Reckless Desire

by Thea Devine

  "So I did," he agreed calmly. He looked at Ellie. "She seems up to snuff, doesn't she? Nothing fazes my Kalida; I wonder that I even needed to call on you to help. Except

  that it does worry me to leave Kalida alone at night, especially now that her legs appear to be useless. I'm glad you're here, Ellie."

  Ellie's face was a study as her father delivered this moderately grateful little speech. Kalida shook her head hopelessly. Her father had been periodically going out at night for as long as she could remember, sometimes to nighthawk the herd, sometimes to hunt for marauders, sometimes to stand guard, and most times, recently, to join in the search for rustlers who had seemingly become more bold of late. There wasn't a rancher for miles who hadn't lost a substantial head of cattle, either in large droves or piecemeal, throughout the previous year, and mutual frustration had driven her father and their neigh­bors, including Deuce, to form their mutual protection society, which they had organized under the guise of being a gambling hall.

  Never had her father scrupled to leave her alone at the ranch, particularly since Eakins or one of his men was but a shout away. However, in these bad times, Eakins and Bill, the range cook, were the only occupants of the bunk house beyond the corral, the only hands her father could afford to pay full time; during round-up he was forced to hustle up a string of day workers, none of whom looked any too respectable to Kalida. All of them now were away at winter pasture, and she supposed she ought to have felt appreciative that her father had given her immobile state some consideration.

  It was obvious Ellie did not. She had not ensconced herself at the Ryland ranch for the sole purpose of trying to ride herd on Kalida for a second time. Her black eyes glittered as she assessed Hal Ryland. He was acting just a little too naive, she thought. Probably to impress Kalida, who was as sharp as a tack to begin with. Kalida under­stood perfectly how it was. They both did. Tacitly, they both allowed Hal Ryland his little fiction, but neither

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  really expected that he had planned to leave them alone together this very night.

  "Oh, but yes," he concurred, easing himself out of his chair. "Tonight's my poker night, as always once a month, Ellie, as Kalida can tell you. But I can see how Kalida was not thinking about that in the excitement of all that's been happening around here. Excuse me now, will you?"

  They watched him exit the room, each woman with mixed emotions, and then they turned to look at each other.

  "Well," Ellie said after a moment, "I don't suppose you can help with the dishes," and she began stacking the dishes, ignoring Kalida entirely.

  "I'm sorry," Kalida said for want of something to indicate that she had a momentary sympathy for Ellie's position, but Ellie looked at her with a startled air. "What for?" she asked, puzzled. "Things will work out; they always do."

  Not last time, Kalida thought, watching Ellie clear the table and disappear down the narrow hallway that led to the large square kitchen. This was really an oblong room her father had appended to the house, which contained the large wood stove, some tables and cupboards for storage, and a rude open stone fireplace for roasting. It had not existed during Ellie's first tenure at the ranch, and she expressed surprise that Hal Ryland had seen fit to build at Kalida's express wishes rather than her own. However, she also knew when to leave the past in the past, and she efficiently cleared the table'while Kalida sat in her chair like a statue and waited for her father to come down and say good night.

  He was dressed in dark clothes as usual when he reappeared and came swiftly to Kalida's side to kiss her on the cheek.

  "I did not know this would be one of your nights out," she said angrily in his ear as his lips touched her affec-

  tionately.

  "No," he agreed gravely. "Something came up, actually. We're patrolling Sweetland's borders tonight. A dozen head of Santa Linaria have disappeared, and you know how Deuce guards those damned steers. Well, anyway, Ellie need not know, and I'm sure nothing will come of this night's work. If someone made off with that many of that herd, you can be damned sure he isn't going to stick around to be caught at it a second time. He's got enough to breed his own. But —we'll do what we have to. I expect you'll get a good night's rest, and don't worry about me, Kalida."

  She nodded and he went down the hall to the kitchen. She could hear his voice and Ellie's, and then the sound of his boots and the back door slamming as he let himself out of the house.

