The Heart of a Texas Cowboy

by Linda Broday

  He squatted on his heels to wait, praying his men would soon return. Unless the gang knew of a back way, they’d have to pass by him.

  Something suddenly crashed through the brush. He swiveled, but not fast enough.

  Twenty-nine

  A large, blurry form flew from the darkness and grabbed Houston by the neck. The attacker pulled back his head to press a razor-sharp blade against his throat. Stinging pain pierced him and a warm trickle of blood ran down his neck, soaking into his collar. Desperate, Houston quickly reached behind him and pulled whoever it was over his head. Before the enormous, dark figure could get up, Houston stood, kicking away the gleaming knife streaked with blood. It clattered into the rocks.

  He fumbled for his revolver but never got it out of the holster. The shaggy-haired assailant was on him.

  Dear God, he looked like a mountain! Immense height, combined with width, told Houston he didn’t stand a chance.

  But a Legend never quit. Houston used every bit of strength he possessed to throw the man off him. Finally free, he searched the ground for some type of rock or club.

  My boot knife.

  Get the knife.

  The words echoed in his head as Houston clawed at his pant leg, but before he could yank out the knife, his attacker came at him again.

  Shaking his head like a wounded bear, the giant squared his shoulders and tossed Houston like a rag doll. They exchanged blows but, though Houston’s knuckles were raw, he didn’t appear to faze his opponent at all. He’d never seen any human this large. This beefy man with hands as big as ham bones would stand an easy foot above Stoker.

  The taste of blood heavy on Houston’s tongue, he fought to stave off the dizziness, to stay on his feet. If he went down, the giant would be on top of him and that would be all.

  Blood ran down Houston’s face and into his eyes, blurring his vision. He prayed for Clay and the drovers to hurry.

  He couldn’t best this giant with his fists. He needed an equalizer, anything to give him an edge. Fumbling, he managed to pull out his Colt. Before he could find the trigger, his assailant knocked the gun out of his hand as though it were a toy. Was this a man or some kind of beast? Houston wasn’t sure about anything except that he was fighting now for his life.

  He backed up against a boulder, holding his hands wide, praying he could grab his foe. If he could just get a hold, he’d pound his head on the boulder and keep pounding until it was a bloody pulp.

  They circled each other with their hands held wide, taking the other’s measure, each searching for an opening.

  So far the man hadn’t uttered a word. The only sounds that came from him were grunts and harsh breathing.

  “Who the hell are you?” Houston shouted.

  When the man didn’t answer, he repeated, “Who are you?”

  “Ghost.”

  One word and it said everything. Houston listened for his men but heard nothing. With a loud yell, he lowered his head and rammed into Ghost’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. As the giant struggled to breathe, Houston scrambled behind and applied a choke hold.

  “Who are you, Ghost? Tell me.”

  A gurgle left the man’s mouth. Houston tightened his arm around his foe’s neck. One swift twist would break him—he just needed a bit more leverage.

  As the satisfaction of finally besting this Hercules washed over Houston, the man tensed his arms. Ghost surprised him with sharp jabs to his ribs, breaking Houston’s hold with superhuman strength. The attacker lifted Houston high over his head.

  Piercing pain shot through him as he stared at the ground below, steeling himself for the impact that would likely break every bone in his body.

  Even if he wasn’t thrown onto the rocks, the jarring force of the ground would break him in two and cripple…or kill him.

  He closed his eyes as his promise to come back to Lara hammered in his ears.

  You know I’ll do anything in the world for you. If you wanted that moon up there, I’d do everything in my power to rope it and put it in your palm. So yes, I’ll even stay alive.

  And so he would—somehow—someway. Even if it looked hopeless. Even if he had to slay every demon. He’d survive even if nothing much was left of him, because he’d promised.

  An abrupt, quick succession of shots rang from nowhere and slammed into his assailant’s chest, ripping past muscle, bone, and tissue.

  The ground shook as Ghost dropped like a giant oak tree.

