Caress of Fire (4 page)

“Her name is Sadie Lou,” Willie Gaines explained. “She's a cowdog, case you didn't know And she's right nice.”

The canine wagged her bushy white tail.

“Hello,
Liebling.”

The greeting barely out, a trio of cowhands rode into camp. The friendliest one was ebony-skinned Dinky Peele. Eli Wilson didn't hide his disapproval at finding a woman in their midst. It bothered Lisette, having a minister's censure, but she was more bothered by the last of the three.

Blade Sharp was about forty and had a mean, shifty-eyed look. The jagged scar extending from an ear to the corner of his paper-thin mouth probably lent that sinister appearance.

“Lise!”

Recognizing Matthias's voice calling her girlhood nickname, she turned and waved. Shock was written all over his face, she noted as he walked up to her.

“I never expected to see you here,” he said. “If Gil hadn't warned me, I might have had an apoplexy.”

“Sorry. Maybe we can talk about it later?”

Gil McLoughlin appeared, his gunbelt riding on leather chaps shiny from wear. A black mat of swirled hair peeped from a shirt unfastened to the middle of his chest. His Stetson pulled low over his dark brow, he stared at her from the opposite side of the original fire. The flames limned his long, lean body in golden relief.

Her mouth went dry. Whether it was from his impassive stare or from the fear of being sent away, she didn't know, but it pleased her that he hadn't stayed gone.

She stepped around the fire. None but a few paces separated them now. She was struck by the hue of his eyes, no longer impassive. While they were more blue in daylight, at night they were like quicksilver, shiny and gray.

“Looks like you've made yourself at home,” he drawled.

“I want to please you.”

“You could please me,” he murmured too low for his men to hear.

What did he mean by that? Don't be a
Tropf,
she warned herself. His words had nothing to do with her domestic skills. He wanted a woman, not a cook. And as far as Lisette was concerned, he was the only man in the world. Betrayed by her feelings as well as by her body, she felt her nipples tighten beneath the chambray shirt.

Stop it.
She quelled the urge to cover herself. If she had put her hand to her bosom, she would have drawn attention to her femininity. Maybe he wouldn't notice her reaction.

He noticed.

His eyes moved from her chest, and he quirked an eyebrow.

Unwittingly falling to German, knowingly breaking the spell, she asked, “May I fix you a plate of supper?”

“Speak English.”

She repeated the question.

“I'll get my own chow.” He pushed a thumb behind his gunbelt. “If you want the men to eat, you'll have to give your permission. That's etiquette.”

She turned to the cowboys. “Please, help yourselves.”

Like a pack of rabid wolves, the men lit into the fare.

The trail boss, on the other hand, took his time filling his plate. Obviously he had no intention of gathering with the others to eat; he disappeared around the chuck wagon.

That wouldn't do.

She followed him, catching up a dozen yards from the campsite. “If you see my cooking has pleased your men, surely you'll think twice before turning me out.”

“Honey, back off. I won't be pushed.”

Thoroughly put in her place but determined not to agonize over it, Lisette returned to the eaters. Soon the cooking pots were empty. The collie, her tongue lolling in expectation, barked for the smidgen or two of remaining turnip greens, but Lindemann grabbed and licked the bowl. Lisette put Sadie Lou to work–or was it dog's Valhalla?–dispensing with beef bones.

“Mighty fine grub, ma'am,” complimented Wink Tannington.

Again, Willie Gaines attempted to flatten his ornery hair. “Miss, I can see myself eating like that all the way to Kansas.”

Oscar Yates scratched his whiskered chin. “Girl, I ain't et such a tasty meal since before Susie–God rest her soul–fell dead over a wreck pan.”

The young man in charge of the horses–she'd learned he was called the wrangler–belched and smiled.
“Schönen dank!”

All around the campfire, praise echoed. Even the preacher, who had had more than a word or two to say about an unmarried woman in the company of men, tipped his hat.

