Jillian Hart

by Lissa's Cowboy

  "You're a good man." Lissa smiled up at him when he held open the kitchen door. "Hans is still having a hard time getting around."

  "Not so good. Just trying to be neighborly." Jack kicked off his boots, dirt-caked from the field, before following her into the kitchen. "A few other ranchers and I are going to cut his fields as soon as we're done with ours."

  The house felt empty without Chad and his puppy running to greet him.

  She took down a single plate, then grabbed a hot pad to lift a second pot of coffee from the stove.

  "You're not eating?" He laid both hands on her slim shoulders.

  She shook her head, silken curls tumbling over his knuckles. "I'm not hungry. I may have some coffee, though."

  He caught up the glistening curls in one hand, then leaned forward to kiss the back of her neck. She shivered at his touch. "You're pale. I want you to go to bed early tonight."

  "Without you?"

  "I can always wake you up later." He laughed against the sweet luxury of her skin and hair. He buried his face against her and breathed deeply. She filled him like air, sweet and light, substantial.

  She stiffened, and he moved away, turned her around so he could read her face in the half-light—so shadowed, so serious.

  "I'm pregnant" She whispered the words.

  He could only stare, could just manage to breathe and remain standing. "Pregnant?"

  She nodded.

  It wasn't surprising, not really, considering all the love-making they'd been doing.

  True, he didn't know who the hell he was, but now it didn't matter anymore. Whatever life he'd had was lost to him now. He had a wife and son depending on him, and now a new child. Those were the things that bound a man's heart and determined his road in life, not his past, not whatever he'd left behind.

  "Are you unhappy?" She whispered those words, too.

  "No. Just thinking." He cupped her jaw with both hands, cradling her dear face. "I guess I did my duty pretty darn well. I was hoping for extended privileges."

  "That can be arranged." A smile touched her lips and he kissed her hard, so she would know what she meant to him. Yet he felt it, that holding back of her heart, even while she held him so tightly.

  "Watch the storm with me." He wanted her by his side, wanted to watch the wind tangle her hair and warm her skin.

  "Gladly."

  She didn't light a lamp, so he took both cups in hand and followed her through the darkening room. She tugged open the front door. Outside, night fell with an odd silence. There were no owls hooting, no calls of coyotes on the hunt. Just the clash of thunder rumbling, nearer.

  "It's beautiful," she breathed as one bolt of lightning broke apart over and over again.

  He needed her so much, his only light in a vast darkness. He pulled her to his chest, and she leaned against him willingly, holding on, her small hands clutching fistfuls of his shirt.

  They watched the storm approach in silence, felt the powerful blast of wind and saw branches tumble from treetops and strike the ground with snappy fury. They smelled the rain that did not fall as lightning flashed and then thunder crashed overhead.

  Lissa tipped her head back, mesmerized by the display of shining, then disappearing, light. The world was so different tonight. She'd said the word she was afraid to believe in, afraid to believe. Pregnant.

  She'd had her share of problems, had lost babies born too early. As thunder crashed and lightning struck again and again, she hoped this time would be different.

  "Jack!" Arcada's voice cut through the darkness. His horse skidded to a stop, kicking up gravel. "On the way back from Johanson's, I saw smoke. We've got a wildfire on our hands."

  "Alert the men. Does Johanson know?"

  "It was on his land, but the wind's driving it this way. I rode back to tell him just in case the winds shift."

  "How big is the fire?"

  "Big enough. Jack, are you coming?"

  "Yes." His hands caught hers. "I want you to stay with the house. There's probably no real threat, but I have to go make sure."

  He released her, but she wasn't the kind of woman to stay, who sat home quietly when her land and her husband could be in danger.

  "I'm coming, too. Arcada, saddle up Charlie for me."

  "Yes, ma'am." The ranch hand's mount was already kicking up gravel as he galloped toward the barn in the darkness.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Jack demanded as she ran to catch up with him.

  "Coming with you."

  "Not on your life." He spun to face her, standing tall, the receding storm shivering in the sky behind him, limning him with a strange glow. "You just told me you are pregnant. Out in those fields battling a fire is no place for you."

