Love and Fury: The Coltrane Saga, Book 4

by Patricia Hagan

  He pressed the red-hot steel against the wound, smelled the nauseating odor of burning flesh. The leather fell from Colt’s mouth and he screamed once, then mercifully passed out.

  Branch sat back gratefully, and found he was shaking. He stared at the bloodied piece of led in his hand. Now he had to get Colt somewhere to rest.

  He gazed back toward the posse’s camp, but Colt was too weak to be moved that far just yet, Branch decided. He could sleep where they were until the next day. Then they’d go due south, skirting the Esmeralda salt marshes and riding on into California where there was a small mining camp, Golconda. Not much in the way of a town, it was mostly just a place where prospectors could come in from their digs and raise hell. It would be a good place for Colt to rest up.

  Branch smiled as he thought about Golconda. Candy and her girls would be there. Candy ran one of the best bawdy houses in the West, and Branch had friends there. They’d be happy to look after Colt while Branch went back to Silver Butte to look after the Coltrane place till Colt could take over again.

  Branch chuckled. Why, some of his best friends were whores, and he was proud of it. They made nice friends, and he figured that’s just what Colt would be needing to pull him out of his grief—some nice friends.

  Chapter Eight

  Each time his horse set a hoof against the rough, rocky terrain, a jabbing pain shot through Colt’s shoulder, but thanks to constant sipping from Branch’s bottle, there was a cushion against the agony. Soon they would be in Golconda where he could rest while Branch returned to Silver Butte with the money stolen from the bank. The plan suited Colt just fine. He was in no hurry to go home to the memories…and Charlene’s father.

  Branch frowned as Colt drank again. “You better watch that stuff. You’ve been guzzlin’ since we started out, and you’re already weak from all the blood you lost.”

  Colt grinned. “We aren’t far from Golconda now.” Then he muttered, “Wonder if Candy is still around. Fine woman.”

  Branch looked more than a little surprised. “You know Candy?”

  Colt hiccupped. He felt god-awful, but he’d be damned if he’d give in to misery.

  “Well?” Branch prodded.

  With false heartiness, Colt responded, “You don’t know all my business. I’ve been riding down to Golconda since I was fourteen.”

  “Yeah?” Branch growled. “I’ll bet your pa didn’t know about it.”

  “Oh, I imagine he did,” Colt said fondly. “Never was able to slip much by my father, you know. But he never said anything.”

  Branch knew Colt was hurting, hurting bad and putting up a front. He decided to help by coaxing his mind away from the pain. “Tell me,” he urged, “which one of the girls do you like the best? Rosie? Tilly? Jenny-lou? Candy’s got some fine-looking women.”

  Colt shook his head feebly. “I haven’t been there for over a year.” His words were becoming slurred and the buzzing in his head was getting louder, but he was determined to keep going. They could see the shanties and tents of Golconda, but he was having difficulty focusing.

  “Well, tell me,” Branch pressed on. “Which one did you like best?”

  A wave of warmth moved through Colt that had nothing to do with the liquor. “Becky. Sweet as honey. Eyes that make you think of violets, and hair the color of sunrise, all red and gold.”

  Branch was confused. He knew all Candy’s girls. He didn’t boast about it, keeping his personal life to himself, but he made three or four trips a year down to Golconda, and he didn’t know anyone named Becky. “You sure you ain’t fevered? I don’t know Becky.”

  Colt was locked in pleasant reverie. Several moments passed before he explained, “Becky is Candy’s niece. She’s not one of the girls. She just works at the place—cooking, cleaning, you know.”

  Branch cried, “And you been foolin’ around with her? Are you crazy? Candy might seem like an easygoin’ woman, but you get her riled and she can be a hellcat. I don’t think she’d like you foolin’ around with her niece. If she’s still in Golconda, you forget about her, you hear? You ain’t in no shape for that anyhow. I don’t want Candy on my neck, understand? Leave her niece alone.”

  Colt didn’t answer was having a hard time remaining upright, and he didn’t want to waste his strength trying to explain. Branch had jumped to conclusions about how it was between him and Becky. No matter. It was not important that Branch be told the truth, that nothing had ever happened. Becky was sweet…special…untouched. Colt stayed away from virgins, just as his father had advised him. But there were times with Becky when Colt wished things could be different.

