“Educational?” Cord teased.
“The picnic part. That was lovely and you know it,” she murmured.
“Sorry it’s over?”
Sage heard the catch in his voice and felt a sudden urge to turn and throw her arms about his neck.
“Yes,” she said. “I am.”
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered. “Touch you. I want it so much I hurt.”
“Mrs. Benbow is watching from her parlor window.”
“Anyone live at your house besides you?”
“No. But Mrs. Benbow…”
“…is watching,” he finished for her, his voice hoarse. “Sage, I have to ride on soon. Before I go…”
“She will watch, Cord. She’s the town gossip.”
“Can she see into your bedroom?”
“She sees everything. And,” Sage added with a sigh, “what she doesn’t see, she makes up.”
He gave a soft laugh. “Well, that settles it.” He reined in the mare. “Slide off. I’ll circle around and come in the back way.”
“But your horse…?”
“I’ll hide it. I want an hour with you, Sage. Just one. I’ve got something to tell you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Something to tell me? What could be left to say except goodbye? A word Sage didn’t look forward to hearing.
She opened her front door, then on an impulse pivoted and stood watching Cord’s mare disappear down Cottage Road.
An utterly irrelevant feminine thought crossed her mind. In just a few minutes he would be at her back porch, and no one—not even Nelda Benbow—would see him.
She smelled of dust and horse and sweat, and her body was grimy and trail weary from her head to her toes. It hadn’t bothered Cord this morning at Pudding Flat, when they’d lingered in each other’s arms. But that was hours ago. Now she wanted a bath.
She would undress for him, slowly. Step into the copper bathtub and spread a frothy film of rose-lemon soap over her entire body. And his. And then…
She thought longingly of her bed upstairs, the soft mattress, the clean, lavender-scented sheets. A jolt of raw hunger drove deep into her belly.
She headed down the hall toward the kitchen to pump a bucket of water for heating. Bending over the cold stove to start the fire, she heard Cord’s purposeful tread on the back walkway. Her shaking fingers fanned the flaming match so hard it went out in a puff of acrid smoke. Hurriedly she grabbed another from the box near the stove and scraped it across the roughened iron plate.
She heard him mount the three back steps, heard the screen door wheeze open and clatter shut, and then the plop of her medical satchel and the saddlebag as he dropped them on the porch floor. She lit the wood shavings she’d used for kindling and was straightening to meet him when a large, smelly hand closed over her mouth.
“Say nothing, señorita,” a voice grated in her ear. “We will let Señor Cord enter.”
Suarez. Cold terror washed through her. How could she warn Cord?
The outlaw pressed something hard and cold behind her ear. “I will pull the trigger if you speak one word.” He shoved her forward, then crouched behind the stove.
Cord came through the door, took one look at her and his eyes went hard. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I mean, caveat, um, locus.” His face changed as he translated her rusty Latin. Beware the place. His nostrils flared, but he betrayed no outward surprise.
Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he nodded slowly, then reached out and pulled her into his arms, turning her so their positions were reversed. Now his body shielded hers.
“Show yourself, Suarez. I’m unarmed.”
The Mexican rose, his revolver pointed at Cord’s chest. “Where is your horse, señor?”
“Tied up in an apple orchard down the road. Where’s yours?”
“Dead,” Suarez snapped. “I had to shoot it.”
“Take a fall?”
The man grunted.
“So,” Cord said deliberately, “you need a horse.”
“I haf been waiting for you.”
“What makes you think I’m going to give you my horse, Suarez?”
An odd smile spread across the outlaw’s swarthy face. “Because, Señor Cord, if you do not, I will kill the señorita.”
Sage jerked, and Cord’s arms tightened around her. “And then what?” he said in a quiet voice. “You shoot her, I jump you and it’s a draw.”
“I will kill you with my second bullet.”
“You’re not that fast, Suarez. Besides…” he paused for a heartbeat “…my horse means more to me than the señorita.”
Sage sucked in air, but Cord pressed her head against his shoulder and held her there.
