Colorado Dream (The Front Range Series Book 4)

by Charlene Whitman

  Calm in the midst of fire. Brett snorted as he hunkered down over the saddle, passing flaming fields as he found the wide dirt road leading to the park and turned onto it. Didn’t think that Cheyenne woman meant a real fire.

  “Looky there!” Roberts pointed as he ran his horse up alongside Brett’s.

  Brett’s heart pounded as he strained to see through the heavy soup of smoke choking the road. He made out two shapes on the ground. Arms around each other. Dresses fluttering in the wind. Two gals! What in tarnation are they doing sittin’ in the road in the middle of a fire?

  He kicked harder, then some of the smoke cleared, and he spotted some other folks. They were running back to the gals. Looked like two grown-ups and two young boys. Six in all.

  Brett’s heart sank like a rock into his gut. Fire crackled and hissed all around them, flanking the road. No way could he and Roberts get all those folks out—not on their two horses. Maybe that fella and his boys could hoof it fast to town and outrun the fire. He and Roberts could each take a gal and ride hard, try to get help, more horses . . .

  Ya have horses. A dozen of ’em. He shook his head as he pushed Kotoo harder. Yeah, wild horses. Ones that ain’t never been ridden.

  No way could he put any of those folks on these animals. Besides, they aren’t jus’ wild. They’re scared outta their minds. And he had ’airy a halter or bridle for them.

  But if he didn’t try, he knew what fate awaited the pa and his boys. Afoot, they’d never outrun the fire. And that other grown-up’s a woman, he now realized. You could put two of ’em on Kotoo and one on Star and git yerself on one o’ the wild ones . . .

  As his thoughts warred inside his head, he glanced back. The bunch stuck close to Kotoo’s tail, trusting her lead, though their eyes stayed wide with terror. Trees on both sides of the park exploded in bursts of bright-orange flame as one after another fell victim to the wildfire. Above, the iron-gray clouds hung heavy, but not a drop of rain touched the scorched earth. Brett knew the fire would just have to run its course until it died out on its own. And with the wind this vicious and as feisty as a cornered wildcat, there was no saying when that’d be.

  After what felt like ages, he reined to a stop in the road a few yards from the gals on the ground. One, without a hat, gripped her ankle, her head down, black hair falling around her shoulders. The other turned and looked up at him with scared, pleading eyes. Roberts jumped off his horse and hurried to their side. Star stood stock-still by Kotoo’s side, while the other horses jostled and snorted.

  Brett clenched his jaw, noting the fire had them surrounded. Only that thin strip of road held a tiny bit of hope of a way out. He heard Sarah Banks’s words in his head. “There is a way out. You don’t have to burn in the flames.” Then he remembered her also saying: “When the fire rages, look for the calm water.” Yeah, and she also said somethin’ about hearin’ a song and followin’ that. Fat lot of good that’d do presently.

  The man and woman—who Brett took to be the fella’s wife—ran over, breathless and panting, the two boys close behind.

  “Please!” the large woman cried, wringing her hands, “can you help us?”

  The big fella with a bushy beard said, “Take the women. Get them to safety.” He pulled his boys into his arms, as if trying to shield them from the scorching heat of the flames.

  Roberts took the wife’s arm, but she pulled away. “No! Take the girls! Please!”

  Brett looked down from where he sat Kotoo. The gal looking at him from the ground had tears running down her plump cheeks. She was the spitting image of her ma.

  “You have to help her,” she said. “She’s hurt her ankle.”

  The raven-haired gal, still clutching her foot, looked up. And when her eyes met Brett’s, he sucked in a shocked breath, then swallowed hard.

  Brett’s heart lurched at the sight of her hopeless expression. He almost fell out of his saddle. “Angela . . .”

  ***

  “Brett . . . ?”

  Angela’s pulse raced at the sight of Brett looking down at her from his horse. Confusion clogged her head, and she couldn’t gather her thoughts. Where had he come from?

  Every inch of her body broiled from the heat of the fire. She tried to stand once more, and while she couldn’t put weight on her foot, at least the pain was now a bearable throb.

