Flame Page 4

  It was midday. She nodded to a few people who glanced her way and smiled as they passed by. Thankfully, a woman dressed in full mourning clothes wouldn’t be expected to stop and chat. A few faces seemed familiar, Pa had never been one to socialize much, and her mother, when she did live here, thought the local population beneath her, hence unworthy of anything except a cursory acknowledgement when it couldn’t be avoided.

  Several dusty, sweat stained horses were hitched outside the Charging Steer saloon. She hurried past. How many fallen women were forced to work there?

  Laura entered the livery and was assailed by the smell of fresh hay and horses. She sniffed appreciably, how she had missed all of this. George was still there, wearing a leather apron and banging away at a glowing horseshoe. He plunged it into a tub of water, the sudden hissing noise made her start.

  “Howdy Ma’am,” he said.

  “Howdy, George. It’s me, Laura Prentice.” She flung back the black veil and the shocked expression on his face would have been comical at any other time.

  “Miss Laura! What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come back here to live. My mother remarried and returned to England, and I didn’t want to go.”

  “On ya Pa’s ranch?”

  “Yes, I hope so. Is anyone living there?”

  “Nope, not since your Pa passed.”

  “Are ya in mourning? Who died?”

  She told him about the fictitious fiancé, hating how glibly the lies fell from her lips.

  “Sorry.”

  “Thank you.” She gave a huge sigh. “I thought the solitude of the ranch would help me forget.”

  “A mighty lonely place for a gal to live, though.”

  “I’m eighteen now. I know there won’t be any stock there. I’ve left my trunk at the stage depot. I need to hire a wagon and horse to get me out to the ranch to work out what I need to buy.”

  “There’s a small wagon someone left and never collected, the canvas top is missing, but it’s sound enough otherwise. One horse can pull it if it ain’t too heavily loaded. I’ve got a roan with a bit of draught horse in him, he’d be suitable.”

  “Thank you. Can I hire it for the time being until I check the ranch out and see what I’ll need then I’ll come into town tomorrow or the next day? How much?”

  “Pay me when ya come back, Miss Laura. I’ll help you hitch up. Haven’t forgotten how to drive, have ya?”

  “I don’t think so.” She laughed. “As long as the horse is a quiet one.”

  He grinned. “Very docile, too lazy to be anything else.”

  She smiled at George as he helped her hitch the roan to the wagon, probably would have been called a wagonette she surmised, perfect for her needs, though. The sides and back were about a foot high.

  “Tell ya what.” He helped her up into the driver’s seat. “I’ll come to the stage depot to make sure ya haven’t forgotten what ya Pa taught ya. He was a hard man, always honest and fair, though.”

  This was the most conversation she could ever remember having with him. “Giddup.” She flicked the reins a couple of times before the horse moved. He certainly wasn’t a racy beast; slow and steady suited her until she got her confidence back. At the stage depot, George helped her load up her trunk.

  “What ya got in there, rocks?”

  She laughed. “No. Crockery and a few utensils from the tea shop.”

  She dropped George off before driving to the general store to buy enough supplies to keep her going for a few days. The man at the general store was a stranger, suited her, of course, no need to speak except put in an order.

  George had suggested she call in and let the sheriff know she was back and to make sure it was safe to live on the ranch. She didn’t want to arrive out there to find desperadoes in possession of it. Pa’s gun and holster worn under her black silk coat was a comfort. Before leaving the ranch she had been a good shot, accurate rather than fast.

  Mother had refused to let her take much from the ranch after Pa’s funeral, although she had wrapped a few things in oilskins and hidden them in a cavity on the floor of the barn. Hopefully, they would still be there, save her buying new ones.

  She had to be frugal with her money until she became more self-sufficient or obtained a job. What kind of work she would be able to get, she had no idea, but, optimism breeds success. Another one of Pa’s sayings.

  Sheriff Davies was still there, a little older and more weather beaten than before. As she walked up to his desk, he swung his feet down and stood.

