by Sara Orwig
He laughed and sipped the brandy, standing up to pocket his money. “I’m not heading home with this,” he said, swaying slightly.
Suddenly a woman’s scream pierced the night, and Maizie came to her feet. Another shrill scream erupted, and Maizie ran to her desk to open a drawer and yank out a derringer. In long strides Luke crossed the room and threw open the door.
Another scream tore at him, and a woman burst into the hall. A tall, yellow-haired man grabbed her and spun her around while Maizie brushed past Luke.
“Come back in here and shut up!” the man snapped, swinging his palm and striking the woman. Maizie fired the pistol, taking a chip out of the wood beyond the man, just above his head.
“Rake Acheson, get your hands off my girl!” Maizie snapped.
The man swayed, trying to focus his glazed blue eyes on Maizie.
“You know I don’t allow anyone to hurt my girls,” Maizie snapped. The auburn-haired woman covered her face with her hands and sobbed, turning toward the wall to lean against it.
“She’s going to do what I pay her to do and what I want.” He was bare-chested, barefooted, his denim pants only half-buttoned. Thick yellow hair covered his chest and spread thinly on his belly, disappearing below the waistband of his pants. He lurched toward Maizie.
“You get out of here, Rake,” she ordered quietly.
Luke moved forward, wanting to tell her to step back because she was too close and the man was edging forward. With lightning speed, the man swung his arm and slapped the pistol out of her hands. The woman screamed again while doors opened along the hall and men and women appeared. Luke barely noticed because as soon as the man struck Maizie, Luke strode forward and swung, his fist landing solidly on Acheson’s jaw.
Acheson slammed into the wall and came back, catching Luke with a powerful right punch that made him stagger as pain burst along his jaw. He hit the wall and threw another solid blow, receiving one in return that made bright lights dance in his vision.
Acheson locked his arms around Luke, pummeling his back. Luke lunged forward, jamming his adversary against the wall. With a grunt of pain Acheson loosened his grip and Luke stepped back, swinging with all his strength to get in two quick blows before Acheson connected again, snapping Luke’s jaw and slamming his fist into Luke’s stomach.
They battled along the hall, smashing into the walls, hitting doors. The crowd that had gathered moved back out of the way and Maizie grabbed up her pistol.
Their swings finally slowed. The smash of bone on bone and their ragged breathing became the only sounds. Luke ducked a wild swing and pivoted, throwing all his force behind his blow as he struck Acheson on the jaw.
Rake Acheson crashed against the wall and slipped to sit on the floor, his eyes closed. With a slow shifting, he slid to the floor and lay still.
Luke staggered and braced himself against a wall. Dimly he heard Maizie and other voices as she put her arm around him and helped him into a room where he eased down on a bed. His head spun and he hurt all over, aching with each breath. He was aware of Maizie’s voice floating in the room, of her hovering over him, of hands touching him and a wet cloth bringing a cool relief.
Finally blackness enveloped him and his aches vanished. When he stirred again, a sharp pain ripped through his side. Startled, he groaned and opened his eyes and remembered.
“Here, hero,” Maizie said quietly, placing a damp cloth across his forehead.
“How’s your woman?”
“Elladine’s better than you are. Thanks, Luke, for stepping in.”
“Was nothing,” he mumbled, waving his hand. She caught his hand and held it tightly, giving him a squeeze.
“It was something. Want some coffee? Brandy?”
“Brandy. I think I’m going to die. Side hurts.”
“Doc’s been over to look at you and he taped you up. You’ve broken two ribs.”
“Feels like I broke all of them and my jaw,” he mumbled, rubbing his jaw.
“No. You’ll live. Drink the brandy.”
He drank and in minutes oblivion took him again. The next time he roused, the room was filled with sunlight. He swung his feet to the floor and groaned. Gripping the bed, he stood up, waiting while a dizzy spell passed.
He clung to the bed and in minutes splashed water on his face, winced, and looked at himself in a mirror. His eyes were blackened and puffed to slits, his mouth twice as large and cut; his face covered in cuts and bruises. He groped his way to the door, opened it, and stepped carefully into the hall.
