by Connie Mason
His words were all it took to push her over the edge. Feeling her first tremors, Colt unleashed his tightly controlled ardor and stroked them furiously toward explosive, mind-numbing release. “Violet Eyes!”
Afterwards, Colt eased Sam to his side, the strain of their strenuous loving already taking a toll on his depleted strength and weakened body. But he did not let her go far as he curled an arm possessively around her slim form and pulled her into the curve of his body. Colt’s last thought before he slid into slumber was of the question he had intended to ask Sam before being somehow sidetracked. Tomorrow, he thought groggily. Tomorrow he’d find out if Sam carried his child.
Chapter Seventeen
Heat. Flames seared her along one side. Sam sought to escape from the scorching warmth, but it followed her. Suddenly her eyes flew open as a terrible sinking knowledge jerked her awake. Colt lay beside her still as death, his breathing shallow and labored. His skin was damp and flushed, and Sam instinctively knew that the recurring fever was ravaging his body.
Leaping from bed, Sam flew into her clothes, noticing that the sun steamed brightly through the window. They had overslept. Their vigorous love-making had been exhausting and sleep had come instantly. But when had Colt’s temperature risen so dramatically? Had it been the result of their loving? Sam cursed herself for ten fools. She should have realized that Colt was still too weak for the kind of activity they had engaged in last night, but his touch and his erotic words had rendered her completely mindless.
Fully dressed now, Sam headed for the door, intending to brew the herbs Laura had given her to combat fever. An insistent knocking startled her.
“Colt, Miz Andrews, wake up! We got trouble, a heap of trouble.” Sam recognized Smith’s rough voice and flung open the door.
“Mr. Smith, what is it?” The grave expression on his face set Sam’s heart to pounding.
“It’s the Crowders, ma’am,” Smith said. “They’re back in town and bound and determined to finish Colt.” He directed his gaze to Colt and was stunned to see him flushed with fever and barely conscious.
“It’s the fever again, Mr. Smith,” Sam said worriedly. “Tell me what you know about the Crowders.”
“Lyle Crowder paid for Lola’s favors last night I was passin’ her door just now when I heard Colt’s name mentioned. The door was ajar and I stopped to listen. Lola was tellin’ Crowder that Colt wasn’t dead, that you were here nursin’ him back to health.”
“Hellfire and damnation! That spiteful bitch! To think they were in the same building last night.” A shudder passed through her.
“That ain’t all, ma’am,” Smith continued, blanching at her colorful language. “As soon as his men sober up they’re gonna kill Colt and take you prisoner. I don’t need to tell you what that means.”
It took little imagination for Sam to realize what the Crowders intended to do with her. “Damn that jealous bitch to hell and back,” Sam muttered. “What can we do?”
“I don’t reckon the Crowders will be sober enough to ride for a couple of hours yet,” Smith calculated. “Enough time to find a wagon for Colt and hightail it outta here before the gang comes gunnin’ for him.”
“No! The ride will kill Colt in his condition,” protested Sam.
“Miz Andrews,” Smith said earnestly. “If we stay here, the Crowders will kill him. There’s a good chance Colt will survive a wagon ride, but waitin’ for the Crowders means sure death for Colt and worse for you.”
Sam bit her lower lip. “You’re right, of course, Mr. Smith. Get the wagon and bring it around to the back door. I’ll gather up our things and get Colt into his clothes. Hurry!”
“Was that Smith?” Sam whirled to find Colt’s overbright eyes regarding her curiously. “Somethin’s wrong. What is it?”
There was no reason to lie. “It’s the Crowders. They’re in town and been told you’re still alive.”
“I was afraid somethin’ like this would happen.” Colt grimaced. “They’ll finish me off this time. How long do we have?”
“An hour at the most.”
“You gotta leave, darlin’,” Colt said urgently. “Your life’s too precious to me to waste.”
Precious? Her life was precious to Colt? Was he delirious? Regretfully, there was no time to pursue that intriguing thought. “I won’t leave you, Colt. Don’t ask that of me. Smith has gone after a wagon. We’ll leave here together.”
