Blaze of Lightning Roar of Thunder

by Helen A Rosburg

  “It will not be easy.”

  “None of them ever are.”

  This time she heard the sigh.

  “I know many of the tribes north of here.”

  It was Blaze’s turn to sigh. “And?”

  Bane turned to her at last. “I have many friends. They will help us find the men we seek. They will also help us find a herd of buffalo.”

  “Buffalo?”

  Bane dropped abruptly from his feet to a cross-legged position.

  “There are six of them, Blaze. Only two of us. We will need help.”

  “Help …”

  “I will explain …”

  The night deepened as Blaze listened, rapt. Disbelieving. At the end she realized her jaw was agape. “You’re … you’re serious, aren’t you?

  No response. Not the arch of a brow, the flicker of an eyelid. Blaze turned away and walked to where their animals were tethered. She stroked Lonesome’s neck as something clenched tight in her belly. She ran her hands down her mount’s shoulder, again and again, until she believed her equilibrium had returned.

  It was an amazing plan. Daring. And dangerous. Deadly dangerous.

  “It will be hard on the horses,” was all she could find to say.

  “We will find more horses. We need pack animals as well.”

  “We’ll have to ride back into town. And the sheriff’s probably poisoned everyone’s mind by now.”

  “We will not ride back to town. I have heard of a small stage depot …”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  RING POUNDED THE LAST NAIL INTO THE TOP RAIL of the corral nearest the house. Shifting the hammer into his left hand, he tested the strength of the board with his right. It held fast. Out of the corner of one eye he caught Carrie looking at him, hands planted on her hips. He twirled the hammer, gunslinger style, and jammed it through his belt. His reward was the melodic sound of her laughter. She joined him at the fence.

  “Thanks for doing that, Ring. It’s needed doing for a long time.”

  “Yup. Horses chewed down nearly every one o’ them top rails.” He turned toward the house and sniffed like a hound testing the air. “What you got cookin’?”

  “Stewing chicken, dumplings. Fresh-baked bread.”

  Ring groaned and pressed a hand to his lean, hard belly. “You tryin’ t’spoil me?”

  “You betcha.”

  It was Ring’s turn to laugh. “Oh, wait. I know. It’s Rowdy’s farewell dinner.”

  “Nope. That’s tomorrow night.”

  Ring turned abruptly serious, and Carrie laid a hand on his arm. He covered it with one of his own, but looked away into the distance, squinting into the red sun setting behind the mountains.

  “Ring.”

  “I’m all right.” He patted Carrie’s hand. “It’s just that we’ve … we’ve been together a long time.” “I know,” she said quietly.

  “But he got a good job, with a good outfit.” Ring patted Carrie’s hand a final time and stepped away, forcing a smile to his lips. “And he’ll be back this way.”

  “In the meantime, you’ve still got Sandy to raise.” The remark drew the desired chuckle.

  “Yeah, he’s a handful, all right. But a good hand with a horse.” He gazed over at the corrals, all of them nearly full. “We need t’get these animals trained up and sold. Feed bill’s high, and pens are overcrowded.”

  “We have an order for four already, don’t forget, and more customers inquiring almost every day.”

  Ring didn’t miss the note of pride in Carrie’s voice. He had to concede her idea had been a good one, and for more than one reason.

  He was tired of the endless wandering, he had to admit, and he liked the training side of the business better anyway. Time to let someone else go out and find the horses. It was more than okay with Sandy, too, it seemed. His leg still bothered him some, and long hours in the saddle on the trail weren’t doing him, or it, any good. Ring pushed back his hat and pulled at his chin. Yep, it had been the right decision. And the best part of it was standing right next to him.

  Carrie had remained silent and immobile, instinctively knowing Ring was mentally weighing his decision. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until he exhaled a long sigh and put his hands on her shoulders. Her heart raced, then melted, when she looked into his eyes.

