A Fire in the Blood

by Shirl Henke

  "Yeah. Especially since we're so short-handed."

  "What you gonna do?" Moss asked as Jess mounted Blaze.

  "Tell Lissa I've ridden into town for the night. Don't tell her about the poison. Post a sign and get all the men you can spare to round up the cattle and start moving them nearer safe water. Post a guard on each clean hole, but I doubt they'll poison any others. This one's enough to do the job."

  "I ain't got enough men as it is now. How the hell am I gonna do all that?" Frustration reddened the older man's weathered face.

  "I'll see who I can hire in Cheyenne. I'll also wire for some guns."

  "We'll need a new smithy, too," Moss said wearily, then added, "Jethro always was a ugly troublemaker."

  "He got a lot uglier this morning," Jess replied as he turned Blaze toward Cheyenne.

  * * * *

  Word of his return to J Bar had preceded him, just as he'd expected. People whispered furiously and watched him with hard, avid eyes, wondering how he had been beaten up and why he was in town. Some were just curious, but many were sullenly hostile. He ignored them as he headed to the Cheyenne Club. Tying Blaze at one of the front hitching posts, he approached the big porch that surrounded the elegant three-story building. The imposing structure was made of stone with a mansard roof and eight brick chimneys. Several members of the exclusive men's club were standing near the front door, dressed in wool suits and boiled shirts in spite of the blistering summer heat. To say they looked astonished as he approached would have been an understatement.

  Jess paused at the top of the steps and sized up the cattlemen, letting his cold gray eyes and the hand resting ever so lightly on his Colt intimidate them for a moment. Then he said, "I'm looking for Lemuel Mathis."

  The taller of the two men, an old fellow with thick white hair, returned Jess's hard-eyed inspection. "He's probably in the smoking room." He turned to his companion and said, "Josh, why don't you fetch him for Mr. Robbins?"

  The younger man reddened but spun on his heel and vanished inside.

  "You know me," Jess said levelly.

  "I know of you, yep. Heard you're taking over J Bar."

  He waited, but Jess did not answer the implied question. Instead he said curtly, "Tell Mathis I'll be at the Royale. I need to talk to him about poisoned water." He turned and strolled down the steps, leaving the old man staring gape-jawed at his back.

  By the time Jess had ordered his second beer, Mathis entered the music hall. Jess observed his approach with satisfaction. One question of his was answered. The arrogant Association president was interested enough in J Bar business to humble himself by meeting with Jesse Robbins. He raised his glass in a mock salute, then downed the beer. "Pull up a chair, Mathis."

  The older man stood by the table, hands clenched as if trying to decide which looked less conspicuous, standing alone or sitting at the same table with the gunman. He opted for the latter course of action. Mathis eyed Jess's battered face but made no comment about it. "What's this about poisoned water?"

  "The Big Basin water hole. A dozen head dead this morning." Jess watched Mathis's movements as he digested the news. If it was news.

  "You sure poison's in the water? Couldn't be something the beeves got a hold of and ate nearby?"

  "It's the water. Any ideas where a man could get his hands on enough arsenic to pollute a spring-fed pond that size?"

  Mathis's florid complexion seemed to redden subtly, but he betrayed no other emotion. "The Association orders it in quantities. We sell it at cost to members for killing varmints."

  "Any member make a sizable purchase lately?" Jess asked as he rolled a cigarette and lit it.

  Mathis wrinkled his nose at the aroma. He smoked only the finest Lazo Victoria cigars that the club purchased in New York. "No one I know of. This means you'll have to move the herds farther out."

  "You catch on quick." Jess smiled coldly. "I'll be needing more hands. Any idea who in Cheyenne might be willing to work for me? I'll pay top dollar."

  "Why the hell did you come back, Robbins?" Mathis asked. "I would've helped Lissa."

  "Lissa asked me," Jess replied, watching Mathis's building anger.

  "You'll only cause more trouble."

  Jess shrugged. "Considering how things stand at J Bar right now, I don't see how. If you run across any hands looking for work, I'd be obliged if you mention J Bar to them." He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up just as Camella Alvarez came walking across the crowded floor.

