Chase the Fire

by Barbara Ankrum

  Libby went about her business, folding up an extra blanket and pretended to ignore him. At the foot of the bed, Patch lay where he'd taken up residence, his ears perked expectantly, watching Chase.

  Chase dipped the razor into the bowl of warm water in his lap and cautiously approached his bearded face. The mirror rattled in his left hand with the effort it took to hold it up, but he doggedly made an attempt. He cursed the weakness that left him unable to handle the simplest of tasks. The first stroke was punctuated by a crass oath and a bright red spot of blood appeared on his throat. The second stroke was worse.

  "Damnation!" He threw the razor into the pan of water.

  Libby pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

  "And don't you laugh at me either, Miss I-can-do-everything. The razor's dull as an old dog's teeth."

  "I just stropped it," she told him, dangling the razor strop between two fingers. "It's perfectly sharp. Let me know when you're finished," she told him, mercilessly as she swept out of the room, blanket in hand, "and I'll empty that water for you."

  "Libby." The word was nearly shouted.

  She stuck her head around the door frame. "Yes?"

  "Could you—would you—please shave me? I, uh, can't seem to manage it one-handed after all."

  "Please?"

  "Please," he gritted out.

  She couldn't resist taunting him. "With sugar on top?"

  "Now wait just a minute," he growled.

  "Oh, never mind," she replied, joining him at the bed. "Please will do just fine. In fact, it's the nicest thing you've said to me all day. I think you woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

  He muttered something about any side being the wrong side, as she took the razor in her hand and tipped his head back. Her fingers pressed against the base of his neck where she found his pulse thudding furiously. From anger or sheer frustration, she couldn't be sure.

  He glared at her through narrowed eyes while she stroked him with the razor, tipping his head first one way, then the other. "I guess I have been—"

  She shushed him as the razor followed the curve above his lip, then went to his chin. He flattened his lower lip against his teeth to give her better access. He had to admit, she did this well. He wondered if she'd practiced on her husband and if she planned on doing this for Harper after they were married. A shaft of jealousy darted through him. He didn't allow himself to think too long on that. He concentrated on the feel of her fingers against his skin.

  "You were saying?" she asked, paying close attention to his jawline.

  "I was saying, I guess I have been a little touchy lately. It's just being in this damn bed for so long." He glanced down his nose at her. "Was that Jonas Harper I heard pull up outside this morning? Ow!"

  "Sorry. Yes, it was."

  He grunted and angled his head sideways. "He stayed long enough."

  "He brought me a new dress. He wants me to wear it at the party."

  "Party?"

  "Independence Day."

  Chase's eyes narrowed but Libby pressed on, changing the subject. "He was asking about you. He was quite concerned about what happened."

  A sardonic smile curved his lips. "Ha. I suppose he wasn't too thrilled with the idea of me being in your bed, was he?"

  She stilled her arm and stared at him. "Why, Chase, what a lowly thought."

  His eyes met hers, serious now. "If you were mine, it would have been my first thought."

  Libby hesitated above the tender skin near Chase's ear. What Jonas had minded most was that Chase would be staying on at the Double Bar H when he got well. But she didn't need to tell Chase that. It would only add fuel to the fire. It was plain he didn't think much of her arrangement with Jonas.

  "Well, you're still weak as a kitten," she said at last. "You're hardly in any condition to pose a threat to me."

  A wicked look lit his eyes. "You sure about that?"

  The blade nicked him again in retribution.

  "Ow!" He grabbed her slender wrist and held it away from his face. "Damn it, woman! I think I could have done a better job of it myself."

  Their eyes met over the straight razor. The humor in hers faded as his look became hotter and infinitely more dangerous than the teasing one it had been only a moment before. His gaze dropped to her parted lips and hovered there for a moment before returning to search her eyes.

  "Then again," he murmured, "maybe it's worth losing a little more blood, just to be able to watch your eyes catch the sunlight that way."

