After the Ashes

by Howe, Cheryl

  After the Ashes

  by

  Cheryl Howe

  First Printing, March 2003

  Copyright 2003 © by Cheryl Howe

  First Kindle Edition, December 2012

  Copyright 2012 © by Cheryl Howe

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover art by Kimberly Killion, The Killion Group

  To my husband, Russ.

  Thank you for believing in me before I believed in myself.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  New Mexico Territory, 1872

  Christopher Braddock crept across the dilapidated porch, his pistol cocked. He wrapped himself around the bleached adobe as silently as his shadow. To kill the man inside was not his goal. He needed information more than another bounty.

  The battered door jerked open.

  Every muscle in Braddock’s body tensed. It looked like he wasn’t going to get his wish. As usual.

  A woman poked her head out the narrow gap between wood and adobe. “Can I help you?” Her strained smile wobbled at the cocked .44 Smith & Wesson shoved in her face.

  Braddock’s heart thumped in his ears. He would beat the boy within an inch of his young life for sending a woman out to confront him. How quickly he could have shot her made his palms sweat. He eased his finger from the trigger, not trusting his wet grip, before he lowered his gun and straightened.

  He nudged his hat back with his left hand. “Looking for Corey Sullivan.”

  The woman glanced again at his pistol and swallowed. “He’s not here.”

  She lied badly. Must not be accustomed to the outlaw life yet. He glanced over the top of her head and tried to peer inside the adobe. She kept herself carefully squeezed between door and frame. He reholstered his gun, hoping to relax anyone inside. He didn’t want a shoot-out with a woman in the middle. He didn’t want a shootout at all.

  “You might want to open those windows. Catch a breeze.”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I’m sensitive to the sun.”

  “You’re a Southerner. Haven’t been out here long.”

  “Two weeks. If there’s nothing else, I’ll say good-day. I have chores to attend.”

  “A Southerner with no hospitality? If I didn’t know better, I might think you were hiding something.”

  “Well, I’m not.” The woman slipped out past the door and shut it behind her. “I just don’t have anything to offer. I haven’t bought supplies yet.”

  She wore a faded gray dress that stretched tight across her chest and hung loose around her waist. Her pale skin and lush dark hair attested to a better life. She looked to be one of those women who wore a bonnet all the time, who didn’t take to hard work, but the tired lines around her bright blue eyes told a different story. Still, she was a beauty. Way too good for an outlaw on the run. But who could figure women?

  She shifted, growing more nervous under his scrutiny. He wasn’t beyond using that to his advantage. “Well, ma’am, I’d say you’ve plenty to offer a man.”

  She played with the frayed lace on the high neckline of her gown, keeping her arm in front of herself in a protective gesture. Braddock didn’t like how her hand trembled, nor being the cause of it. He glanced over at the water pump. “Me and my horse could use a drink.”

  She sagged in relief. “Of course.” She released her breath in a nervous bubble of laughter that sounded as sweet as it was unexpected.

  Braddock stopped himself from smiling. This wasn’t a social call.

  The woman veered around him to step off the low porch. Braddock hesitated. His path to the door cleared, but one quick glance at the woman let him know he wouldn’t get far without her.

  She rushed back the moment he didn’t follow, gesturing for him to proceed her. “This way.”

  A bumbling outlaw and a determined woman were a bad combination. With Braddock’s luck, both Sullivan and this woman would end up in a pool of their own blood. An imagined glimpse of red splattered across her white skin prompted him to step down into the yard.

  He didn’t let his back turn completely toward the adobe, but the precaution was unnecessary. The woman shadowed his movements, making herself a shield against any bullets foolish enough to fly his way. He picked up Lucky’s reins and walked to the pump.

  The woman glided across the red dirt of her barren front yard. She must have been something before the war. Unlike the rest of her people, she didn’t act broken. She held her shoulders high. When his gaze strayed to her hips, Braddock forced his attention back to the wanted man inside the house. “You forgot your bonnet, ma’am. Sun’s mighty strong this part of the day. If you want, I can go fetch it for you.”

  “No.” She faltered in her step. “Please, I’m sure you’re thirsty and I don’t want to make you wait any longer.”

  She raced to the pump and urgently worked the handle. Braddock took over the job, though she appeared to know what she was doing. She might have been used to a better life, but she seemed to have adjusted to her new situation.

  He sipped the cool water from a ladle while Lucky drank from a shallow trough.

  “You married?”

  She glanced away. “No.”

  He hadn’t thought so. “How’d you hook up with a piss poor outlaw like Sullivan?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “Thought you said he wasn’t here.”

  She couldn’t hold the eye contact. “I’m here by myself.”

  Her face paled. Braddock followed her nervous glances and saw a man’s fresh boot print in the mud-splattered dirt, and faint signs of blood. Sullivan had been at this pump not long ago. He ducked his head to study the woman’s downcast face.

