Blaze! Western Series: Six Adult Western Novels

by Stephen Mertz

  "What if they are trying to lure us into a trap?"

  Paco had not thought of that, which did not stop him from saying, "Ah yes, I have thought of that. And, uh, what will we do to this husband and wife if it is a trap?"

  Rosa said, "Why, we will kill them, of course, and elude the trap." She leaned forward. There was a maddening, earthy, sensual scent to her that titillated Paco’s senses. She said, "But Paco, what if it is not a trap? What if they have brought us true information that will earn us mucho dinero? "

  "Then I say we kill them just the same and go after that payroll ourselves. I don’t like that son of a bitch."

  Rosa laughed again. A cruel, mocking laugh. "You don’t like him because you know he is the only man in this camp who could challenge you for your precious Rosa. That is why you want him dead."

  Paco was drunk enough to say, "And what if it is?"

  She took a long draw on her stogie. "You will never understand me. You can have him tomorrow when the job is done, my bull. You will become famous far and wide as the man who killed J.D. Blaze. It is not the husband that I am interested in."

  As wisdom dawned, so did Paco’s spirits.

  "Ah...the wife! You would do to her what you have done to the other women? A branding?"

  "Now you understand. When I carve my initials into the smooth flesh of Kate Blaze, the whole border will know of it and will fear the very sound of my name. The thought arouses me. Paco, who is your bitch queen?"

  He spoke in a small voice, again dropping his eyes.

  "You are."

  "Then get on your knees."

  He obeyed. And for the next hour, Paco did as he was told.

  Chapter 11

  Kate Blaze knew something about men.

  She had, after all, grown up with four older brothers. Her father was a good man, a prosperous shopkeeper until the War wiped everything out. Mother died of the typhoid when Kate was only three. Her father and brothers raised her.

  Naturally, as the baby of the family and the only girl, she was her father’s spoiled little angel. This, however, only made it worse for her when it came to the teasing and general harassment of her rough-housing, free-spirited brothers. Little surprise then that she became a dyed-in-the-wool tomboy at an early age. Kate could ride a horse as well or better than any boy her age. Her brothers taught her how to shoot.

  And so, yes, having been raised by men, she knew more than a little about their nature and their ways.

  The War devoured her past, as it had for untold others who traveled and settled the West. They were gone, her father and her brothers, leaving a young, unworldly Kate alone in the world to fend for herself.

  She learned soon enough that being an overall-wearing tomboy would get her nowhere except a sod house on the prairie as a farmer’s wife. She found work that offered proximity to the wealthy class. The ladies who wore lace and silk. She studied and learned their ways. She practiced alone like a clumsy, unsure actress in front of a mirror, learning the role of a lady who cared for her appearance and projected strength and confidence. She went on to absorb the role so well that the line between learning and being disappeared.

  She traveled west and was today the equal of any man when it came to riding, shooting and cards. She knew men found her desirable. She often enough caught the reflection of their second glance on the street after she had she passed, or in open invitation when eyes met across the poker table.

  Then J.D. came into her life. Despite her self-confident sass, the fact of the matter was that she had never fallen in love before. It seemed like a lot of misspent energy that could be better spent playing cards or hiring out her gun. But then J.D. risked his life to save hers by killing that man in El Paso.

  She had never known a man like her husband. They had been through so much, from fighting Apaches to flash floods to saloon gunfights, that by this time could read the man like a book.

  They were setting out their bedrolls on the outskirts of the camp. The horses were ground tethered nearby. And it was clear enough to her that J.D. was about to speak his mind.

  Not that he was an easy man to read. Had it been his nature to gamble, the man would have made one hell of a poker player. Building his reputation throughout the West as a shootist required more than a fast draw and a sharp eye. A man in J.D.’s line of work needed nerves of steel always kept under control. He never revealed to the world what was inside. He was honest and quiet and sudden death to anyone who crossed him.