  He slid off his horse and rushed to her side, helping to steady her. His touch sent another kind of wildfire racing through her limbs. His eyes were filled with concern and worry as he pulled her into his embrace and gently pushed hair out of her eyes. She longed to linger in the comfort of his arms—arms she’d dreamed of, night after night, holding her tightly against his broad chest. But this was hardly the time for such thoughts.

  Violet stepped back, and Angela caught the stunned look on her face, questions about this cowboy swimming in her eyes. Then Angela turned. Behind the two cowboys, a half-dozen or so horses danced in fear. Brett and his partner must have been taking them somewhere nearby.

  “Oh, Angela,” Brett whispered hot into her ear. “I thought I’d never see ya again.”

  She felt his arms tremble, longing pouring out of him as he stood there holding her. She believed she’d convinced herself to forget him, but all the warnings about his violent temper burned to ash as his face pressed against her cheek and he held her tenderly, as if she might break.

  The other cowboy—a tall, lanky man with red hair—took Violet’s arm. “Miss, lemme help you up on Star.”

  Violet pulled away from him and scowled. “No! I won’t leave my family.”

  “Violet . . .” her father began, his voice firm.

  “Father, no. I won’t.” Violet planted her feet.

  Angela pulled away from Brett and turned to her friend. “Violet, get on the horse.” She looked at Mrs. Edwards and imagined how her husband and children would feel if they lost her in the fire. “Please, Mrs. Edwards. You and Violet should go with these cowboys.”

  Violet’s mother shook her head in stubborn refusal.

  Brett’s face scrunched in frustration. “Listen, we ain’t got time to argue. Roberts, git those gals up on the horses.” He turned to the boys. “You fellas know how to ride?”

  Henry piped up. “Yessir. We sure can.”

  “Okay,” Brett said, looking at Mr. Edwards. “Start ripping up your shirt. I need long strips o’ cloth.” Mr. Edwards did as Brett said, pulling his shirt over his head and tearing it apart.

  Brett looked hard into Angela’s face. In a quiet, calm voice, he said, “Will ya trust me?”

  Angela marveled at Brett’s calm demeanor—so different from the day he attacked the snakes. But there was no time to ponder her choice. She had to trust him. She would.

  She nodded, then turned to Violet. “Just do as he says.”

  Violet let out a frustrated sigh and ran her hand across her brow. The heat was unbearable, and Angela’s throat and chest burned with every breath. The fire was inching ever closer, and more sparks and embers struck the ground around them. Wind etched her face with unbearable heat.

  The cowboy named Roberts helped Violet up onto his horse. Hitching up her skirt, she threw a leg over the saddle and sat like a man with her legs on both sides. Then he managed to get Mrs. Edwards up onto the horse, situating her behind the saddle with her legs off to one side. She wrapped her arms around Violet, who took up the reins in her hand, still scowling, and waited.

  Angela let out a little yelp when Brett hefted her into his arms and eased her onto his horse. The pain in her ankle erupted anew. She gritted her teeth.

  “Get your leg over here,” Brett said, helping her swing her leg out from under her skirt. He was having her sit astride, the way Violet was. While awkward, she felt a whole lot more secure than when she’d ridden sidesaddle that day at the ranch. “You won’t likely fall when we git runnin’,” he said.

  “But what about you? And—”

  “Jus’ trust me, honey.” He gave her a smile that sent her
heart racing. His hazel eyes shone with affection and reassurance.

  Roberts, standing beside his horse, laid a hand on Violet’s and patted it. “Jus’ sit tight a minute.” He hurried over to Brett. “They’re ready.”

  “We cain’t jus’ send ’em off runnin’ to town. That herd’ll follow.”

  Before Roberts could reply, Brett rushed over to Mr. Edwards. The grass stretching from the road to the river smoldered anew as the wind shifted east. Angela shook in terror, losing her last vestige of hope that maybe they might get out alive. A new eruption of fire now engulfed the wooden corrals and benches, and the wind gyrated once more with embers and ash.

  Violet yelped. Angela saw her smack at her dress, putting out sparks that had drifted onto her. Mrs. Edwards clenched Violet’s waist as the horse they sat on began sidestepping and neighing. Roberts wrapped one arm around the horse’s neck, but that did little to calm it.

