Fires of Paradise

by Brenda Joyce

  Now they had reached the Rio, almost a full day later. They hadn't found another sign of the outlaw and Lucy since the one by the creek yesterday. They were relying on instinct and common sense, and without hard evidence proving that they were on the right trail, frustration rose hot and hard among them all.

  "We can't stop," Rathe repeated. "Not now." His brother, Nick, astride next to him, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  "It'll be dark soon," Derek said flatly. "We won't be able to do much in the dark."

  Brett moved his blowing stallion forward. "We can't let them get into those mountains," he said.

  Everyone looked southeast, at the jagged mountain peaks etching the dimming mauve-hued sky. They looked ominous and forbidding. The eastern Sierra Madres. Up until now, they had been riding though hill country, then desert. But once a man got into those mountains, he could hide forever.

  "We must find another sign," Storm said firmly. "And we must find it soon."

  Clark Wade, the captain of the Rangers, gave orders to fan out on foot, very, very carefully. This was the moment when they had to find a sign of where Lucy and Shoz Cooper had crossed the Rio—if indeed they had come this way. But time was against them, in more ways then one. The outlaw was ahead of them, and would soon escape into the twisted guts of the Sierras, if he had come this way. And soon it would be dark, too dark to find any trail. Everyone felt the powerful urgency to work fast.

  It was Rathe, spurred on by desperation, who found the one barely visible track in the loam by the river's bank. The water had eroded most of it, but to an expert—and many of these men were just that—it was the mark of a horse's hoof, one that was heavily burdened—carrying the weight of more than one man.

  "It just could be them," Sanders said. "The horse he stole was small, like this one."

  "Or it could be a pack mule," Clark Wade said.

  "It's them," Rathe spat. "I know it! Let's go!"

  Holt turned to Derek unhappily. "I'm sure you know that we can't cross that border."

  "I know."

  "Even ten years ago, we could have done it, but not in these days, in these times."

  "Have the Pinkertons meet me in Casitas," Derek instructed. "It's six or seven miles south of here. If we're not there, have them wait. I'll send word, or we'll come."

  Wade nodded and gave Derek, who was an ex-captain of the Rangers himself, a salute. He signaled to his men and they broke from the group, riding east.

  "You know I can't go any farther either, Derek," Sheriff Sanders said. Then, uncharacteristically, he cursed.

  "Get back to Paradise, reassure the women."

  Rathe grabbed Sanders's arm. "Tell Grace not to worry. Tell her I said everything will be all right."

  Sanders nodded, knowing he was being asked to lie, and knowing he would do it.

  "Let's go."

  The posse split up again. The sheriff and his deputies and the men from town who had volunteered out of respect for the family turned to head back to Paradise. A few dozen other riders remained, those whose allegiance was stronger.

  Many were cowboys who worked at the DM, others were close family friends. Some were just plain decent folk outraged that something like this could happen to this family, in their town. The Braggs led all of them across the Rio Grande and into Mexico.

  He had lied after all.

  Lucy sought refuge in the hot anger that swept her. Anger was better than the hurt and disappointment that had filled her after their lovemaking. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as they cantered through two buttes, leaving Casitas farther and farther behind. And with it, his broken promise. "You said you were going to let me go!"

  "Shut up," he said, as the bay scrambled up a twisted path that would begin their ascent into the mountains.

  Lucy didn't think. She was too consumed with emotions for logic. She acted. She let go of his shoulders and slid backward off of the horse.

  The fall hurt. It momentarily knocked the breath out of her. It had jarred her neck hard, but she'd landed on her side, saving her head from any injury. Furious desperation fueled her. She heaved herself to her feet. And then she ran.

  She heard his shout behind her.

  She crashed through wiry brush, leaving the trail to scramble down a rocky slope into a gorge. She tripped and fell with a cry. She rolled once, twice, helpless to stop, stones and roots digging into her, scratching her, and then she came to a stop in a heap on the flat floor below.

  "Lucy!"

