Chase the Lightning

by Madeline Baker

  She was putting her foot in the stirrup when she felt Trey’s hands at her waist. He lifted her effortlessly into the saddle, checked the cinch and the stirrups, then swung aboard Relámpago and clucked to the stallion.

  With a sigh, Amanda tapped her heels to her mount’s flanks.

  They stopped near a quiet stream a short while later. Trey held her horse while she knelt on the bank. Scooping water into her hands, she rinsed out her mouth, then bent down and took a drink. The water was clear and cool and even as she drank, she wondered if it was safe to do so. When she was finished, she held the horses for Trey, and then they let the horses drink. Finally, he went a few paces upstream and filled both canteens, looping one around her saddle horn, and the other around his.

  Her stomach growled loudly as Trey helped her remount. “You did say there was a town ahead?”

  He chuckled as her stomach growled again. “If you can’t wait until we find a place to eat, I could let you nibble on me for a while.” He looked up at her, grinning roguishly, one hand resting just above her knee.

  Her stomach turned over, but it had nothing to do with hunger, and everything to do with the heat of his hand on her leg, and the look in his deep, brown eyes. It was sinful, she thought, what that man could do to her with just a look. She couldn’t fall in love with him! She couldn’t! She didn’t belong here, would never belong here. Not only that, she was engaged to Rob…but somehow none of that seemed to matter, not when Trey was looking at her like that, as if she were a tasty morsel herself.

  His grin widened, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Giving her knee a squeeze, he took up Relámpago’s reins, and swung into the saddle.

  “You can always chaw on some of that jerky you bought, if you find that more to your taste.”

  * * * * *

  The weathered sign outside the town read, “Welcome to Walker’s Well, population 235.”

  Amanda grimaced as they rode side by side down the wide dusty street that ran between two dozen or so ramshackle buildings. Calling the dwellings that were scattered beyond the main street houses was paying them a compliment. They were little more than hovels.

  Trey reined his horse to a halt in front of a large, raw plank building with a peaked roof and unpainted shutters at the windows. The sign above the door read Ma’s Place. Best food this side of the border.

  “You want to eat here?” she asked skeptically.

  Dismounting, Trey jerked his thumb toward the sign. “Best food this side of the border,” he said, reading aloud.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Chuckling softly, Trey lifted her from the saddle. Tossing the gelding’s reins over the rack, he took her by the hand. “Come on.”

  The inside of the restaurant was dim. There was sawdust on the floor.

  Faded red-and-white-checked curtains hung at the windows. Faded cloths covered the tables, most of which were occupied by rough-looking men who didn't smell much better than they looked.

  Then, through the miasma of Bull Durham smoke, she got a whiff of something wonderful emanating from the kitchen, and she knew why the place was so crowded. No wonder they hadn’t eaten on the trail.

  Trey sat down at a vacant table in the far corner of the room, his back to the wall, and she sat across from him. “I take it you’ve been here before?” she remarked.

  He nodded. “Best grub this side of the border, just like the sign says.”

  Amanda nodded. “Whatever’s cooking in there smells heavenly.”

  Trey lifted his head and sniffed the air. “Beef stew,” he said. “Fresh biscuits. And apple pie.”

  “Beef stew for breakfast? Are you making that up?”

  “Wait and see.”

  Her heart did a somersault as his gaze met hers across the table. She loved the way he looked at her, as if she were something incredibly special, loved the intensity in his eyes, the way his mouth curved in a smile that seemed to be for her alone. Had she designed him herself, he couldn’t have been more perfect, except for two little things: he lived in the past, and he was a bank robber.

  The thought made her grin.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” she said, and laughed out loud.

  Trey frowned at her. “Come on, spill it.”

  It was obvious he wasn’t happy that looking at him made her laugh. And that made her laugh harder.

  He was still scowling at her a moment later when a harried-looking waitress wearing a brown dress and a remarkably clean white apron came to take their order.

  “Howdy, Martha,” Trey said. “What’s the special of the day?”

  “Beef stew, hon.” She brushed a lock of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand.

  Trey winked at Amanda. “Told you so. Give me a big bowl, and some of those fresh biscuits, too. Maybe about a half-dozen for starters.”

  The waitress grinned. “And coffee, black, and apple pie.”

  “Martha, you’re an angel.”

  Martha gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder, then turned to take Amanda’s order. “What’ll you have, dearie?”

  “The same I guess, but could I have some cream and sugar for my coffee?”

  “Sure enough, dearie. Coming right up.”

  “I take it you come here often,” Amanda remarked after Martha moved to the next table.

  “Now and then. You can’t go wrong with Ma’s cookin’.” He smiled at her. “Although even she can’t cook up a steak as good as yours.”

  “Well, that’s nice to know. I guess if I can’t get back where I belong, I can always open up a steak house.”

  Trey laughed. “I’ll be your first customer.”

  “I was kidding! I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.”

  “Yeah,” he said, suddenly sober. “So do I.”

  “Where is your home?”

  He grunted softly. “I don’t have one, at least not yet. I guess now I never will.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That money I stole, it was to buy some land, start a ranch.”

