Forbidden Fires

by Madeline Baker

  “Sorry,” he muttered absently. “What if Gallegher was out of the way?”

  Fear pricked Caitlyn’s heart, and with it came a growing suspicion that Abner was a little crazy.

  “I’m sorry, Abner,” Caitlyn said gently, “but I don’t love you.”

  Abner’s hand’s balled into tight fists. It wasn’t fair, he thought angrily. Dammit, it wasn’t fair for Gallegher to have it all while he, Abner Wylie, had nothing! He had been prepared to kill Gallegher to win Caitlyn, but he realized now that killing the breed would accomplish nothing.

  He smiled faintly as a new idea formed in his mind. If he could not have Caitlyn, then, by damn, neither would Rafe Gallegher.

  A feral grin twisted his lips as he recalled the man he had met in Frenchy’s the night before. The man had said his name was Manuel Ramos and in the course of their conversation the man had let it slip that he worked for Juan Maldonado, a well-known Comanchero who dealt in the buying and selling of human flesh. Abner nodded, pleased with his cleverness. He would sell Caitlyn to Maldonado and in so doing, he would hurt both Caitlyn and Gallegher.

  Yes, he thought to himself, he would sell Caitlyn to Maldonado, and he would be her first customer.

  He was about to order Caitlyn to get on her horse when Paulie strode into view, a cane fishing pole slung across his shoulder.

  For the first time in his life, Abner panicked. Muttering, “Damn you, Paulie,” he drew his gun and fired.

  Caitlyn screamed as Paulie crumpled to the ground, a splash of crimson staining his right temple.

  For a moment, time stood still. The sound of the gunshot died away, the gun smoke dispersed by the breeze. Paulie lay still and silent as death.

  Abruptly, Abner jammed his gun into his holster and grabbed Caitlyn by the arm.

  “Come on,” he said brusquely. “We’ve got to get the hell outta here.”

  “No!” Caitlyn tried to wrest her arm from Abner’s grip, but his hold was like iron. He dragged her to her horse, thrust her into the saddle, and tied her hands to the saddle horn with his kerchief. Taking up the reins, he mounted his own horse and, leading Caitlyn’s mare, rode hard for town.

  Caitlyn pulled against the ropes that bound her hands to the bedpost. Fear and desperation overrode the pain in her wrists as the rope cut into her flesh, leaving bloody smears on the pillowcase.

  Abner was mad, she thought, totally mad. He was going to sell her to a Comanchero, who was going to sell her to a brothel. A brothel! At least she wouldn’t have to worry about getting pregnant, she thought, and laughed. The high-pitched sound was near hysteria, and she drew in a deep, calming breath. This was no time to panic, she told herself. Abner would be back soon. He had promised to bed her before the Comanchero claimed her, as if that made everything all right.

  Hurry, hurry, the words echoed inside her head as she struggled to free herself. She had to get away, had to be gone before Abner returned.

  It was dark when Rafe and the others returned to the ranch. Rafe bid Scott and Nate good night after he looked after his horse, then walked briskly toward the house, eager to see Caitlyn.

  He frowned, his steps slowing, as he neared the porch. All the windows were dark, no smoke rose from the chimney.

  Opening the front door, he stepped into the entry. “Caitlyn?”

  His footsteps were loud as he crossed the parlor to the kitchen. “Caty?”

  He checked their room next, thinking she might have fallen asleep early, but the bedroom was dark and empty, as were the other two bedrooms. Where could she be?

  Leaving the house, he went to the cookshack. Scott, Nate, and Rusty glanced up from their dinner.

  “Something wrong?” Scott asked.

  “Caitlyn’s gone.”

  “Gone!” Nate exclaimed. “Gone where?”

  “I don’t know.” Rafe drove his hand through his hair. “Where’s Paulie?”

  “He went down to the pool with Mrs. Gallegher this morning,” Rusty recalled.

  “Did you see them come back?”

  “No. I rode out to check the north range this afternoon. Didn’t get back till near dark.”

  “Consuelo?”‘

  “I have not seen her, Señor Gallegher. I went into town to visit my sister shortly after breakfast. I was gone all day.”

  “Damn!” Turning on his heel, Rafe stalked out of the cookshack and hurried toward the barn where he threw a saddle over the bay.

