Colorado Moonfire

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “We’ll have to go to Victor, where the trail heads into the canyon, and then double back,” she explained tiredly. “Buck, I’m trusting you to follow us. We’ll need you to…carry Thompson out. And I don’t have the strength to hold your reins while I watch the trail. Here we go, now.”

  Lyla let Calico set the pace along the lip of the canyon. The night’s white finery was lost on her now. The wind rattled branches and made crystalized tree limbs clitter restlessly, chilling her. Her limbs felt numb and her mind drifted from one listless image to the next. It occurred to her that she should get help in Victor: how could she possibly bring Thompson’s body out, big as he was? The toboggan was shattered, no doubt, and she certainly couldn’t sling him over Buck’s back.

  Yet she went on alone, guiding Calico down into the canyon, dreading each minute that brought her closer to the wreckage. She had to make her peace, had to say good-bye without interference from strangers who’d deride her for hooking an old harness to a decrepit sled. Only a woman would try such a stunt. Only a lovesick little fool would think she could outsmart robbers and conquer a snow-dogged trail along a cliff.

  Sniffling, Lyla contemplated the empty life that stretched ahead of her. She had a job at the Golden Rose, but could she ever work there again? Surely Miss Chatterly and the ladies would blame her for Barry Thompson’s death—she could imagine daggers in Princess Cherry Blossom’s eyes, and worse. And what of Frazier Foxe? He’d be getting no money from the marshal for his refinery now. Would he take revenge on her, as Thompson’s killer?

  No, she couldn’t stay in Cripple Creek…not with memories of both Mick and Barry to haunt her. Perhaps Hadley McDuff would still have her, despite her flagrant rejection of him a few years back. At least he had money and a grand home…begetting an heir would satisfy him and keep her from embarking on any more treacherous journeys. Her wayward spirit had gotten her into this mess, and it was God’s way of telling her to settle down before she killed anyone else. Living with a stodgy old poop was her life sentence. Her eternal punishment would be recalling Thompson’s magnificent maleness, his uncompromising delight in women, every time McDuff wagged his skinny…finger at her.

  Lyla tugged on the reins, gazing ahead into the canyon. The moon had moved across the sky, and the cliffs were casting shadows that tricked her. A wintry wind blasted her, funneled between the high, rocky walls. Whirling white powder stung her tired eyes until she had to close them and turn her face away. When the gust blew past, she saw a large, dark object several yards ahead. Was it a boulder, blown clear of its snow? Or was it the sled?

  Her heart beating erratically, she nudged Calico no forward. Buck was following close behind, livelier now, as though some scent in the wind had warned him where they were. When he whinnied and trotted past them, Lyla knew why, and the horse’s devotion to his master made the tears stream down her windburnt cheeks. Animals grieved, too, and it was a wretched sight to watch.

  Lyla stopped Calico a respectful distance from the toboggan. She could see now that its curved front end was tilted upward, lodged between the drifted rocks that had stopped Barry’s runaway ride. His head was outlined in the moonlight, above the ropes that still crisscrossed his blanketed chest. When Buck stopped to paw the ground, and then slowly stretched his neck to nuzzle Thompson, Lyla had to turn away.

  The stallion nickered, the rumbling in his throat more insistent the second time. She could picture him nudging Barry’s cheek, imagine the shock when the lifeless chill of his master’s skin sank in with such hopeless finality. Calico shifted, as though to say they should ease Buck’s bereavement by sharing it. Lyla braced herself for what had to be done, praying for the physical strength and emotional fortitude to get the marshal back to town. Then she let her mare amble toward the sled.

  The wind kicked up again, hissing around the rocks like the sinister laughter of a snake. Its eerie whining chilled her—Lord, she was hearing voices now! She was going crazy, alone with a corpse—

  “Buck, you old…son-of-a-gun.”

  Lyla’s head snapped as she stared at the scene silhouetted a few yards in front of her. The stallion tossed his head from side to side and then nipped Thompson playfully.

  “If you…lost Lyla in this snow…we’re in deep trouble, fella.”

  Before she could even breathe, Lyla was scrambling through the drifts, toward a Thompson who sounded weak…but who was alive! She stopped a few feet in front of him, too overjoyed to do anything but gape.

