“Where’s Fronteras?” Lucas asked as he gently placed Dee on the wagon bed. She didn’t move.
“Here.”
“Put him on the wagon, too.”
Two of his men lifted one of the wounded and laid him on the wagon. Lucas saw the Mexican’s dark eyes open. “Is she all right?” he asked huskily.
“She’s hurt,” Lucas replied, his voice tight. “Fronteras, you have a place on my ranch for the rest of your life if you want it.”
Luis managed a semblance of a smile, then his eyes closed again.
“Will, get them to the doc. I’ll be along in a few minutes.” Lucas stepped back. William nodded and slapped the reins against the horse’s back.
Slowly Lucas turned his head to look at the Bar B men. Killing rage was bubbling in his veins, and it was cold, ice cold. Kyle Bellamy stood with his men, his head down and his arms hanging loose at his sides.
Lucas wasn’t aware of moving, but suddenly Bellamy’s shirt was knotted in his big fist. The man looked up, and Lucas’s powerful right arm cocked back, then drove his iron-hard fist into Bellamy’s face.
He had never before taken joy in fighting, but he felt savage satisfaction every time his fists thudded into Bellamy. He beat the man to the ground, then pulled him up and beat him some more. He kept seeing Dee’s blood-soaked body, and he hit Bellamy even harder, feeling ribs crack as he drove his fists into the man’s sides and midsection. Bellamy made no effort to fight back, merely raising his arms to try to block some of the blows. That didn’t incline Lucas toward mercy.
Finally Bellamy pitched forward and lay still, and one of the Double C men caught Lucas’s arm as he started for him again. “No point in it, boss,” the man said. “He can’t feel a thing.”
Lucas halted and stared down at the motionless man at his feet. His face was unrecognizable, but Lucas didn’t feel the satisfaction of vengeance. His rage was so deep that even killing Bellamy wouldn’t ease it.
He hadn’t promised Tillie that he wouldn’t kill Bellamy, but he owed her. If she hadn’t ridden her heart out to reach him, Dee would have died alone in her cabin. He let his hands drop.
“What do we do with them?” one of the men asked.
Lucas growled. There wasn’t any use in taking them into town; they hadn’t broken any of the laws within the marshal’s jurisdiction. Unless he was willing to string them all up right now there was nothing to be done. “Let them go,” he said.
He looked at the Bar B men, and his voice was almost a snarl when he said, “Get off this land, you bastards, and take your scum with you. If any of you ever feel brave enough to attack a lone woman again, I swear to God I’ll make you think hell is paradise compared to what I’ll do to you before you die. Is that clear?”
The Bar B men answered with sullen mutters. Lucas went to his horse and mounted. If he didn’t leave, he was likely to kill them all anyway.
It was full dark, and the moon hadn’t yet risen, but the light from the countless stars was enough to let him see the road. He rode as fast as he dared and caught up with the wagon just before it got to town.
Doc Pendergrass and his wife, Etta, swiftly went to work on Dee. Luis Fronteras had been put in another room, and he was deemed less critical since he was still conscious and Dee wasn’t. Lucas was pushed from the room as soon as he had placed Dee on the table, and he paced back and forth like a caged animal.
Tillie slipped in the door. Though the saloon would be busy now that it was night, she was wearing a dark green dress with long sleeves and a high neckline rather than the short, gaudy outfit she wore when working. Her face was very pale, but her expression was calm. “Did you get there in time?” she asked.
Lucas took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. I hope. She’s cut up pretty bad from the glass where they shot the windows out, and she’s lost a lot of blood.”
“But they didn’t—”
“No. She was still holding them off when we got there.”
He hadn’t realized how taut she had been until he saw her subtly relax. Her enormous brown eyes never left his face. “Kyle?” she whispered.
“I beat the hell out of him.”
She flinched, then controlled herself again. “Thank you, Lucas.”
He shook his head. “No. She’d be dead now if it hadn’t been for you.”
“And Luis Fronteras. Is he all right?”