The Mexican looked from Sage to Cord and back to Sage. “I theenk you lie. I watch you in the woods. I see the way you look at her when—”
“I’m a man, Suarez. You know what it’s like. You take a woman for pleasure, but it doesn’t mean anything.” The pressure of his hand on the back of Sage’s neck increased.
“Sí, I know. But for you, no. You do not take just any woman, or you would have had Juanita, your wife.” He spat the word through clenched teeth. “Many times you would have had her. She was young. Muy bonita. But no, you did not desire her. That is why she came to me.”
Cord said nothing.
“So, señor, you lie about the horse. You will save this woman and I will ride south to Mexico.” His black eyes glittered with triumph.
“You can try,” Cord said. “But there’s five thousand dollars on your head. That’s a lot of money. Buy a lot of women with five thousand dollars.”
“But it is this one that you want, I theenk. Not the money.”
Sage could feel the blood pulse under Cord’s skin, feel the warmth of his steady hand on the back of her head. Not the money? Suddenly she wanted to see his face, but Cord wouldn’t let her move.
“You’re wrong, Suarez. I’m a bounty hunter. Been a bounty hunter for eighteen years now. That’s how I make my living.”
She had to look at him. That wasn’t a lie, it was the truth. The man was exactly what he said he was.
His hand relaxed and she lifted her head to gaze at his impassive face. His expression revealed nothing.
“I like women,” Cord continued. “But I don’t like towns.”
Sage closed her eyes, leaned her forehead against his neck. That was true, as well. He had never said otherwise.
His voice continued to rumble in her ear. “I like the money, too. Maybe more than I should, but…” He let the sentence trail off.
Suarez shifted the revolver uneasily and Sage felt Cord’s heartbeat jump. Good Lord, they were bargaining over her life as if she were a sack of grain! Tears stung her eyes.
She’d thought Cord was different from other men, that he cared for her. As Sage, not just as a female.
But now she knew. To him she was just a female. A foolish, foolish female.
Oh, damn him to hell.
“There is another thing, señor.” The Mexican tipped his head toward his arm. “I carry your bullet in my shoulder. I want the señorita doctora to remove it.”
Sage stared at the man slouching beside her stove. “What if I refuse?”
The outlaw’s thin lips spread into a smile. “If you do not do it, I will kill Señor Cord while you watch.” He waved the revolver. “This is another thing I see in the woods—you will not want him to die.”
For an instant she couldn’t draw breath. Could she lie convincingly enough to bluff Suarez out of his proposition? Cord had tried and failed; she had half believed him herself, but Suarez had not backed down. Cord didn’t seem to mind gambling with her life; was it worth gambling with his?
“How long do I have to think it over?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.
This time Cord was the one who jerked. “Jesus,” he said under his breath. “Would you really…?” He tipped her chin up, his gaze boring into hers. “Why, you little hel
lion,” he muttered. “You damn little—”
Suarez laughed until his eyes reddened. “You are two of a kind,” he croaked when he could speak. “You deserve each other. Now…” the amusement faded from his face “…let us get on with it.”
Keeping the revolver trained on Cord, the Mexican unbuttoned his shirt with one hand and bared his bloody shoulder. “It is hurting bad, señorita.”
Sage took one look and shut her eyes. The ragged hole looked dirty and crusted with blood. But she had no choice; she opened her eyes and forced herself to study the wound.
Cord watched her retrieve the black leather bag from the porch, then turn calmly to Suarez and motion him into a straight-backed kitchen chair. She laid two shiny scalpels and another device he couldn’t name in the bottom of an enamelware pan, pumped in water at the sink and set the pan on the stove.
Cord started toward the wood box.
“Make no sudden moves, señor,” Suarez growled.
Praying that the outlaw wouldn’t get nervous and accidentally press the trigger, Cord slowed his motions but kept going. He fed the fire until the water-filled container and the teakettle began to boil. The air in the kitchen grew close and hot. He wanted to strip off his shirt, but the Mexican’s eyes followed his every move. Cord didn’t dare make an unexplained motion.
