Fire Eyes

by Pierson, Cheryl

  Jessica.

  He was cold. The window was shut, the fire burning warm and bright. Yet, he shivered.

  When Jessica had cut away his clothing, she'd covered him from the hips down with a thin flannel sheet. Before, he'd wanted to kick free of it, had been burning with heat, and grateful for the open window. Now, he was shivering with the cold.

  Her cool hand came across his forehead, and he realized he was burning with fever.

  "Jessi—"

  "I'm here with you," she said.

  "Can't…get warm." Even as he said it, he noticed he was lying under not only the flannel sheet, but two more blankets as well. "Why'm I so cold?"

  "It's shock. You've lost a lot of blood. Got some fever, too. But that's not unexpected after what you've been through." She began to unbutton her dress. Chills wracked his body again, coming as the pain had, in waves.

  "Should've come sooner. Shock—"

  "It hasn't been that long." She let the dress fall to the floor, then picked it up and laid it across the back of the chair. Wearing only her thin cotton underdress, she stepped toward the bed. "It's all catching up with you now."

  Kaed tried to hold himself still and quiet, but it was impossible. The chills shook his body with violent, unstoppable tremors. He clamped his jaw shut.

  It hasn't been that long, she'd said.

  How long had it been? He felt as if he'd been in this bed for a week already. He felt sick. Never had a fever. Never. The anger took over, then.

  All he wanted to do was sleep. Just let his body heal. Then, maybe his mind would toughen up a little too, so he wouldn't remember every damned detail. Those two little girls lying dead. The too-young marshal who'd been trying to save them. Beckley. He'd be forever nineteen.

  His mind wandered and bounced, and he drifted in the darkness of his disjointed thoughts and the relentless pain.

  Nineteen. That had been a long time ago for him. Ten years. Seemed more like a hundred. White Deer and Two Stars would never see nineteen.

  He couldn't think about nineteen right now. It was a luxury to even remember what he was thinking about, the way his thoughts rolled and tumbled. He wasn't even sure where he was, who he was with.

  Where was the woman? She was young and pretty. Not just pretty. Beautiful. And she had eyes that could bewitch, eyes that could keep a man enthralled forever. Lips that begged to be kissed.

  But not by him. He was too brutalized right now to even care about her, or about himself. He needed to heal…and hope they were gone. His consciousness slid and skidded to a stop. Were Fallon's men still here? Did the woman know how to use a gun? Could she defend them if Fallon's men-—Fallon's Brigade, he called them-—Fallon, the bastard… He was drifting again, and there was nothing to stop him.

  What if I can't get back to solid ground? The fear was almost stronger than the pain for a moment. Don't let them know. Never show your fear. That was rule number one. Rule number two, never let them see your pain. He'd mastered those two long ago.

  "Kaed?"

  The bed sagged, and with a quick rush of cool air, the blankets lifted. Her leg brushed his, then settled nearby. The hesitant voice was hers, and he was holding on to reality tenuously once more.

  "Cold, Jessica."

  "I know. I'm going to warm you, if I can."

  "Come closer." Was he dreaming? He must be.

  His Jessi. Crazy. She was a woman who was caring for him. That was all. Or had Standing Bear delivered him to an angel? A beautiful, unreal vision that would disappear if he reached for her? His mind strayed again in the feverish fog of pain and heat. When he was well enough to travel, he'd go see what Standing Bear's Choctaw warriors had left of Fallon's Brigade.

  "I don't want to hurt you." Jessica's voice was soft, close to his ear, calling him back to the present.

  "Don't worry 'bout that." He turned, just a little, and put his left hand out to touch her, to be sure she was flesh and blood, and not some ethereal spirit. "Come closer, Jessica."

  She hesitated a moment, then she moved nearer, and his hand closed around her forearm.

  "Don't run out on me," he whispered. "I need you."

  "Shh, darling." Jessica reached for him. I'd never do that. I'm just trying to get close without touching you. That would be agony for you."

  "I won't hurt you, Jess." There was a hint of chiding in his voice.

  "I know that."

  "But you were afraid."

  She didn't answer for a moment. Then, "Not of you."

