Chasing Rainbows (11 page)

Jake didn’t hesitate. He’d discovered long ago that in a game of evenly matched odds, victory generally went to the man who made the first move. Although the odds here were far from even, he figured he could use all the help he could get. With that in mind, he charged the giant, driving his head into the big man’s gut. He might as well have tried to push his skull through a meeting-house wall. Not only did the move fail to knock the wind out of his opponent, it barely set the man back a pace. He also left himself in a much more vulnerable position than he had anticipated.

The outlaw drove his knee directly toward Jake’s groin.

Jake deftly dodged the thrust, taking the hit in the thigh instead. The blow neatly served to establish the tone for the fight. Quick and dirty, just the way he liked it.

Unable to reach his initial target, the Mexican locked his beefy forearms around Jake’s chest and squeezed with all his might, until Jake felt sure his ribs would crack. He finally managed to break the lock and stepped back a pace, giving himself a moment to reassess his opponent. He feinted left, then threw a series of strong right-to-left hooks, smashing his fist into the other man’s jaw. The Mexican staggered back a pace but took the hits without flinching. The reaction proved what Jake had initially suspected: the giant was strong as an ox, but he had no speed or finesse.

Jake went in again, but the outlaw caught him off guard, sending a blinding punch crashing against his already tender ribs. Jake reeled from the impact, but it didn’t take him down. The two men flew against each other, exchanging a series of cruel, punishing blows.

From the corner of his eye, Jake caught the feminine blur of long golden-brown hair speeding toward the corral. Annie was making her move. He heard a rough shout, the crack of pistol fire, and the high whinnying of startled horses — followed by the thunder of furious hoof-beats echoing off into the distance.

She’d done it. Annie had gotten away, he thought, allowing himself a momentary surge of victory.

But the distraction, welcome as it was, cost him. His opponent let loose a fierce jab aimed at his skull. The sharp hook opened the skin above Jake’s left eye, sending a stream of blood gushing down his temple and momentarily blinding him. Seizing the opportunity, the Mexican hooked his foot around the back of Jake’s calf, catching Jake off balance and hurling him to the ground. The outlaw dove after him, but Jake managed to roll right, narrowly avoiding the giant’s crushing weight.

Jake wiped the blood from his eye and rose unsteadily to his feet, bracing himself for more. Much to his satisfaction, he saw that his opponent looked as bruised and bloodied as he felt himself.

Even better, he noted that the horse pen had been knocked open wide, and that Annie and Dulcie were nowhere to be seen. Although Santo and the Apache remained, both of them looking coldly furious, the knife-scarred outlaw was gone. Probably right on Annie’s tail, Jake surmised. While the thought wasn’t a pretty one, there was nothing he could do about it right now.

Outlaw Annie was on her own.

His opponent lumbered to his feet, breathing hard. The giant glared at Jake with a mixture of contempt and grudging respect, then his gaze shifted toward the Indian. The Mexican nodded once.

The Apache tossed the big man a knife.

So much for a fair fight. The Mexican lunged straight for Jake’s heart. Jake, who had learned knife fighting in the bayou country of Louisiana, turned his hip sharply and let the blade slip past him. Unfortunately the outlaw’s thrust wasn’t a complete miss. Jake felt the piercing sting of the knife’s razor-sharp edge as the blade skimmed his chest, slashing open his skin.

The Mexican lunged again. This time Jake grabbed his wrist, pitting his strength against his opponent’s as they struggled for control of the knife. The two men strained against each other, battling chest to chest. But despite the pressure he applied, Jake couldn’t wrest the knife free. Failing that tactic, he tried another. Stumbling over the ring of stones that edged the outlaw’s campfire, he let his knees buckle and hit the ground hard.

Sensing victory, the Mexican’s eyes glowed with triumph. His knife slashed through the air as he made a wicked lunge for Jake’s throat. But the outlaw only made it partway to his goal. Bringing himself to a half-standing position, Jake wrapped his fist around a rock and drove it into the giant’s groin. The outlaw let out a bellow of pain, then fell to his knees and doubled over. The blade slipped easily through his grasp.

Jake grabbed the knife without missing a beat. He plunged it into the giant’s belly and jerked the blade upward. The man’s eyes dilated wildly and a gurgling sound filled his throat. Blood gushed from his wound and spilled over ground. A shudder tore through him, then his head fell back and he gazed up at the sky, his eyes blank and unseeing.

