Wild Texas Flame Page 15

  “All right, how about this one?” His eyes turned harder. “If you marry me, you won’t have to worry about how to live, how to take care of your sisters, when you lose this ranch.”

  “I’m not going to lose this ranch.”

  He relaxed back into his chair, his expression softening. “You will, Sunny. A woman can’t run a ranch and you know it.”

  She started to protest, but he waved a hand and went on. “Oh, I know some women can, like that widow over in the next county. But she’s big and mean as a rank bull, and looks like one, too. You’re not like that, Sunny. You’re soft and feminine and fragile. You deserve to be pampered and cared for. I want to do that for you.”

  “Mayor Baxter, I know you mean well, and I know you’re concerned about the ranch, about getting your money. You’ll get your money, I assure you. But I am not leaving my home. I have no intention of losing it. My father made a payment last month, and when the cattle are sold at market in a few weeks, I’ll pay you the rest of what we owe.”

  “You seem pretty sure of yourself,” he said, something changing in his face again, something she couldn’t read.

  “I am. I’m so sure we’re staying here, I’m getting ready to expand the garden, something I’ve been meaning to do for years.”

  Baxter shook his head. “Think about what I’ve said, Sunny, please. Think about my offer. You must know that all those reasons I gave about why you should marry me were for you. For me, I just want you for my wife. Say you’ll think about it.”

  Sunny stood and headed toward the door, praying he’d follow. Thank God, he did. “I’ll think about it, but I won’t change my mind. I’m flattered, really I am, but I won’t be getting married for a long time.”

  “And when you do, it won’t be to an old man in a wheelchair, right?”

  She looked at him, her anger draining away. He was lonely. She felt sorry for him. “That has nothing to do with it…Ian. It’s not you I don’t wish to marry. I just don’t wish to marry anyone, not at this time.”

  “I hope you’ll change your mind. Think things through, Sunny, and you’ll see what a good idea marrying me is.”

  As soon as his wagon pulled away from the porch, she slumped against the door.

  As he pulled away from the porch Ian glanced beyond the house and spotted a small patch of freshly plowed earth. He remembered that her garden was usually directly west of the house. He looked, and there it was. This must be the expansion she’d spoken of. He chuckled at her feeble assumption that she would be around long enough to harvest anything.

  He flicked the reins and headed the team toward the road.

  Something about that newly tilled ground made him look back. Cold sweat suddenly broke out all over him. His hands shook on the reins.

  Good God! She’d tilled the ground right behind the cellar!

  “Shit fire!”

  All the way home he shook. Sweat drenched him.

  She’d plowed right behind the goddamn cellar!

  Nearly two hours later, he backed the team until the wagon butted up against his front porch. Wheeling through the front door, he felt rage and frustration eating away at him, along with the familiar, explosive hardness in his loins that always accompanied the anger he could never quite subdue. “Maria!”

  Maria rushed breathlessly into the hall.

  Baxter grabbed her by the arm and started toward his bedroom. “I’ve got an itch, girl. You ready to scratch it?”

  Maria smiled at him, that adoring, worshipful look on her face that made his chest and something else swell. She nodded eagerly.

  She pulled away from him and dashed ahead. Minutes later he was in bed, fumbling at the opening of his pants while tossing her skirt up out of his way.

  Gus Atwater sat at the table in Ian Baxter’s kitchen, his elbows braced on the table, his clenched fists jammed against his lips to hold in the roar of rage.

  He was using her again. That horny old bastard was using her again, and giving her no more thought than he would to his bootjack.

  Damn him!

  And damn her. She lapped up the crumbs of Baxter’s so-called affection like a starving dog. And Baxter treated her just about like a dog.

  Maria!

  Gus squeezed his eyes shut. He knew that in a few minutes—a very few, he thought with scorn—she would come waltzing back into the kitchen, her eyes and skin glowing, that sickening, secret little grin on her lips. With Baxter’s scent clinging to her. And Baxter’s teeth marks on her tits.