  They rode in silence the rest of the way into Golconda.

  The town, if it could even be called a town, consisted mostly of shanties and a few tents, temporary shelters for the prospectors and drifters who came and went. The only permanent structures, besides Candy’s place, were a store and two saloons, both constructed of wood, both yielding to the ravages of time and the desert.

  There was almost no vegetation. Tumbleweeds danced in the ever-present desert winds. Here and there a mesquite grew, brown and scraggly. There were no trees or grass, just rocks and sand, and a scattered cactus.

  Golconda was in fact right in the middle of nowhere.

  Candy’s place was at the end of the town’s only street. Easily the nicest thing to look at in town, it was kept whitewashed, and it sparkled in the brilliant sun. The shutters and trim were pink, as was the picket fence surrounding the yard. The house was two stories high, and a wide porch wrapped around the front.

  Men standing in the street and outside the saloons did no more than glance at the duo as they rode in. No matter that one of them was slumped forward in the saddle, a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his chest. Folks in Golconda minded their own business. It was a rough town, a rough life. Everyone tried to stay out of everyone else’s business.

  All appeared quiet at Candy’s, but then, it was midmorning on a weekday. Nights, especially weekends, would find men coming and going like small armies on parade.

  Colt was nearly blinded by pain. He was dizzy and terribly weak. He felt warm—too warm. It was not the alcohol. A fever was spreading through his body. The wound was infected.

  They drew up at the gate. Branch dismounted, tied their reins to the hitching post, and turned just as Colt fell from his horse. As he bent over him, Branch felt the burning heat radiating from his body and knew he had a raging fever. As gently as possible, he lifted the unconscious Colt and hurried up the steps to the house.

  Candy Faro had rushed to the window in response to her servant’s cry of alarm, and by the time Branch reached her front door, she had wrapped a pink satin robe around herself and was scurrying down the steps. “Hurry, let him in,” she commanded the frightened Negro maid.

  Branch stepped into the dimly lit foyer, glad to see Candy. On his pleasure visits, he always paused to admire the red velvet wallpaper and the big vases of ostrich feathers. It was a beautiful house. “Where can I put him?” he asked Candy. But before she could say anything, he ordered the maid, “Go get the doc. Fast.”

  Her mistress nodded for her to obey, and the girl ran from the house.

  Candy led Branch down a narrow hallway, to the rear. They entered a dayroom in the back of the house. Six girls, in various stages of undress, stared curiously as they passed. Reaching a small room at the very back of the rambling house, Candy pointed to a sofa. “There. It’s quiet here.” She watched as Branch laid Colt down, then went over to get a better look at the wounded man. She whirled about, exclaiming, “That’s Coltrane! What happened?”

  Branch’s eyes flicked over her appreciatively. She was a fine-looking woman—tall, slender, with large breasts that spilled provocatively from her plunging neckline. Her hair was flame red, obviously dyed, and her bright green eyes were framed by thick, long false eyelashes. Lavender shadow was smudged in the lines around her eyes. A little age on her, yes, but she was still most appealing. Branch was sorry
that she never offered her own services, but she reserved herself for her long-running romance with a married lawman who came to town about once a month.

  “Well, are you going to tell me?” Her arms were folded across her bosom, for she had seen the lust in his eyes. “I’m doing you a favor letting you bring him here, so I’ve got a right to know what happened.”

  Deciding it was all right, Branch told her everything except about Charlene Bowden. That, he felt, was Colt’s business.

  “It was too far back to Silver Butte,” he finished. “He’d lost a lot of blood already. So I brought him here.”

  He walked to a side window and peered out, but he couldn’t see the front of the house. “Where’s that damn doctor?” he snapped.

  Candy scowled. “Probably sleeping off a drunk, as usual. Poor excuse for a doctor, he is, but if he were any good, he wouldn’t hang around here. Still, he’s better than nothing. Luly will bring him as soon as she finds him. Meanwhile I’ll take a look at that wound myself.”

