Caress of Fire (30 page)

Maybe if he
thought
she would submit, she'd have him at a disadvantage. He couldn't perform his dirty deed with a pistol in his grip, could he?

“Maybe I have been mean-tongued,” she said. “You really aren't that bad.”
As compared to the bubonic plague, maybe.

“Now you talk nice. I like.” Shoving the gun behind his vest and into the waistband of his britches, he ran his thumb across the prize that would win no contests. “Take off dress.”

“Jimmy–do you mind if I call you Jimmy?–I'll undress, but if we're going to be man and woman to each other, shouldn't we make it interesting?”

 

Gil heard his wife say those words about being “man and woman to each other.” At first he figured hers was a stall tactic to get away from the brawny Indian. But as she talked on, he changed his mind.

What the hell was she doing, making sex talk with that Crow of dubious repute? Gil was here to rescue her, and he had figured to find her cowering in fear, but she had destroyed him.

He might have known Lisette would never cower.

Jealousy conquered the last of his reason. Always, she had some man fawning over her. Always, she made excuses. Never had she been so brazen as now. At least not within Gil's line of sight.

He motioned for Iron Eagle to stay back; the last thing he wanted was for anyone to hear Lisette seduce Jimmy Two Toes.

Drawing his gun, Gil crept forward and kept cover.

Now that he got a closer look–God damn it, that Indian had his equipment exposed!

“What you want me do, Yellow Hair? You very pretty. Me want to make happy.”

“Oh, I think you can.” Eyes that had once been demure looked with heady longing at the Crow. “Take off your clothes.”

“Why you want me do that?” He shook his head. “I make good screwing with clothes on.”

“Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, where's the excitement in that?”

Gil's hand tightened on Thelma's handle.

Lisette laughed throatily and left the rock. Combing her fingers through her hair, she tossed the mass of it over a shoulder–just as she'd done last night, for her husband. “When I'm with a man, I like for him to be naked as the day he was born.”

“That make headache go away?”

“Oh, yes.”

Two Toes lifted his brows and nodded. “Okay. What you want me do?”

“Take off your clothes,
Liebling.”

Liebling?
What the hell did she mean by that? There she stood, pregnant with Gil McLoughlin's child, calling a hatchet-faced Injun an endearment... an endearment that had a lot nicer ring than
Liebster.

Meanwhile, Two Toes shucked his moccasin; a mutilated foot poked from a holey sock. His equipment bobbed in the air.

“See. Big now. Bigger than last man?”

“It certainly is.”

It was not!

“You kiss now?”

“Not until you take off your trousers.”

“First, you take off dress.”

Enough! Gil raised Thelma, pointed, and fired. A blotch of red suddenly appeared on Jimmy Two Toes's shoulder; the Indian fell backward.

Lisette screamed, ducking behind the rock.

“Needn't worry,” Gil called out. “It's just me–your lawfully wedded husband.”

The lawfully wedded husband who, in a fit of jealousy, had just shot a man over his wife.

“Gil, thank God you found me!”

Leaving Jimmy Two Toes moaning on a pile of buffalo bones, Lisette scrambled up the hill and tried to fall into her husband's arms, but he stepped back. His face closed, he replaced his six-gun in the holster. Surely he hadn't overheard . . .

“Gil, you don't think I was serious with that Indian, do you? I did
not
mean those things!”

“Let's go,” was all he answered.

She stood frozen, her eyes glued to the anger and disgust in her husband's face.

Iron Eagle rushed past them, rifle in hand, shouting, “Two Toes gets away.”

“Leave him be,” Gil said.

Lisette turned slightly to see the Crow hobbling across the valley floor, clutching his injured shoulder.

A question in his eyes, Iron Eagle stood halfway down the grade as he asked Gil, “Do you not want me to kill him?”

“No.” He turned and marched toward Big Red.

“Gil, hold up,” Lisette shouted as he put distance between them. “We must talk.”

