Forbidden Fires

by Madeline Baker

  Caitlyn had heard it all before and she sighed with relief when Consuelo finally left the room. Slipping out of her dusty trail garb, she stepped into the tub, smiling with pleasure as the hot water closed around her, its heat drawing the soreness from her muscles, relieving the tension of the past twenty-four hours.

  Alone in the kitchen, Caitlyn closed her eyes and put everything from her mind. She knew her father would be angry when he returned home, and that he had every right to feel that way, but she refused to dwell on it now.

  The hot water and the silence in the house relaxed her completely. She was almost asleep when she heard the back door open. “Hand me a towel, will you?” Caitlyn requested, thinking it was Consuelo.

  “Sure,” came the reply. Caitlyn’s eyelids flew open at the sound of his voice. She flushed scarlet from head to toe when she saw Rafe Gallegher standing beside the tub, his teeth flashing in an amused grin. He was holding a towel in his brown-skinned hand, just out of reach.

  “What are you doing here?” Caitlyn demanded, her voice shrill.

  “I came in for a cup of coffee.”

  Caitlyn gazed up at him, her eyes imploring him to go away, her whole body tingling under his amused regard.

  The smile faded from Rafe’s face as he met Caitlyn’s dismayed gaze. Her eyes were as green as new grass, her skin flushed. Her hair was pinned atop her head save for a few wayward strands that curled around her face.

  He swallowed hard, sorely tempted to lift her from the tub and into his arms. He clearly remembered how good it had felt to hold her as they rode home. Her breasts had warmed his chest, and his body had responded to her nearness.

  Caitlyn was trying not to remember what it had been like in Rafe’s arms, but she could not forget the easy strength that had allowed him to pluck her from the ground, the strong arms that had held her, the broad chest where she had pillowed her head on the long way home.

  For a long moment their eyes met and held. Caitlyn’s breath was trapped in her throat, her pulse racing wildly as she waited, hoping and afraid.

  Rafe kept his gaze on Caitlyn’s face, knowing if he caught so much as a glimpse of bare flesh beneath the frothy bubbles he would do something they would both regret.

  Expelling a ragged breath, he thrust the towel into her hand and left the house.

  Caitlyn was sitting at the kitchen table later that night, her right hand curled around a cup of coffee gone cold, when she heard the sound of thundering hooves and the shouts of the men as they drove the mustangs into the corrals.

  Rising, she went into the parlor and looked out the front window. Clouds of dust swirled under the horses’ feet as they were driven into the corrals. Foals whinnied for their dams, mares whickered to their young. The shrill scream of an enraged stallion cut across the din, combining with the hoots and calls of the cowhands as they chased the last of the horses into the holding pens and closed the gates. Paulie had strung several lanterns around the yard and Caitlyn saw Rafe leaning against a tree, his arms folded across his chest, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as he watched the excitement. Who was he, really? she wondered, and then she saw her father striding purposefully toward the house and she forgot all about Rafe Gallegher.

  “Caitlyn!”

  “Yes, Pa.”

  Brenden whirled around, his green eyes hard. “Am I wrong, or did I distinctly tell you to stay here?”

  “You told me.”

  “Then would you mind explaining just what you were doing out on the trail? Do you realize you might have been killed? Dammit, Caitlyn, when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it!”

  She had no argument, and so she stood mute, guilty, defenseless, and ashamed.

  Brenden’s expression softened, and his voice lost its edge. “Dammit, Caitlyn, you’re all I’ve got left in the world. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  “I know, Pa. I’m sorry.”

  He held out his arms and Caitlyn went to him, dropping her head on his shoulder as her eyes filled with tears.

  Brenden patted Caitlyn’s back, his hand heavy and awkward. If only Elizabeth had lived. He was constantly at a loss where Caitlyn was concerned. Consuelo did the best she could, but she was not Caitlyn’s mother, only a hired housekeeper and cook. The real responsibility for his daughter’s welfare rested solely with him, and he feared he was not doing a very good job. If only Caitlyn would marry Abner Wylie, settle down, have kids, at least then he’d feel as though his troubles were over. But Caitlyn had refused Wylie’s proposal of marriage not once, but three times.