“I’ll only slow you down. Don’t be so dang mule-stubborn, Sam. I’m burnin’ with fever, my wound is hurtin’ somethin’ fierce, and I’m too weak to hold a gun. When Smith gets here you’re to go with him, no argument, no tears—just get.”
“You know I’ve never taken orders well,” Sam returned stubbornly. “And if you don’t help me with your clothes, we’ll drag you out of here bare-ass naked.”
Colt smothered a smile with a groan of pain. Someday he was going to have to do something about her mouth. But he knew defeat when it stared him in the face. The feisty wildcat he had come to love—he was finally willing to admit to it—had him cornered. If he didn’t leave with her and Smith, she would remain and surely be taken by the Crowders.
Grudgingly, Colt lifted his legs so Sam could slide his pants over his hips and shove on his boots. Helping him to a sitting position, Sam struggled with his buckskin shirt until finally he was dressed. He lay back exhausted and perspiring, watching while Sam swiftly gathered up their meager belongings.
The door opened and Sam whipped around, the six-shooter strapped around her waist already in her hand. She relaxed when Smith slipped inside the room. “All set?” he asked, glancing with obvious relief at Colt’s fully clothed form.
Sam nodded. “Did you get the wagon?”
“Yep. It’s in the alley.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“Nope, but the Crowders are movin’ around in the cantina. Ain’t certain how much time we got. All depends on how drunk they got last night.”
“We’re ready. Help me get Colt on his feet.”
“Christ, I feel like a mewling infant!” Colt complained, wincing as he tried unsuccessfully to rise by himself. Instantly Smith came to his aid, but Colt resisted.
“Take Sam and go without me, Phil,” Colt urged desperately. “I’d only slow you down, and I don’t want those bastards gettin’ their hands on my wife.”
Smith looked uncertainly at Sam, leaving it in her hands.
“Ignore him, Mr. Smith,” Sam said briskly. “Obviously my husband is delirious. I’m not going anywhere without him.”
Colt gave Sam an obstinate look but was too weak to back it up in view of her palpable determination, with her trim legs in tight trousers planted wide apart, hands on hips, an implacable expression furrowing her brow, and those incredible violet eyes daring defiance. Colt acquiesced with ill grace, allowing himself to be hoisted up between Smith and Sam and half-dragged, half-carried from the room. His legs were like rubber beneath him and he eyed the long hallway with misgivings. But somehow they made it through the hall and out the door without being stopped.
Smith had thoughtfully lined the wagon waiting at the back door with straw. Both Sam’s and Smith’s horses were attached to the leads, with Colt’s stallion tied behind. Smith had thought of everything, Sam reflected as they settled Colt in the wagon bed. He was perspiring heavily from the exertion, and the grimace on his face mirrored his pain. The moment his head hit the straw he was out. Sam climbed in beside him, took his head in her lap, and motioned Smith forward.
Deliberately avoiding the center of town, Smith skillfully drove the wagon through back streets and alleys until they arrived at the trail leading north.
“We made it!” Sam exulted, leaning over Colt. “Don’t give up, my love. Hang on, I need you.”
Steeped in misery, Colt gave in reply only a tormented groan.
Had Sam known their stealthy leaving had been closely observed, she wouldn’t have been so optimistic. From the window of her room facing the back
of the cantina, Lola watched long enough to see the wagon carrying Colt and Sam turn north. Then she hurried off to find Lyle Crowder.
However, it was hours later before the gang rode out after their prey, fuming because they had let the trio escape while they were engaged in drinking and whoring. But Lyle wasn’t worried. Sooner or later they’d catch up with that damned Texas Ranger. He had more lives than a cat, but his time on earth was running out. Lyle decided the black-haired wench would be kept alive to serve as their own private whore.
“How’s Colt holdin’ up?” Smith threw over his shoulder.
“He’d do better if you slowed down,” Sam advised, worried over the blood staining Colt’s shirt. “Colt’s bleeding again.”
“Can’t do it, not yet, Miz Andrews,” Smith apologized. “We gotta put more miles between us and Laredo.”
It was night before Smith pulled off the trail and stopped beside a dried-up stream with a thin trickle of water running down its center. Daring a small fire, Sam brewed herbs for Colt’s fever while Smith filled the canteens and then went in search of small game for their supper. He returned later with a brace of rabbits, one of which Sam used to make a nourishing broth for Colt. Afterwards she settled down beside Colt in the wagon bed while Smith made do with stretching out on the hard ground and resting his head on his saddle.
