A Fire in the Blood (12 page)

      
"You're dumber than a herd of woollybacks," she said crossly. "And everybody knows a sheep's brain cavity wouldn't make a drinking cup for a hummingbird."

      
While the calf regarded her with liquid brown eyes, she took a drink from her canteen, then soaked her handkerchief and bathed her sweaty face and neck. "Aah, that's better," she said softly.

      
"Yeah. Be even better, little lady, if'n you was to undo a few more of them buttons and let us see your teats," a raspy nasal voice said.

      
Lissa dropped the canteen and turned to where a pair of scruffy-looking drifters had stepped from behind the hawthorn.

Chapter Seven

      
"Lookee here. Mace. Some soft-hearted female come to rescue that orphaned calf," the shorter, skinny one said.

      
His tall, thickset companion licked his lips and wiped his grimy hands on equally filthy denims, a gesture of nervous habit. His watery pale eyes squinted at her. He just grinned, saying nothing as he advanced.

      
"How do you know this calf is an orphan?" Unless you killed its mother! Lissa forced herself to stand her ground in spite of their stalking. These down- at-the-heels hard cases had to be part of the bunch who had butchered the cattle.
Rob, Moss, where are you?
Maybe she could face them down if she didn't show the least sign of fear. "I'm Melissa Jacobson. My father owns J Bar Ranch. You're trespassing, and my foreman will be here to evict you any moment."

      
"E-vict? Whut's thet mean, Pike?" the big fellow said in the nasal twang of the Ozarks. His fleshy face was rent by a long scar that curved around the side of his temple down to his jaw, oddly distorting his coarse features.

      
"Seems real peculiar, you bein' here all alone," Pike said, ignoring his companion's question. "You're a real fancy piece, awright."

      
"I told you, I won't be alone long. My foreman will be riding down here any minute," she replied with more bravado than certainty.

      
The pair were closing in on her like two timber wolves. If only she had Cormac with her. The thin one put out a bony hand with blackened, broken nails and ran them over the soft fabric of her blouse, snagging the delicate silk. She jerked away, but the heavyset man had moved behind her. He seized her by both arms and pulled her against his body.

      
The smell of stale tobacco and rotted teeth blended with the acrid odor of unwashed skin. She gagged, kicking and screaming as he continued to pinion her, but it was difficult to inflict much damage kicking backward. He only laughed at her feeble efforts. Then Pike tried to grab her braid. She jerked her head back and rewarded him with a hard bite on his finger. The taste was foul. Lissa spat in disgust as he howled an oath and jerked back his hand, then raised it and struck her full across the mouth.

      
"Damn hellcat. I reckon we can break you good." He scanned the horizon, looking for her supposed rescuers. "But this here ain't the time or place. Hold her while I get a rope," he instructed Mace.

      
Lissa screamed louder and thrashed, to no avail. Pike quickly returned with a length of rope and tied her hands securely, then stuffed a filthy blue bandana in her mouth and secured it. Mace put her up on her horse and led her to where their horses were hidden in a swale behind a copse of pines. The two men mounted and rode east at a hard gallop with Mace leading the pinto.

* * * *

      
Jess had circled east, trying to pick up a trail that might give him some clue as to where the rustlers had their base camp. If only he knew the lay of this land, he might be able to figure a likely place . . .
 

      
Tate had been working J Bar for a couple years. Deciding it was time for the former stock detective to come out of retirement, he turned Blaze to the southwest. First he would ride to Cheyenne and show the picture of Argee's lady friend around. Maybe Cammie could help. A slow smile creased his face. There was one particular problem he knew she could solve. But as soon as the thought of a lusty romp in bed crossed his mind, it was not Camella Alvarez's sloe-eyed beauty he envisioned. The image of burnished cherry hair and big gold eyes filled his imagination.