  “What can I do for you, Ma’am?”

  “It’s me, Sheriff Davies, Laura Prentice.” She flung back the veil.

  “What you doin’ here, gal?”

  “I’m heading out to Pa’s ranch. George suggested I check in with you first to make sure it’s safe and no one is living there.”

  “Ain’t no-one there as far as I know. Probably dilapidated now and…”

  “Good. I plan on living there.”

  He scratched his head. “Not sure that’s a good idea, mighty isolated out there.”

  “I can look after myself.”

  “You’re wearing mourning clothes. Did your Ma die?”

  “No, um my betrothed died a few weeks before our wedding.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m wearing this as a mark of respect.” You’re becoming a consummate liar, Laura Prentice. Another sin to add to her mounting list. St. Peter was sure to turn her away from the pearly gates. Hopefully, she would be so old when this happened she wouldn’t care.

  “I’ve got all the paperwork for the ranch. Pa owned it outright.”

  “It’s legally yours, Miss Laura, I know your father left it to you in his Will. I was one of the witnesses. I still don’t think it’s a good idea you living out there alone.”

  “I’m not afraid, Pa used to go away leaving me sometimes for three or four days at a time. My mother has returned to England so I’m free to do as I please, and I want to return home to the ranch.”

  It wasn’t a complete lie, she had been happy there. The tea house life had never really appealed to her. Snooty clients, and a mother who didn’t bother to hide the fact she didn’t particularly want her there.

  Didn’t stop her from making me do all the dirty work while she played the lady of the manor, handing around tea and pastries.

  “All right, gal, I’m glad you told me about going out there.”

  Laura took her leave and walked out into the sunshine, climbed aboard the wagon and left town.

  ****

  Two hours later, she pulled into the Lazy T ranch. Obviously a nail had fallen out, leaving the sign dangling on one side of the arched gateway. The writing, though faded, was still legible.

  The grass was dry and brown, nearer to the creek it would be greener. That’s the way it had always been.

  The track leading to the cabin had tufts of dry grass on it, traversable even if there were a few ridges where the winter rains had flowed across it. The cabin looked serene in the afternoon sun, nestling against a backdrop of the Black Hills.

  The corral had lost a few cross beams, the barn and cabin were as solid as when Pa built them over twenty years ago. It had been Indian country then. The local Lakota tribe had never caused him any trouble, probably because most of the white settlers hadn’t as yet arrived, and Pa was always prepared to give them a steer or two when the hunting had been poor. Live and let live had been another of his sayings. He always had plenty of sayings; that had been the way he lived his life. The one mistake he made was marrying a woman who wouldn’t or couldn’t live out here.

  The front porch roof sagged a little as one of the posts had snapped off. She pulled the wagon up in the front yard. Impossible for her to unload the trunk on her own unless she took out a few of the heavy items first. Walking over to the door she turned the handle. It wasn’t locked, she didn’t even know whether there was a key or not.

  Stepping over the threshold, the musty odor of emptiness assailed her nostrils. D
ust and cobwebs covered everything, otherwise it was in good condition. The parlor and kitchen were combined, and there was one bedroom her parents used to share. Her small bedroom was a low roofed loft area under the front rafters, accessed by a ladder behind the door.

  The large bear skin rug covering the wooden floor was covered in dust and leaves. Dirty, dusty but livable was her first impression.

  After she unpacked the wagon, she unharnessed the horse and led him to an enclosed paddock. Changing into a brown skirt she lugged buckets of water from the creek to a horse trough so the roan could drink, then proceeded to bring water to the cabin. A well was near the back door; the rope had rotted through and the bucket was nowhere to be seen. That would be a job for tomorrow.

  The dilapidated woodshed contained plenty of cut logs. She carried several into the cabin and lit the fire. She set Pa’s old coffee pot on to boil, also a saucepan of water for cleaning purposes.