  “We gotta git these horses outta here fast,” Roberts told Brett. “What’re ya doin’?”

  Brett ran over to the horse Angela was sitting on—a strangely calm horse—and pulled a loop of rope from out of the bag behind the saddle. Then, to her consternation, he yanked the bridle off her horse, then pulled the reins over the horse’s head.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice pitched with hysteria, but she couldn’t help it. Her horse, though, stood curiously calm.

  Brett worked quickly, muttering to the group of horses as he approached one and slowly slipped the bridle over its head. The horse protested a moment, throwing back its head and flattening its ears, but then it calmed.

  “You boys,” Brett called out, gesturing them over. “Ya ever ridden a horse that wasn’t broke?”

  The brothers gave each other a nervous look. “No sir,” Henry said, but he put on a brave face. “But we’ll stay on. Don’t you worry.” Thomas nodded but looked utterly frightened when Brett handed him the reins.

  “Alright. But first, we gotta get this bunch into the water.” He gave the boys a smile. “Y’all stay here.”

  Angela’s mouth dropped open. The river lay a hundred yards away—with a wall of fire between it and the road where they congregated.

  “Can’t we just take the road?” Mr. Edwards yelled over to Brett.

  His answer was a tip of his head. They all looked to the north, where he’d indicated. Flames spun and twisted, dancing across the road as if daring them to approach.

  “Roberts,” Brett said to the other cowboy, “blindfold the rest.”

  He took the strips of cloth from Mr. Edwards’s hands and handed them to Roberts. The cowboy quickly went from horse to horse and tied the strips of cloth over each one’s eyes. Angela wondered why he was doing this but said nothing. She watched, astonished, as the agitated horses immediately settled down, despite the fires burning all around them.

  Brett barked out instructions, his voice clear and loud over the roar of the fire and wind. Angela watched, mesmerized, as Brett had Thomas and Henry and Mr. Edwards each grab on to a wild horse’s mane as they stood alongside it.

  “Jus’ walk fast ’n’ steady. Follow Angela ’n’ the others.”

  Roberts did the same with two horses in the rear, a hand on each blindfolded animal. Then Brett, guiding the last unclaimed horse, ran up alongside Angela. After a quick glance at his terrified and waiting group, he turned and looked at her. His face wrenched in concern for her.

  “Lean down and tuck your head into her neck,” he told her. When she’d complied, he yelled to the others.

  “Hang on and don’t let go. And for God’s sake—don’t try to stop, whatever ya do.”

  Before any of them could question or protest, Brett slapped her horse on the neck with a loud “Yehaw!”

  Her horse took off running—toward the wall of fire leaping up from the park’s sprawling fields. A scream caught in her throat. Was he mad? They would burn to death before getting anywhere near the river.

  But he asked you to trust him. What other choice do you have?

  She leaned forward and pressed her head against the horse’s muscular neck as it rocked up and down, the strong scent of burnt hair and earth and horse filling her nostrils. She clamped her eyes shut, feeling the rush of scorching heat drench her as the horse plowed through the flames, moving so quickly that she felt as if they were riding the wind.

  An eerie calm soothed her heart—so much so that she found her hands unclenching the horse’s mane, though she dared not open her eyes. She wondered at the puzzling sensation, for her fear melted away as if the fire had reduced it to steam. Brett’s voice played in her head like a soothing sonata. “Trust me . . .”

  Chapter 30

  Brett held the fidgety horse tight in his arms, feeling the animal’s frantic need to race after Kotoo. But before he could head to the river, he had to make sure every last one of the horses—and the scared humans—made it through.

  He couldn’t get Angela’s face out of his thoughts. Sitting there on Kotoo, her cheeks flushed red from the heat and her hair blowing wild around her shoulders. Her beauty and courage had struck him hard. He would do all he could to save her, even if it cost him his life.

  Brett watched Star, glued to Kotoo’s tail, run toward the water, the two gals hanging on tight and burying their heads. The pa and his boys were having a time trying to keep the blindfolded bunch moving forward, running alongside and avoiding the hard-pounding hooves. But they kept them heading in the direction of the river.