Without a gesture of praise, Gil McLoughlin returned his plate only to disappear again. She would have traded all the cowboys' compliments for one smile from their boss.

Blade Sharp sidled up to her. “Seems I oughta give a little treat, seeing how you filled my belly so nice.” He clamped his hand on her hip. “Meet me later, and–”

She retreated from his disgusting touch.

“Let me help with these dishes.” Matthias pulled her even farther from the leering, overbearing cowboy. “Sharp, take another turn at night guard.”

The two men glared at each other. For a moment Lisette feared they would fight, yet Sharp backed down, saying, “Whatever suits you, Mister Bigshot Strawboss.”

She was relieved at Matthias's thwarting the hard-eyed Sharp. She liked Matthias, always had. As children they had sailed on the same schooner across the Atlantic, and he had given comfort when her mother had died during the voyage. Upon reaching Fredericksburg, they had attended classes in the
Vereinskirche,
and Lisette remembered many a time when he'd yanked her braids. And then the war had come along.

Matthias, like many of the local boys, had sided with the North. Her own male kin had gone along with Texas's secession, had fought, mostly to the death, for the South. And Lisette had been sent off to San Antonio–where she faced her own disaster.

She gathered a pile of dishes and started toward the creek. Matthias, similarly loaded down, walked behind her. Neither spoke until the chore was almost done.

“You worry me, Lise,” Matthias finally said in German, his dark-brown eyebrows knitted. “You shouldn't be here.”

“But I am.” She rinsed a plate. “Will you talk with Herr McLoughlin about keeping me on?”

“No.” Matthias placed forks in the wreck pan. “If you were wanting a job, why didn't you strike out for San Antonio?”

“Adolf would have found me there. Or anywhere else in Texas, eventually.”

Furthermore, San Antonio wasn't for her. That town held too many memories as well as the source of those recollections, Thom Childress.

“Chicago is the place for a fresh start,” she said. “And I'm certain I'll find plenty of work. I've mentioned the lady who taught me the millinery trade, haven't I? Agnes was from there, and she told me all about the wonders of her hometown. I'm going to experience them for myself.”

“It gets awfully cold up in Illinois,
meine Liebe.”

“Then it should be like our birthplace, Dillenburg.”

Matthias shook his head. “Your memory's grown sketchy in the dozen years since we left the duchy. Chicago and a hamlet in Nassau-Hesse are two different places. Chicago is a rough city.”

“I'm not worried.”

A sigh expanded Matthias's chest. “I don't think McLoughlin will allow you to follow along. He's a fair man when he sees he's in the wrong, but I don't think he'll see the right in keeping a woman in his camp. And he's stubborn–stubborn as that old mule of Adolf's. When he's set on something, McLoughlin would cut off his roping hand rather than back down.”

That was exactly the impression she'd gotten, but she couldn't give up. And didn't want to. It was crazy and foolish, but she wanted to be around Gil McLoughlin ... and not just as his cook. She had to stop such thoughts.

“In this instance
I
am going to be more mule-headed than your mule-headed trail boss,” she said. “Wait and see.”

“I wouldn't want to place a bet on that.” Laughing, Matthias hugged Lisette. “On second thought, knowing you . . .”

He didn't know her, not really. Not a hint did he have about her romantic fiasco, and she intended to keep it that way.

From the left Lisette spotted the trail boss stomping her way. Starlight reflected from his eyes . . . or was it rage?

“Shove off, Gruene. Now.”

Matthias did as told, and his boss ground to a halt in front of Lisette. Now that she got a good look at his eyes, she knew it was rage, even before he pointed a finger at her nose.

“Damn it to hell, woman, I won't have you charming my men. Not even for the
one night
you're in my camp.”

Lisette would have defended herself against this unfair accusation, but she needed another chance, just one more chance at that job. Thus, she latched on to his “one night.”

She coerced a smile, hoping it was as bright as the fire in his eyes. “Does this mean I can stay until tomorrow and prepare breakfast?”

