Colorado Moonfire

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Then I found out Frazier Foxe was behind the whole scheme—the robbery, the murder attempt, that story in the Times. When I left town yesterday, Barry was being taken back to the hospital and they were hunting me down for supposedly knocking him in the head.” Lyla paused to let out a tired sigh. “You’ve got to believe me, Matt. Thompson can’t catch those men while he’s laid up, and I can’t show my face in Cripple until the crime’s been solved.”

  His eyes, which had followed her every movement as she poured out her story, now ceased their silent interrogation. “You’ve given me more questions than answers, Lyla. Let’s hash this out over breakfast.”

  Emily took her coat and hat, and they entered a roomy kitchen steeped in the aromas of sausage and biscuits and coffee. Lyla was immediately impressed by the closeness the newlyweds shared with the old colored cook, who limped slightly as he served up large portions of the breakfast and then sat down at the small table with them. She had expected a haughty grandeur—uniformed servants hovering about the long table in the adjacent dining room-but Emily, Matt, and Idaho were family, and she felt honored to be included in their circle during the delicious meal.

  When they all took second helpings and their coffee cups were refilled, Matt resumed his questioning. “Tell me why you think Adams and Eberhardt are in on this,” he began, “and explain Foxe’s involvement. I’ll make a bigger mess for Thompson if I start sniffing around in the wrong places. And frankly, armed robbery and attempted murder aren’t Frazier’s style, from what I know about him.”

  “Barry said the same thing,” Lyla replied, and as she recounted the details of the Phantom Canyon ambush, being cornered in the stable at gunpoint, and the clandestine conference the four men held in the jailhouse, she wasn’t at all sure Matt McClanahan believed her. He interrupted with shrewd questions, punctuated by those relentless eyes, ferreting out minor points and possibilities she and Thompson hadn’t considered.

  Idaho quietly cleared away their dishes, and still the questioning continued. McClanahan’s skill as an investigator amazed her. No wonder he’d solved the murder of Emily’s father so quickly, and won her love in return! Yet as the morning passed by, her exhaustion and the sumptuous breakfast took their toll. More than once Matt challenged her for contradicting a previous answer, until she wondered what really had happened the past few days in Cripple.

  Emily, who was following the conversation closely, placed her hand on her husband’s arm. “Matt, she’s worn out. Why don’t you ponder all this for a while, and I’ll take Lyla upstairs. A bath and a nap would clear her mind, I’m sure.”

  With a grateful smile, Lyla followed the petite blonde back through the parlor and up the magnificent staircase. The house was large and homey, furnished in greens and golds and blues, with woodwork polished to a gloss. No expense had been spared, yet the decor was anything but ostentatious. The oil portrait above the fireplace was of a woman who looked like Emily but with redder hair, obviously her mother.

  “You have such a lovely home,” Lyla whispered with a trace of awe. Emily was leading her down the upstairs hall, into a water closet that adjoined a room with a large porcelain tub.

  Her hostess smiled, drizzling bath oil into the tub. “It’s even better, now that Matt’s here to share it with me.” she answered in a wistful voice. Then she looked at Lyla with golden-brown eyes that intuitively sought the depths of her soul. “Don’t think harshly of him for his pointed questions. Barry Thompson kept us both from dying not so long ago, and we’ll be forever indebted to him.”

  Lyla nodded, inhaling the fragrant steam that rose from the tub. She’d heard the ladies at the Rose discussing how Thompson had hidden Matt away and badgered Emily into recovering, after a miner’s shack had exploded around them. Since Mick had died as a result of the same maniac’s sabotage, she felt a kinship with Emily Burnham McClanahan despite the fact that the young heiress still had so much while she herself had lost everything.

  “Are you in love with him, Lyla?”

  She stopped unbuttoning her shirt to study the inquisitive woman beside her. “I don’t suppose that’s any mystery, after the way I spoke of him downstairs,” she answered shyly. “Barry’s a dear fellow, funny and sweet. What woman wouldn’t fall for his flattery and affection?”

  Emily frowned. “You think it’s only flattery? Several people at the wedding were saying he planned to marry you, and he certainly looked serious.”

