Blaze! Western Series: Six Adult Western Novels

by Stephen Mertz

  Blaze couldn't help himself. He grinned. "You always were the pragmatic one."

  Kate rewarded the grin with a kiss to his lips. The kiss was moist, pliant, fleeting.

  "That money is waiting for us," she said. "I hid it along the river. Only I know where. I had to come back, J.D. I figured I could outflank them and pick off a few in the process, like I did."

  J.D. held her chin between the thumb and index finger of his good hand, and looked straight into those eyes that had always bewitched him.

  "We're not going to make it," he said. "I wish you hadn't come back. I really do. You're my main concern, not the money. They're regrouping. They've got us surrounded and they're fixing to overrun us any minute now in one massed attack, and that will be the end of it."

  A morning dove cooed.

  Or maybe it was a signal.

  Her eyes shown with strength and determination. "J.D., if we get out of this, we get out together. If it ends here, we go out standing together."

  A single rifle shot cracked in the crisp morning air. Before it could echo away, gunfire and war cries resumed, this time from every direction. The air became thick with flying bullets.

  J.D. grunted. "Damned if I won't stand."

  He struggled to his feet. He retained his hold on the revolver.

  She turned, her back to his. She levered a fresh round into her Winchester.

  "I love you, J.D."

  "I'm damn proud to be the man you love," J.D. heard himself say. He thought, I never talk like that! Even the hammering numbness of his shoulder was forgotten. "I love you, Katie. I'll see you on the other side."

  They were closing in from the trees now, springing over boulders, nearly a dozen of them having scaled the rocks, attacking from every direction.

  J.D. and Kate stood back to back and met the assault with their weapons blazing.

  Chapter 3

  In the bleak light of dawn, the world thundered with hellfire.

  J.D. knew enough to stay cool-headed in a fight. Hard to do this time, though, attacked from two sides by dozen or more Apache braves.

  Savage war cries. Blood lust. The snarling kill frenzy of the defenders no less savage. Shouting. Grunts. Armed combat. Gunfire that blew away flesh and toppled attackers back down the deep slope to join the bodies already there.

  Braves who stormed in from behind were cut down. Kate levered and triggered her Winchester so fast, it sounded like a Gatling gun. Apaches toppled, the heavy rounds spraying the air with their blood. When she ran out of bullets, Kate tossed aside the rifle. She reached for her sidearm, a Colt .45.

  This brief break in her fire inspired a pair of braves to rush her. J.D. saw this. He swiveled onto his back and dropped the first brave with the last round from his carbine. Kate greeted the second brave with the barrel of her pistol, brought up in a wide-armed swing with enough force to cave in the side of his skull.

  A sudden, oppressive silence descended upon their citadel.

  From somewhere down below came the pitiful groans of a dying brave, growing fainter by the second. A life ebbing away.

  The only other sound J.D. heard in the whole wide world was his own strained breathing and that of his Kate’s. They remained standing back to back, each reloading their Winchester.

  Kate said, between gulps of air to catch her breath, "Tell me I’m not dead or dreaming."

  The faint sound of hoofbeats galloped away.

  J.D. said, "Sounds like two or three decided enough was enough."

  Kate looked at the fallen dead encircling them.

  "Well, I can certainly concur with that sentiment."

  Gunsmoke hung heavy on the still morning air.

  His wary eyes scanned the sprawl of bodies, relieved that he would not have to deliver a mercy round to put some poor devil out of his misery. The death moans from below had stopped. He hoped some lucky red devil wasn’t playing possum or hiding in the morning shadows, waiting to pick them off.

  Kate strode to where they had tethered the horses, blindfolded, under shelter of a cut in the land off to the side of the wooded incline. The animals were not as skittish as they could have been, thanks to the blindfolds. They relaxed and whinnied when they sensed Kate’s presence. She returned to J.D. with bandages and ointment.

  He waved her away.

  "Heck babe, it’s already stopped bleeding. I’ve been shot before, y’know."

  She sighed, refolding the bandages.

