Caress of Fire

by Martha Hix

  As the midnight hour approached, Gil spread his bedroll, stretched out and tucked the blanket beneath his arms. Sweat pooled on his back and on his leg, and he threw back the cover. He waited for Sadie Lou.

  Where was she? With the exception of the start of this drive, the collie had been loyal, had been adoring, had curled at his feet when sleep had called.

  Go to sleep.

  He couldn’t. And Gil began to feel sorry for himself all over again. He didn’t have his wife; the trail was the worst he’d ever encountered; he didn’t even have his dog at the moment.

  Lisette, he could account for, and it was best that she had stayed in the safety of Fort Worth. No doubt she’d linked up with the Lutheran Church by now, had taken Ruth Craven to bosom friend, had fashioned a dozen baby bonnets. This stretch of the cowpath was no place for a woman, especially an expectant one.

  His mind was at ease where she was concerned.

  That wasn’t the case with Sadie Lou. Uneasy, Gil got to his feet. Preacher Wilson approached. In his arms was a large, shrouded bundle.

  Gil’s heart stopped. “Sadie Lou?”

  Eli Wilson nodded. “We found her at the edge of the herd. Her throat is cut.”

  “Shit.”

  Taking his loyal friend and helper into his arms, Gil pulled back the cloth and crushed Sadie Lou to his chest. He wasn’t one to cry, but a tear slipped. His grief went above losing a canine pal; he grieved for Dinky and for all who had gone before him.

  Could matters get worse?

  They did.

  As Gil finished burying his loyal Sadie Lou, a woman’s voice called out to him, and the night wasn’t playing a trick.

  “By the Holyrood,” rumbled past his set teeth.

  Lisette was here. Here.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  It was in the moments before daybreak that she appeared in this hell. Blue-hot emotions sparked through Gil McLoughlin when he caught sight of Lisette leading a horse, walking toward him. Damn it, she had no business on the trail . . . but seeing her was a most welcome sight. Was there such a thing as being happy in a river of woe?

  Happiness ought to be the least of his concern.

  He had three choices, as far as he was concerned. He could gather his wife into his arms and kiss her soundly, which he yearned to do; he could pull her across his knee for the paddling she richly deserved for leaving the safety of Fort Worth; or he could shout at her. He chose the latter.

  “What in blue blazes are you doing here?”

  “Seeking you. Why else?”

  She didn’t appear too pleased at meeting up with her husband, which made two of them. By now, Gil was nothing but furious that she hadn’t stayed in Fort Worth, yet–damn it–it was good to see her.

  He threw down the shovel he’d used to bury his faithful cowdog, stepped over her grave, and hurried to his wife. And stopped short.

  He stopped and got an eyeful of her companions.

  “Good God.”

  What else could go wrong?

  Matthias Gruene, looking like he’d licked woe’s riverbed, was with her. And descending the saddle was her brother. Good God.

  “What the devil is going on?” Gil asked.

  “I intend to tell you. I intend to get several things straight.” She turned to her brother and Matthias, who were unsaddling the trio of winded horses, and said, “You two help yourselves to food. I’m sure you’ll find some jerky or dried fruit or something to snack on in the chuck box.”

  They took themselves off.

  His feet wide apart, Gil crossed his arms over a chest filled with conflicting sentiments. “I’m waiting, Lisette.”

  “I bring news of Frank Hatch.”

  She gave details on the spoiled wedding, on Matthias’s abandonment of Cactus Blossom, on how the Comanche woman had died as a result of Frank Hatch’s knife.

  “On her deathbed,” Lisette said, “she told us that Hatch has been after you for years.”

  “She was wrong. I never saw the man before Lampasas.”

  “Not so. You burned his plantation in Georgia. I believe it was called Charlwood.”

  Charlwood? Gil stood stock-still. Then Hatch had to be the son of Irene Morgan . . . and brother to Mary Joan Morgan. Gil remembered the scruffy, dirty man who had claimed to be their relative; he in no way resembled the dandy Frank Hatch. But the story was too absurd not to be true.

