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  Titles by David R Lewis

  Nosferati Series (2)

  BLOODTRAIL

  BLOODLINE

  Crockett Series (8)

  FEAR OF THE FATHER

  GRAVE PROMISE

  SITUATIONAL FLEXIBILITY

  ABDUCTED

  Trail Series (6)

  DEER RUN TRAIL

  NODAWAY TRAIL

  CALICO TRAIL

  PAYBACK TRAIL

  OGALLALA TRAIL

  KILLDEER TRAIL

  Stand Alones:

  COWBOYS AND INDIANS

  ONCE UPON AGAIN

  INCIDENTS AMONG THE SAVAGES

  ENDLESS JOURNEY (nonfiction)

  Sneak Peek of Book #5 of the Crockett series, WITNESS REJECTION by David R Lewis!

  Read the prologue and first 2 chapters of WITNESS REJECTION (Woman on the Run) at the end of this book.

  ABDUCTED

  (Ruby in Chains)

  By David R. Lewis

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2015 David R Lewis

  Ironbear LLC

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally; and any resemblance to people, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  All Rights Reserved

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. No portion of this book may be reproduced without the consent of the author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For my friend and editor,

  the Magnificent Ulva.

  Long may she rave.

  PROLOGUE

  Boog Jeter’s real name wasn’t Boog. His real name was Jerome Jeffery Jeter, but Boog would have had to stop and think it over for a minute before he could have told you that. The youngest of the three Jeter boys, when he was a baby his momma took to calling him “A cute little booger,” and the name, as boogers often do, stuck. Jerome Jeffery became Boog, never realizing he was named after something most folks try to dispose of.

  Boog Jeter had two brothers, but he never met the oldest one. Junior died before Boog was even born. Boog would have told you that Junior got hisself kilt in a airplane for the Army. His momma told Boog how it happened a bunch of times, but he never could remember for sure. There were a lot of things that Boog couldn’t remember for sure. His other brother, Harold Lee, was the smart one in the family. Most folks called Harold Lee “Snake” ‘cause one time, after Harold Lee busted out four a Darell Henry’s teeth with a foldin’ chair in the school lunch room ‘cause Darell swiped his banana, Daddy had said that Harold Lee was as mean as a snake. But Boog never cottoned to the nickname. Harold Lee even went to Junior College up in West Plains for a spell before Daddy died in that wreck runnin’ shine south of Hardy and he had to come back home.

  While Harold Lee had most of the brains, Boog was not without value. He’d never been accused of bein’ terrible smart, but he was loyal. When Boog was just a young’un, he’d overheard Fred Keeler say somethin’ bad about his daddy. His momma caught seven-year-old Boog headin’ down the lane draggin’ a eight-pound post maul, on the way to Keeler’s place, fixin’ to settle the score. Boog heard his momma tell another lady the story a couple of years later, and took notice. “That Boog,” she said. “He ain’t the sharpest axe in the shed, but, by God, he’s right loyal.” That offhand remark stuck with Boog. Loyal was good. From then on, he worked at bein’ loyal.

  Boog was especially loyal to Harold Lee. Harold Lee was some older than Boog and kindly took his Daddy’s place after Daddy died in that wreck south of Hardy, but Harold Lee was gone too, now. He wasn’t dead or anything like that. Harold Lee was in the pen ‘cause of killin’ his wife. He met her when she was workin’ in the Half Moon Bar north of West Plains on 62 when he was goin’ to the Junior College up that way. Even after Harold Lee come home ‘cause Daddy died, he’d still go back up there ever now and then and stay for a spell, to visit with her. After a year or two, Boog never could remember just how long, Harold Lee and her up and got married, and he moved off.

  Boog met her once. She was a little thing, all blond hair and teeth, and she wouldn’t move down to their neck of the woods, not even to Hardy, which was a big town. Said she wouldn’t live in Arkansas for no reason. She’d spent most a her life tryin’ to get outa Arkansas, and she wasn’t takin’ no steps backwards. So Harold had took off and moved to West Plains.

