The Touch of Fire

by Linda Howard

  Rafe glanced at the horses, but discarded the idea of running for it. Their situation was pretty good; they had food and water, and were protected on three sides. And the country, though mountainous, was too open, without the thick forest that would have enabled them to slip away. “You’d best ride on,” he replied, knowing they wouldn’t.

  “That’s not a very friendly attitude, mister.”

  He didn’t answer again. It would be a distraction, and he wanted all of his attention on the two men. They had separated, to keep from presenting a single target. They definitely didn’t have a neighborly visit in mind.

  The first shot struck sparks about two feet over his head. Behind him he heard Annie gasp. “Bounty hunters,” he said.

  “How many?”

  He didn’t look at her, but she had sounded calm. “Two.” If there had been a third one working his way closer, the horses would have heard that. “We’ll be all right. Just stay down.”

  He didn’t return fire. He didn’t believe in wasting ammunition, and he didn’t have a clear shot at either one of them.

  Annie withdrew to the deepest corner of the overhang. Her heart pounded, making her feel nauseated, but she forced herself to sit quietly. She could help Rafe best by staying out of his way. For the first time she regretted her lack of expertise with a firearm. Out here, it seemed, ineptitude could be suicidal.

  Another shot, this one ricocheting off the rocks that guarded the mouth of the overhang. Rafe didn’t even flinch. He was well protected and he knew it.

  He waited. Most men got impatient, or they got too self-confident. Sooner or later they would expose themselves to fire. He settled in with deadly patience.

  The minutes ticked past. Occasionally one or the other of the two men would fire a shot as if they weren’t certain of Rafe’s position and were trying to draw him out. Unluckily for them, he had long ago learned the difference between acting and merely reacting; he would fire only when he felt he had a good shot.

  It was over half an hour before the man on the left shifted position. Maybe he was just making himself comfortable, but for a couple of seconds his entire upper body was exposed. Rafe gently squeezed the trigger and made the bounty hunter comfortable permanently.

  He was moving before the sound of the shot had died away, slipping past the rocks and away from the overhang with a low-voiced command to Annie not to move a muscle. The other bounty hunter might try to wait him out and collect all of the ten thousand for himself, but it was possible he’d just leave his partner’s body behind and ride for reinforcements. Rafe’s mind was cold and clear; he couldn’t let the other bounty hunter ride away.

  There was too much open ground between him and the remaining hunter, preventing him from getting to the trees just as it had prevented them from getting to the overhang. They hadn’t chosen their place of attack well. Rafe studied it with a strategist’s eye and decided they were fools. A smarter move would have been to hang back until the lay of the land let them get closer, or try to swing around and set up an ambush. Well, now one of them was a dead fool and the other one would be shortly.

  More shots were fired from the trees, evidently in a burst of rage that wasted ammunition and didn’t accomplish a thing. Rafe glanced back at the overhang. The only thing Annie was in danger from was a freak ricochet, and the way she had squeezed back into that low corner made it unlikely. If only she stayed there; he’d told her not to move and he’d meant it literally, but it would be nerve-racking for her to sit there without being able to see or knowing what was going on.

  Cautiously he worked his way around to a better angle, since he couldn’t do much about the distance. He couldn’t see the other bounty hunter, but there were still two horses back among the trees.

  Then he caught a bit of movement and saw a flash of blue, probably a sleeve. Rafe concentrated on the spot, letting his gaze go unfocused so he could pick up even the slightest movement. Yeah, there he was, fidgeting behind that tree. He didn’t have a clear shot at him, though.

  The morning sun was heating up fast, shining down on his bare head. He wished he’d gotten his hat, then shrugged. It was probably just as well. It would only have given him a bigger silhouette.

  He found a good place to set up, in a split boulder with a small juniper growing out of the split. It made a fine rest for the rifle. He eased into position and set his sights on the tree where the bounty hunter was trying to make up his mind what to do. He hoped it didn’t take long.

