A Fire in the Blood

by Shirl Henke

  As the shrieking little cook seized a big iron ladle and brandished it. Pepper bounded from beneath the canvas and ran around Vinegar's bubbling pot of stew. Cormac headed him off by circling the cauldron from the opposite side. A crowd of hands had gathered by this time, hooting, cheering, and making bets on whether Pepper and Cormac would escape with the prize, or Vinegar Joe reclaim it.

  "Vinegar's madder 'n a rained-on rooster," Rob Ostler said to Lissa as she dismounted.

  Her eyes round with horror, she called to both dogs. Pepper obeyed no one but Moss, who was not in camp. The noise was so great that even Cormac, who normally heeded Lissa's commands, could not hear her over the din.

  "Betcha five dollars he gets them birds back," another called out to Ostler.

  Cormac almost collided with Pepper as he snapped at one of the dangling quail. His big teeth sank into the bird and the rope. A tug of war ensued until Vinegar, wielding the iron ladle and a long barbecue fork, alternately swung and poked at the larger target, the wolfhound.

  Cormac let out a muffled woof as the fork pierced his shaggy brindled rump, then took off. Since Pepper was holding the other end of rope at the opposite side of the fire, the unfortunate result was that the huge pot overturned onto the ground, spilling meat and gravy in a giant puddle. The little cook did a yelping dance as boiling chunks of beef and sauce enveloped his boots and splashed onto the grimy white apron he wore. Jumping as high as a Pecos twister, he hopped out of the mess, still cursing the dogs and searching for another weapon.

  By this time the men, realizing that their dinner had just been demolished, began to view the cook's plight in a somewhat more sympathetic light. When the pair of felons ran toward the nearby cawy, a cry went up.

  "Watch them horses!"

  "Oh, shit!"

  "Cormac! I'll put you on bread and water for a year!

  "Will ya lookit that!"

  The cawy was contained in a makeshift corral of flimsy posts with rope strung between them. Pepper dashed beneath the rope, but Cormac ran smack into it, toppling the posts. The two thrashing dogs sent the neighing, prancing horses into a mad stampede. Men on foot cursed and dodged flying hooves, then raced for their saddled horses while those already mounted seized their ketch ropes and gave chase in a vain attempt to head off the stampede.

  By this time, Vinegar was digging through the chest strapped on the side of the wagon like a crazed chipmunk searching for acorns, screeching imprecations at the dogs. The objects of his wrath avoided the stampeding horses by turning back to the security of the wagon and its tent. Now Cormac had the rope of birds and Pepper was chasing him. As they ran beneath the canvas, Cormac bumped one of the support poles holding the tarpaulin up. Following hard on his heels, Pepper did likewise and the heavy canvas fell with a great whoosh that toppled over the two sets of open shelves filled with tin plates, cups, and heavy crockery.

  Vinegar let out another volley of oaths that could be heard even over the clattering crash. Lissa held her hands over her ears as the scene unfolded before her horrified eyes. The cook yanked an ancient shotgun free from the tangled mess of tools in the chest and raised it in the general direction of the canvas. Two writhing lumps, one very large, one smaller, thrashed beneath the tarpaulin, trying to scratch their way to freedom.

  "No, Vinegar, don't shoot!" Lissa yelled as she ran toward the cook, who was pulling back the hammer.

  She grabbed the gun just as he fired, knocking his aim awry. The recoil of the gun sent both the skinny little cook and Lissa tumbling to the ground.

  A strange, grayish-white cloud came billowing out from beneath the canvas with the force of a tornado wind. The spectators began to cough and rub their eyes as a fine white dust settled on them. Lissa stumbled to the edge of the canvas and pulled it back, freeing the prisoners, who had at last relinquished their prize quail.

  "Oh, Cormac, Pepper, look at you!" she gasped in dismay while another fit of coughing seized her.

  "What the hell's going on here?" Marcus bellowed as two white dogs, severely chastened, with tails between their legs, cowered behind Lissa.

  Jacobson dismounted while Jess sat astride Blaze, looking down on the wreckage with amusement. When his eyes swept over Lissa's flour-coated hair and sticky hands, she reddened in mortification and quickly looked away.

