Chase the Fire

by Barbara Ankrum

  She looked up to find Chase watching her, as if he were waiting to see if she knew what to do.

  "Get me that bucket," she told him, grabbing hold of one of the lead ropes holding Ruby.

  His eyes flicked up to hers assessingly. But without questioning her, he reached for the oak bucket nearby, and handed it to her.

  "Hold Ruby for me, up close to her head," she told him. The mare was clearly irritated when Libby stooped beside her and began milking her. She let her know it by stomping her hooves. Managing to stay just out of reach, Libby filled the bucket with an inch or so of milk. "She's got her dam's scent on her," Libby explained as she worked, "and if we don't try to erase that, there's a good chance Ruby won't accept her."

  Carefully, Libby poured the still-steaming milk over the foal's neck and back, the two places the mare would instinctively go to sniff at her baby. She smiled up at Chase. "It's an old trick," she told him with a grin and stood back to watch.

  Chase returned her smile with an approving one of his own.

  Several minutes passed, but finally the mare snorted again and lowered her head to take in the familiar scent.

  The foal blinked her doelike eyes and wobbled forward again on stiff, determined legs. This time Ruby didn't back away as the filly nosed her way along her flank, making its way to the udder. Cooperatively, Ruby widened her stance to allow the foal access, and she latched on triumphantly, as if she'd never gotten her milk from any other source.

  "She's taking her!" Tears of relief sprang to Libby's eyes, and she unthinkingly grasped Chase's arm. "Oh, thank God, Chase! She's taking her!"

  But Chase wasn't watching the foal anymore. His eyes were on Elizabeth, on her arm touching his, on her eyes glittering with happiness. With her gaze riveted to the two horses, Chase realized she was probably unaware she'd called him by his given name or that her touch sent heat steaking up his arm. He felt something tighten down deep inside, and he looked away before it could get hold of him.

  At the same moment, Libby realized what she'd done and loosed his arm as if it were a burning log. She flushed pink up the tops of her ears. "Oh, I... I'm sorry. I'm afraid sometimes I let my emotions carry me away."

  Chase's eyes met hers. "Nothing wrong with that. It's a woman's prerogative, I hear." A small grin tipped the corners of his mouth.

  "For any other woman, maybe that's true," she answered.

  "Any other woman?" he repeated. "What, you're not allowed?"

  "No," she answered without hesitation, flicking at the hay on her pantleg. "I can't afford to let emotions get in the way of what I have to do."

  "And that is...?"

  "Make this ranch succeed. Carve out a place for Tad and me. So we can survive in a man's world."

  "Is that what you really want?"

  Her eyes darted up to his, meeting his penetrating stare. "Yes," she replied unequivocally. "It is. Is that so hard to understand?"

  "I guess I have to wonder why you've chosen such a tough road for yourself."

  She looked away, through the open double doors toward the house. "Most of the choices in my life haven't been my own. Up until now, that is. Of course, I could sell the ranch, pay off the mortgage and use what's left of the money to head for Denver City. Buy a small house for us. I could take in sewing or maybe washing or run a boardinghouse. But that's not what I want."

  "This"—drawing in a deep breath of the fragrant hay and horsey scent, she gestured at the barn and the land beyond—"this is what I want... for myself... for Tad. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything. It's ours, this ranch, this land. I have things to learn, but I'll learn them because I have to. I'm not afraid of it. I'm not afraid of any of it."

  She stopped short, suddenly embarrassed at having revealed so much to him. She couldn't explain it to him anyway. Not him or any man.

  Whitlaw was watching her, a strange expression on his face, as if gauging her potential. He probably thought she was crazy as a loon, just like all the others. She half expected him to burst out laughing, or at the very least, scoff at her dreams. What he said took her by surprise.

  "You're an unusual woman, Mrs. Honeycutt."

  She gave a small, uncertain laugh. "Well, now, Mr. Whitlaw, I'm not sure if I've just been complimented or insulted."

  He laughed too and for a moment, the barriers they'd erected between them vanished. "Complimented," he acknowledged, "but I'm afraid my technique is a bit rusty. I guess I'm out of practice."

