A Fire in the Blood

by Shirl Henke

  Germaine screamed his name as she struggled with Cormac. Lissa called the dog off, but as soon as he released the crazed old woman, she seized the knife from the floor.

  "You've killed him," she shrieked, trying to leap up and go for Jess with the knife. The big dog's jaws snapped, closing on her billowing skirt. She fell, twisting her arm and landing on the knife, which imbedded itself to the hilt in her chest.

  Lissa slid away from the bloody corpse and jumped up, running into Jess's arms. "They said they sent men to kill you!" She buried her face against his chest and held on to him, trembling. "How did you know they'd be here?"

  "I went to her hotel room in town this morning. She was a real doting mama. Kept all sonny boy's letters and reports on the cattle he'd stolen. It didn't take a Napoleon to figure out running off the cattle was a diversion. Once I knew she believed her son had a legal claim on J Bar, then I knew you and Johnny were in trouble, left here alone."

  "No one tried to ambush you?"

  "Probably would've if I'd caught up with Tate and the Diamond E men."

  "They came?"

  "Cy agreed to send them. They'll round up the scattered herd. Once I take the Channaults' bodies to the sheriff in Cheyenne, their gang will head out. J Bar's seen the last of rustler troubles. The inheritance is safe for Johnny now."

  Lissa's chest tightened as a feeling of foreboding squeezed her heart. "Jess—"

  Just then Johnny let out a loud wail. Clare held him in a death grip as she huddled against the far wall of the pantry. Lissa released Jess and walked into the storage room for her son. "It's all right, Clare. Come out now. Everything's over. They can't hurt you," she said soothingly to the maid as she took her son and looked questioningly at her husband.

  The white-faced maid shuddered and looked away from the two bodies, then made a run for the back door and was sick over the side of the porch. Lissa held Johnny, kissing his head as he cried furiously. Looking up at Jess, she said, "I'd better feed him. He's really starving now."

  Jess examined the oozing wound on her arm and noticed the red weals on her hands from the hot pots. "I think you need some attention first."

  "It's just a scratch, and the burns aren't bad. I'll feed Johnny before I tend them."

  "Will you be all right here? I have to take these bodies to the sheriff and do some things in town. I expect Tate and Moss will ride in by dark."

  He touched her cheek tenderly, then ran his hand across Johnny's dark hair. They stared into each other's eyes silently for a moment. No words were spoken, but she understood and he knew that she did. The baby continued to cry.

  "I have to . . ." Her voice failed her. Finally she worked up her courage and said, "You aren't coming back, are you, Jess?"

  "The ranch is safe. Moss is loyal to the brand. He'll handle things for you."

  For me. For Johnny. But never for you. "J Bar will always stand between us, won't it, Jess." It wasn't really a question.

  "It's for him, Lissa." He looked at his son, who had subsided into red-faced whimpers. "Take him East with the income you'll have from the ranch. Start a new life."

  "Where no one will call him a breed or a bastard." She nodded in resignation, then rose on her tiptoes, with the crying baby between them, and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "Keep safe, Jess—or if you can't do that, be careful." Lest she break down again, Lissa turned and fled past Marc Channault's body, through the hallway and up the stairs to her room, not caring at all if the dead man had really been her half-brother or not.

  As Johnny's wails subsided, Jess carried the two bodies out to the spring wagon, tied Blaze to its back, and began the long ride into Cheyenne.

  * * * *

  Just as Jess had predicted, Tate, Moss and most of the hands returned that night. The rustlers, seeing the Diamond E men arrive along with so many J Bar men, gave up and scattered. Without the enticement of the bounty on Jesse Robbins, they had no reason to stand and fight.

  Early the next morning Cy Evers rode up to the front door, hat in hand, red-faced and nervous. Lissa ushered him into the kitchen and fed him a hearty breakfast to put him at ease.

  "I know why you're here, Cy, and I'm grateful." She hesitated. "I—I'd like to think my father would be, too." She did not really believe it, but it might make Cy feel better.