  "That’s my man. Jehoram Delfonso Blaze. Even bullets don’t bother him."

  "Now Kate, you know I don’t like it when you call me that."

  "What? Jehoram Delfonso? And why not? It’s your name, isn’t it?"

  He sighed like he always did when they had this discussion.

  "It’s a first name my Bible thumpin’ mama tied on me along with a middle name of some rounder of an uncle she admired. But they’re all gone now and I’ve got to live with it. A man’s got his reputation to think of."

  She surveyed the corpses littering the ground and boulders around them.

  "I’m guessing that when word of this scrap gets around the territory, your reputation will be just fine."

  "Still, call me J.D., won’t you? Why do we always have to go over this when you get stressed?"

  "I’m not stressed."

  He sighed. "Well, I am. You’re impossible. But you fight good."

  They had regained their breath. They walked to the horses. They undid the blindfolds, unteathered the animals. Kate’s steed was a three-year-old chestnut. J.D.’s was a big black stallion. They mounted up.

  Kate had a rosy glow to her cheeks. Her eyes glittered with the excitement of battle. The exaltation of survival.

  "That was one hell of a hair raiser, wasn’t it, J.D.? But, uh, let’s not do it again or at least for awhile. You think those Indians will be back?"

  J.D. said, "We’re not sticking around long enough to find out. Take me to our money."

  The cool nip of dawn was giving way to the warmth of the sun as it crested the Mule Mountains to the east, burnishing wispy white clouds with gold against a blue sky.

  When they reached the river, Kate led the way.

  But the saddlebags were gone.

  Beneath a mighty cottonwood where a small, unusually formed rock jutted out over the water, the dry ground around the rock had been dug up.

  Kate said, "Son of a bitch."

  J.D. said, "Are you sure—"

  "Of course I’m sure. That rock was easy enough to remember even in the moonlight. Son of a bitch."

  "Easy enough to figure," said J.D. "We weren’t the only ones creeping around last night when I saw you off. An Apach or two spotted what you were up to, decided it would be just as easy to let you head out so you wouldn’t give them trouble."

  "After I headed back up to rejoin you, they helped themselves to our life savings."

  Blaze never stopped scanning their surroundings. His fingertips lingered near the Winchester that rested in its scabbard.

  "And right now that money’s going to buy whiskey, rifles and ammunition."

  "Our life savings," she repeated. "Gone, J.D. We’re flat broke."

  He ceased scanning the horizon just long enough to appraise the bold thrust of her bosom beneath her blue work shirt.

  "Nothing flat about you, Mrs. Blaze."

  Her eyes narrowed.

  "Jehoram Del—"

  "Okay, okay. Honey, we’re alive. It was only money and dreams." He drew a deep breath of the fresh, morning air. "It’s a new day. Feels good to be alive."

  "Sure it does. Without a plugged nickel to our names and the country crawling with hostiles."

  He said, in his good-natured way, "Simmer down, wife. Whiskey Bend is seven or eight miles to the southeast by my reckoning."

  Kate did not yet feel the need to simmer down. The eyes remained narrowed, the usually kissable lips drawn tight.

  "And what will we do when we get to Whiskey Bend?"

  "Why, start over aga
in, of course," he said with a laugh.

  Turning his horse, he rode off.

  She called after him, "Damn you, J.D. Wait for me!"

  They rode away from there together, side by side.

  Chapter 4

  Whiskey Bend. A motley cluster of adobe residences. A handful of false-fronted stores. The only brick building in sight was the bank. There was a livery stable and a ramshackle hotel right next to an equally ramshackle whorehouse.

  And a saloon.

  A cowboy town, surrounded by open, fertile prairie. The ranchland those legends like Texas John Slaughter had carved from the frontier. Large and small spreads employed scores of cowboys working for meager but steady wages. Whiskey Bend was where they came to let off steam. To blow those wages on whiskey, gambling and women.

  Kate sat playing poker with three cowboys. It was a lazy afternoon. By nightfall the saloon would be rollicking, the money flowing, and Kate would be raking in pot after pot. Then she and J.D. would have a grubstake, traveling money, and could figure their next move.