There was no response. Not then; not when they returned to the Osage village; not when she changed into the last of her two dresses, nor when they said their thank-yous and good-byes to Iron Eagle, Red Dawn, Laurann, and the others. Lisette couldn't even enjoy her farewells to Fierce Hawk.

If anything could be found to rejoice in, it was that Frank Hatch was no more.

When they left, she clutched a package under her arm, another gift of clothing from Red Dawn and Laurann. How wonderful it had been, that afternoon and evening in their village. How awful, the leaving.

Onward to Abilene the Four Aces' company journeyed. August became a thing of the past. Early September sweltered. Lisette's stomach grew larger, until her skin stretched to the breaking point. In fact, silver lines trailed her flesh.

Her husband didn't see her changed skin; he made his bed under the stars.

She was beginning to think he didn't love her.

 

Each time Gil looked at his wife, it was a mirror into the past. He saw Betty, her stomach large with some man's child, luring Whittle between her legs. The evening Hatch had mentioned Betty's affair with the scruffy overseer, he hadn't been telling Gil anything he didn't already know, yet it had been a strong reminder of what a fool he'd been to trust a woman.

And now Lisette–who had made like a whore for Two Toes.

What about all the trouble it had taken Gil to get between her legs? Damn it to hell, it had taken every bit of his persuasion to get there, and she'd never been so bold as she'd been with that Crow. Maybe she liked the hatchet-faced type.

Another demon arose. Adolf Keller had mentioned a certain Otto Kapp. Did he have a hatchet face?

And Gil recalled a tidbit he'd overheard in the Osage village. “Your time will come in one moon,” Red Dawn had said, nearly a month ago. Of course Lisette had made denials, but Gil began to agree with Red Dawn. Never had a woman looked so very pregnant at just less than seven months.

Could history be repeating itself? Could it be that her child did not belong to him? That was just too absurd to consider, but . . .

He hated himself for not trusting his wife.

 

 

Tomorrow they would reach Abilene, and Lisette would be glad for the journey's end. She was weary from the cowpath, from the burden of Hermann, from the heat of late summer ... and from her husband's cold shoulder.

Furthermore, she would be relieved to get off this hard wooden seat. She put a foot up on the splashboard as Pigweed clicked his tongue and headed the team to their final campsite. As usual, Gil rode ahead of the wagon. Finally, he raised an arm to signal an acceptable site. As usual, he had little to say.

But he did allow, “I'm riding into town to hire a couple of men to watch the herd. That'll free up my cowpokes to eat a last meal together. Make it a good one.”

He left, and Lisette prepared a feast for dinner: steak; mashed potatoes; canned tomatoes doctored with onions; ears of corn bought from a farmer that morning; sourdough biscuits; vinegar pie. And gallons of coffee.

By the time the meal was ready, Gil returned with a cadre of townsmen. The locals took their places in the herd, allowing all the cowboys to gather around the fire.

Gil kept his distance, saying, “I'm going to make a final tally of the cows.”

All the other men were here, except for Matthias and her husband. Oscar, Deep Eddy, Pigweed, Preacher Wilson, Jakob, Johns, Attitude, Toad Face, and Cencero loaded their plates.

Attitude tugged on his long beard and said, “I want to thank you, Mrs. McLoughlin, for being a good partner in this drive. You're the best damned cook”–Oscar kicked him for cursing–“ 'scuse me. You're the best cook in the world.”

“You are,” the others chorused.

“Thank you.”

Lisette was aware that once the herd was aboard a Chicago-bound train, the majority of her husband's cowboys would backtrack with the saddle horses and Tecumseh Billy to the Four Aces ranch. She did not know her own plans.

Would Gil wait in Abilene for Hermann's birth before returning to Texas? A few weeks ago, this question hadn't been pertinent, but now it couldn't be ignored. Surely he wouldn't expect her to stay here alone while he returned to Texas. But he was not only practical about their livelihood, he was not himself in the matter of Jimmy Two Toes.