  But they were husband and wife. They shared the same bed when there was a roof over their heads and slept in the same joined bedrolls under the stars.

  She knew J.D.

  She broke the silence between them.

  "All right, get it off your chest."

  After the confab with Paco and Rosa Diablo—that woman was as nasty a piece of work as Kate had ever seen!—she and J.D. had been directed to this spot to set up. Darkness had fallen.

  J.D. said, "I’m not holding back to spare your feelings. I’m just trying to find the right words to speak my mind."

  "Well, do your best."

  They spoke low, conversing while they readied their bedrolls.

  "Okay, here goes. Darlin’, you must be out of your ever-lovin’ cotton-pickin’ mind. What on earth—"

  "Now hold on, J.D.—"

  "Spilling the beans like you did to a band of outlaws. Telling them about the alternate route and the army patrol. What about those soldier boys?"

  "They’re accompanying that stage because they’re expecting a fight."

  "Now that is woman’s logic. Tell you what, hon. After this, if there is an after this, you work the cards and back me up on the gunplay like we agreed in the beginning. I’ll do the thinking."

  They sat on the bedrolls. Removed their boots. Slid under the covers against the chill of the desert night. Each kept their revolvers within easy reach. Each had a Winchester under the covers, but not between them. They lay facing each other.

  Kate reached over and ran her fingers through his hair, the way she knew he liked.

  "But sweetheart, I do get to think once in awhile. Right?"

  "Aw, don’t be sarcastic."

  "I know it looks like I’m handing over the payroll to them on a silver platter, doesn’t it?"

  "It does."

  His voice lost some of its edge because the fingernail of her index finger stroked around his ear. He always liked that. His resolve began to melt.

  Kate said, "J.D., I gave it considerable thought and here’s what I came up with. We ride with these yahoos and when the raid on the stage commences, we corner the lovebirds and whisk them away."

  "More woman’s logic. Why shouldn’t Paco and Rosa be wise to that? Now that they know about the alternate route, they could ignore the odds and take on the cavalry. They’ll have the element of surprise on their side. But by that time you and I will be lying dead somewhere with the back of our heads blown away."

  "I guess that’s where backing each other up on the gunplay comes in."

  He sighed in surrender.

  "Well, the die is cast. Thanks to your brilliant plan, tomorrow we’re riding with a band of the worst cutthroats on the border, raiding a stagecoach protected by the U.S. Army."

  She snuggled up closer to him. Her hand began to move, at first caressing his face and then traveling southward.

  "Know what, J.D.?"

  "Yeah, I think I do but I’ll play along. Okay. What?"

  "I’m sort of horny."

  J.D. gave in completely. No sigh this time, just the growl of a bear coming out of hibernation. Her fingers came to rest on the front of his trousers where a bulge was beginning to form. He drew her closer. His hand slid under her shirt and cupped her right breast. He knew exactly how to touch her. He had from their first night together. He pinched the nipple with his thumb and index finger. She arched her back. His kiss to her throat elicited a moan.

  Then her husband rolled atop her and any thoughts of tomorrow were forgo
tten...

  Chapter 12

  The line of cavalry rode double-file, following the stagecoach on the rugged, seldom-used trail winding across prairie bordered to the east by the Dragoon Mountains and, to the west, by the less impressive but no less formidable Whetstones. The air was fresh, laced with the scent of sage. Dawn cast the desert, which would soon become a baking furnace, in a crisp, clean light.

  Too bad the day couldn’t stay exactly as it was right now, thought First Lieutenant Jamie McAllen. Dawn had always been his favorite time of day, even as a kid growing up back in Vermont. Each day a new beginning, his preacher father was fond of saying.

  Jamie only hoped that he would live to see the end of this day.

  Sergeant Farquart, a portly, ruddy-cheeked Scot, rode beside him at the head of the column. The sergeant’s eyes never stopped restlessly surveying the surrounding landscape as they rode along at a steady trot.

  Expect an attack at any time had been Jamie’s final instruction before leading his men out of the fort, accompanying the stage for this run through hostile territory.

