Copper Fire

by Fayrene Preston

  “No! Wesley, I can’t stay!”

  Where her hair fell below her breast, he took a bunch of it in his hand. Slowly, he moved the glistening length back and forth so that it seemed as if hundreds of silken threads were sensuously stroking her breast and rigid nipple. When at last he lowered his mouth to hers, she raised up to meet him. Moments later he deliberately ended the kiss. “You can stay, can’t you?”

  A sob of desire tore from her throat as she pulled his mouth back to hers. “Yes, damn you, yes.”

  Several hours before first light Sloan made his way through the quiet tent city and slipped into Dan Cummings’s empty tent. Befitting Wes McCord’s supervisor, the tent was well outfitted. Besides the bed, there was a small bureau, a table, and four chairs, and, against the far wall, a desk.

  Fifteen years of hell could come to an end, depending on what he found in that desk, Sloan thought.

  Two drawers of the desk were locked. Without compunction he drew a knife, and moments later the locks were opened. The first drawer yielded nothing of interest. The second drawer did, however.

  A pulse throbbing in his temple was the only sign of the tension he felt as he pulled a thickly bound ledger out and set it on the desk. Bending over, he opened it and began flicking through the pages. As he scanned page after page of entries, his elation built and grew, until at last he closed the book.

  He straightened, the book in his hands. This was it. This book was going to give him everything he wanted. Maybe he wouldn’t have to kill Wes McCord after all.

  The cold steel of a gun barrel bit into the flesh at the base of his skull. “Draw a breath, Lassiter, because it’s going to be your last.”

  Sweet, soft dreams floated through Brianne’s head as she slept. When the pounding at the door began, it registered only vaguely. A smile curved her lips as images of Sloan making love to her curled gently around her. The pounding came again. Her smile faded and she reached out her hand for Sloan.

  He wasn’t there!

  Her eyes opened as she felt a stab of disappointment. Where was he? Why had he left? She had never meant to fall asleep, but then she had never before experienced the extraordinary intensity and pure energy that passion demanded.

  The pounding on the door broke through her sleep-hazed thoughts and brought Brianne’s head around. Sloan! He must have gone out for some reason and couldn’t get back in. She slid out of bed and grabbed up her robe. Making her way across the darkened room, she slipped the robe over her naked body, already anticipating the next few minutes when Sloan would again take it off her.

  Smiling happily, she flung open the door, but the name of the man with whom she had shared such incredible lovemaking died on her lips as she saw a sobbing Janice standing before her. Concern immediately replaced her unhappiness that it wasn’t Sloan.

  “Janice, for heaven’s sake, what’s wrong?” The girl was covering her face with one hand and quietly crying. With her other hand she was tightly clutching some sort of book to her middle. “Come in,”Brianne urged, pulling her into the room.

  Brianne hurried around the room, lighting two of the lamps. When she turned back, she let out a gasp. Janice had been beaten up. Her lower lip was cut and swollen. There was an ugly bruise that covered almost the entire area of her left cheek. And above her brow a nasty cut showed signs of oozing blood. Brianne went to her immediately and led her across to a seat. “God, Janice, who did this to you?” Janice collapsed into the chair. Her hair was wild around her head, and with a shaky hand she swiped tears from her face. “It was Dan.” She cast a somewhat disoriented gaze around her. “Dan Cummings. I hope you don’t mind me coming here, Miss Delaney, but when you weren’t in your room, I guessed you might be here. It was plain Sloan's affections were elsewhere. Not with me,” she added vaguely. “I decided you were the one. I did try to attract him though, but I had to give up. He has the coldest eyes, have you ever noticed?”

  Brianne had followed Janice’s ramblings as best she could. She knelt beside the girl and took her hand in hers. “Tell me why you’re here and how I can help you. Do you need a doctor?”

  “No, no. I wanted you to know – that is, I thought you should know about Sloan.”

  Confusion knit a line in Brianne’s brow. “You mean what you were just telling me?”

  Janice shook her head. “You can’t help him now. But I brought you this.” She handed Brianne the book that she had been clutching so tightly. “It’s the ledger Sloan wanted. It won’t do him any good now though.”