  Thinking back over her days with him at the cabin, and then about the things Cherry Blossom revealed about the marshal, Lyla was no longer sure of her feelings for the tall, boyish Thompson. Even though she still had her clothes on, she felt naked beneath Emily’s concerned gaze. It would do no harm to confide in her, yet Lyla hesitated to appear foolishly loves truck and—

  “There’s no reason to be bashful in front of me,” the little blonde said with a confidential grin. “Why, when I thought Matt was dead and Barry came around every day to cheer me up, I was sure he intended to court me when I quit grieving. And I might’ve fallen for him, Lyla. I think those tales about him being such a ladies’ man are greatly exaggerated, and they’d die out altogether if he found the right woman to love him.”

  Who should she believe? As Lyla peeled off her shirt and pants, she compared this woman’s glowing account of Thompson’s virtues to the furtive confessions the Indian princess had made. There was no denying Barry’s passionate nature, yet beneath his burly chest beat a gallant, loving heart. She was so tired and confused. Large teardrops plopped down onto her camisole before she realized she was crying.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Emily’s voice was low and soothing, and she dabbed at Lyla’s face with a handkerchief from her robe pocket. “You have every right to feel mixed up, what with all the upsetting things that’ve happened this week. I’ll leave you alone now—”

  “Let me explain.” Lyla let out a long sigh, hoping she wouldn’t regret the secret she was about to reveal. Surely Emily could set her straight, advise her in matters about men, since she’d married such a fine one herself. “It’s just that, well…the last night we spent in the cabin, Barry…I curled up beside him to get some sleep, assuming he was too sick to even think about…”

  Emily’s face lit up with comprehension, and then she chuckled. “So he does want you! Matt says he chattered constantly about all you did for him while he was there, and—”

  “You wouldn’t know anything had happened between us.” Lyla glanced away, embarrassed but too far into her confession to quit. “He gave me five hundred dollars—you tell Matt that, in case he thinks I stole it! I was hinting that I might have to return home to Ireland, since no one in Cripple will hire me, and instead of begging me to stay he gave me that money to travel on. He acts as though…as though he never made love with me.”

  “Oh dear.” Mrs. McClanahan looked truly perplexed, as though she couldn’t believe Thompson would act so insensitive about such an intimate matter. Then she turned the spigots off and took two fresh towels from the cabinet. “You soak awhile and wash your hair, and all these things will look clearer when you’ve gotten some sleep. There’s got to be a reason for this, and between us, we’ll figure it out.”

  Lyla nodded, and when her hostess closed the door of the little room, she stripped and slid into the chin-high, rose-scented bubbles. It was pure heaven, that hot, silky water, and as the dirt from the past week drifted away, so did her thoughts…to a cabin where she and Barry shared their hopes and dreams in preparation for reuniting their love-flushed bodies beside the fire.

  But she fell asleep before she got to the good part.

  After a cozy dinner that evening, Lyla followed Emily and Matt into the parlor for coffee while Idaho cleaned up the kitchen. The whole house smelled of the old cook’s succulent ham and yams and freshly-baked bread, and her clean clothing and hair gave her a more cheerful outlook than she’d had for days. She settled into an overstuffed chair across from the newlyweds, sensing they�
�d discussed her situation while she took a nap and were about to offer some advice.

  “Now, about that stack of twenties we found in your coat pocket,” Matt began. He winked at Emily and she scooted closer to him with a secretive grin. “Was that for uh, services rendered, or what?”

  Lyla scowled, until she realized the handsome detective was teasing her—which meant he believed she was a victim of circumstance who’d made a few untimely decisions, rather than a hardened criminal. “As I told Emily, the marshal intended that as fare home to Ireland, since I can no longer support myself in Cripple Creek.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I don’t believe a word of it,” McClanahan replied, leaning forward to emphasize his point. “But that’s because Thompson’s told me a few things he hasn’t shared with you yet. If you leave, you’ll break his heart, Lyla.”