A door opened down the hall and Maizie appeared. She placed her hands on her hips and laughed, taking the cheroot from her mouth. “You look like hell!”
“I feel like it.”
“Get back in bed.”
“Gotta get back to the place. Have to work tomorrow.”
“Maybe tomorrow you’ll feel like working, but I doubt it. Today I don’t think you can ride to the end of town without passing out. At least have something to eat. Now get back in bed before you have to fight me. I’ll have a breakfast brought up to you.”
“Ouch!” he exclaimed as he tried to grin. He shrugged and turned to stagger back to the four-poster bed and ease himself down. In minutes a willowy blonde in a skimpy white chemise and underdrawers entered the bedroom. For a moment he was blank, trying to remember her name, and then he looked into her blue eyes and smiled. “’Morning, Tessie.”
“Good morning, Luke. You were so brave last night,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Your breakfast is coming,” she murmured, stroking his leg. Another woman wearing a blue silk wrapper entered and in minutes six women sat around him on the bed while Tessie fed him a breakfast of beef and eggs and flapjacks covered in sorghum molasses. Surrendering to the company and pampering, Luke lay propped on pillows, feeling strength return with the solid food. Talk swirled around him, none of the women expecting him to answer.
When he finished eating, they vanished as swiftly as they had appeared, taking the empty tray and dishes with them. As soon as the door closed behind them, it opened again and Maizie entered.
“Feeling better?”
“Much, thank you. That breakfast made the whole fight worthwhile, busted ribs and all.”
She smiled and sat beside him on the bed, perfume assailing him as she brushed back hair from his face. “Honey, do you know who you fought?”
“No. I heard you say a name, Rake? Should I know him?”
Her smile vanished, and she looked down at his hand, taking it in hers. His knuckles were bloody, his hand cut and bruised.
“I should have just shot the bastard while I had a chance and saved us all trouble. Instead, I thought if I fired over his head, it would calm him down.” She touched her cheek that was saffron with a bruise. “You made an enemy last night.”
“I’m not worried, Maizie, so don’t you. I’m only in town twice a month.”
Her blue eyes met Luke’s with a directness that conveyed her concern. “He’s Rake Acheson. He’s powerful and getting more so all the time. And he’s Horace’s next-door neighbor. You’ll come up against him again when you’re working. You’re bound to when you share the same general territory, and you both deal with cattle. Rake is pure, cussed mean and gets his way about everything. Most men try to avoid trouble with him.”
“I’m not scared of him.”
“That’s what’s worrying me. You should be. I want you to come back to my place, but he’ll give you trouble. Don’t ride in alone anymore.”
“I’ll remember. Thanks for the warning and stop fretting. And as I recall, I was the last one conscious, not Rake Acheson.”
“That makes it doubly dangerous for you. Honey, don’t underestimate him, and don’t think he’ll forget you whipping him in front of others. He’ll get revenge if it takes him the next five years.”
Luke felt mildly amused by her fears. He trailed his finger along her rosy cheek, touching the tip of her nose, thinking that compared to troubles from his pa
st and battles during the war, worries over Rake Acheson paled in significance. “I’ll be careful; now stop worrying.”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“Yes, I am. I’m not afraid of him, and I’ll be careful. Now I think I better start home.”
She stood up, her hands on her hips, an exasperated look on her face. “You’re going alone.”
He grinned and immediately grimaced, touching his mouth. “He’s in no shape to lie in wait for me today.”
She threw up her hands. “Men! You’re all alike, and you won’t listen to one thing a woman has to say.”
“Sure we do,” he teased, standing and gasping as pain shot through his side.
She slanted him a look. “Stubborn, stubborn man. Go on home alone and hurt all the way, and if Rake bushwhacks you, just remember I warned you.”
Luke gave her a crooked smile, favoring his sore lips and reaching for his shirt. “Want to help me?”
“I’d like to say no,” she said, even as she crossed the room to help him. Finally he was ready except for his gun belt which she picked up to buckle around his hips. She stood close to him, her hands brushing him, slight touches he could feel through the thick denim pants; her perfume assailed him, and the tight red silk dress revealed lush curves that brought a basic physical response from him.