  The bounty hunter fired a few more shots in a futile effort at provoking a response. The best shot Rafe had was at an arm, so he waited. If he just winged the man and he was able to ride off, they’d be in a lot of trouble. An entire army of bounty hunters would converge on the area.

  Suddenly the bounty hunter seemed to lose his nerve and started edging backwards, toward the horses. Rafe lined up the sights and tracked his movement with the barrel. “Come on, you son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Give me a target for just two seconds. Two seconds, that’s all I need.”

  He actually needed less. The man moved into view, carefully keeping the trees between him and the overhang, but Rafe wasn’t at the overhang. It wasn’t a clean shot, just his shoulder and part of his chest, but it was enough. Rafe squeezed the trigger and the bullet knocked the man off his feet.

  Screams of pain came from the trees, evidence that the shot hadn’t been a killing one. “Annie!” Rafe roared.

  “I’m here.”

  He heard the fear in her voice. “It’s okay. I got both of them. Just stay there, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Then he began working his way toward the trees, not taking it for granted that the man he’d wounded wasn’t able to shoot. A lot of men had gotten killed by incautiously approaching a “dead” man or one hurt so bad he was supposedly unable to shoot. Even men who were literally drawing their last breaths were able to shoot.

  He could hear the groans of the wounded man as he slipped into the trees. The man was sitting propped against a tree, his rifle on the ground a few feet away. Keeping both his attention and his rifle aimed at the man, Rafe kicked the weapon away, then relieved him of his pistol.

  “You should have ridden on,” he said evenly.

  The bounty hunter glared up at him with pain- and hate-filled eyes. “You son of a bitch, you done killed Orvel.”

  “You and Orvel fired the first shot. I just fired the last one.” Rafe rolled Orvel over with the toe of his boot. Heart-shot. He collected Orvel’s weapons.

  “We didn’t mean you no harm, just thought we’d set a spell. Gets lonesome out here.”

  “Yeah. You were so hungry for company, you lost your head and started shooting.” Rafe didn’t believe his show of innocence. The man was filthy and unshaven and smelled to high heaven. Pure, stupid meanness glared out of his eyes.

  “That’s right. We just wanted some comp’ny.”

  “How did you know we were up there?” The more he thought about it, the less likely it was they had seen any smoke. Nor did he think this pair had picked up their trail; for one thing, they had already been camped under the overhang for two days, and for another, this pair didn’t seem smart enough to follow a trail as elusive as the one he’d been leaving.

  “We were just passin’ by, seen your smoke.”

  “Why didn’t you ride on when you had the chance?” Rafe regarded him dispassionately. Blood was spreading down the man’s chest but he didn’t think it was a mortal wound. From the looks of it, the bullet had shattered his collarbone. Rafe wondered what he was going to do with him.

  “You didn’t have no call tellin’ us to ride on, instead of askin’ us into camp. Orvel said you just wanted to keep the woman to yourself—“He broke off, wondering if he’d said too much.

  Rafe’s eyes narrowed with cold rage. No, they hadn’t seen any smoke. They had seen Annie when she had gone for water. These two pieces of shit hadn’t had bounty on their minds, but rape.

  He now had a dilemma on
his hands. If he were smart, he’d put a bullet in this bastard’s head and rid the world of some trash. On the other hand, killing him now would be cold-blooded murder, and Rafe wasn’t willing to sink down to their level.

  “Tell you what I’m going to do,” he said, walking toward the horses and gathering their reins. “I’m going to give you some time to think about the error of your ways. A lot of time.”

  “Where you going with them horses? That’s stealing!”

  “I’m not taking the horses, I’m turning them loose.”

  Despite his pain, the man’s dirty jaw sagged. “You can’t do that!”

  “The hell I can’t.”

  “How’m I supposed to get to a doctor without a horse? You done busted up my shoulder.”

  “I don’t care if you get to a doctor or not. If I’d had a better shot, you wouldn’t have to worry about your shoulder.”