  She nipped her lip, wondering how much Emily had revealed to her husband this afternoon. “It’d break mine, too,” she mumbled, “but he gave no clue that he wanted me to stay. After coming on so boldly at first, he…well, now he acts as though the days at my cabin meant nothing to him, beyond the fact that he’s grateful I patched him up. I—I was hoping for more.”

  “And you’ll get it, if you give him a chance to explain himself.” Matt glanced at his wife, clearing his throat. “Emily told me about the, uh, situation you’re in. Barry’s acting so dense because he doesn’t remember everything he did at your place, and—”

  “What?” Lyla rose from her chair, her cheeks blazing. “You can’t tell me—he was talking the whole time, asking me to love him, and—”

  “He was probably still out of his head with fever or those herbal potions you were giving him,” her host replied earnestly. “I know Barry—teased him about what he did while you were snowbound, and he was utterly serious about denying it. He’ll be embarrassed as hell to find out he made love to you and can’t recall it, honey.”

  She stared at the McClanahans, feeling foolish and very confused. “But after I sewed him up, he knew it was Christmas…made jokes about my tea, and—and seemed perfectly coherent when he talked to me.”

  McClanahan smiled and shook his head. “I can’t explain it. Perhaps parts of his brain were more affected by his loss of blood than others. Trust me, Lyla. He cares deeply for you, and Barry would never, never make light of your feelings—or of what you gave him because he said he loved you. Thompson adores women, but he’s no cherry plucker.”

  With the same persuasive intensity he’d used to interrogate her, Matt was now defending Barry Thompson. Lyla looked at the dark-haired, handsome man, realizing he knew the marshal far better than she did, but still…it was a bitter pill, hearing that the man she loved couldn’t remember escorting her into womanhood.

  “Don’t take it as a fault on your part,” Emily suggested gently. “I’m sure once you tell him—”

  “Tell him? And what would I say— ‘Mr. Thompson, I’m so sorry you don’t recall making love to me. It was wonderful’?’ Her fists drilled into her hips as she paced in front of her chair. “He’ll think I’m trying to trap him! What man would admit to a woman that he didn’t remember bedding her? Could you?”

  Matt let out a sheepish chuckle, shrugging. “He can’t apologize for an offense he doesn’t know he committed. And it’s sure as hell not my place to tell him.”

  “Oh, fine! I’ll just march into his room at the hospital and blurt it out. Doc Geary and the nurses would love that!” Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Lyla tried desperately to make sense of yet another dilemma she was in because of Barry Thompson. How could loving him make everything go so wrong?

  When her temper cooled, she looked to the McClanahans for help. “I can’t return to town, anyway,” she admitted. “That sketch in the papers will be on Wanted posters all over Colorado, if Rex Adams has his way.”

  “Why not return to your cabin? Send Barry a message to meet you there when he’s released,” Emily suggested. “Perhaps the words will come easier when you’re in your own surroundings.”

  Lyla shook her head. “I’m betting the deputy and Eberhardt have somebody watching it, waiting for me.”

  “I’ll take care of them,” McClanahan said. “After thinking about what you and Thompson have told me, I’m going to have some extra lawmen sent in to man the jailhouse while I quiz Wally and the deputy. The one time I met Connor Foxe, I suspected he had no purpose in Cripple other than to cause trouble. The fact that he and Frazier don’t associate with each other—at least in public—bothers me, too.”

  “And if you and Barry talk at the cabin, maybe it’ll jog his memory. Maybe you won’t have to tell him what his best medicine was.” Emily glanced coyly at her husband and took his elbow. “Cabins can be cozy, romantic places…just the two of you, in front of the fire.”

  Lyla sensed the dreamy-eyed couple was reliving a scene from their own love story, just as she suspected they’d planned this all out while she was sleeping. Now that she’d delivered Emily’s jewelry and convinced Matt to corner the robbery suspects, she had no reason to intrude upon their honeymoon any longer…and it would be nice to return to her little home, knowing she’d be safe there. “All right, I’ll go—”

  “And I’ll deliver the note for you, when I visit Barry in the hospital,” Emily piped up.

