Blaze of Lightning Roar of Thunder

by Helen A Rosburg

  Then his lips were in the valley between her breasts. Cupping them in his palms and massaging the nipples to erectness, he moved lower, trailing kisses down to her navel. When he nuzzled the junction of her thighs through the tight buckskin pants, Blaze thought she might lose her mind with the overload of sensation. Groaning, she pulled him back up on top of her so his hardness pressed there instead, and rocked against him in a near frenzy.

  She helped him remove his own buckskins, nearly tearing them from the body she wanted, needed to touch, the flesh she needed to feel against hers. And when finally they both were naked, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him atop her once more.

  It had been too long. The repressed yearning was too great. Deliberately positioning herself, opening her legs, she thrust upward and let him fill her to the hilt. For a long moment she savored the feel of him, the hard, thick length of him throbbing ever so faintly within her, and then could wait no longer.

  It didn’t take long. Blaze exploded after only a few brief thrusts, and soon watched Bane grimace with the intensity of his own release. Panting, he collapsed on her chest. But she gave him only minutes.

  The far-off howl repeated, and Blaze began moving her hips again to the music of the night. And this time, the dance was not swiftly over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  IT WAS A PERFECT MOMENT. THERE WERE FEW, SO few in her life. Blaze drew inside herself to savor it.

  They lay side by side, touching, side molded to side. Their hands were clasped, warm between her right thigh and his left. Though dawn had broken, the sky was dim, clouded. She heard the sound of raindrops hitting the leafy canopy that sheltered them. A single drop plopped on her eyebrow, then ran into her eye like a tear. Beside her, Bane took a deep breath.

  The moment was almost over. She wondered when another might come again. Perhaps never. They were bounty hunters. They had no home; maybe not even a future.

  Blaze hugged the moment tighter. Would she change anything? A glimpse of Ring’s mother’s cozy house flickered across the back of her eyelids. But the answer was no. Her fingers tightened around Bane’s hand, and she felt him return the squeeze. Her heart spasmed.

  For good or evil, whether they continued their life or found death, she was where she was meant to be. Bane’s words of the previous evening returned to wrap their warmth around her soul.

  They had begun with one purpose. They had become one heart.

  Blaze suppressed her regret when Bane rolled away from her. The rain was falling in earnest. Distant thunder rolled across the plains, and the horses stirred nervously. She moved into a crouch, then rose.

  Bane saddled their mounts, removed the hobbles from the pack horses, and loosely haltered them, tying the lead ropes to the packs. They would follow without urging.

  Blaze climbed into her saddle wordlessly. The peace of the morning slipped away despite her desperate attempt to hold on to it. Bane loved her. He had spoken the words sacred to her heart. He was her love, her life. And now they were on the way to their most difficult, dangerous mission yet. Blaze put her heels to Lonesome’s sides.

  Their horses jogged, side by side, through the long, sere grass. The plains were a virtual sea of grass, the mountains silent, watchful leviathans. A distant stand of cottonwood trees marked the course of a river. They were alone in the vastness.

  And then, suddenly, they were alone no longer.

  The mounted braves moved up on them from behind, flanking them. Lonesome and the black mare moved into an easy lope to match pace with the other horses. Bane looked neither right nor left, and Blaze followed his lead.

  The ground eventually became more hilly; they had reached the mountains’ foothills. Cresting a rise, they reined to a halt. All eyes were on a growing dust cloud.

  “You see,” one of the braves said at last, “we did not fail you.”

  “I knew you would not,” Bane replied.

  “They will be coming soon. You have not much time.” The brave swiveled on his horse and pointed. “There is a canyon. There. The camp is just beyond the first bend.”

  “You have my gratitude.”

  “We have done what we can. We can do no more. These men have cost us too much already. And your plan is a dangerous one.”

  Bane remained silent. Then: “Again, I thank you.”

  Holding his black mare to a walk, they descended, loose rocks skittering around them. At the bottom Bane urged his horse back to a canter, then a gallop. Blaze became acutely aware of the time and the first twinge of nervousness clutched at her belly. Bane had mentioned he knew many tribes in this area; had many friends. His plan was coming together. They were on their way.