  "But I'm more than capable—"

  "I know." His voice warmed like a touch, tempted like a kiss. "It's probably nothing. The men and I will have it put out in no time. Stay here so I know you're safe. So I don't have to worry."

  "But you may need help. Fires spread so fast in these winds—"

  "No." He kissed her, then, and she felt the solid wall of his chest, the steely determination to protect her, as he saw it, from harm.

  This was no man she had to help, had to worry about in the dark of night. He could defeat any foe.

  "You and this baby are important to me," he whispered in her ear, low and rich and tempting. "You're everything, Lissa. My whole world. Please, do this for me. Stay in the house. I'll be back in time to kiss you to sleep. And more."

  She didn't like letting him go, depending on him to fight any more of her battles, but he was already gone, swallowed by the night shadows and the howling wind. Hard drops of rain, just a few, thudded to the ground at her feet, dropped on her head and face.

  Just what they needed—a hard rain. Now, if it would just keep falling...

  By the time Jack reached the barn, smoke scented the air. Even in the darkness he could see the outline of the fire, glowing low along the ground—widespread, heading their way.

  "I want a twenty foot strip cleared up there, along the crest of that ridge. If the fire comes this way, maybe we can keep it from the house and the barn."

  "What about the crops and cattle?" Arcada asked.

  "We can't save everything. Not unless the wind shifts." Jack fumbled with the harness. Charlie stood nervously scenting the smoke.

  "What if it keeps coming?" McLeod asked.

  "Then we pray." He sent the youngest hand for lanterns. They would need light to see by if they were going to keep plowing.

  The last buckle slipped closed beneath his fingers, and Jack grabbed Charlie by the bit. "Come on, boy." He kept his voice low, soothing the big horse as they approached the burning forest.

  The plow skidded along the hard, dry ground, then dug in, turning over rich earth and ripe grass, the dank musty smell thick in the air. He turned over another chunk of earth, then another.

  "The rain's stopping." Arcada handed out shovels and axes. "Bad news, boss."

  "I know." The fury of the storm remained, tensed in the air like a punch waiting, fist clenched. But it did not strike. Damn the wind. It was blowing hard and southward, directly toward the house. "Tell Lissa to start—"

  "She's already at the well." Arcada pointed through the darkness. "Drawing water. We can wet gunnysacks. That will help with the spot fires."

  Jack agreed. He kept shoveling. Sweat dripped off him and his muscles screamed from an already long day of hard work, but all he could think of was Lissa. She was depending on him. Even though she didn't say it, finding out he wasn't John Murray had changed things between them. She didn't want to depend on him. He could be anyone—even the outlaw Sheriff Palmer had mentioned.

  Clearing the wide strip of land took time. The men worked hard, but the fire, driven into a storm by the wind, advanced like a malevolent army, a front of flame and destruction that glowed orange-red in the night. Jack felt its heat, saw the falling black ash, and pushed Charlie harder.

  "Jack!
" Lissa's voice. He dropped the reins, already running before he knew what was wrong. The flicker of lantern light brushed low, but enough to see her trying to lift the heavy wooden ladder. "An ember hit the roof."

  He saw the flickering flame, a single tongue of light. He hauled the heavy ladder out of Lissa's grip and leaned it against the eaves.

  "Here." She pressed a pail handle against his fingers. He heard the water slosh as he raced up the rungs. Embers fell from the sky, shivering like snowflakes in a wind, glowing an eerie shadow of orange.

  "The roof's on fire." She followed him up with her own pail.

  He knelt before the crackling blaze at the peak, where the first ember had found a niche to grow in, and emptied the water. Smoke tickled his nose, ached in his lungs. He grabbed Lissa's pail and dumped that out, too.

  "Wet the roof and keep it wet," he told her. "I have to help the men."

  "I'll be all right." Her gaze fastened on his. Even in the darkness he felt it, knew the solid strength of her. She might be afraid, as he was, but she didn't run, she didn't faint or make excuses. She worked as hard as any man. His heart swelled as he watched her. He would do anything for her—anything in his power.