She looked up, giving him a mocking look. “I’m flattered.”
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said quietly, his voice a notch deeper. He inhaled and stepped back from her. “I can buckle on my pistol,” he said gruffly.
“I thought it was my age that held you back, but it’s really not, is it?”
“Hell, no. I told you last night, I didn’t know you were older than I am until you told me. But I do know that you’re Mr. Roth’s woman.”
She looked down at her hands a moment. “That I am, and if you had wanted me, I would have rebuffed you, but it’s always nice to know I have some appeal.”
“You have too damn much appeal,” he said quietly, tracing his finger along her cheek near the bruise. “You better take some of your own advice and watch out for Acheson.”
“He pays too well to kick him out and usually he behaves himself. Elladine just aggravated him and didn’t realize she could push him over an edge. She knows better now. She needs to learn tigers weren’t meant to be taunted.”
“See you in a couple of weeks.” Luke strode out, walking downstairs with care, feeling ninety years old when he climbed into the saddle. As he rode past the jail, he glanced at the wanted posters. A newer flyer had been tacked over his, leaving only half his face showing. His gaze swept the street, a chill running across his nape.
All the way back to the Roth place, he watched for signs of trouble, particularly along the long stretch of road that passed the Lazy R. He looked at the lane that led to the Acheson house. Between the ruts were high weeds along a lane pebbled with limestone. An iron arch over the road had a large slanting R at the apex. Luke’s skin prickled and he remembered the previous night, feeling satisfaction that he had been the one to walk away.
Continuing west, Luke had an uneventful ride. When he turned onto the H Bar R, he tried to relax, but in another quarter of a mile, as he rode down into a draw, he still had an uneasy feeling. He scanned the brush-filled land. A horse snorted and Luke stiffened, his hand going to his pistol instantly.
To the west bushes rustled, and he tugged lightly on the reins, dismounted and drew his revolver. Bushes rustled again, and he moved away from the lane, toward the sounds.
In seconds he heard a sob. “I’m going to ride to get help, Buttercup. I don’t want to leave you—”
“Honor!” Luke plunged forward through thickets, suddenly halting. A black horse lay on the ground, its belly swollen with a foal. The mare had claw marks along her neck and flanks, a large rip in the satiny coat at the shoulders. Honor looked up, tears streaking her cheeks.
“Luke!” She flung herself toward him, then stopped abruptly, her eyes widening. “What happened to you?” she asked, staring at him with an open mouth.
“A fight,” he answered perfunctorily, studying the mare. “Looks like a big cat got her,” Luke said, rolling back his sleeves quickly.
Suddenly Honor clasped his hands tightly. “Luke, please save Buttercup!” Honor cried. “I know you can!”
“I’ll do what I can. Go get my horse, Honor, before he leaves us.”
Honor ran off, disappearing through the trees. Luke unbuckled his gunbelt and placed it in the fork of a tree then knelt over the mare, running his hands on her bulging, contracting belly. He glanced at the waxy teats and knew it was time for her to foal.
The animal was hot, a contraction tightening beneath the taut hide. Luke looked at the deep gashes and the pool of blood at the mare’s neck. Blood still oozed where the cat had tried to bite into her neck.
Luke yanked off his shirt and began to rip it up as Honor returned, leading his horse to tether it nearby. Luke tossed her his hat. “Get some water to sponge her off.”
She hurried away, returning a few minutes later with a hat filled with water.
“Let me have the water,” he said and tried to clean the deep wound and cuts. As soon as he finished, Honor ran to get more water to sponge the mare. Luke tied strips of his shirt around the mare’s deep wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. He shifted, running his hands over her belly, then saw she was beginning to give birth.
He glanced across the mare at Honor, who was sponging off the mare’s head.
“She’s having a hell of a time birthing the foal. It’s turned wrong.” He thrust his hand into the mare. “The colt needs turning,” Luke said tensely, working with the small body, trying to get the foal turned.
