Caress of Fire (19 page)

Her scent enveloped him, and challenging her statement became impossible. Yet Matthias mustered a modicum of reason.

“Where's Hatch?”

“He sleeps.”

“Won't he miss you?”

“As I said, he sleeps.” The woman unfastened the buttons of Matthias's britches. “And you agonize. I saw it in your face. I like your face. Much is written there.” Fingers wrapped around his manhood; a thumb played with the tip of him. “Don't suffer over what you do not have, Mouth That Beckons. It is not practical.”

He tried to push her fingers from him. “You'd better go back to Hatch.”

“You do not listen. I told you, he sleeps.”

“And he'll wake up wondering where you are.”

“He knows I pleasure other men. Tonight I give you pleasure, Mouth That Beckons.”

Her lips replaced her fingers. Matthias shuddered with need. His fingers combed through the Indian's coarse black hair, then canvassed her back. She felt so tiny against his big Teutonic frame, and the feeling was more than good.

He didn't give a damn whose woman she was. He was tired of stepping aside for other men.

“Give me pleasure, pretty lady,” he moaned as Cactus Blossom's tongue stroked him.

She raised her head. “I am not Albino.”

“I know.”

He ripped the laces of her dress to clamp a big hand on her breast. He felt the crest swell beneath his finger. His
männliches Glied
hardened even more, and he shoved the woman to her back. His mouth descended as he positioned himself between her beckoning and spread legs. Lunging into her warmth, he seized her lips in a bruising kiss. Quivering, she clamped her knees on his hips. And her words encouraged him to plunge again and again.

“So gut,
so good,” he groaned at the end.

The woman's palms made a chalice around his jaw. “And you know I am not Long Legs' woman?”

“Ja,
I know. You are Cactus Blossom.”

The agony had vanished. Lisette was lost to him, but this woman filled a need. From the moment he'd first seen Cactus Blossom, Matthias had admired her spirit and serenity. Now he had more to admire about the black-haired, bronze-skinned beauty. Maybe all he'd needed was attention such as he'd craved from McLoughlin's wife.

“Come here,” he murmured.

“I am here already.”

“Ja,
you are,” he conceded and smiled. “Stay with me.”

She did.

And each night, past midnight, Cactus Blossom found him. It was no longer Lisette he coveted. The petite Comanche woman was the one he wanted to roll in the grass with.

One dark midnight, as the pads of his fingers skimmed over her belly, he asked, “What happened to you? Why do you have scars?”

“Don't question too deeply, Mouth That Beckons.”

“I am. Tell me.”

An owl hooted from a nearby tree, a cloud covered the moon, and Cactus Blossom was gathering her thoughts. At last she replied, “From mourning my daughter. The spirits were not kind to my Weeping Willow. When she came into the world, there was no hope for her to grow tall and strong. When she died, I mourned her in the way of my people.” She rose and pulled the buckskin sheath over her head. “I took a knife to my flesh.”

Before he could say anything, she started away.

“Don't go.”

“I will be back.” There was a tear in her voice. “Tomorrow night.”

The poor woman, he thought. Obviously she still mourned her dead babe. And Matthias adored her all the more for her sensitivity.

Five nights after their first coupling, Matthias had a visitor and it wasn't Cactus Blossom. McLoughlin sought him out.

“We haven't seen you around camp,” the Scotsman said as Matthias set his saddle to the ground for the night. “Are you sick or something?”

“No.”

“Lisette's been wondering about you.”

“You hired me to be strawboss.” Matthias frowned at McLoughlin. “I've been earning my keep.”

“Your keep includes meals.”

“I eat jerky.”

“When you could be eating from Lisette's table? Seems peculiar to me.” The trail boss slapped at a firefly that landed on his jaw. “She's learned how to make chili. I think you'd like it.”

“Too spicy.”

“How do you know if you haven't tried it?”

“I hear it's too spicy.”

“Matt, what's bothering you?”

“I'm tired and I'm wanting to sleep.” Sleep was his last consideration. Cactus Blossom would be here. After midnight.

“I did have another purpose in seeking you out,” McLoughlin said. “I want you to double back to Cleburne, buy a couple more hoodlum wagons, then meet up with us, pronto.”

“What for?”

“You know what for. To carry calves in.” McLoughlin cleared his throat. “I don't have to tell you, when we cart the new calves, the mother cows are following along agreeably. We're spending a lot less time keeping those cows in line.”

Matthias laughed. “You've finally seen the reward in Lise's idea, I take it.”