  The dust cloud obliterating the horizon to the east was coming inexorably closer. On flat ground, the horses stretched out into the run, manes and tails streaming. They headed for the mouth of the canyon and rode right in when they reached it. Bane glanced once over his shoulder, eyes measuring, assessing the growing, advancing cloud. With a nod of his head he signaled her to ride on.

  Exactly as the braves had described to them, the elaborate camp, set amid some brushy growth, was right in the center of the wide, dry riverbed not too far back. At the sound of pounding hoofbeats, the motley band of men had gathered into a rough circle in front of their tents. Six hands reached for six holstered pistols. It was Blaze’s cue.

  “There are too many!” she shrieked. “Go back! Go back!”

  Yanking on the reins, Blaze wheeled Lonesome to the right. Glancing over her left shoulder she saw Bane do the same. The outlaws were just mounting their own horses, pistols drawn.

  Their lead was slim. Blaze leaned low over Lonesome’s neck and heard a shot whistle past her ear. From the corner of her eye she could see Bane literally hanging on the black mare’s side, making the smallest target possible.

  They weren’t far from the mouth of the canyon, and burst out onto the plain at a dead run. The buffalo herd was exactly where Bane had planned for it to be. His friends had executed their part of the plan expertly.

  Blaze could smell them, rank and musky, the stink mingled with dust. Their hooves beat a deadly rhythm on the dry ground. She swiveled her head and saw the gang was still following. Because of the pounding of their own horses’ hooves, they had apparently not heard the buffalo thunder. And, focused on the Indian and his squaw, they also had not noticed the dust cloud.

  They finally saw the herd, but too late. Blaze watched them try to turn their horses, but the animals were panicked and uncontrollable.

  Riding calmly at the edge of the herd, going along with the direction of the stampeding bison, both Bane and Blaze calmly raised their guns.

  She’d brought down men without a moment of hesitation or a pang of remorse. But this was different. Blaze took a deep breath and gently squeezed the trigger. Her shot rang out, swiftly followed by another. Two horses went down swiftly and silently. Then it was their riders.

  Four more shots; six dead horses. The herd took care of the remainder of the riders.

  The stampede was fading thunder. Lonesome and the black mare stood with heads low, breathing heavily, sides lathered and dripping. Blaze loosened their girths and removed the saddles and blankets. Cupping her hands, she ran them over the horses’ slick and glistening sides, removing as much sweat as possible. Then she walked them in slow circles.

  Bane noted her care of their animals, but remained fixed on his grisly task. Soothing the nervous pack horse with his left hand, he tightened the ropes holding the body to the pack frame with his right. The smell of death assailed his nostrils, the same stench that spooked the pack animal.

  All six pack horses were laden in short order with the help of the braves. Then they sat atop their own mounts admiring the loot they had recently acquired: guns, holsters, belts, and boots. Even one sweat-stained Stetson. The brave jammed it on his head to the immediate and loud delight of his companions. Snorting derisively they pointed at him and laughed. In response he tossed the hat in t
he hair and emptied his new revolver into it.

  Blaze tacked Lonesome and the mare and took the three lead ropes Bane handed up to her. He swung a long leg over the mare and sat tall and straight in his saddle.

  “Again, my thanks, my brothers,” he said. “If you need our help again, you know where we will be.”

  Bane nodded. “I do need your help again.” All eyes were riveted on Bane, Blaze’s included. A funny buzz of premonition vibrated up her spine. “Ask,” one of the braves said. “I need your eyes. To know what you have seen.” “Ask,” the brave repeated.

  “We are on the trail of a bad man,” Bane replied briskly. He lifted a finger to his cheek. “He has a scar, here. We have heard he was around Fort Laramie.”

  “You heard right.”

  Only by tremendous exercise of control did Blaze manage to swallow her cry. Bane’s expression remained immobile and impassive. She couldn’t imagine how he did it.

