Sweet Autumn Surrender

by Vivian Vaughan

  Kale herded them back to the house. Inside he fetched his Winchester from the spare room, filled his pockets with shells, and cautioned Ellie.

  “Keep the doors bolted and the lantern low, and stay away from the windows.” His eyes fastened on Costello; briefly he considered the man. This was no time for personal vendettas. “Stay here with Ellie until I get back.”

  “I’m coming with you,” the gambler replied.

  “What are you going to do?” Ellie’s eyes, wide and expressive, held Kale’s. “It’s too dark to see anyone. Besides, they’re gone by now.”

  “Maybe so,” Kale conceded. “But if not, we can give them a good scare, perhaps pop a varmint out of the brush.”

  To save time Kale rode Benjamin’s horse.

  “Go south,” he instructed Costello. “Cut behind that cedar brake and check the thicket down by the spring. I’ll take the opposite direction. We’ll meet at that lightning-split cedar at the crest. Do you know it?”

  Costello nodded and swung into the saddle of his prized Morgan.

  “And Costello,” Kale added, “ride wary. We’ve no notion what we’re up against, but they’ve shown themselves to be savages. None of that hero stuff you pulled back yonder, running around the house without looking first.”

  After checking the barn, he headed for the north hill, retracing the path the riders had taken. It was his idea to follow the trail for a while, then cut around, ground-hitch his mount, and climb to the rock shelter on the hill.

  Ellie was likely right: it stood to reason that the riders would light a shuck once they left the horse. They hadn’t tarried the other times, not when they left Benjamin’s boots, nor when they returned his body.

  But what if they had intentionally caused all that commotion tonight, knowing they would be followed? Suppose they were waiting at the rock shelter? If he could come in from behind and take them by surprise…

  He rode alert, his eyes scanning every thicket and any bush large enough to conceal a man, his ears attuned to any sound foreign to the night.

  The moon which had come up so brightly an hour ago was now covered by a veil of clouds, making black shadows of the bushes that dotted the hillside.

  When he approached the foot of the hill a hundred yards or so below the rock shelter, he dismounted and made his way on foot. The trail he chose was almost straight up and down, the path he figured the intruders would least expect him to take.

  Earlier he’d noticed a good-sized mesquite tree growing near the mouth of the rock shelter. His plan was to come up behind that tree. If anyone was inside the cave, he could work his way around the cedar and take them while they watched the other side. At least, that’s how he hoped it would work.

  It took him a good twenty minutes to reach the mesquite tree. For another few minutes he crouched behind it, waiting to hear an indication that someone was inside the shelter. None came.

  The cave lay directly between him and the lightning-split cedar where he was to meet Costello. Anyone watching the cave would likely wait in the brush on the opposite side. If they moved in, he and Costello could catch the intruders between them.

  As he stood up slowly and moved two steps to the right, lead glanced off mesquite at about ear level. In one movement Kale rolled behind a small oak to his right and fired in the direction of the shot. Instantly he dashed to the next cover, a protruding mass of limestone.

  A second shot ricocheted off the rock, grazed his cheek, and showered him with limestone fragments. He shot back three times in rapid fire, then moved on up the hill. Another shot hit the tree where he was headed.

  The night was as dark as all get-out, and Kale knew he didn’t offer much of a target. But whoever fired those shots seemed to know exactly where he would be.

  Maybe they already had Costello. That pilgrim! Surely he hadn’t gone out and gotten himself caught. He really should stick to gambling halls. Kale made up his mind right then and there to talk to him about it.

  Another shot hit the trunk of the oak, not two inches above his head. Then he heard scrambling and horses’ hooves beating away from the cliff. Kale swore to himself, turned abruptly, and literally slid straight down the hill. He came up running ten yards in front of Benjamin’s horse. Jumping astride it, he retraced his path and took the trail to the top of the hill.