  "Someday Lissa will regret ever laying eyes on you," Mathis snarled.

  "My wife's already been made aware of her mistake," Jess said softly. Then he walked away from Mathis.

  Cammie watched Lemuel Mathis storm out of the place. "I can't believe he actually sat down with you."

  "Oh, I can," Jess said darkly. "You look good, Cammie." She was dressed in a skin-tight gown of glittering light blue material. Her breasts swelled above the plunging cleavage. A bright blue plume was perched jauntily in her upswept hair.

  "And you look terrible, querido. What happened? Someone at J Bar did not welcome you back?" She touched his bruised jaw tenderly, her hand winking with fake sapphire rings.

  He winced, then grinned at her, knowing she could read the haunted look in his eyes. "Why in hell did you tell Lissa about my ranch?"

  She smiled as he signaled the barkeep for a bottle and tossed a silver piece on the bar to pay for it. "She came to me for help. You asked me to give it."

  He poured a stiff drink and belted it down. "You could've sent for me without telling her."

  She studied him. "She is planning to move south, yes?"

  "She is planning to move south, no," he said tightly, pouring another drink. "It just created . . . another misunderstanding."

  She smiled sadly. "Have you seen your son? I would bet he is muy macho."

  "I wouldn't know. Look, Cammie, I need some information."

  "I will do what I can, Jess. I always have, no?" She could feel his anguish but knew it was useless to say anything more. He had come back. For now, that was enough. "What do you need to know?"

  She almost suggested going to her room, but quickly realized that would create ugly rumors which would eventually get back to Lissa. Instead, she gestured to a deserted table against the back wall with no view of the stage. He regarded her with a raised eyebrow. "Since when have you become so discreet, Cammie?"

  "Since you became married, querido," she retorted, pulling up a chair and wriggling her rounded buttocks onto the seat, no mean feat in that narrow skirt, in spite of its daring slit up the side.

  Ignoring her remark, he explained about the poison and his suspicions.

  "So, you think Mathis may be trying to ruin J Bar?" She drummed her nails on the scarred table, narrowing her big dark eyes in concentration.

  Jess shrugged. "He always figured to marry Lissa and inherit the ranch. Once that was out, he might not be above wanting to see her lose it, maybe even buy it cheap when she was forced to sell out."

  "But that does not explain the earlier thieves. Then he believed he was going to marry her," she argued.

  "It could've been a ploy to get the old man to put pressure on her because he wanted someone capable of rescuing the place from the rustlers. Hell, I don't know." He stared into the amber liquid in the glass. "Just keep your ears open about the arsenic." He drank the whiskey and refilled his glass.

  "You will find no answers there, querido."

  "I'll find oblivion. That's good enough for now."

  "You should go home to your wife and son, Jess. Lissa wants you back." Her throat ached with tears.

  "Then she's an even bigger fool than I am." He polished off the drink and doggedly poured another.

  Chapter Twenty

  Early the next morning, while Jess was wiring New Mexico for reinforcements and nursing the worst hangover of his life in Cheyenne, Lemuel Mathis rode up to the big house at J Bar. He dismounted and had walked as far as the first step when Cormac, out for his
morning exercise, came racing around the side of the building. The big hound ground to a halt with a low growl. His raised hackles made him look even more formidable.

  Lissa heard the sounds of growling and cajoling from the upstairs window. She ran down the steps, shrieking commands to Cormac, while at the same time trying to smooth her tangled hair and finish buttoning her dress. She arrived at the front door just after the dog had backed Mathis against the wall and was leaning over him with a wolf-sized paw on each side of his prey's head.

  "Get this timber wolf in dog's fur off me or I'll be forced to shoot him, Lissa."

  "Cormac, down!" Lissa yelled as she burst out the door.

  Perspiration was running down Lemuel's face. Judging by his ashen complexion and the way the dog had immobilized him against the wall, it seemed unlikely that he would be able to free his gun, much less fire it at his intended target.

  "Lemuel, I've never understood why Cormac takes such exception to you," she said, realizing that the hound did not plan any immediate mayhem. Actually, it was rather amusing to see the pompous Lemuel Mathis, Cheyenne civic leader, plastered against the wall with his face pressed away from Cormac's fetid breath.

