"Whoa, now, shh-hh," he said, drawing closer to the screaming mare who was disappearing in a cloud of smoke. Quickly, he wrapped the shirt over her face, blinding her, then tucked the ends under her head to use as a lead. Clucking his tongue, he led her through the open stall door, praying the baby would still have the strength and instinct to follow. Reasonably, he turned right, the opposite direction from whence he'd come, knowing there was another, closer set of doors at the far end of the corridor.
When he reached them, however, they were barred from the outside and he couldn't find the latch with all the smoke. He cursed with what little breath he had left and dragged the uneasy mare back down the long smoke-filled corridor.
The mare reared suddenly as a hot ash fell on her back, and turned Jesse in a circle trying to hold her. By the time he got her under control, he felt his strength leaving him. Light-headed and suddenly disoriented, he stopped in the center of the barn to regain his direction. The baby cowered beside him pressing her muzzle into Jesse's back. Burning ash and small fiery bits dropped all around him.
The mare let out a distressed whinny. The smoke cleared enough to see the patch of light at the end of the corridor. Jesse headed toward it. Through the smoke he saw a figure a few feet away tugging on a rope and heard Silas shouting.
"C'mon you pea-brained hunk of gleet. Git outta here!" Silas' command disintegrated into a fit of coughing. The black and white milch cow answered with a pitiful bellow.
Above them, the hay mow made an ominous groaning noise. Wood snapped like the sound of breaking bones.
Jesse ran toward Silas and the light, the mare in tow. He waved his arm frantically. "Silas! Get out, leave her!" His voice wasn't much more than a croaking rasp. "The roof's going!"
He saw Silas' gaze go up toward the roof just as a deafening noise sounded above them. Jesse slapped the mare's hindquarters and stripped away the shirt covering her eyes. The splintering roar from above swallowed her shrill scream of terror.
* * *
Etta held the buggy reins in one hand and gripped her stomach with the other as she laughed. "And did you see... the look... on Esmerelda Mastison's face when you told her she should see a... a doctor about that wart growing on the tip of her nose?"
Andrea giggled too, hardly able to believe she'd told the old biddy off. "She deserved it, the old witch."
"My, oh my, she did if any woman ever did," Etta agreed with a chuckle.
Andrea straightened the brim of her straw hat and touched the wilting blooms tied there as the buggy rocked down the road toward home. The heat had taken its toll on the roses, but not on her. She felt exhilarated, alive. The outing with Etta had been just the thing she'd needed, and the scene with Esmerelda Mastison had iced the cake.
It had started in Tess MacGillen's millinery shop, where she and Etta had been window shopping, with Esmerelda making not-so-subtle insinuations about her and Jesse's living arrangements. Andrea had argued, of course, that her brother-in-law had just as much right to occupy the Winslow household as she did, a fact that hardly mitigated Esmerelda's self-righteous indignation and concern for the morals of Andrea's child. But in the end, Andrea had had the last word, leaving the prunish Esmerelda Mastison feeling the tip of her nose and looking as if she'd sucked on a lemon.
Pulling a hanky from her sleeve, Andrea dabbed at the moisture on her throat with a satisfied smile and sat little Zachary up straighter on her lap. He fussed hungrily and chewed on his fist. Andrea slid a soothing finger down his soft cheek.
"I'd say," Etta went on, smiling, "there's more than a lick or two of envy in that woman's loose lips."
"Envy?" Andrea's look was incredulous.
"That woman been's living alone so long she has nothing better to do than mind other people's business. And when that business happens to be as handsome as Mr. Jesse... well—"
"Etta!" Andrea's smile belied her gasp of shock.
"Aw, she's just jealous she doesn't have a man the likes of that one under her roof!"
"Etta," she repeated, struggling to keep from smiling. "Why if only Esmerelda heard you talk! It'd be you, not me, who'd be the subject of one of her Elkgrove Ladies Circle gossiping sessions—" She stopped, her gaze suddenly fixed on the odd black cloud rising from the horizon. "What on earth...?"
Etta looked, too, her smile fading. "Lord'a Mercy—"
Andrea grabbed Etta's hand in alarm. "Etta—!"