  Barry, who felt as though every muscle in his body was bruised beyond repair, couldn’t resist teasing the wide-eyed angel who stood before him. From the moment he’d heard the harness strap give and felt the sled swooping down the hill, he’d assumed he was sailing out over Phantom Canyon to his own snowy grave. Lyla’s herbal concoction had lost its hold on him shortly after he landed, and for the first time in days he felt lucid, bubbling over with life in spite of his pain. “Whot’re ye steerin’ at?” he rasped in his best imitation of her brogue. “Ye look loik ye’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I thought you were dead, and then—Jesus! Your sled went over the—how was I to know you—” Lyla gasped for breath, seeing the grin twitching at his lips before she realized what he was up to. “You ornery toad! Teasing me, when I’ve been worried sick over how I’d get you to town, and how I’d live without your—”

  “How will you?” he asked quietly.

  “How will I what, damn it?”

  It hurt to laugh, or Thompson would have. Lyla was grinding her fists into her hips, her glare hot enough to thaw limbs frozen from the cold and hours of restricted movement. And he loved her dearly for it. “How will you get me to Cripple? I’d have started in myself, but I’ve been a little…tied up these past few hours.”

  “By the saints, I swear I’ll—I ought to just leave you here!” Lyla kicked at a drift, sending a white shower over Barry’s face and shoulders. When he shivered, she regretted her peevish reaction and quickly wiped him off. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “but I saw no way for you to survive that fall. From where Buck and I stood, it looked like you hit flat down and then skittered around the jagged rocks until—”

  “I angled off a drift, actually.” He saw her eyes sparkling with moisture and knew the time for teasing was over. “It wasn’t much different from the daredevil way I went sledding when I was a kid, but I can’t recommend taking that ride on one’s back.”

  Brushing the snow from his hair, Lyla nodded. She’d been so bravely steeling herself against his death that it was still hard to believe he was watching her, joking with her. Her hand trailed down across the ropes that cut wickedly into his chest. “This must hurt something awful. Let me cut you out—”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, honey,” Barry interrupted quietly. “If you hadn’t tied me in so tight, I would’ve been flung out over the rocks for sure. What’s this make, twice you’ve saved my life now?”

  His tenderness made her heart swell. His face blurred behind a veil of tears. “Barry, I was so sure I killed you, using that old harness to—it would’ve been all my fault—”

  “Just goes to show you I’m too ornery to cash in my chips. I’ll be around for a long time yet,” he assured her, “but now we do need to head for Cripple. These bullet holes are howling like a bitch in heat.”

  Lyla wiped her eyes, alert with purpose now. “Should I hitch Buck to the toboggan again? I’m not sure those straps’ll—”

  “Get me out of this thing. After I sit on a rock for a bit to get my blood pumping in the right direction, I’ll ride him out of here.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Thompson, you’re not strong enough to mount him, much less—”

  “I won’t have to.”

  “—hang on until we get to town,” she protested. “I won’t let you rip those stitches—”

  “And you won’t listen, either!” he rasped. “God love me if I’d landed upside down, and you kept on talking! Now cut me loose!”

  Stung slightly, Lyla l
ooked at the straining knots on the top side of the toboggan and went for the knife in Calico’s pack. Barry had a right to be churlish, after all he’d survived, but damn it, she was doing her best under the circumstances! Carefully she sawed on the uppermost rope, and when it broke she braced Barry’s good shoulder and loosened all the ties. Leaning heavily upon her, he limped to a flat rock nearby.

  Barry felt like a pincushion, needles and pins jabbing each of his cold, stiff limbs as he sat down. His woman was watching him with eyes that glistened in the moonlight. He’d made her cry when he should’ve been thanking her, after all he’d put her through. As his good arm got its feeling back, he extended it, inviting her into his embrace.

  Lyla stepped forward, her chin quivering. When his hug enveloped her, she leaned into him and let his blessed warmth and forgiveness flood through her. Barry was alive, and he didn’t blame her for the terrible ride he’d taken! His lips found hers, coaxing softly until she responded with a kiss that held the love of a million tomorrows, the hope of a harrowing loss redeemed.