  A cold chill crept down Brianne’s spine. “Where is Sloan, Janice?”

  The girl gave a sob-racked laugh. “I thought I was foolin’ Dan. I thought he wanted me bad enough that I could fool him.” She turned bewildered eyes on Brianne. “But he had it all figured out that somethin’ was up. He was waitin’ for Sloan.”

  Brianne took Janice’s face between her hands and willed the girl to focus on her. “Where is Sloan?”she asked again slowly, clearly.

  “But I thought you knew! He’s out at the tent city. They’ve beaten him up pretty bad. They’re gonna kill him once they find out what he knows. Might already be dead.” Hysteria edged into her voice. “I’ve got to get out of Chango.”

  Brianne fought to push back the sheer panic that rose so swiftly it threatened to black out her reasoning ability. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere,” she said firmly. “I’m going to get someone to take care of you. But first, you’ve got to tell me where this tent city is.”

  “Why?”

  “Janice, this is important!” Brianne snapped, her control hanging by a thread. “Tell me where the tent city is.”

  The girl gestured listlessly. “North of town.”

  “Good.” Brianne stood up. “Now, I want you to stay right here. You’ll be safe, and you won’t be alone for long. I’m going to go get a very nice lady to look after you while I’m gone. Her name’s Henrietta.”

  For the first time since she entered the room, Janice's eyes cleared and she spoke lucidly. “Miss Delaney, you’ve gotta know that Sloan can’t be rescued, and if you’re thinkin' of going after him, you won’t be comin’ back either.”

  “Just tell me where Dan Cummings’s tent is, Janice.”

  * * *

  In her room Brianne hastily dressed in her riding clothes, all the while making plans. Since birth she’d been taught that the difference between living and dying very often was determined by one thing – being prepared. Fortunately, her saddlebag was already packed for the trail. Her rifle and gun were always kept loaded, and her knife was hidden in its sheath in her left boot. If she could find it, Sloan’s horse would undoubtedly be carrying a certain amount of supplies, ammunition, and a bedroll. Everyone knew that you never rode out of a western town without being ready for anything.

  Strapping her gun around her hips, she decided that on the way out of the hotel she’d invade the kitchen and throw together a sack of grub. Now, if she could just think of a diversion.

  The door flew open, and Henrietta entered the room like a ship under full sail. “That girl was gone, Brianne. But never mind. Her kind can look after themselves. The important thing is that you be talked out of this most dangerous plan.”

  Brianne stooped to pick up the saddlebag, slung it over her shoulder, then reached for the bedroll and rifle. “I don’t have time for discussion, Henrietta. Look after Kam for me. He’s going to be scared when he finds out I’ve gone.”

  “He’s going to be scared! I will be, too, if you persist in this madness. My dear, the thing to do is to get help from the law of this town.”

  “I tried that once. Not again. Now, about Kam.”

  The older woman snorted. “I can handle the boy. Don’t worry about that. But – ”

  Brianne had no time or spare energy to argue. She held up one stern, silencing finger, as if she were the schoolteacher and Henrietta the pupil. “My family will be riding into town in about a week’s time. If I’m not back, give them two names – Wes
McCord and Dan Cummings. They’ll do the rest.”

  At a knock on the door Brianne strode across the room and jerked it open. Phineas stood there.

  One look at him and Brianne knew she had her diversion.

  The sky had barely begun to lighten when Brianne dismounted. Dan’s tent had been easy to find. It took her a little longer to locate Sloan’s horse. Sloan had left his horse in an easily accessible spot, so she hobbled Dancer beside the big black. Then, taking the extra saddlebag off Dancer, she started threading her way quietly through the still-sleeping camp.

  Her heart felt as if it were in her throat. Never in her life had she been so frightened. But her fierce determination that she would find Sloan alive and be able to get him to safety kept her going.