Concentrating, Luke was lost in worry about the mare and colt. Spindly legs came free and then the small body and legs, and the foal was birthed. Honor squealed with joy as the wobbly baby appeared.
She ran to it while Luke turned back to work over the mare.
“Luke, it won’t get up! Is something wrong with it?”
Luke glanced at the sorrel colt. “Sometimes the pasterns aren’t right, Honor. Give him time. He looks healthy.” Dark eyes gazed at him, then Honor nodded and smiled as she touched the foal. With a twinge of impatience, Luke wondered if he told Honor the sun would rise in the west tomorrow she would believe him. He studied her, wishing for her trust and friendship, but wanting to keep it from growing into anything more.
“Luke, isn’t it beautiful,” Honor said, drying the foal with a blanket.
The mare raised her head, whinnying, attempting to get up and go to her baby.
“She can’t get up,” Honor said, sounding as if she would cry again.
“If she doesn’t get to her feet soon, I’ll milk her and try to feed the foal.” Luke glanced again at Honor. “You ride to the ranch and get a bucket of grain and pick up something from the kitchen for me to eat. I’ll stay with her tonight. If she tries to walk much now, she’ll lose more blood from the wounds.”
Honor mounted her horse and was gone, leaving silence to descend. He ran his hand along the mare’s back. “Ol’ girl, you’ve had a rough time of it. You have a pretty baby, so you try to pull through for him. And for Honor,” he added, knowing how softhearted the girl was about the animals on the ranch.
He glanced around and stood up. The cat could be nearby, biding its time, still lured by the smell of blood. Luke gathered firewood because once night fell, the mare might be in danger. And so would he if he stayed beside her and the cat came back. Judging from the claw marks on the mare’s neck, the cat was a large one.
Luke piled up sticks for a fire and washed off as well as he could from the dab of water left in his hat. He wanted to go to the creek and wash, but he was afraid to leave the mare alone.
He milked her, using his hat for a bucket and then trying to tilt up the foal’s head to help it drink.
An hour later he heard voices and stood up, reaching for his rifle
and waiting. He caught the sound of Honor’s voice and he put away the rifle as Dusty, Horace Roth, and Honor rode into sight, Honor in the lead.
“How’s the mare?” Horace Roth asked, dismounting. He frowned at Luke. “Looks like you tangled with the panther, too.” Dusty dismounted and moved to a pack-horse, lifting down a sack of grain.
“I got into a fight while I was in town.” Luke glanced at the mare and shook his head. “She’s lost a lot of blood. And then there’s the infection that may come from the deep bites and scratches.”
Horace Roth paused to look at the colt, running his hands over the baby. “This is a fine one.” He glanced at Honor. “He’s yours, Honor.”
“Thank you, Pa,” she answered, looking up at Luke. “I want to save Buttercup.”
Roth moved to the mare and touched her neck as she rolled her eyes and shuddered. “Damn cat,” he mumbled, and glanced around, looking up at Luke. “She hasn’t been on her feet?”
Luke shook his head. “She tries, but she’s too weak to get up.” Honor pulled clover and moved to the mare’s head to feed her while she murmured softly to the horse. Luke placed his hands on his hips. “I milked her and tried to get what I could down the foal.”
“The panther may still be around. We see one occasionally, but not lately.”
“I thought I’d stay tonight,” Luke answered. “If she’s going to make it, she’ll be on her feet soon. With grain and water she might get up. If she’s too torn up to eat, I’ll have to—” He broke off abruptly as he looked at Honor’s stricken face. He felt his gut twist inside because he didn’t want to see her grieve. “I’ll do all I can,” Luke said, taking out his knife to open the sack of grain.
Tempting the mare with grain or tidbits of food or water didn’t bring her to her feet, and, finally, Horace Roth mounted. “Come along, Honor.”
Dusty glanced at Luke. “I’ll spell you and stay tonight. Panther might be out there and could return to finish the job.”
“Thanks Dusty, but go home. I’ll stay,” Luke replied.
“I want to stay,” Honor said fiercely, and Roth smiled momentarily.