Fires of Paradise

by Brenda Joyce

  Joanna stepped back a bit, not really meaning to listen. But she did.

  "He is not for you, Darlene," Marianne Claxton said, her blue eyes blazing with fury. Joanna caught a glimpse of her and was stunned by the depth of passion she saw, by the raw jealousy and hatred she saw on Mrs. Claxton's face. She assumed it was directed at Shoz, although it appeared to be aimed at her own daughter.

  "Why not? Because he's a cowboy?" Darlene asked contemptuously. "Or because you want him?"

  "You listen to me," Marianne said harshly, grabbing her daughter's gloved wrist. Darlene gasped, but Marianne yanked her close. "Listen to me! That man is not for you! He is a dangerous criminal!"

  Darlene pulled her hand free. "What are you saying?"

  "I am saying that he is an escaped convict, Darlene. He is a felon—wanted by the law."

  It was late; soon it would be midnight. The fiesta was in full swing; there must have been at least a thousand people reveling in the moonlight. It wasn't easy to find them amongst the crowd. Lucy's determination grew, and with it, her suspicions. If Shoz and Darlene were not among the partiers, where were they?

  They weren't dancing or among the group still enjoying the barbecue. The night was thick and hot, and the air petal-soft. The wild strains of the Spanish band followed Lucy everywhere. She grabbed Maria. "Have you seen the new hand? Shoz?"

  Maria shook her head.

  Lucy turned away, frowning, then caught a glimpse of Darlene dancing with one of her friends. A wave of relief washed over her. They weren't together. It didn't really concern her, yet Lucy couldn't stand the idea of Shoz throwing her over for one of her peers. But if he wasn't with Darlene, then who was he with? And where was he?

  Lucy left the party and began heading for the stables and the bunkhouse, partially on instinct but mostly propelled by mulish determination. She would search everywhere if she had to. Walking between two whitewashed barns, she left the sounds of the music and laughter behind. The night air was wet and still. A fine film of perspiration covered her body; her bare shoulders and chest gleamed.

  And then she saw a dark figure leaning against the paddock adjoining the studs' stable. She didn't have to see clearly to know it was him—and he was alone. Her pulse quickened. He was smoking, his cigarette glowing each time he lifted it to his lips.

  Lucy paused when she could see him, her breasts already heaving. "Hiding?" she demanded sarcastically. "Or waiting for someone!"

  He tossed the cigarette and ground it under his heel. "Oh, I've been waiting for someone, all right."

  "I knew it! Which lover are you waiting for, Shoz? Darlene? Someone else? Who!"

  "You."

  She stepped back abruptly, blinking. "I was wondering how long it would be before you'd come looking for me."

  "I am not one of your lovers."

  His teeth showed white. "No? Maybe my memory's playing tricks on me, but I seem to recall one night not too long

  ago—"

  "Don't you ever bring that up again!" she cried angrily. "As far as I'm concerned, nothing ever happened!"

  "You've got a convenient way of looking at things, princess. Come here. Parties bore me."

  "You didn't look so bored an hour ago."

  "Jealous?" He grinned.

  "Never."

  "Come here. I want to work on your status—make you my lover."

  His hand came out to grab hers. Lucy stiffened as he pulled her forward, fast. She came up squarely against his hard, warm body. Without any conviction, she pressed her hands to his damp shirt and almost pushed away from him. Instead, she became still.

  "Hello, princess," he murmured, running his hands down her back.

  "Shoz."

  "No more games," he said, and he caught her face in his hands.

  The feel of his warm, rough palms cupping her face was wonderful, and so was the strangely warm look in his eyes. "I don't want to play games either," Lucy said softly.

  The expression in his eyes softened. "Then tell me," he said, "tell me it's been as hard for you as it's been for me, these past weeks; tell me, Lucy, tell me now."

  "It's been as hard for me," she said unsteadily. "Shoz— what's happening?"

  "I don't know—I don't care."

  Lucy was not prepared for his onslaught. He kissed her, hard, fiercely, a man spending passion long pent up. And she clung to his shirt, kissing him back just as wildly.

  In the thick heat of the night, anything was possible.

