Chase the Fire

by Barbara Ankrum

  Damn it all to hell.

  With a heavy heart, he released the latigo on the saddle, loosening the cinch. The poison was already doing its work on the gelding. As Chase pulled the saddle off, Blue wobbled a few steps, then went down. Chase dropped to his knees beside the horse, soothing him with his voice and stroking his strong jaw. He unfastened the bridle and slipped it out of Blue's mouth.

  "Shh-hh... thatta boy. You're gonna be all right now...." Emotion choked his words off. Blue looked up at him with trusting, pain-filled eyes. Chase kissed Blue's big, smooth jaw and lingered there, remembering all they'd been through these past years.

  Slowly, Chase pulled out his pistol, rested it against Blue's temple and, with a shudder of regret, put him out of his misery. The retort echoed like a shattered promise across the granite cliffs clawing at the stark New Mexican sky.

  * * *

  On a broad outcrop of rock overlooking the sprawling Rio Grande Valley, Chase sat with wrists dangling over bent knees, watching morning steal over the sky. Vermilion edged the wispy clouds high above the flat sweep of land below. Beside Chase were his saddle and tack, which he had lugged seven or eight miles on foot the day before, after covering Blue's body with rocks from the meadow. His sense of loss was rivaled only by his sense of impotence.

  It was Sunday. Today Libby would marry Jonas Harper and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. At least twenty miles separated them. Miles impossible to cover on foot in time. He'd lost and so, he realized, had Libby and Tad.

  The shout of frustration welled up inside him like a curled fist until he could do nothing else, but release it.

  "Liiib-beee-ee—"

  The cry echoed down the mountainside and came back to him like an answer.

  Another voice, the one that had kept him alive and fighting all these years, rebelled at giving up so easily. Anger tore through him, a rush of liquid heat.

  He could flail a fist at fate, give in to the hopelessness of his cause, or he could fight with everything he had. It might be too late, but he'd try. Damn it, he'd try.

  With the decision made to lighten his load, he unwound his canteen from the saddle horn and slid his Henry from its scabbard. It was then he first felt the rumble. The rock beneath him trembled as if from an earth tremor, but in a few seconds he discovered the source of the sound.

  The herd of mustangs moved as one across the ripening meadow of high mountain grass below him. It was a large herd—at least fifty head—and if he wasn't mistaken, it was Diablo's. But he couldn't spot the black stallion. There was another dun-colored stallion, younger perhaps, at the rear of the herd, laying claim to his manada.

  A sharp, squealing whinny brought Chase's head around to the mountainside fifty yards to the north. He shouldn't have been surprised to see Diablo there, but he was. The magnificent stallion reared and pawed at the sky, then stood silent, watching his old herd pass by below him. He still bore the marks of his battle with Goliath.

  It occurred to Chase then that the old stallion had lost his claim on the herd because of the wounds he'd suffered in the grizzly's attack. Diablo was an outlaw now. An outsider, just as Chase was.

  He waited. Diablo shook his mane and pawed the ground, then caught sight of Chase. Their eyes met as they had twice before. But instead of running, Diablo stood his ground, waiting, too. For what, Chase couldn't know. The horse's ebony coat gleamed in the sunlight. Devil or angel? Chase wondered, acknowledging the irony of their situation.

  And a crazy thought crept into his mind. Crazy and desperate. But he was just desperate enough to try anything. Slowly, he reached into his saddlebags and pulled out two lumps of the sugar he'd always kept in supply for Blue. He threaded his bridle over his shoulder and with slow measured steps—and a silent, offered-up prayer—he made his way toward the skittish stallion.

  * * *

  "Ow! Let go a my ear!" Tad whined, as Early pulled him gingerly toward the hacienda. His short wool pants were covered with dust and one stocking puddled around his ankle.

  "Lookit you, boy," Early replied shaking his head. "Got them fancy duds Mr. Harper done bought fer ya all mucked up, like you was a stable hand instead of the ring bearer at your mama's weddin'." He released Tad's ear when they drew near the guests circling a table of punch. He saw Jonas Harper fidgeting with his string tie beneath the stand of quaking aspen, beside him the preacher and several other men. They had wheeled Nora's piano out under the trees and a woman from church was plinking away at it in preparation for the ceremony.