  So now it was just her and Ellie. And if she were to give nothing away, she had to depend on Ellie to wheel her around. The situation rankled, but she knew she had no one to blame but herself. She wished she could think of a way out of it gracefully. She could not see engaging in an evening's light conversation with Ellie. Nor could she see lying in bed thinking about Deuce. She actually couldn't see going to bed at all.

  She wondered what she was going to do all night.

  The pleasant scent of smoke permeated her dreams; the sense of the comradery of the campfire, the physically exhausting work of the round-up; the warmth of weary muscles collapsed and prone before a crackling fire, a strong cup of coffee in hand. The murmur of voices, the snap and pop of the burning fire, so warm and so close when one slept, roaring in one's ear, hot now, intense, comforting . . . When had she lain down her head? The heat felt so good, she was so tired . . . She slept, a smile

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  of memory of her lips, while the kitchen at Ryland ranch burned.

  It began as a faint glow on the horizon, practically unnoticeable, almost unearthly, like a dim halo limning the outline of the far distance.

  By the time it heightened into a shimmering orange haze against the black sky, the Sweetland range patroliers were sweeping across the back reaches of the Ryland pasture. They knew what it was, they did not know where Hal Ryland was, and they were frantic to reach the house before the disaster roared out of control.

  They were too late. The upper story and the rear of the house were a mass of flames. Lying crumpled outside in front of the porch, in the dirt, was Ellie Dean, her clothing scorched and her skin grazed with burns.

  Deuce came charging around to the knot of men surrounding Ellie, all of whom looked helpless and fright­ened that he was going to demand they forage into the burning building. Ellie was unconscious, he saw at first glance, but he dismounted anyway in a running motion, grabbing up her limp body and ruthlessly slapping her face, shouting over the grisly roar of the flames, "Where's Kalida? Damn it, Ellie, where's Kalida?" until she came to, shaking her head numbly.

  She was dazed by his brutishness as much as by her fear when her eyes lit on the house. "I don't know," she screamed. "I don't know. She was in her bedroom — "

  Deuce dropped her, literally pushing her on her back as he jumped up and sprinted around to the back of the house, to the little ell of the bedroom that Kalida had been occupying. The flames had not reached here yet, but they were inching closer and closer; the entire kitchen wing was a mass of charred and burning timbers and the second story above the ell was ablaze.

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  He could not reach the window, and he cursed himself for not riding back here immediately; but when he turned to run for his horse, he found five of his men right behind him, motioning that they would lift him to the window. Eight arms hoisted him ten feet off the ground, and he used the butt of his gun to break the glass, He never felt the cutting shards as he tumbled into the heat-stifled room.

  And panicked.

  Kalida was not in the room.

  He screamed her name and couldn't hear his voice over the roar of the flames as he dashed through the open bedroom door into the main living room.

  The whole wall abutting the kitchen was ablaze; the smoke choked him and brought tears to his eyes. He just barely perceived Kalida on the floor by the front door. Already the timber framing was smoking, and the insatia­ble flames were licking the curtains on the windows.

  Deuce assessed the situation in an instant before he started coughing and gagging again. He p
ulled out his bandanna and tied it around his nose and mouth, and then he lunged toward Kalida's inert body. There wasnt even time to think. He hoisted her over his shoulder and turned back to her bedroom, only to find the door frame flaming.

  Damn, and he had no other choice; the whole living area was blazing now, incandescent and like a furnace behind him. The bedroom was the only clear way out—if he didn't wait too long. The door was smoking and flames now visibly crackled across the lintel.

  He shifted Kalida's body into his arms and plunged across the blazing threshold and straight to the window, determined to jump out with her.

  But there was shadowy forms visible through the cracked glass, men on horseback waiting; he could hear their muffled voices as he blindly lifted Kalida's body

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  upwards and through the broken points of glass. He could feel the flames roaring behind him, choking him, Kalida's weight being lifted from him, hands pulling at ,him as he climbed by instinct onto the windowsill, hands pulling at him as he seemingly fell through thin air, choking and sightless, to land on something firm, not an animal —a wagon? He didn't know; his eyes were stream­ing and he couldn't stop coughing, and he was moving, being moved away from the oven-hot heat of the fire.