  Blinking her lashes, she rubbed Cormac's head. Her fingers stuck in his fur. "It's flour," she said inanely, knowing she was blushing and hating herself for it. "Vinegar was trying to shoot them, and he hit the flour sack instead, underneath the canvas. It just sort of exploded all over them . . . and us," she added, looking sheepishly down at her ruined clothes and boots. So much for dressing up to impress that philandering gunman!

  To add insult to her injury, Cormac shook himself, sending more flour, along with droplets of drool, spraying over her.

  "Well, if thet don't put a hair in the butter," Vinegar shrieked. "Them thieves steal my quail 'n wreck my whole shebang 'n alls yew kin say is I shot my own bakin' flour like it wuz a stray coyote!" He threw down his greasy, battered hat, which miraculously had stayed on his head, and stomped on it with muddy, flour-coated boots. "I quit! I ain't playin' nursemaid ta no hellhound big 'nough ta saddle 'n ride. Ner any sniveling little sneak-thiefs neither," he said focusing his one good eye on Pepper.

  Marcus ignored Vinegar's continuing tantrum. The crotchety old cook quit every few weeks over some infraction in his domain. He turned to Moss, who had just ridden up to behold the mess.

  "Aw, Pepper. Shitfire, this is the last time," Symington said as he stared at the whimpering dog, who slunk over to him. The rest of the foreman's face was as red as his bulbous nose. "I'll get rid of him, boss. Ole Harley Freye's been pestering me to let him have Pepper to service his bitch."

  "Just get him out of here before anything else happens," Marcus said with a sigh.

  Jacobson turned to Cormac, who had recovered his aplomb and now sat, thoroughly unrepentant, by Lissa. The hound's tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth, and his tail thumped in the sticky muck that had earlier been hard-packed dirt. "If he gets near the house in that condition, Germaine will have a seizure. Get that mess off him at the creek," he commanded Lissa.

  She touched his back experimentally. "It's molasses . . . and eggs underneath the flour." An idea was playing in the back of her mind as she looked at the expression of condescending amusement on Jesse Robbins's handsome face. “I’ll need someone to hold him while I scrub. You know how he hates to have a bath." She emphasized the last word.

  Cormac's tail stopped wagging, and a low growl emanated from his throat.

  The men began to shuffle and back away, some finding tasks of immediate urgency that sent them flying after their horses. Rob Ostler even volunteered to help Vinegar clean up the muck around the chuck wagon. Moss Symington was the only one not afraid of the big wolfhound, and he had conveniently left camp with Pepper.

  Lissa smiled up at Jess. "Cormac's taken a shine to Mr. Robbins here, Papa. I think he'd do better than any of the other hands."

  "Thet's right, Mr. Jacobson. He's the onliest feller I ever seen thet critter let pet him 'cept for Miz Lissa 'n Moss," Butch said.

  Several others chorused immediate agreement. Marcus nodded curtly at Jess. "Give her a hand, Robbins." He did not see the slyly beatific smile that spread across his daughter's face as he strode away.

  Jess scowled at the girl and the dog. He did not even want to consider what was embedded beneath the white paste on the hound's shaggy fur. "You say he hates baths?" His voice was deadly.

  Lissa smirked. "What's the matter? Surely the baddest man west of anyplace east can't be bothered by one molasses-covered dog," she said in a syrupy voice.

  He eyed the dog, then moved his piercing gaze to her, raking her disheveled hair and clothing until the smile erased itself from her face. "The dog doesn't bother me," he replied stonily. "Let's get this done."

  Her revenge did not seem at all the clever idea it had when she first
contrived it. In fact, she could handle Cormac all by herself—and had on numerous occasions. "Forget it. I'll wash him without your help."

  She turned away, but his whispered question stopped her. "What's the matter? Surely the Princess of J Bar can't be bothered by one half-breed gunman."

  He was smiling, but it was not a nice smile. She refused to meet his eyes. "Like you said, let's get it done."

  Jess watched her stiff-spined walk down to the creek, wondering what had set her off. After they made love, she had practically begged him to marry her, offered to give up everything for him. He reevaluated his first reaction to her rebuff this morning. She was not behaving like a woman who has realized a great gaffe and wants to pretend the whole incident never happened. Lissa was still trying to get his attention—almost in spite of herself.

