The Littlest Cowboy

by Maggie Shayne

  Chapter 10

  Despite the liniment, Chelsea ached more in the morning than she had the night before. She rolled carefully out of bed, sending a jealous glance toward Ethan. He’d slept the night through in the hand-tooled hardwood cradle and still lay there, peaceful. Content. His legs drawn up underneath him made his little butt poke upward. Chelsea smiled, wondering how anyone could sleep in that position. He seemed comfortable, though.

  She pulled on a bathrobe and slipped quietly out of the bedroom. Another steamy bath would have been nice, but the running water might disturb the baby. She’d just wait until later to soak her aching muscles again. Right now, she’d settle for a cup of coffee and the soothing feel of early morning.

  The kitchen was deserted. Chelsea glanced at the little clock. Only 5:13. No wonder. The others wouldn’t wake for a little while yet. She put on a fresh pot, located a cup and waited for the coffee to brew. When it was done, she took her steaming mug out onto the front porch. She sat down on the swing, leaned back and let the morning work its wonders on her. The new day crept in with its fresh, dewy air and its bird songs. The horizon glowed with brush strokes of fire and gold.

  She sipped the coffee. It was beautiful here. Tranquil. But she couldn’t stay. Not now.

  Her serenity slipped a notch as she recalled what a fool she’d made of herself with Garrett last night. Telling him she wanted him. Confessing she had feelings for him. For God’s sake, the man must be sadistic to let her go on like that when his side of the exchange had been no more than an act to keep her at the ranch. And that would have been reason enough to run. But what clinched it was the reason he wanted to keep her here. To protect her from an abuser and a killer. Just the way her mother used to step in and try to protect her.

  And look where it had gotten Mom.

  No, Chelsea didn’t have it in her to watch anyone else, even someone as misguided as Garrett Brand, step in to take on a fight that belonged to her. She couldn’t see another person hurt in her stead. And she most certainly couldn’t stay here now.

  The problem was, she couldn’t go home, either.

  She stared out at the horizon. There must be somewhere in the world that would be safe for her and Ethan. Somewhere, there must be a haven.

  Then again, Michele had thought the same thing. She’d been running, searching for a safe haven, too. But this Vincent what’s-his-name had found her anyway. And killed her.

  A nicker came from the stable, just beyond the bigger barn. Then another.

  Chelsea looked in that direction, frowning. A whinny followed, and she found herself getting to her feet, tilting her head, squinting. She knew next to nothing about horses. But what she’d heard struck her as odd. Not the normal, soft sounds animals made, but more a cry of alarm. Or something.

  She took another sip from the mug and lowered it to the railing. Then she started down the front steps, pausing before she stepped into the still-moist grass to remove her slippers. No sense soaking them. She tossed them behind her onto the porch and hurried barefoot across the front lawn. The dew chilled her feet and sent a little shiver dancing up her spine. It felt good.

  She reached the big front doors and lifted the cross-piece that held them closed, as she’d seen Garrett do. She tugged one of the huge doors open and stepped inside.

  Dimmer in here. Cooler. The sweet smell of what must be grain, but smelled faintly of molasses, and the soothing scent of the animals themselves filled the place. Chelsea walked down the center between the stalls that lined either side of the stable. Huge brown eyes followed her progress as she moved slowly along. She spotted Sugar when she was almost all the way to the other end of the long, narrow building. She went over to her, stroked her white muzzle. But the horse seemed nervous and jumpy for some reason, dancing away, eyes too round.

  Chelsea wrinkled her nose as she caught a faint whiff of something else. Something that shouldn’t be here. But her attention was distracted from the task of putting a name to the scent when she heard a gentle creaking. She turned to see the big door she’d left open slowly swinging shut.

  She blinked and her throat went dry.

  “The wind,” she whispered, sending the mare a nervous smile. “Just the wind.” Wind or not, she’d had enough of this place. There was a door at the far end, exactly like the one she’d come through. It was closer than the other, so she headed toward it. Now that she’d checked and seen that the horses were fine, she could leave with a clear conscience.

  The spotless concrete floor was cold on her damp feet anyway. She should have worn shoes. She walked quickly to the door, but it took only a single try to tell her that it was not going to budge. Probably a crosspiece, same as on the front door, holding it closed from the outside. Chelsea looked around. There was a smaller door on her left. Not an exit by the looks of it. Probably a tack room or something. Though…oddly, she didn’t smell leather. More like….

  She opened the door. Saw nothing out of the ordinary. But that smell. And…hey, that window was broken. What the…? She was only vaguely aware of a sudden movement outside the broken window. A pinprick of light, flicking from the window to the floor. Lightning bug. Only when the match landed in the puddle at her feet did she realize….

  The gasoline on the floor made a loud whoosh sound and sent her sailing backward. She landed on the concrete floor, hitting it so hard she lost her breath. The fire followed her.

  The baby was crying. And strangely enough, Chelsea hadn’t done anything to stop him. Garrett grumbled under his breath, but dragged himself out of bed anyway. Even if Chelsea was mad enough to shoot him, she shouldn’t take it out on little Bubba.

