The Fires of Paradise

by Brenda Joyce

  He had come tearing out of that bam right after the others. No one could saddle a horse so quickly. The horse had been ready and waiting for him. Just like he had been ready and waiting for his partners at the barn when she had found him. He was one of the thieves, and maybe he had even murdered the poor old groom.

  Lucy clutched herself. She had to tell her grandpa and father, soon. But why couldn’t she?

  Derek barged in, looking grim, with Nick and Rathe at his side. Brett and Storm were right behind them. The hawk-faced sheriff was on their heels with two deputies, Chad, Brett’s two sons, Stephen and Lincoln, and the two eldest of her brothers, Brian and Greg.

  Sanders was speaking. “I thought that the sorrel that we found out in the paddock all saddled and riderless belonged to one of the thieves. That he’d been shot and fell off and the horse drifted here.”

  “So did I,” Derek said shortly.

  “But there was no body.”

  “They could have taken the third thief with them,” Nick pointed out.

  “Maybe,” Sanders said. “But then again, we did find someone shot, didn’t we?”

  “But with a lady’s pistol,” Rathe said. “And that doesn’t make sense.”

  “That might have nothing to do with the horse theft,” Brett said. “It might be completely independent.”

  “Not likely,” Sanders said. “But possible.”

  “That tip you got has to be checked out,” Derek said, walking right on through the kitchen. Everyone was on his heels, but Rathe grabbed his sons, preventing them from following. “Haven’t you two had enough excitement for tonight?”

  “Pop,” they protested in unison. “He’s going to question Shoz, isn’t he?” Brian, the seventeen-year-old, demanded.

  “He is, and you two are turning in for a few hours sleep.”

  Lucy leapt up, ignoring her brothers as they informed their father that they wanted to ride with the posse. She rushed after her grandfather.

  “Grandpa, what’s happening?”

  “Go to bed, Lucy,” Derek said, dismissing her as he headed for the guest room in the back of the house.

  “No one thought to check the brand,” Sanders was saying, right behind Derek. “Not until I got this anonymous tip.”

  “How long will it take to get a reply?”

  “We’ll have a wire later today.”

  Derek threw open the door to the guest room. On his stomach, Shoz blinked at them blearily.

  Sanders put a restraining hand on Derek. “Now, that tip could just be some stupid prank. After all, a kid delivered it and slipped right out of my hands before I could get him to tell me who had sent him.”

  Derek nodded, his eyes on Shoz, who gazed back at him steadily if not groggily. “You’re going to answer some questions, Shoz,” Derek warned.

  Alertness soon replaced the unfocused haze in Shoz’s eyes.

  “What’s happening?” Miranda demanded, pushing past Lucy. “What are you doing?”

  Derek made to silence her, but Sanders responded. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “But I was recently tipped off, anonymously, that Shoz here is an escaped felon from New York State.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Miranda said.

  Lucy gripped the bedpost, hard.

  “Maybe he was one of the thieves. He was shot in the back, ma’am. Men who are fleeing get shot in the back. We found a D&M horse out in the pasture, saddled and riderless. But no body. Maybe that horse was waiting for someone? Looks like it was an inside job, and maybe Shoz was the man on the inside.”

  Miranda was angry. “You are basing your very serious accusations on an anonymous tip that he is a wanted man. This could prove to be false! Lucy said he was pursuing the thieves on foot when he was shot!”

  “That’s what she said,” Sanders admitted. “But maybe he was running to the horse. That D&M horse was out there for a reason.”

  “This poor boy was shot in the back. And what about that?! He is too hurt to be questioned. You are convicting a man before he is proven guilty!”

  Derek, who was furious over the robbery of his favorite stallion, whirled on his wife. “Explain to me the D&M horse, Miranda. Why in hell was a D&M horse used tonight if not by the thieves on an inside job? If Shoz is innocent, then he’ll be free. But with his alleged record, we can’t not ask him questions!”

  “I am sure the thieves took the third man with them, Derek. Let this man sleep in peace!” Miranda shot back.

  “We can’t wait, ma’am,” the sheriff said. “Not if we ever want to get that stud back.”