  Thinkin’ about her sometimes made Boog wish he had a woman of his own. He’d had a woman, a course. Ever now an then he’d go over to old man Easley’s place and trade him a gallon of shine for a turn at his daughter Nola, but Nola wasn’t much. Even when she was just settin’ still all by herself, she couldn’t keep her eyes from rollin’ around in her head, and she was so gawddam dumb she wouldn’t even wipe the spit offa her lip. Then the county got word about old man Easley tradin’ her out for stuff an come an’ took her away. So Boog had lost her, too. But the worst was when Boog lost Harold Lee.

  Boog never did get the whole story straight, but Harold Lee’s wife run off up north to the big city. Not just to Springfield either, by God, which was plenty big. Boog had been there once an’ it was so big it kindly took his breath now an’ then. Nossir. She run plumb off to Kansas City, which was one of the biggest places they was, Boog reckoned. After she run off, Harold Lee come home and brooded around for a while. Got as mean as his snake namesake after a spell, an’ finally headed out to go git her an’ bring her back. Ol’ Harold Lee had hisself a temper, they was no doubt about that. He durn near beat Rick Mooney to death one time over nuthin’ more than a nine dollar turkey call.

  Harold Lee found her up in Kansas City an’ tried to bring her back, but she wouldn’t come. Plumb got to faunchin’ at him. Called the laws an’ they run him off a time or two, but once Harold Lee got something stuck in his head, they wasn’t much could shake it loose. For a long time, mor’n a year maybe, Harold Lee went back and forth to Kansas City ever so often, but he never come back with her. Then they was one time when he never come back at all. They’d put him in jail for killin’ her. Boog and Momma went to Kansas City for the trial, an’ Boog was near sick a lot of the time from how big and crowded everthing was.

  Boog an’ Momma was settin’ in that trial room in the courthouse when that Black-haired woman in them high-heel shoes, a head doctor a some kind, set up there an’ told the judge an’ them about how Harold Lee’s wife had come to her for a spell, tellin’ her how bad Harold Lee treated her, an’ how she was afraid of him, an’ how he’d threatened to kill her, an’ a bunch a other shit that wadden none a her gawddam bidness! Them folks in that jury box believed her an’ found ol’ Harold Lee guilty a some kinda murder, an’ sent him to the pen for twenny-five years, all because a that black-haired woman doctor in them high-heel shoes. So Boog lost Harold Lee, too.

  When it all got over, even Boog’s Momma took off. Went back to someplace in Tennessee or Kentucky, Boog never could remember which, called Pigeon Forge. It was where she come from, Momma said, an’ it was where she was goin’ back to. She didn’t even ask Boog to go along. Just throwed some stuff in a couple of plastic bags, flagged down a Greyhound, and took off. So Boog had lost Junior, then Daddy, then Nola, then Harold, then Momma. A little while after that, he lost the house, too.

  Keeping a job of work was always tough for Boog. Not that he wasn�
�t a hard worker, he was. Oh, he’d pick up some summer stuff on the weekends at Thousand Island Camp, loadin’ canoes for all them college kids and Northerners wantin’ to float the Spring River. Sometimes he’d wash dishes at one of the truck stops, work a sawmill, or pick up other labor for half of minimum wage in cash, no records kept, no questions asked. Boog never bothered with anything like a Social Security Card, or a driver’s license either, for that matter. And it was just as well. It seemed like there was always somethin’ he couldn’t remember to do, or stuff he’d just plumb forget how to do. Most folks wouldn’t hire him or keep him on the job for very long. So when the house went he moved back out near Coulter Creek, about two miles down from where it dumped into the Spring River, south of Saddler Falls, five or six miles downstream from Dam Four, south of Mammoth Spring. That’s where Daddy had his old still, up against that limestone bluff that had all them caves hid behind all them cedar trees.

