Wild Texas Flame

by Janis Reams Hudson

  What the hell could Baxter be up to? How long had he been able to walk? Why would a man who could walk deliberately confine himself to a wheelchair?

  And the bigger question—what did Sunny and Cottonwood Ranch have to do with it?

  In the long run, it wouldn’t matter. If Baxter hurt Sunny, Ash would kill him.

  And then what?

  His horse was breathing easier. Ash kicked him to pick up the pace, grinding his teeth to keep from screaming in frustration.

  And then what. It was a good question. What would he do after he’d dealt with Baxter? Leave Sunny—again?

  He doubted he had the strength to walk away from her again. God, she was everything he could ever want in a woman. She was beautiful and kindhearted, with a backbone of steel and a quick mind. She was soft and golden and her hands could bring him to his knees with a simple touch.

  Would she have him back after the way he’d hurt her? After what he’d done last night?

  Then there was the other to consider. The way people in town treated him. He didn’t care about himself, but their snubs and name-calling would hurt Sunny. He’d rather cut out his own heart than be the cause of more pain for her.

  Round and round went the questions in his head. She wanted him. He wanted her. But did she love him? As much as he loved her? Could he subject her to open scorn?

  He slowed his horse to a walk again. As soon as the animal’s breathing returned to normal Ash picked up the pace.

  He wasn’t far now. But there was no way to reach the ranch house without being seen. His own father had made sure of that when he’d selected the building site. There was nothing for it but for him to ride boldly in as though he didn’t know anything was wrong.

  Hell. He didn’t know anything was wrong. Maria could have been mistaken. Baxter might not be anywhere around. There was no real reason for the man to be here. If he’d wanted people to think he had died in the fire, Baxter’s next logical move should be to get away as fast as he could.

  What the hell was Baxter up to?

  Ash circled around and approached from behind the bunkhouse. Unless someone was keeping watch, no one would notice him yet.

  The place looked quiet. Normal. Hens scratched in the dirt. The boss rooster flapped up onto the woodpile at the end of the cookhouse and crowed. In the corral stood Sunny’s horse, Erik’s, and the wagon team. The pony cart that the girls took to school, along with the pony that pulled it, were gone, just as they should be.

  Beside the house, bright white sheets flapped on the line. Where was Sunny?

  Erik. Where was Erik? He should have spotted Ash by now and shown himself.

  Ash dismounted behind the bunkhouse. If anyone was standing at the parlor window they would have seen him long ago. On the outside chance no one had seen him, he took off his spurs. No use letting anyone hear him if he could help it. As casually as possible, Ash walked around the bunkhouse and stepped up onto the porch. His blood turned cold at the sight of a man’s feet sticking out the open door. One foot wore a boot; the other didn’t. Erik.

  Ash slipped the thong from his hammer and drew his revolver. One careful step at a time, he moved toward the body. He swept the house and grounds again and stopped in mid-stride. A horse stood tied to the hitching rail in front of the house. His stomach knotted. The brand was the Bar B.

  He looked around again but still saw no one.

  Faster now, but cautious, Ash stepped over to the body and carefully looked around the door, gun held ready.

  A glance told him the bunkhouse was empty. He stepped past Erik and through the door. Blood covered one side of the young man’s face. Ash dropped to his knees at Erik’s head. He pressed his fingers to Erik’s throat just beside the Adam’s apple.

  Relief rushed through him. Erik’s pulse was strong and steady.

  He checked for more wounds, but found none. Grabbing Erik beneath the arms, Ash dragged him farther into the room, away from the door.

  Erik moaned.

  “Erik!” Ash kept his voice low so it wouldn’t carry far. “Erik, can you hear me?”

  Erik rolled his head and winced.

  “Easy there. Looks like you got your head a little too close to a bullet.”

  Erik moaned again and blinked his eyes slowly open. “McCord?” His voice cracked.

  “It’s me.”

  “Baxter.”

  “I know. Where is he? Where’s Sunny?”

  “Don’t…know.” Erik tried to push himself up. He didn’t make it. He groaned and put a hand to his head.