  Twin emotions tightened Jamie’s gut.

  On the one hand, he and any of the men riding under his command could die in combat this day unless the very presence of the U.S. military following the stage was enough to dissuade an attack. Right. Tell that to Custer. On the other hand, while some would consider garrison life at the fort a picnic compared to being on patrol, Jamie found it mundane, boring and unrewarding with too much of his time spent training recruits.

  Most Calvary units operated outside the borders of the states and thus provided a new start in life for men with few questions asked. Many enlistees had arrest warrants outstanding for them. Some joined as an alternative to serving jail time. The ranks of the enlisted were filled with criminals, adventurers and many Confederate officers now serving as corporals and sergeants. Immigrants filled the ranks. With most of the recruits being seasoned men of one type or another, the biggest challenge Jamie encountered as an instructor was the language barrier. While most of the American recruits did not read or write, the immigrants who did not speak English compounded this problem, to put it mildly. The one bright spot in that daily grind was the considerable time Jamie spent grooming his horse. The success of mounted troops in the field demanded that horses be in top condition, which was why Stable Call was sounded twice a day at the fort. Each horse was groomed and cared for meticulously.

  The troopers riding with him this morning were handpicked. The money of the big ranchers in the area that had greased palms along the way demanded no less.

  Sergeant Farquart said, "We’ve got company."

  Farquart was in his early fifties. A lifer. A veteran of countless campaigns from the cold of northern Dakota to the blistering desert of Arizona. The unmistakable Scottish brogue gave a melodious cadence to his observation.

  Even though Jamie had graduated from West Point at the top of his class, most of what he knew of a practical military nature had been learned in the field under the tutelage of Sergeant Farquart. It was part training and part instinct that made Jamie not immediately look around, as was his initial impulse. Instead, he continued to be appear focused straight ahead as they trotted along in the wake of the stage. But with only a slight shift, he sent a sideways glance in the direction in which the sergeant had indicated.

  A half dozen Apache braves sat astride ponies on a bluff not a quarter of a mile away, observing their progress.

  For a heartbeat, Jamie forgot that they were the enemy. He was descended from a long and unbroken line of valorous military service, his career in the military preordained, but in flashes of rebelliousness there surfaced from time to time unbidden thoughts of becoming an artist. A painter. As he surreptitiously noted the Apaches, he could not help but think what a perfect picture they made there on that bluff, as if posing for a group portrait against the clear blue sky.

  Jamie blinked. Snapped his mind back to reality.

  "We’ve had reports of war parties raiding in this sector. But there are only six of them, Sergeant. They shouldn’t cause us trouble."

  "Begging your pardon, sir. The Lieutenant’s optimistic nature is showing through again. Sir, they’re only letting us see six braves. That doesn’t mean there aren’t another couple dozen more close at hand, ready to scalp us and leave our remains for the vultures."

  "Hmm. Right as usual, Sergeant. Ride ahead and instruct the driver to pick up the pace."

  Chapter 13

  Kate awoke feeling refreshed with the first light of dawn in her eyes. She stretched in the bedroll. Luxurious. That was the feeling. She felt goddamn luxurious. She came out of the stretch with a contented sigh. She always had a deep, good night’s sleep after making love with J.D.

  She put on the airs in saloons and poker clubs of a worldly know-it-all because it was expected of her. Good for business. But the truth was that her first sexual experience had been with a neighbor boy when she was a teenager. Next, a nice young suitor from town she met at the library. He was killed at Shiloh.

  Then there was J.D. Blaze.

  The man left her breathless. Happy, exhausted and satisfied. She didn’t know where J.D. learned the things he had about taking care of a woman in those ways. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know! But dang, her pony boy knew how to ride! She’d fallen asleep in his arms to the sound of his contented snoring.

  And now...morning in an outlaw camp.

  She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Made sure she was buttoned and decent, and then sat up.