  She went to the door and yelled, “Someone get Becky. Tell her I need hot water and three or four bandages. And whiskey.” To Branch, she said, “He’ll need that for cleaning the wound and for himself.”

  Branch grunted. “That’s partly what’s wrong with him now. He’s been suckin’ whiskey the whole way.”

  Candy pulled up a chair and sat down beside Colt. Very gently she removed his bandage, wincing at the sight of the ugly wound. “Goddamn, Branch! What’d you try to do? Burn him to death? Look at that mess.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Branch said huffily. “All he needs is lookin’ after—and rest.”

  “He’ll get both here.”

  Suddenly Branch realized how tired he was. “Any chance of getting some coffee and a bite to eat?”

  She nodded toward the door. “Luly probably has something set back. Help yourself. We’ll settle up the bill when he’s on his feet.”

  Just as Branch started out of the room, a young woman rushed through the door. He was stunned by the sight of her lovely face, framed by curls in a sunburst of color. Her eyes were wide, bright, and beautiful. Their radiance could put a lilac to shame. She was tiny but well proportioned, and he marveled at the peach softness of her complexion.

  When she approached Colt, her hand flew to her lips, and a broken sob came from her. She rushed to the sofa and dropped to her knees, reaching out to touch his brow. “Colt,” she whispered tremulously. “Oh, Colt, what happened to you?”

  Candy looked at Branch and murmured, “This is Becky, my niece. They’re old friends—but it’s not what you think.”

  Branch merely nodded and left the room, finding the kitchen easily. Against a wall was a cabinet called a “pie safe”, where leftover cooked foods were stored so that flies couldn’t get to them. He opened one of the wooden doors and found a pan of cold cornbread. He crumbled several chunks into a bowl, then found a pitcher of buttermilk on the table and poured that over the cornbread.

  He was just finishing his third bowl when Luly returned with Doc Maltby, so he pushed away from the table and went back to Colt. He was still unconscious.

  Doc Maltby’s hands were shaky, and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot. He had a hell of a hangover, and Branch was glad the bullet was already out of Colt. Damned if he’d trust that old drunk to cut Colt.

  Doc Maltby removed the bandage Candy had just put on. He made no comment when he saw the burned flesh, assuming it had been an emergency cutting to stop the bleeding. It had not succeeded fully, but the flow had been lessened. “Clean wound?” he asked. “The bullet is out?”

  Branch stepped forward. “Had to cut it out, but it’s out now.”

  Doc nodded. “It’s a bad wound, but he should be all right. Keep him quiet. Keep him warm. Lots of broth. No solid food till he asks for it. I’ll leave some quinine. That will bring down the fever.

  “No booze,” he ordered, getting to his feet and opening his leather bag to search for the quinine. “He’s drunk now.”

  “You should be right on that diagnosis, Doc,” Candy said.

  He scowled at her, then went back to rummaging in his bag until he found what he was looking for. He handed her the vial of medicine, then picked up his bag and left.

  Becky saw him out of the house, then rushed back, her face flushed, eyes glimmering with tears. “Would it be all right if I took care of him?” she asked her aunt. “Please? He knows me, and—”

  “You have plenty around here to keep you busy,” Candy interrupted, regarding her suspiciously. “Luly can care for him fine.”

  Becky shook her head, face set with determination. “You have to let me, Aunt Candy. Colt knows me. We’re friends. He’ll feel better having me look after him, I know he will. Please.”

  Branch glanced away uncomfortably. Now he knew who Becky was.

  He’d recognized her when he’d first seen her. He also understood now why he hadn’t known who Colt was talking about earlier. Like the rest of Candy’s girls, Becky didn’t use her real name. She was known as Bella, and the last time he’d been there, men were standing in line for her. She was one of the most popular girls at Candy’s place. Young. Fresh. Pretty. Angelic. The men really went after her. He hadn’t; and was he ever glad now that he hadn’t. There were two or three who were his regular choices, had been for years, and he seldom tried anyone new. Oh, hot damn, he thought with a shake of his head, was he ever glad he hadn’t had the urge to visit Bella.