  His words caught her off guard and spread through her like warm honey, overshadowing the pang of warning she knew she should heed. With his free hand, he picked up the towel and wiped the remaining soap from his face. It was a gesture so blatantly male that it made her breath catch in her throat. Her pulse was spinning in an involuntary reaction to his nearness. She forgot to resist when he pulled her closer still, his warm fingers still around her wrist.

  "Did I ever tell you what your eyes do to me, Lib?"

  "Chase, please..."

  "They make me want things from you I know I have no right to want. Crazy things I imagine we'd both regret." His eyes roved over her face, searching for an answer to his unspoken question. "Then again, maybe we wouldn't regret it." His fingers burned into her skin, pressing against her thudding pulse. "Does Jonas Harper do this to you Libby? Does he make your pulse race? Does he make your skin get hot the way it does when I touch you?" Chase pulled her close, so close their breaths mingled.

  "I told you," she whispered, "it doesn't mat—"

  His lips brushed hers, tasting, tempting, silencing her excuses. "And when he kisses you," he whispered against her mouth, "does he light a fire in those smoky eyes of yours, like I do?"

  Libby was horrified by her body's involuntary response to his touch. Yet she couldn't deny the memory of what she'd found in his strong arms. No, Jonas's touch was nothing like this. But that was before... before everything had changed. How could she still feel such things about a man who'd turned her life upside down and helped to strip her of everything she loved? It was wrong. It had to be.

  A voice from the doorway sent them both crashing apart guiltily.

  "So, how's the"—El hesitated for only a second, taking in their expressions—"patient?"

  Neither of them spoke and both avoided El's questioning stare. "Did I interrupt something?" he asked. "I can come back."

  "No. You didn't interrupt a thing," Libby told him, gathering up Chase's shaving things. "I was just trying to make Chase look like a human being again." Her eyes flickered to Chase's momentarily to find him watching her.

  El looked from one to the other and shook his head. "And you've managed to do it. Barely. I don't know about his temper though. He's been more like a bear lately than the Chase I know and love."

  "Yes, see if you have something in that little black bag for that, will you?" Libby requested before she stalked out of the room, slamming the door with a force that left it rattling in its frame.

  El raised an eyebrow as he turned to Chase, who lay abed, scowling. "Wanna tell me what that was all about?"

  "Not particularly."

  "Okay. Let's try something else. How are you feeling?"

  "Great. Just great," Chase fumed.

  "Ah-hah."

  Chase gritted his teeth as El bent over him and undid the bandages at his shoulder and side, inspecting his wounds. El let out a satisfied grunt and bandaged him back up.

  "Get me out of here, El."

  "You're not ready to get out of this bed. Trust me. That fever took a lot out of you. Give yourself a few days."

  "Get me my pants."

  El stared at him. "Chase..."

  "Get them."

  Reluctantly, El handed the denims to him, then folded his arms across his chest and stood back to watch.

  Dizziness made Chase's head swim as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, but he refused to be daunted. Chase tugged the pants on with an effort, buttoning them halfway up. He s
teadied himself on the bedstead and on shaky legs stood. Almost immediately, black spots danced in front of his eyes and he swayed toward El, who had moved in to catch him just as his knees buckled.

  "Convinced?" El asked, helping him back down onto the bed.

  "Damn it."

  "Your body's been through a shock. I told you it will take a few days to recover. What's the problem anyway?"

  The answer came in an impassioned rush. "I'm feeling pretty goddamn useless, that's the problem. I should be out there working, instead of in here trying to convince Libby not to do what's best for her." He lowered his voice and slung an arm over his eyes. "Damn it, El. What am I going to do?"

  "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

  It took Chase a few seconds to answer. "Yes."

  "Then," El shrugged, "maybe you should marry her."

  Chase let out a bark of laughter. "She's already engaged... to a man who had nothing to do with the death of her first husband, I might add."

  "In that case, I guess you'll have to do what you've always done best with women."

  "Which is?"