  He surprised her by saying, "Marcus was my friend, but he was a fool." Cy studied her over the rim of his coffee cup with shrewd blue eyes. "I owe you a lot for savin' my Dellie from that skunk, Brewster. . .. Time was I thought Jesse Robbins

  was just like him, mebbe worse," he added in chagrined honesty. "But I was wrong. He came to me last night. Told me he had no right to what Marcus built. Never wanted it, but he loved you and couldn't help that, even if he was sorry for the hurt he put on you 'n on his boy. I told him Marcus 'n me and all them good folks in Cheyenne had a lot to do with that hurt. Told him I was sorry."

  "He asked you to handle our fall roundup and hire me a professional manager, like the foreign stock companies have, didn't he?"

  He could see the quiet acceptance in her and the pain she hid beneath it. Marcus Jacobson's headstrong, spoiled little girl had grown up. He only prayed his own daughter showed half her grit and maturity someday. "Yep, 'n I said I'd be proud to do it."

  She reached her hand toward him, hesitantly. Then he too reached out, clasping her small, smooth hand in his veined, gnarled one.

  "Thank you, Cy."

  * * * *

  Roundup went smoothly, and the profits from sales were the best ever. Her new manager, Jack Eckert, was efficient enough to run J Bar without any help from her.

  Winter arrived, leaving Lissa snowbound with only Johnny and Clare for company at the big house, although they did hire several youths from town to do the heavier cold-weather chores such as chopping firewood. Cormac was allowed to sleep in the kitchen and frequendy accompanied her down to the bunkhouse to visit Vinegar.

  Cy was an occasional visitor when the storms blew over. He had sent the embittered and humiliated Cridellia East to some distant kin in Knoxville. In March he was delighted to share the news with Lissa that Dellia had become engaged to a prosperous older merchant. His family assured him that the man was of fine character and doted on his young fiancee.

  Doc Headly made several calls, checking on their health during the bitter winter season and keeping Lissa abreast of the goings-on in Cheyenne. Lemuel Mathis married Emmaline Wattson and bought up the small Circle Q spread to the west of J Bar. Quite a comedown from his ambitions of owning the biggest outfit in the territory.

  Spring slowly began to whisper across the sear brown grasslands of the basin with its soft, warm winds and sweet green breath. Lissa smiled to herself. She had a proposal for Lemuel Mathis, one that just might give them each their heart's desire.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Camella Alvarez dropped the spoon against her saucer with a clatter, then glanced around the almost deserted dining room at Esselborn's. It was not the best restaurant in Cheyenne, but the food was good and the owner would serve fallen women such as Cammie and Lissa. "What do you mean you've sold J Bar to Lem Mathis?"

  "He received good terms on a loan from his father-in-law's bank. Horace Wattson is thrilled to see the J Bar brand owned by his son-in-law. I've put the money in trust for Johnny. My Uncle Phineas is investing it for me in St. Louis," Lissa said with a sly smile.

  Cammie returned the smile. "Let me guess—you do not plan to return East with your nino."

  Lissa fished around her plate of dried-apple pie and took a bite. "Well, I was sort of thinking that some traveling might do us a world of good after being cooped up all winter. Johnny's a year old now and weaned..."

  "And you think Texas would suit you, no?"

  "I think Texas would suit us, yes."

  "Jess will be muy furioso," Camella replied, brushing a pastry flake from her chin with a gamine grin.

  "I figure once we're there and J Bar's gone . . . he'll be stuck with us," Lissa said
nervously. "After all, he did keep telling me it was my ranch to do with as I saw fit for Johnny's benefit. I just happen to think having a father will be of more benefit to my son than having a cattle empire."

  "And you have come to me for directions to the Double R," Cammie said, seeing the determined gleam in her friend's eyes. "Things will be very dull in Cheyenne when you are gone. I shall miss you."

  She began to draw a map.

  * * * *

  The summer sun had always been merciless on the high plains of Wyoming, but the farther south they journeyed, the more grueling it felt. The air was damp and heavy as well as stiflingly hot. Johnny, teething and fretful, dozed restlessly in his mother's lap as they bounced along what passed in the Big Bend country of West Texas as a road. Cormac slept on the floor, cramped between the hard-backed seats of the small vehicle. Outside the coach, Tate Shannon rode with a small cawy of Lissa's best horses, which she was bringing as a dowry of sorts to the Double R.