  Thirty

  Houston landed on top of the dead man with a jarring thud. Stunned, he shook his head and pried Ghost’s hands from him.

  Who had fired?

  With smoke curling from the barrel of a pearl-handled .45, Yuma Blackstone stepped from the darkness. Moonlight shone on the scalp dangling from his belt.

  Fighting to breathe through the fire in his ribs, Houston rose from atop Ghost’s body, staring at the murdering bastard. The image of Lara’s long scar with its raised, puckered ridges crossed his vision. Rage boiled. He grabbed for his Colt, remembering too late that Ghost had knocked it from his grip.

  Yuma sauntered forward as sleek as a cat stalking its prey. His bald head brought to mind a sun-bleached skull. A cruel smile curled the man’s lips below the thin mustache. “I should’ve let him kill you, my friend.”

  “You should have,” Houston agreed. “Because I’m going to make you suffer every bit as much as you did Lara.”

  “The stinkin’ little whore was good for nothing except a moment’s pleasure.” Yuma sneered. “You should’ve heard her moan and cry and beg for more. Lara Boone wanted it.”

  It took all the strength Houston had to resist the urge to lunge at him. But the deadly pistol pointed at his heart forced him to show calm. “So why cut her up if she was willing?”

  Yuma gave a careless shrug and tugged on the remaining half of his ear. “I always leave my mark on women so they’ll never forget who they belong to.” Excitement colored his voice just thinking about it. “And you know how it is with them and their teasing ways. First they say yes, then they say no. The whores never know their own minds. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Why are you stalking her?”

  “To get her back. She belongs to me.”

  No way in hell. Houston would see that never happened.

  Yuma went on. “After Till Boone packed up and moved, I didn’t know where she was, until by chance I saw her at the river crossing. She belongs only to me.”

  Houston’s thoughts again went to the knife in his boot. He had to get to it. He didn’t need to pretend to be in pain—it was blinding already. He grimaced and gripped his chest before dropping to one knee.

  Using Ghost’s lifeless body to shield his movements, Houston managed to ease the knife from his boot. “Lara is my wife now and I don’t share.”

  “I see we disagree, my friend.”

  “Most definitely—in every way.” Houston gasped in pain, keeping Yuma distracted. “Why did you kill this man? I assume he was your friend.”

  “He was going to steal my pleasure. You are mine. I wish to be the one to bring the sting of death!” Yuma thundered, but something else was in his eyes.

  “You were afraid of Ghost,” Houston said softly as understanding dawned. A searing flame tore through his chest as he pulled himself to his feet, gripping the knife behind him. One chance was all he asked for. “You knew the giant would turn on you someday and take your life. Where’s the ruthless outlaw? You’re just a coward.”

  “You’re wrong. I fear nothing.”

  Houston took a measured step. “I see it in your eyes. You’re afraid of Lara’s little brother, Henry, and you feared Ghost. You also have at least one other man in your ranks capable of taking your life. From what I saw, Digger might just be man enough to kill you, in the daylight or in your sleep. He’s not afraid of you.”

/>   With slow half steps, Houston crept toward his rival. A little closer and he would be within arm’s reach. He kept his focus on Yuma’s glittering, crazed eyes and not on the gun aimed at him. The man’s appearance showed him for the sinister bastard he was. From the thin mustache above his lip, to the shaven head, to the shot-off ear—but most of all, the ruthless smile that promised no remorse for killing.

  “Ah, yes, Digger.” Yuma snorted, smoothing his mustache with one finger. “You must’ve been hiding nearby. I can handle him. If you stayed for the fight, you saw I whipped him good.”

  “Always in control, right?”

  “That’s right, my friend.”

  “You keep using that word.” Houston took another step. “Make no mistake, you and I will never be anything more than enemies.”

  “I beg to differ.” Yuma laughed. “You and me are more alike than you want to admit.”

  Quiet rage colored Houston’s voice. “We are nothing alike. Not now, not ever. Are you going to shoot or talk me to death?”

  “In a hurry to die, are you?”