  "Change her mind." El snapped his medical bag shut and handed Chase a letter from his attorney, Maxwell Foulard, postmarked Baltimore. "Violet forwarded it to you and I picked it up in town when I went to wire him about what happened."

  Chase frowned at the letter in his hand, then stuffed it into his saddlebags to read later. He wasn't in the mood for any more bad news. "You told Violet about this?" he asked, rubbing his side. "You know what a worrier she is."

  "I didn't tell her how bad it really was," El replied. "Just that you were going to be all right. Oh, and Nora Harper was here earlier."

  "Is it my imagination, or has she been coming by quite often lately?"

  El cleared his throat. "Actually, she's been by every day since you were brought in. She was quite concerned about you."

  "Somehow, I doubt it's me she's coming to see."

  El glanced up at Chase through a fringe of blond lashes. "She's something, you know?"

  "Is she?" Chase asked with a knowing grin.

  "Um-hmm. Oh, she, uh, wanted to invite us, personally, to the wingding they're having at their place next week for the Fourth of July. If you're feeling up to it that is."

  "A party at Harper's?" he repeated in a flat voice.

  "Libby's going," El pointed out with a shrug. "You could drive her there."

  Chase scowled. "I'll think about it."

  "Some of Nora's friends, the Winfields, are driving up a few days early from Albuquerque for the party. They have a whole passel of kids and she and Libby thought it would be a chance for Tad to play with some children his own age. He'll be in heaven." El rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "She asked if I would drive Tad over to her place on Saturday night and, uh... stay for dinner."

  "I see," Chase said, with a slow grin. "So you're interested in her?"

  "She's an interesting woman," El allowed with an easy smile. Tipping his hat back on his head, he headed toward the door. "Give yourself another couple of days to get your strength back. I'll see if I can dig up something innocuous to keep you occupied until you're back on your feet. Stay in bed. Hear me?"

  Chase watched him go, then threw the bedclothes off again and sat up. He would get out of this room as soon as possible—before confinement or Libby Honeycutt drove him crazy.

  The next day as Chase sat beneath the portico outside, mending harnesses, the young U.S. Marshal from Santa Fe, John Pratt, rode out to hear firsthand what had happened between Chase and Bodine. Pratt was an easy-going man, whose outward calm, Chase guessed, was deceptive. He seemed surprisingly knowledgeable and capable and bent on upholding the law. When they'd finished talking, he told Chase that he'd be issuing a wanted poster with Bodine's name on it to all the Territorial Marshals from Texas to Arizona and to the alcaldes, or mayors, of surrounding towns.

  And before he left, he warned Chase to leave Bodine to him. Chase gave the marshal a grim, silent smile. Only if I don't find him first, he thought, watching the marshal ride off. Otherwise he's a dead man.

  * * *

  Every muscle in her body ached. All Libby could think about, as she forked the last of the hay into the paddock, was sprawling across the bed in Tad's room and sinking into blissful unconsciousness. She had pushed herself hard for the past few days, working side by side with her men in the breaking corrals.

  Today, she'd been stepped on, had her arms nearly jerked off by an ornery gelding that took exception to being saddled for the first time and, despite wearing gloves, had gotten a rope burn on her hand from the thirty-five-foot manila lariat she'd been throwing and dallying around the necks of the stallions who needed halter breaking.

  But she wasn't through yet. She had supper to fix and Tad had to be helped with his school work. Frankly, she wasn't sure she could focus her eyes long enough to do it.

  The evening sun hovered over the tips of the mountains to the west by the time she dragged herself into the house, to be met by the smell of corn chowder cooking on the wood-burning stove. Libby blinked in confusion at seeing soup simmering in the pot and smelling the fragrant aroma of fresh biscuits baking.

  What in the world...?

  The sound of whistling came from her bedroom-sweet soulful whistling that reminded her of a song she'd heard once but couldn't place. The haunting sound stopped and she moved closer to her bedroom door, which was slightly ajar.

  "Like this?" It was Tad's small voice she heard.

