"But was Goliath tall as the roof, Elliot?" Tad asked, wide-eyed.
El shook his head conspiratorially.
"Bigger?" Tad gasped.
"Biggest darn bear I've ever seen," El replied with somber-faced seriousness. "Why he'd eat the bears back East in one bite. Gobble 'em right up."
"Naw..." Tad stared at him suspiciously.
El threw his hands up and looked to Chase for corroboration. "Am I lying, Chase?"
Chase, lost in thoughts of his own, didn't answer.
"Chase?"
He looked up and stared at El blankly. "Huh?"
"See," El replied with magnanimous sarcasm. "Even Chase was so stunned by the size of that bear he can hardly put the words together."
Chase smiled and shook his head at El. "Oh yeah. Goliath kind of defies description. We're all lucky El came along when he did, Tad. That's a tale you'll want to tell your grandchildren." Chase's eyes met Libby's over the table and the smile slid slowly from his expression.
She wasn't sure if the room had grown hotter or the heat of his look had suddenly made her overly warm. Looking away, she pushed her chair back and went to the stove to refill the bowl of greens. She took her time, listening to the animated conversation going on behind her. When she sat back down with them, he was still watching her.
"More greens, anyone?" she offered.
"Thanks," Chase said, reaching for the bowl. Their fingers brushed as he took it from her and she nearly dropped the bowl right into his lap. Deftly, Chase caught it before anyone noticed the bobble. He smiled a thank you and turned his eyes to the food.
"Well, if'n you ask me," Bodine put in after stuffing his mouth full of food, "we would have been better off if'n Goliath had killed that black devil stallion today."
"What've you got against that stallion, Bodine?" Early asked.
Bodine shrugged, clutching his fork in one hand. "He's an outlaw. A widow-maker. Ever'body knows it. Just as soon kill ya as look at ya."
Libby's expression tightened. "That's not true. I've known man-killers in my time. Diablo doesn't deserve that reputation. Rankin was tormenting him. He gave Diablo no choice."
Bodine snorted and stuffed another forkful of food in his mouth. "Stomped Rankin's brains to mush and would'a done the same to the fellers he was with. He'll try it again on any man who comes close enough to them hooves of his. Steals mares from every herd within fifty miles, too."
Libby started to reply, but Chase cut her off.
"Diablo's a thoroughbred," he put in. "Pure-blooded too, if I don't miss my guess. He doesn't belong out there with those rangy Spanish horses. Where did he come from?" He watched Libby's gaze flick up uneasily to Early and then back down to her plate. He glanced at Early questioningly.
Early cleared his throat. "Fact is, he belongs to the Double Bar H. He's a Honeycutt horse."
Chase stared at Libby in surprise. "You own the stallion?"
Libby shook her head. "No one can really own a horse like Diablo."
"What she ain't tellin' you," Straw explained, in a raspy tobacco-roughened voice, "is that years ago, Malachi Honeycutt—Lee's pa—bought Diablo from a Thoroughbred breeder name of Williamson in California. Diablo was the get of a sire named Belmont, fastest stallion this side of the Mississip'. Malachi paid a fortune for Diablo. Had him shipped here special when he were a three-year-old."
"For breeding purposes?" El asked, intrigued.
"Eh?" Straw cupped a hand at his fleshy ear with a horrified look. "For circuses, you say?"
"No, for breeding purposes," El shouted, containing his smile.
Straw shook his head and took a bite of fish. "Oh, that, too. Mostly though, he had in mind racin' him."
"Racing?" El echoed in surprise.
Straw's shaggy eyebrows went up, and he laughed heartily. "Well, it ain't the kind of racin' you Eastern fellers do on them little postage stamps you call saddles. But it suits us fine. Anyways," he continued, "Malachi was sittin' at his peak just then, 'cause the ranch was thrivin'. But a few deals gone sour had made him nervous about the future. Many folks thought Malachi was puttin' good money after bad buy in' that horse. They was proved right, too. Ee-yup."
"Did Malachi race him?" Chase prodded.
"Never got the chance," Early replied.