  “Wait up!” Scott said, coming up behind Rafe. “We’ll go along.”

  But Rafe couldn’t wait. “Catch up,” he called, and rode out of the barn. Urging the bay into a lope, he headed for the pool at the far end of the valley. Thoughts of Indians tormented his mind. Just let her be alive. The unspoken prayer repeated itself in his thoughts as he rode through the starlit night.

  The bay whinnied and snorted and Rafe heard an answering whinny from his right. Reining in that direction, he saw a horse silhouetted against the sky. And then he saw the body sprawled in the dirt.

  “No!” The whispered word erupted from Rafe’s throat as he reined the bay to a halt and vaulted from the saddle.

  But it was not Caitlyn. It was Paulie. A dark stain covered the right side of the boy’s head, and his breathing was shallow and labored.

  “Gallegher?”

  “Over here, Scott,” Rafe called, and moments later the Circle C hands were there beside him.

  Nate dismounted. Then hunkering down on his heels, he examined Paulie’s head. “He’s hurt bad, boss.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That wound needs stitching.”

  “Let’s get him on a horse,” Rafe said. “Scott, take him up in front of you.”

  Paulie groaned, his eyelids fluttering open as Rafe and Nate lifted him. “Wylie,” he croaked, and then his body went limp.

  “Is he dead?” Scott asked, his voice brittle.

  Rafe shook his head. “Unconscious. Scott, you and Nate get him back to the house. Rusty, you go get the doc, and tell him to hurry.”

  “Where’re you going?” Nate asked.

  “To look for Caitlyn.”

  “You can’t track her in the dark.”

  “The hell I can’t.”

  “You go along and look for Caitlyn,” Scott said, his sharp glance warning Nate and Rusty to keep quiet. “We’ll look after things here, don’t worry.”

  Minutes later, Rafe stood alone in the moonlight. Ground-reining the bay, he studied the ground, checking for sign. Perhaps a white man could not track in the dark, but he was not a white man. He was a half-breed Cherokee, a Lakota warrior, and his woman was in danger. He could not wait for daylight, not when Caitlyn’s life might be at stake. He felt his hatred for Abner Wylie rise, twisting like a’ knife in his vitals. If anything had happened to Caitlyn, Wylie would wish for death a hundred times before it came.

  With an effort, he fought down the urge to kill, concentrating instead on the task at hand. His eyes perused the ground in ever-widening circles, and then he saw the tracks, two sets of shod prints heading east. The riders were moving single file, the lead horse carrying a heavier burden than the second. Mounting the bay, Rafe followed the tracks, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes glittering like those of a predator on the scent of game, or blood.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Caitlyn uttered a small cry of pain as she jerked her left hand free, leaving a long strip of flesh adhering to the rope as she did

  For a moment, she closed her eyes, trying to cope with the burning pain in her wrist. She was struggling to untie the rope on her right wrist when she heard the key turn in the lock. A moment later, Abner stepped into the room, followed by a tall, dark-skinned man sporting a black eye patch over his left eye.

  Abner grinned. “Well, Manuel, looks like we got here just in time.”

  The stranger nodded, his lips drawing back in a grin as he let his gaze wander over Caitlyn. She was a prize all right.

  “She’ll do,” he said in a gruff voice. “How
much do you want for her?”

  “A thousand. In gold.”

  The stranger nodded again. “On delivery.”

  “One condition, Ramos,” Abner said. “I want one night with her before Maldonado takes her.”

  The stranger shrugged. “You will have to discuss that with Juan.” He glanced over his shoulder as he heard footsteps in the hall. “Let’s go.”

  Abner drew his knife and cut Caitlyn’s hand free. “Behave yourself,” he warned. “Don’t try anything cute. Don’t talk to anybody, or do anything to draw any attention our way, understand?”

  “Why are you doing this?” Caitlyn wailed as Abner urged her toward the door. “Abner, please let me go.”

  “No. I offered to help you and you turned me down. Well, Mrs. Gallegher, if I can’t have you, neither will that damned breed. And when the Circle C is put on the block, I’ll buy it. You think about that while you’re flat on your back in some cheap brothel.”

  “Abner, please don’t do this!”

  “Be still, woman!”