  “This is a bad place for you to be by yourself,” he said. “I guess you know the folks who built this spread were murdered by Apaches.”

  “Those were bloodstains on the walls?”

  “I imagine. What kind of man would let you stay in a place like this alone?”

  She finally met his gaze, and Braddock glimpsed the spunk that had kept this woman’s shoulders high despite the war. “You’re the biggest danger I’ve encountered. You almost shot me when I stepped outside.”

  Braddock ran his hand over Lucky’s muzzle. He didn’t like being reminded. “You could go to jail for helping a murderer like Sullivan.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “It’s true, all right. Maybe even hang.” That wasn’t true. Nobody was going to put a rope around this girl’s pretty neck even if her lover had gotten himself tangled up with t
he lowest of outlaws.

  “No. I mean Corey wouldn’t murder anyone.”

  “Thought you said you didn’t know him.”

  She folded her arms over her chest in a huff, working herself up again. “Well, I do. And he wouldn’t hurt anyone. ”

  “Sweetheart, men have a dark side, and I hope you don’t find that out the hard way.”

  She didn’t back down, not a lick. She jutted her chin out and her eyes sparked blue fire. “You might be talking about yourself, sir, but you aren’t talking about Corey.”

  “Well, I just might be talking about myself. That doesn’t change the fact your lover’s a killer. He rides with killers and he’s going to hang with them, too.”

  Her chin dropped a notch. “You’re mistaken.”

  Braddock leaned on the pump and lowered his voice. “I can help you get out of here. If you need money, I can buy you a ticket home. Just leave Sullivan before it costs you your life.”

  “I have no home. Corey is my life.” She stared at Braddock dead on. “You’re wrong about him.”

  “They robbed a stagecoach carrying payroll for the railroad. Killed every last driver doing it. Some powerful men want to see them caught. They’re going to be coming around after me, and they won’t stop and talk. They’ll burst through your door, guns blazing. Do you understand that?”

  She blinked hard and turned her pretty face away from him. “Please leave now.”

  “Do you want to die, lady?”

  She moved toward the adobe. “Just go, please. Corey’s not here.”

  He grabbed her arm before she was out of reach. “What is it going to take to make you see you’re helping a murderer?”

  She stiffened. “All I see is that you’ve forgotten yourself, sir.”

  Braddock released his grip, jerking his hand back with the swiftness of a rattler’s strike. Her tone was as good as a slap. He barely resisted the urge to check over his shoulder to see if anyone had caught him mishandling a woman. Then he clenched his jaw, reminding himself that being a gentleman only got you killed. He shook off her reprimand as he had his lessons from West Point.

  There were no rules to break out here. No social graces. She too would learn that soon enough. But he, for one, didn’t have the time or the inclination to teach her. Why should he care if she destroyed her life by helping Corey Sullivan?

  He took off his hat and slapped it against his leg. “He won’t get away.”

  “This is all a big mistake. You’ve mixed Corey up with someone else.” She stepped onto the porch, eager to escape once more into her house.

  “Maybe you don’t know the man like you thought.”

  The woman blocked the door with her body. If Braddock wanted to capture Sullivan, he would have to plow through her. He’d give the kid some breathing room instead. Once he backed off, Sullivan was sure to trip up and fall into his hands—or better yet, lead him exactly where he wanted to go

  “I’m not going away. I’ll spend the night in Arriba, but I’ll be back. I’ll find Sullivan no matter where he tries to hide.”

  “Not if I can help it, you won’t.”

  “What did he ever do to make you so damned loyal? Nothing as far as I can see.”

  “He’s my brother. He doesn’t have to do anything.”

  Surprise filled Braddock. The sensation hadn’t touched him in so long, it took him a minute to figure it out. A jolt of dread followed, tightening his gut for this foolish woman who thought she could stand so tall and proud. One hard shove and she’d crumble like the regiments of her slain kinsmen buried beneath the South’s fertile fields. For a moment he almost believed Sullivan was her brother, that she was acting out of familial loyalty. Then he remembered pure nobility existed only in theory. He sure as hell had never seen it.

  He mounted his horse. “Tell your brother I’ll be seeing him.”

  Riding away, he wasn’t sure if he had just met the stupidest woman in the West, or the bravest.

  ***

  Lorelei Sullivan waited for the stranger to vanish before she sagged against her door, unsure of how she’d found the courage to face him. The man was a big hulking omen of death if she’d ever seen one. Dressed in muted shades of black and brown, mounted atop his blood bay, he’d appeared carved from the desolate landscape. With the sun making a curtain of heat rise from the red earth, he’d seemed to melt back from where he came. At least he was gone. Unfortunately, she had no doubt she’d see him again.

  She tried to push open the front door, but it didn’t budge.

  “Corey, let me in. He’s gone.” She banged her palm on the barrier’s splintered surface. “Let me in, Corey Lochlain O’Sullivan.”