  Boog had been laid up there for a spell, workin’ odd jobs now and then to git money for food an’ such, when it come to him that things woulda been pretty okay if that black-haired woman doctor in them high-heel shoes hadda kept her nose outa everbody else’s bidness. As time went on and Boog studied on it some, the whole truth come creepin’ into his head. If it hadn’t a been for her, his brother an’ Daddy would still be around, the county woulda left Nola where she was, Harold Lee wouldn’t be in the jailhouse, an’ Momma wouldn’t a run off. The whole damn thing was her fault.

  He looked through a bunch of newspaper cutouts Momma left, an’ found a picture a that Black-Haired woman doctor in them high-heel shoes. Boog didn’t read too good, but he knew his letters just like Momma taught him, and he had plenty of time to figure out enough to make out her name an’ stuff. Ruby LaCost. This whole damn mess was ‘cause a her. He was gonna have to do something about it. Kansas City scared him to death, but this was for the sake of his family. If everthing was gonna git back to the way it was, it was up to him. He had to set things right with that Black-Haired woman doctor in them high-heel shoes.

  Boog might not have been the sharpest axe in the shed but, by God, he was loyal.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ivolee Minerva Cabot sat in her chaise lounge and looked out the south wall of the atrium. Heavy overcast loomed to the horizon, the view distorted by a half-hearted early September shower drizzling down the expanse of glass. In addition to the weather being hot and humid, the fickle lake effect had conspired to also make the day depressing. On the table beside Ivy sat a mostly empty box of Sherman MCD cigarettes. Although she did not smoke, Ivy kept the box beside her chair and touched it from time to time. David Crockett had forgotten it when he left. For the past six weeks, that brown cardboard container had been her touchstone.

  Light clatter from the kitchen caught Ivy’s attention, pulling her back from her musings. She glanced at the antique Lucien Picard that depended from a delicate platinum chain about her neck. 6:45 AM on the dot. Ivy smiled and lightly shook her head. Never more than a minute early or a moment late, Goody was at the stove, making their morning Earl Gray. Soon he would appear with the small weekday silver service and fresh scones. In the month that he had lived in his apartment on the third floor of her home, Sir Thoroughgood Henley-Wahls had made an indelible impression upon Ivy’s life. Every day deepened her affection for him. Both a trained killer and a trainer of killers, his kindness was remarkable, his love of ritual comforting, and his appreciation of life equal to her own. She heard him coming down the hall and turned her attention from the gloom of the morning to the entrance of her new friend.

  Dressed in his usual dark blue pajamas and long cranberry dressing gown, his white hair tucked carelessly behind his ears, Goody, tray on his lap, wheeled himself into the atrium. Ivy had extended the elevator to the third floor for his convenience. He seldom put his legs on until after their morning breakfast.

  “Well now, auld girl,” he said, smiling as he rolled toward Ivy. “I see that the good Lord has granted each of us another day. Isn’t that fine, then?”

  Goody studied Ivy’s face as she stirred a few drops of cream into her tea. While her graciousness had suffered no decline over the past few weeks, her mood had. It distressed him.

  “What has your brow so furrowed on this fine soft day, lass?”

  Ivy smiled at him. “Do you always ask questions for which you already know the answer?” she said.

  Goody returned her smile. “Those are the best kind,” Goody said. “My victim has less opportunity for subterfuge.”

  Ivy broke off a small piece of scone and spread on a tiny portion of blueberry jam.

  “Very well,” she said. “You have wrest it from me. Crockett.”

  “What a surprise.”

  Ivy’s chuckle wafted around the room.

  “And Ruby?” Goody said.

  “And Ruby. Those two are destined to be together.”

  “You would know that better than I.”

  Ivy shook her head. “If you could have seen the bond between them when Crockett was in his coma after the loss of his leg,” she said. “The faith and sacrifice that Ruby displayed was remarkable. And Crockett. How he overcame his terrible injuries to vanquish the killers of my niece. And then how the two of them were led, by whatever power does such a thing, to reunite a mother and daughter at the request of the spirit of a long dead grandmother and reverse three generations of mistakes.”

