Chase the Fire

by Barbara Ankrum

  "Bueno," she conceded, running her hand through his hair. "Then, it is Argentina."

  "Argentina. Pretty name. You should keep it for yourself. When you give a piece of yourself away," he said, feeling the liquor at last, "you can't always get it back."

  She watched him thoughtfully. "Most of me is given away, guapo. You can have what's left tonight."

  "Guapo..." He frowned. "What...?"

  "How you say...? Handsome," she translated. "You are a handsome gringo." Her hands traced his broad shoulders and she gave her hair a toss. "Y fuerte, strong. I might even let you have me for less." She laughed again, nipping at his ear with her teeth. "Not too much less."

  That she held not the slightest interest for him, he found surprising. In another time, another place, he would gladly have sought what she had to offer. Tonight and, he decided, for a long time to come, there would only be room for one woman in his heart and in his bed.

  He gently pushed Argentina away from his ear. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be good company tonight."

  "Dios mìo..." She breathed out the words, her enticing gaze running over his long, lean body. "I think you would be good company any night, guapo."

  Chase frowned and raised the glass to his lips. Before he could drink he saw something that stopped him cold.

  Argentina felt him tense. "Què pasa? What is wrong?"

  Chase didn't take his eyes from the Colt revolver strapped to the hip of the man seated across the room from him—his Colt. The small hairs on the back of Chase's neck bristled. He would know that gun anywhere by the specially made ivory handle and the etching on the side.

  "Do you know that man over there?" he asked. "Sitting at the table by the wall."

  Argentina frowned now. "Which one?"

  "The one with dark hair and a scraggly beard."

  Chase heard her intake of breath. "Sì, yo conozco. But you do not want to, señor."

  Deliberately, he set his drink back down on the table. "Who is he?"

  "All-y-son is his name. Un mal hombre. There are many bad men in Las Vegas, guapo. He is one of the worst."

  "Clay Allison?"

  "Sì."

  Chase's answering smile was cold as a winter snow.

  The whore tugged at his shirt. "Vaya conmigo, gringo. Come to my room. I will make you forget this other woman who does not look like me."

  He glanced up at her and reached into his pocket. "Argentina, how would you like to make more dinero tonight than you make in a month?"

  Her ebony eyebrows flicked up hopefully. "With you?"

  He smiled and shook his head.

  The promise of money brought a pacifying curve to her lips. "Pues!" She shrugged. "If I cannot have you, perhaps money will ease the pain."

  * * *

  Chase sat back and watched Argentina do her job. She was good at it, he realized, as she rubbed against Clay Allison like a cat in season. The outlaw did his best to ignore her at first, intent on finishing his game of poker. But as she became more insistent and intimate with her talented hands, the man's baser needs won out over the poker game.

  Argentina wound herself around Allison as they made their way to the back rooms where she plied her trade. Chase felt a tug of regret that a woman as intriguing as she had to make her living that way. He also prayed he hadn't put her in any danger.

  After waiting a minute or two, he followed them. There were six cribs at the back of the cantina. The hallway was dark and dirty. If he'd had to guess which door was hers, he would have probably guessed wrong. But the button from her gown was on the floor in front of the door, just as she'd promised it would be.

  Chase kicked it away, pulled out his gun and listened for a moment. He heard Argentina's sultry laugh and the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor, one at a time. He checked his gun, unnecessarily. It was loaded and ready, as always.

  He let the seconds tick by until he heard Argentina's throaty exclamation. "Ay, hombre! Tan grande!" He heard the deep murmur of Allison's reply and decided the time had come. With gun cocked and ready, he slammed into the room.

  Argentina's surprised shriek came on cue and Allison's head came up with a jerk as Chase burst through the doorway. His wide eyes went first to Chase's gun, then to his own, out of reach on the chair beside the bed.

  "Think you can make it?" Chase asked with a hard-bitten smile, taking in the sight of Allison, naked as a jaybird, atop the whore who'd set him up.

  Allison's eyes flicked to Chase again. "Who the hell are you?"

  "I'm the man who caught you with your pants down, Allison"—Chase moved closer, his gun still trained on the man's head and pulled his Colt from Allison's holster—"and the owner of this gun."