  They had stabled their horses with the liveryman and strode in shoulder to shoulder, parting the batwing doors. They took a table. J.D. ordered them each a drink. Before long he was calling to the handful of patrons.

  "Say, gents, the lady here feels like playing cards. Me, I’m not a gambling man."

  Kate said, "Anyone here feeling lucky?"

  The three hands from the Rocking J came forward.

  J.D. excused himself and took a stool at the bar.

  It was a friendly game, the waddies being likeable young fellows not much out of their teens. Kate went easy on them. She was just warming up. She let them win about two-thirds of the time. The other times they didn’t mind losing to a pretty lady who exuded a patina of class over a confident friendliness that was cordial yet in no way flirtatious. Word would get around that a stranger, a good-looking woman, was in town to play cards.

  And that is when Kate the shark, the real poker player, would come to life. She would clean up before the night was through. When it came to cards, she knew every trick in the book, having honed her skills working the gambling rooms of the luxury Mississippi riverboats before the war.

  J.D. didn’t mind letting his woman bring home the bacon. He sat on a barstool and kept an eye on things. If trouble came, it would be tonight.

  The appearance of the attractive woman, armed with a sidearm, smoking cigarillos and playing poker, had by now been absorbed by those present. The player piano kept on plinking. The other cowboys present returned to swapping lies. The occasional laughter of a saloon girl trilled over the brusque male camaraderie.

  J.D.’s concern at the moment was trying to keep Kate from noticing the saloon girl seated two empty stools down from him.

  A cute little blond number. No more that sixteen or seventeen. Most likely separated from her folks or she lost them to who knew what. And now she was doing what many women did to survive in the west, looking for a meal ticket out. She could tell by the two guns riding low on his hips saw that he was no common cowboy.

  She’d showed up for work a half hour after Kate started dealing cards and so did not know that Kate and J.D. were together. The blonde wouldn’t stop shooting coy glances and batting her eyes at J.D., her dimpled knees showing and her small hard-nippled breasts arching out beneath the honky tonk outfit as if to say hello.

  Before he knew what he was doing, J.D. gave her a wink.

  Immediately he realized his error.

  The blond girl brightened. She rose to leave her stool with the intention of coming straight toward him.

  J.D. cursed himself for a fool. Damned old habits! Reflexes, really. He was a man. He liked the batting of pretty eyes in his direction. Damn reflexes. What the hell’s wrong with you, J.D? Nursing his warm beer, he left his bar stool before the blonde could get near him.

  He ambled around to where Kate could clearly observe him standing alone and staying out of trouble.

  One thing J.D. had learned early in their marriage was that his wife could always suss out a woman making a pass at him. He didn’t know how she did it. He only knew that you didn’t want to get Kate mad or even irritated. Especially if it was her saddle bag that held tonight’s winnings and she could shoot the fingers or worse off anyone who tried to touch it, including her husband. She’d do it, too.

  Not that Kate had a damn thing to worry about. One look at Mrs. J.D. Blaze and every blond chippie in the world flew out of his mind right along with the brunettes and the redheads. J.D. had been born with an appreciative eye for the opposite sex. He didn’t see what the big problem was with just looking. You could be in a museum and see a nice piece of artwork and pause to appreciate it without necessarily wanting to bring it home with you. His missus did not see it that way. From Kate’s perspective, if he was eyeing it, he was thinking about doing it. And if he was thinking about doing it, well, ‘nuff said.

  So why did he put up with it?

  Well hell, one look was all it took at this fine specimen of womanhood for that obvious answer. Knocking back shots and having a fine old time, Kate acted like she didn’t see J.D. standing there. But she would know that he had his eye on things and not just on pretty blond honky tonk girls. Kate had a right to feel self confident. J.D. could never do better than Kate in the woman department and he damn well knew it. She was a keeper. A woman to ride the river with and no mistake.

  Watching her sitting there, plying her former trade as a cardsharp while knowing that less than twenty-four hours ago they had been fighting for their lives as a team, Blaze could not help but remember the first time they met...