  Early propelled Tad toward the house. "What in the tarnation did you think you was up to, fightin' with that Higgins boy?"

  "Nothin'." Tad's expression was uncharacteristically sullen and had been for days. The sudden change baffled Early, but he suspected by the long face Libby had been pulling since Chase left, it was about his going.

  Early blew out a sigh and cast a sidelong glance at Tad's blackening left eye. "Didn't look like nothin' to me. 'Pears to me you been itchin' fer a fight ever since we come back from deliverin' them horses. With yer ma, with me... heck, even Patch has been stayin' outta yer way lately. You want to talk about it, Taddy?"

  "No."

  "You missin' Chase?"

  "Ha!"

  "Ya could'a fooled me, boy."

  "I ain't a boy! And he's a traitor," Tad retorted hotly, emotion overriding his reticence.

  "Fer leavin'?"

  "For shootin' my pa."

  Early halted his steps. "What are you talkin' about boy?"

  "In the war. That's why he came here, to give Ma a locket my Pa give him when he was dyin'. He lied to me and my ma. I hate him."

  Early frowned, comprehending at last the missing piece of the puzzle between the stranger who'd ridden in on a storm and Libby Honeycutt. So that was the way of it. If he hadn't known Chase so well, he might have bought what Tad had selling for face value. But there was more to it than this. He knew that as sure as he was standing here.

  Though his heart went out to the boy, he figured that boulder on Tad's shoulder must be getting a mite heavy and needed shaving down a sliver or two.

  "You hate him, huh? You figure a man who fought agin' your pa ain't got no good in him?"

  Tad scowled silently and scuffed at the dirt with the toe of his new leather shoes.

  "Yep. Well, I reckon as how you're right," Early agreed. "It took a mighty small man at that to come all that way and face your ma head-on instead of throwin' that locket away like any good Yankee might have. And then, well, to stay and help her when he could see she was strugglin'...well, I reckon that don't count for much since he never took no money from her fer pay. Told me to give it to yer ma after he left." Early shook his head. "Scalawag."

  Tad shot a confused look at him.

  "Yeah," Early continued, moving toward the house, the boy in tow. "And then there's all the time he spent with you. Buildin' you a box fer Charlie and teachin' you to whistle. He was a real lowdown buzzard fer that."

  "I... I know, but he—"

  "Weren't who you thought he was, hmmm?" Early finished. "Most folks ain't. But to be a man, you gotta learn to judge a man by who he is today, not on his past. Lovin' and hatin'. They's kissin' cousins, boy. Sometimes, they're so close, you can't even tell 'em apart. You kin let your hate for him eat you up, or you kin let it go and remember all the good he done for you an' yer ma. Either way, I don't aim to let ya spoil yer ma's weddin' day. You buck up boy and wipe that scowl off'n yer face."

  They crossed the threshold of the hacienda and found Nora making last minute adjustments on Libby's cream-colored batiste gown in the parlor. Libby's face fell when she saw her son.

  "Oh, Tad..."

  Tad shrugged out of Early's grasp and stood before her with his head down. She reached out and tipped his chin upward, grimacing at his bruised face. "What in the world is this all about? How did you get this black eye?"

  "I found him fightin' with Bruce Higgins's boy behind the barn. I reckon there's some way to s
alvage these duds, ma'am, but yer groom is about to jitter outta his britches out there. And the folks is startin' to grumble. The weddin' was supposed to start a half-hour ago."

  Libby sighed. "I know. I just had a few last-minute adjustments to make." And a few misgivings. "Thanks for finding Tad for me, Early. If you would, tell Mr. Harper I'll be right out."

  Early touched the brim of his best hat. "Yes'm. I'll do that."

  Nora clucked her tongue and brushed at Tad's clothes with her hand. A cloud of dust billowed up. "Oh, my. We'll have to take a brush to these. Come along, young man."

  Libby bent down and kissed the top of Tad's head before he left. "Tad, you know I love you, don't you?"

  He nodded, unable to look her in the eye.

  "And I know you love me, even though you haven't felt much like telling me so in the last few days. It's going to be all right, son. You'll see."

