by Shirl Henke
Lissa jerked free of his clawlike hands, but stood her ground. "Keep your crazy accusations to yourself, Yancy," she hissed. "You say anything like that to my father and he'll kill you. Or Robbins will." She flung her tangled hair over her shoulder and stalked away as rage-filled hazel eyes met cold, deadly gray ones.
"Don't push, Brewster," was all Jess said.
"Push, breed? I'll ride you into the ground," Brewster whispered hoarsely.
A crowd of the other hands who were riding in the big race converged on the two tense figures, laughing and joking, oblivious of the impending conflict.
Brewster turned and stalked into the stable to get his horse, and several of the others followed. Tate Shannon fell in step beside Jess as he led Blaze toward the start of the two-mile race course.
"You're playin' with fire, Jess. Oh, I seen her a-comin' after you, battin' them big yeller eyes 'n smilin' like Eve with an apple, but Brewster always figgered on gettin' her. She's poison for you."
"If I remember my Bible, that first apple was poison, too," Jess replied grimly.
"I jes hope you ain't fixin' to take a bite," Tate said dolefully, then added, "Watch Brewster durin' the race. He'll sure try 'n cut you now."
Jess nodded grimly as he mounted up.
The eleven contestants lined up their horses while Cy Evers explained the rules to the assembled crowd. "Course is from here around the big stand of cottonwoods by the creek and back. First one who comes under my flag here wins. Get fixed to race when I fire my rifle."
Lissa stood behind the corral gate, steadying her trembling legs by holding on to the rough log poles of the fence. She could see the two tall riders at the starting line, could sense the crackling animosity between them. Would Yancy go to her father? Why had she done such a rash, reckless thing? I haven't had a sensible thought since I first laid eyes on Jesse Robbins. She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, mesmerized by his dark, savage sensuality. Even now her unwilling gaze fastened on him as he bent low over Blaze's neck, crooning softly to the stallion.
Cy Evers's rifle cracked and the riders exploded from the starting line in a cloud of dust. Yancy dug his sharp Spanish rowels into Thunderbolt's side, drawing blood on the gleaming white coat, and the big white leaped ahead. One of the hands on a big dun and Rob on Moss's sorrel pulled close to Yancy. Jess seemed to be pacing his big black midway back. The dun quickly faded, but the white and the sorrel raced neck and neck for several lengths. Then, with a lightning flash, Yancy's quirt caught the sorrel on the neck, causing the horse to break stride and stumble.
Her heart in her throat, Lissa climbed on the corral fence to get a better view, but the riders were headed around the trees by the shallow creek. The last thing she saw was Jess pulling closer to Yancy as they went into the turn. She clung to the top rail of the corral, frantically searching the horizon for the riders, afraid to breathe until she saw Jess reappear.
Finally they emerged, thundering back toward the finish line with the white still in the lead, but Blaze was relentlessly gaining. Yancy heard the pounding of hooves growing nearer and turned to see the black closing the gap. As Jess pulled alongside, Yancy began slashing with his quirt, landing several blows. Jess fell back, then surged forward once more, this time ready for the onslaught. When Yancy struck out, Jess seized the foreman's quirt in his gloved hand, almost yanking Brewster from his saddle.
The spectators could partially see the struggle between the two men as Jess tossed away the quirt. Then Brewster kicked free of his right stirrup and slashed at Blaze's side with the wicked rowels on his spur, but Jess blocked him with his boot. Brewster tried again, but this time Jess's hard response jammed the foreman's leg backward. The boot with its sharp rowels slid past the sweat flap and raked hard into Thunderbolt's flank. The big stallion screamed and veered sharply to the left. Brewster was off balance and could not regain the stirrup. As the horse lunged in pain, the foreman pitched headfirst off the right side of the frenzied animal.
Jess crossed the finish line well ahead of the others. Everyone thundered by Brewster, who rose slowly, brushing dust and twigs from his clothes, apparently none the worse but for his pride.
Lissa sat frozen on the rail as Jess dismounted amid cheers from the J Bar men. His shirt was torn in several places, and small weals of blood seeped through the thin cotton. She wanted to run to him and tend his hurts, to hold him safe in her arms and whisper that she loved him. But to do so would seal his doom.
