Frank grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Are you crazy?”
He tried stomping out the flames, but for every spark he subdued, two more took its place. Faster than Claire thought possible, the fire grew out of control, licking at the walls of the barn and gobbling up the pile of fodder beside the horse stalls.
The preacher wasted no time. He turned tail and ran out of the barn as if the fires of hell were coming for him.
Claire would have followed him, but Frank had a death grip on her, and he still had the shotgun in his other hand.
The horses smelled the smoke and started to panic. Their eyes rolled, and they began to squeal, tossing their heads and jerking at their harnesses.
“Shit!” Frank finally let go of her and prodded her forward with the barrel of the shotgun. “Help me untether the horses. We’ve got to get them out of here.”
There were eight horses. By the time they freed the last one, Claire’s eyes and throat were burning from the acrid smoke, and her face was beaded with sweat from the heat of the fire. Coughing, she staggered toward the door where the last horse had just made its escape.
But Frank stood there with the shotgun, blocking her exit. His face was lit up from beneath by the madly flickering flames. Still, that wasn’t what made him look like the devil. It was the queer, speculative expression in his eyes that, despite the intense heat, chilled her to the bone.
“You know, you’ve been nothin' but trouble, Claire, for me and your father. I was tryin' to make things easy—nice and neat. Keep the old man happy, marry his daughter, take over the ranch when he kicked the bucket. But you…”
Claire coughed and cast an uneasy glance around the barn, which was fast filling with smoke. Surely Frank could scold her outside. “Frank, we’ve got to get out of here.”
“Do we?”
She gulped. What the hell did that mean? “Yes! Right now. We have to alert the hands and fight the fire.” God, she hoped the men were already on their way. She didn’t like the strange light in Frank’s gaze. Mustering her courage, she ignored his gun and strode toward the doorway. “Come on, Frank. We have to get—”
The butt of the shotgun struck her hard in the temple. The dull thud reverberated against her skull. Her first feeling was shock. Then pain rushed in with deadly force, and she collapsed like a puppet with all its strings cut. Lying in the straw on her side, stunned and unable to move, she tried to speak. All that came out was a weak moan.
Frank hunkered down beside her with the shotgun across his knees, but she couldn’t even lift her eyes to look at his face.
“It didn’t have to be this way, Claire. You could have been a respectable rancher’s wife. But you’ve got a wild streak in you. And sometimes when an animal can’t be broken, it has to be put down. The way I see it, this ranch and me, we’re meant to be together. I figure your father’s gonna give her to me, Claire, whether you’re alive or not. In fact, now that I’ve been thinkin' it over, it might save me a whole lot of trouble, you bein' out of the way. I’ll tell Mr. Parker I did everything I could to save his little girl. The fire just got out of hand.” He sniffed. “You made your bed, Claire. Now you can lie—”
A rope seemed to drop out of the sky in that instant, encircling Frank. Claire blinked, unable to tell if what she saw was real or a figment of her rapidly fading brain. The last image she saw was the sole of Frank’s boot as he was jerked backward through the thickening smoke.
Chase had decided that Yoema must be taking her time getting to the spirit world.
He’d finally been able to steal a breath of fresh air—sauntering along the darkened streets of Paradise, inhaling the crisp scent of pine, peering up at the star-salted sky—when his grandmother suddenly intruded upon his thoughts. Just when he’d almost convinced himself that Claire wouldn’t want to see him, the bossy old woman barged into his brain, ordering him to go to the Parker Ranch at once.
He sighed, knowing he’d have to face Claire sooner or later and find out the truth, even if it broke his heart. He might as well get it over with. Besides, he got the feeling if he didn’t do what Yoema told him, the old woman would pester him all night long.
So he headed toward the ranch, following the same path he’d taken just over a week ago when he’d first met Claire. Had it only been that long? It seemed like he’d known her all his life.
As he turned the bend, a man came running toward him. Chase stopped, and the man scrambled to a halt, squeaking in surprise. Chase saw that he was a preacher. He had a white collar, and he was clinging to a Bible.
