Rexanne Becnel (19 page)

“Fire!” The ever-dreaded word burst from her lips as she charged toward the stable. “Fire!” she screamed as she ran, unmindful of the violent wind that tore at her hair and skirts. The barn was on fire and all the horses inside would be burned to death if someone didn’t get them out!

She paused when she reached the opening to the stable. The frightened snorts and whinnies of the horses, combined with the ominous roaring of the fast-growing fire, was an awful sound to hear. Smoke already filled the interior, and to the rear of the barn she could see flames leaping.

Lacie could not have been more terrified. The thought of entering the burning building was too horrifying to contemplate. Yet the hoarse squeals of the trapped horses forced her on. But when she crouched low and started to enter the smoky barn, she was abruptly halted as a strong arm jerked her back into the fresh air.

“Get back, you little fool!” Dillon’s harsh voice ordered her.

Why was he here? she thought wildly. This was not his problem. Yet a part of her felt enormously reassured by his commanding presence. “Dillon! I have to get them out!” she cried. “They’ll die. They’ll all die!”

“Leland has already brought some of them out. Neal. and I will get the rest. Now, you stay back from the fire!”

Lacie’s eyes stung from the smoke. Tears blurred her vision as Dillon dragged her away from the heat of the burning barn. Then she felt Ada’s small hand clutching hers, and she turned a desperate face to her friend. With the back of her fist, she wiped her tears away.

“Dear God in heaven! How can this be happening?”

“It was the lightning. We heard this terrible sound, and then Leland screamed for help!” Ada clenched Lacie’s hand tightly. “If it would just rain a little harder—”

But instead of stopping the fire, the storm made it worse. In a matter of seconds the violent winds whipped the flames to a frenzy, sending them leaping into the barn’s upper lofts and igniting everything in its path. Any thoughts of putting it out were banished as the heat intensified.

Smoke obscured the opening of the barn, but the sound of the terrified animals was unmistakable. Then one horse bolted from the stable in a wild-eyed gallop. Then another, and another, followed by Dillon crouched low on the back of his big stallion.

As soon as he was out of the stable, he slid down from his horse and looked around.

“Where’s Neal?” he yelled above the roar of the flames.

“He didn’t come out!” Ada cried in agitation. “He’s still in there!”

At once Dillon started back toward the inferno. Then with a loud crash, a new fountain of sparks and flames leaped into the sky.

“No! No!” Lacie screamed. She grabbed Dillon’s arm in desperation, trying to stop him from going any farther. “Dillon! You can’t go back in there. You can’t!”

But he shrugged off her hold at once. “Neal’s in there!” he thundered. Then he ran into the smoke.

In absolute terror Lacie strained to see him, hardly aware that Ada and Mrs. Gunter had come up beside her. Together the three women stood there, holding on to one another for strength.

Then Lacie saw a movement, and she tore away from the others.

“Dillon! Dillon!” She was sobbing as he staggered out of the barn. He almost fell when she reached him, he was coughing so hard. But he had Neal over his shoulder. With her help, he managed to get him to a grassy spot away from the barn and then lay him down.

“He’s hurt…don’t know how bad.” He coughed again and wiped at his burning eyes and soot-covered face. “Help him, Lacie…help him—”

In an instant the three women took over. Ada went for water and clean cloths. Mrs. Gunter hurried off for her box of medicinal supplies, while Lacie checked the unconscious Neal for injuries.

“He’s breathing,” she noted as she gently probed with careful fingers. “There’s a deep gash here, just above his hairline.”

“I found him just beyond a fallen beam.” Dillon took a wet cloth from Ada and swiped at his face. Then he took a deep, grateful drink of water.

“How is he?” Ada asked anxiously.

“I don’t think he’s burned, but this cut isn’t too good.” She slid her hand down his left arm, eliciting a sudden groan from the man. “I think his arm may be broken too.”

Suddenly the heavens seemed to open. Like Noah’s flood, it fell in huge drops—in buckets, it seemed. And yet for all its blessed relief, the first sizzle of the rain striking the fire sounded like the hissing of devils at the gates of hell. Then the billowing black clouds of smoke became lighter, spreading out under the onslaught of the rain, and everyone was forced to retreat once more from the choking, blinding mess. As they were hauling Neal back from the barn, he roused. His eyes opened and he stared about him in dazed confusion.

