Wildfire in His Arms

by Johanna Lindsey

  “You could at least hire a scout for that.”

  “I was already warned the army employs all the good ones and isn’t willing to loan them out.”

  “So find a bad one. Anyone familiar with this territory is better than no guide a’tall.”

  Chapter Thirty

  JACKSON BOUCHARD WASN’T A scout, but he was familiar enough with the surrounding areas to be a guide for a few days. He was a half-breed Indian. At least, he boasted that he was. Max had her doubts, though, because he looked no different than any other Westerner. He appeared to be in his late twenties, was not tall, and was stocky. He was handsome with remarkable turquoise eyes and short brown hair. He didn’t wear a gun on his hip, but he rode with a rifle in one hand and his reins in the other, and he kept the rifle cradled in his arms when he wasn’t mounted.

  He expected to be fed and not have to hunt for his dinner. Those had been his conditions aside from his fee. He was nosy, asking a lot of questions. It fell to Max to answer them, or not, since Degan wouldn’t. Jackson knew that she was a woman because she hadn’t tried to hide that after she’d left Bismarck. That’s how safe she felt in Degan’s company.

  But Jackson didn’t know that she was considered an outlaw. Her wanted poster hadn’t reached Bismarck or any of the train stations between Billings and Bismarck. She’d looked. The last place she’d seen one had been in Billings, back in Montana.

  She’d pulled Degan aside yesterday to ask why he’d hired Bouchard if the man wasn’t a scout. “Because he knows the territory. He’s going to take us to places he thinks a band of men could hole up in without notice.”

  She supposed that was one way to go about locating the gang. Then she’d asked, “So you didn’t find the informant last night?”

  “I checked a few disreputable saloons, but no one would own up to it. But I have a feeling it’s Bouchard. He was too quick to offer his help. He either wants us to find the Nolan gang, or he’s going to lead us astray—possibly into a trap.”

  “So we don’t trust him?”

  “No, we don’t. But in case he wasn’t lying, let’s see where he leads us.”

  Jackson was too well fed not to have some sort of normal job in Bismarck, yet he hadn’t had to quit one to come with them. He’d been evasive when she’d asked him about his work. In fact, for all the questions he asked, he didn’t answer many in return, so she was inclined to agree with Degan that he might have ulterior motives.

  Quite a few farms were within an hour or two of Bismarck, homesteads established by settlers who’d probably come in soon after the railroad had arrived. But the farther north they went, the fewer thriving homesteads they saw. Most had been abandoned, a few even burned to the ground. Max figured the Indians had still been active in the area when the railroad first came through. Sporadically they spotted cabins, most of which were deserted. Jackson was leading them to the ones he knew were occupied so Degan could stop and question the inhabitants.

  They stopped under a lone tree for lunch the first day of their search. Degan’s food sack was filled with the usual fare he favored that would last several days without spoiling. They’d been riding hard, so he rubbed down his horse before eating.

  Max sat down and leaned against the tree as she ate. She’d removed her coat as soon as the day heated up, so the gun she wore was in view now. Jackson sat next to her, his rifle across his lap.

  “You know how to use that?” he asked curiously, staring at her Colt.

  Max supposed this was one of those times when it didn’t matter that her gun was empty because Jackson didn’t know it. All she said was, “Wouldn’t wear it if I didn’t.”

  He watched Degan for a few minutes before he said, “You and him?”

  She’d been staring at Degan, whose back was turned to them, and Jackson had noticed it. Sometimes she just couldn’t keep her eyes off him. She knew what Jackson was implying.

  “No. I’ve hired him to do a job,” she lied. “He won’t do it until he finishes this one.”

  “But he’s a marshal,” Jackson pointed out. “Why would he work for you?”

  Not until that moment did she realize that Jackson Bouchard wasn’t aware of Degan’s reputation as a gunslinger. That surprised her because other people in Dakota they’d spoken to had known exactly who he was. She almost laughed. Not that it mattered. With Degan paying him, Jackson had no reason to be wary of Degan—unless he was exactly who Degan thought he was, which would make him wary of a lawman.

