A Fire in the Blood

by Shirl Henke

  No one, that is, until Camella Alvarez spotted him striding from the saloon and quickly crossed the street on an intercept course.

  "Morning, Jess." Her expression was troubled.

  He studied her rumpled red dress and the loose, tangled black curls spilling over her shoulders. "You don't usually rise so early, Cammie."

  She smiled sadly. "Florie Tyburn almost broke a leg hurrying back to the theater to wake me up with the news. It's true, isn't it?"

  He looked up and down the street, which was filling with people on their morning rounds. "This is no place to talk." He had planned to look her up before he left town today. Taking her arm, he steered her into an alley between the saloon and a mercantile. "It's true."

  She studied him with shrewd brown eyes. "I can't believe a man like Jacobson would let her marry you, unless . . ."

  "Yeah, unless," he echoed bitterly. "No one's ever in a hurry to claim a breed's bastard."

  "Are you taking her to the Double R?" Somehow it did not seem likely, knowing Jess as she did.

  "Hell, no. That life would kill a girl like Lissa."

  "Do you think her life here will be any better now?" she countered.

  "She has kin back East," he said defensively, then shut his mouth, angry that he had spoken at all.

  "What does Lissa want to do?" Camella had a pretty good hunch. His expression confirmed it.

  Scowling, he said, "She thinks all we need is love to survive. A fancy, spoiled lady like her—what does she know about being a small rancher's wife in a place like West Texas?"

  "Maybe you don't give her enough credit. She could learn. Lots of women do. We're an adaptable lot, rich or poor."

  He shook his head. "Look, Cammie . . . I'm putting her on a train, sending her back to her pa. I figure she can stay there."

  "Maybe he won't let her. He could just throw her out. It wouldn't be the first time," she interjected.

  "No matter what, she's his only child. He'll take her back. But he won't want her to keep the baby." He stumbled over the words. My child. "If the old man makes trouble, or if... if Lissa wants to go East without it . . ."

  "I'll help her, Jess," she volunteered before he could ask. "But she won't give it up, querido. After all, this baby will be all of you she has left."

  In his heart of hearts, Jess did not believe she would do so either, but he had to provide for all exigencies. "I have some money here—and I can wire you more if you need it for her." He took a roll of bills from his vest pocket and handed it to her.

  "Keep it, Jess. You'll need it for now. I know where to wire Jonah if Lissa needs your help." She placed the money back in his vest pocket and rose to kiss him.

  "You're a good friend, Cammie. Thank you."

  She stood in the alleyway with the high plains sun beating down on her back hotly, watching him walk away. Vaya con Dios, querido.

  * * * *

  When he returned to the hotel, Lissa was dressed and sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed. Her face was pale, but she was dry-eyed and calm. As soon as he entered the room, she shot up, then stood very still with her head high and her back straight, like a queen awaiting execution.

  "The train comes in around eleven. We'd better get going," he said quietly. His eyes swept to the tray on the bedside table. "You didn't eat your breakfast."

  "I wasn't hungry," she replied woodenly, walking to the door.

  He let her pass, then closed it. Don't think about that bed. . .

  They walked downstairs and through the lobby, silently ignoring the stares of the gathered crowd, both curious and hostile. A low murmuring followed them, but no one spoke up or dared to confront the hard-eyed gunman. Lissa held his arm tightly, looking straight ahead. Please, God, let me get through this.

  When they approached the train platform, Jess could feel her trembling. "Just a few minutes more, Lissa."

  She did not reply. They stood in the shadow of the new Union Pacific building beside the platform, waiting as the train pulled up to the station. A hiss of steam escaped as the engine ground to a stop in front of them.

  It was time to say good-bye.

  * * * *

  After the train had vanished, Jess turned from his lonely sentinel's post on the rise and kneed Blaze into a steady canter. He tried to keep his mind blank, not think about Lissa and the baby or what she would do about dissolving the marriage. It did not work.

  Deep in rumination, he barely heard the pounding of hooves until the rider had closed with him. Jess whirled in the saddle, rifle drawn from his scabbard. Then he recognized Tate Shannon and reined in.