  Laura worked hard for the rest of the day and into the evening. The mattress and covers on her parent’s bed were dry if a little musty, but she had brought freshly laundered linen from the shop. In the morning she would check the barn to see if what she had stored away was still there. No reason to believe they wouldn’t be. It certainly didn’t look as if anyone had been here since Pa’s passing.

  ****

  Within three weeks, Laura had everything up and running. The cabin was cleaned to her exacting standards, she had a house cow, a dozen chickens and a sturdy chestnut mare to ride.

  Chapter Five

  Hot searing pain speared through Cal’s chest with every breath he took. He felt as if a red hot poker gouged his flesh, slowly twisting and turning to increase his torment. Sweat pouring into his eyes blurred his vision. His head and body burned with such intensity he wondered why he didn’t burst into flames.

  “This is your first taste of hell, Caleb Donnelly,” he muttered. “Get used to it.” At least he had sent the Tolson brothers on ahead to meet Satan. The fires of hell were probably already burning those evil varmints to a crisp.

  A warm breath fanned his face, followed by the fleeting touch of soft hands stroking his aching forehead. His eyes creaked open and an angel’s face floated above his. She had milky white skin and auburn hair he noticed through wavering, misty eyes. A whiff of lavender infused his nostrils. Did angels smell of lavender? She reminded him of a soiled dove he had met a few months ago, a red-haired beauty who had stolen from him. It couldn’t be her, unless she had died.

  He didn’t see this angel’s wings, and she wore blue rather than white. There had to be a mistake. Why had he gone to heaven instead of hell? His life was not without blemish. He had killed a dozen or more men, but never shot a man in the back, didn’t need to when he was lightning fast on the draw. As a boy, he had stolen food after escaping the clutches of his drunken parents. Maybe he wasn’t evil enough for hell, was hardly suitable for heaven, either.

  “Here, drink this.” The soft voice caressed him.

  Water trickling down his throat washed away the dusty dryness.

  “I have to stop the bleeding and get you home,” she murmured.

  He had never really had a home. An angel’s home was in heaven and he would willingly go there if she wanted him to. He had no-one on earth to care about.

  ****

  Laura glanced into the man’s ashen face, another couple of inches to the left and the bullet would have pierced his heart. Blood oozed from his forehead, his eyes were swollen and black. Had someone kicked him in the face? It seemed likely.

  His horse grazed nearby, obviously well trained as he had deposited his master near a clump of trees, thus saving him from the searing heat that baked the road.

  The man wore his guns slung low over his hips. A gunfighter perhaps? She eased both guns out of the holsters and dashed over to her buckboard. She threw them under the seat before lowering the tailboard.

  A black Stetson lay on the ground beside him, dusty and sweat stained like his clothes. She didn’t have the strength to get him up on the front seat, although with her help he might be able to drag himself into the back.

  She caught the trailing reins of his foam-flecked horse and secured it to the buckboard. That was the easy part, now she had to somehow move the man.

  Her legs trembled as her anxiety escalated. What if he was an outlaw, a killer on the run? Dare she risk taking him to her ranch where she lived alone?

  By the time she rode for help and returned he would be dead. She had removed his guns, his rifle was on his horse, and he was too weak to attack her, loss of blood and dehydration had seen to that.

  “Stop dithering,” she muttered, “you can’t leave him here to die.”

  She leaned over and brushed a damp tendril of dark hair from his forehead. His breathing was harsh and labored his ashen face shiny with sweat.

  “You have to stand up.” She tapped his cheek. He didn’t move, so she slapped him. “Wake up.”

  He groaned, although his eyes remained closed. By the looks of the swelling and bruising he probably couldn’t open them properly. She hated having to grab him by the shoulders. He cussed with pain.

  “You have to get up so I can take you home.”

  “Home?” his husky voice wasn’t uncouth. “I’m not going anywhere, angel, I’m staying here in heaven with you.”

  The man was obviously delirious. “I’m Laura.”

  “Laura the angel?”

  “No, just Laura.” If only she was just Laura. She dragged him into a sitting position, replaced his hat and propped him against a tree.