  “We have an arrangement,” she said offhandedly. “I help him with this, he helps me with my problem afterward.”

  “Which is?”

  “Personal.”

  “Too bad.”

  That comment drew her eyes to him because she wasn’t sure what he meant by it. Was he interested in her? She hadn’t sensed that he might be. Until now.

  But he got up before he added, “You should go back to town. I can get him where he needs to go.”

  That was said a little too confidently. She no longer doubted that Bouchard was somehow involved with the Nolan gang, either as their informant or one of the actual robbers. He obviously knew where they were. And his pointing his rifle at her and Degan and turning them over to Willie Nolan could well be his plan. But Degan was prepared for that. Jackson wouldn’t get away with it, even though he always kept his rifle in his hand. If he tried, he would be surprised by how fast Degan was.

  They slept in a trapper’s shed on the edge of a small woods that night. It was mostly empty except for a few metal traps with dried blood still on them. The trapper, Artemus Gains, lived in a small cabin next to the shed. Strung up between the two buildings were lines hung with animal pelts of all sizes.

  Starved for company, Gains had invited them to share his dinner and offered them the shed for the night. He knew Jackson. At least they talked as if they were old friends. Artemus even tried to get Jackson to stay for a week or so to keep an eye on his place, so he could go to Bismarck for supplies and to visit his brother. Max couldn’t understand why he was so worried that someone would try to move into his little, one-room cabin while he was gone. But Jackson promised to return when his current job was done.

  The next morning they rode for hours without seeing any dwellings. But close to noon they spotted a small ranch in the distance. Cattle were grazing in the fields around it, maybe fifty head. Max saw a pen of horses, a barn, and a few other outbuildings. No one appeared to be working outside, but smoke coming from the chimney suggested food was being cooked for someone.

  Max had hung back just enough to keep her eye on Jackson, so she was the first to see him turn and ride hell-bent in the opposite direction. Degan swung his horse about, but he didn’t comment on their fleeing guide other than to say, “Now I’m curious about why he would lead us right to Nolan and his gang if he wasn’t setting up a trap.”

  “You think they’re at that ranch?”

  “Why else would Bouchard take off like that? Looks like you’re not the only one who favors hiding in plain sight. A ranch makes a good cover for a large group of men, especially since no one lives nearby to notice if they’re working the cattle or not. Come with me.”

  He rode off the way Jackson had gone. She caught up and said drily, “The ranch is back that way.”

  “And you’re not getting anywhere near it.”

  She groaned to herself. “Tell me you’re not going to ride in there alone.”

  “I’m not riding in.”

  She relaxed until he reined in behind a small copse and handed her his saddlebags. All of the ammunition he’d taken from her the night they’d met was in those bags. She laid them across her lap and quickly loaded her rifle and Colt, stuffing the rest of the cartridges in her pockets before handing his bags back to him.

  She looked back at the ranch house. “We can barely see anything from here.”

  “Which makes it a good place for you to wait.”

  “Degan! I can help, you know. At least if I’m within ran
ge, which I’m not here.”

  “For once will you do as I ask?”

  “Then why give me bullets if you don’t want my help?” she demanded.

  “In case something goes wrong and you have to make your way back to town alone.”

  She blanched at that possibility, and it could very well come true if he confronted the gang alone. And he didn’t have to! He had other options that didn’t include her. She mentioned the most obvious one. “You’re a deputy marshal. You could gather a posse in Bismarck now that you know where the Nolan gang is hiding.”

  “If there are too many of them I will, but I won’t know that until I get closer. There were at least ten of them at the last robbery, though that was the first one that went bad for them. They lost six men that day.”

  Her panic eased a little. “So you think there’re only four of them left here?”