  Nah. She wouldn’t take it out on little Bubba. So what was up?

  He pulled on his jeans. Ethan kept on yelling. He tugged on socks and stomped into his boots, waiting.

  Chelsea still hadn’t picked the kid up. He gave her every opportunity, even shrugging on a shirt to put off the moment when he’d have to go into that bedroom and maybe see her lying there all sleepy and sexy. He didn’t want to see her. Not after what she’d confessed last night.

  That she wanted him.

  Damn, but the look in her eyes when she’d said it had kept him awake all night. Haunting him like a ghost. Didn’t matter if his eyes were opened or closed, he could still see her there.

  And he’d blown it. Sure as all hell, he’d blown it. He supposed he was a little bit slow. He must be, not to have realized sooner that his part in this little play was more than just an act. The little hellcat meant something to him. Though he doubted he’d ever be able to convince her of it now.

  Ethan howled, and Garrett sighed in defeat and stepped into the hall. Tapping once for politeness, he opened the guest-room door. Ethan sat up in the bed, playing with his toes and hollering largely for the pleasure of hearing his own voice, Garrett thought. He looked up when Garrett stepped inside and grinned his fool head off.

  Garrett gathered him up and scanned the room, the unmade bed, the empty bathroom. Chelsea wasn’t here. Frowning, Garrett looked around for the diaper bag.

  “I’ll get that, big brother.” He spun to see Jessi, sleepy-eyed and ruffly-haired, smiling at him from the doorway. “Here, hand over the little pudge. I’ll give him his morning bath. Meanwhile, you can tell me how last night went. You were already in bed by the time we came home.”

  Garrett frowned as a high-pitched whinny, which sounded an awful lot like Duke, drifted from the stable through the open bedroom window. “Later, Jes.”

  He handed her the baby on the way past, took the stairs at a trot and headed into the kitchen. Fresh coffee. Sugar out on the counter. A spoon.

  “Chelsea?”

  No answer. He frowned, studying the room, the beginnings of worry gnawing at his stomach. She shouldn’t be out alone. Not with Vincent de Lorean after her. But as he glanced at the front door, he saw that it was unlocked. Somebody had gone out this morning. He crossed the kitchen quickly, opened the door and looked over at the porch
swing, half-expecting to see her scowling at him.

  She wasn’t there. But a half-filled coffee mug sat on the railing. And her slippers lay on the steps.

  Duke squealed again, drawing Garrett’s gaze toward the stable. That’s when he saw the smoke.

  He turned just long enough to bellow, thankful for once for his booming voice. “Fire in the stable!” And then he was racing across the lawn, his heart in his throat. He told himself there was no reason in the world to think Chelsea was in that stable. But he believed it anyway. His heart damn near pounded a hole through his chest.

  No. She couldn’t be inside. The crosspiece still held the front doors closed. Garrett lifted it, tugged the doors open. Flames roared in front of him, a solid wall of fire blocking the entrance. Garrett turned away and raced around the side of the building, up the ladder to the second story where the grain was stored, and climbed inside. The place was sweltering and beginning to fill with smoke. But no flames licked at the granary. He got down on all fours, felt the searing heat scalding his palms as he searched for the trapdoor. He coughed, swiped sweat from his brow, found it and jerked it open.

  Light, heat and smoke poured through. No flames, though. He couldn’t see any directly below, so he swung his legs down through, and let himself drop.

  The floor met him halfway, it seemed. Knocked the wind out of him. Damn. He coughed, wheezed, knuckled his stinging eyes and tried to see. He shouted Chelsea’s name, but it was useless. The horses had taken to shrieking in terror. Walls of fire rose at both ends of the stable, blocking the exits, and the flames had spread, licking at the rafters and the stalls at either end.

  Sugar reared and kicked the wall behind her again and again. Her stall was on fire, and she was crazed. Garrett staggered to his feet and started toward the frightened animal. Only then did he stumble on Chelsea. She lay on the floor, barely visible in the smoke haze that filled the place. If he hadn’t tripped over her, he might never have found her.

  Garrett bent down and gathered her up. She hung limply in his arms, head hanging backward. Her robe was smoldering, he realized with a start, and he quickly stripped it off her. Then he moved back to the trapdoor. He slung Chelsea over his shoulder, gripped the ladder and started up. Flames roaring in his ears now. Searing his flesh. Smoke choking him. He was weakening, dammit. Wheezing, gasping like an old man.

  He emerged into the loft, but it was no longer any better here. Worse, if anything. Hotter. Smokier. Flames were now licking up through the floorboards here and there, and the roar was deafening. Horses screamed in an agony of panic.

  He took a step toward the opening he’d come through. Then another. And then the floor beneath him just dissolved, and he and Chelsea crashed down into the hubs of hell.

  “Garrett!” Jessi screamed. “Garrett!”