  Marianne paused, squinting in the darkness. She had seen Shoz come this way, toward the barns, but the area ahead of her seemed deserted. She flung a glance over her shoulder, to glimpse the last of the dancers doing a wild two-step. Then she lifted her skirts and hurried forward.

  She had no intention of ceasing her search until she found him. She was obsessed. It was fate that he should be here where she was. She knew it.

  And she would get her way. She was afraid, oh yes, but the fear heightened her lust. When he finally took her under coercion, he would be rough, and so very powerful. Marianne could not wait, she had to find him, now.

  She stopped by the corner of one barn when she saw the lovers ahead of her, their backs to another barn, in a torrid embrace. Instantly her suspicions were aroused, and just the thought that he might be with another woman—even with her daughter—fueled the fury pulsing in her veins. She hurried forward and ducked near stacked bales of hay. Not that she needed to hide. They were too involved to notice anyone.

  Clouds broke, spilling moonlight. Marianne gasped. It was him, that bastard, and he was with Lucy Bragg. The thought of murder leapt into her mind.

  She wanted to kill them both.

  Leon Claxton was looking for Lucy, and he was angry.

  Angry and frustrated. Texas was not his choice of vacation spots, and the past week had barely been tolerable. Lucy had made a point of keeping Joanna at her side, depriving him of any opportunity to be alone with her. On the surface she remained the same, but Leon sensed that she was tense and nervous. Why? What was she hiding? Why was she suddenly too proper to sneak away with him for his kisses?

  He didn't like it. He did not like it when things did not go as he intended.

  He also did not like that cowboy, Shoz. The man actually had the balls to be contemptuous of him, Leon Claxton. He hadn't said anything, but Leon felt it. And like any man worth his salt, Leon sensed the cowboy's interest in Lucy— sensed that they were adversaries even though it was impossible to think that Shoz might compete with him on any level, for anything, much less for Lucy. Still, when the man was around, Leon was intensely aware of Shoz, and he sensed that the man, Shoz, was just as aware of him. And Lucy was aware of him, too.

  Leon sensed that as well.

  He wasn't worried. Just angry and annoyed.

  Even more so tonight. Lucy was flirting left and right, and Leon did not appreciate it. He wanted some time with her to reaffirm their relationship. When she left the crowd of the party, Leon seized his chance. He followed her.

  And then he saw her in someone else's arms.

  They had both created their own world, in which the only existing force was the need to physically merge.

  Lucy clung frantically, straining against him, every inch of her wedged and pressed as close as possible to his body, his heat. Shoz had her buttocks in his hands, had her lifted and pressed against his groin, had her riding him. Later, he would wonder how he'd ever had the mental coherence to understand what was happening.

  Something clicked in the back of his mind. Voices, a cry of pain. From within the stable. A horse's agitated snort.

  Hooves stomping in frenzy on stone. And then the gunshot.

  He thrust Lucy behind him and against the barn, straining to listen. His body reflexively shielded her.

  "What?" Lucy cried.

  "There was a shot," he gasped, panting.

  "I didn't hear anything." She was trembling, and he could feel it.

  And then the door to the barn was flying
open, horses and riders galloping out. Lucy shrank against the wall of the barn as a horse swept by them, his flank actually grazing Shoz. Comprehension came a moment later.

  "That's Grandpa's stud!" she shrieked. "They're stealing Grandpa's stud!"

  Shoz moved. He darted into the bam. One light was on, illuminating the old groom lying facedown in blood. Shoz dropped to his knees and found his pulse. He'd been shot in the back and was dead.

  Then he saw the horse, riderless and saddled and ready to go, near the dead man. He grimaced; it was obviously an inside job—the old groom had been one of them but had been murdered at the last moment by the avaricious rustlers. He leapt on the horse and went thundering out of the barn.

  He heard Lucy's cry of shock as he swept past her, but did not stop. He was too intent on following the thieves with Bragg's prized stallion. He wasn't positive, but now he remembered how big they both were—and he wondered if it was Red and Jake.

  Chapter 15

  Dawn broke, shading the sky pink and gray. Lucy hadn't slept all night. She sat in the kitchen with a mug of coffee in her hand, still in the flame-red dress from the night before. Joanna and Nicole sat with her, having kept vigil with her since the theft of Derek's prize stallion. Her aunt Jane and Regina had stayed up for a while, too, but they had long since gone to their rooms and to bed.