  Brett hadn’t harbored a hope that they’d cooperate, figuring the second they felt those nipping flames, they’d rear and bolt. But they didn’t, and Brett had never seen the like. He shook his head, thoroughly astonished, as the fella and his two boys ran headlong right into the wall of fire. He needed those wild horses to stick with them, for his plan to work.

  He’d wished some other way would’ve opened up, but nothing had. Every which way looked as deadly as the next. But Sarah Banks’s words pounded like an Injun drum in his head. “When the fire rages, look for the calm water.” He’d had no other choice but to take the medicine woman’s words as literal. And the only calm water was the Platte.

  Roberts had his hands full with those two last mustangs, but, seasoned horseman that he was, he clucked and yelled at them, yanking on their manes, keeping them moving forward.

  Kotoo’s whinnies were a rallying cry to the herd, but they sounded far from panicky. He wondered what she was saying to the horses following her. “Thisaway, fellas!” or the like. Brett knew a whole lot of talk could take place in a few neighs or snorts. He thanked the heavens he’d been given that mare, once more reeling in astonishment over such a priceless gift.

  To his great relief, as each of the horses and humans ran through the flames, they seemed unsinged. By some luck or divine hand, wind blew the fire in all directions, as if confounding it, while they rushed through it.

  The moment Roberts disappeared from Brett’s view into the smoke and conflagration, Brett swung up onto his blindfolded horse and found his balance as the wild animal fought the startling weight on its back. Brett had picked the pony he knew would give him the most trouble, and, as expected, the horse began to break apart and rear up, turning circles at this new terror.

  Without a bridle or saddle, it took work to get the animal properly under him and complying, but within a minute Brett leaned hard into its neck, kicked flanks with his spurs, and got the horse into a run. He trusted the animal’s urgent need to join up with its pals. With his legs and arms, Brett guided the blind horse through the searing fire, hitting its rump with his quirt and allowing no hesitation.

  Smoke slapped his eyes, but when he reopened them, he found himself galloping on smoldering blackened earth, the fire behind him and the river ahead. And at the water’s edge, Roberts held the group, all eyes on Brett as he ran up to them, his heart battering his ribs.

  For the moment, they were safe. But there was no time to waste.

  Brett slid off the horse and yanked the blind
fold off his mount. Roberts pulled the cloth from the eyes of the two horses he’d been leading. Then he ran over to the others and removed theirs.

  With one eye on the brushfire gobbling up the edges of the park, Brett strode over to the two boys, who huddled beside the horse Brett had slipped the bridle onto.

  He smiled and patted one on the shoulder. “Up ya go.” With one hand tight on the side of the bridle, he put his other hand under the kid’s foot and pushed him up onto the back of the horse. The animal took a few steps backward, looking as if it would start rearing, but Brett wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck and spoke into its ear. Presently, the horse relaxed, and Brett let his arms slip off. He patted the horse’s neck and said to the other boy, “Now you.”

  He lifted the wide-eyed kid and set him on the horse’s bare back behind his brother. “Hold tight.”

  “Yes sir,” the boys chimed, looking more excited than fearful. The one in front clutched the reins, and his brother wrapped arms around the other’s waist.

  Their father stood in his undershirt beside Roberts. His face seemed as white as a washed sheet. “I . . . I’m not much of a rider.”

  “Don’t need to be,” Brett said. “Now,” he told him, “I’m gonna help you up onto this horse.” He led the pa over to one of the smaller horses. “Ya don’t have to do anything but hang on to the mane, alright?”

  The fella nodded, but Brett could tell he was stricken with fear. Somehow Brett managed to heft him up and onto the horse, and the fella hunched over the animal’s neck and grasped handfuls of mane. He gave a hesitant nod. The horse shifted with the new weight on its back but didn’t fuss, much to Brett’s surprise and relief.

  ***

  Angela watched Brett help Violet’s father. She couldn’t believe this was normal behavior for a horse in the midst of a firestorm. She could only assume that Brett must have used that gift of his to calm these horses. What other explanation could there be?

  Somehow, through all this, the fire sizzled and danced behind them and on the opposite side of the river, yet it no longer encircled them. What was Brett planning? She hadn’t a clue.