  More hands pushing him forward, voices commanding him to breathe and drink, pushing a canteen in his hand, brushing his hair and face with a sopping cool cloth.

  Where was Kalida?

  Impossible to talk. The fire was still close, endless. He determined he was now in a wagon, and it was being driven around to the front of the house where the rest of the patrollers waited and watched helplessly. He saw them as dark silhouettes on horseback, no faces. It was eerie.

  His eyes cleared a little, and he was able, finally, to breathe without coughing and take a deep, cleansing drink of water from the canteen.

  Now he could see Hal Ryland holding the collapsing Ellie Dean, and the rest of the men on foot surrounding but standing well away from the house.

  He looked into the darkness that was lit up by the blazing fire. Behind him, in the flat bed of the wagon, lay Kalida, being tended by two of his own men. Before him, an aching, soughing sound made him whip around just as the roof of the house collapsed into a wall of flames.

  She could still smell smoke and hear the roaring blaze, but something was different. The high-pitched screeching of the horses jolted her senses. Something was very different. She could breathe without choking, and she was cold. Yes, she was very definitely cold, although now she

  was aware that something rough covered her. But the horrible snapping sound — and the almost hysterical whin­nying of the horses . . . She reached out her hand; she thought she reached out her hand to prop up her body but she hadn't moved. She heard voices and she tried to move again, this time more successfully. She managed to lift her head, but she could see nothing except bodies in black silhouette against the raging blaze of what used to be her home.

  My God, she moaned inwardly, hoisting her body up with difficulty; there was nothing, nothing there. The barn! She jerked her head in the direction of the barn and was grateful she could see its bulk still standing. Against the firelight she saw the movements of men beating back the flames that had started to swoop along the wooden fences that butted the house, pulling apart the staves of the fences, almost as an afterthought as the fire started spreading outward.

  She lifted herself into a sitting position, gulping in great breaths of the night air that was only faintly smoky this far away because the wind was blowing in the oppo­site direction. Everything was gone. And she couldn't remember a thing.

  No, she shook her head consideringly, no, she did remember. She had awakened when the smell of the smoke finally started choking her; and she had run toward the most sensible exit, only to find the kitchen and the hallway engulfed in flames. She had immediately turned in the opposite direction, and she did not remem­ber being felled by the smoke or anything of being rescued from the burning building.

  But there was Papa—and Ellie; so he had gotten back in time to save her! She felt a wave of filial love and gratitude that she had been considered his most precious possession.

  Every one of their neighbors, she perceived after a

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  while, had come to Papa's aid from the patrolling of Sweetland.

  And they had come too late, she understood. The house was gone. Their home, their possessions down to their clothes were gone. All she and Papa had left were the cattle and the horses, the rangeland and her tacit promise to marry Deuce Cavender.

  She did not know if that were enough for Papa to survive on. She watched silently now with the others who were still unaware that she had regained consciousness while the Ryland ranch burned to smouldering embers as the gray dawn seeped into the sky.

  And then her papa approached the wagon and spoke to the driver, Deuce. "What now?"

  "You'll come back to Sweetland, of course," Deuce said tiredly. "Ellie too. You'll stay as long as you have to."

  "I'd rather," Kalida said suddenly and loudly, "camp out in the barn."

  "Hello Kalida; I was hoping you were still out so I wouldn't get any arguments about this," Deuce said calmly, picking up the reins of his team.

  "Kalida, don't be ridiculous," her father snapped just over Deuce's words.

  "I won't be beholden to him on top of everything else," Kalida retorted.

  "Consider it part of the marriage portion," Deuce interjected. "You getting in or out, Ryland?" he added as her father hesitated as to whether to climb in the wagon or to mount his horse. "Ellie?"