“He’s hurt, but he’ll make it.”
She stood with her head bent for a minute, then sighed and straightened. She squeezed his arm in a gentle caress before she left.
It was over an hour before Doc Pendergrass came out, and he firmly shut the door behind him when Lucas started forward. “I got all the bleeding stopped,” Doc said. “Etta’s cleaning her up now.”
“Is she conscious?”
“Not really. She roused up a little a couple of times but drifted out again. Sleep’s the best thing for her right now. I’ll tell you more after I take care of Fronteras.”
Lucas sat down with his elbows propped on his knees and his head hanging forward. He needed to see her, to reassure himself that she was all right.
It didn’t take the doctor as long with Luis as it had with Dee. He was out again in fifteen minutes. “Stitched up and sleeping,” Doc said tiredly. “He’ll be all right, probably up and around in a couple of days.”
“What about Dee?” Lucas asked in a hard voice.
Doc sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was a slim, good-looking man in his early forties, but right now weariness made him look ten years older. “There were a lot of cuts. She’s had a bad shock to her system. She’s going to be a very sick woman for several days, feverish and weak.”
“I want to take her to the ranch. Is it safe to move her?”
Doc looked up in surprise, then comprehension showed in his face. Like everyone else in town, he had thought Lucas connected with Olivia Millican. Lucas Cochran and Dee Swann . . . well, well. “No,” he finally answered. “Not for a couple of days, maybe longer. It’d be better for her to stay here with Etta to look after her anyway.”
Lucas’s face was hard. “When she’s well enough to travel I’m taking her to the ranch.” There was a part of him that wouldn’t relax until he had her safe under his roof. Until the day he died he would never forget how he had felt when he had first seen her soaked in her own blood.
16
LUIS WAS HURT. OLIVIA DIDN’T HEAR ABOUT WHAT HAD happened until the next morning, when Beatrice Padgett visited and was relating, in shocked tones, the events of the day before to Honora. “. . . and one of Mr. Bellamy’s men, a Mr. Fronteras—I believe he must be a Mexican—decided to help Dee hold them off, and he was shot, too.”
Olivia made a muffled sound of shock. Honora and Beatrice looked toward her, and Honora quickly got to her feet at the sight of her daughter’s white face. “Sit down, dear,” she said, urging Olivia toward a chair. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
But Olivia pulled back, her eyes full of anguish. “Where—where is he?” she gasped. “Mr. Fronteras. Where is he?”
“Why, at Dr. Pendergrass’s, of course. Mr. Cochran took both him and Dee to the doctor’s to be tended,” Beatrice answered. “That saloon girl, the one called Tillie, fetched Mr. Cochran to help. Isn’t that the strangest thing? I wonder why she rode all the way out to the Double C.”
Olivia whirled and ran from the house, ignoring Honora’s alarmed cry.
Luis! Beatrice hadn’t said how seriously he was hurt, but it must be bad if he was still at the doctor’s. For the first time in her life Olivia forgot about decorum and dignity; she snatched her skirts up and ran, her heart thudding in a sick panic. It was three blocks to Dr. Pendergrass’s office. She darted around people on the sidewalks when she could and shoved past them otherwise. By the time she reached the office her hair was falling down and she was gasping for breath, but she had never cared less for her appearance.
She shoved the door open and stumbled inside. The first pe
rson she saw was Etta Pendergrass. “Where is he?”
Etta immediately assumed that there was an emergency. “I’ll get him, dear. He’s just in here checking Mr. Fronteras—”
Olivia bolted past her into the room she had indicated. Dr. Pendergrass looked up at her precipitous entrance and leapt to the same conclusion his wife had. “What’s happened, Olivia?” Surely only a serious accident or illness concerning one of her parents could prompt Olivia into such uncharacteristic actions.
But Olivia didn’t answer. Her hands flew to her mouth as she stared at Luis, lying on his left side, his upper torso bare. A large white bandage was located at his waist. Tears swam in her eyes, blurring her vision. “Luis?” she whispered, her voice begging. Let him be all right, she prayed silently. Please let him be all right.