  Sounds of the camp coming to life filled the crisp morning air.

  No sign of J.D. No reason to be concerned. Probably off doing his morning business. She proceeded to find some privacy and do the same.

  They breakfasted without saying much on a slab of bacon from oilskin and hard biscuits to go with the cold, salty meat. The walls of the canyon echoed the jingle and jangle of men saddling up and checking the action and loads of their weapons. J.D. and Kate did the same. Then J.D. took care of feeding and saddling their horses.

  Kate was rolling up their bedroll when Rosa Diablo sauntered up to her.

  "Buenos dias, Mrs. Blaze."

  "Rosa."

  "I am glad for this opportunity to speak to you out of earshot of your husband."

  Kate was intrigued but determined not to let it show.

  "Oh?"

  "Sí. This is woman to woman between us, you understand?"

  Over by the horses, J.D. surely noted that Rosa had stopped to speak with her. He pretended not to notice.

  Kate said, "What is it?"

  Something that could have been a smile quirked the corners of Rosa’s lips.

  "I was too hard on you last night when you and your husband rode in. He is an impressive man."

  "He is that." Kate wondered where the hell this was going.

  "I should have known that a man of your husband’s caliber would have at his side a most impressive woman."

  Kate had the strangest feeling that she was being played with, the way a cat will claw and play with a mouse before finishing it off. It’s like she’s sizing me up one last time!

  She said, "Glad you feel that way, queen bitch of the border."

  Rosa’s eyes narrowed. "Do you mock me?"

  "No more than you play with me."

  Rosa said, "Paco suspects that you and your man are leading us into a trap. I see lust in Paco’s eyes when he looks at you but that does not stop him from distrusting you and your man. Is Paco right? Do you ride with us only to betray us?"

  "Of course not."

  "I am so glad. Perhaps we can become friends."

  "I don’t have friends," said Kate. "I expect no favors in life."

  A brief, amused smile from Rosa.

  "I see that. We are alike, you and I."

  Kate found that to be a repulsive thought. She didn’t know how to respond. She thought, Now would be a good time to take her into custody. They were more or less alone, somewhat remove
d from the others. J.D. could join in. But where was Paco? It would be best to bring in the both of them together.

  She managed to say, "One way we’re alike. We ride with outlaws."

  "We are outlaws, gringa." Rosa’s eyes drifted to J.D. tightening the cinch on Kate’s saddle. "We have taken strong men and made them into our willing slaves."

  "Speak for yourself. Blaze and I make each other equals."

  "So, Kate. Can I trust you?"

  Again Kate had the sensation of being sadistically played with. What does this bitch have in mind?

  She said, "You can trust me as much as I trust you."

  Rosa did not reply to that. She only nodded. Then she turned and walked back to the main activity at the center of the camp.

  J.D. ambled over from the horses.

  "What was that all about?"

  "Woman talk. She knows you and I are up to no good."

  "Hell, with this bunch, who ain’t?"

  "The trick is going to be getting the drop on both of them and getting them away from the rest of the gang."

  "And has that brilliant mind between your ears, the one that got us into this mess in the first place, come up with a brilliant strategy for getting us and those two birds out?"

  "Of course. We ride with them. You and I watch out for each other, as usual."

  "I remember you saying something along those lines from before you got frisky last night. Thanks for that, by the way."

  "My pleasure."

  "So the next step of our plan is—"

  He let the sentence dangle expectantly.

  Kate grinned sheepishly.

  "Why, I’d have thought you’d already figured that part out, J.D. We watch for an opening and improvise like hell."

  Chapter 14

  From this observation point overlooking the desert, the sounds of combat were muffled by a half mile’s distance. A war party of six braves had decided to attack the stagecoach in spite of the military escort. Their war whoops carried faintly as did the popping of rifles.

  J.D. felt his gut tighten. He noted that Kate’s mouth was a tight line. Standing beside him, her eyes were steely. Sure signs that she was boiling over inside. He felt the same way.