  “No, they would have recruited men to replace the ones they lost. Maybe not all, but some. But this isn’t going to be a showdown, Max. If I come up with a reasonable head count, I’ll circle around behind the house and take them by surprise. Chances are, no guns will need to be fired. And if I find any of them in the outbuildings, I can probably disable a few of them before I even get to Willie Nolan. But I can’t do this efficiently if I spend half my time worried about you. So I want your word that you’ll wait here out of harm’s way.”

  “Fine,” she mumbled, and dismounted.

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “I promise!” she snarled.

  “But can I believe you?”

  She glared at him. “You’ve never had a promise from me before because I don’t break them. But here’s another one. If you die today, I swear I’ll never forgive you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Max kicked a clump of grass next to her, thinking about pigheaded mules as she watched him ride off to find a vantage point where he could observe the ranch. He’d be fine. She knew he’d be fine. He was used to dealing with situations like this. She wasn’t. She would have caused him to—did he really say he would have worried about her?

  Mollified a little and with Degan no longer in view, she decided to get comfortable for a long wait. She took a swig from her canteen, then dribbled some water in Noble’s mouth. But she tensed when she heard a horse approaching from the direction they had come. Was Jackson returning? She wished it were him when she looked around and saw two men riding straight toward her. What were the chances of their not being members of Nolan’s gang? Slim.

  She quickly ran a hand over Noble’s dusty flank and then across her cheek and chin, before tipping her hat low. She almost reached for her gun but was glad she didn’t when she noticed both men had theirs out and aimed at her. She took the initiative instead.

  “Howdy, fellas. I’m Max Dawson. A Mr. Bouchard pointed me in this direction. He said Willie Nolan might have a job to offer a man of my talents. Have I come to the right place?”

  “You could have rode in to find out,” one of the men said.

  “Max Dawson, huh?” the other said, then grinned. “Ain’t you wanted for murder in Kansas? Pretty sure I saw your wanted poster there.”

  He was probably testing her, but this wasn’t something she needed to lie about. “I’m wanted in Texas, but that poster gets around. So do y’all have a job that pays good or not?”

  “We might, but it’s Willie’s decision. Come along and meet him.” He rode ahead to the ranch house, while the other man waited for Max to follow so he could keep her in his sights. She hoped Degan wasn’t witnessing this and thinking she’d just broken her promise.

  She dismounted in front of the porch and saw no sign of Degan coming to her rescue. But she might not need rescuing. Weren’t outlaws more trusting of other outlaws? At least one of them knew who she was.

  The porch had a roof for shade, but it wasn’t raised off the ground, so it had no steps or railings. She really wished Degan would come around the corner of this house right then with his gun drawn. She might appear confident, but she wasn’t. She’d never had to bluff her way through something like this. And nothing delayed her entry into the house because the man behind her pushed her inside.

  She stepped into a large room with a kitchen and a dining table on one side and a sofa and chairs on the other side. A hallway in back probably led to a few bedrooms, but it was dark. Two men sat at the table, playing cards. A young man who looked no older than Max was stirring a pot in the fireplace. Another man who looked enough like him to be his older brother sat slumped against the wall next to him. He looked angry.

  Max had a sinking feeling. She counted six men in the house. Degan wasn’t going to be doing any disabling as he’d hoped, not when it appeared that most if not all of the gang were in the house. But she still had to make sure they didn’t shoot her in the meantime. She sauntered into the room, maneuvering until none of the men were behind her. If Degan barged in, commanding their attention, she could at least take out a few of them before they remembered she was there. But she had their full attention for the moment.

  One of the two men at the card table stood up. He was on the late side of thirty and lanky. He was frowning when he asked, “Who’s this?”

  “Jackson sent him.”

  “Since when does Jackson send us men?”

  “Since he found out I was looking for a job with a big payoff,” Max quickly put in. “And I don’t care much how I get it.”

  “Is that so?” the older man asked, still frowning at her. “And just who are you?”