  Damn her! Why did she stay with him?

  Gus snorted with disgust. He was a fine one to chide Maria. He ate Baxter’s food, took Baxter’s pay, did Baxter’s bidding, kept Baxter’s secrets. And drooled over Baxter’s woman.

  Gus hadn’t always loved her. At first he’d stayed with Baxter out of loyalty. The old goat had saved him from a lynching out in the New Mexico Territory, Lord, what was it—damn near ten years ago.

  He’d owed the man his life.

  But he’d paid him back that day five years ago, and every day since.

  No, it wasn’t loyalty any longer that kept him licking the mans’ boots. It was Maria.

  Gus had wanted her for himself for what seemed a lifetime. And she knew it. She teased and taunted and bared just enough skin to drive him insane with wanting her. But she also knew, as he did, that if he ever touched her, Baxter would kill them both.

  Not because Baxter cared about Maria, but because Maria was his property, the same as Gus was. And nobody messed with a piece of Ian Baxter’s property. Not even another piece of his property.

  Gus scrunched his eyes shut, wishing he had the nerve to break into the old man’s whiskey. A drink sounded damn good about now.

  But the whiskey, too, was Baxter’s property.

  Hell. Who was he kidding? Whiskey would only get him in trouble up to his ass. Trouble he didn’t want.

  What was there about rotgut—even the good stuff—that made a man’s tongue flap like sheets in a stiff wind?

  That business in San Antonio a few weeks ago could have damn well got him killed. He’d known his jaws were flappin’, he just hadn’t been able to stop. No telling what he’d said to that fellow who’d been buying his drinks.

  But it didn’t really matter now what he’d told the man. Gus had gone back the next day, fighting one helluva hangover, and made sure certain the fellow never repeated anything Gus had said.

  Still, it was just as well he didn’t have a bottle handy this time.

  Before Maria even made it back to the kitchen to tease him with what had just gone on in the front bedroom, Gus heard Baxter bellowing for him.

  He found the old goat propped up on the bed—clothes rumpled and his fly undone—like some damned king waiting for his slaves to wait on him. The smell of sex hung in the air.

  Gus fought the urge to gag. “You called, Boss?”

  Baxter turned to him and grinned the grin that meant trouble for somebody. Big trouble, and the somebody was usually Gus.

  But before the old man spoke, he gestured with his unlit cigar.

  Gus dug around in the drawer of the bedside table, found a match, and flicked it to flame with his thumbnail. He held the match to the end of the cigar.

  Baxter puffed until Gus had to lean back from the cloud of smoke. Then the old man got down to business. “Things are a might too calm over at Cottonwood Ranch. I think you need to take a little ride tonight. Late,” Baxter added.

  It was the middle of the night when Sunny woke to shouts from outside. An instant later she heard Amy scream from the next room. Before she was out of bed Rachel screamed, too. “The barn’s on fire!”

  Sunny’s heart jumped to her throat. There was no use looking out the window. Her bedroom should have been pitch black, but it wasn’t. It was lit by an eerie orange glow.

  “Katy!”

  “I’m awake. What’s wrong?”

  “Get up. Get yourself and the girls dressed and ready to leave the house. But don’t st
ep foot outside until you’re told, you hear?”

  “I smell smoke.”

  “The barn’s on fire. Get the girls. They’re scared.”

  “Aren’t you?” Katy asked following Sunny out into the hall.

  Sunny was so scared she couldn’t even put it in words. But she wouldn’t admit that to Katy. She gave the girl a shove toward their younger sisters. “Go. I’m going outside to see if I can help.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ash heard the commotion. “Sunny?” Over the girls’ shrieking he heard footsteps pounding down the hall. “Sunny?” Then he heard the front door slam. “Sunny!”

  Damn that girl!

  He pulled himself to the side of the bed and lit the lamp. As if they were moths drawn to the light, the three younger girls rushed into his room.

  “The barn’s on fire!” Amy cried.

  “What should we do?” Katy asked, her eyes big and round and full of fear.