  “Damn, man, you can’t just leave me out here like this.”

  Rafe turned his cold, pale eyes on the man and didn’t say anything. He started to lead the horses off.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” The man was staring hard at him. “I know who you are. I’ll be damned. I’ll just be goddamned. This close to you and we didn’t even low—ten thousand dollars!”

  “Which you won’t be collecting.”

  The man grinned at him. “I’ll dance a jig and buy a drink for whoever does collect it, you bastard.”

  Rafe shrugged and led the horses past the man, who was struggling to get to his knees. Without the horses, without a weapon, it was unlikely he’d make it to any sort of town. Even if he did it would take him days, perhaps weeks. By then, Rafe figured, he and Annie would be far away. He didn’t like the possibility of anyone knowing he was traveling with a woman now, but it was a chance he had to take. At least the bounty hunter hadn’t been able to see Annie well enough to be able to give a description of her.

  It was the sudden motion, the faint scrabbling noise, that alerted him. He dropped the reins and spun, automatically going down on one knee even as he reached for his pistol. The bounty hunter must have had a spare pistol tucked in his belt against his back; the shot went high, where Rafe had been only a split second before, merely burning a graze on top of his shoulder. Rafe’s shot wasn’t high.

  The bounty hunter collapsed back against the tree, his mouth and eyes opening in an expression of stupid astonishment. The light died out of his eyes and he fell sideways, burying his face in the dirt.

  Rafe got to his feet and calmed the skittish horses. He stared at the dead bounty hunter and was suddenly weary. Damn, would it never end?

  He examined the dead men’s weapons, which were dirty and in bad shape. He discarded them but took the ammunition. He searched the saddlebags for supplies and found coffee. The lying bastards. He unsaddled the horses and slapped them on the rump, sending them flying. They weren’t exactly prime examples of horseflesh, but they couldn’t do worse with freedom than they had at the hands of these two. Then he took what supplies he and Annie could use and walked back up to the overhang.

  She was still sitting in the corner, hugging her knees. Her face was pale and strained. She didn’t move even when Rafe walked under the sheltering ledge and dropped the bag of supplies, but her big eyes asked questions.

  He squatted down in front of her and took her hands, sharply examining her to make certain no flying splinters of rock had hit her. “Are you all right?”

  She swallowed. “Yes, but you aren’t.”

  He stared at her. “Why?”

  “Your shoulder.”

  Her words made him aware of the stinging on his left shoulder. He barely glanced at it. “It’s nothing, just a graze.”

  “It’s bleeding.”

  “Not much.”

  Moving slowly, stiffly, she crawled out of the corner and went over to her medical bag. “Take off your shirt.”

  He obeyed, though the wound truly was only a burn and was merely seeping a little watery blood. He watched Annie closely. She hadn’t asked about the two bounty hunters.

  “One of them was already dead,” he said. “The other was just wounded. He drew a second pistol from his belt when I was leading the horses away. I killed him too.”

  She knelt on the ground and carefully washed the graze with witch hazel, making him flinch from the stinging. Her hands were shaking, but she drew a deep breath and forced herself to steady. “I was just so frightened you’d be hurt,” she said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “There’s always the chance that you won’t be.” With a tiny separate part of her brain she wondered why a man who hadn’t twitched a muscle when she had treated wounds far worse than this would make such a face at a little stinging. She smeared some of the slippery-elm ointment on the oozing wound and lightly bandaged it. As he had said, it wasn’t serious.

  Rafe wondered if he should tell her that, though the two had been bounty hunters, it hadn’t been bounty on their minds. He decided not to. Instead he waited until she had finished and then drew her up into his arms, kissing her hard and holding her against him, absorbing her special warmth into his bones to chase away the chill of death.

  “It’s time to leave,” he said.

  “Yes, I know.” She sighed. She had enjoyed the rest, but he had planned for them to move on that day anyway. She just wished they had been able to slip away without seeing anyone.