  She wondered if he might die.

  She felt sick.

  Miranda and Grace came into the kitchen. Lucy leapt to her feet. "What's happened?"

  "The posse's getting ready to go out," Grace replied. "The sheriff's just arrived."

  Sheriff Sanders had been at the party, as had almost everyone in town. When Shoz had been shot, Lucy had run for her father, and for help. Shoz had been taken inside, tended by Doc Jones, but had been too weak to answer more than a couple of questions, already fighting unconsciousness. Sanders had also questioned Lucy. She had told him they had been talking outside the stud barn when the robbery had occurred. That Shoz had run after the thieves, on foot, and then been shot. Sanders had questioned others, too, but no one else had witnessed the horse stealing and shooting. Doc Jones had shortly thereafter produced the bullet. It came from a small derringer such as those favored by ladies. This only added confusion to the unfolding drama. Had a woman shot Shoz? If so, why? And who had it been? Most of their guests had already gone to their accommodations and homes for the night, and it was impossible now to search and question everyone, looking for the handgun. Sanders had left a few hours after midnight, to get a couple hours sleep before attempting to track the thieves in the light of day.

  "How is he?" Lucy managed as her mother put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She wanted to be in the guest room where Shoz, semiconscious and in pain, had been placed hours ago. But she didn't dare. She'd already used up all her excuses for going there. He had water and blankets and had been dosed lightly with laudanum by Doc Jones.

  "He's sleeping," Grace replied, squeezing her shoulder. But her mother's gaze was too intent and too questioning, too astute; Lucy looked away.

  And there was another retort. Instantaneously Shoz felt the searing in his back, and realized he'd been shot.

  From behind.

  "Jones says that normally he wouldn't worry," Miranda said, "being as Shoz is strong as a bull, but after that crack on the head, he's afraid the shock will be too much. The gunshot itself isn't too bad." Lucy was white. Nicole was staring at her. Joanna asked, "He might die?" "Hush," Grace scolded. "Of course he won't die." Again, she looked at her daughter.

  He might die, Lucy thought miserably. She knew she shouldn't care, but she did. She was sick. Even sicker because she knew something nobody else seemed to have noticed, something she should have told the sheriff and hadn't. He was one of the thieves.

  He had come tearing out of that barn right after the others. No one could saddle a horse so quickly. The horse had been ready and waiting for him. Just like he had been ready and waiting for his partners at the barn when she had found him. He was one of the thieves, and maybe he had even murdered the poor old groom.

  Lucy clutched herself. She had to tell her grandpa and father, soon. But why couldn't she?

  Derek barged in, looking grim, with Nick and Rathe at his side. Brett and Storm were right behind them. The hawk-faced sheriff was on their heels with two deputies, Chad, Brett's two sons, Stephen and Lincoln, and the two eldest of her brothers, Brian and Greg.

  Sanders was speaking. "I thought that the sorrel that we found out in the paddock all saddled and riderless belonged to one of the thieves. That he'd been shot and fell off and the horse drifted here."

  "So did I," Derek said shortly.

  "But there was no body."

  "They could have taken the third thief with them," Nick pointed out.

  "Maybe," Sanders said. "But then again, we did find someone shot, didn't we?"

  "But with a lady's pistol," Rathe said. "And that doesn't make sense."

  "That might have nothing to do with the horse theft," Brett said. "It might be completely independent."

  "Not likely," Sanders said. "But possible."

  "That tip you got has to be checked out," Derek said, walking right on through the kitchen. Everyone was on his heels, but Rathe grabbed his sons, preventing them from following. "Haven't you two had enough excitement for tonight?"

  "Pop," they protested in unison. "He's going to question Shoz, isn't he?" Brian, the seventeen-year-old, demanded.

  "He is, and you two are turning in for a few hours sleep.''

  Lucy leapt up, ignoring her brothers as they informed their father that they wanted to ride with the posse. She rushed after her grandfather.

  "Grandpa, what's happening?"

  "Go to bed, Lucy," Derek said, dismissing her as he headed for the guest room in the back of the house.