  "And I'm out of practice in receiving," she admitted, smiling back at him. Glancing at the mare and foal beside them, she decided to steer the subject toward him. "Tell me, how is it you seem to know so much about horses? You have a wonderful way with them."

  "I was raised around them," he answered with a shrug. "My father oversaw a large stable of blooded Thoroughbreds back East. His reputation as both a trainer and a breeder bordered on legend. He'd forgotten more about handling horses than most men ever know." The teasing light disappeared suddenly from Whitlaw's eyes. "I was fifteen when he died. The man my father worked for gave me the chance to take Pa's place."

  "And did you?"

  He nodded. "For five years or so."

  "Yet you left."

  Chase shrugged and bent to retrieve the bucket. "It's hard to live up to a legend." He dumped the contents of the bucket on a pile of used straw, closing the subject. "I prefer to be on my own."

  Yes, she had already guessed that he was a loner. It also struck her, suddenly, that this was the most he had talked since they'd met in the rain last night. At least about himself. She was intrigued, but afraid to press him anymore.

  He walked beside her into the early morning sunshine toward the corral. Chase walked to the water trough, dipped the bucket into it, and swilled the water around inside, cleaning it. The air between them sparkled with unspoken words.

  "You needn't feel obliged to finish the tree," she said finally, casting about for some safe subject. "I'll have one of my men finish it today."

  He glanced at her, his expression once again closed off from her. "I like to finish what I start."

  The door to the bunkhouse crashed open, and Trammel Bodine stumbled out into the early morning sunshine with a hand clamped against his forehead, moaning like a bog-stuck longhorn. A chill ran through Libby. She didn't like Bodine; not his tactics or his unpredictable disposition. But she had little argument with the job he did for her. In her situation, she had no choice but to keep him on. All the same, Libby was relieved to see that Early followed him out the bunkhouse door.

  What Bodine lacked in size, Libby mused, he made up for in pure meanness. She guessed his age at around twenty-two, but his hair-trigger temper and steely fists had already earned him a reputation in both Santa Fe and Taos Pueblo as a man to be reckoned with.

  He was compact—the way a badger was compact—and when he was drunk, the two shared the same disposition. She'd heard he could bring down men twice his size in fistfights. Fortunately, Libby reflected as she watched him head for the horse trough, he restricted his drinking bouts and his fighting to Saturday nights. On Sundays she made sure she stayed out of his way.

  "Mornin' Miz Libby," Early said. "Whitlaw."

  Libby started to reply, but Bodine moaned again.

  "Ohh-h-h, my achin' head." He carelessly thrust his hat against Early's stomach and leaned over the trough beside Libby and Chase, splashing water on his face.

  "Oh, quit yer bellyachin', Bodine," Early growled at the smaller man. "It's the same thing every Sunday. Ain't nobody forcin' that forty-rod down yer gullet."

  Bodine swiped the water from his mouth and grinned boyishly up at Early. A fresh shiner gleamed below his right eye. "No, but it sure as hell is fun while I'm a-doin' it. That damned bluebelly hardly knew what hit him." Bodine cast a cursory glance at Chase, and dismissed him a second later when Chase's expression told him he was decidedly unimpressed.

  Bodine splashed his face again and straightened, letting the water slide unchecked down
the open front of his shirt to glisten on his tautly muscled chest. Libby averted her eyes, but not before he'd caught her looking. Trammel's grin was wicked, self-assured and aimed directly at her.

  "Yeah, well, that greener got in a few licks of his own," Early retorted.

  Bodine's fingers went gingerly to the discoloration under his eye. "Lucky punch."

  "You didn't have any call to rough up that feller, Trammel," Early said to him. "He was mindin' his own business as far as I could see."

  Trammel ran both damp hands through his hair. "He was cozyin' up to a little senorita I'd had my eye on all night. That was reason enough for me. 'Sides," he added with a snort of laughter, "I didn't like the color of his eyes."

  Early shook his head. "Conchita's gonna kick your butt outta her place fer good if'n you break it up one more time."

  Bodine cast a shimmering look at Libby. "No, she ain't. Conchita knows when she's got a real man under her sheets. She's right fond of me, that one is."

