An old woman was knitting in front of her on the bench opposite. The woman looked up, nodded and went back to her sewing.

The train began to pull away. She couldn’t help thinking how lucky she’d been to get there when she did. Molly looked out the window just in time to see an angry Marquez staring at her as the train pulled away.