  Tad shrugged silently and then followed Nora out the door without returning Libby's kiss.

  He'd been this way for days now and she was beginning to wonder if she would ever get him to talk. He hadn't said goodbye that morning Chase had left, but she'd seen him alone in the barn loft, staring off after the men as they rode away. Tad had barely spoken a civil word to her or anyone else since that day.

  He was angry and she thought she understood why. She was angry, too. Chase Whitlaw had succeeded in turning their lives upside down and inside out. But he'd also given them a gift more precious than anything he'd taken.

  Not a day went by that she didn't think of him, regret all the angry words between them and her own stubborn pride. But it was too late for regrets. She'd let him ride out of her life. He was gone and with him, the one chance she might have had for happiness. Now she would have to make the best of what was left.

  "They're ready, Libby," Early told her from the door. "Miss Hattie is playin' the weddin' march." He offered her his arm and she took it, trying to quell her trembling. Early reached over and patted her arm with his rough hand. "You sure this is what you want, ma'am?" he asked. "We kin walk away right now and fold this hand if yer a-gettin' cold feet."

  "Thank you, no, Early. I suppose cold feet are normal in a situation like this, aren't they?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I reckon they are."

  Together, they walked out the door toward the stand of aspen where Jonas waited with the preacher. Her stomach churned and she was suddenly afraid she would be sick. Forty-five guests stood in their Sunday best, waiting expectantly for her. She couldn't turn back now.

  Libby's dress billowed in the gusting breeze as Jonas watched her come toward him. He smiled at her, while his eyes raked down the length of her. She would make this work, somehow.

  Hattie, whose piano playing was halting but usually accurate, faltered in earnest at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Jonas turned to look and saw a solitary rider bearing down on the crowd at breakneck speed. The horse was a black demon that flew across Three Peaks land, barely touching the earth. The rancher's expression darkened noticeably when he recognized the man atop the beast.

  Chase hauled back on Diablo's reins and brought the stallion to a prancing stop at the edge of the shocked crowd. White foam around the stallion's chest and mouth testified to the strenuous ride he'd just made.

  "Don't do it, Libby," Chase shouted, breathless, sliding from the horse's back. "You can't marry him."

  Libby halted in shock, still grasping Early's arm. Her pulse leapt at the sight of Chase. She checked the urge to run to his arms, for his harrowed, exhausted look verged on being murderous as well. "Chase, wh-what—?"

  "It was Harper," Chase answered, pointing to the man he'd named with an accusing finger. "It was him all along."

  "Chase..." Libby breathed out, horrified and confused.

  "What the hell are you talking about, Whitlaw?" Harper demanded. "Who do you think you are coming in here, interrupting our—"

  "Go on," Chase taunted, his breath coming hard and fast. "Tell her how you fixed it for her ranch to fail, Harper. Tell her how you hired Trammel Bodine to work for you and undermine her until she'd have no choice but to come to you."

  Libby's wide-eyed gaze went from Chase to her intended and her stomach lurched.

  "You're out of your mind!" Harper shouted. "Get out of here before I—"

  "Have me shot?" Chase finished. "You already tried that once. You couldn't kill me then and you won't now. Especially not in front of all these witnesses. That's not your style, is it?" With the measured steps of a man who knew he was right, he moved toward Harper.

  Harper's face mottled with rage and he backed up a step. "I had nothing to do with that. Or with Trammel Bodine. You can't prove a thing. He's lying, Elizabeth. Can't you see that?"

  "Am I?" Chase countered. "Think about it, Libby. When did all your troubles start? After Malachi died? After Jonas proposed to you and saw you had no intention of selling out or giving in? And what did Bodine stand to gain by your failure? Nothing. It was a job for him, pure and simple. Only he wasn't working for you. He was working for your fiancé."

  Nora, who had been behind Libby, reached out and took her hand, gasping in disbelief. "Dear Lord, Chase..."

  A murmur of outrage rose from the crowd. Marshal Pratt, who was one of the guests, stepped forward and faced Chase. "These are serious accusations you're making. Do you have anything to back them up, Whitlaw?"