  "A good way to get yourself killed," he said as he replaced the rifle. "What brought you riding hell-bent, Tate?"

  The big black man doffed his hat and ran one shirt sleeve across his forehead before replacing his headgear. "Hot today, but not near so hot as it'll be for you if Pardee catches up and blasts you into the next life."

  Jess nodded in weary resignation. "Jacobson hired him to kill me."

  "Offered him 'n them men who rode with him your cash money for cleaning out the rustlers if they'd finish you and bring Miz Lissa back."

  The question remained unasked, but Shannon's liquid brown eyes studied Jess.

  "Lissa's on the train. She'll arrive at the Squaw Creek stop-off tonight. I sent word to the old man to collect her."

  A look of incredulity filled Shannon's face. "You took her to Cheyenne and spent the night, then left her?"

  "I married her, Tate. On Jacobson's orders. He didn't want the baby to have the Jacobson name."

  Shannon cursed, then studied his friend. "From the look on your face, Jess, you don't give a damn if you live or die, but I figure on livin' 'n I damn near rode a good horse to death reachin' you 'fore Pardee."

  "How far is he behind you?"

  "Soon as I overheard him 'n the old man palaverin', I took my own horse outta the cawy and headed out real quiet. He won't be long. If I found out you rode south this easy, he will too."

  Jess scanned the rolling grasslands and the mountains in the distance. "If we swing east and then cut back up north, we might lose them."

  Tate shrugged, then studied Jess. "You want him doggin' yer back forever? For five thousand, he'll track you clean to Canady."

  "You got a better idea?"

  Tate flashed a white grin at Jess. "Ole Ringo was havin' a real busy time of it gettin' his boys to ride along. Seems they ain't real partial to comin' up against you. I figger there won't be more than three of 'em. If we hole up in them rocks over that ridge, we can take em."

  Jess considered a minute, then nodded to Shannon. "I owe you, Tate."

  "You damn betcha, you do. Jacobson never paid me fer backin' you against the rustlers," he said with a chuckle as they rode for cover. They had almost made it when the crack of a rifle echoed across the plains. Ringo Pardee and four men came over the rise at a full gallop, shooting.

  "Shit, I figgered he'd only get three men to come with him, tops," Shannon said as he jumped from his horse and returned fire, knocking one of the riders from his mount.

  "Never underestimate the power of greed, ole son. Makes brave men out of fools," Jess replied, taking careful aim and firing, then quickly repeating the process until only Pardee and one of his men were left. They circled their horses back out of range.

  Robbins and Shannon remounted and gave chase, but the black man's buckskin was played out from the hard ride and quickly fell behind. Jess took out Pardee as the gunman turned to fire his Winchester 73. The lone survivor, Sug Johnson, rode low against the neck of his horse, lashing it with his reins. With Pardee and the others dead, Jess figured Sug would not resume the bounty hunt. He reined in Blaze and rode back to where Tate was cooling his winded mount.

  Tate swung up on his buckskin and fell in beside Jess. "I reckon Pardee's dead?"

  Jess nodded. "Sug Johnson got away, but he won't come after me."

  "You figger on goin' back to Texas?"

  Jess shrugged. "Do
esn't much matter. I hear they have a dandy range war going on down in New Mexico Territory." He looked at Tate but said nothing.

  The black man threw back his head and laughed. "Hell, Jess, I got me no place else to go. I opine ole man Jacobson'll up 'n fire me soon as Sug Johnson reports to him. Let's ride to New Mexico. I ain't seen it in a month of Sundays."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Spring, 1882

  "You must change your will now, hein?" Germaine plumped up a pillow behind Marcus's back and watched him lean into it with a grimace as he resettled himself in his big bed.

  "No," he replied flatly.

  "You will be the laughingstock of the territory, letting that half-breed boy inherit J Bar when you have—"

  "I said, let it alone." Marcus's words were sharp and bitten off, causing him to sag in breathless pain as soon as they were spoken. His face was haggard and creased with loose skin that had turned the color of old snow.

  Germaine Channault looked down at him, her small, dark eyes glittering with frustration. She said nothing more, only looked at the tray sitting on the bedside table, its contents virtually untouched.