  "Of what, then?" He tried to move closer to her and she let him, laying her head next to his broad chest.

  After a few seconds slipped by, she said, "I've never slept with another man, other than Billy. But this is the only way I know to get you warm. To make sure I've done everything I can." She paused again. "I don't even know you."

  He smiled in the darkness. Her warmth was helping him, the chills dissipating. He heard the hesitant note in her voice. As if he could take advantage of her in his condition.

  "You know me." He said it with a certainty, as if she'd known him for years rather than hours. "You know I won't hurt you."

  "It isn't—" She swallowed hard "It's not proper."

  "I don't have a chaperone in my pocket. But my word's good."

  "As are your intentions, I'm sure."

  He paused for a moment. "So far."

  * * * * *

  Jessica smiled and relaxed at his teasing. He gradually stopped shaking, the tension leaving him. She was pressed close to him, and she let him hold her as tightly as he wanted, molding herself carefully to his wounded body. The white cotton chemise would be ruined, stained forevermore with his blood. But it was clean and warm and would keep him that way, too.

  Oddly, she felt no shame. She couldn't understand it, and it frightened her a little. Even though there had been no choice in what she'd done to keep him warm, she should have expected to feel a mortifying guilt, lying in bed with a stranger who was totally unclothed. A magnificently-built stranger, at that. His skin was still fevered and hot against the thin cotton barrier, and where her hand rested on his side, just above the bullet wound.

  "Is there someone I should notify if you—" She couldn't bring herself to finish her thought.

  "Never had a woman worry over me so much."

  Jessica's face warmed in the darkness. "I'm not worried, just trying to prepare for whatever might happen."

  He was silent, but Jessica knew he was awake. When he spoke, his words were tinged with humor. "Didn't mean to make you mad."

  "You didn't make me mad." She moved away from him, raising her eyes to his puffy gaze. Even in the firelight, she saw the spark of laughter there. "I think you're all right. The chills seem to have stopped, at least for now."

  "Jessi." His voice was deep and quiet in the stillness of the night. "Don't go. You're tired, too, and I've got your bed. Just…stay with me awhile."

  There was a wistfulness in his tone threading through the pain that she could not ignore. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip. No other man had ever had the power to affect her as this one did. Even Billy, with all his strange ideas of what a marriage was supposed to be, had never touched her as Kaed Turner did. Billy had never teased her, or cared for her. Had never shown any consideration for her.

  She had thought herself in love with Billy. Could barely wait to marry him and move away from the little farm where she'd been born and raised. But she didn't miss him. She felt only relief at not being burdened with him any longer.

  "There's no one, in answer to your question. No one except the law office in Fort Smith."

  She saw the laughter dance in his slitted eyes once more before he veiled them, adding, "No woman, or anything, if that's what you're—"

  "No. That wasn't what I was thinking." She looked away from him as he settled her close to his chest again. After a few moments, he shifted. She moved drowsily against him. "Am I hurting you, Kaed?"

  "No," he whispered in the darkness, his
fingers tightening on her shoulder for an instant in gentle reassurance. "You could never do that."

  Chapter Seven

  He gave a battered half-smile over the top of her head. Sleep would come eventually, but he planned to savor every second of wakefulness lying next to Jessica. She was such an innocent. Her marriage had done nothing to relieve her of that; he could tell by the stiff way she lay with her hand on his hip, like she was afraid to touch him.

  Darling, she'd called him earlier. Easily. Naturally. As if she did it every night before she lay down to sleep with him. Her skin felt soft beneath his touch, her hair silky under the roughness of his stubbled beard, and a well of contentment, in spite of the pain, rose up in him. Finally, he fell into a deep sleep, giving himself up to the blackness, then the dreams that he could not stop, or change.

  * * * * *

  He had been here before. Waiting. The mists swirled and parted. Dreams were not always kind, but could be a powerful tool to search for clues that the mind kept veiled. From where he waited in the dense underbrush he could see and hear everything—all over again.

  "Maybe we oughtta let 'em go," Abe Moseley suggested. "Bein' as who they are." He shot Fish Edwards a dark look.

  "Hell," Fish mumbled. "I didn't know they was related to any chief when I took 'em."