“You all right?” Chase asked.
“Yes…mm-hmm…fine,” the preacher said, clearly winded. By the way he was licking his lips and looking over his shoulder, Chase was pretty sure the preacher was breaking that commandment, Thou Shalt Not Lie.
But Chase let the man pass and hurried onward. A preacher fleeing in fear from the Parker Ranch couldn’t be a good thing.
Sure enough, by the time he bolted through the ranch gates, he could see a bad thing—an orange glow coming from inside the barn.
There was only one thing that caused that kind of light.
Fire.
He started loping down the drive.
It must have just started. The ranch hands were only beginning to emerge from their quarters. It looked like the horses had at least gotten out. Chase wondered if the fleeing preacher had something to do with the blaze. He’d heard of fire-and-brimstone sermons, but…
He frowned. Where was Claire? And where was her father?
Maybe they were asleep in the house. He hoped so. They’d be safe there. The ranch house sat a good distance from the barn.
Chase grabbed a bucket and was about to add his muscle to the firefighting efforts when Yoema’s spirit yelled sharply in his ear.
Help. She was calling for help.
Chase frowned. His gaze was drawn to the barn. Beyond the silhouettes of scurrying ranch hands and the horses milling in the drive, orange-tinted smoke puffed out through the barn doorway.
As if shoved forward by the hand of Yoema, Chase dropped the bucket and moved forward through the men and horses, toward the entrance of the barn.
Near the open door, a wave of heat blasted him, and he raised his hands in front of his face, blinking against the acrid smoke. Then, as he stood in the doorway, squinting through the haze, he could make out the figure of Frank. Frank was squatting with his shotgun across his lap, beside what appeared to be a body.
Chase thought Frank must be crazy. An inferno blazed around him, yet Frank sat there talking, as if he had all the time in the world.
Chase was about to shout at him to get out of the barn when he heard Frank say Claire's name.
Chase glanced at the body, at the fold of brown skirts, and he felt his blood turn to ice.
He didn’t think.
He couldn’t speak.
He seized the horse nearest him, grabbed a lasso off the barn door, and knotted it around the horse's neck. Then, with deadly aim, he dropped the looped end over Frank, yanked it tight, and gave the nervous horse’s rump a slap.
Nature did the rest.
Chase entered the fiery barn, covering his mouth and nose with his shirt. His eyes watered as he hoarsely called her name. “Claire!”
She didn’t answer.
“Claire!”
He dropped to the ground. She looked so white, so frail, so still. His heart clenched in despair as he crawled to her on his belly, praying to his god, his father’s god, his mother’s god, that she wasn’t dead.
And then her fingers moved, just the smallest bit, so slightly that it might have been a trick of the heat.
But it was enough to give him hope and strength. Surging forward, he grabbed her forearm and dragged her toward him.
The flames were lapping at her skirts, and he beat them back, leaving only a charred edge. Then he took her limp body in his arms and carried her out of hell.
The sweet, cool night air riffled her hair as he laid h
er out gently on the ground, safely away from the barn. He could hear the ranch hands shouting orders. Someone went after the runaway horse. Someone else started pumping buckets of water. Two sobbing maids rushed over to Claire, wringing their hands.
Claire wasn’t moving. Chase wasn’t sure she was even breathing. His heart stabbed painfully between his ribs as he brushed her cinder-filled hair back from her brow and bent close to see if he could feel her breath on his cheek.
“Ride into town and get the doc!” he yelled to no one in particular.
Tears stung his eyes as he clasped her hand, willing her to live.
If it had been any other horse, Frank knew he’d be a dead man. But Sadie was an old gray mare. So after dragging Frank half a mile down the road—scraping him along the rocky ground, bruising his bones, shredding his best suit and a good portion of his skin—she tuckered out and slowed to an amble.
He was lucky. He could have broken several bones or lost a limb. A mile would have killed him.
