Jillian Hart (19 page)

They could survive a hard rain, as far as the crops went. A good rain would turn the rangeland green and give the cattle more fat. A hailstorm could ruin the oats and corn, though, even the grass. Tinder dry from the high winds and hot sun of the past weeks, the golden meadows stretched all the way to the tree line. Lightning this time of year could be dangerous.

Jack threw down his pitchfork. "Lissa. This load's ready."

"Looks like this is as much as we can do." She pointed toward the sky.

"Damn." Jack tugged off his hat. "All right, men. Time to head in. Let's hope some rain falls with that lightning."

A bullwhip of light snapped across angry clouds. Fire streaked from the sky to the earth, the strike miles away. They were safe for now. Jack wasn't taking any chances. The fences were high and sturdy, so the cattle, no matter how they ran, were safe. He just wanted his men and family indoors and away from the approaching storm.

"Aren't you coming in?" Lissa placed her hand on his—leather glove to leather glove, yet he could still feel the heat of her.

"As soon as I send in the second wagon." He lifted a hand toward the other team working the far end of the half-mown field. "You be careful. Let the men unload. I want you safe in the house."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry." She looked exhausted, but beautiful—always beautiful. "You keep out of the way of that lightning."

His heart ached just looking at her. "I'll do my best."

She swept up into the wagon seat, her skirts snapping in the heady wind. With a wave, she gathered the reins and released the brake. The horses pulled, the wheels squeaked, and the two ranch hands jumped onto the back of the wagon and lay down in the bed of soft mown hay.

"Arcada." Jack watched the wagon's progress out of the corner of his eye.

"We're getting ready to head in, boss." With Will still recuperating, the young immigrant had stepped handily into the foreman's shoes, and Jack appreciated his knowledge and hard work. "That dry lightning heads this way, we could be in big trouble."

"I know. All we can do is wait and watch." Jack listened to the approaching thunder, cracking across the silent, waiting land. Sheets of dark rain fell like great gray columns, never touching the earth. Streaks of fire flashed against the twilight sky.

The storm followed them in. Wind tore through the trees, bending the limber tips of pine and fir, sending leaves and branches to the ground. They left the wagons loaded in the barn and rubbed down the horses while Lissa disappeared into the house, soon emerging carrying a steaming coffeepot and a tray of fresh strawberry tarts. The men were content to bunk down and wait. Jack sent Arcada to the neighboring ranch to see if Hans Johanson, still recovering from a bullet wound, needed any help.

"You're a good man." Lissa smiled up at him when he held open the kitchen door. "Hans is still having a hard time getting around."

"Not so good. Just trying to be neighborly." Jack kicked off his boots, dirt-caked from the field, before following her into the kitchen. "A few other ranchers and I are going to cut his fields as soon as we're done with ours."

The house felt empty without Chad and his puppy running to greet him.

She took down a single plate, then grabbed a hot pad to lift a second pot of coffee from the stove.

"You're not eating?" He laid both hands on her slim shoulders.

She shook her head, silken curls tumbling over his knuckles. "I'm not hungry. I may have some coffee, though."

He caught up the glistening curls in one hand, then leaned forward to kiss the back of her neck. She shivered at his touch. "You're pale. I want you to go to bed early tonight."

"Without you?"

"I can always wake you up later." He laughed against the sweet luxury of her skin and hair. He buried his face against her and breathed deeply. She filled him like air, sweet and light, substantial.

She stiffened, and he moved away, turned her around so he could read her face in the half-light—so shadowed, so serious.

"I'm pregnant" She whispered the words.

He could only stare, could just manage to breathe and remain standing. "Pregnant?"

She nodded.

It wasn't surprising, not really, considering all the love-making they'd been doing.

True, he didn't know who the hell he was, but now it didn't matter anymore. Whatever life he'd had was lost to him now. He had a wife and son depending on him, and now a new child. Those were the things that bound a man's heart and determined his road in life, not his past, not whatever he'd left behind.

"Are you unhappy?" She whispered those words, too.

"No. Just thinking." He cupped her jaw with both hands, cradling her dear face. "I guess I did my duty pretty darn well. I was hoping for extended privileges."