  Fallon stood up and eyed Edwards shrewdly. "It sure puts us in a hell of a place." He walked slowly toward one of the tall cottonwoods and leaned against it. "Standing Bear will stop at nothing to get them back."

  Mosely hung his head. "I won't never do that again—screw the merchandise, I mean. I'm awful sorry."

  Fallon shook his head slowly. "We don't have a buyer anymore, and now we have Standing Bear to deal with." He came slowly toward Mosely, halting just in front of him. "What should I do, Abe?"

  "Hell, General, I know I made a mistake. But I hadn't had any for so long, an'—"

  "A mistake!" Fallon gave him an incredulous stare. "You cost us, Mosely. You and Thomas and Connors. Pritchard is paying us for virgins!"

  Pritchard! Kaed's mind seized on the valuable piece of information he had missed the first time. Pritchard. The Honorable George Pritchard—the Federal judge in Dodge City?

  The rest of this was unimportant, but he couldn't seem to manage to shake off the sleep, wake himself up. He was on fire; burning—and he couldn't do a damn thing. Everything blurred, and once again he felt the rough hands seizing him, tying him. There was a sudden hiss of burning flesh, the smell of it searing his nostrils, and just as the pain washed over him, he realized it was his own skin.

  A mountain of a man stood beside him, his leering gap-toothed grin filled with malicious intent. Kaed felt him take his right arm in his huge ham fists. It seemed as if he stood that way for an eternity, both hands locked on opposite sides of Kaed's arm.

  At Fallon's grinning nod, the man tightened his grip and began to slowly twist in opposite directions. The bone snapped and crunched as it broke under the ponderous pressure. An excruciating blast of agony shot through Kaed's entire body as the jagged shards of bone cut through his skin from the inside out, until the ends protruded completely.

  Blood spurted across his twisted face and corded neck, soaking into his shirt in spatters. It flowed freely in the next moment, turning the ragged edge of chambray sleeve into a crimson flag of agony.

  He cursed himself for the guttural, half-conscious sound he made in the back of his throat. Only by sheer force of will did he choke back the animalistic screams that threatened to tear apart the bloodthirsty air of this hideous night.

  "Felt that, didn't you, Turner?" Fallon leered at Kaed. "Where do you reckon ol' Standing Bear is right now?"

  Kaed remained silent, his puffy eyes slitted murderously in the flickering light of the campfire.

  "Well, let's see. I know one place he's not, Marshal Turner. He's not here rescuin' you, now, is he?" Fallon's blade arced wickedly across Kaed's belly, and he gritted his teeth at the slashing fire. He could almost feel his shoulders separating from the rest of his body.

  "Is he, Marshal? Now, I ast you a question, boy, and I want a true lawman answer."

  Kaed tried to speak, to tell Fallon to go screw himself, but it wouldn't come. His throat was dry and rusty, aching with the effort he'd made to keep any sound back.

  "What?" Fallon asked, his grin widening hellishly. He leaned closer in mock concern. "I think the marshal's tryin' to talk, boys. Go ''head, Turner. Ol' Standing Bear ain't much of anything to be afraid of, cause he sure hasn't shown his cowardly, red ass around here." He winked. "Don't believe he's comin' to help you."

  "He…will," Kaed gritted.

  At the certain tone of Kaed's response, some of the men hooted and whistled. Seconds later, the first arrow caught Bodie Johns in the throat. The other men turned, running, scrambling for guns, cover and horses.

  All except Andrew Fallon. Drawing his revolver, he pointed it at Kaed's head. "Now, you die, Marshal."

  As Kaed watched Fallon's eager finger ease the trigger back, he felt a strong vibration in the ropes at his wrists, heard the accompanying whine of the well-placed arrow. He dropped to the ground as the rope unraveled, sliced in two. Fallon's gun exploded, and once more, Kaed felt the hot streak of fire at his side.

  As he hit the ground and rolled, the blackness took him.

  * * * * *

  Kaed jerked, biting back the cry that threatened to push its way up from his chest. His body glistened with sweat, and his jaws hurt from gritting his teeth in his sleep. The only light in his world was the tenderness of Jessica's touch.