  "Take it away. I'm not hungry," he whispered, forestalling any urging to eat that she might have considered.

  "Eat anyway," the small, plump man standing in the doorway said cheerfully. "How the hell do you expect to get better if you keep losing weight?"

  "Hell, Doc, you and I both know I'm dying. My heart's given out, same as my pa's did."

  "No reason to hurry it along by starving yourself," Headly replied gruffly. His pink, hairless scalp gleamed with perspiration when he doffed his bowler hat and laid it carelessly on the table. He approached the bed with a weather-beaten satchel of cracked brown leather.

  "I don't need any more of your pills or your platitudes, Doc—just someone to put a stop to the damn rustling."

  "I heard you were having trouble again this spring. Thought they were all finished off last summer," Headly said as he took Marcus's veiny hand in his plump fingers and expertly read the pulse. Weak and irregular.

  "We have us a whole new crop of thieves, it seems. Territory's going to hell in a hand basket."

  Headly looked up at Germaine. "Has he eaten anything this past week?"

  "A little consomme, some oatmeal." She shrugged. "He asked for tounedos, then took only a few bites," she added, looking accusingly at the plate full of juicy pink beef.

  "For now, stick with soup," the physician replied, watching her nod and leave with the tray.

  "You need to see that specialist in Denver, Marcus."

  "We've been over this before, Doc. I'm not leaving J Bar. There's not a damn thing any fancy doctor in Colorado can do for me. Only one thing would make me happy—and that's not likely to happen!"

  To punctuate his last, bitter remark, the soft wail of a baby drifted in from the room down the hall where Lissa was nursing her infant son. Both men knew Marcus wanted his daughter to petition for a divorce from her husband and give up the baby to an agency back East. Then Lemuel Mathis would marry her. She steadfastly refused to cooperate.

  Headly sighed at the look of intransigence chiseled on Jacobson's face. The stubborn old cuss would die of his own bile before he acknowledged what a fine grandson he had, but there was no use reopening that box of bees again. "I have to get over to the Elkins place. The missus is fixing to have another youngun' any day now. You have Germaine send for me if you feel worse. And keep taking that tonic I gave you. It might strengthen your heart."

  When he had finished with Marcus, the doctor walked down the long hall to Lissa's room. Before he could knock, she opened the door. Although she smiled warmly at him, he could see the aching sadness in her eyes. Old Marcus had not been easy on her.

  "How's my favorite new mother and that handsome little devil Johnny?" he asked, hearing a gurgle from inside the room.

  "Johnny is just splendid," she said with a flash of real happiness shining in her eyes. She turned to the cradle beside her bed and lifted the kicking little bundle for inspection. "He's just been fed and is ready to drift off for his afternoon nap."

  Headly inspected the thick cap of inky hair on the baby's head. Still, if he did not know the dark-skinned infant had Indian blood, he would probably not have guessed it. "He is thriving," the doctor said fondly. He had delivered Johnny, ignoring the cruel scandal and gossip that raged in Cheyenne over Marcus Jacobson's fallen daughter. "Wish I could say the same for his mother. You should go back to St. Louis, child. You could build a life for the two of you there."

  She laid the sleeping baby in his cradle and walked down the back stairs with the doctor. "I guess it was a mistake, coming home when you wired me that Papa had the heart attack, but I hoped…" Her voice faded away in misery.

  "You took a terrible risk, traveling through a blizzard eight months pregnant just to reach a man who has refused to acknowledge the existence of his own grandson."

  "I couldn't let him die alone. I am his only family since his brother was killed in the Fedderman massacre."

  "He's chosen to be alone, Lissa. Who do you have out here?" He wondered about her husband but said nothing.

  "Old Vinegar Joe Riland, our chuckwagon cook, has been a loyal friend, but most of the hands, even Moss—well, they'll never forgive me for falling off my pedestal."

  The doctor made a snort of disgust. "Durn fool place to put females, especially out here when we haven't got enough to go around as is. I debated about sending that wire. Probably shouldn't have done it, but then I wouldn't have had the chance to bring that youngun' into the world. What are your plans, Lissa? Do you intend to stay on in Wyoming?"