  "If this gets out of hand, call me."

  She nodded, full of so much gentle strength. He hated leaving her, knew he had to. Smoke already choked the air. The fire, a swirling mass of dancing flame, swept close to the break.

  Already, the men were running the line, wetting gunny-sacks in the water trough and slapping out spot fires. Embers whirled in the air. Anything they touched ignited. He joined the men by grabbing up a sack and dousing it in water. Plenty of spot fires burned, and he began beating out one after another.

  "The wind's shifting!" He called to the men, the snap and roar of the racing fire drowning his words. The balls of flame rolled just off to the right, along the ground like tumbleweeds, and higher in the treetops, raining down flaming debris.

  "It's heading toward the house!" Arcada shouted.

  "Lissa!" Already Jack was running. Smoke clogged his throat, gripped his lungs, yet still he ran. The fire leaped ahead of him. He couldn't catch up. He couldn't beat it. "Lissa!"

  He couldn't see her in the smoke and the darkness. He couldn't hear her above the snapping crackle of the flames and the roaring inferno of the wind. "Lissa!"

  "Jack!" Her voice rang out, leading him to her. She was still on the roof, beating out embers stubbornly taking hold in the cedar shingles. "The trees are on fire. Look out!"

  Chapter Thirteen

  He heard the crack of breaking wood, ducked as a limb the thickness of his arm crashed to the roof, where he'd been standing. Sparks and flame shot out, greedily consuming the roof.

  "We're losing the house!" she shouted.

  There was a bigger problem. Jack saw it at once. A wall of flame now separated him from Lissa, trapping her at the peak of the roof. She just kept beating those flames, tears of anger rough in her breathing.

  "Jack! I need more water."

  "Lissa." He kicked the burning bough. It broke apart and rolled off the eaves. Someone down below shouted, running to put out the sparks, but he only saw his wife, so determined, surrounded by flames. "Lissa."

  "Damned if I'm going to give up." She smothered another growing flame with her wet blanket "I lost my husband and my babies. I lost that blasted John Murray. I'll be damned if I'm going to lose this house."

  She was so fierce. Affection for her ached in his chest. "Then we fight." He kicked out one spot fire with his foot. "Arcada. Haul up more water."

  "Got it, boss." The ranch hand scrambled up the ladder. "McLeod is putting out the fires in the yard. See, the wind is pushing the fire fast."

  "If we can keep the roof from burning, it will roll right past us."

  "As long as it doesn't burn us, too." Arcada coughed, then handed over the full bucket. He disappeared with the empty one.

  Jack looked again at the roof and saw the spot fires. Burning needles fell from the engulfed pine overhead, and his guts twisted. Only a fool would stay on this roof—or a man sworn to earn his wife's affection.

  "Jack!" She struck him with her wet blanket. "Your shirt's on fire."

  "Watch your hair." He smothered the ember caught in her curls with his fingers.

  Flame and heat and storm rolled overhead, jumping from the pines on the front side of the house to the pines and maples at the side. Heat scorched the air. Jack felt the hair on his arms sizzle, and the skin on his face stretch tight. With a roar the ball of fire overhead leaped away, driven by the gusty wind.

  "More water." Lissa, face dark and streaked, dunked her blanket into the bottom of the bucket.

  "Arcada." Jack tossed the bucket to the ground. Coughing, he choked on smoke. "Over there."

  She saw where he pointed in the confusion of smoke and fire. Flame licked at the roof around the stone chimney. "Quick."

  Jack beat at the tricky fire until his arm muscles cramped, until only smoke remained. Sweat poured off his face and back. He stood up and looked around. The roof still smoked, but there was no fire.

  "We did it." Lissa launched into his arms, his aching, exhausted arms.

  Numb, all he could do was hold her, breathe in the dank scent of smoke and ashes. Fires glowed down below where the men were putting out bushes and grass, but they'd done it. They'd saved the house.

  "Jack." Arcada called from down below. "The fields."