  Allison paled and his eyes became slits. "You... you're dead."

  Chase laughed. "Do I look dead to you?"

  Allison swallowed hard. "What do you want, Whitlaw?"

  "Where's Bodine?"

  "I don't know—"

  Chase's finger tightened threateningly on the trigger.

  Sweat popped out on the naked man's forehead.

  "Por Dìos! Digale!" Argentina implored convincingly, clutching the sheet to her. "Tell him!"

  "Basta!" Allison snapped.

  "You'd better listen to her," Chase warned. "I've heard you've got a price on your head. No one would think twice if I pulled this trigger. But then this pretty little whore would have your brains spattered all over her sheets."

  "Hellfire! Wait a minute," he said, holding his hand up. "I don't owe that little bastard nothin'."

  "I thought I could count on your sense of self-preservation. Where is he?"

  "He... he ain't here. He went back to finish up some business with an old employer."

  Chase felt his chest tighten. Libby! "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Bodine told me you were dead. He sold me that gun when he ran out of money. He went back to get more. Said there was bundles of it where that came from."

  "Back where?" Chase thundered.

  "S-some cattle rancher in the Rio Grande Valley. Harper, I think. Jonas Harper. He bragged how he was workin' for this man Harper, causin' trouble for some woman."

  A sickening lurch of realization tore through Chase.

  "And he was blackmailin' him over yer murder," Allison continued. "This Harper fella wanted the whole thing shut up. So he paid Bodine to disappear. Only Bodine didn't."

  "Go on."

  "He was thinkin' he should'a played a bigger hand the first time with this rancher. So, after his money was gone, Bodine headed back for more."

  "How long ago?"

  Allison hesitated.

  "How long!"

  "Day before yesterday."

  Letting out a low, foul curse, Chase let his gaze fall upon the tools of Argentina's trade stacked neatly in a basket in the corner of her room, among them a quartet of short ropes, undoubtedly used for the very purpose he intended.

  "Get up!" he ordered Argentina. "Tie him to the bedstead. Make the ropes tight."

  "Ah hell..." Allison groaned. "Ya ain't gonna leave me here buck-nekked!"

  "I'm leaving you alive," Chase assured him. "Which is probably more than you deserve."

  Allison muttered another foul curse as Argentina tightened the ropes on his wrists. Chase tore the sheet from the bed and ripped it into strips.

  "Gag him."

  She did, to the grumbling protests of Allison.

  "Now, put something on," he told her. "This was none of your affair, but I'm going to have to tie you, too."

  "Bastardo!" she spat out, but winked at him when her back was to Allison. She slipped a cheap, cotton wrapper over her nakedness and lay back down on the bed beside the gunslinger.

  Chase tied her up and gagged her as well. "Someone's bound to miss you by morning," he told them with a cold smile. He slipped his old Colt into his holster and touched the brim of his hat with the barrel of his new gun.

  "Sweet dreams."

  * * *

  Jonas Harper
closed the study door behind him and walked in the dim light of evening to the cluster of cut-crystal decanters on the small table near the window. Unstoppering a bottle of Napoleon Brandy, he poured two fingers into a snifter, then swirled it and held it up to the light from the window, admiring the fine amber color.

  He was pleased. More than that, he was content. Tomorrow Elizabeth would be his. The preparations for the wedding were finished. Guests had begun arriving already, among them men who could make a political future for him in the seat of the territorial government a reality. A smile crossed his face. He was ambitious, yes. He wanted what this land had to offer. All of it. Cattle, power—a place carved out for himself and his offspring. With a woman as attractive as Elizabeth at his side, he could hardly miss.

  The flare of a sulfur-tipped match illuminated the room behind him with a heart-stopping suddenness. Jonas turned on his heel, expecting to see that one of his guests had sneaked into the darkened study for some privacy. But when he spotted the figure lounging negligently on his desk chair, he knew he was wrong.

  "Damnation! What are you doing here?" Harper demanded, slamming his snifter down so hard the thin stem shattered. He glared at the broken glass, then back at the interloper.