He shifted gingerly onto his back, his dark eyes narrowing at her white face. “Would you let me speak to Miss Millican in private?” he asked the doctor in a tone that commanded rather than requested.
Dr. Pendergrass arched his brows a little and said, “Of course.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Luis held out his hand, and Olivia ran to him. She touched his face, his chest, his shoulders, whispering incoherently while tears slid down her cheeks. Holding his left hand to the bandage on his side, he struggled to a sitting position. “I’m all right,” he soothed, pulling her close to him and kissing her hair. “It’s just a flesh wound. I’m stiff and weak, but it isn’t serious.”
“I just heard,” she stammered, clinging to him. “I’d have been here last night if I’d known. Why didn’t you have someone send for me? Why?”
Using his thumb, he wiped her cheeks. “And let everyone know?” he asked gently.
She struggled to control her breathing. “Well, they know now,” she blurted. “I ran through town like a madwoman.”
He was silent a minute while his hand rubbed her back in comfort. “I could think of something as an excuse if you want.”
Olivia stilled with her head on his shoulder. He wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation to force the issue. He had said it was her decision, and he was standing by that. But could she go back to pretending she didn’t care about him? Just hearing that he’d been hurt had stripped away the last film of doubt from her mind. Why was she dithering when she felt that way about him? She had never been a silly person, but she had certainly been acting silly the past couple of months. Her greatest dream had come true, and she had been afraid to accept it because Luis Fronteras wasn’t a landed gentleman. She was worse than silly; she was a snob.
Slowly she lifted her head, her damp blue eyes locking with his dark ones. A soft smile trembled on her lips. “No, I don’t want you to lie for me,” she said in as steady a voice as she could muster. “What I want is to marry you, Luis Fronteras.”
His dark eyes were piercing, and he held her chin so that she couldn’t look away. “Are you sure? Make very certain, Olivia, because once you say yes I won’t let you go no matter what happens. I’m not a gentleman. I keep what’s mine, and I’ll fight as dirty as I have to to keep it.”
She framed his face with her hands and leaned forward to kiss him. “Yes,” she said. A smile broke like the sun coming up, bathing her face in radiance. “Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes. How many times do I have to say it before it’s official?”
His dark brows arched, and he locked her in his arms. “It’s official,” he said. “We’ll get married as soon as possible.”
“Mother will want me to be married in the church. It’ll take at least a month to get everything arranged.”
“A month!” he growled. Then he warned, “Don’t be surprised if your parents refuse to have anything to do with me.”
She felt sad at the possibility but faced it. “If they do, that’s their loss.” Nothing would stop her from marrying Luis. Somehow it no longer mattered that she didn’t know how they would live, or even where. She would be with him, and that was all that mattered. She loved him. It was a simple truth, and she wondered why it had taken her so long to recognize it.
She had learned in a few horrible moments that morning how swiftly fate could step in and perhaps take him away forever. Before another minute passed she wanted to give him the gift of her love. She said it simply. “I love you.”
His pupils flared until his eyes were black and bottomless. “And I love you. We may not live in a big house, but I’ll take very good care of you.”
“I’m sure you will.” A blush rosied her cheeks, but her gaze remained steady. “In all the ways that matter.”
He had the most devilish grin she had ever seen, and the power of it almost made her heart stop. “Yes, darling, in that way, too.”
He had to kiss her, and it was even more potent than it had been before, because now she felt no need to draw back. She gave him all of her response and the complete freedom of her body. It was only his stifled groan when he moved too abruptly that made them realize where they were and draw back.
Her concern, which had abated when she had seen that he wasn’t mortally wounded, returned full force. Now that she had calmed down she could see how drawn and pale he was, and the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Lie back down,” she urged, pressing his shoulder with her hand.
He obeyed because he was as weak as a kitten. Olivia settled the pillow under his head and drew the blanket up to his chest, then sat down beside him with his hand clasped in hers. She couldn’t bear to be separated from him just yet. “What happened?” she asked. “Who shot you?”