  Brenden sighed. There was going to be a Fourth of July picnic and dance in town next week. Perhaps Caitlyn would finally meet a young man to her liking. Much as he loved his daughter, he was ready to turn her over to a younger man.

  Chapter Seven

  Rafe, Wylie, and Luther began culling the horse herd the following morning. Caitlyn paused in her chores to watch them from time to time, her eyes forever straying toward Rafe. As the morning wore on, he removed his shirt and her stomach did funny little flip flops every time she saw his sweat-sheened back and chest.

  They had turned the stallion loose. He had been wild too long for them to tame now. The older mares had also been released with the stud. A few of the mustangs, those who were lame or sick, were destroyed. Caitlyn knew it was the merciful thing to do. If they were turned loose, they would likely die during the winter, pulled down by wolves. Still, it was hard for her to accept.

  At the end of the day, only prime stock remained in the corrals. The mature horses would be broken to ride, and the foals and yearlings would be observed for a few months. The best ones would be kept, the others would be let go.

  The next morning Rafe’s work began. He roped the gray mare that had caught his eye and led her into one of the breaking pens located behind the house. From the kitchen window, Caitlyn watched him work the mustang. His technique was vastly different from Wylie’s. Abner roped a horse, blindfolded it, climbed into the saddle, and then, using a weighted crop, sharp spurs and fear, he broke the animal to ride, often breaking its spirit as well.

  But not Rafe. He spent the first morning letting the mare grow accustomed to his presence. He brushed her coat until it gleamed like silver satin, and then he ran his hands along her back and legs, over her withers and down her neck. He picked up each foot and checked her hooves for cracks, and then he rested his shoulder against her right flank and smoked a cigarette. The mare, short-tethered to a stout post in the center of the corral, stood still, her dainty ears twitching back and forth. She did not seem to be afraid now, only curious.

  “You gonna break that mare or teach her to smoke?” Abner hooked his arms over the corral fence, his voice derisive, his expression insolent. “Hell, if it’s gonna take you this long to break one horse, we’ll still be topping these broomtails when the snow flies.”

  “Why don’t you mind your own business, Wylie?” Rafe replied mildly.

  “The ranch is my business,” Abner retorted. He glared at Gallegher and when he spoke, his words were bitter. “Hell, I was head wrangler here until you came along.”

  “Maybe you weren’t doing the job right.”

  “Why you dirty half-breed bas—”

  Rafe was over the fence, his hands closing around the other man’s throat, before Wylie had finished speaking.

  “I’d be careful if I were you,” Rafe warned, his voice low and filled with menace.

  “Get your filthy hands off me!” Abner demanded. If he was afraid, it didn’t show on his face.

  Rafe’s mouth turned up in a wry grin as he tightened his hold. “I’d keep a tight rein on that tongue of yours, or you might wake up one morning and find it gone.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Call it anything you like.” Abruptly, Rafe released his hold on Wylie and returned to the corral.

  Caitlyn felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw Abner’s hand hover over his gun butt. For a moment, she feared Abn
er would shoot Rafe in the back, but after a moment Abner turned on his heel and walked away.

  It was only a matter of time, Caitlyn thought again, only a matter of time before the barely concealed antagonism between the two men exploded into violence.

  The tension between Abner and Rafe was a tangible presence at the dinner table that night. Caitlyn glanced at her father, sitting at the head of the table, and knew that he felt it, too.

  They were lingering over deep dish apple pie and coffee when Brenden put his cup aside and cleared his throat. “There seems to be some confusion here as to who’s in charge of the horses,” Brenden remarked. “Perhaps there’s confusion in other areas as well. Hicks is the foreman. Whatever he says, goes. Gallegher’s in charge of breaking the mustangs. I watched him work this afternoon, and I’ve got no complaints. Wylie, you’re in charge of the cattle, and since that’s your job, I suggest you take a couple of the men and ride into the hills tomorrow, make sure none of our cows or calves are caught in the scrub. Also, I want a couple of men to ride the west fence and check for breaks. Luther, get someone to ride upriver and make sure there aren’t any trees or rocks blocking the flow. The river looks a mite low and it shouldn’t be, not this time of year.”