  Derek turned on Shoz, who had rolled onto his side to watch them. “You a wanted man, Shoz?” he demanded. “You steal my horse?”

  Lucy realized her cheeks were wet with tears. “Sheriff Sanders?”

  “I didn’t steal your horse,” Shoz said, low. Sweat streaked his face, but he stared at Derek unflinchingly. “I tried … I tried to stop them.”

  Lucy wiped her eyes. He was lying, and she knew it. “Sheriff?”

  Sanders looked at her. So did Shoz. She could not meet his gaze. She could barely breathe, much less speak. “What is it, honey?”

  She took a gulp of air. “I—I didn’t tell you exactly what I saw.”

  Derek had relaxed; now he whirled. “What?”

  Shoz made a sound. His eyes blazed.

  “I was looking for Shoz—to talk to him. It took me a while to find him.” She was crying. Grace handed her a handkerchief. Her father had come into the room to stare at her; everyone was staring at her. She knew she had to tell the truth—but why was it ripping her heart out to do so? “He wasn’t at the party. He was alone. At the barn.”

  Everyone waited, silent and grim. “Go on,” Derek said.

  She darted a glance at Shoz. His eyes blazed hotter than hell. She looked away, dabbing at her tears with the linen. She couldn’t tell the rest of it, she couldn’t.

  Rathe put his arm around her. “Tell us what happened, honey,” he said, very softly and very gently.

  “Two riders came out of the bam with your stud,” Lucy cried. “Shoz ran inside—and a second later, he came out, too, on the saddled horse—and he galloped after them.”

  A stunned silence fell, then Rathe broke it. “Honey, you said he ran after the thieves.”

  “I didn’t tell the truth,” Lucy managed, crying.

  Derek looked at Shoz, long and hard. Sheriff Sanders gestured to his men. “Cuff him.”

  Shoz’s eyes widened, and he weakly started to push up onto all fours. But then a deputy was shoving him down, another one yanking his hands behind his back, forcing him face-first into the pillow. Gleaming steel cuffs were snapped on.

  “You are under arrest, boy,” Sanders said, “and be warned, we got long, stiff sentences for horse thieves in these parts.”

  Shoz tilted his head up so he could stare back at the sheriff. Coldly, expressionlessly. “I’ve lived through hell once, Sheriff,” he said. “I can live through it again.”

  PART TWO

  THE LOST ANGELS

  DEATH VALLEY, MEXICO

  16

  Lucy knew she shouldn’t go.

  Ten days had passed since Shoz’s arrest. He had remained at the house the first few days, under guard, until he was well enough to be moved to the Paradise jail. Lucy had not gone near him, she had not dared.

  She would never forget the look of hatred in his eyes after Sheriff Sanders’s deputies had cuffed him—and it was directed at her.

  The horse theft had provided an unpleasant and abrupt ending to the party. However, none of the out-of-town guests had been inconvenienced by it, as all had their plans to continue on afterward and were able to do so. Derek had decided that none of his guests need be detained for questioning as far as the shooting was concerned; Sanders agreed and concentrated on the local population.

  Leon’s departure was a relief. He left immediately after the party, as he had intended. He had been cool and distant when they parted, but Lucy had barely
noticed.

  Derek’s stallion had finally been found. The posse had tracked the two bandits north into the Llanos Estacado and east to Abilene. Thunder had been recovered from a businessman who had bought the stallion from two men who fit the descriptions of Red Ames and Jake Holt. Most of the posse had returned to Paradise. Brett’s two sons had returned to San Francisco with their families, unable to leave the D’ Archand empire unattended. But Derek, Nick, Rathe, and Brett had continued on. Unable to find Red and Jake or two other men resembling them in Abilene they had just returned a few days ago.

  Shoz was in jail awaiting trial. The reply to Sheriff Sanders’s inquiry had come back affirmative: Shoz was wanted by the New York State authorities for escaping the state penitentiary seven years ago. He would be tried first in the Paradise County court for horse theft and maybe even murder; if found guilty, he would serve time in the Texas State lockup before being returned East to finish his sentence there.