      
He cursed the damnable little tease, recalling old Marcus's threat.
You take my meaning.
He had taken it right well enough. Marcus Jacobson was not a man to make idle threats and Jess was too cynical and experienced to ever become involved with a spoiled virginal temptress like Lissa, no matter how desirable she was. Her kind was always trouble. He scowled, remembering the last time an innocent-looking beautiful white woman had seduced him. The bitter betrayal of Monique still stung, even after all these years.

      
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a woman's scream echoing over the next rise. He kneed Blaze into a canter and slipped his rifle from its scabbard.

* * * *

      
When Pike and Mace finally stopped to water their horses, Lissa was hauled off her mount and stood roughly on her feet. With her bound wrists secured to the pommel of her saddle, she had been unable to work the gag free during their flight. However, Pike had released the tie from the saddle so she could hold her still bound hands in front of her mouth and tug the kerchief off.

      
"What in hell are you—"

      
Pike's question was cut short by her piercing scream. When he reached to grab her, she twisted away, struggling to breathe after so long with the vile, suffocating bandana in her mouth.

      
"Pike! Someone's a comin'," Mace yelled as he pulled his gun and aimed at the horseman barreling over the rise at them. He fired his Army Colt rapidly, missing the target.

      
Pike reached for the rifle on his saddle and yanked it free, but just as he sighted on Jess, Lissa lowered her head and lunged into his midsection, causing him to fire into the air. He snarled an oath and swung at her with the rifle barrel, but she dropped to the ground before he could hit her.

      
Jess fired and struck Mace squarely in the chest while Pike and Lissa were struggling. Afraid to risk a shot from a bouncing horse while she was so near the other target, Jess kicked free of his stirrups as Blaze galloped up, then jumped at the ugly-looking little outlaw and sent him crashing to the ground.

      
Pike was surprisingly strong for a small man and thrashed free, attempting to draw his pistol and fire it as Jess grabbed his wrist and pointed the weapon away. They rolled over, fighting for control of the gun while Lissa crouched on the ground near the horses, frantically attempting to untie her hands by tugging at the ropes with her teeth.

      
Jess rolled atop Pike and slammed his right fist into the outlaw's face. Pike's head rolled to the side and his body went suddenly limp. Jess leaned back, straddling the unconscious man, and carefully massaged his knuckles. Ever so gingerly, he flexed his fist. In spite of the pain, there were no broken bones. Then he looked over to where Lissa sat working on the ropes that bound her hands.

      
She watched him turn his steely gaze on her as he approached. Slipping a knife from his belt, he slashed the rope from her wrists, then yanked her to her feet by pulling none too gently on her arm. Caught off balance, she stumbled, clutching him to keep from falling.

      
"Oh, Jess, I can't—"

      
"Are you a complete idiot, lady?" He grabbed her wrists and held her angrily away from him, cursing all the while.

      
"You're hurting me," she gasped as her abraded wrists burned from his rough grip. He released her with an oath and turned to the outlaw at his feet, tying him up as she watched. "You saved my life, Jess."

      
"It wasn't intentional," he replied savagely.

      
"Why are you acting this way?"

      
He looked up at her, fury blazing in his face. "You spoiled, brainless little bitch! What the hell were you doing—going out for a ride to view the scenery, all alone so a pair of hard cases like this could carry you off and rape you?"

      
She stiffened. "You can't call me vile names like that!"

      
"I just did and they fit you custom-made." He stood up, glaring at her, fighting the urge to shake her. "I'd paddle you good if I weren't afraid of busting up my gun hand even worse than I already have."

      
"Germaine was right. You're nothing but a half- breed killer—a savage!"

      
The instant she flung the words at him she wanted to call them back. He stood very still, with eyes turned to molten silver. His face could have been carved from granite as he said, "There's your horse. Mount up." He turned to the outlaw he had bound and began to hoist him up.

      
"Jess, I'm—"

      
"Just ride, Lissa," he said raggedly. He tossed Pike over the saddle of his horse and tied him securely to it, then mounted Blaze and kicked the stallion into a canter, pulling Pike's horse behind him.