“I have.” McLoughlin spoke in a sheepish tone. “Hers was a smart plan. I told her so, but she's too kind to be vindictive about it. Says she didn't have any idea of the positive outcome. Good woman, that wife of mine.”

“You're not telling me anything I didn't already know.” Matthias's thoughts turned to another woman. He didn't want to be separated from Cactus Blossom, and he said, “Send Hatch after the wagons.”

The night got quiet. Crickets and cattle made noises, and Sadie Lou barked in the distance, but nothing else. He knew the boss didn't like his decisions questioned, but he'd done it and wouldn't back down.

McLoughlin asked, “Why would I want to send Hatch?”

“He's new. Let him take the menial tasks.”

“No task is menial if it benefits the drive.”

“Send him anyway.”

“Matt, you got something against Frank Hatch?”

“No. He does a day's work.” Matthias pulled the flask he hadn't touched in five days from its hiding place. “Want a drink?”

“You know I don't allow liquor on the trail.”

“Rules about liquor are for the other men. I'm not just one of them. Which is why I resent your sending me on a petty errand.”

“You may be strawboss, but I'm in charge, and I'm tempted to fire you over that remark.”

While Matthias had great respect for McLoughlin's abilities to get cattle up the trail, and while his loyalty was to none but the Four Aces and its owner, he wasn't going to be threatened. “If that's what you're wanting to do, do it.”

Another stretch of silence.

“All right. I'll send Hatch.”

“Thank you.”

McLoughlin started to walk away, but he stopped a half-dozen paces in the distance and turned around. “I need your advice on something.”

After their difference of opinion, it cheered Matthias, the Scotsman's show of confidence. His loyalty to the brand wasn't misplaced.

“Matt, I get a peculiar feeling about Hatch. Sometimes I think he's trying to chouse me. Other times, I get the inkling I've seen him somewhere before. It's craziness, I know.”

“Have you asked if he knows you?”

“You know the unwritten law. If a man doesn't offer anything about himself, another man doesn't ask.”

“Then forget your suspicions.”

“No, I don't think that'd be smart. Better send Tannington with him to Cleburne, just in case he can't be trusted.” McLoughlin slipped a thumb behind his gunbelt. “I can tell you one thing I'm not only suspicious about. Cactus Blossom is sneaking off at night, and if she's not letting one of the men at her, my name's not McLoughlin.” His eyes hardened, visible even in the moonlight. “Wouldn't be you, would it, Matt?”

Matthias took a swig of schnapps, then reminded the trail boss of his own words. “You know the code of the West. If a man doesn't confide, another man shouldn't pry.”

Gil had a dilemma. Matthias might have told him to mind his own business, but the answer spoke for itself. He was poking Hatch's woman. Watching Matthias take another plug from the flask, Gil shook his head in disgust, then studied the stars above. Matt was drinking and poking; no telling how Hatch would react to the latter; and if he sent the troublemakers packing, Lisette would throw one of her tantrums.

She didn't need to get upset, not with the babe on the way.

“Put the sauce away, Matt. You're not above rules just because you're second in charge.”

The strawboss imparted a dirty look.

“Something else,” Gil said. “If you don't keep your hands off that woman as well as the corn, you're out of a job.”

“I'll quit the drinking, but as for Cactus, no, I won't stay away from her. If it means you and I part ways, then so be it.”

“This late in the season, you'll have a hard time finding another strawboss job. If she's worth starving for, go to her.”

“She's worth it. And you're nothing but an–” Matthias lowered the flask. “You've got Lise, but to hell with anyone else who wants their own woman.”

“Lisette is my wife, not my whore,” Gil replied. “And I am the boss. What I say goes.”

“Look, you said you're sending Hatch for the wagons. That means he'll be out of the way for days on end. Cactus and I will be discreet. And it won't be long after Hatch returns that we'll be in Fort Worth. I can find some sort of work there. Let me stay on till we reach town.”

“I'm not running a brothel, Matt. Not now, and not between here and Fort Worth.”

“This has nothing to do with whores. This has everything to do with me and my woman.”

Gil shoved his thumbs behind Thelma's belt and stared at the ground. What was the most important issue here? Matt Gruene was the best cowpuncher he'd ever met, and he kept the cowboys in line, which freed Gil to be the trail boss. The drive would suffer if Matt left. And Gil decided the Cactus Blossom situation would run its course between here and Fort Worth. Then Matthias would see the light.

“All right,” Gil said. “You can stay on. But you better have meant what you said about discretion, or you're out once we hit town.”