  "Damn." The wildfire had skirted the house—only the flames jumping from treetop to treetop had been a threat—but the wind was driving the wall of greedy flames directly toward the oats and corn.

  "Can we save it?" McLeod's shout rose from the darkness below.

  "We can try." Jack glanced around the roof.

  "I can help—"

  "No. This roof was dangerous enough." He saw her jaw tighten, knew he'd made her angry. He touched her cheek, so soft despite the layers of grit and soot. "Keep an eye on the roof. Some of these embers might reignite."

  "You be careful." Her fingers wrapped around his wrist. Her touch was a connection that tugged at his heart that made him remember every night in her arms, every way he'd loved her. "I'd rather lose the crops than you."

  "If I have my way, you'll lose neither." He kissed her quickly, sealed his promise to her. He hated leaving, hated that the fire could shift back as the fickle wind gusted again, raining charred, smoking pine needles over her and the roof.

  She was capable, his wife. He tried to remember that as he left her, as he raced to help the men beat back the licking wall of flames in the grass, fed by the fire overhead, rolling and jumping between the crowns of the trees.

  "You're damn lucky the wind blew this away from the house," Arcada said, welcoming Jack to the line of men at the creek. "With this wind, I don't know if we can stop the fire."

  "We can try." Jack grabbed two empty pails and sunk them into the dark creek. He wet the grass and earth, then filled his buckets again. "We have to watch the trees."

  "One of Johanson's men is chopping down the pines. It's a gamble, but worth a try."

  "If he can fell the trees before the fire comes." The wind gusted again, shooting tongues of flames.

  Arcada grabbed a shovel. "If we don't stop it here, it hits more ranches."

  "Then we stop it." Lissa's voice, firm with resolve. Jack's heart jumped out of his chest at the sight of her, slim and delicate, determination strong in her stance. "You shouldn't be here," he reminded her.

  "And we can't lose this ranch." In the noise and confusion, she looked as calm as heaven. Soot stained her face and dress, blackened her hair. The eerie light cast from the fire shimmered over her form, limned her in orange and black.

  "There's no time to argue about it." Jack felt the embers shiver over them, saw their red gleam as they fell from the sky. "Look, there's the rest of Johanson's men."

  "I had word sent. Men from other ranches should be arriving." Arcada sank another bucket into the deep creek.

>   Jack took heart. They weren't alone. The fire roared larger by the minute, flames reaching higher than a man stood, fed by dry grass.

  "We can't let it cross the creek." He sloshed water on the ground. If they didn't succeed, then the fire would spread uncontrolled toward town. "If we get this wet enough, it won't burn."

  "We've still got the wind." Arcada, both feet in the current, filled bucket after bucket for the men.

  "We can do it." Lissa snatched up a heavy bucket and ran.

  Reinforcements arrived. They dug and watered and beat at embers, then at the wall of flames without end. Heat scorched skin and hair, embers set shirts and trousers on fire.

  Hell couldn't be any more hot or dangerous. The grass ignited without sparks, simply from the heat. The wind snapped balls of flame into one of Johanson's ranch hands. Jack grabbed the man and dragged him into the creek. "Lissa!"

  No answer. He'd lost track of her in the confusion. "Lissa!"

  There was only the darkness and fire. The trees moaned from the force of the wind, and a chill snaked down his back. A quick shift in the wind could trap them. Already the fire was licking backward, then shifting forward.

  "Get the men out of here. We can't hold it." Jack left Arcada in charge. The burned man moaned, reached out and caught Jack's hand. "Hang in there, Busby. I'll get you some help."

  Busby nodded, shivering in the cool creek, his head resting on the muddy bank.

  "Lissa!'' Smoke and fire blended with the night choking the air. "Lissa!"

  "Over here." Her voice came thin above the explosive crackling fire. "It's blowing back toward the house. If I can just—"

  "We need you," he interrupted, reaching out to feel the silken heat of her flesh, know that she wasn't an image or a dream. It was too damn dangerous out here, and he wanted her safe. "We have a hurt man."