Colt stirred restlessly. “I’m sorry, Violet Eyes,” he murmured huskily, finding comfort in her nearness. “If it wasn’t for me you’d be safe at home now.”
“And you’d be dead,” Sam returned irritably. “What’s done is done. I’d have it no other way. Are you sorry I came, Colt?”
No answer was forthcoming, and his even breathing told her that he had fallen asleep. Thanks to Laura’s medicine, he felt blessedly cooler. With any luck they’d be back at the ranch in five or six days, considering Colt’s condition and their slow method of travel. Once they reached home, Sam reflected, she could decide whether or not to remain. These past days Colt had seemed a different man. He had truly needed her and freely admitted it. She desperately wanted to tell him about the baby but decided the time was not right.
They were on the road early the following morning. Colt’s body had been refreshed by a cool sponge bath and his wound rebound, and he felt nearly human again. But when the wagon bounced along the rutted road, he realized he still had a ways to go toward full recovery, if the Crowders didn’t catch up with them first. Colt knew those desparadoes better than anyone, and though he said nothing to Sam, he was well aware they would not give up on him so easily. They were as tenacious as they were lawless. Once they set their minds to something they weren’t likely to back off.
Colt’s small improvement allowed them to quicken their pace; and the third day found them more than halfway from Laredo to Karlsburg. Sam was jubilant, certain they no longer had anything to fear from the Crowders. Unwilling to cast a pall upon her happiness, Colt said nothing, remaining watchful and alert.
It was mid-afternoon, the white-hot sun high in the sky, when the first inkling of trouble came. Propped against the side of the wagon, Colt was the first to note the trail of dust rising behind them in a billowing cloud. With pounding heart he watched it until its ominous tidings could not be ignored.
“Riders!” Colt pointed, alerting Sam who dozed in the straw beside him.
Panic-stricken, she rose to her knees and squinted into the sun at the cloud of dust. “The Crowders?”
Grimly, Colt nodded. “Reckon so. Hand me my guns, darlin’. I can’t ride, but I sure as hell can still shoot straight.” To Smith he said, “Stop the wagon.”
“What? Are you crazy?” Sam gasped, stunned.
“I’m bein’ practical,” he said cryptically as the wagon rolled to a halt. “Get out, unhitch the horses, and ride like hell. Smith will see that you get to the ranch safely.” A meaningful look heavy with dire predictions passed between the two men.
“Hellfire and damnation! I’m not leaving, Colt.”
Smith was already unhitching the horses.
“I’m countin’ on you, Phil,” Colt said, ignoring Sam’s protests. “Get Sam outta here.”
“You can trust me, Colt,” Smith said solemnly. His lined face was etched with sadness as he dug the saddles from beneath the straw in the wagon and readied the horses.
“No! You can’t make me leave,” Sam spouted belligerently. Desperately she clung to Colt, ready to die with him if need be. “There’s three of us, it won’t be so bad. We’ve plenty of ammunition.”
“Darlin’, look at me.” Sam turned her head and it was the last tiling she remembered. Mustering all his meager strength, Colt doubled his fist and aimed at her jaw. Sam went out like a light. “I love you, Violet Eyes,” he said, handing her limp form up to Smith. “Be sure and tell her that, Phil, when she comes to.” Smith nodded, too choked to reply.
“I’ll keep them occupied while you get Sam safely away. They’re still a long ways off and that’s in our favor.”
“I’ll send back help, Colt.”
Colt smiled ruefully. “Yeh, you do that. Now get!”
Pulling Sam’s limp form up before him in the saddle and tying the leading reins of her horse to the pummel, Smith gave a blood-curdling yell and took off in a flurry of dust and gravel, leaving Colt to face the combined fury of the Crowders.