He stomped to Big Red. Climbing into the saddle, he muttered a “damn.” During his previous drives up to Abilene, all he'd had to worry about were Indians, the elements, and keeping the cattle from stampeding. This drive had been snakebitten from the beginning. He might lose Matt Gruene. And he'd lost control of the outfit.

 

 

Ten days had passed since Wink and Mister Hatch had returned to camp with a pair of extra hoodlum wagons, and Lisette was thrilled at the success of carting the newborn calves along. She was not thrilled about Cactus Blossom. Something was wrong, very wrong.

And now, as she put the finishing touches on the midday meal with the Comanche woman's assistance, Lisette was more worried than ever. The usually conversant Cactus Blossom hadn't uttered a word all day, her stoic face set in an unreadable mask.

Pouring coffee into the grinder, Lisette asked, “Are you not happy?”

“I am happy.”

“But you could be happier.”

“Everyone could be happier, Albino.”

Lisette agreed on that score; she'd be much happier without the prospect of reaching Fort Worth and saying good-bye to her husband. They expected to reach the cowtown by late afternoon.

She just couldn't think about it, especially not now, when Cactus Blossom was in need of a friend.

“Are you having problems with Mister Hatch?” Lisette placed her hand on Cactus Blossom's arm; it was much too cold for this warm noon of mid-May. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.” Cactus Blossom took knives, forks, and spoons from the chuck box drawer. “But I do admit . . . I have found a man to give me the love I missed with Dung Eyes.”

Gott in Himmel.
It would be stupid even to ask if she'd been sleeping with one of the men. Reading the meaning between the lines and the smile now brightening that bronzed face, Lisette knew it was true as the blue sky above.

“Who is the man?” Lisette asked.

“Mouth That Beckons.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Albino . . . how do you feel about Matthias?”

Lisette should have known he was the Mouth in question. She'd seen his eyes on Cactus Blossom, and she'd fretted over the attentions that could rain trouble on the entire trail drive. At last she answered, “He's been my friend for many years.”

“If you did not have your man, would you want Matthias for your own?”

“Blossom, that is a question which is ridiculous to address. Gil and I do have each other, and we'll stay that way until death parts us. He is my heart, my soul . . . my breath, my life.”

“I believed that to be so, but I had to ask.” Cactus Blossom tossed a black braid over one shoulder. “You see, I love Matthias. We will be married in Fort Worth.”

Her suspicions confirmed, Lisette sighed. What happened to his feelings for that “one lady” he'd mentioned before reaching Lampasas? Evidently, absence made his heart grow colder. Well, it was his life, and she wouldn't be judgmental.

“I wish you the best, Blossom. But you must be careful, extremely careful. There's my husband's reaction to consider, but he's not the real problem. Once Mister Hatch discovers all this, there will be a lot of trouble.”

“I have already told him.”

“And he didn't object?”

Cactus Blossom looked her in the eye. “No.”

Lisette opened a can of tomatoes–always a special treat to cowboys–and recalled her friend's earlier strange look. “Is there something you're not telling me?”

“I fear Mouth That Beckons will have no use for me if–”

“If he discovers your profession?”

“He knows about that.” Cactus Blossom turned away. “I have changed my mind. I do not want to speak of my troubles.”

Lisette sighed. “If he loves you, Matthias will forgive you anything.”

“To the Great Spirits, I pray this.” Cactus Blossom sliced the large roast, then said in a change of subject, “This meat is much favored by Mouth That Beckons. What do you call it?”

“Sauerbraten.” Lisette paused. “What about Matthias's job? Will he go on without you? You'll need his salary.”

“Long Legs says he cannot go with him to the land above the Territory.”

Lisette, her brow tightening, said, “You misunderstood. Gil wouldn't fire Matthias. He wouldn't.”

“He did.”

“Surely not. You've taken something out of context.”

Lisette, needing to get the matter straight, her apprehensions building with each passing moment, hurried over to the triangle and rang it to announce the midday meal. But Gil didn't appear; she untied her apron. If Cactus Blossom wasn't confused, Matthias was not going to be dismissed, not if Lisette had any say whatsoever.

 

 

Frank Hatch eyed Lisette as she rode off on a dun mare from the remuda. Good, she was gone. And he was glad the heathen bitch was out of sight, too. The last thing he wanted was his former squaw's flapping mouth. He was truly glad she wanted to tie up with that slow-talking German.

And he, Charles Franklin Hatch, late of Charlwood, would come out smelling like a rose.