  He broke away, chuckling. “I’ll take up where we left off when I’m stronger, little lady,” he whispered. “Lead Buck over here. Better get on him while I still can.”

  Hearing the ebb of his strength quite clearly, Lyla didn’t argue. One look at the sled, which had a wide crack down its middle, confirmed that the stallion was the marshal’s only plausible mode of transportation. The horse obeyed, standing still as Lyla lowered the stirrups to their original length. Then she questioned Barry with a glance.

  He tried to smile through his pain. “Buck, let’s show Miss O’Riley just what sort of rank bronco she broke tonight,” he said lightly. “Kneel, boy. Down on your knees.”

  With a grace that amazed her, the huge horse lowered first his back end and then his front, docile as a house dog. He waited, unflinching, while Lyla helped Barry stumble over top of him to land in the saddle with a heavy groan.

  Sweat beaded his upper lip and his head felt swimmy, but by God, he would arrive in Cripple like a man. No sense in causing undue alarm or giving the wrong people ideas about how incapacitated he was. Lyla didn’t need to suspect his new resolutions about the way he intended to woo her, either. Close calls with death had given him a new perspective on life and love. The fact that he was breathing after all this was a sign—a second chance to do right by the woman who deserved his respect for the rest of her days.

  “Up, Buck,” he said with a fond slap on the stallion’s shoulder. And when the horse had risen to its full height, he looked down at the tiny, jacketed angel who was knee-deep in snow, the biggest grin he could fix on his face. “Shall we go? By the time we get to town, Doc Geary ought to be wide awake, ready to tell me what a damn fine nurse I’ve had.”

  Chapter 9

  Lyla dozed in a hard wooden chair, lulled by low voices coming from Doc’s examination room. The warm waiting area, dimly lit by the dawn, was the perfect place to nap after the exhausting ride from Phantom Canyon. Barry had insisted on stopping here rather than at the hospital because Dwight Geary was a trusted friend, a man who’d get him back on his feet without gossiping, and without experimenting in any new-fangled treatments, he said.

  She’d chuckled at the lawman’s comment and wondered how he felt about her unorthodox nursing methods. But when Geary stepped into the lobby, smiling tiredly from behind his spectacles, she knew why Thompson liked him. Dwight was getting on—he was in his sixties, she guessed—and his years of patching up miners and pandering to millionaires at all hours had left him slightly stooped. They’d gotten him out of bed, yet he’d dressed hurriedly without complaining, greatly relieved that the marshal was back alive.

  “Well, young lady, you’ve been through quite an ordeal,” he said as he sat down beside her.

  “Aye, sir. Twice I thought we’d lost him.”

  “So he told me. I checked his wounds and put fresh bandages on them, and insisted he go to the hospital for a few days’ rest.” With pale blue eyes, Geary took in her boots and faded jeans, and her brother’s heavy coat. “What’d you put on those bullet wounds, anyway ?”

  Lyla’s stomach lurched. Had she made Barry worse instead of better? “I…well, I disinfected with lavender and yarrow, and applied packings of eucalyptus leaves and lady’s mantle to reduce the inflammation. I—”

  “Bang-up job. You’ve got grit, and if you’d ever consider becoming a nurse, I’d certainly—”

  The door opened, and Matt McClanahan entered with a gust of wind. He looked anxiously from Lyla to the doctor. “That’s Thompson’s horse outside. Is he here? Is he all right?”

  “He’ll be pestering us with his bad jokes again in no time,” Geary chortled. “Took two bullets down around Phantom Canyon, but this young lady had the wherewithal to keep him alive.”

  McClanahan’s eyes flashed with gratitude, bluer and more direct than the doctor’s. He removed his hat and smiled at her. “Lyla, isn’t it? From the Rose?”

  She nodded, thinking his new bride must spend hours on end gazing at him.

  “Well, now. That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear,” he continued with a relieved chuckle. “Emily and I postponed our honeymoon until we knew what had become of him. I trust he left those three desperadoes in worse shape than he was?”

  Lyla sighed tiredly. “It was an ambush, Mr. McClanahan. They got away.”