  Forcing herself to keep a straight face, she gave another stern command to the great beast. Once convinced that his mistress was serious, he gave up the game and bounded away, leaving Mathis to peel himself from the wall and dust off his jacket. The back of his brown suit coat was liberally smeared with powdery whitewash, but she did not call that detail to his attention.

  "A delightful welcome for your friends, Lissa," he said testily as he stalked, red-faced, through the open door.

  She had never particularly considered Lemuel Mathis a friend, but decided not to mention that either. "What brings you to J Bar so early in the day?" she asked, ushering him into the parlor.

  Johnny let out a loud squeal of delight from the kitchen, where Clare was feeding him a bowl of oatmeal. Lissa noted a look of anger flash across Mathis's face, but he quickly erased it and answered her question.

  "I know you've been having trouble with your hands quitting since Marcus died," he began.

  "Yes, I've been short-handed for several months, Lemuel," she said, trying to keep the asperity out of her voice. What was he leading up to?

  "Well, I certainly don't want you to lose J Bar, with the rustling problem and everything," he said solicitously.

  Like hell you wouldn't. "I don't plan to lose it. That's why I sent for Jess." She observed the sly expression that came over his face with unease.

  "That is one reason why I'm here, Lissa. I saw your. . . husband in town last night." He said the word 'husband' with obvious distaste.

  "Jess went to wire for more help and make inquiries about hands for hire," she replied.

  "He also went to become intoxicated at the Royale." With satisfaction, he watched her flinch.

  "And you couldn't wait to rush here and tell me," she said stiffly, jumping up from her chair.

  "He spent the night with that Mexican harlot, Camella Alvarez."

  Lissa blanched. "I don't believe it."

  He, too, rose and nodded condescendingly. "Believe it, my dear. His kind will always seek out their own. I felt you should know. Everyone else in Cheyenne does by now. If you don't trust me, you can always make inquiries with some ladies of your acquaintance. Mrs. Wattson, perhaps?" he suggested reasonably, knowing Louella would cut Lissa cold.

  With a sinking heart, Lissa realized that Lemuel was not lying. The matter would be too easy for her to verify. All she would have to do was eavesdrop at the Union Mercantile. She faced Mathis's false solicitude, saying, "I thank you for your concern, Lemuel, but what's between Jess and me is for us to settle."

  "Divorce him, Lissa," he said intensely. "He isn't worthy of you. It was Marcus's dying wish."

  "It was also his dying wish that I abandon my son and turn over J Bar to you. I won't do that, Lemuel," she said bitterly. "This is Johnny's birthright, and I mean to see that he keeps it. You, my father, and Jess can all three go to hell!"

  He gave her a look of scathing anger, then walked stiffly to the door. "When you're so far in debt that you'll need a loan to keep J Bar, come see me. Perhaps by then you'll be ready to listen to reason." He walked out and slammed the door.

  Lissa wished that Cormac had eaten him for breakfast.

  * * * *

  Germaine Channault inspected the selection of ready-made dresses with disdain. "Cheap factory-sewn junk," she murmured beneath her breath. Beside the dresses a display of straw bonnets added a touch of bright color to the otherwise drab emporium, which was cluttered with everything from bolts of fabric to stacks of tinned meats and rolls of the controversial new barbed wire. The smell of tobacco, musty cloth, and stale coffee hung in the dust-filled air.

  Pretending to be absorbed in shopping, she watched the flow of traffic through the busy mercantile, searching for the man she had summoned. Finally she spotted him in the section reserved for cook pots and tin dishes. She walked casually over to inspect a heavy iron skillet, then slipped into the cluttered alcove where she could speak with him and not be observed.

  "Where have you been? Merde! I have been waiting forever," she whispered, feeling a distinct urge to cosh him with the heavy implement.

  "In case you haven't noticed, I have a long way to ride. And keep your voice down. I've poisoned the water just as we planned. I figure the J Bar ramrod will move the cattle within the week, and we'll be ready to take them. It'll be real easy."