  Moonlight caught the flash of the blade as Houston lunged, slashing Yuma’s face. He had only one chance to damage Yuma enough so he couldn’t see to shoot. Houston quickly brought the knife back and ripped a long gash across the first slice, making a bloody X. The next instant, Houston grabbed Yuma’s gun. A bullet burst from the end as he wrapped his hand around the barrel and managed to shove the weapon downward. Though the heated metal burned his palm, he held tight.

  Galloping horses burst upon them with the arrival of the drovers. Houston glanced up for a split second. That was all it took for Yuma to leave Houston holding the .45. The man leapt on Houston’s palomino and galloped into the blackness.

  Damn it to hell!

  “Clay, go after Blackstone,” Houston hollered. “He’s getting away.”

  Leading the rest of the drovers, Houston ran toward Yuma’s camp, praying the outlaws hadn’t left. Thorns and brambles tore at his clothes and face. Pain knifed his ribs with each breath and his stride wasn’t as long as it needed to be. He knew he’d be dead now if Yuma hadn’t shot Ghost.

  Moonlight illuminated the way across the rocks. Tall juniper rose up like silent sentinels, guarding the arid land’s secrets. Houston gripped Yuma’s six gun, taking comfort in the piece of steel. As battered and stove-up as Houston was, he’d be hard-pressed to win a fistfight. The .45 would do his fighting for him.

  Every so often he’d stop to listen, but heard only the haunting silence of the windswept plains and rustle of the grasses.

  At last the camp came into view. Houston’s heart sank.

  They’d already pulled up stakes and lit out. So there must’ve been a back way after all.

  Clutching his ribs and limping, Houston and his men returned to Ghost’s body.

  “Who is this man, and what happened to you?” Pony asked.

  Houston tried to straighten to his full height but the pain was too great. Bent over and gasping for air, he told them about his fight with Ghost and the chat with Yuma. “By all rights, I shouldn’t be here.”

  Virgil put his arm around him. “I’m glad you are. I wouldn’t want the job of telling Lara her husband is dead.”

  Clay galloped up and Houston told the story again.

  “Glad you sliced the bastard’s face,” Clay said. “Let’s get you back to camp.”

  “My Colt. It landed somewhere in the brush,” Houston said.

  “I’ll find it,” Virgil said. “Take my horse. I’ll ride double with one of the others.”

  “Thanks.” Houston bit his lip against the agony and settled into the saddle. Counting his blessings, he rode slowly toward the herd. With every step the roan took, he let out a string of curses.

  He wished to hell he wasn’t in so much misery. The need to have Yuma Blackstone dead burned inside a devil’s fire.

  For two cents, he’d go back and finish the job. Dammit to hell!

  Next time he wouldn’t fail.

  * * *

  Lara walked away from the campfire and stared into the darkness in the direction Houston had ridden, as she’d done so often the last hour. But the expanse remained empty and silent except for Frank Farley’s snores. The men had left him bound in his bedroll.

  She sighed and drew her shawl tightly around her. Movement at the Ledbetters’ tent drew her attention. For over thirty minutes, she watched women traipse back and forth from the high-topped wagon to Hiram, sitting outside the tent. Each would give him a good-night kiss and an embrace.

  A light dawned. They were sharing Hiram, of all things.

  Lara clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle. So that’s why they named all their boy babies Hiram. He was the father to all their children—all eight. She’d heard her father once speak about a man like Hiram in the town of Amarosa. Maybe it wasn’t that uncommon.

  She knew one thing—she was not going to share Houston with anyone. He was hers.

  It had to be close to midnight, but she wasn’t going to bed until she knew he was safe. She twisted the hem of her apron into a knot, matching the one in her stomach.

  Tonight she’d decided to do more than lie in his arms, but maybe her courage had come too late. Maybe he wouldn’t come back to her.

  Maybe she was a widow. A frightened sob escaped her.

  Caroline walked from her wagon to join her. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m so worried about Nick. Do you mind if I wait with you?”