  “Looks like just a crease,” Ash said. A nasty crease.

  “Feels like I got kicked by a mule.”

  “Bet it does, buddy. I’m going to have a look around. You stay put, hear?”

  Erik grimaced. “Don’t think I’ll be moving real fast for a while.”

  Ash stood to go.

  Erik grabbed his pant leg. “McCord, Baxter walks!”

  Ash ground his teeth together. “I know.”

  Another look around outside, and he still didn’t see anyone. He had to check the house. There was no way to get there unobserved if anyone was watching, so he stepped out, gun still in his hand, and walked rapidly to the front porch.

  The creak of the front door was abnormally loud in the quiet afternoon. Ash stepped into the room and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. The parlor was empty.

  He forced himself to walk slowly across the room, his lips pressed together, when all he wanted to do was run through the house shouting Sunny’s name.

  His footsteps echoed on the plank floor. One by one he checked each room. No Sunny. Could she be hiding, thinking he was someone else? He called softly, “Sunny?”

  No answer.

  The house was dim and quiet and empty. It should have felt peaceful. It didn’t.

  He took a deep breath and looked around the kitchen. His gaze crossed the back window, then flew back to look out. What the hell? Why would someone dig up the middle of Sunny’s new garden plot?

  He stepped up to the window for a closer look. A slight breeze rippled through the branches of the old cottonwood and made the sheets dance on the line. Other than that, nothing moved but the chickens. The door to the tool shed gaped open, as did the cellar door.

  It was quiet. Too quiet.

  He slipped back out the front door. Could she be in the cellar?

  At the top of the cellar stairs Ash took another look around. If someone was down there, there was no way they wouldn’t know he was coming. The sun cast his shadow right down the stairs.

  He took the first step down, then the second. His boots scraped on the wooden stairs. The noise grated on his taut nerves.

  At the bottom of the steps he turned left and peered down the aisle of shelves. No one.

  “Sunny?”

  No answer.

  He searched every inch of the cellar, half expecting to hear the door overhead slam shut and be plunged into darkness.

  But nothing happened.

  With his heart pounding, palms sweating, he climbed the steps into the bright sunshine. Sunshine! Where are you?

  He walked to the new garden and worried over what could have happened. Along the outer edges sprouts of squash and melons stood in straight rows. But the whole middle of the garden had been dug up. Someone had used a shovel. The hole was nearly two feet deep and about six feet across.

  Who dug it? Sunny? Baxter? Why?

  And where were they? They had to be here somewhere. Baxter’s horse was still here.

  Sweat trickled down his spine.

  Where the hell were they?

  The small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. A slight sound whispered behind him.

  The shed!

  He started to turn. He heard a rushing sound. Pain exploded in his head and the world went black.

  When Ash came to, his head felt ready to explode. Pain blurred his vision. He heard a scraping noise, then a grunt, followed by a low thud.

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nbsp; “Welcome back, McCord. Glad you could make our little party,” Baxter said. “Get up.”

  Ash blinked to clear his vision.

  A skirt. He was looking at a yellow skirt. Sunny! As his eyes shot up to her face, he drank in the sight of her and felt relief like he’d never known before. She was alive.

  Then he stiffened. Every muscle and nerve in his body screamed in protest. She was alive, all right, and standing on her own two feet. With her hands tied behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and Ian Baxter’s gun pressed against the blue vein in her right temple. Her wide, terror-filled eyes locked on his.

  He tried to look away, not wanting her to see his own terror, but he couldn’t.

  “I said get up,” Baxter shouted.

  Ash pushed himself to his feet. Easy, man, he told himself. He spat dirt from his mouth and winced at the sharp pain stabbing through his head. “Damn, Baxter, what the hell’d you hit me with, a barn door?”

  Baxter chuckled.

  Good, Ash thought. If he could keep the bastard at ease, he might have a chance to get the jump on him.

  “Nothing so dramatic. Just a shovel. Pick it up.”

  Ash glanced down to where Baxter nodded. A shovel lay at the edge of the big hole. His first thought was to grab it and swing it at Baxter’s head.