  It had been devastating losing her parents. If it hadn’t been for Ring, she didn’t know what she would have done. At first she had simply been grateful for his helpfulness, his kindness, and the gentle nature of his spirit. She wasn’t sure when gratitude had turned into love, and she didn’t care. She only knew she wanted to care for this good man until the end of her days.

  Ring could read the yearning in her expression, in the very lines and angles of her body. He wondered briefly what he’d done to earn such a reward at the end of his long, hard trail, then decided it didn’t matter, not one damn bit. Somewhere along the way he must have done something good. And it sure was all good now. As he leaned toward her, he watched her eyes close and parted his lips in anticipation of hers.

  The sound of hoofbeats startled them both, and they moved away from each other. Ring swore softly under his breath and edged backward toward his rifle sheath slung over a fence post.

  “There’s two of them,” Carrie said.

  “I see that.” Ring eased the rifle out of its sheath.

  The dust cloud drew nearer, but it was hard to make out the riders in the failing light of dusk. Ring let the rifle hang at his side, barrel pointed at the ground. The riders weren’t coming at a hard gallop, but a leisurely lope.

  “Ring?” Carrie took a tentative step forward. “You know the horse you gave me, the pelouse, Gus?”

  Ring only nodded in response, and Carrie turned to look at him. “Yes,” he said aloud, and she returned her attention to the oncoming riders.

  “I swear one that’s coming looks just like him,” she said softly.

  Her younger eyes had spotted it first, but Ring finally made it out himself. The markings were distinctive. It surely was one of the Nez Perce horses. The hair on his forearms stood up.

  It couldn’t be.

  Slowly, deliberately, Ring put his rifle back in its sheath. Carrie looked at him levelly.

  “You know them. Don’t you?”

  Ring nodded, but Carrie felt no great sense of relief. Something was wrong. She turned back toward the riders and studied them.

  Both wore buckskins. Both had long, black hair, but one was clearly a woman. The one riding the spotted horse. Something unpleasant fluttered in Carrie’s belly.

  The riders reined their mounts to a jog and approached more slowly, nonthreateningly. The man raised his hand in a gesture that was part greeting, part indication he intended no harm. Carrie was surprised to note that although he appeared to be of Indian blood, his eyes were as blue as a morning sky. Her gaze flicked to the woman.

  Her beauty was as striking as the blaze of white in her ebon hair. The uncomfortable feeling in Carrie’s stomach crept up closer to her heart. The woman’s eyes widened, her lips parted, and her gaze riveted on Ring. Carrie looked over her shoulder.

  The expression on his face was unfathomable. He took off his hat and held it against his chest.

  “I’ll be damned,” Ring said in a voice so low Carrie barely heard it. “I’ll be damned.”

  The man and woman dismounted and exchanged glances. Then the woman walked forward. Ring moved to meet her. Three paces apart, they halted.

  Carrie watched a tear slip from the woman’s eye. Saw her raise her arms. Looked on in disbelief as her man moved into the woman’s embrace.

  Profound silence followed Blaze’s disclosure. Ring resisted the immediate impulse to look at Carrie. He did not want Blaze, or Bane, to misinterpret what they might see in his expression. He did not want them to think he condemned them in any way. But Carrie, pushing abruptly away from the rough-hewn kitchen table, spoke aloud the words swirling in his head.

&nb
sp; “You’re the ones we’ve been hearing about! You’re the bounty hunters … and you know Ring!”

  Carrie was on her feet in an instant, and clapped both hands over her mouth. Bane rose with slow dignity from the table.

  “Thank you for your kind invitation to stay for dinner, but we have to be moving on. If you’d still sell us the horses, we’d be grateful.”

  Ring didn’t move except to look up at Bane, then at Carrie.

  “People gotta do what they gotta do,” he said evenly. “Sit back down, Bane. You’re still welcome to stay for dinner. Carrie, this woman here, who calls herself Blaze, got that name from me. And I gave it to her when she saved Sandy’s life.”