"I know." She gave the reins a hard slap. "Hyahh!" The horse jerked forward from its leisurely pace into a gallop as if bee-stung. Andrea grabbed the seat rail with one hand and tightened her other around Zachary, blood rushing in her ears. The Rafferty place. She'd known it from the first second she'd seen the smoke. It was too close to be the Webb farm and, God forgive her for feeling relief, too far away to be her own.
If the raiders were to blame, she prayed the family was still gone on their outing to Green Lakes.
In the time it took to cover the distance to the Rafferty place, the billowing cloud had grown ominously worse. It wasn't until they'd reached the scene that Andrea realized they'd been joined on their way by Jack Calhoun and Ezra Whitakker, who'd spotted the smoke too and were rushing to help.
The first thing they saw as they pulled up in the yard was the barn completely engulfed in flame, but Andrea's gaze found something even more dismaying—Jesse's saddleless appaloosa prancing nervously about the yard dragging a lead rope beside Andrea's mule, Jacksaw. But the telling proof was Mahkwi, who raced frantically back and forth at the barn entrance howling her panic.
"Holy hell, it's a wolf!" Ezra cried and lifted the rifle laying beside him on his wagon seat.
"No!" Andrea cried. "It's not a wolf. It's Jesse's dog, don't shoot her. Please!"
Ezra lowered his gun. "Where are the Raffertys? Pray the good Lord they ain't none of 'em in that hellhole."
Jumping from his wagon he ran toward the buckets stacked near the corner of the barn.
Andrea did pray, but she couldn't deny the truth. Handing the baby to Etta, Andrea leapt from the buggy. From within the barn, came the screams of animals and the roar of the hay mow going up.
Jesse! Oh, Jesse!
Ezra and Jack were dredging water from the water troughs in the paddock and splashing it futilely against the burning wood. As she reached the barn, Mahkwi leapt toward her with a desperate whine of recognition, a plea for help.
For the first time, she didn't fear Mahkwi. They shared a common terror. A common love.
Andrea raced toward the barn doors. Ezra intercepted her halfway there. "Hey, hey! Where do you think you're goin'?"
"Ezra, they're in there!" she cried, trying to break free.
"Who?"
"Jesse and Silas, I know they are. Please, we have to help them!"
Ezra tossed his bucket aside and swore. "Lookit that Goldanged mess! Ain't nobody comin' out of there alive, missy. Don't you go addin' yoreself to the list. Ain't nothin' we kin do for 'em now."
Andrea's eyes narrowed with anger that he would give up on Jesse so easily. "Please! Please, let me go."
"No, he's right," Etta said as she appeared at Andrea's side, her face pale and drawn, arms tight around a wailing Zachary. "There's nothing we can do now, but pray."
"But Etta, Silas is in there, too."
The colored woman swallowed a sob, her eyes bleak. "I know."
Refusing to be daunted, Andrea grabbed a bucket and plunged it into the nearest trough and raced toward the entrance, ignoring Ezra's shouted warnings. She couldn't just watch Jesse die without trying to do something. She coughed on the choking smoke, but ducked her head just inside the barn doors. "Jesse! Silas!"
Nothing.
She tried again. "Answer me, damn your ornery hides! Answer me! Jesse!"
A roaring sound came from the barn roof at almost the same moment a huge wild-eyed mare came crashing out through the curtain of smoke, with a foal close on her heels. The mare nearly knocked Andrea over, but she moved aside a second before it w
as too late. She staggered back, seeing a huge section of the barn roof cave in on itself, taking with it her last thread of hope.
Chapter 13
She fell back from the intense heat and stumbled to the ground with her bucket of water. Despair clawed at her chest and her cry came out more like a moan.
"Jes-seee!"
Then, as if her plea had called them up from the inferno, two wraithlike forms took shape through the smoke. One was half-falling, the other supporting, dragging.
The two emerged from the smoke in a huddled mass. Jesse dragged the black man forward, beating furiously on Silas's back with his bare hand. Her reactions dulled by shock, it took her a moment to believe what she was seeing. Then Andrea realized with horror that it was the fire on Silas' shirt Jesse was trying to stamp out.