Libby continued the story. "Malachi was so confident, he had wagers set on the stallion even before Diablo's arrival. When Diablo got here, Malachi threw a big party. The other ranchers were green with envy. Malachi pampered that horse like it was a child. Broke him gentle like, and started training him to race. But running was in his blood."
Chase's eyes were on her now, caught up in the story. "What happened?"
Tad leaned forward in anticipation of the part of the story he'd liked best. "Yeah, Ma. Tell him how he got away."
Libby smiled patiently at him. "No one knows exactly how it happened, but one night, only months after his arrival, Diablo jumped the corral fence during a terrible thunderstorm and got away."
"He joined up with a herd to the north and managed to avoid every attempt Malachi and Lee made to recapture him. Seemed he preferred the freedom of the hills to a racetrack. Soon, Diablo had his own manada of mares and, to add insult to injury, started stealing mares from our own herd. The horse Malachi had worshiped became his enemy. He put a price on the stallion's head."
"To recover him?" El asked.
She shook her head. "To kill him. Rankin, the man Trammel referred to, was a bounty hunter. He was the only one ever to catch Diablo. He was a cruel man, and since Malachi had put a price on the horse's head, Rankin wasn't obliged to bring the stallion back alive." Libby's voice lowered. "But he underestimated Diablo's will to live. That cost him his life."
"After that happened," she continued, "the stallion was too quick to catch, too cunning to get in range of any man's gun. And things seemed to go sour for Malachi. The war not only hurt his business, it took his son from him." Libby swallowed, darting a quick look at Tad. "When Malachi died earlier this year, he was a broken man, with broken dreams. He blamed it all on that horse."
"You don't seem to share his bitterness," Chase remarked, holding her gaze.
"No," she answered. "Malachi had enough bitterness for the two of us. What he was too shortsighted to realize was that Diablo has mixed his bloodlines with half the foals born on our range. Every year, the quality of the stock improves because of him. The colts we're breaking this year have Diablo's strength and endurance. And no matter what happens to us, whether or not we make a go of this ranch, a piece of it will stay alive for generations through Diablo."
"Yer shoutin' down rainbarrels, Miz Libby," Bodine muttered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Diablo ain't never gonna be more than an outlaw. If he ever comes fer me, he's gonna have a bullet betwixt his eyes fer an answer. A sidewinder's a sidewinder, no matter what name you give it."
Chase shot a look at Bodine and smiled without humor. "Snakes come in all different sizes, isn't that right, Bodine?"
Trammel's expression tightened, and he glared at Chase. "You got a big mouth, Whitlaw."
"No bigger than yours."
Trammel stood up at the table. "You got a bone to pick with me, say it out straight. Maybe you an' me ought to settle things outside."
"I've got nothing to prove," Chase answered. "Do you?"
The younger man's fists worked at his sides and he glanced around the table to gauge the others' reactions. "We'll see, Whitlaw. We'll just see." He gathered his hat, with its leering rattlesnake band, and stalked out the kitchen door, slamming it behind him.
Libby met Chase's eyes across the table and, for the first time, realized what a dangerous opponent he could make. She was suddenly very glad he was on her side.
But her smile was met with a scowl and Chase gathered his hat up too, excusing himself with his meal still half-finished. Libby watched him go, wondering what she'd done wrong.
* * *
The full moon hung low in the sky as Libby tuck
ed the covers around Tad, slipping them between the rope webbing and the straw-filled mattress.
"Wash your face and hands?" she queried, smoothing the clean cotton sheet with her hand.
He nodded.
"Behind your ears?"
"Aw, nobody looks behind my ears," he argued, pushing the back of his head down into his pillow.
"I do," she said, her quick kiss just a peck on the nose. A low croaking sound came from under the covers. Libby frowned, listening. "What was that?"
Tad's eyes widened innocently. "What?"
"That sound?"
"Prob'ly just my stomach, Ma," he lied straight-faced, tightening his arms over the covers to keep them in place. "I'm hungry."
"Since when does your stomach croak?" she asked with a sly smile, pulling back the covers.
On the sheet sat a fat brown toad that seemed clearly relieved to be out in the open. She grimaced, holding the squirming toad by two fingers. "Is he... new?"