“I'm waiting,” Lisette announced, her bravado as apparent as fireflies in a night sky. “Are you going to let me prepare breakfast tomorrow? And maybe the midday meal as well?”

Gil scowled. How could she stand here, right by the creek where she'd let Matthias cuddle her, and act as if he'd interrupted nothing more than a quilting bee?

He grabbed her elbow to march her even farther away from his men's big ears. Short of the resting cattle, he released his hold, stepped back, and planted his feet wide apart. Arms akimbo, he demanded, “Before I make any promises, I want to know why you allowed that big German liberties.”

“Liberties? No, no. You misunderstand. Matthias is an old friend. He was comforting me, nothing else.”

Comforting her? Gil had to think on that. Her excuse sounded reasonable, especially since Matthias, back at the Four Aces, had told him Lisette was like a sister. An apology might be in order, but the Stars and Stripes would wave over Inverness before he'd do it. He was set that way.

“You still haven't told me
why
you left home,” he said gruffly, “beyond some excuse about not wanting to live under another woman's roof, that is.”

“Another woman's roof
is
the problem, Mister McLoughlin. I have no home.” Her lovely mouth became pinched, her innocent eyes clouding with indignation, yet she stood taller. “Before the war I considered the farm my home. By the time it was over, my brother had inherited the land. My father expected I would marry, so he made no provision for me beyond a small dowry–which my brother felt would be better used to enrich the property.”

“He spent your dowry?” Gil asked, astounded but not totally surprised.

“Yes. And I became a slave in his wife's household.”

She told him about her lack of options; how no one would hire her in Fredericksburg; how she believed no settlement in Texas would be far enough away to keep her out of her brother's reach. Her explanations made sense.

“I need help,” she said.

He thought about those roughened hands, recalled seeing her in the fields. Hers had been a miserable situation, comparable to slavery which anyone would want to escape. He had fought a war to free human beings from the yoke of servitude.

Outside of the belles of the beleaguered Deep South, he had never known women to face Lisette's hardships. It took guts to break away from such hell.

Trouble was, he couldn't be her deliverance. If there were some way to help without inviting trouble from his men–or running short of them–he'd latch on to it.

“You could marry,” he suggested, conjuring up images of white satin and lace, and him in a dark suit and starched collar. That thought got severed, quick-like.

“I'm not a young woman. I'm a spinster of twenty-two.”

He had the sudden urge to see if she possessed a sense of humor. “Hmm, twenty-two changes everything.” He winked. “I understand why you've given up on marriage.”

She grinned, and he couldn't take his eyes off the alluring curve of her mouth as she said, “My teeth aren't so long or so many that it's time to put me to pasture.”

“Let me count 'em. Gotta see for myself.”

“Not for marbles, money, or salt,” she came back, laughing and showing perfectly beautiful teeth. But she quit laughing. “We've gotten way off the subject. I do need employment.”

“Living around a campfire isn't home and hearth,” he replied sternly. “It's sleeping under the stars. And the men tend to be profane, including myself.”

“It wouldn't be a cozy life. But I'm not accustomed to coziness. I've been around my brother and his boys. I'm not overly delicate about the differences between men and women.”

“That's a plus as far as credentials go, but a lady in company with a pack of crude males? I don't think so.”

As a youth, he had had his mouth soaped out more than once over foul language, and his curses had grown bluer with age. Asking his men to curb their behavior didn't seem right, since the trail boss was beyond help. Anyway, he was wasting thought. This cattle drive was no place for a lady.

Trying to disregard the pearly blond of her hair as the moonlight made a halo around it, he said, “I'm talking about more than a mere indelicate situation.”

“I told you I can handle indelicate.”

“Are you saying you aren't a lady?” He held his breath.

“I am a lady, sir.” Setting her head at a proud tilt, she looked him in the eye. “But I'm a lady in difficulty. I have plans for the future, and they all rest on reaching Chicago.”

