Winter Fire (6 page)

“It won't be the first.”

“Or the last,” she said, thinking of the wounds on his thigh. “Since you're awake now, I won't wrap your arm again. It will heal faster in the air.”

Case watched her face while she pulled the blankets up over his bare chest. Then she shocked him by flipping the covers off his legs all the way to his navel.

“Judas priest!”

One-handed, he raked the covers back over himself.

Sarah was too surprised to stop him.

“Sis?” Conner called drowsily.

“Go back to sleep,” she said. “It's just Case thrashing around.”

“You need me to hold him while you change the bandages again?”

She raised her cinnamon eyebrows at Case in silent question.

“Do I?” she mouthed.

His eyes widened. He had just figured out that there wasn't one inch of him that Sarah Kennedy hadn't already seen.

Dead naked.

Red burned on his cheekbones above his weeks'-old beard. He took his hands away from the covers.

“I can handle it, Conner,” Sarah said neutrally. “Go back to sleep. You have to relieve Ute in a few hours.”

Her brother made a muffled sound, rolled over, and slid back into the sleep his growing body craved.

“Get me a loincloth,” Case said flatly.

Without a word she stood up, went to a basket in the corner, and shook out the last shirt that Conner had outgrown and worn to shreds in the process. The remaining fabric had been destined for the rag rug she was making. If it took a detour on the way, no harm would be done.

“Will this do?” she asked.

“Yes.”

He held out his right hand. Plainly he intended to put the cloth on himself.

“If you move around,” she said, “you could open the wounds again. Let me wrap—”

“No,” he interrupted curtly.

One look at his face was enough to tell Sarah that he meant it. She could hand over the cloth or she could fight him.

“Don't be foolish,” she said crisply. “I raised Conner, I was married, and I nursed Ute back to health when he was in worse shape than you. I'm not going to faint at the sight of—of your—that is—”

To Sarah's horror, a blush climbed her cheeks. Abruptly she threw the cloth at him and turned her back.

“Go ahead,” she said through her teeth. “But if you open up those wounds, don't come crying to me about how it hurts.”

“The day I cry is the day the sun will set in the east.”

She didn't doubt it. He wasn't an emotional kind of man. While she took a rawhide thong from around her wrist and tied back her long hair, she thought about the grim set of his face.

“What about laughing?” Sarah asked without thinking.

“What about it?”

“Do you?”

“Laugh?” Case asked.

“Yes.”

“When I find something funny.”

“When was the last time?” she retorted.

He grunted in pain when he lifted his hips to finish wrapping the loincloth around himself.

“Well?” she persisted.

“Can't remember. Why?”

“How about smiling?”

“What is this, a catechism?” he asked. “You expected to find Robin Goodfellow shot full of holes and making jokes to entertain you?”

Sarah laughed softly.

“Robin Goodfellow,” she said. “Lord, I haven't thought of Shakespeare for a long time. Did you like
A Midsummer Night's Dream
?”

“Once.”

“But not now?”

“Since the war,
Hamlet
is more to my taste.”

There was something in Case's tone that made chills course over Sarah's skin.

“Vengeance,” she said.

“I'm ready,” he said, tying the cloth in place. “You can do whatever you've been doing to my leg.”

As she turned around, he lay back on the pallet. She saw immediately that he had started undoing the bandage on his thigh but hadn't finished the job.

Clearly, the simple act of wrapping the loincloth around himself had almost been beyond his strength. His face was pale above his black beard. A sheen of sweat stood on his forehead. His mouth was drawn into a line so narrow it was almost invisible.

“You should have let me do it,” Sarah said. “You need your strength for healing.”

“Either change the damned bandage or don't. It's all the same to me.”

If his voice hadn't been thinned by pain, she would have kept on scolding him as though he were her younger brother.

“We don't laugh,” she muttered as she knelt by his side, “we don't cry, we don't smile. But we do have a temper, don't we?”

With difficulty, he bit back a scalding reply.

He was surprised by the effort it took simply to hold his tongue. He, who had vowed to feel nothing at all after Ted and Emily's death.

Not even anger.

Must be the fever
, Case thought grimly.

But he was afraid it was the rose-scented, sharp-tongued angel of mercy who was kneeling by his side.

He gritted his teeth and endured the gentle, searing touch of Sarah's hands while she unwrapped the bandage on his thigh. More than once he felt the brush of her shirt against his naked legs as she worked.

Twice he was certain that he felt the satin weight of her breasts.

Pain should have kept him from becoming aroused. It didn't. The loincloth he had just tied around himself was rapidly losing the contest between modesty and blunt male hunger.

“Hell's fire,” he hissed.

Sarah flinched. Every time she unwrapped the bandage one turn, she was forced to brush against his crotch. The bulge that had grown beneath the loincloth was intimidating.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm trying to be careful.”