“Here, let me see to him,” Mrs. Gunter ordered as she knelt beside him. “
Ach
, but he’ll be needing the doctor. That’s for certain.”

The rest seemed almost a dream to Lacie. Dillon found Leland and had him bring the still-harnessed carriage around. Then the two men lifted Neal inside, despite his weak protests. Leland took the driver’s seat as Ada and Mrs. Gunter got in to tend Neal. In a matter of minutes the brett was heading down the drive, Leland hunched over as he tried to keep the skittish team of horses under control.

And throughout it all the rain came down in a hard, merciless torrent.

L
ACIE STARED THROUGH THE
rain at the still-smoking barn.

“Get inside now, Lacie. Go on.” Dillon took her arm and led her toward the shelter of the porch. She took a few steps along with him, for she was still stunned by all that had happened. But then she shook off her numbness and stopped.

“What about the horses?” she shouted through the dull sound of the pouring rain. “We can’t leave them running loose in this storm. They might have been hurt.”

For a moment Dillon only stared at her without answering. In the dreary afternoon light his features looked somehow different. The gray film of smoke and soot that covered him heightened the strong planes of his face. Yet even as she stared up at him, the rain was washing him clean in one rivulet after another. His eyes were a midnight shade of jade. With a careless motion, he pushed his dark dripping hair from his brow.

Then he reached for her.

It was only to push a long clinging strand of hair back from her cheek. But it seemed the tenderest of gestures.

“The horses will find shelter from the storm. We can round them up in the morning.”

“But what if one of them is hurt? What if in their panic they fall or run away?”

“I don’t think any of them were hurt, Lacie. They’re probably in the next field under some tree.” He took her arm and steered her once again toward the house. “There’s no need to argue out here in the rain.”

But Lacie shook her head stubbornly. “They’re Frederick’s horses. His pride and joy. I know you don’t care about that, but I do. I have to take care of them.”

At once she regretted her words. She wished she could take them back, but once said they would not go away. How could she be so ungrateful when he had just risked his life to save those same horses?

Dillon’s face closed against her; his jaw tensed and she felt him stiffen.

“I didn’t mean that. I—I’m sorry, Dillon. Truly I am.” She reached one hand towards him, then hesitated and pulled it back. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you did to save Frederick’s horses.”

He looked down at her. “Yes, Frederick’s horses,” he repeated. Then he gave her a reserved, distant smile. “Well, perhaps we should finish the job.”

They made a strange partnership, Lacie thought as they set off in the rain. Dillon was completely drenched. His shirt clung to him like a gray-streaked second skin. With his hair slicked back by the rain and every portion of him lovingly outlined by his soaked clothing, he appeared to be a gallant warrior of old, silent and intent as he pursued his task.

She, by contrast, was bedraggled and floundering, weighted down by her heavily trailing skirts and tripped up by the mud. Her hair was a bothersome mess, sticking to her cheeks and neck and streaming over her shoulders and down her back. Yet still she struggled to match his pace.

Only when Dillon grabbed her hand and pulled her along, however, was she able to keep up with him. Despite the chill that enveloped her, his hand was comfortingly warm and reassuringly strong. It almost felt as if they were somehow connected in a higher, purer way. Lacie wiped ineffectually at the rain on her face and peered up at Dillon. They were connected through Frederick, she realized. But whereas previously that connection had made them adversaries, for now, at least, they appeared to be working toward the same end.

For a moment she relived the horror of the fire and her absolute terror when Dillon had plunged into the fiery barn. Why had he done it? she wondered. To get his own horse? But she knew with an unshakable certainty that he would have done it even if his stallion had not been among the hapless horses in the barn. He would have risked his life for anyone or any animal that might have been trapped within that terrible inferno.

In a gradually dawning wonder she stared at him, confused anew by this unexpected facet of his personality. What manner of man was he?

But she had no time to ponder that question. Up ahead, the blurred shapes of two horses showed through the unremitting rain. With a quick motion Dillon bade her stay still while he moved off the road toward the two.