  With Abner on one side and the stranger on the other, Caitlyn left the room and walked down the stairs to the main floor. She glanced left and right as they left the hotel, hoping to see someone she knew, someone who would help, but the street was virtually deserted.

  Abner lifted her into the saddle and took the reins of her horse.

  Five minutes later they had left Cedar Creek behind.

  Abner drew his horse to a halt as soon as they were out of sight of the town. Pulling a length of rope from his saddlebag, he lashed Caitlyn’s hands to the saddle horn, and then they were riding again, Manuel Ramos setting a brisk pace.

  They rode for hours. Occasionally, Ramos dropped back to be certain they weren’t being followed. Once, Caitlyn saw him dismount to cover their tracks, and a sense of hopelessness descended upon her.

  Caitlyn began to shiver as night closed around her, but it was not the darkness or the lowering temperature that caused the chill, but rather the knowledge that she was it Abner’s mercy, and that mercy was the one thing she was not likely to receive.

  On and on they rode, the men seemingly tireless. Caitlyn clung to the saddle horn, her head lolling forward, her eyelids heavy.

  It was well after midnight when Ramos called a halt. Looking around, Caitlyn was surprised to find that they were in Greenwater Junction, a small farm town some thirty miles east of Cedar Creek.

  “We’ll spend the night here,” Ramos declared. “Maldonado will meet us across the river tomorrow night.”

  “Do you think it’s wise, staying here, I mean?” Abner asked.

  “This is a decent town,” Ramos said with a sneer. “They’re not expecting trouble, and we’re not going to give them any.”

  “Whatever you say,” Abner muttered.

  “We’ll get two rooms and take turns keeping an eye on the girl.”

  “You take the first watch,” Abner said, leering at Caitlyn. “I want to get some sleep. First.”

  Ramos nodded agreeably. “Suits me.” His hand glided down Caitlyn’s arm. He laughed softly as she jerked away.

  “You’re not to touch her, Manuel,” Abner said, his pale blue gaze drilling into the other man. “No one touches her until I do.”

  “Okay, okay,” Ramos muttered irritably. “I can wait.” He grinned salaciously. “I think she’ll be worth, it.”

  A cold, icy fear clutched Caitlyn’s heart, numbing her inside and out so that nothing seemed real. Indeed, this could not be real.

  She followed Abner into the hotel, stood beside him while he signed the register as Mr. and Mrs. Brown from Nebraska. She felt his hand at her waist as he guided her up the stairs, found their room, and ushered her inside. It was a small room, with one window, a double bed, and a four-drawer chest. A roach scuttled across the floor as Abner lit the lamp.

  Ramos entered the room a few minutes later. He tossed his room key to Abner, then sat down on the edge of the bed and began pulling off his boots.

  “Remember,” Abner said sternly. “She’s mine first.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go get some sleep.”

  Abner sent a last lingering glance at Caitlyn, then left the room. Soon, he thought, soon she would be his.

  Caitlyn stood in the middle of the room, unmoving, her mind refusing to comprehend what was happening. It was all a dream, she thought, a bad dream. Soon she would wake up in Rafe’s arms and they would laugh about it together.

  “Hey, girlie,” Ramos called. “Get those clothes off, and come here and be nice to Manuel.”

  Caitlyn continued to stand where she was, unmoving. She heard his voice, but the words didn’t register. She had withdrawn into herself, into a world where nothing registered but Rafe and their unborn child. It was a beautiful place, quiet and serene.

  Ramos tossed his boots under the bed and stood up. “Hey, you deaf?”

  Muttering an oath, he walked over to the girl and stared at her. “Hey!” He frowned when she refused to answer. And then, his patience at an end, he hit her, his fist driving against her chin, knocking her backward so that she landed on her back across the bed.

  “That’s fine,” Ramos drawled, and then he was on her.

  Reality was hot vile breath, grasping hands that squeezed her breasts, punishing lips, and a slobbering tongue. The rising heat of a man’s lust. With a cry of outrage, Caitlyn began to struggle, determined to die before she let this man defile her. Fear for her unborn child gave her strength and she wriggled free only to find Ramos grinning at her.

  “I like a woman with spirit,” he mused. “Come on, little one, fight me some more.” Lazily, he reached out and slapped her, hard, rocking her head from side to side.

