Belle Gone Bad (7 page)

B
ell picked up the pacer's tracks on the north side of the Red River. It was too easy. She glanced around at Indian Territory, then back across the river at Texas. She didn't feel any danger. She depended on her senses to give her warning, but they were quiet now. She rubbed the skin over her heart, feeling a little itchy with expectation.

“You've got that look again,” Mercy said. “Trouble?”

“No. And that's the problem.”

“Can't we make this simple?”

“I'd like nothing better. For now, let's just follow the tracks and see where they lead us.”

As they rode side by side, she checked her surroundings. Fluffy white clouds rode high in the blue sky. Tall prairie grass rustled in a warm breeze. Summer declined as fall pressed closer. With shorter days, birdsong came less often. Cooler nights were gaining ground. She could almost smell the tantalizing aromas of autumn. Folks would soon turn their calendars from September to October.

She couldn't let the search go on too long. This time of year the weather was changeable. They might get a blue norther raging down to blanket the land with wild winds and freezing rain, or a hot wind could blow storm clouds up from the south and drench them with warm rain. If the weather turned bad or even rained hard, the pacer's tracks would be wiped out. She didn't want to consider that possibility, but she must. Time wasn't on their side in so many ways.

Yet she said nothing of her fears and concerns to Mercy. He looked paler now that they'd crossed the Red River. If he got too sick to travel, she would need to find a safe place for him and go on alone. Though she couldn't imagine leaving him behind. Maybe she'd already gotten used to his presence, or perhaps she'd worry if he was left to fend for himself. Either way, she hoped he found the stamina to keep up with her.

When they came to Hickory Creek, she felt a chill run up her spine. She glanced around in concern and then rode over to the water. She studied the tracks in the mud on the bank. She recognized two sets of hoofprints. Diana and her kidnapper had dismounted and let their horses drink. Belle eased out of her saddle and knelt to get a closer look as she walked around the area. She grew more concerned by the moment.

She glanced up at Mercy. “We've got bigger trouble.”

“What?”

“Looks like three riders joined them here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She followed the trail out to the road and studied the hoofprints of five horses. They'd ridden east together several hours ago. She turned and walked back to Mercy. He didn't look well.

“Why don't we take a break?”

“We haven't come far.” He pushed back the brim of his hat. “Shouldn't we hurry to catch up with them?”

“Let's water the horses first.”

He nodded, rode over to the creek, got down, and let his horse drink from the sparkling water.

While Juniper drank his fill, Belle looked around more but didn't change her mind about the newcomers. She joined Mercy where he sat leaning back against the broad trunk of an ancient oak tree. She removed her hat and fanned her face.

“Diana and her kidnapper waited here for others to join them.”

“That's good news, isn't it? Now we're not as far behind them.”

“Yes. But we're up against four outlaws instead of one.”

“That's not so good.” He took off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

“How are you feeling?” She didn't like the way he was sweating on a day that wasn't too hot.

“I'll make it.”

“Looks like they're headed east.”

“Why go there?”

“They could catch the Katy train at Durant and travel north.”

“Then we'd lose them.”

“No. Travelers would see them.”

“What if they go deeper into Indian Territory?”

“That's what I expect, but we can't be sure.”

“What if they've got a friend trailing us?”

“We stay one step ahead.”

“I don't like it.”

“Neither do I.” She stood up. “We'd better get back on the trail.”

He eased up and leaned toward her. “I'll keep up.”

“We'll camp early.”

“Not on my account.” He set his hat on his head, a crooked smile on his lips. “Shouldn't we make up time?”

“If we had a relay of horses, it'd be possible. As it is, we can't wind our mounts trying to catch up.”

“But what about Diana?”

“Come here.” Belle grabbed his hand, felt the sudden heat that spun between them, and tugged him over to the creek bank. She pointed at several footprints. “Someone with small feet walked here. It's the first real indication that Diana is still alive.”

“What about the kidnapper?”