  “Where’s Sunny?” he asked, hoping that slam of the front door didn’t mean what he feared it meant.

  “She went out to help,” Katy answered.

  Dammit! What the hell did she think she was doing, running around out there in the middle of the night?

  “What should we do, Mr. McCord?” Katy asked again.

  From his bed he could see the footrest on the borrowed wheelchair parked in the hall. He pulled himself up by his rope and said, “Find me some pants, then you girls get dressed, like Sunny said.”

  “Pants? But—”

  “Just do it,” he told Katy. “And hurry.”

  The girls left his room, and a moment later Katy returned with Ash’s pants. “Sunny washed them for you.”

  “Thanks, Katy. You and the girls get dressed now.”

  There were a dozen times in the next five minutes when Ash was sure he’d never make it, but eventually he was able to get his legs into the pants, then work the pants up over his hips. It was by far the most physical effort he’d expended since the shooting. It left him breathless and trembling with sweat.

  “We’re dressed,” Katy said a minute later from his doorway. “Now what?”

  Ash scooted himself to the foot of the bed until his legs hung over and his feet touched the floor.

  “You’re not getting up!” Katy cried.

  Ash clenched his jaw. He damned sure was getting up. If the house caught fire, he sure as hell wasn’t going to lie in bed and wait to be burned alive. “Bring me that chair.” He nodded toward the straight-backed chair in the corner.

  Katy looked at him pleadingly. “You can’t—”

  “Please, Katy. Just bring me the chair.”

  She reluctantly did as he asked, placing the chair before him.

  Ash turned it around and gripped the back, then used it to struggle to his feet, placing all his weight on his arms. He felt the blood leave his head. His stomach rolled over.

  He leaned on the chair and hung his head. The room didn’t stop spinning, but it at least slowed down. He eased back from the chair until his legs bore his weight. It hurt like blue blazes.

  His legs weren’t going to hold him. His knees started to give.

  Quickly, before he could fall, he shoved the chair forward a few inches, then leaned to shift his weight back to his arms. With more effort than he’d ever imagined it could take, he dragged his legs forward until he stood upright again. Pain shot from the soles of his feet straight up through his brain. How could numb legs hurt?

  Then he had to start over, balancing on quaking legs, inching the chair forward, dragging his legs behind him, praying all the while he wouldn’t embarrass himself by puking in front of his wide-eyed audience.

  When he made it the three feet to the door, he allowed himself the luxury of hanging his head and gasping for breath.

  Katy maneuvered the wheelchair as close as she could.

  He was going to fall. He knew it. To get into the wheelchair he would have to let go of the chair he was leaning on, and he’d fall. And the girls wouldn’t be able to help him up.

  He couldn’t fall. That’s all there was to it.

  He bent at the waist and braced one arm on the seat of the wheelchair. His arm trembled.

  Somehow, with a shove and a twist, he managed to land his butt in the right place. The straight-backed chair toppled over. The wheelchair shot backwards and rammed into the wall. He hit his head.

  But he’d made it!

  God, he was so weak. He trembled all over. Sweat poured from his skin. The lightheadedness eased, but his stomach didn’t.

  He gripped the wheels on each side of the chair and tried to propel himself forward. His hands were so sweaty they slipped, nearly throwing him to the floor.

  “Wait!” Rachel cried. She dashed into his bedroom and came out a moment later with a large pair of fur-lined slippers. She scampered around the chair and knelt before him, looking up at him shyly. “These were my daddy’s,” she said solemnly.

  He felt his throat close. “Thanks, Shortcake.”

  Amy helped Rachel get the slippers on his feet, then put his feet on the footrest of the chair. Katy helped him roll and steer his way down the hall.

  The sensation of moving forward, more or less under his own power, was a strange one. His stomach settled at least enough for him to lose his immediate fear of throwing up. But the forward motion made him dizzy. Black spots danced before his eyes as he passed through the parlor and out onto the front porch.