Sage rolled her shirtsleeves above her elbows, then stepped to the sink and scrubbed her hands and arms under the pump. She waved them in the stifling air to dry, and Cord caught her eye. He raised one black eyebrow in an unspoken question.
“It’s deep,” she said. “Going to hurt.”
Cord leaned against the door frame and tried to think of a plan that would keep her alive. And himself, if he was lucky. She would dig into the Mexican’s flesh with one of those shiny knives; he could only pray that Suarez wouldn’t lurch and accidentally squeeze off a shot.
Cord thought about taking the outlaw by surprise, maybe jumping him. It had worked before; no man ever expected someone in his gun sights to come straight at him with a blood-freezing yell. It might work.
Sage cleaned the skin around the wound with a wet towel while Suarez twisted and cursed. Finally she picked up a scalpel. “Don’t move,” she ordered.
She sliced into the flesh and probed for the bullet while Suarez struggled to hold still. Sweat dripped into the outlaw’s eyes, and the fingers of his free hand worked convulsively against his trouser leg.
Cord thought again about rushing him. Yeah, it might work. But if it didn’t, the Mexican would turn his revolver on Sage. Cord couldn’t risk it. He’d have to go along with the outlaw’s plan, let him take the horse and ride out.
But he knew there would be a price. What kind of reputation would he have when word got out he’d let an outlaw walk away, in order to save a hostage? He’d be finished. Outlaws all over the West would know where his soft underbelly lay, and they would use that knowledge as a bargaining chip they hadn’t had before.
Still, given the situation playing out in Sage’s kitchen, Cord couldn’t allow his professional reputation to enter the equation.
She cut deeper into the man’s shoulder, while he squirmed on the chair seat and swore in Spanish. The revolver tilted, wavered, but the Mexican managed to keep the barrel pointed at Cord.
Sage was flushed and sweating. Cord wondered how she could see straight, as tired as she was. Her hand was steady, but her breathing grew more ragged with every passing minute. Why was it taking so long?
She stopped and turned to him, her eyes resigned. “I can’t get it,” she said at last. “I can feel the ball, but I can’t reach it.” She blotted her sleeve against her forehead. “It’s too deep.”
The outlaw gritted his teeth. “Señorita, I hope you are telling the truth. It will go very bad for you if you lie to Antonio Suarez.”
Sage stepped back, surgical pliers in hand. “I am a doctor, señor. I have sworn to do my best for anyone in need. But even a doctor cannot remove a bullet lodged in a bone.”
His face contorted, Suarez uttered an obscenity in a guttural tone. “Thees is my gun arm, señorita. You will fix.”
“I cannot. The wound will heal, if it is kept clean. It will be stiff and may pain you in cold weather, but—”
“Madre de Dios!” He waggled the revolver in her face. “How am I to make a living, eh? You ever hear of a bandito with only one good arm?”
Cord nearly laughed out loud. He and Suarez shared something; maybe all men were the same under the skin—worried about how to survive.
He watched the Mexican’s hand twitch as Sage sloshed alcohol into the wound and bound it with strips torn from a clean dish towel. He could do it now—jump him and wrestle the Colt out of his grasp. His muscles tensed.
But Sage was too close. He could risk getting himself shot, but not her.
She finished bandaging the Mexican’s shoulder and offered a dipper of water. The more Cord thought about it, the clearer the whole mess got.
Part of him burned for vengeance on the man who’d shot Nita simply because she got in the way. Another part of him felt as if he’d been shoved up against a brick wall. Suarez was going to ride out of Russell’s Landing and head south, on Cord’s horse.
For the first time in his life, Cord was going to let an outlaw go free without a fight.
Through the window over the sink, he watched dusk fade toward night. Inside the overheated kitchen, the three of them faced each other in the deepening gloom.
What the hell should he do?
Chapter Twenty
“Sage?” A thin, scratchy voice called from the front door. “Yoo-hoo, Sage, honey? Are you home?”