  “Max Dawson. If you haven’t heard of me, your friend has.”

  The one who had recognized her spoke up. “He’s wanted for murder and something else, I can’t remember what.”

  “Bank robbery,” Max volunteered. “And if you’re Willie Nolan, I’d like in on your next robbery.”

  “I take it you won’t mind killing to get your pay? The trains have been doubling up with guards lately.”

  “Don’t mind a’tall as long as there’s a big payout. I’m tired of being broke.”

  “You’re not going to get rich around here,” the kid’s brother who was sitting by the fireplace grumbled.

  “Shut up, Bart,” Nolan snapped.

  This train-robbing bunch didn’t sound like a happy crew. Max wondered if she could add to the discord.

  She tried by saying, “What sort of split are we talking about?”

  “As the newest member you’ll get a smaller share of the take until you prove yourself,” Nolan answered. “But you’ll still be looking at a nice haul—as long as you pull your weight.”

  The last was added with a disgusted look toward Bart, whose face twisted in anger. Whatever the brothers had done wrong, it appeared the leader of the gang wasn’t going to let them forget it. That’s when Degan made his presence known.

  “Who owns this spread?” he called loudly from the front of the house.

  Nolan immediately looked at Max. “This place is getting mighty busy today. Or did you bring someone with you?”

  “No, I didn’t.” She added cheekily, “But I can take care of this if you like.”

  “Stay here.” Nolan started toward the door, but he didn’t have to go outside.

  Degan appeared in the open doorway. So much for taking the gang by surprise. He’d removed his jacket. With his tooled gun belt and his Colt in full view, and his expression about as unfriendly as it could get, he appeared even more dangerous than usual. But when his eyes lit on Max first, she was afraid he was more interested in getting her out of there than in a showdown. Yet this was going to get ugly if he let on that he knew her, after she’d just said otherwise.

  She was about to say something that would disassociate them when he tipped his hat up only slightly and repeated, “Who owns this spread?”

  Max let out her breath. Of course. In that brief glance at her, Degan had ascertained that she wasn’t a hostage because no guns were trained on her and she wasn’t tied up.

  “That would be me
,” Nolan said to Degan. “And you don’t look like a cowpuncher, so what brings you out this way?”

  “Name’s Degan Grant.”

  “The gunfighter? That Degan Grant?” Nolan actually chuckled. “Maybe you’re looking for work of a different sort?”

  “If you’re Willie Nolan, then my job is almost done.”

  Max winced. That was a little too direct even to her ears, and Nolan no longer looked amused. But he still looked confident. The numbers were on his side, after all.

  “I have no fight with you, gunfighter. What do you want with me?”

  “Just doing a friend a favor.”

  “For a measly reward?”

  “The reward just covers my costs. You in jail covers the favor. You don’t need to die, Nolan. You can come with me instead.”

  “I’ll pay you double the reward if you ride out of here and pretend you never saw me. And that’s damn generous, considering the alternative.”

  “The thing is,” Degan said tonelessly, “no one else has to die. Just you—if you insist.”

  “My brother Jimmy and I didn’t sign up for this,” Bart said, jumping up and running toward the back of the house.

  He didn’t even make it to that dark hallway before Nolan shot him. His own man? Jimmy, who was still by the fireplace, cried out in rage and drew his own gun. And that’s when everyone started firing their weapons.

  Max dove behind the sofa before she drew her gun. But with no one else taking cover, the shooting was over in seconds. She stood up slowly and holstered the gun she hadn’t even needed to fire.

  Bodies littered the floor. Jimmy was still alive and crying over his brother’s body. Degan was still standing, thank God, but it appeared everyone else was dead.

  Then she heard those famous last words, “Let’s go,” before Degan walked out of the house.

  Incredulous, Max ran after him. But he’d gone straight to his horse on the side of the house and was already mounted.

  Max went up to him. “We’re not going to bury anyone?”

  “Is Nolan dead?” Degan spoke more softly than usual.