  With his bandanna he dabbed his cheek where the bullet grazed him. It was only a flesh wound, and he knew he was lucky. He couldn’t tell whether any of his shots had scored.

  Ellie had been right: it was too dark to man hunt, although that wasn’t exactly how she put it, he recalled. What was she thinking with all this firing going on?

  At the crest of the hill he found Costello, and they headed toward the house.

  Come morning he would start fresh, track those horses, scout the area where the shots were fired, and then head over to the Circle R. The Rainey brothers had a lot of explaining to do.

  At the road to town he bid the gambler farewell, all too conscious that “good-bye” was the most pleasant word he’d spoken to the man all evening.

  He stabled Benjamin’s horse in the stall next to the bay and headed for the house. Here, within the protection of the two buildings, the night was pitch black. He heard the familiar squawk of the door before he could make out her form in the doorway.

  “What was the firing about?” She strove to control the quiver in her voice.

  “Not much, Ellie,” he called, dabbing at the side of his face to staunch the blood before she could see it.

  She held the door until he took it, then preceded him into the main room of the house, trying to steady her trembling limbs. Although she’d kept the lantern low, like he told her, she had managed to clean the dishes and put away leftover food before he returned. Now she went to the fire and poured him a cup of coffee. “That isn’t much of an answer, either. Tell me what happened.”

  He turned up the lamp, then immediately wished he hadn’t, for when she handed him the coffee she noticed the blood on his cheek.

  “It’s nothing,” he protested.

  But she insisted on cleaning the wound. “For one as accustomed to gunshot wounds as you,” she said lightly, “I suppose this is nothing. To the rest of the world—”

  He cocked his head, wriggling away when she dabbed the wound with tincture of iodine. “Ow!”

  “Be still.”

  “I didn’t say it was a gunshot wound,” he argued in a light tone. “What if I told you I fell down the hill?”

  Finished, she leaned back to scrutinize her handiwork. Her eyes flitted to his; their gazes held. She felt her heart skip a beat and hoped it didn’t show. “I wouldn’t believe you, of course. A gunfighter like yourself, it wouldn’t be fitting.”

  Before he could stop himself his lips had found hers. He cupped her face gently in one hand, stroked her lips lightly, wanting, desperately wanting to do so much more.

  Lust? he wondered.

  Definitely.

  Drawing back, he held his hand on her face. “I did a lot of thinking today, Ellie. I don’t intend to leave you here all alone. Before I go, I’ll find you a man.”

  The shock rocked her back on her heels. “You’ll what?”

  Dislodged, his hand slipped to her hair. He splayed his fingers about the side of her head. “I’ll find you a man. But it won’t be that bastard who was here tonight.”

  “Costello?” she mumbled, not even aware of what she was saying, wondering what kind of fool he took her for.

  “No, it won’t be Costello. I’m not sure I can ever let that bastard inside this house again.”

  The numbness of his pronouncement spread over her senses. “You’ll find me a man?”

  He nodded gravely. “I won’t leave you alone.”

  All thought of the earlier commotion vanished in her rising fury. She shook loose from his hand and stumbled backward. She had intended to pry from him the details of his chase up the hillside, to learn what he had seen, who was doing the shooting, who�
�d shot him. Now she didn’t care. She didn’t care if he went outside and shot up the whole country.

  “You certainly have a low opinion of my charms, Kale Jarrett. I’ll have you know I can find my own man—if I ever want one again. Right now that possibility seems most doubtful.”

  After this she stomped off to bed, leaving him to bank the fire and consider his way with women from the lonely vantage of the bed in the spare room.

  When finally he sank into the feather mattress and drifted off to sleep, it was to dream of quicksand.

  Chapter Seven

  Ellie slept fitfully. Time and again she awakened thinking herself in Kale’s arms, only to be reminded of his decision to find her a man—some other man. Finally, while it was still dark outside, she arose, put coffee on to boil, and considered what to fix for breakfast.