  “With stolen money?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think of it as stolen. I thought of it as getting back what was rightfully mine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hollinger refused to extend the deadline on my old man’s loan because he wanted the property for himself. And when my old man went to talk to him about it, Hollinger killed him.”

  “I can’t believe that. It’s just so awful, so unfair.”

  “It’s what happened.” He shrugged. “Hollinger owned the bank, and pretty much owned the town. He said he shot in self-defense. Nobody was gonna argue with him.”

  “What about the law?”

  Trey snorted. “The law was married to Hollinger’s sister.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Not as sorry as I am that I didn’t blow his head off when I had the chance.”

  Before Amanda could frame a suitable reply, the waitress was back.

  “Here we go,” Martha said. “Two bowls of stew.” She blew a lock of hair from her brow. “You wanted cream and sugar, right, dearie?”

  “Yes, please,” Amanda said.

  “Coming right up.” She tapped a finger on Trey’s shoulder. “Careful, now, it’s hot.”

  The stew was, indeed, the best Amanda had ever tasted. The biscuits were hot and fluffy; the coffee, even with cream and sugar, was strong enough to peel paint off a wall.

  Amanda was still working on her first bowl of stew when Trey finished his and ordered a second. And then a third.

  “I love a man with a hearty appetite,” Martha said. She beamed at Trey a moment before glancing back at Amanda. “Can I get you anything else, dearie?”

  “Another biscuit, please,” Amanda said. “They’re wonderful.”

  Martha beamed at her. “Coming right up. More coffee, Trey?”

  He nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Better save room for some of Ma’s a
pple pie,” Martha warned.

  “Always room for that,” he said.

  “Are you going to have three helpings of pie, too?” Amanda asked.

  Trey sat back in his chair and grinned at her across the table. “You never know.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Martha said. She looked at Amanda and winked. “Never seen anyone, man or boy, who can put food away like he can. I’ll be right back with that pie.”

  “I think she likes you,” Amanda remarked.

  Trey shrugged. “Martha? She likes everybody.”

  The pie was every bit as good as Trey had promised. The pie was still a little warm, the crust light and flaky.

  “I make a pretty good apple pie myself,” Amanda said, “but I have to admit, this is the best I’ve ever tasted. One of these days, I’ll have to…”

  “Trade me places, quick!”

  “What?”

  “Just do it!”

  “What was that all about?” she asked when they had changed seats.

  “That man who just came in the door, Wolf Langley, I’d rather he didn’t see me.”

  “Langley!” She glanced over her shoulder. “My gosh, he looks a lot like Rob, doesn’t he?”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Talking to Martha. I can’t believe the resemblance. You don’t suppose he’s…”

  “Is he alone?”

  “Yes, why?” Her eyes widened. “He’s after you, isn’t he?”

  “Is he coming this way?”

  “No. Martha’s talking at him a mile a minute. He’s looking around the room.”

  Trey swore. He should have left Relámpago down at the livery. The stallion was a dead giveaway. But who’d have thought Langley would show up this early in the morning? The man had the instincts of the wolf he was named for. “What’s he doing now?”

  “Martha gave him a piece of pie.”

  Trey grunted. “So, even Wolf can’t resist Ma’s apple pie. Maybe he’s human, after all.”

  “It’s easy to see he’s related to Rob. They look so much alike.”

  Trey grunted softly. “Some say he’s related to the devil himself.”

  “Rob told me once that he had a relative who was a bounty hunter in the Old West. His great, great grandfather, I think. I never thought I’d meet him.”

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “Eating.”

  “Is he facing this way?”

  “No.”

  “All right, get up real slow and get out of here.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Damned if I know.” There was only one way in, and one way out.

  “Trey…”

  “We don’t have time to discuss this. Just do as I say. Now!”

  Heart pounding, Amanda stood up and walked toward the door. She met Martha’s gaze as she skirted the bounty hunter. He scrutinized her as she passed by, then turned his attention back to Martha.

  “How long ago did he leave?” Langley asked.

  Amanda paused, pretending to read the hand-written menu tacked to a bulletin board just inside the door.

  “Not more than a few minutes,” Martha replied. “Said he was going on down the street to the Palace. Shameful place! Can I get you another piece of pie, Mr. Langley?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”

  “Obliged, but I’d best be on my way.”

  “Here,” she said, reaching behind her. “Have a cup of coffee…oh!”

  Langley swore as Martha spilled hot coffee down the front of him.

  “I’m so sorry!” Martha exclaimed. “Come in the kitchen and dry that off.” She didn’t wait for an answer. Reaching for his hand, she pulled him behind the counter and into the kitchen.

  As soon as Langley was out of sight, Trey headed for the door. Grabbing Amanda by the arm, he hustled her outside and lifted her onto the gelding’s back. He thrust the reins into her hand, then took up the stallion’s reins and swung into the saddle.

  Trey drummed his heels into the stallion’s flanks and Relámpago took off at a gallop. The gelding followed without any encouragement at all.

  They had only gone a short distance when she heard Langley’s voice holler, “Long Walker!”