Suarez bolted for the back door, but Cord blocked his way.
“It’s Mrs. Benbow,” Sage breathed.
“I brought you a nice hot apple pie,” the voice continued. “Just thought you might be hungry after your…picnic.”
Sage wiped her hands on a towel. “I have to go to the door,” she said in an undertone. “If I don’t speak to her, there’s no telling what tale she will invent.”
Cord nodded. Suarez retraced his steps and positioned himself in the doorway leading into the hall, the Colt trained on Sage. “If you move,” he snarled to Cord, “I kill her. Go,” the outlaw muttered to Sage. “But remember, señorita, I will be listening to every word.”
She moved down the hallway past the parlor and cracked open the front door.
“How thoughtful of you, Mrs. Benbow.” Her voice sounded tight.
Suarez flattened his frame against the wall, keeping the gun leveled at Sage. Cord hesitated, then stepped into the shadows under the stairwell just outside the kitchen. He could do that much for her. His mere presence in Sage’s house would spark gossip about her; and if Mrs. Benbow thought Sage was entertaining two strange men in her kitchen, the old woman would have more than enough fodder to chew on for months to come.
Sage’s words floated back to him on the still evening air. “Oh, that’s not necessary, Mrs. Benbow. I usually take my supper alone.”
“Very well, child, I shan’t stay. I’ll just set the pie in your kitchen and—”
“No!”
The older woman’s blue eyes sharpened.
“I mean, I am heating water for a bath. It’s dreadfully hot in the kitchen, so let me just take the pie and—”
“A bath? On a warm night like this? Sage, you do surprise me sometimes.”
“Yes, I’m sure I do. Thank you for the pie, Mrs. Benbow. I will return the pie tin in the morning.”
“The pie tin, yes…” The older woman’s obvious disappointment made Cord smile. “Very well, dear. In the morning. I’ll be watching for you.”
Sage lifted the pie out of the woman’s hands, gently closed the door and leaned her back against it. She closed her eyes in relief. As if Cord wasn’t enough. As if Suarez wasn’t enough. Life had seemed so simple and straightforward before she’d gotten involved in…life.
She headed for the kitchen, the still-warm
pie in her hands. Halfway down the hallway she slowed her pace, then stopped altogether. No sound came from the back part of the house. No voices. No footsteps. Nothing. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
She tiptoed on past the parlor, and when she reached the doorway into the kitchen, she hesitated. Silence.
Was Suarez waiting for her, his gun cocked?
Cautiously she peeked around the corner, half expecting to see the outlaw’s revolver jammed under Cord’s chin. Worse, maybe he was standing over Cord’s body?
Her heart catapulted into her throat. Impossible. She would have heard the shot.
Then where…
A tall figure emerged from the shadowed stairwell.
“Cord! Are you all right?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line before he replied.
“Don’t know about ‘all right.’ I just let a killer ride away on my horse.”
In an instant she understood. While she’d been talking to Mrs. Benbow, Suarez had slipped away.
“I couldn’t risk…” He hissed air out through clenched teeth. “I let him walk out your back door. It couldn’t work any other way.”
“Oh, Cord. You were so close to capturing him! You must feel awful.”
“Not exactly. More like poleaxed.”
She turned away from the odd mix of anger and bewilderment in his eyes. “What will you do now?”
“Go after him.”
Something snapped inside her, as if a piece of wire had been pulled taut, heated white-hot and then cut. She thunked the pie down on the counter, her usual logic evaporating in a rush of fear.
“Are you crazy? We’re both lucky to be alive, and you want to risk it all over again?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Why?” she spluttered. “Just tell me that. Why?”
Something flickered in the depths of his narrowed eyes. “For one thing,” he said, taking time to reach out and turn her toward him, “Suarez is a killer. He could come back.”
Sage opened her mouth to object, but the expression on his face stopped her.
“And for another,” he continued, “he’s got my horse.”
High Country Hero Page 12