“Stop being so fairy-fingered. Just get it over with.”

She bit her tongue and finished unwrapping the bandage. She didn't even protest when he levered himself up on his elbows to look at the wounds.

One wound was scabbed over and healing well. The other was a red, puckered hole in his upper thigh. Poultice glistened on his skin like dark rain.

“Am I carrying lead?” he asked.

She gave a sideways, hidden look at the loincloth.

Fully loaded in all chambers, from what I can see
.

Her thought came with a combination of alarm and something else, something odd that she couldn't put a name to.

“Er, no,” she said. “I cut out the bullet on the other side. It missed the bone.”

“Thought so. It didn't knock me down. Threw off my aim, though.”

“Not by much. Ute said you were the only one to walk away.”

“There's plenty more Culpeppers where those two came from.”

Case sat up enough to feel the back of his thigh. Neatly knotted stitches greeted his fingertips. He bent over the open wound on top of his thigh and breathed in deeply.

Waves of pain slammed through him with each heartbeat, but he didn't straighten until he was satisfied. There was no sign of infection in the wound. No smell of it, either.

Thank God
, he thought.

While death itself held no particular terror for him, there were some ways of dying he would just as soon avoid. From what he had seen in the Civil War, gangrene was a worse way to die than being gut-shot.

With a rough sound he lay back, breathing hard.

“Good doctoring,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me by not pulling out the stitches or reopening wounds by thrashing around.”

“I'll work on it.”

“You do that,” she muttered.

Despite her tart tone, her hands were very gentle as she spread the healing poultice on a fresh bandage and wrapped it around the open wound. The pallor of his skin worried her, as did the raggedness of his breathing.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“Fine as frog hair.”

“I've always wondered just how fine that was.”

“Finer than silk,” Case said through his teeth, “but not so fine as your hair.”

Sarah gave him a startled look. His eyes were closed. Obviously he was fighting not to reveal the pain he was in.

He probably doesn't even know what he said
, she thought.

“There's some broth warming by the fire,” she said in a brisk tone. “You should drink some if your stomach is steady enough to hold on to it.”

Case didn't answer.

He was asleep.

Very gently she brushed his thick hair away from his eyes, pulled the covers more securely around him, and rested the inside of her wrist against his forehead.

There was a faint sheen of sweat caused by pain, but no sign of fever. She smiled and trailed her fingertips down his broad, bearded cheek.

“Good night, sweet prince,” she murmured, thinking of his liking for
Hamlet
.

Then she remembered more of the play and felt chilled.

The sweet prince had died.

Sarah wrapped a blanket around herself and curled up next to Case. Even when she slept, her fingertips rested on his wrist where his pulse beat, as though she needed reassurance that he was still alive.

S
tanding outside
in the yard, Sarah fished bandages from a kettle of boiling water and draped them over a wash line that was strung between clumps of big sage.

Several bandages steamed slightly into the fresh, early-morning air. The sun was a golden benediction over the land, heightening the red of the cliffs that lined the valley on both sides.

High overhead a golden eagle soared on transparent currents of wind. The bird's rippling, keening cry was so beautiful it brought goose bumps to Sarah's arms.

Stay away from Spring Canyon
, she warned the bird silently.
Sure as sin, those no-good outlaws would shoot you just because they can
.

“You keep boiling them rags and there won't be nothing left but threads,” Lola said.

Sarah flipped the last bandage over the line and turned with a smile. “Good morning.”

“Ain't you the cheerful one. I take it your pet outlaw is getting better.”

“You don't know that Case is an outlaw.”

“Huh,” Lola said. “Gal, ain't no other kind of man out here but damned fools, and that hombre in there sure as hell ain't nobody's damned fool.”

“He could be a marshal.”

“No badge,” Lola said succinctly.

“How do you know?”

“I went through his gear.”

“Lola! You had no right to do that.”

The older woman's black eyes looked upward as though the answer to Sarah's foolishness was to be found in the sky.

“He has a fistful of ‘Wanted' posters from Texas,” Lola said, “a spare belt gun, two long guns—good 'uns—enough bullets for a grand dust-up, a change of clothes, soap, razor, spyglass, and maybe three hundred in gold. From the cut of his overcoat, he was a Johnny Reb. And he was carrying a little cup and saucer, like for a doll, all wrapped up careful like.”

“None of that makes him an outlaw.”

Lola snorted. “Difference between an outlaw and a bounty hunter ain't a great stretch.”

“Was Ute mentioned on any of those posters?” Sarah asked bluntly.

“Nary a one. Culpeppers was featured.”

Suddenly she remembered the conversation she had overheard between Ab and Kester Culpepper.

Shee-it. Next you'll be whining about them Texicans dogging our trail
.

Ain't seen 'em
.

Sarah suspected that she had seen at least one of the “Texicans” who were following the Culpeppers.