  He had to take a deep breath to slow the impulse. That gun pressed to Sunny’s temple would go off the first move Ash made.

  “Pick it up, McCord. In case you haven’t guessed, I don’t have all day.”

  Ash bent slowly, deliberately, and picked up the shovel.

  “Now dig.”

  Ash looked at him and made himself grin. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re digging a hole to China, right?”

  “Just dig, McCord. I’d hate for my finger to slip on this trigger while I’m standing around waiting for you.”

  Easy, man. Just take it easy, Ash told himself. “Not China, then, huh? I’ve got it. Buried treasure.”

  Baxter grinned at him. “Smart boy. Now dig, damn you.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Do I look like a man who’s kidding?” He pressed the gun harder against Sunny’s head. She winced. “I said dig!”

  Ash dug.

  Last night’s rain had softened the soil. It took the spade easily. “You can relax, you know. You don’t have to hold onto her so tight,” Ash said as casually as possible.

  Baxter chuckled “Guess you’re right about that. Not much she can do, trussed up like she is.”

  Ash saw Baxter take the gun from her head. Thank God. But they weren’t out of this yet. Baxter wasn’t stupid. The man stepped far enough away that Ash couldn’t reach him with the shovel without giving Baxter plenty of time to shoot first.

  “Not much she could do if she wasn’t trussed either. Why don’t you just let her go? Put her on a horse and let her ride out of here.”

  “Humph. Just when is it you think I got stupid?”

  Ash was tempted to answer that question, but didn’t want to provoke Baxter. “Come on, Ian. It’ll be long dark before she gets to town. Nobody would be able to come after you ‘til tomorrow morning. By then you can have your business here finished, do whatever it is you’re planning on doing with me—”

  Sunny squealed behind her gag and shook her head violently.

  “—and be halfway to the border before anybody’s the wiser.”

  “What makes you think I won’t take her with me?”

  Ash paused an instant, then dumped his shovelful of dirt to the side. He bent for another scoop, striving for nonchalance. Gut instinct made him want to scream, “No!” The thought of Ian Baxter’s hands on Sunny made him physically ill.

  But common sense told him that if Baxter took her with him, she’d at least be alive. She’d have some sort of chance to escape. Someone would follow. If Baxter made the mistake of leaving Ash alive, Ash himself would hunt the man to the ends of the earth. But if not him, Jamison or Davis would see it done.

  “Nah,” Baxter said. “Much as I’d like to have the company of such a pretty little thing, she’d just slow me down.”

  Ash didn’t know whether to be grateful or not for that decision. But he wanted to keep the man talking. “Just what, precisely, is it we’re digging for? The only treasure you’re likely to come across here is chicken bones.”

  Baxter chuckled. “A lot you know.”

  “I lived here for years, Ian.”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Baxter said. “You and your old man lived here all that time and never knew. Then, when I almost had my hands on the place, your old man turned up with the money to pay off his loan.”

  Ash dropped another shovelful of dirt and turned slowly to face Baxter. He gripped the shovel handle until he thought his knuckles would pop through his skin. “You mean this is why you murdered my father?” he demanded. “You murdered a man over some imagined buried treasure?”

  “Imagined, hell!” Baxter waved his gun in the air. “I haven’t imagined anything, by God. I buried the damn gold there myself, with my own two hands.”

  “Gold? What gold?”

  Baxter chuckled. “Got your attention, didn’t I? Yankee gold, boy. Where the hell else would a Confederate sergeant get gold? Dig!”

  Ash dug. “Since I’m doing all the digging, the least you can do is tell me about it. How it came to be buried here.”

  Baxter laughed. “Why not?” he said expansively. “It was back in sixty-four, right before the end of the war.”

  From the corner of his eye Ash saw Sunny struggling to free her hands. Baxter saw it too. “Stop that,” Baxter warned. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, then draped an arm around her shoulders, keeping her flush against his side.

  She squealed behind her gag.

  “Why don’t you take that damn thing out of her mouth,” Ash said. “What difference does it make if she talks?”