Chapter Nine
Jess accepted the good wishes of the J Bar men. A few had bet on him and were collecting their winnings, but the cheerful excitement died into a tense lull as the foreman rode in mounted behind the Diamond E man who had stopped to pick him up when the white bolted. Everyone grew silent as Brewster approached Robbins.
"I always heard greasers and gut-eaters were natural-born riders. You bein' both, I reckon a white man never stood a chance."
The silence was thick enough for Vinegar Joe to slice and fry for dinner. Everyone waited to see what the fearful gunman would do.
"You gonna shoot me, Robbins?" Brewster taunted. His face was coated with a thick gray film of dust. Rivulets of sweat ran down his temples and cheeks. He looked pale beneath the dirt, and a crazy light gleamed in his narrowed eyes.
"I hear you never shoot a man unless you're paid." Sneering, the foreman threw down a handful of silver dollars.
Lissa climbed off the fence, desperately searching the crowd to find her father and Cy Evers. They had to intervene before the two fools shot each other!
Jess smiled thinly and wiped the trickle of blood from his temple with the back of his hand. Then he pulled off his gloves and stuck them in his belt. "I'm paid real good, Brewster. Sometimes I can afford to indulge myself."
"Why don't you just do that?" Brewster said savagely. "You been indulgin' yourself real handy already from what I seen."
"There'll be no more of that on Diamond E, Yancy," Evers said then. "You slap leather 'n I'll send you packin'—ridin' if you win, feet first if you lose."
The crowd cleared as he and Marcus strode toward the two combatants, who stood facing each other. Brewster was tense as a bobcat on a wire. Jess stood indolently still, muscles loose, hands resting casually on the buckle of his gunbelt.
"I hired you to shoot rustlers, not the ramrod of Diamond E, Robbins," Marcus said coldly.
Jess shrugged, his deadly gaze never leaving Brewster. "He made the call, not me."
By this time Lissa had elbowed her way through the men and thrust herself, breathless, into the clearing. "Jess is telling the truth, Papa. Look at what Yancy did to him," she said, gesturing to the quirt marks on Jess's face and arms.
"You stay out of this, Lissa. It has nothing to do with you," Jacobson commanded.
Jess's eyes narrowed on Brewster, waiting for him to challenge the old man's last statement, but the foreman said nothing, just let his eyes rake Lissa contemptuously.
"The man owes me money. I'll just collect it and be on my way. Very peaceable," Jess said, relaxing now that Brewster had held his silence.
Jacobson said nothing, looking to Evers since this was his ranch. The old man pulled a well-worn cowhide purse from his belt. "How much you owe, Yancy?"
"Two hundred fifty. I'm good for it, boss."
"I reckon you will be." Evers peeled off a thick wad of bills and handed them to Jess. "That settle it for you?"
Jess shoved the money in his pocket, then touched his fingers to the brim of his hat and walked to his horse. He felt Lissa's eyes on him as he mounted up and rode off.
* * * *
The promised heat arrived, leaving the July earth as scoured by blazing sun as it had been by May thunderstorms, whose moisture had long since been sucked up by thirsty vegetation. Lissa stood in her room, staring out the window at the merciless, pale blue sky. "Not a cloud in sight, much less a thunderhead," she murmured.
A trickle of perspiration ran between her breasts and she rubbed her sheer c
amisole to absorb it. Even stripped down to underwear, she was cooking. She watched two hands ride over the horizon, their horses kicking up big soft puffs of dust. The thick grama grass had turned from tender green shoots to tough brown stalks, thinning but still rich in nutrients.
Roundup was over, and plans for the big celebration dance were under way. It would be held at J Bar this year. Germaine worked all the servants at a killing pace. Not a crevice or cranny in the big house escaped her scrutiny. Every inch must be dusted, scrubbed, polished, or painted before the grand event.
Three girls were hired just to act as maids and to assist with the enormous number of kitchen chores. The ball would include a lavish buffet table. Marcus Jacobson stinted nothing when he entertained. Because there had always been such animosity between the housekeeper and Lissa, the younger woman refused to have anything to do with planning the menus or overseeing the beautiful house.