  Chapter 5

  El Paso. Five years earlier...

  She caught his attention the first time he set eyes on her.

  Any man who would not look twice to savor her breathtaking loveliness just wasn’t paying attention. A queen bee with allure to spare, yet with eyes that were as steely and fathomless as those of the men she sat with, playing poker.

  Saturday night. A noisy saloon. Three deep at the bar. Dancing at the far end to a banjo and fiddle. Smoky tobacco haze. Dim lighting. The closeness of too many jostling, unwashed bodies.

  The woman playing poker shone in this rat hole like a polished diamond.

  "Who is she?" Blaze asked the bartender.

  The stickman was replenishing trays for his busy saloon girls but he managed to share an appreciative nod.

  "Stranger, that there’s Miss Kate Aragon. The sharpest poker player in these parts. Showed up about a month ago."

  "She run an honest game?"

  "Far’s anyone can tell. Fine looker, ain’t she?"

  "She is that."

  A clamor arose from the poker game.

  "You damn bitch! You had that ace in one of them pretty boots."

  The barkeep said, "Uh oh. That’s Cal McClain. That’s his brother Dent sittin’ next to him. That gal’s about to get in over her head. Their old man runs El Paso town."

  A hush descended upon the barroom.

  Kate Aragon said in a quiet, clear voice, "Mister, I’m a good enough poker player that I don’t have to cheat. Now close your mouth or mama will close it for you."

  She raked in the pot.

  Dent placed a hand on his brother’s wrist.

  "Simmer down, Cal. Pa don’t like it when we start trouble."

  Cal jerked his wrist free. He stormed to his feet, kicking over his chair.

  "I ain’t starting nothing. I’m finishing it. This whore stole my money with her damn cheatin’ ways while she’s keeping us, uh, preoccupied with being so damn pretty and smart and all."

  Blaze observed this with a tightening gut. His right hand eased down to the butt of his pistol. He was on his way north after a job south of the border. He wasn’t looking for trouble. But it was not in him to watch a woman be threatened.

  This woman looked to have ice in her veins.

  She said to the man towering over her from across the table, "I’m warning y
ou nice, one more time. I’ll let the whore comment slide because you’re drunk. Be on your way. Say good night."

  Cal McClain snarled. "I’ll say go to hell, whore!" He pawed for the gun holstered at his side.

  A Derringer appeared in Kate Aragon’s right fist, brought up lightning fast from under the table. The right arm straightened, the Derringer aimed at Cal’s forehead.

  "You make one more move, Calvin, and you’ll get to Hell before I do."

  Dent thrust himself to his feet. His eyes burned. "Cal’s right, dammit. No one talks to a McClain like that!" He grabbed for his pistol.

  Blaze said, "Hold it right there, son. Leave the lady be."

  Dent snarled, "I’ll kill you and the bitch." He started to draw.

  Blaze cleared leather first. He triggered a round that caught Dent McClain in the chest. The impact of the bullet slammed Dent against the wall. He remained standing. He managed to complete his draw, very slowly. He tried with effort to raise his gun. Blaze sent a bullet into Dent’s heart.

  Dent sighed like a tired man and slowly slumped to a sitting position. He did not move. He left a wide blood smear on the wall.

  Cal McClain stared in horror at his fallen brother. Wild eyes filled glared at Blaze.

  "You’ll pay for this! You’ll be dead before sunrise."

  And he ran from the saloon, into the night.

  No one said anything for several heartbeats.

  Then Kate said, "Thank you, stranger." She cocked her leg up onto a wooden chair and returned the derringer to her boot. Then she advanced with a hand extended, as a man would. "You saved my life."

  Blaze glanced around, discerning no threat from the gaping patrons. Everyone appeared more interested in the dead man who sat against the wall. The bartended remained behind his bar.

  Blaze shook hands with Kate. Her handshake was firm but it was decidedly not like shaking hands with a man. A vibrancy that Blaze could not identify coursed though him at their first touch and he wondered if she felt it too.