“Don't look so down in the mouth,” Lola said. “Ain't no reason to shed tears over the likes of them Culpeppers. If even half what them ‘Wanted' posters say is true, they're as sorry an excuse for men as any woman ever whelped. And Ab is the worst of a bad lot.”

“I don't doubt it,” Sarah said, remembering bits of what she had overheard Ab Culpepper say.

Even the devil don't know a female's mind. Worthless sluts, all of them
.

Steal or buy a female down in Mexico. Or get a Injun
.

If I decide the Kennedy gal needs taking care of, I'll do it personally
.

“What did the Culpeppers do in Texas?” Sarah asked uneasily.

“Robbed banks, raped, and murdered mostly.”

She winced.

“And they sold kids to the Comancheros,” Lola added, “after doing things to the young'uns that would shame Satan.”

Sarah didn't ask for any more details. She simply swallowed hard and began wringing out the now-cool rags. The ferocity of her motions said more than words.

“Sounds like Case might have a personal reason for hunting Culpeppers,” Sarah said after a few moments.

“Likely,” Lola agreed. “Hope he gets on his feet right quick.”

“Why?”

“Cuz we're going to need him, that's why.”

“What do you mean?”

“Them Culpeppers been sniffing around.”

Sarah's stomach clenched.

“Are you certain?” she asked.

“Ute saw their sign alongside his and Case's back trail.”

Silently Sarah wrung out another bandage and spread it on the line to dry. She didn't ask if Ute was certain who had made the tracks he saw. Before he turned outlaw, he had been the best army scout west of the Rocky Mountains.

“Does Conner know?” Sarah asked.

“Told him myself.”

For an instant she closed her eyes. She couldn't help wondering how long five people—one of them badly wounded—would last if the Culpepper and Moody gangs descended on the little ranch. The only shred of hope she had was Ab's blunt orders not to cause a fuss within three days' ride of Spring Canyon.

“What about the army?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, they might take a notion and come over this way, but not in time to do us any good. Them soldier boys have their plates plumb overflowing with redskins.”

“Well,” she said, shaking out a bandage with a brisk snap, “we'll just have to do the best we can. I'll start taking a turn on watch at the rim.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn't shoot them outlaws on sight,” Lola said.

“Neither would Conner.”

Lola tilted her head and looked at the younger woman with narrowed black eyes.

“You don't know that boy real good, do you?” Lola asked. “He'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

“I'd do the same for him.”

Lola smiled with surprising gentleness. “Hell, I know that. You sold yourself to a crazy old man for your brother.”

“Hush,” Sarah said, looking around quickly. “Don't ever say a thing like that in front of Conner!”

“You think he don't already know it?” the other woman asked sarcastically.

“There's no need to talk about it. I mean that.”

Sighing, Lola crossed her thick arms. Though she was just under six feet tall and nearly three feet wide, there wasn't a whole lot of fat on her thick body. As always, she wore a revolver on her right hip.

“Talking won't change what was and what is,” Lola said bluntly. “Conner and Ute and me had a palaver. You're staying here. We'll take the watches on the rim.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“No it ain't. You're too soft-hearted to shoot a man from ambush. Even a Culpepper. Sure as hell you'd get buck fever and freeze on the trigger.”

“I—”

A long, shrill whistle from the rimrock overlooking the ranch cut off whatever argument Sarah had in mind.

As one the women turned and ran to the place where they had left their shotguns leaning against the outside of the cabin.

Three short whistles followed the first warning.

“Just three men coming,” Sarah said, grabbing her shotgun.

“That means they want to palaver.”

Lola whipped the sling of one shotgun over her head and left shoulder. Then she picked up a second shotgun and cocked both barrels. Her six-gun hung in its holster, right at hand if needed.

Looking at her, Sarah could believe that Ute and Big Lola used to rob banks together.

“Why would the outlaws waste time talking to us?” she asked.

“Would you rather take on a bear blind, or have a look-see around his den first?” Lola retorted.

“I don't think Moody is that smart.”

“He ain't. But Ab Culpepper is clever as a he-coon and twice as mean.”

A low whistle from the cottonwoods lining the creek told the women that Conner was in place, covering their flank.

“Ute will be coming down the rim on the short trail,” Lola said. “He'll be here right quick.”

Sarah didn't say anything. With the cabin at their backs, Conner at their left side and Ute at their right, they were ready to fight if they had to.

She hoped it wouldn't come to that.

“No,” Lola said, squinting against the sun. “It sure as sin ain't no shooting party.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“Ute wouldn't wait for no engraved invite to open the ball. He'd shoot fast as he could load and fire. If he ain't shooting by now, it ain't a shooting occasion.”

Despite Lola's words, Sarah's hands tightened around the shotgun until they ached.