Jake watched, sickened but resolute. One less man to go after Annie, he thought grimly.

The knife clutched firmly in his grasp, he pulled himself to his feet. Santo and the Apache stood a few yards away, their expressions dark and menacing.

Santo pointed his revolver directly at Jake’s chest. “Now it is time to watch your blood spill, gringo.”

The gunshot blast ripped through the air.

Jake’s hand instinctively flew to his chest, searching for what he knew would be a gaping, bloody wound. Instead he found nothing but a thinly torn line of skin from where the knife had grazed him. Nor did he experience the hot, searing pain he knew would accompany a gunshot wound at close range.

His astonished gaze shot back to Santo.

The outlaw’s eyes widened with shock, then a thin trickle of blood emerged from the corner of his mouth. He pitched forward without a sound and landed facedown in the dirt.

The roar of thundering hoof-beats snapped Jake’s head around. What greeted him was a sight he would not soon forget. Annabel Lee Foster charged back into camp like a gutsy, glorious, angel of wrath. Righteous intensity filled her eyes, and her small chin was tilted with fierce determination. Her golden-brown hair streamed about her shoulders in wild disarray. She gripped her reins tightly in her teeth; a pair of blazing guns filled her hands.

Jake quickly recovered from the shock of seeing her as the world exploded around him. Thick, acrid smoke filled the air. Bullets tore the sky and ricocheted through the camp. Annie fired at the Apache, while the knife-scarred outlaw — who was hot on Annie’s trail — fired at Annie, and the Apache aimed at Jake.

Jake lunged for Santo’s gun and joined the melee, sending a lump of hot lead into the knife-scarred outlaw’s leg. He fired his remaining shots at the Apache and missed, too hampered by the smoke and confusion to be effective. His gun empty, he yelled for Annie and motioned her toward him. Then he rolled for cover, dodging bullets as he lodged himself behind a dense outcropping of boulders.

Annie spurred her little mare on and raced to join him behind the makeshift shelter. She leapt off Dulcie’s back and crouched beside him. Wordlessly she passed him two unfamiliar cartridge belts — probably taken from the outlaw’s horses — and a set of holsters and guns that Jake instantly recognized as his own. A temporary calm settled over the camp as the outlaws scurried to find cover.

Jake gave her a cursory once-over. “You hurt?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

“What the hell are you doing back here? I thought I told you to ride.”

She scowled up at him. “In the first place, you don’t tell me what to do. In the second place, I’m not about to have your dead hide hanging over my clean conscience — not when things are finally starting to look good for me.”

Jake’s brows shot skyward. They had been robbed, cheated, left for dead, and shot at. “This is ‘things finally starting to look good’ for you?”

She shrugged. “More or less. Anyway, I had to come back.” She glanced toward the blanket where their possessions lay scattered about. “I’m not leaving without that deed.”

He directed his attention to the opposing cliff, watching the shadowy forms of the Apache and Scar Face as they positioned themselves for the fight. “I hope it’s worth dying for.”

Annie clicked open the circular chamber of her revolver and grabbed a handful of bullets. “If you’re half as good with your gun as you are at flappin’ your jaw, I won’t have to find out, now, will I?”

A reluctant smile touched Jake’s lips. “Now, there’s gratitude for you, darlin’. After everything I did for you—”

“Dammit. The chamber’s cracked.”

Jake glanced at her gun and frowned. He offered her one of his own, fully loaded and ready to fire. “Can you shoot with a .38?”

“I can, but I won’t hit anything. It’s too big for my hand.”

“A .32?”

“Better.”

He passed her Santo’s gun. She hefted it in her hand, testing the grip, then loaded the chamber. Apparently satisfied with the weapon, she tilted her head toward the outlaw camp. “You think you can cover me while I make a run for that blanket?” she asked.

“You can’t be serious.”

She tightened her lips in obstinate determination. “I ain’t leaving without that deed. I’m going to make a run for it — with or without your help.” She twisted up and peered over the top of their rocky shelter, scanning the distance to the blanket. “It’s just a few measly feet—”

A well-placed rifle shot seared the air just inches above her ear.