  "I'm coming," she said, allowing Ryland to hand her up into the seat beside Deuce. She slanted a look at him. Oh, he did look weary and not a little angry. Well, so was she. She was damned tired of being considered an after­thought. She turned and looked at Kalida. Kalida was ... as ever Kalida, even with her face covered with soot and her hair in a disgraceful tangle. "Poor Kalida," she murmured.

  "Papa," Kalida said imploringly.

  "I'll ride," he decided, and mounted his horse alongside the wagon.

  "We'll get cleaned up, have some breakfast, and then decide what to do about your situation," Deuce said, clicking at the horses. The wagon jounced forward and Kalida fell backward. As they bounced down the long dirt road, she turned to look back at the ranch. But there was no ranch. All that remained was just a sad-looking bunch of charred and smoking timbers, and a determined group of men armed with horse blankets beating at the last flicker of destructive flame in the ruins.

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  Chapter Six

  Sweetland!

  To Kalida, it seemed almost mystical that as they approached the sun was rising and wreathed the T-shaped two-story house in a hazy, glowing nimbus of light.

  She had not been there in years, but she loved it instantly, with its early two-story log cabin fronting a long two-story ell that almost looked like another house had been appended to the antique one. It stood rambling and serene on the crest of a hill, and the newer ell overlooked gardens, fruit trees, and grazing pasture that was liberally dotted with tall shade trees and slatted fencing.

  Perpendicular to the house, facing the drive, was a huge barn and stables. Beyond this, as far as the eye could see, was more fencing and grazing land. The air was sweet with the scent of hay and ripening fruit.

  Beneath this tranquility, there was a sense of subtle energy, as though all activity were going on smoothly behind the scenes even this early in the morning.

  This is what Papa wants me to have, Kalida thought as the wagon bounced to a stop by the porch that defined the entrance of the ell. She wracked her brain to remem­ber what Deuce's family situation was and could only recall that there were numerous servants, hired hands, a

  competent foreman, a sister that she thought did not live at Sweetland but had been married recently, and an aunt. The aunt, his deceased father's sister, had come to Sweetland to nurse her brother five years before and had stayed on after his death.


  Kalida's memory pictured her as a formidably bulky woman with a sharp face and tongue to match, but the reality was that she was tall, handsome, and had a physical impediment that necessitated her using a cane, which hampered her movements as she limped out of the house and down the porch steps to greet her unexpected visitors.

  "Deuce, what's this?" she demanded in an unexpectedly deep and clipped voice.

  "The Rylands' place burned last night," Deuce said brusquely, sliding down from his perch. He did not need to say more. His aunt turned, hobblings back up the steps and into the house, and even as Deuce lifted Kalida out of the wagon box, the older woman's voice could be heard shouting instructions to this or that servant.

  "Ardelle is efficient, I will say that for her," Hal Ryland commented with a hint of admiration in his tone. He looked Kalida over with a critical eye as Deuce turned to carry her into the house. She looked weary and defeated; her features were smudged with soot, her nightgown was almost in shreds. She was shivering, as much from the cool morning air as from being in Deuce's arms, and she seemed unrepentant about that. She was a tempting bun­dle, Ryland had to admit, and he did not know how Deuce could resist her. But the one thing he was sure of was that this startling turn of events could not be allowed to have an effect on his agreement with Deuce.

  "Hal!" Ellie's sharp, resentful voice broke into his reverie. He turned toward her apologetically and held out his arms. She braced herself against them, swung grace-

  fully down from the driver's perch, and looked around

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  her with an emotion akin to awe.

  "This is lovely," Ellie breathed as one of the two men who had accompanied Kalida vaulted out of the wagon box and approached her. "You okay, ma'am?" he asked her respectfully.

  Which was more than either Hal or Deuce had done, she thought. "Thank you, yes," she said gratefully as a middle-aged black woman with the straightest back she had ever seen came out of the house. "The men is going to breakfast down back," she said, addressing Ryland. "You come, you too, Missus, to the dining room where Miss Ardelle has laid places for you."