“In that kind of gunfight it doesn’t matter. So many people were shooting there’s no way to know.”
“But what happened? Why did it happen?”
“Bellamy decided to drive his cattle onto Dee Swann’s property. The Bar B doesn’t have much water left, and I guess he was desperate. Desperate people do stupid things.” Luis sighed tiredly. “I thought she’d given him permission, but she hadn’t, and she shot to spook the cattle, turn them around. Bellamy seemed to go mad. He started shooting at her, and some of the men joined in.”
“And you helped her. Do you even know her?” She was filled with admiration for what he had done.
“No, but she was a woman alone, and it was her land. She was in the right.” He decided that it might not be smart to tell his future wife that he had a deep and lasting fondness for women in general, and there was no way he could stand by and let a woman be terrorized. Not that Dee Swann had seemed frightened, he reflected with admiration. She had faced Bellamy like an Amazon.
“Dee’s a wonderful friend,” Olivia said softly. “Thank you for saving her life. I heard some of the men in town wouldn’t try to help her, I think probably because she keeps to herself and doesn’t seem to need anyone, but that’s just an act. I’m glad you were there when she did need someone’s help. I only wish you hadn’t been hurt.”
“I didn’t do it by myself. If Tillie hadn’t gone after Cochran, and he hadn’t got there as fast as he did, Dee and I would both be dead.”
Olivia stroked his hand, loving the strength in his lean fingers. “I’ll ride out to help her get the cabin straightened up.”
Luis’s face tightened. “She isn’t at the cabin. She’s right here. Doc says she’s cut up pretty bad and lost too much blood. He’s been up with her all night, and now fever is setting in. He’s worried about her.”
Olivia turned white and jumped to her feet. She hadn’t even asked if Dee was hurt! Her mind had emptied of everything but Luis when she’d heard he had been shot. “Oh, my God,” she said, and tears slipped down her cheeks. Luis reached out a steadying hand, but she whispered, “I have to go to her.” She ran from the room.
Her friend lay silent and motionless except for the faint rise and fall of her chest. The only color in her face was from the livid cuts that marred her skin. Dee had always been so vital that Olivia almost didn’t recognize her lying so still. She had never imagined anything could bring Dee down.
Etta was sitt
ing by the bed, keeping a cold cloth on Dee’s forehead. Olivia could see the worry plain in her eyes.
“Has she been awake?” Olivia asked, agonized.
Etta shook her head. “She hasn’t stirred since Lucas brought her in last night.”
Olivia swiped at her wet cheeks. “You must be so tired you can hardly sit up,” she said. “I’ll sit with her while you rest.”
* * *
Tillie rode out to the Bar B. Though there was activity around the ranch house, there was a strangely abandoned feel to it. All of the men looked exhausted, even those who hadn’t taken part in the fight, for they had been chasing the scattered cattle for most of the night.
“Where’s Mr. Bellamy?” she asked one of them.
“In the house, ma’am.”
She knocked, but no one answered, and after knocking a second time she opened the door. “Kyle?”
There was no answer. She walked through the downstairs and found it deserted, then went upstairs. Kyle’s bedroom was on the left. She tapped on the door, which was ajar, then stepped inside.
He lay on the bed, fully clothed except for his boots. His shirt bore reddish-brown stains. She walked over and stood beside the bed, looking down at him. Compassion turned her eyes black. He had tried to clean his face, for a stained cloth lay on the floor, but dried blood still caked one of his nostrils and was splotched in his hair and on his neck.
His poor face was so swollen and misshappen she could barely recognize him. Both eyes were blackened and puffy, his nose was broken, and huge knots distorted his cheekbones and jaw.
“Kyle,” she said softly.
He shifted a little and groaned. One of his eyes opened a slit.
“I’ll get some water and clean you up,” she murmured, bending over him so he could see her without turning his head.
He sighed, then muttered, “Ribs.” His mouth was so swollen that the word sounded mushy.