“Such as?”

“Such as a home of my own. And my own millinery shop. I've always been good with my hands.”

Right then Gil could think of a lot of things she could do with her hands, none of them involved hatmaking. As for his own hands, he'd enjoy skimming his thumbs across the taut peaks he'd witnessed earlier tonight.

He got serious. “Being cookie isn't whipping up bonnets. It's long hours, lost sleep, and hungry cowpunchers demanding food, rain or shine, dust or wind. It's gathering fuel and building fires with no help whatsoever.” He was exaggerating on the no-help part, but she needed scaring. “It's flies and varmints. Nuisance animals, too. And the men would expect you to be barber and doctor, sympathizer and scapegoat.”

“How much does the job pay?”

“Sixty bucks a month.”

“That much? My. I'd have a tidy nest egg.” Her face lit up with enthusiasm. “Be assured, hard work doesn't frighten me. I can handle the job. I can do anything, once I set my mind to it. And my mind is set.”

“I'm beginning to get the picture. There's something you've got to know, though: I won't get you to Chicago.”

“Once you pay me for my work, I'll take a train there from Abilene.”

A fist clamped his chest, his pride taking the pressure's full force. Again, she'd reminded him he was nothing beyond a meal ticket to her dreams.

Dismissing his thought, he said, “You cannot, absolutely cannot, have the job.”

Disheartened, she turned her back.

He couldn't stand all that dejection. And he considered himself. For too long he'd been lonely, had spent unending nights with nothing but stars above, or four empty walls. For the past half year, though, he'd spent a lot of time thinking about Lisette sharing his bed. Of course, meeting her had been a disappointment, but he was now convinced . . .

“The only way it would work is if you're a married woman.”

“Out of the question.” She spun around. “Besides, you're forgetting something: it takes two to make matrimony.”

Jangling spurs cut through the night to draw their attention.

Preacher Wilson called out, “I must have a word with you two.” The clergyman, his right hand holding a Bible, huffed up to the creek. “Mister McLoughlin,” he shouted with his superior tone, “when I signed on to assist you to Kansas, I had no idea you meant to make a Sodom and Gomorrah of our journey.”

“Now hold up there, preacher!”

“I, as a man of God, as a minister of the Gospel, will not hold my tongue. I believe you intend to hire this . . .” He wagged a finger at Lisette. “This Jezebel. I shouldn't have to remind you dallying with an unmarried woman will bring you to hellfire and damnation.”

“Listen here, preacher man, you're making an unfair judgment about a decent young woman, and I won't have it. If you intend to stay on, you'll apologize to Miss Keller. Right now.”

“I answer only to God.”

“Fine. Then pack your duds and be gone at first light.”

The preacher nodded. “That will be more than fine with me.” He huffed off toward the campsite.

“Thank you for defending my honor, Mister McLoughlin,” Lisette said, her voice quiet.

Weariness getting to him, Gil knelt down to pitch a pebble into the stream. He glanced at the stars, assessing the hour as midnight. What Lisette needed, what he needed, was a decent night's sleep. Tomorrow he'd decide what to do about her.

 

 

In the chuck wagon temporarily vacated by Oscar Yates, Lisette settled into a bedroll. Tired beyond imagination, she slept, but not for more than a couple of hours. She awoke to darkness. A coyote howled. She trembled, thinking about her prospects. Would she be the next night's dinner for some wild beast?

More frightening–would she meet Olga's fate?

Lisette jolted up from the hard bed.

Pulling the stolen trousers up over her hips and tucking her shirt into the waistband, she leaned to the right, where she knew Matthias Gruene was nearby, guarding the wagon. She cupped her fingers around her mouth and pressed them against the canvas wall. “Are you asleep?”

She grabbed the waistcoat, put it on, then pulled on her boots. Hopping to the ground, she said, “I must talk with you.”

“Shhh,” Matthias whispered. “You'll wake everyone.”