  The bounty hunter’s outraged cry was followed by a pair of gunshots that echoed in Amanda’s ears like thunder. She screamed as her horse reared, unseating her. She landed on her rump, hard.

  Things seemed to happen in slow motion after that.

  Langley took a step forward, smoke curling from the muzzle of the gun in his hand.

  People on the street ducked for cover.

  Trey wheeled his horse around in a tight circle and raced back toward her.

  There was something almost other-worldly in the sight of him riding toward her.

  Relámpago’s coat seemed to blaze in the morning sun, and sparks seemed to fly from his hooves.

  Langley fired again and Trey’s hat went flying. She felt her stomach drop. That was close. Too close!

  She watched with a sort of horrified fascination as Trey drew his weapon and fired in one smooth, easy motion.

  Langley staggered backward.

  Trey was almost on her now. He leaned forward in the saddle, his arm outstretched. She reached toward him, and he swept her from the ground and swung her up behind him. Her arms went around his waist, hanging on for dear life as they galloped down the street.

  She buried her face against Trey’s shoulder, certain she was about to get a bullet in the back. Oh, Lord, she wasn’t ready to die! Not now! Not here!

  Her arms tightened around Trey’s waist. Closing her eyes, she clung to him and tried to pray, but she was too afraid to think coherently, too afraid to do anything but hold on to Trey. And in that moment, with death breathing like a dragon down her neck, she realized she was falling in love with Trey Long Walker.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Though they’d been running for a long time, Relámpago had barely broken a sweat when Trey reined the horse to a halt. But for Relámpago’s smooth, effortless gait, Amanda was sure she would have been jarred senseless by now. She was amazed by the stallion’s stamina.

  She loosened her death grip on Trey’s waist, flexed her aching arms, and leaned back a little to look around. The terrain was wide and rugged, covered with cactus and brush. A roadrunner dragged a small plume of dust up a dry wash off to the left. It was the only movement, other than high clouds moving toward the sun. The threat of rain the night before had yet to materialize.

  Trey dismounted and lifted her from the saddle, then whirled around, gun in hand.

  Amanda stared at him, startled, and then she heard it, too. The sound of hoofbeats coming hard and fast toward them.

  Trey grabbed her by the arm and thrust her behind him.

  Oh, Lord, she thought, would this nightmare never end?

  The hoofbeats drew nearer, slowed, stopped. She heard Trey swear softly as he holstered his gun.

  She peered around him, a bubble of hysterical laughter rising in her throat as her gelding trotted into view.

  The horse stood there, sides heaving and covered with sweat, holding its head and to the side to avoid stepping on the reins. The gelding blew softly as Trey caught up the reins.

  He thrust them into her hands. “This critter needs a rest,” he said. “But we need to keep moving. Langley might have followed him. We’ll walk a while, give your mount some time to cool out.”

  “All right.”

  It was unsettling to walk across the rugged, wide-open terrain. She felt very conspicuous. Being hunted was no fun. Her gaze darted from side to side. This was Indian country. She envisioned paint-streaked Indians lurking behind every bush and rock, just waiting to ravish her and take her scalp. And what about that bounty hunter Trey had shot?

  “Do you think he’s dead?” she asked.

  “Who, Langley? I couldn’t be that lucky. I think I might have nicked him, though.”

&n
bsp; “Oh! I just thought of something!”

  “What?”

  “You can’t kill him!”

  “Why the devil not?”

  “Because of Rob.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you see? If you kill Langley, Rob will never be born!”

  Trey grunted. That might not be so bad, he thought. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about Amanda marrying that two-bit greenhorn if she made it back to her own time. He slid a glance in her direction. If he had his way, she would never make it back.

  Amanda took hold of his arm. “You won’t kill him, will you?”

  “Not if I don’t have to.”

  She seemed satisfied with his answer. He was sorry when she let go of his arm.

  “Have you killed many men?”

  “A few, in self-defense.” But not the one who needed killing most, he thought bitterly. Not J. S. Hollinger. His failure gnawed at him.

  They walked the horses for half an hour or so before Trey told her to mount up. She swallowed a groan as she stepped into the saddle. Even though the gelding had a nice, easy gait, spending so many hours in the saddle was tiring.

  For the rest of the day, Trey set an easy but steady pace, only pausing now and then at hidden water holes he seemed to find by dead reckoning. He seemed to know his way around the wilderness the way she knew her way around her house. Several times he had her wait while he doubled back to check for pursuers from some high point. Each time he was satisfied to find their back trail clear. During one break, she rinsed off her face and hands. The Band-Aid on her palm had come loose and she peeled it off, dug a hole and buried it.

  Another long afternoon twilight was descending, and the clouds were massing again, when he decided to call a halt for the night.

  This time he stripped the rigging from the horses and rubbed them down with their blankets, before spreading the blankets over a patch of brush to dry out.

  “They’ll dry quick in this air,” he said. “I'm going to take a scout on foot. You might gather up some of that dead brush. I think we can risk a fire tonight.” He loosened his six-gun in its holster and faded from sight like a— Like an Indian, she thought.