  Trammel Bodine shook the match out with a flick of his wrist and took a long draw on his cigarette. The red tip glowed ominously in the darkness. "Well now, that ain't a very friendly like way to talk to an old friend. Ain't you gonna offer me none of that there brandy, Harper? 'Course, I'd like a glass with a bottom still on it."

  "How did you get in here?"

  "Window—seein's how I didn't get an invite through the door." He took another pull on the cigarette and let the smoke out slowly. "Havin' you a shebang here, ain't you? A weddin' maybe, boss?"

  "It's none of your business, but yes. Elizabeth's going to marry me here tomorrow. And don't call me boss. You don't work for me anymore, Bodine. What did you come back for?"

  "Not my health, that's for damn certain." He lifted the gun he had concealed on his lap and spun the cylinder.

  Jonas hadn't seen it before. He ran a nervous hand over his mustache and chin. "Your health would appear to be a tenuous commodity these days, I would say. In this territory at least."

  "I came for money," Trammel said flatly.

  Jonas laughed and turned his back on Bodine to pour some brandy into another snifter. The lip of the bottle rattled slightly against the glass. He took a long sip, then swung around. "I gave you money. Enough to get you out of the goddamned country."

  "It didn't take me that far."

  Harper's jaw tightened. "You've gotten all the money you're going to get from me, you little bloodsucker."

  "Brave words comin' from a man without a gun."

  "I don't need a gun, because you're not going to shoot me."

  "Oh, yeah?" Bodine raised the Colt toward Harper. "What makes you so cocksure o' that?"

  "Because you're a coward, Bodine. Because you wouldn't get two feet out of this room before one of my men put a bullet in your rangy hide. And I don't think you want to die. Besides, I have no reason to pay you any more money. The man you shot in the back didn't die. Whitlaw's alive."

  Bodine's eyes widened. "Yer lyin'!"

  A sneering smile tugged at the corners of Harper's mouth. "Elizabeth happened upon him before the desert could claim him. You're a bungler—even at murder, Bodine. Bad luck for you, but as it turned out, good luck for me. Whitlaw rode off two days ago, out of Elizabeth's life. So you see, Trammel, there's nothing left for us to say."

  "That's where yer wrong. You don't want to pay me?" Bodine dropped his cigarette onto the fine wool carpet and crushed it with the toe of his boot. "Fine. I'll just have a little visit with yer precious Elizabeth. We'll see what she has to say about yer part in her ranch failin'."

  Harper laughed again. "You are a fool. Do you think she would believe you after what you did to her? To Whitlaw? It'll be your word against mine and everyone will know you're just trying to cover your guilty ass with lies. Show your face anywhere around these parts and they'll string you up so fast you won't need a judge to speak over you. You're a wanted man, Trammel. Not only for the attempted murder of Whitlaw but that little rustling escapade I heard about over near San Miguel, where you killed a man."

  Bodine swallowed hard and a muscle twitched in his cheek. "What do you know about that?"

  "I'm surprised you haven't seen the wanted posters, Bodine."

  "I seen 'em. I ain't got no use fer readin' is all."

  "Pity. If you could read you'd have known that U.S. Marshal John Pratt is after you."

  Bodine raised the gun. "Open yer safe, Harper. I come for money and I'm not leavin' without it."

  Harper kept his expression even. "I don't think so."

  The pistol shook in Bodine's hand and fury darkened his eyes. "Open the damned—"

  The door to the study burst open and Jonas's foreman, Cal Stembridge, appeared, the shotgun he was holding aimed at Bodine's face. Bodine's shaking gun went from Harper to Stembridge. His expression was wild and desperate.

  Cal stepped closer. "If you don't want me to blow your brains out, drop the gun now," the tall ranch hand ordered.

  "It's all right, Cal," Harper told him, holding up his hand. "This gentleman was just leaving. Weren't you?"

  "Put the gun down! Now." Cal repeated in a low dangerous voice.

  Bodine's gaze slid back and forth between the two men. Sweat glistened on his upper lip. Trapped, he carefully lowered his pistol to the floor. "I'm doin' it. I'm doin' it!" As Harper bent to pick the gun up, all the words Bodine longed to spit out at him worked at the corners of his mouth.

  "This the bastard you been worried about, boss?" Cal asked.

  "Yes."

  "You want me to send a man for the marshal?"