  "You think so, hein?" She looked around them, but no one was anywhere near. "I have some news for you. That batard Robbins has come back." At his muttered curses, she smiled bitterly. "Now things are no longer so simple. He could ruin our plans."

  "No. I can handle a dirty Injun. Shit, he's even part greaser. Couldn't be more worthless."

  "That is precisely what Conyers and those fools with him thought! They're all dead now. You will do nothing rash, do you understand me?" She placed one reddened bony hand on his forearm with surprising strength.

  "I understand," he said irritably.

  "Bien. I will consider how to handle this Jesse Robbins. For now, be very careful when you take those cattle. He came to town yesterday to wire for more of his kind."

  "It'd be easier if we disposed of him before they arrive," he said.

  She made a curt dismissive gesture with her hand. "Let me consider it. I will think of a way to put down the cur."

  He grinned wolfishly. "Then Lissa 'n that boy are ours."

  * * * *

  Jess arrived at the ranch house late that afternoon and headed straight to the stables where he encountered Tate grooming his horse.

  The big man's smile was blinding in the dim light. "You look like hell," he said cheerfully, noting Jess's bloodshot eyes and exhausted expression. "While you were in town, Miz Lissa had a caller."

  Jess pulled his saddle off Blaze and slung it across the wooden rail. "Who was it?"

  "None other than Lemuel Mathis. Rooster-crow early this morning, he come ridin' up like his tail feathers was on fire. Now what do you make of that?"

  "I saw him yesterday. He left his fancy club and came to the Royale just to talk to me. I wonder what the hell he's up to," Jess mused.

  Shannon's expression sobered. "You see Cammie?"

  Jess gave him an irritated glance, then began rubbing Blaze down.

  "Mathis is still pesterin' her to divorce you and marry him," Tate said when Jess remained silent.

  "Maybe she ought to do it. I'll know one way or the other if he's mixed up in the rustling in a few weeks. If he's not. . ." The image of Mathis touching Lissa made his guts knot, but he forced the thought aside.

  "You're dumb as dirt, Jess, you know that? That hard-eyed old galoot ain't fit to raise your son. Why, no tellin' what he'd—"

  "Lissa will protect the boy," Jess interrupted in a tight voice.

  "The boy's got a name. Your daddy's name. He's entitled to have a dad
dy just the same as you did, if you ask me."

  "Well, I sure as hell didn't ask you, now did I, Tate?" Jess said furiously, throwing down the body brush and walking the big black into his stall.

  As he left the stable, Shannon's low mutterings carried after him. "Damn fool's stubborn as a lantern-jawed jackass."

  Lissa watched Jess approach the kitchen. Her hurt and anger had simmered until it was scalding. Before he reached the back door, she went to the library, where she knew he would eventually look for her. She sat down with the open ledger and tried again to read the columns of numbers, but her concentration was hopelessly broken just thinking about Lemuel's accusations.

  Please let me be wrong, Jess.

  The sound of his footfalls was low and quiet when he finally approached the library door. He knocked briefly, then opened the door when she murmured for him to enter.

  "You must have had a lot of business in town. It sure couldn't have taken two days just to send a wire. I didn't see any new hands riding with you either," she added, knowing her voice had an accusing edge to it. She was suddenly very glad that Clare had taken Johnny upstairs.

  His eyes swept over her bent head, noting the crumpled papers and scratched-out tallies littering the desk. Mathis's gossip must have scraped the bottom of the trough in spite of Cammie's bow to propriety. "I hired two men and sent them out to Moss. I had other things to take care of."

  She stood up and looked at him, then walked around the desk. "You need a shave and a bath. She sniffed haughtily. "You reek of cheap perfume. Camella's fragrance?"

  "I was too hung-over this morning to risk shaving," he replied coolly. "As to the perfume . . ." He shrugged. Cammie had hugged him good-bye the night before when she had poured him into a hotel room. "It lingers, I suppose. Old Lemuel Mathis must've broken a leg rushing out here to tattle." The lying bastard. He reached for a decanter of whiskey and poured a shot into one of Marcus's fancy cut-crystal tumblers.

  She watched him toss down the drink, feeling something wither and die deep inside of her. "You bastard. How could you—and with her of all women."