  The stagecoach ran once a week from Persimmon Gap to the sleepy little village of Terlingua, which she understood was mostly Mexican. Although not as fluent in Spanish as she was in French, Lissa had learned a smattering of the language in her school days. For the past five-hundred miles she had been forced to become increasingly more proficient, although Tate's border Spanish served them adequately when she became stumped.

  She was everlastingly grateful that Jess's old friend had agreed to accompany her to the ranch. She gazed across the shabby coach, which carried one snoring drummer besides her and Johnny. Clare had not come with them. In truth, she had always remained a little afraid of Jess, and the idea of living near the border, hundreds of miles from anything but cows, Mexicans, and Indians, terrified her witless, not to mention traveling in the company of a black gunman. Lissa had made her a generous loan with which she opened a dress shop in direct competition with her former employer, Charlotte Durbin.

  Lissa had bidden farewell to her unlikely assortment of friends—Cy Evers and Doc Headly, Vinegar and Moss, even Cammie. Much as she would miss them, she knew her life in Wyoming could never be the same as it had been before Jesse Robbins had ridden into it. None of the respectable women in town would ever allow her within their society again. Jess had certainly been right about that, but he was wrong, desperately wrong, about her moving East with their son and hiding Johnny's paternity.

  The farther into Texas they traveled, the more Mexican the population became, and the more mixed bloodlines became evident. Most of the Spanish-speaking people of this region had some degree of Indian blood. Her son could live and grow

  here without the stigma he would experience in the Anglo north. If the ranch was poor and small—well, she had brought along a small nest egg of cash and the willingness to work hard.

  The flat, desolate desert country they had traveled through gave way to increasingly lush vegetation, sparkling creeks, and awe-inspiring mountains as they entered the Big Bend country. It was incredibly isolated and wild. Tate had warned her it was filled with outlaws and all sorts of desperate men and dangerous animals, but it was also breathtakingly beautiful.

  She guessed that Jess had selected the land for its very remoteness from the civilization that had dealt so cruelly with him and his family. "I will make this my home. I don't care if the Double R ranch house is a paisano’s jacal," she murmured, gazing out the window at the passing scenery.

  When they reached Terlingua, Tate purchased a rickety old wagon and a team from the small livery. Everyone stared at the fire-haired gringa who carried a mixed-blood baby and traveled with a black Americano, yet their curiosity seemed more awe-filled and friendly than hostile. The ranch of the Robbins brothers was only a few hours away. They should arrive well before dark—a good thing since Terlingua's only accommodations were the rooms the putas used above the dirty cantina on the square.

  When Lissa finally pulled the rented wagon up in front of Jess's house, she had a fleeting second thought. Tate put the cawy in the small corral while she climbed down from the seat with a squirming Johnny in her arms and inspected her new home. The land was excellent graze, with a fresh-running stream and thick grass, hidden away in an isolated mountain valley. The cattle they had seen along the way were plentiful and fat, not the scrawny longhorns of the panhandle country, but meaty Herefords, obviously expensive breeding stock.

  She scanned the scene, then returned her attention to the house. It was little more than a log cabin, flat and squat, with only two small windows visible from the front. The area around it, with the exception of one live oak, was starkly denuded of anything resembling vegetation. Dust blew across the front yard and piled in a fine silt against the heavy door, which was inhospitably closed.

  "Sure does look deserted," Tate said uncertainly when he walked up from the corral. He had never been to Jess's place before, but had feared the worst from what his friend had told him.

  Lissa set Johnny down on the bare brown dirt and commanded Cormac to watch the toddling boy, a duty the hound took very seriously. She walked around the side of the building, which was about twenty feet across. "I imagine his brother is off somewhere working stock for the day," she said to Tate as she inspected the bleak little single-story cubicle.

  "Well, it is .. . sturdy," she said as she completed her circle of the building. Tate merely grunted.