  He dismounted at the water's edge as she pulled off her boots and waded in, coaxing the huge dog to follow her. He bounded in, splashing wildly, much as he had cavorted with her in the pool, but when she produced the bar of soap she had taken from the chuck wagon, he backed away warily.

  "Cormac, I'll nail your hide right alongside those wolf pelts on the bunkhouse wall if you give me any trouble," she said in a low, menacing voice, trying not to look at Jess as he stripped off his weapons and boots in much the same deliberate manner he had used before coming into the pool after her. Don't think about that!

  He entered the water and approached the dog. "Cormac, old pal, you better listen to the lady," he said as he took a firm hold of the dog's leather collar.

  Lissa concentrated on working up a stiff lather of suds from Vinegar's homemade lye soap and rubbing it through the dog's matted, filthy hair. He held amazingly still under Jess's stern, low voice but quivered in outrage at the soap. She worked furiously, trying to avoid touching Jess's hands or getting too near his body.

  "You're acting like the women in Cheyenne who don't want to be contaminated by touching a breed," he said in a low voice.

  She jumped and the soap slipped from her hand. He bent over and retrieved it. When he handed it to her, she hesitated, then snatched it angrily from him. "Not all the women in Cheyenne avoid you, you music hall Romeo," she blurted out furiously, then dropped her eyes back to the dog.

  His hands gripped hers on Cormac's sudsy coat, stilling them. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Don't deny it, Jess. Lemuel came courting yesterday. He told me he saw you and that Camella Alvarez going into her place of business," she said scornfully.

  A slow, incredulous smile spread across his face. "Oh, I won't deny I talked to Cammie. I was in town picking up a wire from the telegraph office when I ran into her—accidentally. She had some information about a J Bar hand who's involved with the rustlers. All we did was talk, Lissa."

  "Like you talked that first night in town, out back of the Metropolitan Hotel?" His warm, firm hands holding hers were doing wild things to her heart, which pounded madly. She could not think straight.

  Jess could feel the pulses racing in her delicate wrists. He caressed them sensuously. She was jealous of Cammie! "I've known Cammie since we were kids on the Texas border. It wasn't always so innocent between us, no. But I didn't make love to her yesterday, Lissa."

  She pulled her hands away and resumed scrubbing the dog, who stood patiently, looking from Lissa to Jess and back as they talked so intensely. "Why should I believe you?"

  Jess reached up and brushed a soap bubble from the tip of her nose. "Because I have no reason to lie," he answered flatly. "I'm not courting you like Lemuel Mathis. I don't want your ranch, and I can't offer you marriage. But I never lied to you about that or anything else, Lissa."

  She studied his eyes, lost in their silvery depths. "I don't want the ranch either." Then grudgingly she added, "I believe you."

  He sighed. "Hell, I should've let you stay angry with me. It would've made things easier."

  She looked up. "Then why didn't you?"

  Under her scrutiny, his swarthy face heated and he looked away uncomfortably. "Damned if I know."

  Cormac chose that moment to give himself a mighty shake, flinging suds everywhere. Then he made a dash for freedom, still covered with soap. With a squeal of laughter, Lissa grabbed for his collar and stumbled in the shallow water. Jess, pulled off balance when the dog jumped free of his hold, fell forward, landing on Cormac's back. The dog slithered from beneath them and bounded into the deeper water while Jess and Lissa went down, arms and legs entangled as they splashed in the water on their hands and knees.

  Vinegar Joe had come down to the creek with one of his pack mules to load up a barrel of water for cleaning the campsite. He paused at the top of the rise, partially hidden by a cottonwood tree, and watched Jess and Lissa earnestly holding hands over the big dog. He could not hear their exchange but knew they were not discussing Cormac. Then the dog broke free, and they fell into the creek, laughing and splashing each other like lovers.

  A worried frown creased his face as he muttered, "Gawddamn, if this here really don't put a hair in the butter!"

  * * * *

  Jess watched Ralph Sligo for the next couple of days, hoping he would not leave another message for the rustlers until Pardee and his guns arrived. So far Sligo had not ridden to the line shack. Jess needed backup before he could bait the trap. He estimated there were around twenty rustlers. There was no way he could know how many of them were any good with a gun, and he could not be certain about the men Pardee picked. Normally, a dozen professional gunmen would be more than enough to handle matters, but that was when he knew exactly who he was going up against.