  "No one thought to check the brand," Sanders was saying, right behind Derek. "Not until I got this anonymous tip."

  "How long will it take to get a reply?"

  "We'll have a wire later today."

  Derek threw open the door to the guest room. On his stomach, Shoz blinked at them blearily.

  Sanders put a restraining hand on Derek. "Now, that tip could just be some stupid prank. After all, a kid delivered it and slipped right out of my hands before I could get him to tell me who had sent him."

  Derek nodded, his eyes on Shoz, who gazed back at him steadily if not groggily.

  "You're going to answer some questions, Shoz," Derek warned.

  Alertness soon replaced the unfocused haze in Shoz's eyes.

  "What's happening?" Miranda demanded, pushing past Lucy. "What are you doing?"

  Derek made to silence her, but Sanders responded. "Sorry, ma'am," he said. "But I was recently tipped off, anonymously, that Shoz here is an escaped felon from New York State."

  "I don't believe it," Miranda said.

  Lucy gripped the bedpost, hard.

  "Maybe he was one of the thieves. He was shot in the back, ma'am. Men who are fleeing get shot in the back. We found a DM horse out in the pasture, saddled and riderless. But no body. Maybe that horse was waiting for someone? Looks like it was an inside job, and maybe Shoz was the man on the inside."

  Miranda was angry. "You are basing your very serious accusations on an anonymous tip that he is a wanted man. This could prove to be false! Lucy said he was pursuing the thieves on foot when he was shot!"

  "That's what she said," Sanders admitted. "But maybe he was running to the horse. That DM horse was out there for a reason."

  "This poor boy was shot in the back. And what about that?! He is too hurt to be questioned. You are convicting a man before he is proven guilty!"

  Derek, who was furious over the robbery of his favorite stallion, whirled on his wife. "Explain to me the DM horse, Miranda. Why in hell was a DM horse used tonight if not by the thieves on an inside job? If Shoz is innocent, then he'll be free. But with his alleged record, we can't not ask him questions!"

  "I am sure th
e thieves took the third man with them, Derek. Let this man sleep in peace!" Miranda shot back.

  "We can't wait, ma'am," the sheriff said. "Not if we ever want to get that stud back."

  Derek turned on Shoz, who had rolled onto his side to watch them. "You a wanted man, Shoz?" he demanded. "You steal my horse?"

  Lucy realized her cheeks were wet with tears. "Sheriff Sanders?"

  "I didn't steal your horse," Shoz said, low. Sweat streaked his face, but he stared at Derek unflinchingly. "I tried ... I tried to stop them."

  Lucy wiped her eyes. He was lying, and she knew it. "Sheriff?"

  Sanders looked at her. So did Shoz. She could not meet his gaze. She could barely breathe, much less speak. "What is it, honey?"

  She took a gulp of air. "I—I didn't tell you exactly what I saw."

  Derek had relaxed; now he whirled. "What?"

  Shoz made a sound. His eyes blazed.

  "I was looking for Shoz—to talk to him. It took me a while to find him." She was crying. Grace handed her a handkerchief. Her father had come into the room to stare at her; everyone was staring at her. She knew she had to tell the truth—but why was it ripping her heart out to do so? "He wasn't at the party. He was alone. At the barn."

  Everyone waited, silent and grim. "Go on," Derek said.

  She darted a glance at Shoz. His eyes blazed hotter than hell. She looked away, dabbing at her tears with the linen. She couldn't tell the rest of it, she couldn't.

  Rathe put his arm around her. "Tell us what happened, honey," he said, very softly and very gently.

  "Two riders came out of the barn with your stud," Lucy cried. "Shoz ran inside—and a second later, he came out, too, on the saddled horse—and he galloped after them."

  A stunned silence fell, then Rathe broke it. "Honey, you said he ran after the thieves."

  "I didn't tell the truth," Lucy managed, crying.

  Derek looked at Shoz, long and hard. Sheriff Sanders gestured to his men. "Cuff him."

  Shoz's eyes widened, and he weakly started to push up onto all fours. But then a deputy was shoving him down, another one yanking his hands behind his back, forcing him face-first into the pillow. Gleaming steel cuffs were snapped on.