  Fear laced his voice. Shoz didn't hesitate, he forced the bay over the side of the gorge, riding him for hell. The animal scrambled and slid down the steep slope, kicking up a wake of debris. Before they got to the bottom, Shoz was leaping off. The horse lost its footing and went down with a cry. Shoz didn't lose his, and he ran to the inert figure lying facedown, sprawled in the dust.

  Panic knifed him, but as he knelt beside her, his voice was calm and controlled, and his hands were steady and gentle when he touched her shoulders. "Can you hear me?"

  Lucy's voice was faint. "Yes."

  "Are you all right? Did you break anything?"

  Still facedown, very aware of his hands probing her, Lucy tried to determine her condition. It was hard to tell if she was all right, her entire body hurt like hell, but it had started hurting two days ago, and she couldn't distinguish her previous aches from her current ones. She sat up; he helped her.

  Now he cursed. "Goddammit! That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen!" His grip on her tightened.

  "You lied!" she cried. To her horror, tears welled in her eyes. She was in a very fragile state, and it had nothing to do with her physical agony. Lucy sought control. What did it matter that he could so intensely make love to her and then so casually prepare to leave her? She should have known better than to expect anything from him! But she had been naive, so naive, and this time the hurt was worse than the first time. At the least, couldn't he have given her a tender smile? Couldn't he have even acted like their parting would bother him?

  But their near parting hadn't bothered him, and he wasn't nice enough to even pretend that it would. Just like he wasn't nice enough to hold her and kiss her and tell her she was, well, special. Or even to lie, and say he'd miss her. He wasn't nice, he was a bastard, and she had been so utterly stupid to give in to her attraction to him.

  "Why are you crying?" he said, grim. "I seem to be asking that question a lot."

  "I'm not crying," she said fiercely. "I want you to leave me here. I know that promises don't mean much to a man like you, but. .."

  He scowled, and she was glad she'd succeeded in irritating him. "Didn't you hear me, Miss Bragg? Those men back there would have raped you if I left you there. And you wouldn't have enjoyed it, believe me. Now, get up."

  Lucy let him help her up only because he didn't give her a choice. Then he left her standing there, trembling, aching, bruised, and went to their mount. The bay was blowing softly. He was also lame.

  Shoz cursed, stroking the animal's neck. Lucy felt a rush of guilt; the poor animal had given himself heroically to them, and his injury was her fault. "What are we going to do?"

  "We're going to walk," he said shortly.

  Lucy gasped. Her feet were killing her. She knew she could not possibly walk. "I can't!"

  "Oh yes you can," Shoz said, ridding the bay of the rifle, bedroll, and saddlebags. The horse would wander back to Casitas, or be found by a farmer. Shoz was looking at her expectantly, and he held out a hand.

  She balked. "I can't."

  "I hate to tell you this, Lucy," Shoz said, "But those men in Casitas are thieves, and I have no doubt they're riding this way right now, looking for me as a victim. Now, let's go."

  Every step was torture, but Lucy ignored the pain and stumbled to him. He took her hand and pulled her up the slope. Lucy knew she would have never made it without him. They didn't stop once on the path, they started to run.

  It was the longest ten minutes of Lucy's life. He half dragge
d her as they raced up the narrowing, twisting path, up, always up, and she tripped and stumbled repeatedly. Although he carried their supplies and the rifle, he never let her fall. His arm became a clamp around her waist. Now he was dragging her; only his strength and determination kept her going. Lucy knew that soon, no matter what he did, unless he carried her, she would drop in her tracks.

  "Good girl," he muttered, suddenly leaving the path and hustling her through large boulders. The opening was so narrow, Lucy would have never attempted to enter, but he gave her no choice. He pushed her ahead of him and through. Before Lucy knew it, he was propelling her from behind, pushing her upward, forcing her to climb the mountainside between rocks.

  Just when she was going to give in and beg him to stop, he shoved her into a narrow fissure.

  It was twilight. The sky was crystal gray, edged with purple, and very soon it would be dark. In that last moment of light, Lucy could still see. Shoz was wet with sweat, breathing hard, but his eyes were as hard as diamonds, and determined. "No matter what," he said, "don't move."