  Carrie’s hands fell away from her face. She felt her jaw drop. Everything was happening a little too fast, and now it was a little too overwhelming. Unusual strangers had ridden into her place, Ring apparently knew them, he had an emotional moment with the woman, invited them into her house, she learned they were the infamous bounty-hunting couple, and now …

  “Sit down, Carrie honey, before you fall down,” Ring urged gently and pulled back her chair.

  “No, we should leave.” Blaze rose and moved to Bane’s side. “We never should have come into your home in the first place.” Together they turned to leave.

  “No, wait!” Carrie hurried to the door and stood in front of it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I just … I was just so surprised …”

  Ring finally pushed to his feet and joined Carrie by the door, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. He looked Bane straight in the eye.

  “Please stay,” he said simply. “You’re my friends. Nothing can ever change that.” Ring dared at last to look at Blaze, and he knew she comprehended his sincerity.

  The moment came to an abrupt end when the sound of hissing and spitting came from the woodstove top.

  “Oh my gosh. My stew!”

  Blaze welcomed the interruption. It not only ended the awkward moment, but gave her the chance to do what she knew she must. For Ring.

  “I’ll help Carrie clean up and get dinner on the table.”

  He got the message.

  “Why don’t you and I go look at those horses,” he said to Bane.

  Bane nodded and followed Ring outside. Grabbing a towel, Blaze lifted the heavy stew pot off the stove.

  “You don’t have to do that!” Carrie protested. “I—”

  “You’ve made Ring happy,” Blaze cut in. “I prayed he would find someone. He’s a good man.”

  Carrie dropped her chin to her chest as color flooded her cheeks, completely at a loss for words.

  “He says I saved Sandy’s life,” Blaze continued gently. “But Ring saved mine as well. Without him I wouldn’t be standing here speaking to you.”

  Carrie forced herself to meet Blaze’s dark gaze. Curiosity burned like a hot iron.

  “He … he said he gave you your name. Blaze.”

  “Yes.” Blaze steeled herself. It would be good to tell Ring’s woman the story, good to have its fire in her blood. She inclined her head at the table. Carrie accepted the wordless invitation and sat, hands folded in her lap, and Blaze sat across from her.

  “He gave me that name because I would not tell him the name my parents gave me when I was born,” she began, voice low and controlled. “I left that name behind when I buried all the people of my village and all my family, my mother and father and brother, Tomas. Evil men wanted black-haired scalps; they turn them in to the government for bounty, saying they are Apache.”

  This time when Carrie raised her hands to her mouth it was to stem the nausea.

  “They killed my people and took their scalps. They left me for dead.” Blaze touched the white streak in her hair. “I buried them all. Every one. At the end of three days I was done. I took off my clothes—clothes stiff with blood—and walked into the mountains. I began a new life.”

  Without even realizing what she was doing, Carrie took one hand from her face and reached across the table. Blaze let her take her hand, although she did not return the pressure of her fingers.

  “I taught myself how to shoot,” she went on, “and I started hunting evil men. I earned enough to stay alive. I only needed to learn to ride a horse so I could pursue the most evil men of all. That’s when Ring found me.”

  Blaze recounted her time with Ring in the mountains, and Sandy’s healing. She told of the journey to Phoenix, the horse, and Ring’s mother. When she saw tears well in Carrie’s eyes, the numbness seemed to leave her fingers and she squeezed the girl’s hand. She finished her tale with the day she and Bane said good-bye to Ring.

  “I have not seen him since, until today. You know of my life with Bane since that day, you have heard. And now I know of Ring’s. I have seen.”

  Blaze permitted the smile that came to her lips from her heart, and Carrie returned it, intuitively understanding, and cherishing, all it implied.

  “I … I apologize again for my … my reaction when I realized who you were. I didn’t mean to judge you. I’m so very sorry for the terrible things that happened to you, and I … I understand why you do … what you do.”

  “And why we will continue,” Bane said.

  Both women looked up, startled. Engrossed in their conversation, neither had heard the men reenter.

