Winter Fire

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “That’s good graze for cattle,” he said. “Surprising, without running water.”

  She smiled slightly.

  “The land is full of surprises like that,” she said. “There are a handful of springs and countless seeps where water trickles out of cracks in the stone.”

  Through narrowed eyes, he scanned the rugged sides of the canyon. There were indeed places where the brush grew thickly. In fact, isolated pine trees were tucked into some of the most protected and well-watered creases.

  Like money in the bank, he thought. Little caches of water and feed hidden away.

  No wonder there’s so much sign of game.

  “In West Texas,” he said, “when it was dry, it was generally dry all the way to the bone.”

  “That’s the way it is farther down Lost River Canyon,” she said. “The mouth of the canyon opens onto a wide valley. The river flows for a while, the land drops down, and finally it all unravels into a maze of slickrock and barren red canyons.”

  “Where does Lost River go?”

  “According to Ute, it doesn’t go anywhere. It just gets smaller and smaller until it dries up completely.”

  Case looked thoughtful, as though he were rearranging the land in his mind.

  “Lost River doesn’t flow into other water?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Does it end in a lake?”

  Sarah shook her head. Her next words confirmed what he already suspected.

  “During the dry season,” she said, “Lost River is the only sizable water for a long way in all directions.”

  “Has the river ever dried up before it gets to the ranch?”

  “Not in the six seasons I’ve been here.”

  “What does Ute say?”

  “He’s never heard of it going dry in Lost River Canyon,” she said.

  “Chancy thing, just the same.”

  “I’d feel better if I had the time and skill to build a few simple spreader dams and maybe a pond for the worst times,” she admitted. “A well would be nice, too.”

  “We’ll work on that after you get the silver out of your system.”

  Her eyelids flickered.

  She wouldn’t be on the ranch after she found the silver.

  Saying nothing, she turned away from him and watched the flight of an eagle. The bird was first black against the sky, then a radiant bronze as it turned and caught the sun at a different angle.

  Case waited, but Sarah still didn’t say anything about the time when he would own half of Lost River ranch.

  “Or did you plan on dividing the land and have me take one side of the river and you the other?” he asked.

  It was a moment before she answered.

  And even then, she looked at the eagle’s flight instead of him.

  “No,” she said huskily. “I think it would be better to keep the ranch intact. Unless you want it divided…?”

  He shook his head, but she didn’t see.

  “I’m not much of a hand with gardens and spinning and weaving,” he said, “but I know ranching. I think we all would do better if we kept on pooling our talents the way you and Ute and Lola have.”

  For Sarah, speaking was impossible without revealing the sorrow that was strangling her. She simply nodded and longed with all her soul for the freedom of an eagle riding the wind.

  Silently Case looked from one side of the rapidly narrowing canyon to the other. The land was pitching up more and more steeply beneath his stallion’s hooves. Timber that had been washed down from higher up the canyon was lodged in crevices six feet above his head.

  “I’d hate to be here when a flood comes,” he said after a time.

  “It’s…frightening.”

  Caught by the raw edge of terror in her voice, he turned and looked at her. Only then did he remember how her family had died.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”

  “I’m used to them.”

  “Sometimes that doesn’t make them any easier.”

  “No, sometimes it doesn’t,” she said matter-of-factly, meeting his glance. “Those are the bad times.”

  His breath caught. Looking into her eyes right now was like looking into a mirror—beneath the surface there were shadows of horror and grief, rage and pain.

  Yet on the surface, nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  It told Case that Sarah had been as deeply hurt by life as he had. Yet she hadn’t turned her back on emotion in order to survive.

  How did she learn to laugh again? he wondered.

  Then came a question he had never asked himself.

  Why?

  Why did she open herself up to more grief?

  Laughter and hope and love…The road to hell is paved with them.

  He had vowed never to return to that agonizing hell. He nearly hadn’t survived the first time through.

  Sarah isn’t stupid. Surely she knows the pain that feelings cause as well as I do.

  And yet she smiles, she laughs, she cries.

  She even loves.

  That’s why Ute thinks she’s an angel. Despite everything, she allows herself to care.

  Her reckless courage was breathtaking.

  “When did you first see those coins?” Case asked abruptly, uneasy with his own thoughts.

  She accepted the change of subject with a relief that didn’t show in her expression.

  “After Hal died,” she said.

  “Where did you find them?”

  “In a tobacco pouch in his jacket pocket.”

  “Do you think he found the silver just before he died?”

  For a time Sarah didn’t answer. The rhythmic noise of the horses’ hooves, the cry of a startled bird, and the restless wind were the only sounds.

  “No,” she said finally.

  “Why?”

  “He was on his way out to prospect rather than coming back to the ranch.”

  Case looked thoughtful.

  “Where did your husband die?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You said Conner tracked him.”

  “My brother was twelve years old and on foot,” she said. “He had never been away from the cabin without me. If Hal’s horse hadn’t known the way home…”

  Her voice faded. She shook her head without finishing the sentence.