Heaving a regretful sigh, Colt turned his attention to the matters at hand. Now th t Sam was safe he could concentrate on giving her and Smith as much time as possible. First he untied the leading reins of his stallion and slapped his rump. No sense losing a good animal to stray bullets, he reasoned. Perhaps someone who needed a good mount would find him. Next he piled straw around the sides of the wagon to act as a cushion. Then he loaded his guns, arranged the ammunition nearby, and sat back to wait, breathing heavily from the exertion and cursing his limited strength. Colt had no idea how long he could hold out against ten determined men, but for Sam’s sake he prayed it would be sufficient.
Sam was unconscious nearly an hour. She emerged slowly from thick layers of black gauze, fighting through the encompassing shroud into the light of day. Confusion stole her wits until she felt strong arms holding her upright in the saddle. With a jolt she remembered everything. How had they escaped the Crowders? Why had she blacked out? She turned in the saddle to question the man holding her so protectively.
“Colt, what happened?”
It wasn’t Colt.
“Mr. Smith! Where’s Colt?” Suddenly comprehension dawned. “Noooo! You bastard! You left him! You left Colt to die. Stop! I want to go back.”
“I’m only doin’ what Colt wanted, ma’am,” Smith managed to convey over the hammering of hooves. “He didn’t want you hurt.”
“He hasn’t a prayer against the Crowders and you know it!” Sam sobbed, struggling against the band of steel holding her firmly in place.
“It won’t do you no good to carry on, Miz Andrews. It’s for your own good.”
“How … how long have I been out?”
“An hour, I reckon. Colt only tapped you, but it did the trick.”
“Colt hit me?”
“He knew you wouldn’t go on your own.”
“It’s not too late to turn back,” Sam said hopefully. Smith’s jaw tightened but he said nothing. It hurt him almost as much as it did Sam to leave Colt alone to face the Crowders. Colt hadn’t a chance in hell of living through it. If he hadn’t promised Colt he would take care of his wife, Smith would be fighting at his side right now.
Sam sensed Smith’s determination and abruptly changed tactics. “I can ride by myself, Mr. Smith. Your mount will tire quickly if we continue this way.”
Suspecting a ruse, yet recognizing the truth of Sam’s words, Smith reined in sharply and carefully transferred Sam onto the back of her own horse. Sam smiled a secret smile, preparing to spur her mount and bolt in the opposite direction—back to Colt. But when she reached for the reins she saw them tied to the pummel of Smith’s saddle.
“The reins, please,” she said tightly.
“Sorry,” Smith replied sheepishly. “It’s for your own good, ma’am.” Then they were hurtling forward, Sam clinging to the horn in order to keep from falling off.
Tears stung her eyes and a low wail of despair left her lips. She’d never even told Colt about the baby. Never said she loved him. All those days and nights spent fighting for his life were all for nothing—nothing! How could she live knowing Colt no longer walked the earth?
In the midst of her terrible agony, Sam became aware that both horses were being pulled to an abrupt halt. Smith was sawing violently on the reins, and a curse exploded from his lips. “Holy shit! Injuns! From the fryin’ pan into the fire.”
Sam’s head jerked upwards, her eyes widening. A dozen or so Indians rode out of the brown hills. Comanche; probably a raiding party, judging from their vividly painted faces, Sam thought, and riding straight for them.
Smith reached for his rifle, and Sam unholstered her own gun as she drew abreast of Smith. The Indians approached at incredible speed, and Smith raised the rifle to his shoulder, taking careful aim. His target was a garishly painted brave who appeared to be the leader.
“No time to ride for cover,” Smith barked. “Aim true and shoot to kill.”
Nodding grimly, Sam raised her six-shooter, but something kept her from firing. A yellow flag caught her eye. Only it wasn’t a flag. It was a banner of long blond hair flowing behind a small woman riding with the Comanches.
Laura! Both Jim and Jake rode beside her, flanked by Brave Eagle and his friends. Panic seized Sam when she suddenly realized that Smith didn’t know Brave Eagle and was already squeezing the trigger of his rifle. “Noooo!” Her hand flung out and the barrel of Smith’s rifle flew skyward, discharging harmlessly into the air.
“What the hell!”
“Don’t shoot, Mr. Smith, they’re friends.”
“Friends? Them redskins ain’t friends.”
“I’ll explain later. They’ve come to help. Look closely, you can see Colt’s sister, his foreman, and his partner riding with Brave Eagle.”