  Her enjoyment of these matchmaking efforts put Lyla on guard again. “If you breathe a word about this to Thompson—”

  “Oh, don’t worry. That’s your business,” the twinkly-eyed blonde replied. “I’ll just play Cupid’s helper, and prove your innocence to him—and everybody else I see—by telling how you came all the way to the ranch to return my rings. Your reputation needs a little repair, and I’m happy to help. For you, and for Barry, too.”

  It was assistance she couldn’t afford to pass up, and Lyla saw that the McClanahans regarded this mission as an adventure rather than an imposition upon their newly-wedded bliss. She penned the note in her neatest hand. Come to the cabin, love. I can’t leave without seeing you, she wrote, hoping to entice Thompson into immediate action. She signed her name, sealed the envelope with one of Emily’s ornate wax stamps, and entrusted the message to a grinning Mrs. McClanahan. “I hope this works. Plans’ve tended to backfire lately,” she said quietly.

  “You leave things in Cripple to Matt and me. Your job’s to get Barry to chase after you until you catch him,” Emily said with a girlish grin. “And be merciless when he realizes you’re already his.”

  As Lyla mounted her mare early the next morning, she hoped Emily’s enthusiasm wasn’t misplaced. How on earth could she bring up such a delicate subject with a man who’d more likely laugh at her than believe her? What would she do if Barry flatly refused to admit he could’ve committed such an intimate crime against her innocence? She patted the bundle of twenties in her coat pocket, praying she’d be handing it back to him rather than paying her fare to Ireland with it.

  Calico loped along the trail leading out from the Flaming B’s tall, timbered gateway. The wind blew powdery snow in loose, spiraling swirls on the path before them. Above the foothills the sky was dove gray, overcast, with a continuous cloud cover. Her mind wandered to the cabin, to the hours she hoped to spend getting better acquainted with her lover, discovering the myriad admirable things about Barry Thompson that Matt and Emily already knew.

  He would be stronger this time, teasing his way out of an embarrassing predicament until they’d fall into each other’s arms, laughing, kissing…in her mind she saw his powerful body tensing, felt his lips nuzzling the hollows of her throat on their way down to suckling the breasts he fondled so lovingly with his large, gentle hands. His manhood probed between her thighs until she opened to him, longing for the rush of wildfire he’d kindled in her before. He claimed her mouth with a searing kiss, clasping her to his chest as he lunged—

  Lyla gasped with the reality of her sensuous daydream—until she realized that the tightness around her shoulders was a lasso loop rather than Barry’s embrace.
Before she could grab the saddle-horn, she was tumbling backward over Calico’s rump, shrieking.

  “Send that mare on its way!” a menacing voice called out.

  As she hit the ground with a bone-jarring whump, Lyla saw a man spring out of a grove of trees and fire his pistol repeatedly to keep Calico from circling back to her. “Stop it!” she gasped. “If you hurt my horse, I can’t—”

  “Where we’re taking you, you won’t need such a homely nag, cupcake.” The man’s laughter sounded frighteningly familiar as his footsteps approached her from behind. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t realized she was being watched from the trees, an easy mark for two ambushing outlaws.

  The rope around her chest yanked the breath from her, and she was spun around in the loose snow to face her captor. “Connor Foxe! You—”

  “How nice of you to remember,” he replied smoothly. “Nice of you to clean up at the Flaming B, too. Can’t stand a woman who smells stronger than I do.”

  She was about to make a retort, but Foxe jerked the rope tighter, and it cut her forearms with its vicious grip. “Miss O’Riley, I’d like to present Kelly Jameson, my partner in crime—one of many,” Connor jested. “You’ve met him before, though you weren’t aware of it at the time.”

  The man approaching them was lean and tall, wearing a boot-length tan duster that flapped in the wind. Beneath his hat she saw a square jaw set off by reddish-gold sideburns and a smile she’d have found alluring under different circumstances.

  “You sure you oughtta be spoutin’ off about that?” he drawled as he looked down at them.

  “What can it hurt? She won’t have the chance to identify you in Cripple. Not that Adams would lock you up if she did,” Foxe replied with a smirk. “And with Thompson out of the way, it’ll be our little secret. Won’t it, cupcake?”