"That can be arranged." A smile touched her lips and he kissed her hard, so she would know what she meant to him. Yet he felt it, that holding back of her heart, even while she held him so tightly.

"Watch the storm with me." He wanted her by his side, wanted to watch the wind tangle her hair and warm her skin.

"Gladly."

She didn't light a lamp, so he took both cups in hand and followed her through the darkening room. She tugged open the front door. Outside, night fell with an odd silence. There were no owls hooting, no calls of coyotes on the hunt. Just the clash of thunder rumbling, nearer.

"It's beautiful," she breathed as one bolt of lightning broke apart over and over again.

He needed her so much, his only light in a vast darkness. He pulled her to his chest, and she leaned against him willingly, holding on, her small hands clutching fistfuls of his shirt.

They watched the storm approach in silence, felt the powerful blast of wind and saw branches tumble from treetops and strike the ground with snappy fury. They smelled the rain that did not fall as lightning flashed and then thunder crashed overhead.

Lissa tipped her head back, mesmerized by the display of shining, then disappearing, light. The world was so different tonight. She'd said the word she was afraid to believe in, afraid to believe.
Pregnant.

She'd had her share of problems, had lost babies born too early. As thunder crashed and lightning struck again and again, she hoped this time would be different.

"Jack!" Arcada's voice cut through the darkness. His horse skidded to a stop, kicking up gravel. "On the way back from Johanson's, I saw smoke. We've got a wildfire on our hands."

"Alert the men. Does Johanson know?"

"It was on his land, but the wind's driving it this way. I rode back to tell him just in case the winds shift."

"How big is the fire?"

"Big enough. Jack, are you coming?"

"Yes." His hands caught hers. "I want you to stay with the house. There's probably no real threat, but I have to go make sure."

He released her, but she wasn't the kind of woman to stay, who sat home quietly when her land and her husband could be in danger.

"I'm coming, too. Arcada, saddle up Charlie for me."

"Yes, ma'am." The ranch hand's mount was already kicking up gravel as he galloped toward the barn in the darkness.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jack demanded as she ran to catch up with him.

"Coming with you."

"Not on your life." He spun to face her, standing tall, the receding storm shivering in the sky behind him, limning him with a strange glow. "You just told me you are pregnant. Out in those fields battling a fire is no place for you."

"But I'm more than capable—"

"I know." His voice warmed like a touch, tempted like a kiss. "It's probably nothing. The men and I will have it put out in no time. Stay here so I know you're safe. So I don't have to worry."

"But you may need help. Fires spread so fast in these winds—"

"No." He kissed her, then, and she felt the solid wall of his chest, the steely determination to protect her, as he saw it, from harm.

This was no man she had to help, had to worry about in the dark of night. He could defeat any foe.

"You and this baby are important to me," he whispered in her ear, low and rich and tempting. "You're everything, Lissa. My whole world. Please, do this for me. Stay in the house. I'll be back in time to kiss you to sleep. And more."

She didn't like letting him go, depending on him to fight any more of her battles, but he was already gone, swallowed by the night shadows and the howling wind. Hard drops of rain, just a few, thudded to the ground at her feet, dropped on her head and face.

Just what they needed—a hard rain. Now, if it would just keep falling...

By the time Jack reached the barn, smoke scented the air. Even in the darkness he could see the outline of the fire, glowing low along the ground—widespread, heading their way.

"I want a twenty foot strip cleared up there, along the crest of that ridge. If the fire comes this way, maybe we can keep it from the house and the barn."

"What about the crops and cattle?" Arcada asked.

"We can't save everything. Not unless the wind shifts." Jack fumbled with the harness. Charlie stood nervously scenting the smoke.

"What if it keeps coming?" McLeod asked.

"Then we pray." He sent the youngest hand for lanterns. They would need light to see by if they were going to keep plowing.

The last buckle slipped closed beneath his fingers, and Jack grabbed Charlie by the bit. "Come on, boy." He kept his voice low, soothing the big horse as they approached the burning forest.

The plow skidded along the hard, dry ground, then dug in, turning over rich earth and ripe grass, the dank musty smell thick in the air. He turned over another chunk of earth, then another.