Since Ute had come more dead than alive to the little valley and given his devotion to her, there had been no problem from the bands of Indians that occasionally came and went through Lost River ranch on their way to traditional hunting grounds. The three men riding down off the rim right now were as close to raiders as Sarah had faced in years.

Oh God, I hope Conner doesn't get hurt
, she thought helplessly.

None of her fear showed on her face. Motionless, she and Lola watched two long, thin men ride into the ranch yard on sorrel mules that were lean and hard as jackrabbits.

“There are only two of them,” Sarah said.

Lola grunted. “I can count.”

“Where's the third?”

“Hanging back, most likely.” She gave Sarah a quick, gap-toothed smile. “A man can get hisself shot that way.”

Sarah smiled rather wanly. The idea of someone sneaking up behind her wasn't comforting.

As Ute had taught her to do, she angled herself slightly away from Lola so that their fields of fire didn't overlap. The other woman did the same.

At least the cabin is at our backs
, Sarah thought grimly.

The sun-dried, ill-cut boards weren't much as protection went, but they were better than nothing.

“Well, they be Culpeppers,” Lola said after a moment.

“How do you know?”

“Them boys favor big sorrel mules.”

Both women watched as the red mules separated themselves from the equally red rock of the cliffs that lined the valley. At a quarter-mile away, the riders looked as dusty and faded as rabbit bush in high summer.

“Wonder which Culpeppers they are?” Sarah asked.

“Can't tell from here. Ute says there are five of the devils living in Spring Canyon.”

Sarah's breath came in sharply. She leaned forward, staring intently at the base of the cliffs.

She still saw only two riders.

“Do you see the third one anywheres?” Lola asked.

“No.”

“Wish you didn't hate chewing tobacco so much. A good chaw would be right comforting now.”

“Then chew. This is no time for parlor manners.”

Lola dug a plug of tobacco out of her shirt pocket, ground off a chunk between her back molars, and stuffed the plug back in her pocket.

“I'm obliged,” Lola said.

“You're welcome. Just don't spit on the laundry.”

Lola laughed past the tobacco bulging in her cheek, but her eyes never left the approaching riders.

Sarah just kept watching the two riders, praying that they had somehow missed seeing the third one.

Maybe Ab is the one who stayed behind to cover their backs
, she thought hopefully.

She really didn't want to be any closer to Ab Culpepper than she had been in the shallow cave overlooking the outlaw rendezvous. The promise of violence in his voice when he ordered Moody to stop raiding close to home could chill her even in memory.

“Good thing the Culpeppers don't trust Moody,” she said. “I'll bet Ab stayed behind to keep an eye on him.”

Lola chuckled. It wasn't a warm sound.

“No critter with half a brain would trust Moody,” the old woman said. “He'd steal his toothless granny's egg money and dance on his ma's grave.”

“You sound like you know him.”

“He diddled me out of a night's pay down to New Mexico. Course, I was a lot younger then. No more notion than a flea about the cheating ways of men.”

Sarah smiled slightly. She couldn't imagine anyone cheating Lola now—man or woman.

The two sorrel mules were barely a hundred yards away. Their long-legged strides looked lazy but covered a lot of ground very fast.

“You do the talking,” Lola said. “If it comes to shooting, you dive for the cabin and leave 'em to me.”

“I'm not going to—”

“The hell you ain't!” she interrupted fiercely. “Ute and me know how it's done. We won't go to shooting each other by mistake.”

There was no time for Sarah to argue. The Culpeppers were only thirty feet away. Dust from the mules' hooves hung in the air for an instant before being chased away by the shifting wind.

From the empty blue sky, the eagle's call came again. The sound was high and free and beautiful.

Sarah envied the eagle as she had envied few things in her life.

“I be Ab Culpepper,” the first rider said. “That's Kester, my kin. He don't say much.”

Neither Culpepper looked at the women right away. Instead, the men looked everywhere else, taking stock of the homestead.

“Good morning to both of you,” Sarah said tightly. “I'm Mrs. Kennedy.”

Kester shifted in the saddle but still didn't turn toward the women. His faded blue eyes looked around ceaselessly, missing nothing.

Lola is right
, Sarah thought with a combination of relief and anger.
They're just checking out our defenses
.

Bastards
.

She straightened. Though neither her shotgun nor Lola's was pointing at the riders, the guns weren't far off the mark, either.

“Howdy,” Kester said absently.

Almost as an afterthought he touched the brim of his worn, chewed-looking hat.

“Company manners,” Lola said softly out of the side of her mouth. “Been so long since he used 'em they creak in the joints.”

Sarah smiled rather grimly.

Through the gap in her teeth, Lola spit a brown stream just to the side of the mule's feet. The distance was over six feet.

Kester looked at her with admiration.

“Can you spare some hot java?” Ab asked bluntly.

So you can look around inside, too?
Sarah thought.
No, Ab. I won't make it that easy for you to count our guns
.