  Jess followed Sligo the next afternoon. When the rustler did nothing amiss, Jess returned to the ranch, all the while turning the matter of the impending confrontation over in his mind. Tate Shannon had been a damn reliable man. Jess decided to try enlisting him again. It was not good for a man like Shannon to give up on life, even over a woman like Tabby.

  Such thoughts brought Lissa to mind again, a subject he tried to forget. Useless. What foolery had led him to confess the truth about his relationship with Cammie to her? She would have kept her distance if he had let her believe Mathis's accusations.

  I can't stay away from her any more than she can stay away from me. She was a fire in his blood, racing along every nerve, scorching him with her sweet, wild heat. He lay awake each night in his bunk, hungering for her beautiful body, but more than that, for the sound of her voice, her laughter, the pleasure of her very presence. Lissa Jacobson was not a woman he could take and then walk away from. I'll pay for loving her the rest of my life.

  Loving her! Had he actually thought those words? He cursed to himself and pushed the thought aside as he rode up to the stable where he had just seen Shannon enter.

  "You got a few minutes, Tate?" he asked as he began to unsaddle Blaze.

  The big black man shrugged as he applied a rub rag to his dun gelding. "Yeah, I got nothin' but time, Jess. Been meanin' to talk to you anyways. What you want?"

  "Pardee's coming with twelve men."

  A harsh smile that was really more of a grimace slashed Tate's face. "And you want me to make it a baker's dozen?"

  "I don't know the men Pardee's bringing," Jess said as he swung the heavy saddle over the rail and began to rub down his stallion.

  "Knowin' Pardee, they'll be snake-mean and armed to the teeth."

  "I'd still like you to watch my back, Tate. Pay's fifty dollars a day from the time we ride after the rustlers."

  "Just like the old days, huh, Jess?" Shannon pondered, then looked up at Robbins. "I might be interested. What're your plans when this is done?"

  "I'll collect the biggest purse I've gotten yet. Probably ride home to see Jonah for a while. After that..." He shrugged. "I'll see what comes along."

  "You ain't figgerin' on stayin' at J Bar?" Shannon's eyes were wary.

  Jess caught the nuance of tension in his companion's voice and looked up. "Hell, no. What makes you ask that?"

  Tate
looked around the stable before answering. No one was close enough to overhear, but he lowered his voice just the same. "Vinegar mentioned something to me the other day. It really stuck in his craw."

  Jess froze, staring straight ahead. "Go on."

  "He started askin' me 'bout you. Heard we rode together down in Arizona. At first I thought it was just the usual, you know, curiosity about a fast gun. But he had something real particular in mind. He saw you 'n Miss Lissa together at the creek the other day when you helped her clean up that dog."

  "We washed a dog, nothing more," Jess said levelly, cursing inwardly.

  Shannon snorted. "Funny, he didn't see it that way. Vinegar Joe Riland's downright ornery, but he ain't no fool. You didn't have to drag her down and kiss her in front of him for him to pick up on the idea somethin's goin' on. He's worked for the J Bar since that girl was born, and he's loyal to ole Marcus. Shit, Jess, you know what a man like Jacobson would do to you if he even suspects you're foolin' with his daughter!"

  Jess let out a long slow breath. "Yeah, Tate. It's been on my mind here lately."

  Shannon watched Jess methodically continue rubbing down Blaze, working with short, powerful strokes of the body brush. "Look, I know it ain't my place to try 'n tell you what to do—aw, hell, Jess, she's white. You know as well as me what that means."

  "Let it rest, Tate. You're right. It isn't your place," he said tightly.

  The big black man sighed and turned to his dun. Pulling on the hackamore, he started to lead the horse out to the corral where the cawy was held.

  Jess called out, "Wait, Tate. I appreciate your telling me about Vinegar."

  "Just be careful," the black man admonished.

  "You going to watch my back when I go after the rustlers?"

  Shannon nodded with a resigned expression on his face. "Hell, reckon I got no choice, but you'd better be careful 'bout whose back you been watchin'."