She gestured at other prints. “Big boots. Big man. That's our kidnapper.”

“I never doubted that she was still alive.”

“He's gone to a lot of trouble, so I doubt he'll harm her. Not yet, anyway.”

“Let's get after her.”

She hesitated as he mounted, noticing the extra effort he had to expend to get on his horse's back. He was getting weaker. She didn't know how long he could stay upright.

She quickly put a foot in Juniper's stirrup and threw a leg over the saddle. She headed east, casting about in her mind for a place to leave Mercy where he'd be safe and could get help. A lot of open country spread out before them. Not too much of it was safe, especially for a sick tenderfoot.

Mercy had friends at Burnt Boggy Saloon where he'd sculpted the bar till the tent burned down. If she could get him that far, she'd trust him with Red Dog and Slim. But what if Diana's trail led in a different direction? She'd been leery of bringing Mercy with her from the first, but he'd appeared stronger in the Bend. Now she wasn't sure which one needed her help the most, Mercy or Diana.

He caught up with her. “I can tell you're worrying about me.”

She nodded but didn't say anything.

“Don't. Diana comes first.”

“Do you think you can make it to Burnt Boggy?”

“We don't even know where it is. I left after it burned down.”

“Manny told me they had a new building south of the old place.”

“We're going wherever that pacer's tracks lead us.”

“There are doctors in Denison.”

“I don't need a doctor.”

“You look like you've got a fever.”

“I probably do.”

“What was Diana doing that a doctor couldn't do?”

“Everything.”

“I don't understand.”

He rode closer. “You can't leave me at Burnt Boggy. You've got to get me to Diana as quickly as possible.”

She reached out and squeezed the hand grasping his saddle horn. Heat leaped between them again. She jerked away, feeling singed through her glove. “You're too hot. We should have stayed at the creek. You could've cooled down there.”

“That won't cure me.”

“But it'll help.”

“For a bit, maybe.”

“What kind of sickness is this?”

“If you're worried about catching it, don't.”

She absently rubbed the twinge over her heart. Something wasn't right. She didn't want to look at him more closely. It'd been a long time since she'd used those skills. Not only did his life appear to be on the line, but he was drawing her into his danger as well. And that was only her immediate concern. Beyond them was Diana, the kidnapper, and the outlaws. She had to know more or they might not come out alive. She'd already lost Tex and Hackett. She had no intention of being next on the list.

“If you can stay in the saddle,” she said, “let's ride to Buffalo Creek. They'll probably spend the night at the Washita River or go on into Durant if they take the train.”

“How much longer?”

“Several hours. Can you make it?”

“Yes.”

“When we get near the creek, we'll go north away from the road and the trail. In case they're lying in wait, I don't want us heading into a trap.”

“What about somebody behind us?”

“I know a defensible spot.”

“I hate to rest, not knowing about Diana.”

“The kidnapper lost time waiting for his friends. We'll be up before dawn and back on the trail. If Diana is smart, she'll delay them every step of the way, hoping somebody is coming to rescue her.”

“That's what she'll do. She's smart and she knows I . . . the Bend won't let her down.”

Belle felt another twinge over her heart. Only this time it felt like jealousy. If it'd been over Hackett, she could've understood the feeling. Her fiancé had been the perfect man. But Mercy preferred paint brushes to six-shooters. His skills lay in his creativity, not in his fists. He was weak, not strong. Yet she couldn't forget his fingertip sensually playing with Lulu's ring as if he played with her own sensitive nub. That memory alone made her hot all over, especially in her deep, inner core. No, she didn't like the fact that Mercy admired Diana and might be her lover. But she didn't like to feel petty, either.

What was it about this man that called to her at such a deep level? He felt it, too. He'd let her know with looks and words. She'd have to be careful. It wouldn't take much for either of them to throw caution to the wind, create a wild storm, and set their senses on fire.

She urged Juniper forward, wanting to get away from her thoughts, feelings, and Mercy.