The larger horse spotted him at once and flattened his ears in warning. But with a long, low whistle Dillon calmed the animal. Then with a nicker of greeting, the big stallion ambled over to his master.

Lacie could not mistake the true affection between Dillon and his great stallion. Hadn’t she read somewhere that animals and children were the best judges of character? If that were so, judging by his relationship with both Nina and this huge horse of his, Dillon had a very good character indeed. Even Ada and Leland had been won over by him, not to mention Mrs. Gunter.

Only she seemed unable to get along with him.

But that was not her fault, she told herself. If he weren’t so greedy, they might get along very well.

Yet she knew with a feeling of distinct discomfort that if she had not lied about being Frederick’s widow, she and Dillon would have had no cause to battle one another so fiercely.

She pushed back a dripping strand of hair and watched him swing up easily to mount the horse. Then with his hands and knees he guided the animal over to her.

“Come up before me,” he said, reaching a hand down to her.

She knew she shouldn’t. It would be a terrible mistake to sit so close to him. Yet Lacie could not refuse. She was tired and wet and cold, she told herself. Walking in a drenched skirt through muddy fields was just too hard.

Still, when Dillon hoisted her up, then settled her before him, her shiver was not caused by any chill.

“Swing your leg over. You’ll be more secure riding astride.”

She did as he said without reply, then pressed her lips together when he leaned close and put his arms around her.

“We can round them up and herd them into the field beyond the barn. They should be able to find shelter in the stand of sweet gum.”

Lacie only nodded. It was hard enough to ride the rain-slick stallion bareback. It was even more difficult to be settled between Dillon’s thighs, his legs pressing against hers, his chest warm against her back and his arms circling her.

With the ease of a born horseman Dillon guided the stallion across the field, looking for the other stray animals. It seemed to take forever, yet only a few minutes passed before they found the remainder of the panicked horses. Besides the one that had stayed with the stallion, there were the two work horses, her favorite mare, and four other riding mounts.

The animals seemed more than willing to stay together, almost as if they knew that someone was here to take care of them. In short order Dillon had them all in the fenced-off field. Only then did he slide down from his horse and reach up to help her dismount.

“There. Are you happy? All of Frederick’s horses are safe. Now, can we get out of this damned rain?”

Lacie stared at him. Despite the easing of the storm’s fury, the rain still came down in a steady rhythm, clinging to her lashes and dripping from the end of her nose and chin.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said with heartfelt sincerity. “I couldn’t have managed.”

“There are any number of ways you can thank me, Lacie,” he answered quietly. Then at her shocked expression, he grinned faintly. With one finger he caught a drip as it clung to her chin and let it slide down his finger. “I saw no reason to let such fine animals die.”

Lacie frowned, disturbed by his first suggestive comment and aggravated by his casual nonchalance as well.

“What if they had been old broken-down plow horses? Are you saying you wouldn’t have tried to save them then?”

For a moment he only stared at her. Then he looked over at the smoking, gaping remnants of the barn and shrugged. “Who knows? Besides, that’s unimportant. What is important is that we both get into warm, dry clothes.”

So saying, he took her arm and steered her toward the house. Once they were on the porch, Lacie pushed her hair back from her forehead and cheeks, then wrung the long length out. She lifted her skirts, trying to shake the water away, but it was futile. Already a huge puddle was gathering at her feet, yet she was still drenched to the bone. It was Dillon who took charge of the situation.

“Go on in the bath house and take that dress off.”

“I have to get something else to wear,” Lacie argued, moving toward the front door of the house.

“What? And ruin the Tabriz in the hall, or the Bijar runner on the stairs? Why, old Mrs. Allen would turn over in her grave.” He grinned cheekily at her and took her arm. “Go on to the bath house, Lacie. I’ll find something suitable for you to wear.”

“If you think I’m going to let you go through my things—”

“I promise you, I won’t be shocked.” Then he headed off to the stairs.

“Don’t you dare!” she cried in dismay as she headed after him. But her soaked skirts tangled in her legs, and she had to grab the door frame to prevent herself from tripping and falling. She watched in sinking despair as he disappeared up the stairs.