Gathering her wits, she jumped up and heaved her bucket of water over the two of them, dousing the flames. With a moan, Silas staggered another fifteen feet from the fire and dropped to the ground coughing. Jesse fell to his knees beside him, his head hanging between his outstretched hands, gasping for air. Mahkwi didn't help, planting exuberant wolfish licks all over his face.
Covered from head to toe in black soot, now dripping wet, Jesse's chest heaved as he cleared his lungs of smoke. Etta was already beside Silas when Andrea dropped down beside Jesse and threw her arms around him.
"Oh, Jesse... Jesse." Tears of relief streamed down her cheeks. "I thought you were dead—"
"So... so did I for a minute." His voice wasn't much more than a croak. "God Almighty..."
For a moment, he allowed her embrace, even drew her to him, as if he needed the comfort of her touch as much as she did to convince himself he was still alive. He smelled of smoke, sweat, and singed hair.
As if suddenly realizing what he was doing, he set Andrea away from him without looking her in the eye. She swallowed down a moment of hurt.
"The mare—?" he asked.
"She's safe," she assured him. "She came tearing out with her foal just ahead of you."
Jesse's shoulders relaxed a fraction, and he drew his right hand up with a wince, cradling it to his chest. "The damn cow... she wouldn't come."
"Never mind," she whispered. "You're alive."
He nodded, exhausted, and glanced at his throbbing hand. Behind them the fire roared with withering heat.
"You're hurt," she said pulling his hand to her. A large blister was already rising on the palm. "Your poor hand—"
"It's nothing," he said, taking his hand back and turning toward Silas. He didn't need to be reminded that his impulsiveness had nearly gotten Silas killed. "Is he all right?"
Silas winced, a racking cough shaking his frame. "I's fine, thanks to you," he answered hoarsely. "I 'spect... I be needin' a new shirt though."
Etta eyes glistened as she shook her head. "And some new skin, you old fool." She tightened her hold on the baby in her arms. "Lord a mercy, what got into you two, going into that fire like that? Why somebody oughta take you two over their knees and—"
"Oooh-ee," Silas said, shaking his head, "ain't she a bossy woman?" He struggled to sit up, but his attempt disintegrated into a coughing fit.
"You just stay right where you are, Silas Mayfield." Etta scolded. "You're gonna listen to some sense for a change."
Jesse glanced back to see the rest of the barn roof cave in. Several other wagons pulled into the yard, filled with neighbors ready to help. Armed with shovels and rakes, they joined Ezra and Jack in trying to contain the fire in the hayfield.
The Rafferty's wagon tore into the yard in a cloud of dust. With a look of disbelief on his face, John Rafferty stumbled from the wagon. Gus, his fifteen-year-old, followed him, his mouth slack with shock. Isabelle and the children sat frozen on the wagonbed, too overcome to move.
Jesse got slowly to his feet as John staggered toward the barn on stiff legs.
"John!" Jesse called.
John didn't seem to hear him, his gaze hardly able to take in the disaster that had befallen his family. "Somebody give me a bucket—"
"John!" Jesse grabbed his arm. "John it's too late for the barn. We have to let it go."
"Jesse—?"
"John, I'm so sorry," Jesse touching his arm. "There was nothing we could do. The bastards torched it."
"Raiders?"
Jesse nodded. "I saw them riding off, but they were too far away and too many. The barn was too far gone by the time we got here." He knew there'd been a full mow of hay in John's loft, meant to see his stock through the winter. But right now, the hay was the least of his losses.
John's stunned gaze took in Jesse's soot-stained clothes. "My God, you didn't—? Are you all right?"
"Yeah," he said, making a loose fist to hide the burn on his hand.
John looked up, his eyes searching the suddenly crowded yard. "Oh, my God, Lexi." The word was choked.
"What?"
John moved without thinking toward the burning barn. "My draft mare, Lexi. She was in the—"
"We got her out, John," Jesse told him, taking his arm. "Her and the foal, too."
John exhaled with shaky relief. "Dear God, you went in there for the horses? Lord, boy, y-you could have been killed."
"They almost were," Etta told him, looking down at Silas who was still coughing, but slowly getting to his feet.
John shook his head in disbelief. "I... I had a cow in there, too. Lucy. She had a cracked hoof I was treating..."