  It was so unbelievable.

  Lucy knew she should not go to see him.

  She had heard that he was better. He was still confined to bed, but each day he got up for fifteen minutes or so to exercise, under supervision. Doc Jones had prescribed the routine. Everyone had been waiting for Doc to give the go-ahead to move him to Odessa, where the county court sat.

  Tomorrow they were taking Shoz to Odessa.

  And it was her fault. There was no reason to feel guilty, but she did.

  No matter how often she reminded herself that he was a felon, and that he had betrayed her grandfather by accepting employment from him and then stealing his horse—and maybe even killing a man—she felt guilty for her part in turning him in. Lucy believed in justice, of course, but she wished it had been someone other than herself who had revealed that he had been working with the thieves.

  She tried not to brood. It was difficult being at the D&M with all the women of the family—they were all too sensitive and too aware. Eyes. Lucy was always feeling their eyes on her. Her mother, her grandmother. Her aunt Storm. Even her aunt Jane, who was so sweet and kind, who seemed to bring sunshine into the room with her whenever she entered, gazed at her with worry. And then there was Nicole.

  “What is it?” she demanded the day they’d moved Shoz to the Paradise jail. “What is wrong with you!”

  The two girls were clad in knickers and tailored shirtwaists after a game of badminton. They were sipping lemonade on the back veranda. No one else was around. As usual, it was unbearably hot.

  Lucy looked at Nicole. What would her dear cousin say if she knew the truth—all of it? Lucy had the insane urge to tell her everything. But she would be shocked. Lucy herself was shocked whenever she dared to dwell too precisely upon her memories and the facts. She had let an escaped convict make love to her.

  “It’s him. I know it’s him.” Nicole’s voice was low. “Lucy, don’t. Don’t think about him. You said it to me and I’ll say it to you: He is not for you!”

  “Of course not,” Lucy said with a weak smile. “Can you imagine me bringing someone like that home to Daddy—even if he weren’t a crook?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking, Nicole.” Lucy set her glass down. “He hates me.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Nicole said firmly.

  “You know,” Lucy said, her voice shaky, “he isn’t entirely responsible for what he is. He’s a product of his background, his environment. Maybe his father was a drunk who beat him. My mother says—” her voice cracked “—that most of the down-and-out are born into very bad circumstances with three strikes against them.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Grace,” Nicole said with a slight smile. “Lucy, what’s between you two?”

  Lucy inhaled. She looked at her cousin. She looked around; they were completely alone. “He kissed me—more than once.”

  Nicole wasn’t shocked. Instead, she sounded wistful. “I’ve never been kissed, not even once.”

  Lucy stared at her gorgeous cousin in shock.

  “Did you like it?”

  She flushed. She leaned close. “Yes, that’s the worst part; I did, I really did!”

  Nicole left her wistful thoughts behind. “Lucy, just forget him. If he wasn’t a thief and a felon, I would ask if you loved him. But he is a very bad sort.”

  “Of course I don’t love him! I actually dislike him immensely.” At Nicole’s wide-eyed surprise, she blushed again. “I can’t explain it. I just wish I hadn’t been the one to see him riding out of the bam; I just wish I could find out more about him, what he did in New York, and why. Maybe he was starving! Maybe it was food he stole, or maybe he was homeless, and maybe it was blankets! Nicole, maybe it was the depression that made him an outlaw.”

  Nicole squinted. “Lucy. The crash wasn’t until ninety-three, and he was incarcerated in eighty-nine.”

  Joanna appeared, and Nicole adroitly changed the topic. But the subject wasn’t over for Lucy, far from it. She felt compelled to go see him. She fought the compulsion for the next week. But then the family was notified that they were moving him on the morrow to Odessa. It was now or never. There was so much about him she didn’t know, and she was suddenly determined to unearth the whole story. And she had been the one to put him in jail, so to speak. The least she could do was appease her conscience by checking on his health before he was transferred to the county seat. Lucy commandeered a horse and buggy, and alone, she drove to Paradise to see him.