  “Damn!” Matt slapped his hat against his knee. “We’ll get those—can I see Barry? If I knew who to go after—”

  “Right now you can be better help by assisting me,” Doc Geary said pointedly. He stood up and opened the door to the examination room. “I’m checking him into the hospital, and I could use a strong set of arms to boost him into my wagon. He’s flatly refused to be seen on a stretcher or in an ambulance.”

  McClanahan laughed. “Must be feeling pretty spry, then.”

  “And Lyla, could you see to his horse?” the physician asked. “He seems to put great store in the way you handle that animal.”

  “Certainly. I have to go to the stable anyway.”

  She rose slowly, wanting to see Barry off, and wanting to tell McClanahan he could take Emily’s wedding ring with him. But a voice from the other room bellowed, “You going to leave me on this table all day, Doc? If I’ve got to go to the hospital, I might as well arrive in time for breakfast.”

  Dr. Geary chuckled, shaking his head. “Duty calls, Matt. Why not drop by later to see him, Miss O’Riley? I’m sure he’d enjoy that.”

  Lyla nodded and watched them disappear through the doorway. Extreme weariness overtook her, and all she could think of was a hot bath and a cozy bed. “I’ll be at the Golden Rose if you need me,” she called in to the men, but she heard no response.

  Outside, the wintry breeze whistled around the corners of the buildings. As Lyla headed down the street with the horses, she wondered where the McClanahans had planned to honeymoon and how soon they’d be leaving now. Or would they stay in Cripple until the robbers were caught? Lyla knew how disappointed she would feel if such a nasty episode postponed a romantic trip. Emily would surely be happier if she could at least have her jewelry back.

  She entered the dusky livery stable smiling. This afternoon, after she visited Barry, she would find out where Matt and Emily were staying and deliver the locket and the ring. Then she’d turn the rest of the loot over to Rex Adams, Barry’s deputy, and explain why the McClanahans’ pieces were missing from the leather pouch

  Looking around, she saw that neither Wally Eberhardt, the manager, nor his stablehands were around yet. It was a good time to pick the two items out of the pouch—her meeting with Connor Foxe had taught her not to trust anyone who might be lurking in these shadows. Dismounting, she led Calico and Buck past stalls strewn with musky straw, where horses of all sizes and colors looked over their shoulders, nickering at her. She was in luck: the back two stalls were empty. After wrapping the buckskin’s reins around a slat, she led her mare into the corner. “I’ll be with yo
u in a minute, Buck. Got a little business to tend to.”

  Squatting with her back toward the aisle, Lyla picked through the pouch until she found the exquisite diamond ring and the gold locket ornately engraved with the initials EMR. Would she ever wear such expensive jewelry herself? She’d only caught a glimpse of the aquamarine ring Barry had lost to the bandits. She knew it was intended for her, but the thrill of anticipating such a gift was dampened by the thought that the thieves might come after the marshal—or her—before the ring was seen again.

  Lyla slipped Emily’s pieces into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled the pouch’s drawstrings. “Okay, Calico, let’s get your gear off and brush you down. You and Buck deserve double rations for getting the marshal and me back safely.”

  She reached over to unfasten the saddle girth and heard an ominous click behind her. “I believe you’ll be coming with us, Miss O’Riley.”

  Lyla pivoted and found herself facing a pistol, held fast in Wally Eberhardt’s thick grip. He was standing beside Connor Foxe, his usual toothy grin a sharp contrast to his actions.

  “Wally—I—what’s going on here?” she stammered. “I was just bringing the marshal’s—”

  “What’s in the sack?” Foxe demanded.

  She’d despised his cockiness the first time they’d met, and now his smart-aleck grin really galled her. “Nothing.” she spat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll tend these tired horses and—”

  “Keep her covered, Eberhardt. Looks to me like our lady from the Golden Rose has turned some tricks the past few days. And she hasn’t even been at work.”

  Her cheeks burned when Eberhardt’s dumb chuckle made his belly quiver. And as Connor reached for the leather pouch, she jerked it behind herself and backed toward the wall. “You don’t know a thing about me! And you’ve no right to—”