  Brenden’s gaze moved from man to man. “Any questions?”

  “The gray mare,” Rafe said. “I’d like to have her.”

  One of Brenden’s eyebrows went up. “In exchange for the black mare?”

  Rafe shook his head. Black Wind was worth three times what Carmichael would get for the gray.

  Brenden grinned. “Can’t blame a man for trying. You can have the mustang for whatever the Army’s paying for remounts.” Brenden glanced around the table. “Anything else? If not, I’m going outside for a smoke.”

  There was the scrape of chairs and boot heels and murmured good nights as the cowhands took their leave.

  Moments later, only Caitlyn, Abner, and Rafe remained at the table. Abner glared at Gallegher, willing the half-breed to leave the room, but Rafe sat back in his chair, one hand folded around his coffee cup, apparently in no hurry to depart.

  Heaving a sigh, Abner turned his back on the other man and smiled at Caitlyn. “The Fourth of July dance is next week,” he remarked.

  Caitlyn nodded. She knew what was coming and she dreaded it. At the same time, she wondered why Abner didn’t take the hint and leave her alone. He had proposed to her three times, and she had refused him three times and still he persisted.

  Abner cleared his throat. “I was, uh, wondering if you’d care to go with me.”

  “I’m going with my father, as usual, Abner, but thank you for asking me.”

  Abner felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck and he cursed himself for asking Caitlyn to the dance when Gallegher was in the room. He could almost hear the half-breed laughing at him.

  “I guess I’ll see you there,” Abner muttered. Rising, he grabbed his hat and jammed it on his head. “Night, Miss Carmichael.”

  Rafe grinned as Wylie left the house. “Sounds like Abner’s sweet on you.”

  Caitlyn shrugged. Abner was “sweet on her” but it was not to her liking, and it was certainly none of Rafe Gallegher’s business.

  “This dance a big affair?”

  “Yes,” Caitlyn answered, fidgeting with her napkin. “There’s always a town picnic and games and races and fireworks on the Fourth and then a dance at the Grange Hall. Everybody goes.”

  Rafe nodded thoughtfully. He hadn’t been to a picnic or a dance in over six years, at least not the kind of dance Caitlyn was referring to. The Indians had danced often. There had been rain dances, war dances, scalp dances, friendship dances, and dances only the women participated in. But there were no dances where a man took a woman in his arms and held her close, no slow waltzes that afforded a man a chance to tell a woman that she had eyes as deep and green as the Missouri.

  He drew his gaze from her face. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Yes.” She willed her hands to be still, wondering why his presence upset her so. She never had trouble talking to Paulie or Rusty Jordan or Wishful Potter. Why did Rafe Gallegher leave her tongue-tied and uncertain?

  The Fourth of July dawned bright, clear, and warm. Caitlyn woke with a smile on her lips, eagerly looking forward to spending a day in town. It was a long ride, almost two hours, and she didn’t often have an occasion to make the trip. Her father wouldn’t let her venture that far from the ranch alone, and so she had to wait until her father or Luther rode in for supplies, which they only did every other month or so.

  She dressed with care, choosing a bright blue print that complimented her hair, eyes, and figure. It was her favorite frock, saved for special occasions. She spent twenty minutes fussing with her hair and finally left it loose, tied away from her face with a wide blue ribbon. Her shoes came next and after a final look in the mirror, she grabbed a white bonnet adorned with red, white, and blue streamers and left her room.

  Her father was already at the breakfast table, looking quite handsome in a crisp white shirt, black leather vest, and black trousers.

  “Where is everybody?” Caitlyn asked, taking a seat across from her father. She said everybody, but she meant Rafe.

  “They’ve already gone,” Brenden replied. “Left about a half-hour ago.”