  Lara put her arm around the girl. “Honey, I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I’d love the company.”

  “Thanks. I just didn’t want to be alone.” Caroline motioned toward the Ledbetters’ tent. “What do you think about that? I’ve been watching and every last one of those women gave Hiram a kiss and hug before going to bed. And Sarah stayed. The light just went out.”

  “They don’t appear to sleep with him at the same time.” A giggle slipped out. “At least I hope not. But yes, I noticed too.”

  Caroline drew herself up. “I’ll kill any woman who tries that with my Nick.”

  “It must be a very strange feeling to see another woman with your husband. I’m not judging, but I couldn’t live that life.”

  “The only thing I’d share would be my fist.” Firelight reflected Caroline’s seething anger. Lara imagined the young girl would be quite a handful in a fight.

  She drew the newlywed toward the fire. “Want some coffee, dear? We need to make some for the men anyway.”

  “I’ll help you. Gives us something to do besides wait and worry.”

  “That it does. Seems like I spend half my time suspended between reality and the unknown.” Lara opened the coffee while Caroline filled the pot with water.

  After nestling the pot amid the low flames, they sat down beside each other.

  “Do you think our men are all right?” Caroline asked.

  “Yes, I do.” Because to let herself imagine the worst would drive her insane. Lara stared out into the darkness, praying no harm would come to the men. She knew those guarding them beyond the light waited as well, hoping for the same thing.

  Caroline scooted closer. “I’m glad we have this chance to talk. Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “I don’t mind at all. What is it?”

  “How long does it take to get pregnant? Nick and I have been trying night and day ever since we got married and I don’t think it’s working.”

  Lara hoped the shadows hid her red face. She had no earthly idea. With her, it had only taken the once. But she couldn’t reveal how little she knew—it would kill her to have the young girl know more than she did at twenty-one. She had to sound wise even if the information was false.

  “Uh, I’m not real sure, honey.” Her face burned with embarrassment. “It seems to depend. Every woman is different. You shouldn’t worr
y. Give yourself three months at least before you start fretting about it. There’s no rush.”

  “Do you think there’s something wrong with me? Maybe that’s it.”

  “Absolutely not.” Lara patted her hand. “This seems very premature. You just got married. Try to wipe it from your mind. That’s the best thing.” After a moment, she added, “A watched pot never boils.”

  “But what if there is something wrong? I’ll die if I can’t have our two boys and two girls.”

  “Caroline, listen to yourself. Don’t borrow trouble.”

  “I’m trying not to.” The young girl moved closer to whisper, “Nick can’t last very long. He gets inside and the next thing I know he’s already done. Maybe there’s something wrong with him. I hate to ask, but is Mr. Legend like this?”

  Lara jumped to her feet. She couldn’t have this conversation. She couldn’t even ask her own burning questions of the Ledbetter women when it had come down to it. Though they’d spoken briefly of love, she just couldn’t voice her concerns. How would she know what’s common in lovemaking?

  “I think I hear something. Do you?” She was desperate to change the subject.

  Caroline cocked her head. “Nope.”

  “Okay. Guess I made a mistake. Want some leftover cobbler? I’m starving.” Lara strode to the chuck wagon’s drop-down table where she’d left the dessert. She’d do anything to get Caroline’s mind off that uncomfortable subject.

  “Cobbler sounds good.” Caroline rose and joined her.

  For the next half hour, they ate their fill of the delicious dessert. Lara gave thanks that the conversation didn’t return to pregnancy or lovemaking.

  Finally, she caught the sound of horses and men talking low. Minutes later, the group of drovers materialized and her heart lurched.

  Something was wrong. Houston slumped in the saddle, and there was no sign of the palomino he’d ridden out on.

  With cold fear racing through her veins, she ran to him and touched his leg. “Tell me what happened.”

  Houston glanced down. She couldn’t see his eyes but heard the suffering that rendered his strong voice to barely above a whisper. “Lara, darlin’, now don’t be mad. Just…stove-up…a bit.”