  Starting out the back door to fetch a slab of bacon from the smokehouse, she stopped short on the step. Suddenly she recalled the commotion of the night before: Benjamin’s horse mysteriously returned, Kale shot on the dark hillside.

  She glanced around nervously. Would that this matter were settled…Kale believed the Raineys were acting out of character, furtively harassing her while at the same time taking open measures to remove her from the land. She had to agree, it made no sense.

  But that was the only thing she agreed with him on. A man, of all things! If he thought he could run her life, she had a surprise for him! She didn’t need anyone to find her a man. She could live quite well without ever seeing another man.

  Glancing toward Benjamin’s grave, she was overwhelmed by a feeling of being all alone and very lonely. She needed someone to talk to, and she certainly couldn’t talk to Kale Jarrett. All he wanted to do was—

  Striking out for Benjamin’s grave, she clutched her shawl about her thin batiste shirtwaist. The fall air was cold this early in the morning.

  Lust? She had blurted out the word without thinking. But had she been right? Was that all she felt for Kale? She didn’t know. She truly didn’t know.

  Walking east she studied the sky; its growing colors began to soothe her spirits. She watched a gilt edge form on the deep purple horizon, promising a golden day. Ever since she’d moved to the ranch, morning had been her favorite time of day, rarely failing to fill her with expectancy. Today, however, her expectations were not at all bright.

  She sank to her knees at the grave, focusing on the mound of rocks. “Oh, Benjamin,” she whispered, “I need your help. You were right about him. He is headstrong and footloose, he won’t ever be any other way. But why didn’t you tell me the rest? That he was a wandering man who would steal my heart and leave me all alone…”

  She talked to him as she imagined she’d have spoken to a father, confiding her deepest wishes and greatest fears. She always had, though before, her deepest wishes and greatest fears had not involved…

  Lust. The fact that Kale was Benjamin’s brother did not concern her. She hadn’t resisted a physical love with Benjamin, she realized, she had let him lead her, and this new trail of passion—and lust—was one he had not found…for what reasons, she did not know.

  She suspected, however, that the trail she and Kale plummeted down every time they looked into each other’s eyes was a trail less traveled than most. Surely the average person didn’t walk around with the top layer of his skin aflame, a permanent yearning in his heart, and a deep, demanding ache in his loins.

  This, she knew, must be lust. What role could love play in such a physical ailment? Love was gentle, while this feeling bordered on being violent; love was peaceful, but her feelings for Kale Jarrett were turbulent—they left her perpetually tormented and angry; love was supposed to be an antidote to life’s problems, while whatever possessed her now made her physically ill.

  Except when she was in Kale’s arms.

  She wished he would leave now, while she could still recover from this illness. Before his family arrived. She wished his family wouldn’t even come. Were they all like him, disagreeable and demanding?

  Was Benjamin the only kind and gentle person among them? At that idea she cringed. She couldn’t deal with a houseful of headstrong people.

  “I’m going to have to build a fence around here.”

  Kale’s voice, soft as it was, shattered her senses. Turning, she stared into his solemn face.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she answered. “I’ll take care of it—later.”

  He knelt beside the grave at right angles to her, his back to the rising sun. “Ellie…ah, I’m sorry about last night, the things I said.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “Well, I am.”

  She tensed at the defensiveness in his voice. Why hadn’t she accepted his apology and let it go? “No need.” She started to rise.

  He grasped her arm. “Look at me, Ellie. I didn’t mean to sound like I’m out to take charge of your life.”

  His palm warmed her through the thin shawl. She wished he would leave. Now. She wished he’d never come.

  “I can take care of myself, Kale. And I intend to. You have no obligation to me.”

  He released her with a sigh. “Benjamin was my brother. Regardless of what you think, we Jarretts are a close family. We take care of our own.”

  “I’m not one of your own. In fact, if it weren’t for your relationship to Benjamin, I’d insist you leave right now.” Feeling herself breathless, she paused to steady her emotions. “I suppose you have a right to stay and settle his murder, if you think you must.”