  “The Amazing Disappearing Woman,” Goody said. “Cletus told me the story.”

  “I am not an overly religious person,” Ivy said. “But if there has ever been an example of the hand of God moving in the world of men, well…”

  They were silent for a moment as Goody watched the elderly woman run her fingers over the Sherman cigarette box.

  “I don’t know much about those events,” Goody said, “but Crockett more than proved his mettle when I trained him and Cletus to remove young Zeke from the encampment of those white separatists.”

  “And what he and Ruby have done for one another,” Ivy said. “How they have filled the void in each other’s lives. Ruby has given Crockett purpose and direction for the first time in many years. And Crockett has shown her that a relationship with a man can be rewarding and fulfilling in ways she had never dared to dream.”

  “And now?” Goody said.

  Ivy sighed. “And now, Crockett languishes, alone and in pain, somewhere in that immense motor coach, and Ruby, I assume, has returned to her old, ah, lifestyle.”

  “Sweet Ivolee,” Goody said. “Ever so delicate.”

  “I have no prejudice against homosexuals,” Ivy said, “if they are, indeed, homosexuals. Their choices, or lack of choices, are their business. Simply because I do not appreciate or understand does not cause me to rush to judgment. Ruby, according to a conversation I had with Crockett late one night, was driven to her situation by abuse when just a child. Such a circumstance is neither a physical or emotional imperative nor a decision made from unencumbered will. Her free choice was Crockett. And now she has abandoned that choice, and that man, for reasons of her own. Primarily fear, I suspect.”

  Goody sipped his tea.

  “Those two love each other,” Ivy went on. “I have watched that love grow and blossom. I know what that love has accomplished for both of them. I believe that one of the reasons my niece died was to offer that love opportunity to bloom. It galls me to see it suffer because of ignorance and fear.”

  Goody broke off a piece of scone and reached for the butter.

  “So what do you intend to do?” he asked.

  Ivy smiled. “I hate to meddle,” she said.

  “What? You love to meddle! Had you not meddled in my life, I’d still be alone in my cabin instead of breaking my fast every morning in the company of such a winsome young lass.”

  Ivy leaned back in her chair and laughed.

  “I’ll be seventy-six this winter,” she said.

  “Aye,” Goody said, his brogue rising to the occasion. “And that w
ould make ye a decade younger than I, and I’m nobbut a sparklin’ lad, meself.”

  Ivy patted his arm, and the two of them smiled at each other for a moment before she reached for the pastry dish.

  “Now, auld girl,” Goody said. “Would ye be enjoyin’ the scones then? I made ‘em meself, y’know.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cletus Marshal, general factotum to Ivolee Minerva Cabot and through and through Texican, wandered into the atrium as Goody and Ivy finished their scones. He smiled at them.

  “Mornin’ y’all,” he said.

  “Ah, Cletus, me lad,” Goody said. “This darlin’ lass on me left was just discussin’ how she hates to meddle in the affairs of others.”

  Clete grinned. “Since when?”

  “Am I that transparent?” Ivy asked, reaching again for her tea.

  “Only to those of us who love you for meddlin’ in our lives,” Clete said. “Crocket and Ruby on your mind?”

  “Only continuously, Cletus.”

  Clete stepped to the coffee urn and poured himself a cup, then moved to sit across from Ivy, picking up a scone on the way. “Want me to find Crockett?”

  “No,” Ivy said. “While I must admit that Crockett is my primary concern in this instance, I believe that Ruby is the one who most needs our involvement. It is she that seems to be the author of this most recent drama. It is she that seems to be most emotionally displaced. You are a kind and nurturing man, Cletus. I believe she would be more responsive to you in her current confusion than anyone else.”

  “What you’re saying is that you want me to go out to Kansas City an’ see how ol’ Ruby is doin’, huh?”