  Caitlyn nodded as she reached for the platter of bacon and eggs in the center of the table. Her father hadn’t mentioned Rafe and she couldn’t bring herself to ask about him.

  Caitlyn felt a surge of excitement as her father turned the buggy down the town’s main street. Flags were flying, the buildings looked festive draped in red, white, and blue bunting. Children were playing games in the schoolyard, and she could hear the Cedar Creek Firehouse Band tuning up.

  Caitlyn smiled and waved at her friends as they drove down the street. Minutes later her father reined the team to a halt near the church. Vaulting to the ground, he helped Caitlyn out of the buggy.

  “See you at noon,” Brenden said, winking at her.

  Caitlyn winked back, knowing her father would head straight for the saloon to visit with his cronies and drink a few beers.

  Lifting the hem of her skirt, Caitlyn went to join a group of young people who were milling about a long table that was laden with cookies, pies, cakes, and punch. Her best friend, Christine Barrett, called and waved and the two girls hugged as though they hadn’t seen one another for years, and then spent the next half-hour getting caught up on all the latest news.

  Several times, Caitlyn was tempted to tell Christine about Rafe, but each time she changed her mind, knowing that Christine would be shocked to learn that her best friend was infatuated with a man who was a half-breed.

  The morning passed pleasantly, with Caitlyn renewing old acquaintances. Several of the young men who lived in town came by to spend a few minutes with her, promising to see her later at the dance.

  She ate lunch with her father and Christine and then spent the rest of the afternoon watching the games and races, laughing with delight as she watched the pie-eating contest and the three-legged race. The older boys chased a greased pig, and then attempted to climb a greased pole to claim the five-dollar gold piece at the top.

  At dusk, there was a pot luck dinner, and then the dancing began. Caitlyn saw several of the Circle C cowhands on the dance floor. Josh Turner was all spruced up and smelled heavily of lilac water and whiskey. Josh fancied himself as quite a ladies’ man and he always danced with every unmarried female present, be she nine or ninety. Caitlyn was no exception and she laughed merrily as he whirled her around the floor.

  She saw Marty Davis standing near the door, his big Texas hat pushed back on his head, his hands jammed in his back pockets. He was too shy to dance, but he liked the music.

  Scott waltzed by with his fiancé, Naomi Wells. They made a striking couple, and Caitlyn looked forward to the day when they would marry and Naomi would move to the Circle C.

  She saw her father glide by, a wide smile on his fa
ce as he looked down at the woman in his arms. Belinda Crocker was lovely, with dark chestnut hair and luminous brown eyes. Caitlyn knew her father stopped to visit Belinda whenever he was in town, and she also knew that Belinda hoped he would ask for her hand in marriage, but it would never happen. Her father had loved once and he would never love again.

  Caitlyn danced with Rusty, and with Web, who was mighty spry despite his sixty-two years. She danced with her father, and with Hal Tyler, and even with Paulie, who rarely danced with anyone.

  Luther did not dance, and neither did Wishful Potter. They stood side by side at the bar, each holding a foaming glass of beer in one hand and a fat black cigar in the other.

  She saw Christine and waved at her as she twirled by. Christine was dancing with Riata Jones, one of the newer hands at Circle C, and they appeared to be having a wonderful time, spinning around the floor, laughing together as they went faster and faster. Christine smiled up at her partner and it was plain to see that she found him attractive. Perhaps Christine had finally found the man she was looking for, Caitlyn mused, though it was doubtful Christine’s father would think a hired hand was worthy of his only daughter. Thornton Barrett owned the Cedar Creek Bank. They lived in the biggest house in town, gave the most lavish parties, and never bought anything unless it was the best.

  Caitlyn lost sight of her friend in the crowd, and then she forgot about Christine as several of the young men she had seen earlier in the day came to claim a dance. Caitlyn gave each of her partners her full attention, laughing at their jokes, smiling at their compliments, and wondering if any of the men she danced with would one day be her husband. It seemed unlikely. Oh, they were all nice and polite, most were handsome enough, and they all had steady jobs in town, but none of them stirred her heart or warmed her blood the way Rafe did.