  “Shut up and dig, McCord. I happen to like quiet women.”

  “Like Maria?”

  Baxter snorted. “Yeah. Like Maria. She’s real quiet.”

  “Was,” Ash said. “She was real quiet.”

  Baxter squinted at him suspiciously. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  Ash jammed the shovel into the dirt again. “She’s the one who sent me here.”

  “That’s impossible. You’re lying.”

  Ash shook his head. “You didn’t stick around long enough, Baxter. She managed to drag herself out of the house before the roof caved in. Gus, of course, wasn’t so lucky. But then it’s hard to do much when you’ve got a bullet between your eyes.”

  “Shut up.”

  “It almost worked, you know. When I saw that ring, I thought it was you in what was left of that bed. If the sheriff hadn’t found Maria, and she hadn’t told us—”

  “The sheriff?”

  “Yeah, didn’t I tell you? He and I were on our way out for a visit. That’s when we saw the smoke.”

  Baxter tightened his hold on Sunny. “Who else knows?”

  Ash shrugged and stabbed at the dirt again. “Just about everybody by now, I suppose. Your men saw the smoke and came riding in right after the three of us.”

  “Three?”

  “Yeah. There was another man with us. Never met him before.” He watched Baxter closely. “Said his name was Davis. William Davis.”

  Baxter’s face hardened.

  “Had some real interesting papers about you.”

  “What kind of papers?”

  “Seems he hired a man to, uh, shall we say, investigate you? The man was pretty good at his job. Last time you were in San Antonio, this fellow took Gus out and got him drunk.” Ash shook his head. “Why you ever kept Gus on all these years, I’ll never understand. You know how loose his tongue gets when he’s drunk.”

  Baxter smirked and rolled his eyes. “What beans did poor Gus spill this time?”

  “Nothing much,” Ash said. “He just told the man about the bank holdup.”

 
Baxter shook his head. “Sounds like Davis went to a lot of trouble. Pity he wasted his time.”

  “How’s that?” Ash asked, still shoveling. Sweat was dripping in his eyes.

  Baxter chuckled. “Spent all that money and time to dig up what Sunny here knew the minute I got down from my horse.”

  Ash looked to Sunny, then to Baxter.

  Baxter shrugged. “My knees gave me away. Damn things never have worked right. It was two years after you shot me before I was able to get out of that damned chair.”

  Ash leaned on the shovel a minute to catch his breath. “Then why have you still been in the chair if you can walk?”

  Baxter shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand. Just dig.”

  Ash dug. He had to keep Baxter at ease, keep him talking. Jamison and Davis, he knew, wouldn’t be far behind him. He had to keep Baxter occupied until they got here. He only prayed they didn’t come thundering into the yard. But how else they were supposed to get to the house, he couldn’t imagine.

  If they came quietly up behind the bunkhouse the way he’d done, and Ash could keep Baxter talking, they might just be able to sneak up on him. “So tell me about this supposed gold I’m digging for.”

  “Ah, the gold. You’ll be coming to some crates soon, if the wood hasn’t rotted away after all this time. Don’t pay any attention to the two bodies on top of them.”

  Ash straightened slowly. “Bodies?”

  “Seems to me there was a canvas, too. Yeah, off one of the wagons. Course the canvas probably rotted out years ago. Might be a patch or two of Confederate Gray hanging onto the bones, though.”

  Beside Baxter, Sunny struggled to get free, a look of horror and revulsion on her face.

  Ash wanted to tell her to be still, that everything would be all right, but he couldn’t. If Jamison didn’t get here soon, everything wouldn’t be all right. There was no reason for Baxter to leave Sunny and him alive. And here Ash was, digging what probably amounted to his own grave.

  Baxter growled at Sunny. She quieted.

  “So where’d you come by all this Yankee gold?” Ash asked.

  “Just sort of fell into my hands, you might say. We had orders. Went to Colorado and hijacked the whole shipment right out from under the Bluebellies’ noses. Headed back for Richmond. Thought we’d be safer coming through Texas.” He laughed. “We hadn’t figured on Comanches.”