  She stood as close as she could to the blazing stables, which wasn’t close enough. But she had little Ethan on her hip and didn’t dare go any closer. The place looked like a giant torch, and her beloved brother was inside. It was a nightmare. Elliot manned a hose, trying to soak down the blaze in the doorway enough to get inside. Wes had raced back to the house for a chain saw and now he was revving it and running, which was none too smart, but he did it anyway.

  He headed around the side of the stable, and Jessi raced after him. Wes lifted the saw and sank its ripping teeth into the side of the building. The machine whined and growled. The horses shrieked and the fire roared. Ethan took to crying, too, and soon the noises all blended together.

  Jessi dropped to her knees right there in the dirt, hugging the sobbing infant to her breast and praying out loud for the volunteer firemen to show up fast. She watched as her brother wielded the saw, and as soon as a jagged, gaping hole was made, Wes tossed the chain saw to the ground, lifted his arms over his face and charged right on inside.

  “Wes, no!” Jessi shouted, but she knew it was useless before the words were out. Then Elliot came charging around the side of the burning building, as well, and dived inside after Wes. Blue stood beside Jessi, all four legs braced as he leaned forward, barking at the fire, the hair on his haunches bristling. The dog ran a few steps forward, then backed away, whimpering over and over again, torn between the age-old instinct of self-preservation and the love of his masters.

  The fourth time he lunged forward, ol’ Blue didn’t come back. He leaped through the opening and vanished into the billowing gray smoke.

  “Oh, Lord,” Jessi cried, kneeling and rocking as unchecked tears flowed down her face. “Lord, don’t take my brothers. Don’t do that to me…please….”

  She heard sirens. Time ticked by. Endless moments passed like hours, though it could only have been seconds between the time she heard the sirens and the time the trucks came barreling into the drive, bounding over the grass. Then men were running this way and that, voices yelling orders.

  “Jessica?”

  A warm, big hand closed on her shoulder, and she dragged her gaze from the fiery maw that had swallowed almost all of her family except for Ben and Adam. She saw the worried face of the stranger who’d come to dinner last night.

  “Lash.…God, Lash, my brothers….”

  His dark brows rose over those pale blue eyes. “In there?”

  She nodded, returning her gaze to the hole, praying, hoping.

  “There are people inside!” Lash yelled at the men who were even now manning fire hoses. He touched Jessi again. Both hands this time. “Come on. Get away from here before you and the baby end up hurt.” He pulled her to her feet. But she tugged her arm free as soon as she was upright. “Jessi, there’s nothing you can do here. Come on.”

  Fresh tears spilled over as he guided her away from the building at a run. He pointed her toward the house, then left her, heading back to join the firefighters. Jessi didn’t go far, only halfway, and she never took her eyes off the inferno. The roof was ablaze now, as well. But the flames in the doorway had subsided. She caught her breath when she saw Lash don one of the heavy yellow coats and a helmet, then head inside with the others.

  Only seconds later, big old Duke was led through that doorway with a neckerchief over his eyes. Behind him were Sugar, whose rump bore charred spots, and Paint, dancing and kicking wildly. The man who led them out was Jason Pratt, a local merchant she’d known since kindergarten. He ran across the lawn, releasing the animals into the corral and closing the gate before hurrying back to the blazing stable.

  Marisella’s battered pickup bounced into the driveway, and the elderly woman jumped out with the agility of a sixteen-year-old. She ran up to Jessi. “Give the child to me before you drop him, chica. Here.” She pried Ethan from Jessi’s arms, and the baby stopped crying.

  Then Lash came through the front door, half-dragging Elliot. Elliot’s arm was wrapped around Lash’s broad shoulders. They ran several yards from the stable, then Lash eased Elliot to the ground, whirled and raced back inside. One of the volunteers who hadn’t gone in rushed over to Elliot with an oxygen tank and a mask. Jessi took a step forward, but Marisella’s firm hand on her arm kept her from running to him, as well.

  Two more men came out, Wes suspended between them, his face blackened with soot. He was coughing uncontrollably, and it looked as if he was fighting his rescuers. They dumped him on the ground and one of them stayed with him, trying to hold him there by all appearances, while the other rushed back inside. On his way in, the fire fighter passed another, coming out carrying Chelsea in his arms. He laid her beside Wes and Elliot.

  Jessi did rush forward now, ignoring Marisella’s warnings. She fell on the ground beside her brothers, not caring that she was in the way of the paramedics who tried to tend them.

  “Elliot! Wes! God, I thought…. Are you all right?”

  Wes coughed some more, but tore the oxygen mask away from his face and struggled to his feet. Elliot lay on his back, blinking slowly and breathing deeply from the mask over his face.

  “Garrett’s still in there,” Wes growled at the fire fighter h
olding his shoulders. “And you damned well can’t stop me from going in after my brother.”

  Elliot muttered something that sounded like “Garrett” from beneath the mask. Jessi smoothed his sooty hair away from his black-streaked face. But her eyes were on the door. More horses emerged, then more. She counted them and knew they were all safe. But no sign of Garrett. She glanced Chelsea’s way, but so many people were bending over her it was impossible to see. Fear gripped Jessi’s heart.