  "Bodine..." Early warned.

  Bodine slid his spread palm across his wet chest and let his eyes roam insultingly to Libby's breasts. His eyebrows arched in wicked, unspoken invitation. "Anyways, my theory is when one door closes, there's always another one openin'." He cast a crooked-toothed grin at Libby.

  In spite of her determination not to let him get to her, Libby flushed to the roots of her hair. She'd heard enough. More than enough. She started to turn on her heel, but Whitlaw caught her arm, stopping her. Surprised, she flashed a look up at him, but his eyes were trained on Bodine.

  "Wait a minute, Bodine. I say you owe the lady an apology for that crack," Chase gritted out, his eyes suddenly cold as green jade.

  "Oh yeah?" Bodine let out a huff of laughter. "And who the hell are you?"

  Chase took a threatening step closer, towering over the younger man. Though his temper flared close to the flashpoint, he kept his voice low and dangerously quiet. "I'm the man who's about to teach you some manners, boy."

  Bodine smiled in disbelief at the challenge and began shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt. "Boy? Hear that, Early? This here Yank thinks he can whup me."

  "Stop this, both of you!" Libby ordered, glaring at them. "I won't have fighting on my ranch. You know that Bodine." She couldn't decide which man she was more furious with; Bodine for his rude mouth or Chase, for interfering where he was uninvited. To her utter consternation, Chase ignored her, not taking his eyes from Bodine.

  Early took hold of Bodine's arm. "Jerusalem! Don't be a horse's hind end, Trammel. Do what he says. That ain't no way to talk around a lady and you know it."

  Bodine's uneasy glance flicked from Early to Libby to the formidable stranger scowling at him. His Adam's apple rose and fell in his throat as he considered his options. Clearly, he saw his job about to slip through his fingers. "Aw, hell, I didn't mean nothin' by it." The cocky grin still twisted his mouth. "I was just funnin' ya a mite Miz Libby, that's all."

  Libby wasn't amused. Nor was she about to fire the man for an off-color remark. All the men were wont to make them from time to time in her presence. After all, they weren't serving teacakes at some Sunday school picnic. They were ranch hands. Her ranch hands. But if she was going to demand their respect, she knew she had to earn it.

  "In the future," she said, "keep your exploits at Conchita's to yourself, Bodine. I'm not interested. Do we understand each other?"

  Bodine's expression sunk into a scowl. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Good." The fire in her eyes scorched even Chase as she turned on her heel and spun toward the house, leaving them all behind.

  A muscle tightened in Chase's jaw. Incredibly, he realized she was angry with him, too. Women! What the hell had she expected him to do? Stand there and let that sonofabitch treat her that way? Anger churned up inside him as he twisted the cuffs of his shirt, threading the buttons into place.

  "Watch yerself," Bodine warned Chase. "She didn't say nothin' about takin' you on in my off time. You try to tear me down again in front of the boss and I'll have a piece of you."

  Chase indolently raked his gaze down the length of the shorter man, and he let out a humorless laugh. "You can try." Without waiting for a reply, he started after Libby.

  Early shoved Bodine's hat back at the younger man's chest and shook his head. "Nice goin', jackass."

  Furious, Bodine whipped around on him, ready for a fight. "Who you callin' jackass?"

  "You, you ham-fisted hothead," Early replied, unimpressed. "You looking to make her set you on a quick drift? Yer a good wrangler, but sometimes that mouth of yers needs a spade-bit on it."

  "Hell." Trammel let fly a wad of spit. "She's so damn prissy she squeaks, that woman. She needs a little oilin' up."

  "Leave her alone. She's got enough troubles without fightin' you, too," Early told him.

  Bodine's glare shifted to Chase's retreating form. "And who the hell is that bastard with her anyway?"

  "Name's Whitlaw, and he could teach you a thing or two about manners, boy. Didn't yer mama teach you nothin'?"

  Bodine spat on the ground and let out a bark of laughter. "Yeah." He sneered. "She taught me everythin' I know."