She could not cook. In fact, she possessed no domestic skills whatever. Would that make her a poor wife? Not if she married a rich townsman like Lemuel Mathis, who wanted nothing more than a beautiful ornament. What would Jesse Robbins want in a wife? He was not rich or socially prominent. Baking a good pie was probably worth more to him than being a graceful dancer.
He had kept his distance ever since the incident at Evers's rodeo, preferring to avoid her and the trouble that always sparked when they were together. She had overheard her father and Moss arguing about the extra gunmen Jess was bringing in from Texas and New Mexico. Some sort of a big showdown was brewing with the rustlers, but she did not know when or how it would come about. She only knew that once it was over, Jesse Robbins would ride out of her life forever. And she would never be the same again.
"I must escape this infernal heat! It's affecting my mind." An idea popped into her head. As a child, she had often sneaked away during the summer to a small swimming hole that she and Cridellia had discovered when they were children, still playing together before growing up and becoming spiteful rivals.
If only Lissa could remember where it was located. The more she thought of a long, cool swim, the more the idea cheered her flagging spirits. She quickly donned an old cotton blouse and riding skirt and gathered up a blanket, a thick towel, soap, and shampoo, determined to find that secluded pool. The hands all used a deep, wide spot out on the southern fork of Lodgepole Creek as their summer cooling-off place. No one would intrude on her blissful, forbidden fun.
Smuggling her gear from the house proved easy enough, since she took the bane of Germaine's existence—Cormac—with her. The last time he had bounded through the parlor to greet her, he had shattered two very expensive Royal Worcester vases with his thrashing tail and had frightened one of the extra maids so badly she had fainted.
Lissa told the housekeeper that she was going to take Cormac for a long walk, then spend some time with Vinegar down at the cook's shed. Always happy to have the girl out of her hair, Germaine scarcely noticed when she left. Sneaking into the stable and saddling Little Bit was easy. When Luke Deevers asked where she was riding without an escort, she assured the old man that she would go no farther than the creek. Since she had the big wolfhound with her, he accepted her story.
Before the sun was at its zenith in the blindingly bright sky, she was riding across the open plains with the hot summer wind blowing her hair like a fiery banner behind her. Her father always said thirsty cattle could smell water from ten miles away. So hot and desperate for its respite was she, she could smell the swimming hole from five.
"The place hasn't changed much," she said to Cormac as she dismounted and scanned the small pool bubbling up from deep in the earth. Much of J Bar land held underground water sources that erupted here and there into swift-running creeks and deep pools that were cold even on the hottest days. This one was especially well hidden in a narrow, rocky ravine only a few miles from the flat, fertile basins where the main herds were held. Since grass and water were abundant there, no one bothered to ride over the barren escarpment to disturb the circle of lush green trees and shrubs at the bottom of the steep little canyon.
Of course cattle wandered everywhere, and cowboys followed to reclaim them. She walked around the edge of the small pool after leaving her pinto to drink and graze. The soft mud at the bank bore no traces of recent visitors, except for deer and wolves. Although prairie wolves did not prowl during the day, Lissa was glad of Cormac's protection. The lacy rustling of a stand of birch drew her to undress beneath its canopy. She peeled off her skirt and blouse, boots and underwear, and stood with the sunlight softly dappling her pale ivory skin as it danced between the rustling leaves.
Cormac sat and watched her disrobe, curious at first, for he had never been allowed upstairs in her room. She stretched languorously, experimenting with the delicious freedom of being completely nude in the open air. The hound's big brown eyes studied her, then he turned his attention to the pond, as if daring her to race him into the icy water.
"What are you looking at? Do you think I'm beautiful, Cormac?" She studied her body uncertainly, wondering how it would compare to that voluptuous music hall entertainer's. "Her breasts are larger," she conceded grudgingly, "but I have more delicate hands." She ran her fingers over her hips and buttocks, remembering how Jess had cupped them, pulling her against the bulge in his pants. Her cheeks flamed.
"I came here to cool down, not heat up more," she whispered hoarsely, quickly dashing over to the large boulder that had served her and Cridellia as an elevated platform from which to plunge into the frigid water. They had quickly discovered that inching their way in from the bank was an exercise in self-torture.