“Hey, wait up!” he called.

She glanced back. She could run from him, but she couldn't hide from herself.

N
ights were always the worst. Mercy dreaded trying to sleep with Belle around. She was too sharp. She noticed everything. But he owed Diana. Even more, he wanted to get her safely home. Yet he was sickening fast.

As the Sun slowly sank in the west, Belle led him off the road. He followed her north on a trail that wound its way along Buffalo Creek. He hung on to the reins with one hand and the saddle horn with the other. If he could get his saddle blanket rolled out, he wanted nothing more than to collapse on it and rest his aching bones.

“Looks like nobody's been by here lately.” Belle glanced back at him. “There's a rise up ahead and a big old sycamore to camp under.”

“We can't get there soon enough for me.”

“I'll scout the area to make sure we're alone. You go ahead and start camp.”

He watched her ride away, looking as fresh as if they hadn't already had a long day. He remembered a time when he'd had stamina, too. If not for the curse, he might even now.

A little later, he found the sycamore that rose majestically on a hill above a bend of the creek. Sunlight splashed through the limbs to turn the leaves silvery-gold as they spun in a breeze. He'd always admired the green of Earth juxtaposed with the blue of sky. Early evening shadows created so many shades of blue and green that he was tempted to try his hand at painting a bucolic scene. Maybe he'd even live to do it. For now, the place represented a safe cocoon. He was glad to be there for no other reason than to rest.

He rode Kirby over to the stream, noticing the play of light across water, rock, and red dirt. Surprisingly, he'd like to capture such beauty, particularly if he could persuade Belle to pose in the water. He imagined her naked or with artfully draped fabric around her hips. Maybe she'd even have a seductive pout on her luscious lips. But that was so far-fetched that he immediately cast aside the thought.

He dismounted on shaky legs and let Kirby drink. Mercy took a deep breath, drawing in air scented by the wilderness around him. He heard rustling in the underbrush and tree frogs singing up a storm. This would be a perfect place to woo a lady, but those days were sadly behind him.

When Kirby finished, Mercy led the bay over to the sycamore, then loosened the cinch. He lifted the saddle, staggered under its weight, and quickly set it down under the huge tree. He rested a moment and then led Kirby over to a grassy area, removed the bridle, and hobbled him.

He was glad Belle hadn't been around to notice his weakness. Of all the times he'd like to impress a woman this was it. She had a riveting effect on him that had grown by the moment since he'd met her. He wanted her and needed her. Unfortunately, she'd made it abundantly clear that she couldn't wait to get rid of him.

He groaned, making an unmanly sound that he immediately stifled. He hurt all over. But he couldn't let pain stop him. He had a job to do and he was going to do it even if it killed him. And it well might.

For now he'd create a cozy camp for Belle. He picked up a fallen limb, dry and brittle, and gathered more firewood. When he had enough, he pulled matches from his saddlebag and started a small campfire. He held his hands over the cheery flames, hoping the light wouldn't be noticeable at a distance.

As day turned to dusk, the world around him narrowed to a small, finite area. He welcomed it for the sake of security and simplicity. He positioned his saddle near the tree trunk to use as a pillow, then untied his blanket and rolled it out. He sat down. It wasn't much comfort, but it was better than the back of a horse. He set aside his hat, untied his neckerchief, and wiped sweat from his brow. He leaned back, rested his head on the saddle, and closed his eyes. He sighed in pure pleasure at the relief.

If not for Diana, he'd be comfortable in his feather bed at the Lone Star Hotel or anesthetizing his body with whiskey at the Red River Saloon. He snapped open his eyes, feeling guilty. No telling what Diana was enduring at the hands of four ruthless men while he thought only about his own aches and pains. She deserved better.

“You look comfy.” Belle walked out of the darkness into the firelight, carrying her saddle and bridle. “Mind if I join you?”