  At each tent she knelt and pulled from the saddlebag a bottle of Tooley’s Miracle Restorative. Quickly, she unscrewed the cap and stuffed a long length of cloth into the opening. Then she lit it, shoved the bottle with its contents of ninety-proof alcohol beneath the flap of the tent, and moved on to the next one. By the time she reached Dan’s tent, the tent city was already beginning to burn.

  She hid and waited.

  * * *

  “Come on, Lassiter. Make it easy on yourself. Just how much pain do you want to suffer before you die?”

  Over the last two hours Sloan had learned that Dan Cummings was a straightforward man with a simple- minded doggedness. It didn't bother the man that despite the heavy beating, he hadn’t told him a thing. In Cummings’s mind, a beating would equal a confession sooner or later. And once he had his confession, he would kill him.

  He was going to die, Sloan thought, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make it any easier for Cummings or Wes. A man on either side of him held him upright and still. He squinted his eyes and tried to focus on Cummings. “Go to hell.”

  A blow landed squarely in his gut. Hot sharp pain lanced through his body. Nausea rose in his throat.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Dan asked almost sympathetically. “All you gotta do is tell me how you found out about our operation and who else knows, and I’ll end your pain.”

  “What about that bitch Janice?” a voice belonging to the man holding Sloan’s left arm snarled.

  “I’ve got someone after her now. She made a big mistake when she took that ledger. She’ll pay.”

  “Leave her alone,” Sloan managed to say. “She’s not involved. And having to sleep with you should be payment enough.”

  Sloan felt something slam brutally into the side of his skull. He fought to retain consciousness, but it was a losing battle. Blessed darkness overtook him.

  He had no idea how long the darkness lasted, because the next thing he knew, cold water was being thrown in his face. For a moment he thought he would drown.

  “Lassiter, I’m gettin’ mad now. You turned my girl against me. You broke into my desk. The ledger’s gone. I’ve gotta come up with some explanation for McCord. He’s not gonna be a happy man.”

  Sloan coughed, then groaned because it felt as if the muscles of his stomach were tearing. “That breaks my heart.”

  “Damn you, Lassiter!”

  “Fire! Fire!”

  Suddenly, people could be heard running and screaming.

  “God, the city’s on fire!” the man on Sloan’s right muttered, fear in his voice.

  “Go find out what’s goin’ on,” Cummings ordered.

  With one half of his support gone, Sloan slumped to the ground.

  “Frank, get him on his feet!”Cummings barked.

  Brianne stepped into the tent, her rifle pointed at Wes, the pistol aimed at the man he had called Frank. “Don’t touch him.”

  Sloan could hardly believe his eyes. “Brianne.”

  Frank whirled, reaching for his gun. Brianne fired twice. One bullet knocked his gun out of his hand; the other bullet hit him in the leg. He went down, clutching his leg. Blood was already spreading down his pants leg.

  Out of the corner of her eyes Brianne saw Sloan try to get up. “Don’t try to move yet,” she told him. Dan Cummings wasn't armed, but Brianne's steady gaze had been off him only seconds. “Drop to your stomach and hold your hands behind your back.”

  With the hammer of the rifle cocked and its muzzle pointed directly at his heart, he did as she ordered. He’d never seen a woman with such fiery green eyes. He’d also never seen a woman that was as good with a gun as she was. If Frank didn’t die from blood loss, he was going to be out of action for a long time to come.

  When he was prone, she walked to him, jabbed the rifle at the back of his neck, then reached for the rope that she had tied at her belt. It already had a slip knot in the end of it. She lengthened the loop, dropped it over his hands, and pulled tight.

  “Ow! That hurts, you bitch!”

  “Hold up your feet,” she demanded, yanking tighter on the rope. He did, and she secured his feet. Lastly, she jerked the neckerchief from around his neck and tied it around his mouth.

  She gave the other man the same treatment, slightly more gentle, because he was in such obvious pain. Then she went to Sloan.

  “Can you stand?”

  “Brianne, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “And you shouldn’t have been gone when I woke up either!” she snapped, so glad to see him alive she had to fight back tears. Now was not the time to break down. “Never mind. We've got to get out of here.” She bent to him and helped him to his feet, turning pale when she heard his groan of pain. “Lean on me. The horses aren’t very far away.”