"Yep," Tad answered proudly. "Found him just today. Can't I keep him, Ma?"
"As long as you don't sleep with him. I'll tie some cheesecloth over the top of a bucket and he can spend the night in there. Tomorrow, you can make a proper box for him. Deal?" Libby slipped the toad into a pillow case.
"Deal." Tad nestled noisily down under the covers and smiled up at her.
"Ma?"
"Mm-hm?" Libby stroked his blond hair back from his eyes.
"Is Diablo really an outlaw like Trammel said?"
"In a way, but he's not hurting anyone. He simply wants to live his own way."
"I wished I could'a seen him fightin' ol' Goliath. Must have been some sight." Tad's young eyes grew wide, imagining.
"It was, darlin'." She'd carefully edited out of the tale her close brush with death. What was left must have seemed like a grand adventure for an eight-year-old boy.
Libby leaned down and pressed her lips to his soft cheek. It reminded her of how close she'd come to never having this sweet experience again, how close she'd come to leaving Tad alone in the world. Guilt sliced into her like a sharp-edged knife.
"Kin I come next time?" he pleaded.
"I hope there won't be a next time, son." She patted the covers and reached to turn down the wick of his kerosene lamp. Moonlight spilled into the room and the sweet fragrance of roses drifted in on a current of night air.
Tad's face drew into a thoughtful pout. "If there is... I bet Chase could teach me how to shoot a gun. An' then I could be ready." He pointed an imaginary gun in the air. "Pow, pow! I'd get the next griz' before he could hurt that stallion again or eat any of our mares." His expression lit with a new thought. "Maybe tomorrow I kin help Chase with them new mares Early brung home today."
"Brought," she corrected. "And you know Miss Nora is coming with your lessons day after tomorrow. You need to do your studying." At his disappointed expression, she added, "But, we'll see."
Moonlight spilled into the room from the barred window above Tad's bed. In the dark, he looked so much like Lee it made her heart ache. "Go to sleep now, Tad. Sweet dreams."
"Ma?"
"I..." Tad chewed on his lower lip.
"What darlin'?"
"You like Chase?"
His question made her heartbeat falter. "Why do you ask?"
"I think he likes you." A secretive smile lit Tad's small features.
Libby blinked in surprise and let out a nervous laugh. "What makes you think so?"
"I saw him watch in' ya tonight when you was servin' up supper. He was lookin' at ya fine."
Libby flinched at his words, knowing the truth in them. It had simply never occurred to her that Tad knew anything about the way a man looks at a woman. The memory of the way Chase had kissed her up on the mountain returned unbidden, sending a rush of warmth through her.
"He was probably just hungry," she replied and nearly groaned as she said it. Hungry would certainly describe the kiss they'd shared. She smoothed down Tad's blankets.
"But if he did like ya," Tad persisted, "you think you could like him a little?"
"I like him fine, Tad. But he's only here for a little while," she reminded him. "He'll be moving on after the herd's together. Don't go getting attached to him. It'll only cause you hurt when he leaves."
Tad pondered that for a moment. "Like Pa's goin' hurt, you mean?"
Libby stiffened at the analogy. "That was different. He was your pa and we... we loved him. He went to fight for a cause he believed in." Even if it meant leaving us behind—alone. "Chase is... just a hired hand, and he'll be moving on just like all the rest."
Tad frowned, obviously failing to see the distinction she was trying to make. "I think I'll like him whilst he's here and save my not likin' fer when he's gone."
Libby sighed, knowing his logic was faultless, if blessedly naive. She couldn't shelter him from the pain of life any more than she could protect herself from it. She brushed away the thought and bent down to kiss him again. "Go to sleep now, darlin'. Sweet dreams."
"'Night, Ma."
* * *
The clock on her bedside table had just struck one when Libby pummeled a feather-ticked pillow and then sprawled disconsolately across her broad, cold bed. Several wisps of down exploded into the air and hung on the colorless beams of light filtering through her window before drifting back down to her. She scowled at the one that landed mockingly on the tip of her nose.
She swiped at it and made another pass at sleep. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced herself to breathe deeply. Relax. Empty her mind of thought.