  Lifting her chin in a quest for resolve, she turned determined eyes on him. “But that’s all. You’re not here to take care of me. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you, Kale Jarrett.”

  He heard the hurt in her voice, saw it in her eyes; but he didn’t blame her for closing him out this way. He felt about as helpless as a man could feel.

  He’d proved himself incapable of running his own life. How could he have thought to run hers? And why? “Have it your way,” he retorted. “But while I’m here I intend to see you set up to take care of yourself.”

  The concern in his voice began to soothe the ragged edges of her nerves. “If that’s what you want,” she whispered. Deep inside, relief seeped into her turmoil, stirring up a mass of confusion between what she knew was right and what she wanted to be true. Knowing she’d be better off with him gone was a far different thing from wanting him to leave. She wanted him to stay, however short the time, on whatever terms necessary.

  When he sighed, clapped his thighs, and rose, extending her a hand, she accepted against her better judgment. The heat of his touch raced up her arm, as she had known it would, to her neck, singeing all the way to her ears, bringing joy and agony—blissful, unrequited agony.

  “But I’ll still refuse to let you marry that damned gambler.”

  His tone was playful, and she followed him down the hill with a lightened step. Perhaps his stay wouldn’t be so unpleasant after all, she argued to herself. If he cooperated in keeping that wicked word lust out of their relationship, he would be pleasant company.

  Neither of them spoke again until they reached the bottom of the hill, then he said, “After we got off on the wrong foot up there, I forgot what I came up the hill to tell you.”

  She looked at him, wary.

  “I found the track of the puddin’-foot.”

  “Where?”

  “At the hitching rail where they left Benjamin’s horse.”

  While he helped her prepare breakfast, he surprised her again. “On my way up the hill a while ago, I noticed a fire in the rock shelter.”

  “Now we can catch them.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Ellie. I’ve already made plans.”

  She frowned but listened. She could at least hear him out before making demands.

  “I’ll ride off like I’m headed for town,” he told her. “A couple of miles from the house, I’ll switch back, cut around behind the brush, and surprise our fellers in the rock shelter. This time I fi
gure to give them an earful to take back to the Raineys.”

  When he finished, she uttered one word: “We.”

  “No, Ellie,” he objected.

  “I’m coming, too. You might as well know now—if you stay, I intend to help you solve this problem.” She shrugged. “You shouldn’t object. It’ll mean you can be on your way to California sooner.”

  “All right, Ellie…all right.”

  While she washed up in the kitchen, he saddled their horses, and they made a show of leaving by the town road.

  He led the way to a thicket not far from where he had met Costello the previous night. At his signal, Ellie dismounted, and they hitched their mounts, proceeding the rest of the way on foot.

  She had changed clothes before they left the house, donning one of Benjamin’s old shirts and a pair of his breeches, which she belted with an old leather strap.

  Kale watched her now, thinking he’d never seen a woman who could make even the sloppiest, most shapeless garments look feminine. He wished he could buy her something nice, really nice, and pretty.

  He admired the way she came quietly, stepping carefully around fallen leaves and an old rotted log. She’d probably be able to make it out here by herself, just as she figured on doing.

  When they gained the lip of the rock shelter, he motioned her to stand back while he slipped into the cave, his six-shooter drawn. His ruse worked; the two Circle R cowpokes were taken completely off guard.

  They had obviously been so confident Kale and Ellie had ridden into town that they were sitting by the campfire preparing a large breakfast and swapping yarns.

  “Sorry, fellers,” Kale told them. “Your stomachs will have to wait. You’re going on a little trip.”

  Ellie watched with held breath. When Kale drew his gun, it was all she could do to keep from reaching to stop him. His voice, when he spoke, sounded light and carefree, as if he charged men with a gun every morning of his life.

  “What’re you talking about? We ain’t done nothin’ wrong,” the men protested in turn.