  Case started to ask what Conner had been doing out on foot alone, but the look on Sarah’s face stopped him like a wall.

  “I backtracked the horse as far as I could,” she said. “But it was raining like the sea turned upside down. Every ravine was full of water. Lost River was a muddy flood too wide and deep and dangerous to ride alongside, much less cross.”

  “So the tracks washed away.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what’s the point of continuing the search?” he asked. “What are you looking for now?”

  “Just what I said I was. Ruins and red pillars and a narrow canyon. That’s all Conner remembers.”

  “How many places within a day’s ride fit that description?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Guess.”

  “Hundreds.”

  He grunted. “How many have you searched?”

  “How many did we pass on the way here?” she asked sardonically.

  What she didn’t say was that there was one canyon she was dreading searching, but she didn’t know just which one it was.

  She hoped she never would. The thought of stumbling over her husband’s bones made her cold.

  Conner, she thought helplessly. How can I ever repay you? How can I ever make it up to you?

  “No wonder you don’t have enough firewood, much less a tight cabin,” Case said. “You’ve been too busy chasing foolish hopes of silver.”

  “That’s my business.”

  “Not when I have to watch you shiver with cold every morning,” he said flatly.

  When she ignored him, he went back to searching the sides of the canyon. S
ilver skeletons of piñon, big sage, and juniper stood against the rusty cliffs. Pine logs washed down by past floods lay scattered about. A lot of the wood was still solid enough to make a hot fire.

  “Next time we’ll bring packhorses,” he said. “We can collect firewood while we look for dead men’s silver.”

  “Next time I’ll bring Conner. He doesn’t complain every step of the way.”

  “Like hell you will.”

  She turned sharply and faced Case with narrowed eyes.

  “I’m a widow and fully grown. If I want to come out here alone, I will.”

  “You’re not that much of a fool.”

  She didn’t bother answering.

  “You know as well as I do that Ab has someone watching the ranch,” Case pointed out.

  “I haven’t seen anyone.”

  “You haven’t been up on the rim.”

  “But—”

  “If you don’t believe me,” he interrupted impatiently, “ask your brother.”

  “Why would he know better than I do?”

  “Hell of a question.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” he said in a flat voice, “that you have Conner tied so tight to you with those apron strings it’s a blazing wonder he can breathe.”

  For a moment she was too angry to answer. By the time she found her tongue, she also had a better grip on her temper.

  “Conner is my business,” she said coldly. “Keep out of it.”

  Case gave her a sideways look.

  “What are you going to do when your brother wants to marry and move on?” he asked bluntly.

  The startled look on her face told him that she hadn’t thought of her brother in that way.

  “He’s just a boy,” she protested.

  “Horse apples,” Case said in disgust. “When will Conner be sixteen?”

  “In a few months.”

  “I’ve known men that age with a wife and a baby.”

  “No. I want Conner to have an education.”

  “Put what you want in one hand and spit in the other and see which hand fills up first,” he suggested sardonically.

  “I’d rather spit in your hand.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled.

  “I don’t doubt that one bit,” he said.

  Pointedly she looked away from him and up the canyon where it branched around a jutting nose of rock.

  “The ruins are up on the south side, not too far from here,” she said.

  Her tone said even more. It told Case that she was finished talking about Conner.

  “I spotted the ruins the last time I came here,” she said, “but it was too late in the day. I had to go back.”

  She urged her mustang forward. The little mare obliged with a trot that nearly shook the reales out of Sarah’s pockets. Cricket kept up with a fast, fancy kind of walking gait that was smooth as satin.

  Sarah tried not to notice the difference between the two mounts, but it was impossible. The shovel tied on behind her saddle kept bouncing up and banging her in the rear every few steps.

  Shaker had been well-named.

  The dry creek wound around a nose of solid rock. A few hundred feet farther up, another piece of cliff came in from the other side. The bottom of the canyon narrowed and became steeper as it climbed higher. Finally there was little more than thirty feet between the base of the cliffs that formed the canyon sides.

  Huge blocks of sandstone rose out of the dirt and brush, silent testimony to the fact that even the massive canyon cliffs were slowly being brought down by rain, ice, and wind.

  The horses scrambled through the obstacle course of rocks and thick brush. The mustang had an easier time of it than the stallion, but both horses were sweating by the time Sarah reined in.

  “There,” she said, pointing to the south rim of the canyon. “See the castle?”

  It took Case a moment to notice the ruined walls poking out from a deep alcove near the base of the canyon wall. Though half-tumbled down and screened by brush, the walls were definitely made by man.

  The ruins appeared to be little more than four or five small rooms with a few stone storage cribs off to one side.

  “Castle?” he asked. “Looks more like stables.”

  “Whoever stayed here lived better than we do at Lost River ranch,” she said dryly.

  “Try chinking the logs instead of looking for treasure.”

  “Chinking won’t make the cabin any bigger.”