“Let's go over there.” She motioned toward the creek where Gil McLoughlin had scotched her dreams.

A couple of minutes later she and Matthias were sitting by the water's edge, Sadie Lou at their side. Nearby, a cow lowed. Lisette turned to the sound. She saw nothing but cattle.

“They're huge, Matthias, especially the bulls.”

“There're not–never mind.”

Lisette continued to gaze at the herd. There was no set design to their hides; browns and rusts and blacks mixed with white in a myriad of patterns. Their horns–in no way did these descendants of Spain resemble their German milk cow cousins. The longhorns had a formidable spread to their horns, horns capable of ripping another cow to bits–or a person. Yet she didn't fear them. In fact, earlier tonight, it had been a welcome sight, the head upon head of wide horns. The stink, now
that
was another proposition altogether.

Again the coyote howled.

Lisette shivered in the warm night. “I'm scared.”

“Don't be. The coyote is far away.”

“It isn't the wild animals, nor even the fear of Indians. Well, that's not exactly so. Oh, Matthias, your boss is going to send me away.”

“You mustn't create your own problems. Life gives us all enough worry without our searching it out.” Matthias sighed. “It breaks my heart to see you unhappy. I know life's been unfair, what with you losing all your family but Adolf.”

“You know we've never been close,” she said sadly. “But I do miss his boys.”

She missed them along with all the departed Kellers. Mostly, she missed her mother and Olga. After these many years, she should have stopped, but . . .

“You need someone of your own to love, Lise.”

“That's not what I need.” For some odd reason, she recalled Gil McLoughlin and his words about being married.
What a peculiar thought.
She gathered her wits. “Matthias, do you have any money?”

“Five dollars.”

“Would you lend it to me? I haven't a cent, and five dollars would keep me from starving . . . if I make it to town.”

“I said don't create your own problems. Gil will make a wise decision about you. I don't know what, you understand, but wise men don't leave women stranded in the wild.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I suppose he'll have one of us take you to Lampasas.” As she breathed a sigh of relief, Matthias broke a blade of grass. “Tell me,
meine Liebe,
what do you think of the Scotsman?”

Suddenly warm, she recalled the morning in Fredericksburg when he'd admitted wanting to meet her. And she recalled how she'd responded– then as well as tonight. Her heart did a flip-flop.

The defenses she'd spent years building had taken a battering.

“Answer my question,” Matthias pressed. “What do you think of Gil McLoughlin?”

“He doesn't smell as bad as you do.”

“I beg your pardon, naughty girl. I spent yesterday with the drag-riders, while the boss was way ahead of the herd.” He reached to thump her shoulder. “I'll not have you making disparaging remarks.”

She started to appease him, but her shoulders stiffened at a night sound. An owl, perhaps? Sadie Lou, who had been sleeping at Matthias' ankle, roused up and sniffed the air. A covey of birds scattered from their roosts, a score of cows lumbering to their hooves.

Several growls intermingled with Lisette's “What is it? Do you think the horses got out of the remuda?”

“No.” Pulling a revolver from his gunbelt, Matthias surged to his feet. “It's Comanches.”

Her limbs stiffened.

“Be still,” her friend whispered.

She opened her mouth, intent on shouting to the others, but he clamped his hand over her lips and cautioned against her calling attention to them. They rushed back to camp, Matthias guarding the perimeter, Lisette heading for the chuck wagon.

She shook the trail boss awake. “Indians.”

It didn't take saying it twice. He charged from the bedroll, his cowboys abandoning their beds as well. All gathered guns. By now she heard war cries, dozens of them, plus exploding gunfire and thundering horse hooves.

Cattle ran pell-mell.

The night was lit orange with the flare of rifle and pistol fire as about a score of Indians circled and attacked. Cowmen defended them. Though frightened, Lisette wouldn't run.

She'd never fired a gun in her life, so she grabbed a butcher knife. Beside her, Gil yelled, “Get under the wagon,” but she didn't. She was determined to do her part.