  Her parents would be furious if they knew, she thought nervously. Yet nothing could deter her now. For the outing she had dressed with care in one of her finest tailor-mades, a navy skirt and matching jacket with wide leg-o’-mutton sleeves. A straw hat shaded her flushed face, and a wicker basket was tucked by her hip—carefully packed by herself. She was bringing him his noontime meal.

  Lucy cracked the whip, and the dappled mare trotted smartly into town. It was hot and humid and she was damp beneath her traveling suit. She parked the buggy right in front of the jail. There was no point in trying to hide her visit from anyone. The deputy on duty would know, of course, so the sheriff would know, and sooner or later all of Paradise would know, including her family. No matter. She would deal with that problem when it arose.

  She entered the sheriff’s office. A big ceiling fan circulated the thick, wet air, doing little to alleviate anyone’s misery. The deputy, a tall, young man with a droopy mustache, shot to his feet. “Miss Bragg!”

  “Why, hello, Fred; how are you this fine day?” She was gay.

  Fred stared stunned at the basket she carried, no doubt thinking it was for him. “Why, uh, fine, Miss Bragg, and you?”

  “Very well, thank you. I decided the prisoner needed a proper lunch,” she continued, ignoring his surprise. “How is he?”

  Fred recovered. “Real quiet. Stays in bed and doesn’t say anything. You can’t go in there with him, Miss Bragg.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “Well—” Fred grew redder “—he’s a dangerous criminal, that’s why.”

  “Pooh! He stole a horse, is all! Have you forgotten that this ‘dangerous criminal’ escorted me and my friend to Paradise when our automobile broke down? We spent half a day with him, and no harm befell us!”

  “Well, yeah, but really …”

  “Fred, do I have to ask the sheriff for permission to bring the prisoner lunch and some good cheer? Are we barbarians? To treat a man not yet judged guilty in a court of law as a leper, or worse? As some crazed dog, not to be allowed human kindness and company?

  “Besides—” Lucy smiled prettily “—Grandpa said it was all right.” It was only a white lie, she told herself, and it was an effective one.

  Fred gave in, crimson. Lucy hadn’t known she had so much of her mother in her. She guessed that going to all those women’s suffrage and Negro rights rallies as a child had had its influence on her. Fred pushed through the door to the prison in back.

  It was just a hallway, with two cells on each
side. Shoz was the only prisoner, and he was lying on his stomach, his head on his arms. He didn’t move at the sound of the heavy door closing. But when Lucy followed Fred down the short corridor, her heels clicking loudly on the cement floor, Shoz turned his head to look at them. His gaze widened—and then it narrowed.

  “You’ve got a visitor,” Fred announced. He paused. “You sure you want to go in? You can just leave him his lunch if you want.”

  “I’m going in,” Lucy said firmly. “Grandpa said—”

  “Okay.” Fred sighed. “You got a knife in there?”

  Lucy was looking at Shoz, who hadn’t taken his gaze from her. Slowly he sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. There was such contempt on his face, she was almost ready to change her mind and run out of the jailhouse.

  “A knife?” She was confused and forced her attention back to the deputy. “Oh, why, of course there is a knife.”

  Fred requested it, and Lucy handed him a silver dinner knife from Tiffany’s. Fred unlocked the cell and let her in. “Behave yourself,” he admonished Shoz.

  Absolute silence greeted her.

  Lucy entered, biting her lip. She was suddenly so nervous. And she was very aware of Fred standing behind her, just outside the cell. “I brought you some home cooking.”

  “How nice.”

  She fumbled with the basket. “A roasted chicken and corn muffins and—”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She looked up. Their glances held. His seared her. “Shoz…”

  “Feeling guilty?”

  “I had to tell the truth!”

  “The truth? Oh, you didn’t tell the truth, lady, not by a long shot.”

  Lucy was taken aback. He would still feign innocence? Could he be innocent? No, she had been there, she knew exactly what she had seen. “Shoz, I didn’t come here to argue.”

  “Why did you come? To gloat? The little princess happy with her revenge?”

  “No!”

  His fists clenched. “Go on home to your powerful daddy, princess. Just go.”