  How had he kept his sanity these past four years, continually hunted like a wild animal and unable to trust anyone he met? He’d had to be on constant guard.

  “I’m a burden to you, aren’t I?” she asked, keeping her face buried against his chest so she wouldn’t have to see the truth in his eyes. “You could move faster without me, and anytime there’s trouble you’ll have to watch out for me.”

  “I could travel faster,” he said truthfully, and stroked her hair. “On the other hand, no one is looking for a man and a woman traveling together, so it evens out. But you aren’t a burden, honey, and I’d rather have you close to hand so I can look out for you. It’d worry the hell out of me if I didn’t know what you were doing and if you were all right.”

  She lifted her head and managed a smile. “Are you trying to sweet-talk me with that southern charm?”

  “I don’t know, am I?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then you’re probably right. So you think I’m charming?”

  “You have your moments,” she allowed. “They don’t come real close together.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers and chuckled, and with a start she realized it was the first time she had ever heard him laugh, even that small sound. God knew there hadn’t been a lot in his life that he could laugh about.

  He released her after a moment, his mind already on breaking camp. “We’re going to cut more toward the east now,” he said. “Straight into Apache country. Maybe it’ll make anyone else who cuts our trail think twice about following us.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  The land opened up even more, with wider expanses of plains broken by raw, jagged mountains. Varied cactus plants began to appear among the thinning grasses. The huge bowl of sky overhead was so impossibly blue that sometimes she felt lost in it, reduced to total insignificance. She didn’t mind. In a way, it was even comforting.

  She had spent all of her life in various cities and towns, surrounded by people. Even Silver Mesa, crude as it was, teemed with humanity. Until Rafe had taken her up into the mountains she had never known true solitude, but a part of her, some distant primitive instinct, seemed to recognize it and embrace it like an old friend. The myriad rules of life that had always surrounded her, and which she had followed without question, had no place out here. No one would say anything if she elected not to wear a petticoat, or think her rude if she didn’t make small talk. Actually, Rafe was likely to give her unabashed male approval for leaving off her petticoat. The freedom of it sank slowly into her mind, and then into her pores. She felt as unfettered
as a child.

  The third day after they had left the overhang camp brought evidence that she wasn’t pregnant. She had thought she would be relieved, and was startled by a fleeting sense of regret. Evidently the desire to bear his child was another primitive instinct that exerted itself regardless of circumstance and logic.

  Her entire life had changed within the space of a few short weeks, and despite the danger dogging their trail she felt wonderful, reborn. If it hadn’t been for the threat to Rafe she would have been content with life as it was, just the two of them, alone under a sky so impressive she could understand why simple people had prayed to the sun as a god, why one always had an impression of heaven as being upward, somewhere in that great blue bowl.

  There was still a lingering pain at having been forced to kill, but Rafe’s tale of the kind of man Trahern had been had helped her. She could put it aside, and focus outward as warriors had always done. She couldn’t see herself as a warrior, but the situations were roughly the same and so she did as warriors do: she moved on, mentally and emotionally.

  “I like it out here,” she told Rafe late one afternoon when the purple twilight began creeping down the mountain slopes toward them. For the moment they were still wrapped in golden sunlight, but the advancing shadows whispered that night would soon arrive.

  He smiled a little as he studied her. She no longer seemed to bother much with hairpins; her long, streaked blond hair was plaited into a single loose braid that hung down her back. The spring sun had bleached out the strands around her face so that they looked like a halo. He had trouble making her wear her hat; she would put it on during the middle of the day, but in the morning or afternoon she was just as likely to be bareheaded as not whenever he looked at her. She hadn’t tanned much, though, and he suspected she never would. The only difference was a slightly warmer hue to her fine-grained skin. And petticoats seemed to be a thing of the past for her; she had opted for coolness and more freedom of movement. The long sleeves of her blouse were habitually rolled up, except when he made her roll them down for protection from the sun, and the top two buttons at her throat were never fastened.