  The back had two additional windows, and each side had one, all covered with oiled paper in lieu of window glass. The front and back doors were made of heavy pine planks. She eyed the creek that curved within a stone's throw of the house. "Why in heaven's name, with such a good water supply didn't they at least plant a vegetable garden . . .or something?"

  Tate shuffled uncomfortably. "Most men livin' alone, they don't think much about vegetables."

  She could have sworn he was blushing beneath his ebony skin. Lissa harumphed in disgust. "They must've cut down every tree around to build the damn cabin. Well, let's see what the inside is like. I have a feeling I'll need to set to work right off." She scooped up the baby and dismissed Cormac, who trotted down to the stream for a drink.

  Lissa lifted the heavy iron latch on the front door, and it creaked in protest as it opened. Blinking her eyes, she adjusted to the dim light inside. The main room was a combination of kitchen and living quarters, with a big stone fireplace on the east wall. The floor was planked, not dirt, thank heaven, but it was splintery and bare, coated liberally with the fine yellow dust that blew outside.

  Furniture was rudimentary—a serviceable table with four chairs, an old and somewhat better-crafted pie pantry, which she suspected had been in the family for a while, and a wash-stand with a chipped pitcher and basin atop it.

  Two doors led off the main room. She glanced in each. They were similar, both possessing large beds and a single chair. One bed was rumpled, with dirty clothes strewn about it. Several pictures sat on a small chest. The other was austerely bare, the covers smoothed carelessly across the rough mattress. Jess's room. He had obviously not been home to sleep in it for some time.

  Lissa walked into Jonah's room and picked up an old photograph. The faded picture was of a tall, fair-haired man standing proudly beside a diminutive dark young woman. In front of them were two boys, the taller perhaps seven or eight years old and the small one little older than Johnny. Jess's fierce eyes stared at the camera from a hostile, closed face. His coloring was obviously inherited from his mother, even though the beautifully chiseled features bore a decided resemblance to the handsome man. Little Jonah was blond and fair-complected. He's the white Robbins.

  Trembling, she replaced the picture just as the sound of a gun being cocked was followed by a deadly command.

  "Drop your gun on the floor, stranger. Real slow."

  Tate did as he was bidden by the yellow-haired youth with the 44-40 Winchester leveled at his gut. "You must be Jonah. Jess said you was the spittin' image of yer pa."

  "Please, we didn't mean to intrude." Lissa stood in the doorway, embarrassed to be caught
going through her young brother-in-law's bedroom. "But no one was home, and we've come such a long way."

  Jonah Robbins quickly uncocked the rifle and set it against the wall, his face a study in youthful amazement as his gray eyes moved guilelessly from her to the dark child in her arms. "You . . . you must be my brother's wife and son."

  He stared at Johnny with such awe that Lissa smiled.

  "I never thought I'd be an uncle one day—and then—" His face reddened, and he cleared his throat. "Well, I never thought I'd ever get to see him."

  "His name is John Jesse Robbins. Johnny," Lissa replied, carrying her son over to where Jonah stood. "You're his only uncle, Jonah."

  "You're Lissa," he said, as if he could not believe it.

  "And this is Tate Shannon, an old friend and partner of Jess's, who was kind enough to come with us."

  Jonah offered his hand to the gunman. "I've heard Jess speak of you. Welcome to the Double R." He looked from Tate back to Lissa, uncertain of what to do next.

  "I'll unload everything, then take the horses and wagon down to your stable and unhitch 'em. You folks got family things to talk about," Tate said and quickly left the cabin.

  The youth's bright yellow hair and lighter skin were in decided contrast to Jess, but both brothers had obviously inherited their features from John Robbins. She handed the boy to him, and he took Johnny awkwardly.

  "I never held a youngun' before," he said nervously. "Howdy, Johnny."

  "He's become quite a good traveler since we left Wyoming," Lissa said, waiting for Jonah's reaction.

  He looked at her uncertainly. "Jess never talked much about gettin' married, but I kind of read between the lines about what he didn't say." His face colored with a red flush.

  "He didn't want to marry me—wouldn't have except for Johnny," she replied softly. "Then he left us . . . for our own good. People in Wyoming didn't approve of my marrying a man with Jess's reputation," she added bitterly.