  And it made sense of a lot of things.

  “Lisette, you’re making too much of the Hatch threat,” he understated on purpose.

  “I don’t think so. I think you’re trying to spare me.”

  “Spare you? Spare the woman who’d ride after a cattle drive, twice? Not on your life.”

  If he made her privy to his true sentiments–and fears–about Charles Franklin Morgan or Hatch, late of Charlwood Plantation, there would be no way to send her back where she belonged. This he sensed. And his senses were excellent.

  Something else. He suspected he hadn’t heard the whole story.

  He glanced at the distant form of Adolf Keller, then said to Lisette, “I never expected to see you with your brother. What is going on?”

  “You’re trying to change the subject.”

  “Right. The subject of Frank Hatch is closed.”

  With a blistering look, she said, “I’d think, given Matthias’s bride died at the hands of the man who’s sworn vengeance against you, that you might show concern over him.”

  “I’ve just buried a female who meant more to me than a thousand Cactus Blossoms.” He motioned to the rear. “That’s Sadie Lou under that mound of dirt.”

  Instead of rushing to her husband and offering solace, Lisette’s fingers covered her mouth. “Oh, Gil, no.”

  Okay, she hadn’t seemed pleased to see him, but she could have tried to put her arms around him, and that hurt Gil, especially when she hurried to the grave instead of to him.

  “She was such a dear little hund.” Ducking her head, Lisette whispered, “A good while back you told me that many could die before we reach Abilene. I wonder who will be next.”

  Before Gil could form a reply, something flashed by him, and that something was Jackson Bell.

  “Where are you going?” he called suspiciously.

  Bell stopped for a split second, clutching his stomach and answering, “Sick!” before streaking out of sight.

  What was one sick man became two, then three, then three more by the time ribbons of dawn brightened the sky. Cencero Leal’s Mexican plates had finally gotten to them in a big way.

  And from the moment Jackson Bell had announced his malady, Lisette had gone into action and had taken charge of doctoring. With six men unable to ride today, there would be no taking the herd up the trail. Furthermore, Gil got no chance to reason with Lisette on her leaving, much less a chance to question her about Adolf Keller.

  Cencero offered to cook breakfast, but to a chorus of protests from healthy cowboys, he withdrew the offer. Surprisingly, Adolf Keller limped over to the cookfire and proved a better hand at the skillet than Cencero or Yates ever had.

  Gil pulled Matthias aside. “You and I need to talk, but with so many men out, I’ve got to take up the slack. Will you go with me? I need your help.”

  “All right.”

  “Saddle a horse from the remuda and let’s go.”

  By now the sun emitted waves of heat, sending rivulets of sweat down Gil’s back as he sauntered over to Big Red. He doffed his shirt, shoved it in the saddlebag, then swung atop the sorrel. A couple of minutes after he started riding around the herd of thirsty cattle, Matthias caught up with him.

  “Matt, I’m sorry to hear about Cactus Blossom.” Damn it, a lot of trouble would have been avoided, had Lisette left that squaw where we found her in the beginning. “My condolences.”

  “I’m not here for empty sympathy.”

  “Why are you here? The job’s yours if you want it.”

  “I meant more than just the job, McLoughlin. With Hatch afte
r you, you’re my best chance to find him.”

  “Does that include working the strawboss job again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re hired.” Gil parked an elbow on the saddlehorn. “Matt,” he said quietly, “as much as I want and need you with the outfit, you might be better off as a lone wolf. There’s no guarantee Hatch will show.”

  “You know better than that.”

  “Yeah, I do. But don’t go saying anything to Lisette. It would be best to keep her in the dark about trouble.”

  “How long would that last?” Matthias asked.

  “Long enough for her brother to take her back where he found her. Or better yet, back to Fredericksburg.”

  By evening, Lisette remained in camp. Weary beyond imagination after a day of tending the sick, cooking dinner, and standing under the broiling Texas sun, she ached to sit down and relax. But for now, she and Gil had unfinished business–the business of his deception over that letter.