  “Blaze,” Bane said, his voice cold and hard. “Ring has told me about his woman.” He glanced briefly at Carrie. “Her parents were killed, her mother raped first.” His eyes came back to Carrie. “Tell her. Tell Blaze of the man you saw,” he commanded.

  Carrie sat erect, pushing her spine into the back of the chair for support. Her fingers trailed across the table, away from Blaze’s hand. With visible effort, eyes tightly shut, she forced herself to speak.

  “I’ll never forget him,” she whispered, and raised a hand to her cheek. “He had a scar … here. A scar like lightning.”

  When she opened her eyes at last, it was to see the woman’s face across from her was bloodless.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  DEEP NIGHT BLANKETED THE NORTHERN PLAINS. Clouds dimmed the stars, and the intermittent light of the half moon did little to relieve the darkness. It did not help Blaze sleep. She lay still and listened to the small sounds of the night that existed within the small copse of trees where they had made camp. There were rustlings in the sparse undergrowth and in the branches over their heads. The nearby stream, an offshoot of the Bighorn River, burbled noisily. When she heard a distant howling, Blaze wondered idly if it was a coyote or a wolf. Bane would know.

  And then, as if she had conjured him, he was at her side.

  “You cannot sleep.”

  “No.”

  “Do you fear the morrow?”

  “I fear nothing when I’m with you,” she replied honestly.

  Bane lowered himself to the ground and stretched out beside her.

  “You have been … quiet … in the days since we saw your friend and his woman.”

  “I’ve never been talkative, Bane.” Blaze smiled in the darkness. “You know that. And they’re your friends, too.”

  He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Yes. They are friends to us both. And not only because we now share a common purpose.”

  Blaze held her tongue, remembering the painful scene following Carrie’s revelation. The circumstances had forced her to retell, and relive, her brother’s hanging. Bane had had to add his own part of the story. Carrie’s shock and horror had been difficult to watch. And Ring had grieved for them all.

  The scarred man. Jake. The author of so much pain, so much sorrow, so much destruction. The terrible irony of the coincidence was not lost on her either. But it had brought them all together, and that was a good thing. In the midst of a scarred landscape, a single flower bloomed.

  “Ring is pretty sure we’re headed in the right direction, isn’t he?” Blaze said at length.

  “He said when they lost the trail it was headed north. Yes.”

  “And you beli
eve we’ll find him somewhere near Fort Laramie.”

  “Yes.”

  They listened to the night sounds together for awhile. Blaze lay on her back with her hands clasped at her waist. She was surprised when Bane’s hand covered hers.

  “I must make a confession to you.”

  Blaze turned her head in Bane’s direction, brows arched in amazement, lips forming a perfect O. She saw amusement reflected in his eyes. And something else.

  “Ring cared for you, as he now feels for Carrie. Yet you did not return the affection.”

  “I did, Bane. But only as a friend.”

  “Because your feelings were for me.”

  The silence stretched. “Yes, that’s true,” Blaze said at last.

  “And I have love for you as well. You know this.”

  She could only nod. A strange stricture had formed in her throat.

  “After the bear’s attack, I did not think it wise to allow that part of our … relationship to continue. Our lives, our goal, depended on our focus, our total commitment to our purpose. I believed this. I do not believe it any longer. I was wrong.”

  “Bane—”

  “So much bad, so much evil has come from the man who raped my mother. But now there is good as well,” he went on, as if he had read her earlier thoughts. “There is friendship, and united purpose, and the love Ring has found for this woman. These things are good. They are reasons to stay alive. And to celebrate life.”

  It was the longest, most profound speech Blaze had ever heard him make. Her heart twisted, and her gut wrenched. She wanted to tell him what was in her heart, how much he mattered to her, how much she loved him.

  “Bane,” she tried again.

  This time his finger touched her lips, stilling her voice. His mouth followed.

  The kiss was slow at first, deep, as they rediscovered each other’s taste and texture. Blaze wondered if Bane could taste the tears in her throat. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him to her as if she feared he might draw away, only letting go to help him pull the buckskin shirt up and off.