She jerked back down, hitting the ground hard as she landed unceremoniously on her rear.

“Change your mind, darlin’?”

Annie sent him a withering glare, dusted off her clothing, and resumed her crouched position. She stewed in silence for a long moment, finally admitting in a small voice, “I reckon I could use your help, mister.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Her expression darkened, reflecting both embarrassment and mulish obstinacy. “You gonna help me or not?”

“You any good with that gun?” he parried.

“I usually hit what I’m aiming at.”

Good enough, Jake thought, mulling over a plan. As near as he could tell, they had three immediate objectives: one, to secure their horses and belongings; two, to kill or wound the remaining outlaws before the outlaws got them; and three, to get away alive. Although he normally preferred subtlety in battle, this situation seemed to call for a direct frontal assault.

“You cover me, I’ll go for the blanket,” he said.

“Why you?”

“For one thing, I can run a hell of a lot faster than you can while someone’s firing a gun at my head. Trust me, darlin’, I’ve had plenty of experience in that area. For another, I need to get near that pen if I want to bust out Weed. We won’t make it more than ten miles riding double on Dulcie.”

He turned and gestured across camp. “The Apache’s over there at the base of those cliffs. Scar Face tucked himself away behind that pack of cotton-woods. He’s got a slug of lead in his leg. With any luck, that’ll take the edge off his aim. I’ll move out on three. Any questions?”

Much to Jake’s relief and amazement, Annie shook her head without further argument. “On three?”

“Three.”

“One, two… three!” Jake shoved his hat down tight and leapt out from behind their shelter. Annie jerked to her feet, her gun blazing. Bullets instantly tore up the ground around him, kicking up clouds of dust as the outlaws returned fire.

Jake swerved and pivoted, moving in a precarious, zigzagging run as he dodged flashes of lead. He ducked low, and a well-placed bullet nearly tore off his right ear.
Shit!
he thought, jerking left. He had to be stupider than a greenhorn cowhand on his first Saturday night drunk to even think about trying this.

After what seemed an infinity, he reached the blanket that held their possessions. He dove for it, grabbed the corners, and rolled. He brought his gun into play at the same time, firing at the base of the cliff as he slid across the dirt. He heard a cry of pain and knew that by sheer luck he had hit his mark. Whether the hit had been disabling was another matter, but he didn’t intend to stay around long enough to find out.

Moving from a roll to a crouch, Jake tossed the blanket over his back and broke into a dead run for the pen. He let out a sharp whistle for Weed, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that the outlaws had been too lazy to unsaddle him. He swung onto Weed’s back and looped the makeshift blanket bag over the saddle horn. He leaned down low over the bay’s neck and spurred toward Annie, relieved to see that she was saddled and ready to ride.

“Move!” he shouted.

She fired a few shots for cover, scattering the horses that had remained in the pen. Then she spurred Dulcie on, urging the mare into a thundering gallop.

The sound of a high-pitched, frightened meow rang shrilly through the air. Jake glanced over his shoulder, spotting a familiar bundle of white fur directly behind them.

He drew in a sharp breath, hoping Annie hadn’t heard the cat. Even if she had, he reasoned, she wouldn’t be fool enough to —

Annie drew Dulcie to an abrupt stop and whirled around.

“Dammit, Annie, you can’t—”

She flew past him without a word, her face intent, her eyes panicked. Just as she bent over Dulcie’s neck to pick up Cat, a shot cracked through the air. A shuddering jerk seemed to tear through her frame, and for one heart-stopping moment, it looked as though she’d been shot. But she didn’t fall, nor did she stop. Moving with more grace than Jake would have believed possible, she leaned down low and scooped up Cat. Then she whirled around, spurring Dulcie toward him.

Jake dug his heels into Weed’s flanks and let her take the lead, firing off a few warning shots behind them as they tore out.

They rode hard and fast, with nothing but silence between them, listening for the sound of men giving chase. The longer they went without hearing anything, the more Jake’s mind was eased. Scar Face was wounded, and the Apache might have been hit as well. Even if they were able to give chase, it would take them at least an hour to round up their horses.

He glanced over at Annie. She rode stiffly, staring straight ahead, Cat clutched tightly in her grasp. Delayed shock, he suspected. “You all right?” he called.