  “Be a damned sight warmer, though. Another room to sleep in wouldn’t be amiss, either.”

  “Conner won’t need it. He’ll be away at school.”

  “I was thinking of you,” Case said, “not your brother.”

  “What about me?”

  “A girl shouldn’t have to share her bedroom with every wounded drifter who turns up. Wouldn’t that kind of privacy be a treasure worth working for?”

  Sarah didn’t answer.

  He looked at the determined set of her jaw, swore under his breath, and tilted his hat back on his head.

  “Now that we’re at the so-called castle,” he said, “what do we do next?”

  “We look for silver.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that the silver was buried at the base of a tall pillar of red rock?”

  “It was supposed to be. I can’t say where it might be now.”

  “If the treasure weighed in at a few hundred pounds, and your husband was too drunk to remember finding it, chances are he didn’t pack it out on his back.”

  Sarah had thought about that. A lot. On the other hand…

  “I’ve dug around all the pillars in this canyon,” she said firmly. “Now it’s time to go over the ruins.”

  “If there’s nothing there, then what?”

  “I’ll try the next canyon.”

  “And then?”

  “I’ll go on to the next canyon and the next and the next until I run out of canyons or find that damned silver.”

  Case looked at the worn, hard-used shovel that was tied behind her saddle.

  “Well, it beats digging graves,” he said.

  He dismounted and pulled the shotgun sling over his head. Then he tied the reins around Cricket’s neck, took the rifle out of its sheath, and turned toward Sarah.

  “After you,” he invited.

  “Planning on starting a war?” she asked, dismounting.

  “I’d hate to disappoint any Culpepper who came around looking for a ration of lead.”

  His tone was dry but there was nothing amusing about the look in his eyes. He had looked like that when he came back to the cabin after the raiders attacked.

  Without a word Sarah hobbled Shaker, grabbed her own shotgun and shovel, and set off toward the ruins at a brisk pace. As she took each step, she tried not to remember how frightening it had been to wait with Conner inside the cabin and not know if Case was alive, dead, or dying alone in the cold darkness.

  Twice she had headed for the door. The first time, Conner had stopped her simply by putting his hand on her arm. The second time he had been forced to wrestle her to the floor and sit on her to keep her inside the cabin.

  Her brother might have found the minutes that followed entertaining, but she still felt both furious and chilled when she thought of Case lying helpless in the dark, perhaps dying when she could have saved his life.

  Shovel and shotgun over her shoulder, she scrambled up the slope. Thanks to Ute, her moccasins were new. Unfortunately, the sharp rocks would soon wear through the deer hide.

  Just before she went up the last, steep slope of the rubble mound that led to the ruins, she stopped to catch her breath.

  “Give me the shovel,” Case said.

  “You shouldn’t be carrying—” she began as she turned toward him.

  Her protest ended. He wasn’t winded at all.

  She handed over the heavy shovel, keeping only the shotgun for herself.

  Without the shovel, the rest of the scramble to the
ruins was a lot easier for her. If the long-handled shovel or his recently wounded leg bothered Case, it didn’t show in his speed. He was right behind her when she came up over the lip of the debris slope and onto the flat area where the ruins were.

  With speculative gray eyes, she looked over the ragged walls and piles of fallen stone.

  “Where do you want me to dig?” he asked.

  “First let’s just look around. We might get lucky.”

  “Mounds of silver shining in the sun?”

  “More like rotten hide bags of bullion and coins tarnished by a few centuries of neglect,” she retorted.

  She turned on her heel and walked toward the first ragged room.

  “Stay away from the walls,” he said.

  “I’ve done this before.”

  “Just stay clear of the walls. Looks like a sneeze would bring them down.”

  Her mouth flattened, but the memory of how easy it had been for her younger brother to restrain her was still vivid.

  Irritating, bullying creatures, she thought. Why can’t they just let a woman get on with her work? Why do they have to keep interfering?

  Pointedly she kept well away from the walls while she looked into and around each ruined room.

  Once Case was certain that Sarah was going to be sensible about exploring the ruins, he divided his attention between watching her and watching for raiders.

  Watching her was much more interesting. She had a female way of moving that made him think of how good her breasts had felt against his leg when she changed his bandage. The thought of enjoying that sensation again, without his wound and her clothes to distract him, had a predictable effect on the fit of his pants.

  Damn, he thought. I better keep her mad at me. It’s easy enough to do. She’s so damned independent.

  But what he really wanted to do was kiss her curving, female body until she melted and ran like honey on his tongue.

  Think about something else, he told himself.

  It was hard, even when she was out of sight.

  By the time Sarah scrambled out from behind the last wall of the ruins, her jacket was unbuttoned, her hat was pushed back on her head, and her doeskin shirt was unlaced to let air run over her hot skin.

  Beneath the loose laces, Case was sure he could see the velvet shadow between her breasts. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in that sweet, warm flesh.

  “Well?” he asked roughly.

  “No silver.”