  "Shh." She put her hands against his shoulders and urged him to lie down. He did so, only because he wasn't strong enough yet to get on a horse and go after Fallon…to end it.

  "It was just a dream, Kaed," she said.

  Kaed shook his head. His spine still tingled, and his mind held the memory of the dream vividly. It wasn't happening again. It wasn't real this time. But it felt like it. God, it felt like it. His breathing was fast and erratic, and he made an effort to slow it before he finally spoke.

  "No," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "No dream."

  "Do you want to talk?"

  He heard her hesitation. "God, no, Jess." He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to exorcise the smell of death, the fever of disgust and hate, and the encompassing weight of helplessness that pressed him down. He'd never be free of it until he killed Fallon.

  "I had nightmares. When Billy died." Jessica raised her head to look at him. "I'd dream awful things. And I'd wish so bad I had somebody there with me. Somebody real who I could just…be with. Somebody who would be there for me." After a few moments, she went on. "I guess I'm sounding crazy. But Kaed, I want you to know, I'm here for you. If you want to talk about it, or if you just want to know somebody cares." She held his gaze. "I do. I care. And…I'm—I'm real."

  He didn't speak for a minute, then he reached to cup her cheek in his roughened palm. His throat felt raw, and it was hard to swallow. "Jessi—"

  Jessica bent slowly and touched her lips to his in a tender kiss. All the anger and bloodlust fell away, leaving only an odd kind of desire in his heart, and no explanation for it. No one had ever looked into his soul as Jessica Monroe just had.

  He didn't touch her, didn't pull her to him or deepen the kiss. It was the kiss of a woman who offered herself against abysmal loneliness, a woman trying to extend whatever protection she could against not only his physical wounds, but his emotional ones as well.

  He searched her eyes. She didn't know him well enough to speak those kinds of words to him. Yet, in a way, she knew him more intimately than any other woman had. She'd taken him in and cared for him tirelessly. She'd worried over him, given of herself to the point of stripping down to her chemise and sleeping close to him in a desperate bid to save his life, though they were little more than strangers. Yet, already, they were so much more than that.

  He traced her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. "Thank you, Jessi
. Thank you for that, and everything else you've done. I didn't mean to be short with you about it."

  She shook her head. "I know. I didn't think that. I understand."

  Kaed gave her a half grin. "Yeah. I think you do. And I appreciate that more than I can say." He settled her into the crook of his arm. "That's pretty damn hard to find."

  Jessica smiled. "Are you okay now?"

  Kaed stroked her hair, not responding immediately. Then, "I'm just fine, Jess. Now that I've got something real to hold on to." He felt his heart growing, expanding in his chest. "Go to sleep, now," he whispered.

  Chapter Eight

  "Anybody heard from Turner lately?"

  The Silver Palace Bar was crowded. It was a Saturday night, and the deputy marshals in the vicinity of Fort Smith had drawn their pay just the day before. Five of them sat around a too-small table, a deck of cards beside a bottle of Boozer's Whiskey, their shot glasses empty.

  "Last I seen of Kaed, he said he was goin' after Jake Blue." Harv Jenkins shot Travis Morgan a thoughtful look as he replied. "That was last Thursday, a week." He took a drink. "What about that young 'un, Mitch Beckley?"

  "Mitch Beckley. Gonna fix the world, or die tryin'," Tom Sellers, the oldest, most experienced of the bunch, said. He smoothed his dark mustache.

  Jenkins smiled at Sellers' description of Beckley. "Yeah, he's got a lot to learn."

  "If he lives long enough," Morgan added with a sarcastic snort. At twenty-three, Morgan's impetuous temperament made patience an impossibility.

  "Why haven't I met him yet?" Jack Eaton asked.

  "Well, hell, Jack, you've either been gone, or upstairs whorin'." Sellers gave Eaton a wide grin and pushed his hat back.

  They all laughed, but Travis Morgan was quick to become somber once more. "Still, it ain't like Kaed not to wire in."

  "Well, son, you're plumb right about that," Jenkins said. His own dark brows slashed together. "Wonder if he's in some kind of trouble."