  The brave who had spoken leaned over and spit. “The scarred man bought a squaw from a hunter just down from the mountains.”

  Blaze repressed a shudder.

  “Do you know where he is now?” Bane asked stonily. “It is said he went up into the mountains to trap.”

  “He took the squaw to the mountains to hide his torture from her people,” another said. Then he, too, spit.

  “Why do you think this?” Bane demanded.

  But the braves remained silent. Sensing the tension in the air, the horses shuffled nervously.

  “As you told,” one of the braves finally said, “he is a bad man. But his fate, I think, has hunted him down.”

  “Aye,” Bane hissed under his breath. “The storm has come …”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “NEVER SEEN ANY DAMN THING LIKE THIS.” GRIMACing, the sheriff cut the last rope binding the body to the pack frame. The heavy-bellied corpse dropped to the ground with a sickening thud, and the sheriff stepped back. He pulled a dirty bandana from a back pocket and shoved it under his nose.

  “Six,” Bane said into the silence. He glanced at the other five bloodied bodies, similarly and unceremoniously strewn on the ground.

  “I kin count,” the sheriff grunted belatedly. He kicked at the closest body with the toe of his boot. “What’chou do to ’em?”

  “Ended their reign of terror,” Bane replied brusquely.

  “How’d ya do it? Knock a mountain over on ’em?”

  “A mountain of flesh, yes,” Bane said with a chuckle in his voice only Blaze heard.

  The sheriff screwed up his forehead with puzzlement. “Thought you was gonna try to bring ’em in alive this time.”

  “We were outnumbered,” Bane said evenly. “As you see. We did what we had to do.”

  The sheriff made a rude noise. “Get some help ’n get ’em over to the doc’s,” he said to someone over his shoulder. The lean, acne-scarred kid looked like he wished he could be anywhere else on earth. “But … but … Sheriff,” he stuttered. “They’re already—”

  “I know that, moron. Just do as I say!”

  Blaze lightly touched the tips of Bane’s fingers, and he turned in her direction. By mute agreement they walked toward their horses tied to the hitching rail in front of the jail.

  The sheriff stuck a cheroot in his mouth, bit the end off and spit it out. “Don’t tell me yer leavin’ already. Ain’tcha gonna worry me over the bounty?”

  “Don’t want it; don’t need it.” Bane pulled his reins out of the slip knot and mounted. “Just hand me the leads to my pack animals.”

  Blaze had all she could do to keep from laughing. The danger they had faced, the horror of what they had done, melted away, and she felt a weight drop from her shoulders as she threw her leg over Lonesome’s back. Bane, usually the most serious of men, had turned their previous situation with the sheriff completely around. She had not missed the chuckle in his voice or the twinkle in his eye.

  It was a day well ended. They had won. On many levels. And the greatest victory of all was almost within their grasp.

  They were an hour south of town before Bane answered Blaze’s unvoiced question.

  “We will return the pack horses. We won’t need them where we’re going.”

  There. He’d said it. It was out. Soon they would be on their way. A shiver passed through Blaze’s entire body.

  Ring and Carrie stood shoulder to shoulder in the fading light, hands lightly touching the top rail of one of the pens.

  “The horses are none the worse for wear,” Ring said in the same tone he used to gentle a frightened animal.

  Carrie stepped back, waving a hand in front of her nose. “As soon as the stink wears off they’ll be fine.” She tried to smile but the effort failed. She jerked her head toward the house. “The horses aren’t the ones I’m worried about anyway.”

  Mere tone of voice wasn’t going to work this time. Ring didn’t know what to say. He was worried, too. Removing his hands from the rail, he hooked his index fingers into his back pockets and took a deep breath.

  Carrie knew tipping the hat back would be next. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “Shall we check on ’em?” Ring cleared his throat.

  A splash of water on dry ground temporarily stayed Carrie’s words. “Guess that’s our answer. Bath time’s over.”