  Further, she needed to tell him about her scrape with the law. To avoid giving fuel for a fire of “you’ve kept something from me yourself,” she needed to head him off at the pass.

  The broth kettles put away, the medicines stoppered for the evening, the poisoned cowboys resting, she rubbed the small of her back and looked around for her husband.

  Noticeable in their absence were Fritz Fischer and Dinky Peele. Preacher Wilson had been the one to relay the grim news. Lisette glowered. While he’d kept mum about the two deaths, her husband had told her about a dog’s demise. Sadie Lou had been special, of course, but there was something odd about a man who mentioned dogs rather than humans.

  Back in Fort Worth, she had decided she might never understand him. Now she wondered if she ever would.

  “Have you seen Gil?” she asked Attitude Powell.

  “I see’d him talkin’ with your brother.” The mountaineer ran a comb through his long beard and motioned with his free hand. “They’re over at the remuda.”

  She walked toward the rope corral, catching sight of her husband and Adolf. With Fritz dead, everyone had been taking turns seeing after the saddle horses. Tonight was Gil’s turn. He and Adolf were rubbing down a couple of geldings; neither noticed her approach.

  They were talking about her, naturally. She ought to make her presence known, but curiosity got the better of her. Hiding behind a tree trunk, she wanted to hear what they had to say.

  Gil took a curry comb from an equipment bag. “Keller–”

  “Why don’t you call me Adolf? Since we are brothers by law.”

  “I don’t have a problem with it, if you don’t have a problem calling me by my given name.”

  Pleased that they were being civil, she smiled. Although she was raring for a fight, she wasn’t so angry she didn’t want peace in the family.

  Gil said, “I’ve got to protect my wife from trouble, Adolf. Here and everywhere else. Fredericksburg will be just as important as the Chisholm Trail. I don’t want any trouble out of you and yours, so I’d like to know how do you feel about my taking your sister to wife.”

  “I would not have picked you. Otto Kapp was my choice.”

  “Otto . . . Kapp?”

  “Since I had no choice,” said Adolf, “I have made up my mind to accept you.”

  “Which brings up another subject. What are you doing with my wife? How did the two of you link up?”

  Lisette, her feet aching, sat on the ground as Adolf related his trip to Fort Worth and his discovery of her incarceration.

  “Jail?” The curry comb dropped from Gil’s grasp. “What are you talking about?”

  In brief terms, Adolf told him.

  “She said nothing on the subject.” Gil slapped the rump of a remuda horse. “Nothing. Damn. It must’ve been terrible for her. But I won’t abide any deceptions on her part.”

  Hypocrite! Lisette’s teeth clenched so fast that she bit her tongue.

  “She’s not meaning to deceive you,” Adolf said quickly. “And if you will think on it, brother-in-law, you will realize she has had no chance to speak with you.”

  Gil took a cigar from his shirt pocket, lit up. Lisette could hear the respect in his voice as he said, “I’m glad to hear you’re taking up for her, like a good brother should. I never figured you had it in you. But as I said, I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I have, many years, been blind to my sister. But that is in the past.”

  “I’m even gladder to hear that.” Gil took another puff of cigar. “Because I need your help. You’ve got to get Lisette away from here. Before something happens to her.”

  “You are referring to Frank Hatch?”

  “I am. Adolf, I know you’re a veteran of the Confederate forces, but I hope you’ll be understanding about what I’m fixing to say. The man who’s stalking me is part of the most unbalanced family I’ve ever run across. Hatch’s mother and stepsister used their barns as ammunition dumps for the rebels.”

  “Many people did that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, but most people didn’t starve and chain their slaves. The Morgans, Hatches, whatever their names–they tortured those poor people, then left them to die in their bonds. The day we found them . . . Damn. If I live to be a thousand years old, I’ll never forget the smell, the inhumanity. It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Why hadn’t he told her these things? He was confessing his soul to Adolf. Lisette had been hurt by his deception; she was furious at this latest facet to him.

  “We jailed the women, with the rebels’ wholehearted consent,” Gil was saying. “And I ordered torches to the plantation and its fields. Never regretted it. And never will.”