  Unlike the girls, Ash was able to hold in his cry of alarm at the blast of heat and light and smoke that hit them when they left the house. Flames shot high in the air from the roof of the barn. The north wall was totally engulfed.

  Horses shrieked and raced from the burning building. Someone must be inside opening the stall doors.

  Men shouted and passed bucket after bucket from hand to hand to toss water ineffectually onto the inferno. Ash could tell it was useless. There was no saving the barn.

  Unless the wind changed directions, the house was safe. But the bunkhouse wasn’t. The men would be better off letting the barn burn itself out, and tossing all that water onto the bunkhouse to keep it from catching fire.

  He gripped the armrests tightly and scanned the line of men. There was no sign of Sunny. Good God, where was she?

  He felt a touch on his arm and tore his gaze away long enough to realize the girls were huddled around him, eyes wide as they stared at the horrible scene. When Rachel whimpered in fright he reached for her. In the next instant both Rachel and Amy were curled up in his lap with their faces buried against his chest.

  He wrapped one arm around them both and Katy took his other hand.

  “Where’s Sunny?” Katy cried. “I don’t see her!”

  Ash gripped her hand tighter. “She’s all right. The men will look out for her.”

  He swallowed. He wished he believed his own words. The men were so busy, the yard so chaotic, he wondered if they’d even notice one small woman.

  Tom, the foreman, was the last man in the bucket line, the one who tossed water onto the flames licking ever closer to the big front door of the barn. Suddenly he shouted, dropped his bucket, and ran straight into the flames.

  An instant later two others followed him.

  Ash felt his heart stop.

  It was an eternity before Tom raced back out into the yard with a white bundle draped over his shoulder. The other two men were only a step behind him, dragging a trunk of some sort between them.

  Tom stumbled and lost his hold on his bundle. It fell to the ground, bounced once, then rolled to a stop.

  Sunny!

  Ash knew it was her. He prayed harder than he’d ever prayed in his life that he’d see her move, get up, walk around.

  A moment later she did.

  He went weak with relief. Dear God, what had she been doing in the damned barn!

  The fire roared louder. From out of the flames came a huge groaning sound. A man shouted. As a group, Sunny and the men backed away. An instant later
the whole roof caved in.

  A giant ball of flames shot a hundred feet into the night, lighting the yard like the noon sun and burning up a piece of Ash McCord’s past. He and his father had built that barn. The heat, even from where Ash sat on the porch, was blistering.

  Flaming debris shot into the air, whirling in the updraft before spiraling drunkenly back to earth. “Wet down the bunkhouse, you fools,” he whispered.

  As if she heard him, Sunny turned and, with a shout, pointed at the roof of the bunkhouse, where a piece of flaming debris had ignited the dry shingles.

  Katy gasped and dug her nails into his hand.

  Ash held his breath, silently demanding Sunny to get away from the scene. She didn’t. She took her place in the bucket line.

  The third splash of water doused the flames.

  By then someone among them had finally decided they should wet down the whole bunkhouse. About damn time, Ash thought.

  With the roof collapsed on the barn, the rest of the structure went fast. First one wall, then another, fell into the inferno, until the fire starved itself out. What a mere hour ago had been a sturdy, functional barn—the barn Ash and his father had built even before they’d built the log house—was now a pile of charred, glowing embers. Flames still licked here and there, but there was nothing left of the structure to save.

  The danger was past. All that was needed now were a couple of men to keep an eye on things. Ash watched Sunny break away from the men and start for the house. Two hands followed, carrying the trunk they’d saved from the barn.

  “Okay, girls,” Ash said. “Sunny’s on her way and the excitement’s over. Time for you to get back to bed.”

  He expected an argument and was surprised when he didn’t get one. Rachel and Amy told him good night and followed Katy into the house.

  With the fire all but gone, it was darker now. As far as he knew, Sunny hadn’t yet spotted him where he sat on the porch. She was halfway to the house when she turned and dashed back to the others standing in front of the bunkhouse. She was too far away for Ash to make out her words.