He smiled at her. She was a welcome sight, even as he noticed that she looked a little worn around the edges. A smudge of dirt across her nose warred with her freckles. Several long pieces of grass stuck to her skirt. And her boots were caked with mud.

She plopped her saddle onto the blanket and sat down with a groan. “I don't know about you, but does this feel like several days rolled into one?”

“It feels more like a week.” Mercy motioned toward the fire. “Is that a problem? I don't want to give away our position.”

“No. I couldn't see the light before I got right up on it. And it's a cheerful sight on a cheerless day.”

“I thought so, too.”

She looked him over. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm okay.”

She shook her head. “No offense, but you look half-dead.”

“No offense taken. I must look about like I feel.”

“Maybe you'll feel stronger after you eat.”

“Hope so.”

“I'm starved, so let's get out the vittles.” She unrolled her blanket, then untied Mama Lou's sack of goodies.

He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out the packet of food from Ludmila's store.

“This is going to taste so good.” Belle grinned and then got busy setting out food with red-and-white-checked napkins.

He watched her as flames crackled merrily. Firelight illuminated the strong planes of her face. A few strands of long hair dangled from her loose chignon to brush her shoulders. She worked with rapid, concise movements.

Alone like this, he could imagine them in their own home, be it country log cabin or stately town house. She'd be getting supper while he washed up from a hard day's work. Maybe a baby would laugh from a cradle in the corner. Later they'd go to bed together and ease the day's aches, pains, and frustrations with love.

He felt a sudden burning need to record this moment on canvas. He'd capture light from a campfire holding the darkness and danger of a wild country at bay, two tired, dusty faces anxiously awaiting a cold supper, and the closeness of a couple who depended on each other for survival.

When had he changed? He'd thought he'd known what he wanted to paint. Now he visualized paintings that would never have entered his mind before. Maybe he'd matured as an artist. Maybe he wanted to share his vision with others who would never experience this sense of freedom, community, and friendship that was built upon the bones of survival out West. Maybe he wanted to capture this world before it was gone, plowed under, fenced in, built over. On the other hand, perhaps Belle inspired him to be more than he'd ever thought he could be.

He chuckled, forcing his thoughts away. She was a bounty hunter. He was an artist. They were not destined for a blissful, domestic future.

“What's so funny?”

“Us.”

“When did we become us?”

“About the time we crossed the Red River.”

Belle stopped and cocked her head as she looked at him. “You may be right. It'll take the two of us to corner and capture four desperadoes.”

He grew serious. “I'll do my best not to let you down.”

“I'll do the same.” She motioned toward the jerky, cheese, and crackers, but she'd set the muffins and fritters near her rather than between them.

“What about Mama Lou's goodies?”

She grinned impishly. “I'm not sure I'm going to share.”

He groaned. “Would you do that to a starving man who's had your back all day?”

She rolled her eyes in consideration and then nodded.

He quickly leaned forward, grabbed a muffin and a fritter, and then leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face.

“And you didn't even say please or thank you.”

“I'm more likely to call you greedy-gut.”

“You're a coldhearted man.”

He took a big bite out of the fritter and made happy chewing sounds as he ate the delicious fried cornbread.

She did the same thing, watching him as she quickly polished off her fritter and reached for another.

He rolled up his napkin and tossed it at her. “Only one!”

She threw the napkin back at him. “You are such a brute.”

He laughed. “Maybe I'd do better if I was one.”

She turned serious. “No. Never think that.”

“I didn't mean to bring up unpleasant thoughts. You must have seen a lot of that behavior as a bounty hunter.”

“Man's inhumanity to man never fails to astound me.”

“Even in the best of worlds with deep spiritual beliefs, I've learned that brutality exists. It's no joking matter.”

She contemplated him for a moment, then nodded. “Mercy, sometimes you surprise me. Maybe someday you'll share part of your past.”

“Maybe someday you'll do the same.”

She picked up a piece of cheese. “Till then, let's muddle through to Diana.”

“Lead on.” He saluted her with a jerky slice.