  “I’m Cal.”

  She dashed over to the buckboard and drove it up as close as she could. Squatting down she grabbed his good arm and draped it around her neck. “On the count of three, try and get up. My buckboard is only a few steps away. One, two, three.” He groaned with pain as she dragged him to his feet and bent double with the effort, he cussed as she half carried, half dragged him to the buckboard. He slumped against the tailboard, and with a lot of cussing and groaning managed to get on board. He blacked out once more, better for him this way, the pain must be excruciating. She placed his hat over his face to protect it from the sun.

  She drove to the Lazy T at a steady pace. Serene against a backdrop of mountains, the split log cabin welcomed them.

  She clambered down from the buckboard and darted inside to get a flask of whisky.

  “Drink this.” He took a couple of swallows and coughed and spluttered, but it revived him enough to let her help him into the cabin. With a groan he sank to his knees.

  “Only a few more steps, come on,” she pleaded, “then you can rest on a nice soft bed.”

  “With you, angel?”

  “No.” She had shared a bed with Alex, and that was enough to last a lifetime. Once she got Cal on to the bed, she unbuckled his gun belt and removed it. His boots, though dusty and slightly worn at the heels, were of good quality. He certainly didn’t look like a saddle tramp.

  Hurrying to the fire place in the kitchen, she dropped a couple of logs on to the glowing embers. A shower of sparks flew out with a hissing noise. She hung the kettle over the fire. She didn’t go into town often, only when she needed supplies. Was it fate that took her there today?

  Gathering up a towel, clean white sheeting, her sewing kit and a tin of salve she said. “What’s your full name?

  “Caleb Donnelly.”

  “Now Caleb, I’m going to clean and stitch your wound, then you can rest.”

  “I’m called Cal. Thank you, angel.”

  “I’m not an angel, my name is Laura Prentice.”

  “You look like an angel to me.” His chuckle ended abruptly with a gasp of pain.

  “Here, have another swig of whisky. I’m going to try and raise you up on the pillow. Ready?”

  He took a couple of gulps and spluttered. “How can you drink this rot-gut stuff?”

  “Purely for medicinal purposes.”

  She eased him out of his bloodstaine
d waistcoat and cut his shirt off.

  “Darn it woman, you’ve ruined my shirt.”

  “It’s soaked with blood and that was the easiest way to get rid of it.” She tossed it on the floor. After washing his wound in warm salty water, she sewed it up, slathered it with salve and re-bandaged it.

  “You’re lucky, cowboy, the bullet went clean through. Don’t be bashful I’ve seen a man’s bare chest before.” But not one like this, tanned, muscular and smooth, with whorls of dark body hair.

  “I can’t see. Have I been blinded?” Panic edged his voice.

  “Your eyes are so bruised and swollen you can’t see out of them, that’s all. I think I should bandage them. They’re even more swollen now than when I found you. Have you been kicked in the face?”

  “Punched and kicked. As I rode off one sonofabitch shot me.”

  “No more talking, you need to rest.” She gently sponged the dust, grime and blood from his eyes and face. He would be lucky not to lose his sight.

  Cal fell into a fitful sleep and her gaze rested on him. Now he was cleaned up he was a handsome man in a rugged kind of way. His overlong hair was dark and curling, his jaw and chin covered with black stubble. She had no idea what color his eyes were.

  She put the coffee pot on. Her stomach grumbled with hunger so she cut a couple of slices off the loaf of bread she had baked yesterday.

  While he slept she unloaded her supplies, unhitched her own and Cal’s horse and led them to the corral.

  Back at the cabin she dragged Cal’s saddle on to the porch. He obviously travelled light. There was a bedroll, saddle bags and a rifle, nothing else whatsoever to give any indication of who he was or where he came from.

  She checked in on him, he slept now, his breathing no longer harsh. In a week or so he would be fit to ride, to return to whatever it was that he did before. Why did her heart plummet?