  It was an amazing feeling to be clean. It was even more incredible to be standing in Carrie’s home, a home she apparently now shared with Ring. Ring …

  Blaze’s eyes unfocused as her mind drifted back to the past. She was only dimly aware of Bane shrugging into his spare, clean buckskin shirt. Ring. How long ago it seemed she had met him in her wild mountain home. That time had been the beginning of her second life. The first was so far in the past she feared it might have become inaccessible. But it had not.

  Warmth accompanied the initial recollection of her family. Then the horror washed over her, the grief and pain. She balled her fists and dug her ragged nails into her palms. Her spine stiffened as the heat of revenge coursed through her veins, drying her tears before they could fall.

  “Blaze?”

  She turned to Bane and saw the question in his eyes. Their connection was nearly palpable.

  “I’m all right. I’ll be better when we …” Bane nodded. “Let’s ride.”

  It was as difficult saying good-bye again to Ring as it was the time she had left him at the camp and ridden off with Bane, and for the same reason. She knew she might never see him again. The only difference was that this time the prize was almost within their grasp. And the chances greater they would never meet again.

  Knowing now what she did about the beautiful Mexican girl and the half-breed Apache who was, obviously, more than simply a partner in their quest for vengeance, there was no jealousy in her heart when she watched Ring and Blaze embrace in what might be a final farewell. In fact, she had to swipe the tears from her cheeks. Choking back a sob, she watched Ring and Bane clasp hands.

  “Hey, honey.” This time it was Ring whose long, calloused fingers brushed the emotional rain from her freckled cheekbones.

  “Oh, Ring,” she sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist as the riders disappeared into their own dust cloud. “What if they—”

  “But they won’t,” Ring finished for her. “I kin feel it in m’bones. They’re special people, an’ there’s somethin’ special atween ’em. Like …”

  It was Carrie’s turn to finish a thought, and she did it with her lips.

  “Yeah,” Ring agreed. “Just like that.”

  He had thought the matter was settled, but tears returned to well in her eyes. “What’s wrong now, little honey?”

  Carrie rubbed her nose with the back of one hand. “I … I feel partly responsible for … for what they’re doing. If something happens to them—”

  “Stop. Nothin’s gonna happen, number one. Number two, they have to do it anyway. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do,” she conceded. “But—”

  “No ’but
s’ but this one.” Ring smoothed his hands down from Carrie’s waist and felt her respond by leaning into him and feeling the growing evidence of his affection for her. Maybe this was exactly what they both needed at this particular moment.

  Despite his reassuring words to Carrie, Ring wasn’t so all-fired sure in his heart things were going to work out right either. The man they were about to tree was a monster, a sick bastard.

  The last thing Ring saw when he closed his eyes and lowered his lips to Carrie’s was the streak of white in Blaze’s black hair.

  The story of how it got there was still a mystery to him. Blaze had to come back. She owed him the tale.

  The thought wasn’t as comforting as he had hoped it would be, and he swooped Carrie into his arms. Time to make the world go away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  A PIECE OF GREEN STICK FINALLY CAUGHT FIRE FROM one its drier neighbors within the ring of stone, and the flame flared to life with a hiss and a curl of dark, acrid smoke. Jake, leaning forward to catch the campfire’s warmth as night stole the heat of the day, thrust his scarred visage directly into smoke. Rubbing his eyes angrily with the backs of his fists, he spat.

  “What the hell’s matter with you, squaw, putting green wood in the fire?”

  Knowing what was likely to come next, the woman cringed away from the burly figure sitting across from her, but to no avail. Despite his bulk, he was quick. And brutal.

  Only when the squaw’s knees buckled and her eyes started to roll up in her head did Jake loosen his grip on her throat. There were still things he needed from her. He let her drop to the ground and administered a kick in the gut for good measure. An involuntary grunt escaped her, and he smiled in satisfaction. Damn Injuns never liked to give anything away, especially a reaction to pain.

  Raven’s Wing, as she had been known to her husband and family, remained curled in a fetal position until she could breathe normally again, then sat up slowly. She eyed the scarred man warily.