  "That won't be necessary."

  Cal frowned. "But—"

  "I said that won't be necessary." Harper glanced meaningfully at Bodine. "I suggest, however, you get on your horse and ride out of here before I change my mind. Take him out the back way, Cal, with as little fuss as possible. Ride with him to the edge of my property, then give him back his gun."

  "Are you sure you want—?"

  "That's an order, Cal," Harper snapped.

  "Yessir." Cal grabbed Bodine's arm, but Trammel turned back on Jonas with an evil smile.

  "Pay now or pay later. It don't matter to me, Harper," Bodine told him. "But you'll pay."

  Harper only laughed. "You won't be back. Because if I see your face near my ranch again, I'll have you shot on sight. Is that clear? Now get him out of here."

  Bodine stumbled out after Cal and Jonas shut the door behind them. With a curse, he hurled the snifter of brandy into the adobe fireplace at the far corner of the room and watched it shatter in a splash of amber.

  Chapter 23

  Chase splashed the last of his coffee onto the thirsty ground and kicked dirt over his fire, sending a sputtering plume of smoke into the pink-tinged morning sky. The coffee helped to clear his brain; the crisp mountain air, his spirit. He hefted his saddle up onto Blue's back and cinched it tight.

  He'd forgone the longer Santa Fe Trail route they'd taken on the way in and had chosen instead the mountain route back to the valley of the Rio Grande. He hoped to cut off a few precious hours of travel that way. As it was, there was a chance he might not get there in time.

  Darkness had forced him to stop for the night on the eastern slopes of the Cristos. But night hadn't brought sleep. Only the gnawing panic that he would reach Libby too late to stop her from making a terrible mistake.

  Harper. Chase wanted to kill him slowly for what he had done to her. As he mounted and headed Blue up toward the notched pass in the mountains, he wondered how he could have missed connecting Harper with Bodine. In hindsight, it made perfect sense. Someone had been working long and hard to make Libby fail, but Chase had never been able to figure out why. Libby's stubborn tenacity would have kept her on her ranch d
espite normal odds and he imagined she might even have made a success of it. Failure had driven her directly into Harper's arms, just as the bastard had intended.

  Chase spurred Blue on. He planned to pay Harper back, not only for betraying Libby but for the small matter of the two bullets that had nearly killed him.

  Morning gave way to afternoon as he pushed on through the rocky terrain. A foamy sweat slicked Blue's coat and Chase's shirt clung damply to him under the brilliant afternoon sky. At eight thousand feet, the thin air made the sun seem closer and the effort greater.

  There was no warning when it happened. They were moving so fast through the scrub meadow, there wasn't even time for the rattle which would have betrayed the five-foot diamondback that lay sunning on the rock beside the trail. But the strike to the horse's foreleg was deadly.

  Blue screamed and reared in fear and pain. Caught off balance, Chase scrambled to free himself from the stirrups just as the gray fell over backward. He hit the ground hard and bounced to a grinding stop, then rolled to his knees, his pistol drawn. The rattler had already struck once more at the horse which was struggling to its feet. This time the snake went for Blue's neck, with deadly accuracy. The frantic horse pawed wildly at the air letting out shrill, squealing cries.

  "Noo-o-oo!" The scream tore from Chase's throat even as a round exploded from his Colt, ripping the diamondback in half when it coiled to strike again. He fired again and again into the writhing mass of flesh until the snake moved no more.

  His disbelieving gaze went to Blue who struggled to his feet, grunting with pain and taking labored breaths.

  "Aw, damn. Damn!" He grabbed Blue's loose reins and brought him to a stop. "Whoa, now. Easy, boy." Chase ran his fingers over the bleeding, angry bites in Blue's neck and leg. The horse quivered and snorted in reply.

  "Aw, Blue... Blue." Chase felt his throat tighten with emotion as he realized what had to be done. Blue tossed his head, then dropped his velvety muzzle against Chase's hand.

  "I'm sorry, boy. I'm so sorry."

  It had happened so fast, there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. Still, he blamed himself for pushing so hard, letting his guard down, taking the mountain pass when he should have taken the road. Blue was a trusted friend, the last one he'd counted on. Now, even Blue would be gone.