His only regret where she was concerned had to do with her sin at Dead Buffalo Bluff. She would, however, pay for it. In good time, when it would best serve him.

He scanned the luncheon gatherers. Thankfully, none of the Yankees took the first shift. The old man, Yates, was griping about his “rheumatiz,” while Jackson Bell, Toad Face Walker, the Mexican, Ochoa, and Wink Tannington squatted close to the chuck wagon and shoved food in their mouths.

Hatch watched Tannington. Going back to Cleburne had been a boon. The Mississippian had come over to his side in the war against Major McLoughlin of the Union Army. It hadn't taken much to get Tannington's help, just a few comments about the trail boss's autocratic ways, plus some well-placed reminders of Yankee abominations against the South.

And Tannington had assured him that Jackson Bell, a young man of robust health and good Virginia lineage, would be easy pickings, if the cards were played right.

Hatch needed allies in his quest for revenge.

“Say, Mister Bell, I understand you were with General Lee at Appomattox.” Hatch glanced at the Virginian. “How do you feel about lining the coffers of a Yankee major?”

Jackson Bell's fork stopped midway between his plate and his mouth. “What do you mean?”

Hatch turned to Toad Face. “I understand you were with General Beauregard. You gentlemen had it rough, didn't you?”

Yates, his bones creaking, got up and hobbled over to Hatch. “What're ye getting at, Hatch?”

“I'm just thinking how things would have been different, had the Bonny Blue flag not been lowered.” Hatch shook his head in a show of dejection. “Who would've thought, back in '61, that the Confederacy would lose so much . . . that we–fine gentlemen of the South–would be employed by a damnyankee?”

“Ain't that the truth,” Tannington interjected on cue.

Toad Face Walker took a plug of tobacco into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he spat a brown stream. “Far as I'm concerned, the war's over.”

He huffed off, which was fine with Hatch. Toad Face, who was aptly named and whose crudity rivaled the vilest of human amphibians, was just too ragged and filthy for Hatch's taste.

“War ain't over for me. My brothers died at Vicksburg. And I lost this”–Tannington raised his stump–“at Shiloh. And what did we get for it?”

“Why don't ye shut yer traps?” Yates hitched up his britches. “The cap'n, he ain't answerable for what go'd on afore.”

Curling his lip, Hatch asked, “Tell me, Mister Yates, were you a part of any campaign?”

“Naw. But me nephew Homer done sided with Jeff Davis.”

“Unless you're taking your kinsman's side, I suggest you shut
your
mouth and finish filling your face.”

A hush fell over the campfire, the pop of a flame the only sound, and Hatch itched to set the chuck wagon aflame.

“Since when do you give the orders around here, Hatch?” McLoughlin stepped out from behind the chuck wagon.

Once before, Frank Hatch had seen that look on McLoughlin's face–the day Charlwood had gone up in smoke. It was a look of supremacy and be-damned-to-you. Major McLoughlin would suffer for it, and soon.

“I was simply speaking with my fellow workers,” Hatch replied. “Surely you don't seek to take away my right to free speech . . . as set out by your Constitution.”

Right then Lisette rode up on the dun mare and dismounted. “What is going on here?” she asked, not looking too pleased.

“Find something to do.” McLoughlin scowled at her, then turned back to Hatch. “Since you don't want to ‘fill the coffers of a Yankee major,' I suggest you pack your gear and ride out.” His eyes cruised over the others. “That goes for anyone who doesn't ride for the brand.”

Her hands on her hips, Lisette watched as her husband gave those orders. She glanced worriedly at the men, then took a step in McLoughlin's direction. “Maybe–”

“I told you to find something to do,” the trail boss said to her.

Jackson Bell, his shoulders hunched, shouted at McLoughlin. “You're acting like a typical Yankee. Why don't you quit picking on the lady? She's done nothing.”

Ochoa and Tannington agreed. McLoughlin's face looked like thunderclouds, black and dangerous, and the expression intensified when Lisette shook her finger at the men and said, “Now listen here, all of you. Leave my husband alone. And if you don't like him or the way he runs this outfit, I suggest you do as he suggests. Pack up and ride out.”

She turned on the toe of her shoe and went over to fiddle with the chuck box. McLoughlin's fingers made fists at his side as he glowered at her. And Hatch hid a chuckle. Evidently there was one thing McLoughlin disliked more than disloyalty from his cowboys, and that was his wife wearing the pants.

Hatch grinned at his men who
would
become his allies, by the grace of the Bonny Blue. The second phase of his plan for retaliation was proceeding even more smoothly than imagined.