It was, she decided after another minute, clearly hopeless. Her eyes popped open again as if by a will of their own. She flung herself onto her back and tugged the covers up under her chin. Her thoughts had run in circles for hours, like hovering scavengers, keeping sleep and peace of mind at bay. Tad's words, Jonas Harper's proposal of marriage, and Chase Whitlaw's kiss were all jumbled with the day's events. By far the kiss was the most confusing.
Chase's fault in what had happened was no greater than her own. She'd not shrunk away from him. In fact, to her everlasting regret, he'd weakened her knees, knocked her off kilter, left her wanting more.
Libby ran two fingers over her lips remembering the feel of his mouth covering hers, his tongue plumbing the depths of her. She realized with a guilty start that Lee's kisses had never come close to inciting the riot of feelings Chase had let loose. How was it possible for a kiss from a stranger to be more intimate than a kiss from one's own husband?
I saw him watchin' ya tonight.... He was lookin' at ya fine. Yes, she'd seen Chase watching her, his eyes stalking her every movement the way a cat stalks a doomed bird. It had made her heart flutter like wing-beats. She'd done her best to keep her gaze from meeting his through the meal, but once or twice their looks had collided over the supper table.
You're beautiful, Lib. Chase's voice echoed in her thoughts.
Beautiful? How could he think her beautiful in the raggedy man-clothes and cowhide boys' boots she wore? He'd known many more sophisticated women in the East, she reasoned. Women who wore beautiful gowns like those in the drawings in her dog-eared copy of Godey's Lady's Book. Women who knew how to use a fan and talk about silly things like stitchery and the weather. Even if she'd needed to learn those things, which she hadn't, she suspected they would be very boring after a time.
Except, perhaps, to a man like Chase Whitlaw.
No, it was more likely pity he felt for her. Perhaps he used those same words on all the lonely widows he kissed as he drifted through the Territory on his way to God-knew-where. The thought sent a shaft of hurt through her.
Libby tossed her covers aside, realizing the nonsensical turn her thoughts had taken. Nothing had happened between them that couldn't be forgotten.
She pulled a match from the punched-tin holder beside the bed and lit the lamp again. Pale golden light filled the room, softening its starkness. Yes, she thought, tossing her night wrapper on and yanking the sash tight around her
waist. She'd put his kiss completely out of her mind. Forget it ever happened. Forget about Chase Whitlaw and the things he made her feel. It was the only way.
* * *
Chase leaned heavily against the corral post, tipped his head back and took one more pull off the silver flask of whiskey in his hand. He raised the nearly empty vessel in salute to the inky star-splashed dome above him. The liquor burned a fiery path down his throat. Heat seeped languidly into his limbs, but seemed to deliberately avoid his brain. He tugged on the buttons at the throat placket of his red union jacks, then shoved the flask into the back pocket of his denims.
Numbness, he decided disgustedly, was becoming increasingly illusive. Despite his best attempts to reach that pinnacle of oblivion, his senses seemed clearer than ever and his thoughts focused with vigilant tenacity on the cause of his discomfort.
Libby.
He'd already cursed himself, called himself every kind of fool for kissing her, letting his guard down with her. He'd wanted to satisfy his curiosity about her, but instead he'd stirred up a longing in himself. A woman like Libby could rope a man's heart and cinch it tight before he knew what hit him.
She was ripe for the picking, but the plain fact was, he wasn't in the market. And if he was, he wouldn't even be in the running. A man like Jonas Harper could offer her more than he ever could. Security, a good home with no leaking roof, even an education for Tad. Things he could never give her.
If that was all Libby wanted, she'd have accepted Harper's proposal long ago.
Chase frowned at that thought. So what did she want? Several words came to mind: companionship, loyalty, love.
Love? He let out a harsh breath of laughter. Can't squeeze blood from a stone, he thought grimly. The thought twisted at him like the sharp edge of a knife and he tipped the flask upside-down again and took another swig.
"Here's to you, Lee Honeycutt, you lucky bastard," he grumbled with annoying sobriety. "You didn't know what you had 'til it was too late. Now, it's too damn late for both of us." He clamped his eyes shut, steadying himself against the split rail.
Chase the Fire Page 14