  He looked down at Colt and shook his head with pity. He was sure as hell not going to be happy when he learned the truth about the woman he thought was an angel. And Branch did not want to be around when that happened. Suddenly Branch couldn’t wait to get back to Silver Butte and stay there.

  Candy was studying her niece’s imploring face, and Branch broke into her contemplation by saying, “I’m heading back, Candy. If I don’t get back this way to check on him—and I probably won’t, with all I’ll have to do back home—just send him on when he’s able.

  “You know you’ll be paid well for doing this,” Branch added as he strode to the door. “Just take good care of him.”

  Candy absently called out that he was not to worry, then turned her full attention to her niece again. She placed a gentle hand on Becky’s arm and murmured, “We should talk about this somewhere else, in case he wakes up.”

  Obediently Becky followed Candy upstairs to her private office. Once inside, with the door closed, Candy went to sit behind her Louis IV desk. From a crystal decanter she poured them each a small glass of cognac, then settled back in her blue velvet chair.

  “Now then,” she began, after sipping the cognac, “let’s be candid with each other, honey. You’re in love with Coltrane, and you’re only going to torture yourself by hanging around him. You’re much better off—and so is he—if you just stay out of sight. Let Luly look after him. This is no good for you.”

  Becky shook her head. “No. I want to take care of him.”

  “And when he finds out? What then?” Candy raised an eyebrow. “I remember the last time. I was the one who heard you crying when Colt spent the night with another woman. I was the one who held you and let you cry when he rode out of your life. It can’t work, honey, you know that by now. Let it be. You have a future here, and as the rest of the girls will tell you, you’re a fool to fall in love—ever. Men are for one thing only, and that’s for paying. They’re not for anything else. Remember that. That way, you won’t wind up with a broken heart.”

  Becky was used to her aunt’s beliefs. She wasn’t shocked. She even agreed with some of her philosophies, but not where Colt was concerned. She recalled with total clarity those magical days when she and Colt grew to know each other, to become so close. It was wonderful, and yes, she had sobbed like a baby when he took one of her aunt’s girls to bed, but she consoled herself by deciding that he had been driven by the desire she had kindled. She had been a virgin, and he hadn’t wanted to take her innocence. She loved him for that kind
ness, that tenderness.

  “Becky.”

  She glanced up and saw the hard expression in her aunt’s eyes.

  “When you knew Coltrane before, you were not a prostitute. You were a dewy-eyed little girl from back East, sent out here because your mother died and your father couldn’t raise you alone. Your father had no idea I was a madam that I run a brothel, for God’s sake. Like everybody else back there, he believes I’m a schoolteacher at a mission for Indians. I was wrong to take you in and I see that now, because, heaven knows, I never intended to take you into the business. That was an accident.”

  Becky lifted a hand in protest, fresh tears stinging her eyes. She didn’t want to be reminded, but Aunt Candy was all fired up now.

  Teeth clenched, Candy growled venomously, “I could kill Jake Wingate. If he walked through that door, I’d take my gun out of the drawer and shoot him right in that damn dick he’s so proud of. If I’d been here that night, it never would’ve happened. I don’t let drunks in. You know that. But I wasn’t here, and he did come in, and he forced his way into your room and raped you and there was nobody to stop him.”

  “Aunt Candy, please!” Becky screamed, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t stand it. Stop, please! We can’t undo it and I can’t stand thinking about it.”

  “I should have found a way to stop you from getting in the business,” Candy sighed. “I should’ve sent you away. But you said you knew what you wanted, and I figured I’d best let you deal with it your own way. Until now, I thought maybe it was the right way, because you’re a natural.” She paused to gulp down the rest of her cognac, eyeing Becky critically. “That angelic face, big bosom, tiny waist, curvy hips—men drool over you. Why, you make more money than any of—”

  “Stop it!” Becky leaped to her feet and leaned across the desk, pressing trembling fingers against the smooth surface. She knew very well what her aunt was up to. “I won’t listen to any more of this. I know why you’re reminding me of what I am, but I want a chance to be with Colt one last time. He doesn’t have to know the truth.”