  "That's it," Chase encouraged quietly. "Keep your tongue tight up against your lower teeth... like this. Uh-huh. You control the sound with the shape of your mouth and your tongue. Just let the air sail over it, like a breeze whistles through the aspens, like this...."

  There it was again. That song. She recognized the tune this time. It was "Lenora," a song popular with both the North and the South during the war. It was one of her favorites, but she hadn't heard it in a long time.

  He stopped again and Libby moved closer, peeking through the crack in the door. Tad and his dog, Patch, were sitting companionably on the bed beside Chase, who leaned back against the pillows behind him. In spite of the gauntness from his illness, he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

  He'd unbuttoned his red cotton shirt, revealing the well-defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. The dark triangle of hair on his chest tapered down to a thin line and disappeared below the waist of the denim trousers that hugged his long, muscular thighs. The fingers of his right hand rested in Patch's fur just behind his ears.

  The familiar pang of desire hit her like a wave and she leaned against the doorway. This was why she'd worked herself ragged for the past few days. This was the reason she couldn't put herself in the same room with him without making a fool of herself. She didn't know what she felt for him anymore or what was right. But watching him filled her with a longing she couldn't deny. And seeing him with her son, she wished, for one bittersweet moment, that they could have met in another time and place.

  A noisy wet rush of air escaped Tad's puckered lips, along with a hint of a note.

  "Hey! That was the best one yet," Chase praised.

  "Wait, wait! I can do it." Tad puckered up and tried again. This time, one fine, pure note escaped his mouth, then disintegrated with his delighted laugh.

  Chase grinned broadly and reached over to ruffle Tad's hair. "I told you you could do it."

  "I did it! Wait 'til I show Ma!"

  Tad nearly collided with Libby on the way out of her room. "Ma! Chase taught me to whistle."

  "I heard," she replied, hugging Tad and walking back into her room with him. "And did you cook dinner, too?"

  "Chase and me did it together. We made it fer you, Ma," Tad answered proudly.

  From the bed, Chase gave her a wink and an easy grin. "Are you all packed up, Tadpole?" Chase asked. "Elliot will be here any minute to take you over to Nora's."

  "'Cept my marbles and my toad."

  "I think you'd b
etter leave Charlie here, darlin'," Libby told him. "He might get lost in all the excitement over there."

  Tad's face fell. "But who'll feed him? He'll starve without me takin' care of him."

  "I'll make sure he gets a few crickets while you're gone, Tadpole," Chase promised.

  "Tonight? He'll be hungry tonight."

  Chase held up his right hand solemnly. "Promise."

  "Okay. I'll get the marbles and go see if Elliot's ready to go. Wait 'til I show Nora I know how to whistle...." Tad hurried off happily to do what Chase asked, whistling his one note.

  Libby shook her head. "You shouldn't even be out of bed, Chase and look at you."

  "I must admit, I'm a little tired now. But no more than you." His gaze roved over her face. "You look exhausted. You shouldn't be working so hard. You've got some extra men now."

  They both knew why she'd chosen to stay away from the house.

  "I'm all right." She sat down tiredly on the edge of the bed and traced a finger along the wedding-ring design of the patchwork quilt. "It was nice of you to teach Tad to whistle."

  Chase shrugged. "I've been promising him."

  "Thanks for cooking dinner, too, because I don't think I could have tonight. It smells wonderful. Where did you learn to cook?"

  "I had to teach myself to cook in the Army or go without."

  It was then she noticed his saddlebags stacked neatly by the door beside his rifle. She looked back at him. "Are you going somewhere?"

  He nodded. "I'm giving you back your room tonight. I'll be fine in the barn."

  "But your shoulder—"

  "—is healing up just fine, thanks. You need this bed more than I do tonight. I've kept you out of it long enough. Besides, with Tad gone"—he paused—"I think it would be better if I was out of here."

  Disappointment tracked through her. She would miss having him here in her house. He was right, of course, about propriety, but knowing that did nothing to ease the lonely ache that started in her at the thought of being completely alone again.