Still, he wasn’t a pretty sight. He was sure of that. He was trembling in pain and shock. He could hardly put his battered lips together to whistle for Sadie to stop. Two of his fingers were bent at impossible angles. Blood dripped into his eyes, soaked his sleeves, and streamed down his bare legs. He felt like he’d gone nine rounds with a prizefighter, and he realized he wasn’t even feeling the full extent of the damage yet.
With his thankfully numb fingers, he managed to loosen the lasso and free himself. Holding onto the end of the rope to keep Sadie close, he pushed himself up to a sitting position.
What the hell had happened? All he could remember was that he’d been talking to Claire one moment, and he was being dragged by a runaway horse the next.
No, he remembered something else. He’d seen a man’s snarling face just as Sadie took off running.
The Injun had done this to him.
But where had he come from? How had he known Claire was in the barn?
A wave of nausea roiled inside him, and he spat out blood, along with a broken tooth, as an even worse thought crossed his mind.
What if Claire wasn’t dead? What if the half-breed had saved her?
It would ruin Frank. He’d lose everything. Claire would tell her father what he’d done, and Frank’s life would be over.
He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t take the fall for this. It wasn’t fair.
His head started throbbing, and he let it hang between his knees while he considered his options.
Then he realized the answer had been right in front of him.
The Injun.
Wasn’t it awfully convenient that the Injun had just happened to be at the ranch when the fire started? Maybe he’d come to take his revenge after all. At least Frank thought he could make her father believe that. Hell, the way Frank looked, he could even convince Mr. Parker that he’d grappled with the bastard, fighting for Claire’s life.
He just had to get to the rancher before anyone else did. If Frank played his cards right, it wouldn’t matter if Claire lived or died. He’d plant seeds of doubt in the rancher’s mind, pin the blame on the Injun, and the rest would take care of itself. After all, who was Mr. Parker going to believe—the villain who’d kidnapped his daughter or the man who intended to marry her?
Despite the sharp pain in his ribs as he hauled himself up by the rope and leaned against Sadie’s flank, his eyes were narrowed to gleeful slits. That Injun was about to discover he’d come to the wrong place at the wrong time.
Riding the horse bareback was a whole new kind of torture for Frank, even at a slow trot. He grimaced in agony, feeling his bones grind and rearrange themselves every time Sadie moved.
By the time he reached the ranch where Mr. Parker was staying, Frank was so worn out, he practically fell off the horse. Still he managed to hobble up the steps and banged hard on the door.
“Mr. Parker! Mr. Parker, you’ve got to come quick!”
The flames climbed higher on the roof of the barn, sending smoke billowing into the night sky. The buckets of water were no match for the roaring beast that was feeding on the dry tinder. So the firefighting efforts were instead centered on preventing the fire from spreading to the other outbuildings.
Chase cradled Claire’s wilting body in his arms. Her mouth was open, and he could see she was breathing now. But it seemed like every breath was a struggle as air rasped in and out of her damaged throat. With his thumb, he tenderly wiped away the ash that had settled on her face. He murmured words of comfort and prayers in his own tongue. But he wasn’t sure she could even hear him.
He narrowed his eyes at the blazing barn as its charred skeleton wavered in the heat. How had all this come to pass? Had Frank truly meant to kill Claire? Why? And where was her father?
It didn’t matter. None of it did. All he cared about was keeping Claire alive.
He asked one of the maids to fetch him a bucket of water. Then he tore his shirt into pieces, soaking them. He used the drenched cloth to dribble water between Claire’s scorched lips and placed a wet rag against her reddened eyelids, hoping to take away some of the sting of the burns.
In the distance, he heard a horse approaching at a gallop. But he was too preoccupied to pay it much mind, until it slid to a halt in front of him, and Samuel Parker slipped from the saddle.
“Get away from her!” he bellowed, aiming his rifle at Chase. “Get your filthy hands off of her!”
The maids cowered in fright.
Chase knew better than to stand in the way of a father protecting his daughter. He raised his palms to show Parker he intended no harm, and then rose cautiously to his feet.