  “I don’t blame you. I never believed in bondage, but a lot of folks treated their slaves fairly, so I didn’t mind fighting for the cause. God knows we’re all slaves to something.” Adolf blew out a breath. “But how wretched it must have been for the people under those women’s control.”

  Gil said quietly, “I’ve been given to understand you kept Lisette in a miserable situation bordering on slavery. What’s more, I understand you took what was hers. Her dowry.”

  “I’ll repay you, if you are bothered.”

  “That isn’t what I want. I could buy and sell you a dozen times.”

  “Das ist Richtig.” Adolf gave a horse a pat on its rump. “What happened to the women you referred to earlier? The ones who are related to Herr Hatch.”

  Gil crouched down, rocked back on his heels. Resting a forearm on his knee, he replied, “I’ve heard . . . It was after I left, but I heard ‘Charles Morgan’ gained entrance to their cells, killing several guards in the process, and freed his kinfolks.”

  “Wouldn’t you do the same, were you in his place?”

  “I wouldn’t want to speculate on that, Adolf. But I can tell you . . . It was after I left Georgia, you understand, but I heard he murdered them both.”

  “Gott in Himmel.”

  So rocked was she that Lisette didn’t know whether Adolf had said those words or she had thought them.

  Adolf spoke. “You didn’t recognize this Lucifer? You were with him for weeks, and you didn’t make one comparison?”

  “I ... I didn’t. I must say, I’m amazed that the two are one and the same.”

  “Rest assured, there is no question of identity.” Adolf took a couple of uneven steps, then tugged on his beard. “I am glad my sister was not with Matthias’s wife at the time of the stabbing. Maybe it was good Lisette ended up in jail instead.”

  “You’ve got a point.” A moment lapsed. “Maybe it isn’t such a good idea, your taking her home. The way she is, she might find another way to get in trouble, and I wouldn’t be there to save her.”

  The arrogance of him!

  “It seems I cannot trust my wife.”

  Lisette had heard enough. She left the ground, and huffed back to camp. At that moment she didn’t like Gil McLoughlin–not at all. How dare he think so little of her? She would not be counted as w
eepy or untrustworthy or as a blight on the outfit. And there was one way to start her change.

  Hitching up her chin, she returned to camp, cornered Cencero Leal, and demanded, “Show me how to use a pistol.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Planning to shoot me?”

  Ignoring her husband and sitting atop his trunk in the chuck wagon, Lisette loaded the revolver. When or if Frank Hatch showed up, she needed to know how to use a gun.

  Gil eyed the revolver barrel. “Since you told me you’ve never pulled a trigger in your life, don’t you think you might want to put that thing away before someone gets hurt?”

  “Someone like yourself?” she taunted.

  “Figure if you put a bullet in me, I won’t question you about your visit to the Fort Worth lockup?”

  “I have nothing to hide over it.”

  Gil looked up at the canvas roof, then back at her. “Little girls shouldn’t play man-games, so you’d better put that gun away.”

  “I hadn’t better do anything,” she shouted, taking offense at his high-handedness. “Unless I damn well please to do it.”

  “Watch your mouth. Profanity doesn’t become you.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “You’re tired. We’re both tired.” He unbuttoned a shirtsleeve. “Let’s go to bed.”

  “That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? ‘Let’s go to bed.’ But I guarantee you, Mister McLoughlin, this argument won’t be settled by sex.”

  “That wasn’t what you said in Fort Worth.”

  “This isn’t Fort Worth.”

  “Fishwife,” he grumbled under his breath. The lantern swayed, the floorboard creaked as he stomped toward her. “Put that goddamn gun down and get in bed. Don’t worry, I won’t be touching you. I’ll be outside.”

  He brushed by her, thrusting back the flap to start over the spring seat, but she stuck the barrel between his ribs. “You aren’t going anywhere, husband. Not until my mind is settled.”

  He froze. Slowly moving his head downward, he raised a brow. “You haven’t got the guts to kill me.”

  Of course she had no intention of harming him, but . . . “I said, you aren’t going anywhere. Sit down.”