      
Chastened, Lissa mounted Little Bit and followed. They rode to the roundup camp in silence.

* * * *

      
Jess turned the mean little rustler over to Moss Symington after questioning him at length about any involvement with the big outfit preying on J Bar herds. Satisfied that he and his partner Mace were simply drifters who had thrown in with a small wagon train to make money by increasing their meat supply, Jess left the pleading and desperate Pike to the tender mercies of the J Bar hands. He envied neither the pale, sweaty little drifter nor that train of settlers. The old-timers were very protective of their herds—not to mention Marcus's daughter.

      
His business now was in Cheyenne. He rode into town a few hours after dark and headed straight up Eddy Street to the Royale Theater where Cammie worked. "The show should just be beginning, Blaze," he said to the stallion as he reined in outside the big frame building with its elaborate false front, painted in garish shades of red and blue.

      
The billboards outside proclaimed, "Miss Camella Alvarez, the Spanish Songbird." Jess grinned as he purchased his ticket. Cammie had never even been in Spain. She was born in Matamoros and raised in south Texas. The music hall boasted polished plank floors covered with clean sawdust. The stage was elevated four feet above the crowded room and surrounded by a tier of boxes. The main floor was filled with oak chairs and tables to accomodate the overflowing crowd of music hall denizens. Most were townsmen, clerks, and tradesmen in stiff, storebought clothes of cheap cut and poor fit, but here and there sat wealthy businessmen smoking expensive cigars and displaying gold watch chains on their ample midsections.

      
Jess pulled out a chair near the far left side of the stage, straddled it, and rested his arms across the splintery oak back. He knew Cammie always checked the house before curtain. She would be watching him about now. The lights dimmed, and a round of applause and raucous cheers went up as the curtain rose to reveal the Spanish Songbird, clad in scarlet sequins and feathers. The gown was slashed daringly up one side to reveal a lushly curved leg in a black fishnet stocking. She gave Jess a seductive wink before she began to sing.

      
When the performance was over, he bought another beer and waited. No one was allowed backstage without the lady's permission. Her note arrived at his table before the head was off his beer.

      
Camella's dressing room was a cramped cubicle, horrendously overcrowded and filled with rainbow hues of sparkling satin gowns, rhinestone tiaras, and feather wraps tossed carelessly over greasy benches or hung on pegs sagging from the rough pine walls. She sat at a tiny round table covered with faded pink shantung, looking in a mirror that leaned precariously against the back of a scarred- up set of steamer trunks.

      
"Great show, Cammie," he said, leaning in the open door.

She dropped her rouge pot and turned with her arms open wide. "Jess,
querido
, you have finished your work for Jacobson already?" She flew into his embrace, not waiting for an answer as she pulled his head down and kissed him passionately.

      
He kicked the door closed with one foot and moved into the kiss, bending her over his arm and nuzzling her throat. "Mmm, you smell good," he murmured as his hands tangled in a thick cloud of curling ebony hair. Her perfume was a heavy attar of roses. Nothing subtle about it.
Unlike the delicate essence of orange blossoms
. He shoved the unwanted thought away as she laughed and nibbled on his ear.

      
"You will stay the night, no?" Her tongue darted along his jawline, then rimmed his mouth teasingly.

      
"I'll stay the night, yes. If you've worked up a good appetite, I'll take you to dinner at Dyer's first."

      
Finally they broke off the playful embrace. Camella turned her back and raised her long mane of hair, saying, "Unfasten me,
querido
. I cannot go out in public in this torture rack of a dress."

      
He obliged, baring a creamy expanse of olive skin as the dozens of tiny hooks on the costume gave way. She let it slither to the floor, then stepped carelessly over it and shook down her hair. She stood before him clad only in a lace corset and underpants. She looked good and she knew it as she held up various dresses, deciding which to wear to dinner that night. Jess let her pose and play her games.