Cormac had no such qualms. He galloped into the shallows, splashing and barking furiously, then began to paddle back and forth across the small, deep pool. Lissa teetered on the boulder for a moment, working up her nerve for the jump. What if she had forgotten how to swim? What if the cold water paralyzed her with cramps?
"I'll just have to rely on you to rescue me, old friend," she said, then jumped from the rock, landing with a big, ungraceful splash beside the frolicking dog.
* * * *
Jess had ridden since dawn in the growing heat, checking Sligo's line shack rendezvous, which had received no recent visitors, then cutting sign but finding nothing. The rustlers must have been warned to lie low. He saw a deer break from some low juniper and vanish over the escarpment ahead of him. The thought of a savory venison stew as a break from the endless beef and beans appealed to him. Sliding the rifle from his scabbard, Jess kneed Blaze into a trot and followed the deer.
The rocky shelf left no trail, but Jess had spent a lifetime hunting in bleak West Texas terrain. In this heat, spooked deer would eventually head for water unless dogged too closely. After half an hour traversing the escarpment in the direction the deer had taken, Jess was rewarded when the ground dipped sharply, falling away to a small, narrow ravine. He reined in and peered down its steep side to the circle of green below.
"Even if the buck gets away, that looks mighty inviting, old hoss," he said to the stallion, who was nickering excitedly as he smelled water.
A quick search yielded a rough, zigzagging trail into the ravine. Once he hit level ground, Jess heard the racket. Loud woofs that fairly reverberated off the rocky walls mixed with peals of silvery laughter. He froze in disbelief. Lissa!
Swinging down from the black, he led him toward the pool, which was hidden by dense stands of birch, willows and serviceberry. When he cleared the bushes, the pool lay like a gleaming gemstone in front of him, its placid surface broken by the roughhouse playing of the woman and her huge hound. She had just finished working a thick suds through that magnificent mane of fiery hair and was trying to rinse it. Cormac jumped at her, knocking her backward. Laughing, she tumbled beneath the surface.
He held his breath when she emerged shaking her head and sending water flying in every direction as she waded into the shallows. Her milky flesh gleamed with silvery droplets that traced sensuous patter
ns, following the curves of small, perfectly upthrust breasts and slim, subtly rounded hips. Blood raced to his groin, pooling there in a deep, unrelieved ache that tore a primitive growl from him. He remembered the feel of her soft, yielding flesh when he had cupped that sleek little bottom, pulling her against him. And she had come so willingly, issuing the same invitation she had given him again and again until he was tormented beyond reason with it.
Avoiding her had not assuaged the need. Neither had his lusty romps with Cammie. Lissa had become a fire in his blood, singing her siren's song, luring him to his destruction. He walked into the clearing and let Blaze amble down to the water to drink.
The wind shifted and Cormac raised his head, sniffing, then turned toward where Jess was standing. He let out a joyous peal, barking his welcome.
"Cormac, what on earth—?" Lissa turned toward the bank where the dog's eyes were fastened. "Jess!" Her eyes widened and she stood knee-deep in the cold water, too surprised to cover herself. She watched him methodically strip off his clothes.
Her mouth went suddenly dry, and a low trembling began to radiate from deep inside her, filling her with a strange lethargy. Yet at the same time she had never felt so alive, so breathless and eager as she did at the moment. "What. . . what are you doing?" Her voice sounded far away, hoarse and raspy, as if she had just run for miles.
He paused, tossing his shirt onto the growing pile of his belongings at the edge of the pool. "What does it look like, Lissa? You're reckless. I might as well be reckless, too."
"I'm not reckless." Her eyes devoured the ripple of muscles across his shoulders and the patterns of hair on his chest.
"Playing mother-naked in a deserted water hole where any man could come on you—that's not reckless? Almost forcing me to kill Brewster— that's not reckless? Wandering off into the hands of a couple of randy rustlers—that's not reckless? Almost breaking your horse's legs in a quicksand bog—not reckless? Lady, I haven't seen a woman get herself into so much stupid trouble since the last time I saw a showboat melodrama." His fingers moved to unbutton his fly.