  Lucy's eyes widened, then he dumped their supplies down at her feet and was gone.

  Fear was immediate. There had been no mistaking the urgency of their flight into the mountains. They were definitely running from someone. What if these outlaws found them?

  Lucy had a terrible image of Shoz hurt or captured and herself a prisoner at the mercy of dark, shadowy, menacing men.

  She shoved it away, inhaling deeply, trying to calm her taut nerves. She was shaking, and not just from their recent flight. If they hadn't been running so hard just now, she would have questioned if there really had been such dangerous bandits in Casitas. After all, she hadn't seen them. Shoz had seen them. And she didn't trust him.

  But they were on the run, and she was deathly afraid. Yet she hadn't seen these outlaws, had she? What if it wasn't outlaws chasing them? What if they were running from someone else?

  Lucy leaned back against the cold stone of one rock wall. It was a terrible thing, not to trust Shoz, but he was her abductor, only her abductor, nothing more. And she could not fool herself and say she knew him; she didn't know him at all. Maybe they weren't on the run from Mexican bandits; maybe they were running from the law.

  Lucy was exhausted. She couldn't think anymore, she didn't know what to think. Only one thing was clear. Earlier, she had been the biggest sort of fool to invite his attentions. And now, now she was here, hidden, so no one could find her. And Shoz was somewhere out there, and he wasn't alone. Someone was out there with him, someone who had been chasing them, and maybe it was her family.

  And there was nothing she could do except wait.

  Chapter 22

  He had known that they would be followed; he had been certain of it. It had only been sheer, hardened instinct. And he was right.

  Shoz crouched on the rock ledge above the narrow trail that wound up toward the plateau's rim. The going was bad enough in daylight, and worse at night. It was slow and rough and too easy to break a horse's leg. Yet the bandits moved fast, surely and quietly. Only their mounts made any noise. There were four of them. It was no coincidence that they, too, were on this trail.

  He hated wasting four bullets, but didn't have much choice. Shoz fired. He fired rapidly, hitting the two leaders, winging the third, and missing the fourth rider completely. One of the leaders fell from his horse and off the side of the hill, down into the gorge where Lucy had been. He was probably already dead, if not dying. The other leader also fell from his mount, but rolled away, returning Shoz's fire. The third began to shoot up at Shoz, too, from the cover of a tree. The last one fled.

  Shoz had the complete advantage, as he had known he would. It was why he had chosen to stop where he had— and it wasn't the first time that he had used this exact place for an ambush—or the fissure above to stash something or someone. He knew these trails better than the back of his own hand.

  From his position above the bandits, he could pinpoint them, but they couldn't find him. Being careful not to waste his ammunition, he took very careful aim before returning their fire. The remaining light worked in his favor. A few moments later, utter silence descended upon the hillside.

  Very cautiously, Shoz climbed down from the rocks to the trail below. He checked the three men; they were all dead. Shoz relieved them of their weapons and ammunition belts and went to their mounts. All three horses were grazing by the side of the trail. Being well trained, for obvious reasons, they had remained where they had been drop-reined during the brief gunfight.

  Shoz chose two and sent the other galloping back down the trail. He led them up the trail to a higher point, one closer to where he had hidden Lucy. He left them to get her. He found her wide-eyed, white, and shaking.

  Her fear halted him in his tracks and drew a powerful and strange reaction from him—an impulse to reach out and hold her, comfort her. Of course, he didn't.

  "It's all right," he told her gruffly. "We'll hole up for the night in a cave not far from here."

  He reached a hand into the narrow space to help her out. She shrank back from him. "Who was it! Who was it! Are they dead?"

  "It was the bandits from Casitas," he said, perplexed. Then he went rigid, his gaze narrowing. Understanding hit him unpleasantly. "You thought I lied, Lucy? You thought, perhaps, it was someone else on our ass?"

  Lucy released a breath, her palm covering her chest in the vicinity of her heart. "It was really the bandits?"