"The rain's stopping." Arcada handed out shovels and axes. "Bad news, boss."

"I know." The fury of the storm remained, tensed in the air like a punch waiting, fist clenched. But it did not strike. Damn the wind. It was blowing hard and southward, directly toward the house. "Tell Lissa to start—"

"She's already at the well." Arcada pointed through the darkness. "Drawing water. We can wet gunnysacks. That will help with the spot fires."

Jack agreed. He kept shoveling. Sweat dripped off him and his muscles screamed from an already long day of hard work, but all he could think of was Lissa. She was depending on him. Even though she didn't say it, finding out he wasn't John Murray had changed things between them. She didn't want to depend on him. He could be anyone—even the outlaw Sheriff Palmer had mentioned.

Clearing the wide strip of land took time. The men worked hard, but the fire, driven into a storm by the wind, advanced like a malevolent army, a front of flame and destruction that glowed orange-red in the night. Jack felt its heat, saw the falling black ash, and pushed Charlie harder.

"Jack!" Lissa's voice. He dropped the reins, already running before he knew what was wrong. The flicker of lantern light brushed low, but enough to see her trying to lift the heavy wooden ladder. "An ember hit the roof."

He saw the flickering flame, a single tongue of light. He hauled the heavy ladder out of Lissa's grip and leaned it against the eaves.

"Here." She pressed a pail handle against his fingers. He heard the water slosh as he raced up the rungs. Embers fell from the sky, shivering like snowflakes in a wind, glowing an eerie shadow of orange.

"The roof's on fire." She followed him up with her own pail.

He knelt before the crackling blaze at the peak, where the first ember had found a niche to grow in, and emptied the water. Smoke tickled his nose, ached in his lungs. He grabbed Lissa's pail and dumped that out, too.

"Wet the roof and keep it wet," he told her. "I have to help the men."

"I'll be all right." Her gaze fastened on his. Even in the darkness he felt it, knew the solid strength of her. She might be afraid, as he was, but she didn't run, she didn't faint or make excuses. She worked as hard as any man. His heart swelled as he watched her. He would do anything for her—anything in his power.

"If this gets out of hand, call me."

She nodded, full of so much gentle strength. He hated leaving her, knew he had to. Smoke already choked the air. The fire, a swirling mass of dancing flame, swept close to the break.

Already, the men were running the line, wetting gunny-sacks in the water trough and slapping out spot fires. Embers whirled in the air. Anything they touched ignited. He joined the men by grabbing up a sack and dousing it in water. Plenty of spot fires burned, and he began beating out one after another.

"The wind's shifting!" He called to the men, the snap and roar of the racing fire drowning his words. The balls of flame rolled just off to the right, along the ground like tumbleweeds, and higher in the treetops, raining down flaming debris.

"It's heading toward the house!" Arcada shouted.

"Lissa!" Already Jack was running. Smoke clogged his throat, gripped his lungs, yet still he ran. The fire leaped ahead of him. He couldn't catch up. He couldn't beat it. "Lissa!"

He couldn't see her in the smoke and the darkness. He couldn't hear her above the snapping crackle of the flames and the roaring inferno of the wind. "Lissa!"

"Jack!" Her voice rang out, leading him to her. She was still on the roof, beating out embers stubbornly taking hold in the cedar shingles. "The trees are on fire. Look out!"

Chapter Thirteen

He heard the crack of breaking wood, ducked as a limb the thickness of his arm crashed to the roof, where he'd been standing. Sparks and flame shot out, greedily consuming the roof.

"We're losing the house!" she shouted.

There was a bigger problem. Jack saw it at once. A wall of flame now separated him from Lissa, trapping her at the peak of the roof. She just kept beating those flames, tears of anger rough in her breathing.

"Jack! I need more water."

"Lissa." He kicked the burning bough. It broke apart and rolled off the eaves. Someone down below shouted, running to put out the sparks, but he only saw his wife, so determined, surrounded by flames. "Lissa."

"Damned if I'm going to give up." She smothered another growing flame with her wet blanket "I lost my husband and my babies. I lost that blasted John Murray. I'll be damned if I'm going to lose this house."