  Wood scraped against wood as he lifted the log blocking her entrance. Corey kept himself wedged in the shadows. “You sound like Ma.”

  She shoved the door wide, forcing him to step back. “I ought to whip you like Ma. What was that about? Did you hear the things that man was saying?”

  Corey’s gaze didn’t meet hers. When he swayed, she noticed the blood pooling on the top of his bare foot. A dusty black boot covered the other. A second drip splattered onto the dirt floor. She followed the trail to the tip of his pinky. The wound on his arm must have opened. She stopped berating him long enough to guide him through the room to the knotted pine bed shoved in the comer.

  “You shouldn’t have tried to get dressed.”

  He sank onto the bed’s tangled blankets. “I had to. I was afraid he was going to hurt you.”

  “He didn’t.” Corey pushed himself up on his elbows, his eyes wide. “No, huh? I think he liked you, Lori.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” She doubted the man liked anyone. His appearance certainly didn’t invite getting acquainted. He looked like he should be the one on a wanted poster.

  “I would say he liked you plenty. Didn’t you notice?”

  “I notice you’ve lost too much blood. You’re delirious.” She yanked off her brother’s boot. “Who is he anyway? The sheriff?”

  “Worse. He hunts down men with bounties on their heads. Doesn’t care how he gets his man, either. He’s been on my tail for days. Thought I gave him the slip.” Corey sighed. “Guess not.”

  Lorelei covered him with a red and black Indian blanket. His eyes drifted shut as he settled deeper into the straw-stuffed mattress. But as much as he needed to rest and heal, she couldn’t let him slip off yet.

  “Why is he following you? You didn’t really get thrown from your horse, did you?”

  “That part’s true.” Her brother opened his eyes. “I did get thrown from my horse, but after I got shot.” Lorelei rubbed her temples. She’d thought the gash in Corey’s arm looked too severe to have been caused by brushing a cactus. “Please tell me you didn’t rob those people and kill—”

  “No!” He sprang to a sitting position and gripped her shoulders. “I swear on Ma’s grave I didn’t kill anyone.”

  Lorelei pressed him back down. “So what did you do to get shot?”

  He slung his forearm across his eyes. “You don’t understand what it’s like here, Lorelei. A man will shoot you for just looking at him cross-eyed.”

  “Then why did you let me come? You should have moved home instead.” The nights she’d spent curled up with a kitchen knife, jumping at every howl and screech, had not been overreaction. This land was dangerous. “And what about the Indians killing the people who lived here. Is that true?”

  Corey let his arm flop to his side. “They’ve taken care of the Apaches since then. Don’t worry about that.” He eased himself up until his back rested against the bed’s rough headboard, pushed a shutter open, and stared out the window. “Sure, this land’s dangerous, but it’s beautiful and exciting, too. A man can make something of himself out here. Doesn’t matter who you were before or who your father was.”

  Lorelei followed his gaze. Dirt, rocks, and knee-high shrubs that looked more dead than alive stretched farther than she could walk in a day. Only a distant mountain ran
ge, black and bare, broke up the sea of gray-green brush. This strange, barren place made her shudder. Still, she understood Corey’s need to be free of Kentucky.

  “Is this really your ranch, Corey?”

  “It’s our ranch. It’s going to be great once we get some horses.” He grabbed her hand and held it. “Hey, how was your trip out? I feel awful about not making Ma’s funeral.”

  Lorelei squeezed his fingers. Her brother’s shared grief gave her a moment’s peace. After her mother’s death, the hope of finding comfort with her only sibling had given her the strength to sell their family’s possessions and secure a passage west. They’d had time to do little more than bandage his wound before that stranger had come riding out of the dust.

  “First, I need to know what’s going on. Why does that man think you did all those horrible things?”

  Corey stared up at the beamed ceiling. “I wanted the ranch to be nice for you. You deserve to have it easy after taking care of Ma by yourself.”

  Lorelei recognized his stalling as an attempt to soften the blow that was sure to follow. She made her voice stern. “What did you do, Corey?”

  He toyed with the fringe on the woven blanket. “I was with the men who robbed the stagecoach.”

  “Corey.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What were you thinking?”

  “I didn’t know what they were going to do. I met this fella, Rowen Mulcahy, and he took a liking to me because I had an Irish name. I was kind of bragging about how I knew horses and how fast I can ride, and he said he needed a man like me.” He reached for her hand. “I swear I didn’t know they were going to kill anyone. I swear it.”

  She folded her arms over her chest, keeping herself out of his reach. “Who shot you?”

  He stared out the window again, but it was clear he no longer enjoyed the view. “One of the men on the stagecoach. There was a lot of shooting going on.”

  Lorelei could tell by the way his soft brown eyes dulled that he spoke the truth. Whatever had happened shook him just to think of it.