"We tried," Silas told him. "That cow jus' wouldn't come. I'm real sorry, Mr. Rafferty."
"No, it's... it's..." He rubbed a hand over his face as if to wipe away the horrific vision. "How can I ever thank you?"
Jesse shook his head, his eyes dark with words he couldn't find. "Don't. You would've done the same for us."
Andrea's eyes met Jesse's for a long heartstopping moment. "For us," he'd said, not, "for Andi." Amidst all this destruction, Andrea felt a moment of hope. Whether Jesse wanted to admit it to himself or not, Willow Banks was every bit as much a part of him as Rafferty land was to John.
John's son appeared suddenly at his father's side. Gus Rafferty, a strapping young man, with his father's looks and his mother's dark red hair, looked uncharacteristically drawn and much older than his fifteen years. He seemed aware that his father was in shock and the responsibility had fallen suddenly and heavily upon him. Taking his father's arm, he turned John to face him.
"Pa, the alfalfa's goin' up," he said slowly, sensing his father's confusion. "There's a bunch of men out there trying to put it down. They need our help."
That seemed to snap John from his stupor. "Merciful God, the alfalfa! We can't lose it, too!"
"They're diggin' a circle around the fire, Pa." Gus was already backpedaling toward the field.
John started automatically for the tool room of the barn where he kept his shovels. "Dammit to hell!" he cursed when he realized what he was doing.
Gus shouted to him on the run. "Ezra brought some extra shovels. Come on, Pa!"
Shaking off his confusion, John took off at a run after his son amidst the chaos.
Andrea exchanged a helpless look with Jesse. He shook his head and dissolved in a fit of coughing. Struggling to his feet, he staggered off in the direction John had gone. Andi bit her tongue to keep from calling him back. She knew better than to try to stop him.
Fighting back her tears, Andrea looked around the Rafferty's farm. All their work, their wonderful home and farm, half-destroyed. For what? The whim of a group of cowards intent on destroying innocent people's lives? How simple it was to undo all the hard work of a lifetime.
Behind them, the fire still raged, crackling and roaring like a victorious beast. The side wall of the blackened barn collapsed. The air, thick with biting smoke, was filled with the shouts of men, and the frantic activity that had suddenly encompassed the Rafferty yard. Isabelle had climbed down from the wagon and was running toward her ransacked house with several children tugging at her skirts.
Taking Zachary
from Etta's arms, Andrea touched her shoulder. "You stay here with Silas. I'm going to see if... if there's anything I can do for Isabelle."
Silas waved Etta off. "I's all right. You two go on."
"You come in the house and let me put something on that burn, Silas."
He nodded, exchanging a look with Etta. "I be in directly."
But it took much longer than that. Night had long fallen by the time the barn fire had burned itself out and the men had smothered every smoldering ember in what was left of the alfalfa field. If they were lucky, they might harvest enough alfalfa from this third cutting to last them halfway through the winter.
If they had a barn to store it in.
Already, there was talk of a barn raising, which lifted the spirits of everyone there. The thought of bringing something positive out of such pointless devastation gave everyone cause to hope. When at last the neighboring men had left, smudged with soot and exhausted, Jesse and Silas returned to the house.
Or what was left of it.
The raiders had turned the place upside down searching for anything of value and had come away with enough to make the raid worth their while.
Though the Raffertys were by no means well off, their farm was a prosperous one. They had found Isabelle's legacy from her mother, a silver tea service and two pair of silver candlesticks, along with her modest collection of jewelry and some kitchen money. What they hadn't found, by the Grace of God, was the secret place where Isabelle and John kept their cash—an accumulation of several years' profits from the farm—not trusting it to the banks. Had that money been gone, their sudden reversal might not have been recoverable.
Isabelle, Etta, Andrea and the older children had spent the evening putting the house to rights as much as possible. But ticks had been torn from their beds and slashed, clothes torn from drawers, and armoires overturned. The house would require more than one harried evening to sort out.
Andrea and Jesse offered to take several of the children home with them until the Raffertys were back on their feet, an offer that was met with gratitude by both Isabelle and John, and by the girls. Etta insisted that Silas stay so she could look after his back, so he bedded down on the parlor floor for the night.
Renegade's Kiss Page 18