  Caitlyn recoiled as she saw his hand coming toward her again. Then, in a move born of desperation, she leaned toward him, her hand snaking toward his holster. The gun was heavy in her hand.

  Ramos laughed. He was still laughing when she squeezed the trigger.

  The gunshot roused Abner who jumped out of bed and ran down the hall. The door to Caitlyn’s room was locked and he kicked it in to find Caitlyn kneeling on the bed, a gun in her hand, the barrel still smoking.

  Abner swore as he glanced at Ramos sprawled across the bed and Caitlyn turned slowly in his direction. Her face was as pale as new-fallen snow, her eyes unnaturally bright. Her expression did not change as she lifted the gun and aimed it in Abner’s direction.

  Abner’s eyes widened, and then he pushed past the crowd that had gathered in the hallway and ran down the stairs and out of the hotel.

  The moon went down and Rafe lost the trail in the dark. Agitated by the delay, he paced the ground. The tracks seemed to be headed toward Cedar Creek, but he couldn’t be sure, nor did it seem likely that Wylie would take Caitlyn into town. He puzzled over that as he unsaddled the bay stallion and rubbed him down with a handful of grass.

  It seemed the night would never end. Stretched out on the hard ground, he closed his eyes and images of Caitlyn filled his mind—Caty fixing breakfast, smiling at him from across the table, sitting before the fire mending one of his shirts…struggling in Wylie’s arms.

  He sat up, a muffled oath on his lips. Caty, Caty, I’m coming.

  Sleep eluded him. Rising, he rummaged in his saddlebags for a strip of jerky, gnawing the stringy beef absently as he stared into the darkness willing the minutes to pass.

  He was back on the trail at first light, his eyes intent, his mind set on one thing, to find Caitlyn. Once he had her back, he would deal with Abner Wylie. And Wylie would die.

  Cedar Creek had not yet awakened when Rafe rode into town. He went to the hotel because it was the only establishment open.

  Will Staley was sweeping the floor when Rafe entered the hotel.

  “‘Mornin’,” Will said, his voice betraying his surprise at seeing Rafe.

  “Have you seen Caitlyn, Will?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. She was here yesterday. Came in with Abner Wylie. They left, oh, about
suppertime.”

  “She left with Wylie?”

  “Yeah.” Will Staley nodded, as if to reaffirm his own words. “There was another man, too. A stranger. Dark skin, dark hair. Wore an eye patch over one eye. Never saw him before.” Will rubbed a hand over a bewhiskered jaw. “They all rode out of town together.”

  “Did you speak to Caitlyn?”

  “No. She left with the two men, like I said. I don’t think she even saw me.”

  “Thanks, Will. Did you see which way they went?”

  “East, I think.” Staley nodded. “Yeah, east.”

  Rafe was out of the hotel before Staley had finished talking. Swinging into the saddle, he reined the bay stallion east. The tracks were harder to follow there, but Wylie’s mount had a distinctive way of moving and after an intense twenty minutes, Rafe had picked up the trail.

  Tracking was considerably easier in the daylight and he pushed his horse hard, begrudging the minutes he had to stop and rest his horse. At noon, he let the stallion graze for thirty minutes, knowing if he didn’t give the animal food and rest, it would soon be worthless.

  He stood in the shade of a tree, pounding his fist against the trunk, too tense to relax, too concerned for Caitlyn to rest.

  He’d been on the trail for five hours when the tracks disappeared. Cursing, Rafe dismounted, his gaze sweeping the ground, his heart pounding. He had come too far to lose her now.

  He began to walk in narrow circles that grew ever wider, and as he did so, a satisfied smile played across his lips. Few white men could erase a trail without leaving another one, and this man was no exception.

  Swinging into the saddle, Rafe rode on. He was no longer tired, and unaware of hunger or thirst as he closed in on the man who had taken his woman.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The cell Caitlyn found herself in was a small, square stone room with a stout oak door and no windows. A single narrow slit cut high in one wall admitted air and light. An iron cot and an enamel slop jar were the room’s only furnishings.

  Caitlyn sat on the edge of the cot, her elbows resting on her knees, her head in her hands, and her eyes closed.