Parker stood not three feet away, frothing at the mouth, ready to shoot Chase. But once he laid eyes on his daughter—wan and weak and barely breathing—his fury melted into despair.
“Claire,” he said, his voice cracking as he lowered the rifle.
“The doc’s on his way,” Chase assured him.
Parker sent him a scathing glare. “So’s the sheriff.”
Chase wasn’t sure what to make of that glare. Surely Parker didn’t believe Chase had anything to do with hurting Claire.
He handed a dripping rag to the rancher. “I think the water does her good.” Then he hunkered down a few paces away.
Parker snapped up the rag, then crouched beside his daughter and began dabbing at her forehead with the shirt. He was silent for a long while, though his mouth was working as he fought back his emotions. Finally he asked, “Why? What kind of an animal would want to hurt Claire?”
Chase was about to tell him.
But at that moment, skidding up on the back of a gasping, frothy horse was an apparition too bloody and beaten to recognize. As the horse wheezed in exhaustion, the man astride shouted with broken, breathless fury. “He said…if he couldn’t have her…nobody could!”
Frank. That horrific mess was Frank. He was shaking a bloody finger at Chase.
“It was the Injun!” Frank said, garbling the words through missing teeth, “The Injun lured Claire into the barn…then set it on fire!”
Chase was too surprised to deny the charge. “What?”
Parker ground his teeth and glared at Chase. “Claire is all I have left,” he bit out, his voice breaking. “If I lose her, Wolf, I swear I’ll string you up myself.”
Chase scowled in disbelief. He felt like the world had turned upside down. “You don’t think I—”
Frank sneered, “He said he’d get revenge.” Then he lowered his head and sobbed, “It looks like he got it. She’s dead.”
“No, she’s not!” Parker roared, as if the force of his words alone would keep Claire alive.
“But,” Frank said, “she may be soon.”
Was that hope in Frank’s voice? Chase shook his head. He couldn’t credit what he was hearing. He turned to Parker. “You don’t think I… Hell, I wouldn’t hurt a hair on Claire’s head. I’m the one who pulled her out of the fire.”
Just then, Claire cough
ed softly, garnering their attention.
“Claire?” Parker placed a trembling hand on her shoulder.
She coughed again and tried to open her eyes.
Chase’s throat ached with emotion. “It’s all right, Claire.”
He had to resist the urge to weep in relief as he cradled her head.
She was alive.
Claire was alive.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he told her. “It won’t hurt so much.” He’d learned that from spending time in the heavy smoke of the sweat lodge. “I’m here now. And your father’s here. You’re going to be all right.”
Parker was staring at him with mistrust. Chase couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he didn’t much care. He was more concerned about Claire. He took back the wet rag and placed it gently over her eyes.
“That should feel better.”
She was trying to say something to him. Her lips were moving. But the effort was hard to watch.
Her father bent close. “What is it, Claire?”
She whispered in his ear, and he nodded.
“Frank,” he confirmed. “She’s asking for Frank.”
She coughed again, and this time she clenched her fist in her father’s sleeve.
Only Chase knew the truth. “She’s not asking for Frank,” he murmured. “She’s naming him. He did this.” He whispered to Claire. “Didn’t he?”
She nodded weakly.
Parker’s jaw tensed. "You're sure, Claire?" he asked. "Frank hurt you?"
She nodded again.
Parker's knuckles turned white where he gripped the rifle, and his voice came out on a strangled whisper. “Frank?”
Parker looked ready to spring on Frank with every ounce of his rage. Chase knew, given half a chance, the rancher would shoot the murderous bastard on the spot.
But Chase also knew the upstanding Mr. Parker would never be able to live with himself if he shot Frank in cold blood, no matter how much the son of a bitch deserved it. So he placed a restraining hand on Parker’s arm and said softly, “You said the sheriff’s coming?”
Parker met his eyes. In that moment, a look of understanding passed between them. Justice would prevail. They would have their vengeance. Frank would pay for what he’d done. And it would be by honorable means. Parker nodded.
Native Wolf Page 27