  The air was thick with smoke when they stepped outside the tent. Flames were everywhere, and it appeared that the gray dawn sky was on fire. From somewhere close she could hear the frightened sounds of the livestock and made a mental note of the direction. When she sighted their horses, she gave thanks that both animals had been well trained and hadn’t bolted at the first smell of smoke.

  “We’re going to use my horse,” she told Sloan. “I know him, and I know he'll carry double. I can keep you in the saddle once you’re up, but you’re going to have to mount by yourself. Can you?”

  Grim determination entered his pain-lined face. “Yes.”

  She leaned over to guide his foot into the stirrup, and in the end had to put her weight under him to help him into the saddle. She molded his hands around the saddle horn, then tied his horse behind Dancer. After she mounted behind him, she took hold of the reins with one hand and wrapped the other arm around him. “Stay with me, Sloan. Don’t pass out.” The fact that he didn’t answer her added to her fear.

  She kept to the edge of the camp only long enough to find the corral the cattle were kept in and open the gate. The remuda was nearby, and she reached over to cut their lines. Crazed with fear, the animals bolted. She reined Dancer in behind four or five head of cattle, taking advantage of their wake of churned-up ground, and began to drive them, heading west into the hills.

  But staying behind them, she could go only so fast. When she sighted the brush, she headed for it. “Sloan, I’m going to tie some brush behind your horse to wipe out our tracks. Will dragging it bother him?”

  She barely heard his whispered “No,” but it reassured her.

  She pulled Dancer to a halt and dismounted. Laying her hand on Sloan’s thigh, she murmured, “I won’t be long. Just hang on. I’m going to get us to safety.”

  Minutes later she was behind him again, one arm holding him tightly. “Lean back against me, Sloan. We’re going to go faster now. The sun’s coming up and we need all the time we can get.” She kicked Dancer into a lope.

  The ride was agony for Sloan. The pain came at him in endless waves. The fight to hold on to consciousness was constant. Brianne talked to him continuously in a calm voice meant to reassure him, yet keep him conscious. Tenaciously, he fastened onto her words, forcing himself to listen carefully, certain that they were the only thing between him and oblivion. The other thing he tried hard to do was to make his mind work, to be as aware as he could of what was going o
n, even through the fog of pain.

  He wasn’t always successful. There were times when the pain would become too much and he would give in to the urge to close his eyes, to moan, and to let the pain take him where it would.

  But at all times a small, distant part of him remained amazed.

  Brianne used terrain and cover like an Indian. At one point she had found a stream and they had ridden a couple of miles in it. When they came out of the stream, she had chosen rock. Then when the rock ran out, she somehow managed to find the hardest ground.

  When he had first seen her in Dan Cummings’s tent, he had been horrified that she had put herself in such danger. He was still afraid for her, but now he realized that if anyone could pull off a miracle, it just might be Brianne Delaney.

  Wes slammed the drawer of his desk shut. Damn Sundays! He hated them. Sundays were the one day of the week he couldn’t see Anna. The Emporium wasn’t open, so he couldn't make an excuse to drop in for some item or other. And he wouldn’t have her all to himself again until Monday night.

  Damn! He stood up and strode to the window.

  “Mr. McCord, is there something I can do for you?”

  He heard the tentative voice of Ralph Mahoney behind him and silently swore. “Yeah. Go over to the caféand bring me back a fresh cup of coffee.”

  “Sure thing.”

  He didn’t really want any coffee. He just wanted to be alone. To think of Anna. Three nights a week wasn’t enough. But three nights a week was pushing the situation and he knew it. Any more, and her father might get suspicious. To have her father know that she was his woman would hurt Anna beyond belief, and he would never want that.

  Still, he couldn’t help but daydream about having her sleeping beside him seven nights a week. And waking up with her seven mornings a week.

  A rider turned his horse into the hitching post in front of Wes’s office and swung down. Wes recognized him as Dutch Howard, one of Cummings’s men. He jerked his mind back to matters at hand and went out to meet him.