  She sighed in perplexity. "I don't know. If Papa . . ." She swallowed painfully. "If Papa dies, then I'll have J Bar to think about. If he leaves it to me," she added in dull misery.

  "He's still intent on your getting the divorce and giving up Johnny?" Although it was hard for Headly to believe, he knew Marcus would never change his mind.

  "So he says, but so far he hasn't changed his will."

  "He's just trying to wear you down. Don't let him." He did not want to say aloud that Marcus did not have much time left. "You 'n Johnny are his only rightful heirs."

  Her eyes took on the hardness of polished amber. "I'll hang on, Doc, for my son's sake. Someday J Bar will be his."

  "You think of askin' Lemuel for help? Maybe if you agreed to marry him, he'd agree to adopt Johnny." The idea did not sound likely to Headly even as he suggested it.

  She shook her head vehemently. "No. I'll never marry again."

  He studied her as they stopped in front of his dusty old buggy. "You still love him, don't you, child?" he asked gently.

  Her eyes glistened as tears slowly flooded them. She blinked them back. "I was young and foolish then, but I've had to do a lot of growing up fast. He didn't trust me enough to take me with him.

  I'm learning to live without him. I have to for Johnny."

  "But you still hope he'll come back one day." The elderly physician patted her hand. "You take care of yourself and that boy. He's a fine 'un, Lissa. I'll be by next week to check on your pa. Send word if you need anything."

  She smiled. "Thank you, Doc. You've been a true friend."

  As he rode away, Doc Headly thought it was a damn sorry day when the only people a spunky young woman like Lissa Robbins could call friends were a broken-down sawbones and a crotchety old coot like Vinegar Riland.

  The next morning, Marcus summoned a visitor. When Lemuel Mathis rode up to the ranch house, Lissa was at Vinegar's mess kitchen with Johnny. Germaine showed Mathis upstairs. As soon as she had closed the door, they entered into an earnest discussion.

  Unaware of their guest, Lissa returned to the house an hour later and headed upstairs to put Johnny down for his nap. Lemuel stepped into the hall and turned to face her just as she came in the back door.

  Eyeing the sleepy-eyed, dark-haired baby with obvious distaste, he nodded stiffly. "Miss Lissa."

>   "It's Mrs. Robbins, Mr. Mathis," she replied with a dare in her voice, rewarded when he stiffened with shock at her audacity. She smiled wryly. "There's no use pretending a civility neither of us feels, just to spare my father's feelings."

  "If you cared at all for him, you would consider his feelings," he shot back.

  It was her turn to bristle. "If I did not love my father, I would never have come back here, believe me." She turned and headed into her room, but his words stopped her.

  "After he has time to rest up, Marcus will want to talk with you about a matter of grave importance. If you do care for him as you profess, I urge you to consider his proposal very carefully."

  Her heart skipped a beat but she did not respond. "Good day, Mr. Mathis."

  When Marcus heard her knock several hours later, a bitter smile twisted his lips fleetingly. He had rested since Mathis left, storing up his badly waning energy for this. It would work, he could feel it in his bones. "Come in, Lissa."

  "Lemuel said you had something to propose to me," she said tentatively to the cold stranger who had once been her indulgent father. How haggard and old he looks. Yet his pale blue eyes were as steely as ever.

  "Rather, let's say I have terms for you, terms Lemuel has agreed to, although it took some talking to get him to agree, I don't mind telling you."

  She sighed wearily. "We've been over this all before, Papa," she began, but he raised his hand, gesturing for her to be silent.

  "You said you came back because you care for me.”

  "You know that I do!"

  "Then you'll honor my last request. I haven't got much time, Lissa—Doc Headly knows it and you should, too."

  She felt tears burn her throat. Why does it have to end this way, Papa? "1 can't marry Lemuel—I'm already married."

  "Lemuel is a close friend of Governor Hale. He's agreed to expedite a quiet divorce."

  She shook her head. "I won't do it."

  His face broke into a cruel smile. "Forget about your false protestations of love for me. Think of that boy in there." He gestured angrily toward her room where Johnny slept.