  Early shook his head. "Yer gonna find yerself at the tight end of some man's rope if you ain't careful, Bodine. Someday, you'll find somebody faster than you, or stronger." He glanced at Whitlaw's retreating back. "You ain't gonna be able to smile or fight yer way out of that. Mark my words, boy. You gotta settle that wild streak in ya."

  "I don't gotta do nothin' 'cept stop listenin' to your bull, old man." Bodine carefully settled the hat on his head and rubbed his temple. "I'm gonna find Straw and see if he's got him some more of that hangover remedy he cooks up. My head aches somethin' fierce."

  "Yeah, well, jingle yer spurs. We got us a lost mare to account for. Get your hungover butt back out here in ten minutes."

  Bodine waved him off without looking back. Early watched the younger man saunter away, his stride graced with all the cocky sureness of youth. Early slapped his hat across his thigh. He had a sneaking suspicion more than just Bodine's head would ache if he decided to tangle with a man like Chase Whitlaw.

  Chase caught up to Libby before she reached the door. "Wait a minute," he said, catching her arm. "You mind telling me what the hell is going on here?"

  Libby glared at his powerful hand on her arm and then up at him. "Going on? I don't know what you mean."

  He freed her wrist. "You're angry."

  "Angry?" She turned icy silver eyes on him. "Yes."

  "With me?"

  She took a deep calming breath, seeing the confusion in his eyes. "I'm sure you thought you were trying to help, but you didn't." She started to walk away from him again, but his voice stopped her.

  "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we were on the same side back there."

  "The same side?" she repeated incredulously. "How could you possibly know what my side is? You don't know anything about me or what I'm trying to accomplish here."

  A muscle jumped in his square jaw. "It seemed pretty clear-cut to me. Bodine was taking liberties with you, and somebody had to take him down a peg or two. Your foreman, Early, sure as hell wasn't doing it."

  "I don't recall asking you to jump into it on my behalf, Mr. Whitlaw. Maybe where you come from, things are as black and white as the stripes on a skunk. Out here they're not. You have no idea how difficult it is for a woman in my position to be taken seriously by men like Bodine and Early... to earn their respect."

  "Respect? Is that what you call what just happened?"

  "I can handle Trammel Bodine myself, Mr. Whitlaw." Libby tilted her chin up, demonstrating more conviction than she felt. "In my own way."

  Chase took a step closer, so close she could feel the heat from his body, catch the infuriatingly masculine scent of him. It terrified and yet drew her.

  "You know what I think?" His voice was suddenly hard and unforgiving. "I think you don't have any idea how to deal with a bastard like Bodine. I think h
e's been trampling all over your fancy ideas about how a woman can run a place like this all by herself, hasn't he?"

  "No he—" Libby stepped backward and came up hard against the rough adobe wall.

  "And you know what else?" Chase went on, holding her with those green, green eyes, pinning her against the wall without the slightest touch. "I think he scares the hell out of you."

  Anger buffeted her like a hot desert wind, and she fought for control over it. That he was uncannily, almost eerily perceptive about her feelings toward Bodine, in no way softened the edge to her anger. "How dare you come in here, presuming to know what I think and how I feel? You're no different than the other men who have warned me to fold and get out while I still can. I've given up wasting my breath trying to convince them otherwise, and I'm not going to waste it on you either."

  "Did you ever consider they may be right?"

  "I think you'd better leave."

  He stared at her for a long moment. "That's funny," he answered without smiling. "Because I was just thinking I'd better stay."

  Chapter 5

  Libby's mouth fell open and she blinked up at him in disbelief. "What?"

  "You offered me a job last night, didn't you?" Chase asked.

  Suspicion flared in her eyes. "Which you flatly refused. Are you saying you've suddenly changed your mind?"

  "I guess I am."

  "Why?"

  Because I'm a coward, he thought. Because I don't have the courage to leave you hating me for what I did. But he said, "I don't know."

  "I..." She narrowed an obstinate look at him. "If you're thinking of staying on my account, it's not necessary. I'm entirely capable of—"

  "—taking care of yourself. Right. Even if we both believed that, it wouldn't change the fact that you're short-handed and you've got a string of horses to chase down." He saw her facade crack ever so slightly when he mentioned the ranch. Instinctively, he knew it was her weak spot, her Achilles heel.