  The hard planes of Chase's face sharpened further. "Maybe not enough for a court of law, but while I was in Las Vegas, I had a friendly chat with our friend, Clay Allison, who just happened to be carrying my gun—the one Trammel Bodine stole after he shot me. He said Bodine had sold it to him after his blackmail money had run out—blackmail money Jonas Harper had paid to shut him up about my 'murder.'"

  Libby's face had gone pale with shock and she leaned on Early. "No..."

  "Hearsay!" Harper claimed. "Nothing but lies, I tell you." Turning to the marshal, he pleaded, "John, you're not going to take the word of some criminal and some no-account drifter over mine? It's slander. I tell you I had nothing to do with this. Whitlaw is just jealous because I'm the one who wound up with Elizabeth, that's all. He's wanted her right from the start."

  "You're right about that," Chase admitted, without a hint of regret. "I wanted her. I still want her. And I'll be damned if you'll have her after everything you've done."

  "Well, you can go to hell, Whitlaw. She's promised to me!"

  "Not anymore, she's not. Consider the promise broken."

  The humiliation of it all rose in Libby's throat like bitter bile. "Stop it!" she cried, loosing herself from Early's protection. "Both of you!"

  Ignoring her, Harper swung furiously at Chase, who ducked the punch and landed a savage one of his own on Harper's jaw. Harper's head snapped back and he grunted in pain. But he launched himself at Chase, knocking him to the ground.

  "No!" Libby screamed. "Chase stop, for God's sake..."

  But it was too late. Over and over, the pair rolled in the dirt, pummeling each other. Blood smeared Harper's mouth and spattered his crisp white wedding shirt and silk waistcoat. A cut above Chase's eye bled freely, but he seemed not to notice it. His arm reared back and connected with Harper's jaw. Colliding with the slender white trunk of an aspen, Harper slid down it, momentarily stunned, but he got to his feet again, lunging for Chase's knees. Both men went down again in a cloud of dust.

  The crowd scattered and one woman crumpled in a dead faint at the spectacle. Several men moved to stop the fight, but John Pratt held them off with one arm.

  "Let 'em go at it," he growled. "Maybe we'll get to the bottom of this."

  Gathering Harper up by the shirt front, Chase plowed a fist into his jaw, but the rancher managed to dislodge his grip with a well-placed blow. Chase landed hard, then staggered to his feet. Harper, too, was on his feet, his fists balled in front of him—dirty, bloodied and ready for more.

  By now the crowd was taking sides. The men shouted encouragement at one or the other of them
and circled the pair as if they were spectators at a cock fight.

  Libby couldn't watch. She couldn't bear to see Chase being hurt again, fighting over her. Nor could she bear the horrified, pitying stares of the other women. Tears gathered at the back of her throat as she backed away from the crowd, leaving Early and Nora to stare in shock at the battle.

  Libby turned and fled to the house. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her eyes closed, her palms flattened against the solid, pine slab. Her pulse thudded in her ears so, it sounded like a rushing river. Her confused thoughts seemed caught in the eddy.

  Jonas... to blame for all the accidents? Hiring Bodine to sabotage her? How could she not have seen, not known it? Worse, how could she have trusted a man like him? Was her judgment so lacking she could have been fooled so easily?

  And Chase—the man who owned her heart, the man who nearly died because of her, was fighting for her still. Had she been wrong about him too? Wrong to deny the love they had for each other? Hadn't he proven himself to her over and over?

  Unbidden came the memory of all the things he'd said to her that night they'd made love. What about you, Libby? What about your needs? Your dreams? Can you live without this for the rest of your life?

  It wasn't, she realized now, the physical act of love-making he was talking about, but the powerful love that bound them together in spite of everything that had sought to tear them apart. To deny that would be to deny herself.

  A shuffling noise behind her sent her spinning around. A scream rose in her throat, but Trammel Bodine choked it off by placing one hand over her mouth and the other at her throat. He smelled of horse and stale cigarettes and days on the trail. The dirt from his hand ground into her lips.

  "Well, well." Trammel sneered. "Ain't this a piece of luck?"

  He dragged her toward him, circling his arm tightly around her neck, choking off her breath as he drew his gun. Her fingers clawed at his arm until she heard his pistol hammer click near her ear.

  "One scream, just one, and I'll blow yer pretty little head off."