  Her lack of trust sickened him. He knew he shouldn't expect more, but foolishly, he had. " It wasn' t your family.'' He reached in and yanked her out. She stumbled against him with a faint cry. Her body was warm and soft and she was trembling. He distanced himself immediately and grabbed her elbow.

  She leaned heavily upon him as they made their way back to the trail where he'd left the horses. He had no delusions about her feelings for him, and he knew if it weren't for her poor physical state, she wouldn't even touch him. Did she now condemn him as a murderer, too? Why had he even cared to save her from those cutthroats?

  And he had cared, as much as he didn't want to admit it. The thought of Lucy at their mercy had filled him with the hardest determination imaginable not to let it happen.

  So much for his foolish heroism. She didn't appreciate it, and she never would. Just like she didn't appreciate his not abandoning her in Casitas.

  "Horses," she said, a soft yet relieved sound. She moved toward one; he stopped her.

  "We have to go on foot. It's not far."

  She whimpered.

  As they led the horses off the trail in another direction, Shoz couldn't help but be aware of her stumbling behind him, of her soft gasps. He steeled himself against the sympathy he could too easily feel for her.

  Five minutes later, they reached the cave. It was big enough to accommodate the two of them and their horses, and it was hidden from the outside by trees and boulders, making the entrance difficult to discern. Once inside, Shoz led the horses to a space apart, untacking them. He didn't look at Lucy, but knew she had collapsed on the hard stone floor with another one of those inarticulate little cries.

  He lit a candle he had received with the rest of their supplies from Fernando and set it down. It cast long, dancing shadows upon the rough walls of the cave. Outside, the night was very still and very quiet, making their world within seem closed and detached and almost unreal—like a separate universe. He was very aware of Lucy. He fed and watered the horses; then, a blanket and canteen in hand, he approached her. She was so tired, she barely looked at him, until he spoke. "Let me see your face."

  He dropped the blanket by her side, for her to sit on. He reached for her chin. She twisted away stubbornly, anger filling her blue eyes. "Don't touch me."

  His mouth tightened. "You bruised your cheek in the fall. Let me look at it."

  She stiffened, but allowed him to tilt her face toward him. The candle barely provided enough illumination. Shadows flickered across her face. It was a light a
brasion, full of dirt, and Shoz cleaned it with water and a strip of his shirt. She didn't make a sound.

  "Let me look at the rest of you," he said.

  "I'm fine!"

  "Your elbows and knees are scraped."

  She sighed, a sound that was suspiciously like a moan, and held out her arms. He cleaned all the abrasions methodically, with detachment. Her knees and shins were sunburned as hell, redder than tomatoes. When he touched her leg, she winced. "Tomorrow we'll find some salve," he said, feeling sorry for her despite his best intentions to remain aloof.

  "What do you care?"

  "It's three days from here to Death Valley," he said angrily. "And damned if you're going to cry and moan and slow me down."

  She lifted her chin. "Then leave me here."

  "I'm not leaving you here," he gritted. She waited, but he refused to explain. Leaving her would be murder—she couldn't possibly survive.

  "You're going to hold me for ransom, aren't you? It was all a big lie, that you'd let me go at the Rio Grande."

  He'd had no such intention, but madder than ever, he said, "Maybe."

  She absorbed that. "And then will you let me go? They'll pay you, you know. My father will pay you anything."

  His smile was twisted. "That right? Honey, I'd be ten times the fool if I let you go. After that, I'm going to sell you south—to a white slaver."

  She gasped, becoming whiter than death.

  He was so mad, he forgot himself and grabbed her and shook her. "You listen to me, you damn fool! I don't want any goddamn ransom! I wouldn't touch your daddy's money with a ten-foot pole! I only want my damn freedom! As soon as I can, I'm going to set you free. If I could have, I would have happily left you in Casitas—but I'm just not the damn bastard you think I am, to leave you to be raped by those bandits I killed. I had no choice but to bring you with me. But as soon as I can, believe me, as soon as possible, the sooner the better, I'm going to drop you in a village where you'll be safe until your daddy can come for you. It's just that right now, my priority happens to be me— and my safety. So first we go to Death Valley, where I can't be found. You got that, Miss Bragg?"