Her eyes sweeping over the men, she said, “I guess I won't be with you next year. I'll be at the ranch, taking care of young Hermann.”

Deep Eddy put his plate on the ground, and the others nodded agreement when he said, “We'll miss you.”

Pigweed Martin shuffled over to her. “Missus, I been aiming to tell ya: you sure is sweet and nice.”

Sweet and nice. The evening she'd first appeared in the Four Aces encampment, Willie Gaines had said the same thing. Poor Willie. Presently, she paraphrased her words of that fateful night. “I'm rarely sweet and nice.”

Pulling his upper lip above up his bucked teeth, Pigweed clasped his fingers together. “Well, missus, I think you is.”

“Thank you, Pigweed.”

He traipsed to the opposite side of the fire.

“Mrs. McLoughlin, could I fix you a plate?” Preacher Wilson asked, smiling.

Too tired to eat, Lisette declined his offer. She looked up at the minister and recalled how he'd been opposed to her working in the outfit. Yet he hadn't been sanctimonious about her presence in a long, long time. Furthermore, she recalled his reason for signing on to begin with.

“Eli,” she said, using his given name for the first time, “why don't you ride on into town? I know you're anxious to be with your family.”

“Mister McLoughlin hasn't released me. And there's my salary . . .”

“I'll pay you, if you'll get the strongbox from the wagon.”

He did and she did. Cash reserves were low, she noted–not a problem. The cattle would bring money in, no doubt by tomorrow afternoon. She went for an additional stack of currency.

“Eli, I know you're wanting to start a church, so take this.” She pushed the bills into his palm. “A first offering.”

Folded money in hand, he tipped his hat. “Thank you, Lisette. May the Lord be with you.” He started to walk away, but stopped. Turning, he said, “You're a fine woman, and I want to apologize for calling you a Jezebel.”

“That was quite a while ago, Eli. I haven't thought of it since. And even if I had, I wouldn't hold it against you. I understand your misgivings.”

“Forgiveness is the Lord's . . . but I appreciate yours.”

He disappeared into the night.

Lisette sat down, rested her back against the wagon wheel, and sipped a cup of coffee while watching the cowboys devour the food. Tecumseh Billy lumbered over to her; she pulled a carrot from her apron. He ate the treat and backed away.

“Give us a song,” Johns suggested to Cencero.

Long ago, Johns had said those words to José. Long ago.

The grinning Mexican lifted his guitar. “Thees song ees for our Señora McLoughleen.”

All the men cheered; she smiled. She would miss the loyal men of the Four Aces outfit.

Cencero began to strum the guitar, started to warble a lovely Spanish song. When the tune had ended, he began another. For once, the cowboys weren't squabbling among themselves. Could it be that they, too, were sentimental on this last night of the cattle drive?

Tears stinging her eyes, she set her empty cup aside.

“Juanito,
mi amigo,”
said Cencero. “Join me.”

Johns produced a harmonica; the musicale continued.

Oscar, walking bow-legged, set his plate in the wreck pan, and stopped in front of Lisette.

“You ain't et nothin', girl.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Ain't good for yer little one, goin' wit'out chow. Susie always said, ‘A wuman's gotta take care-a herse'f as well as her babe.' ” His rheumy eyes moistened. “Sure do miss that wuman o' mine.”

“I know you do.” Lisette took his leathery hand to squeeze it gently. “You had a good marriage, you and Susie.”

“Sure did. Never was blessed wit' no younguns, though.” He winked away a tear. “Ye and the cap'n, why, ye don't know how lucky ye be, startin' a family right from the git-go. Ye'll have a lotta good years, ye and the cap'n and yer youngun. Be lotsa years fer more o' them.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Why don't ye let ole Oscar fix ye a plate, Miz Lisetty?”

Now that she'd had some time off her feet, food did sound appealing, and she accepted his offer. A few bites were enough. Standing, she departed the campfire. Away from its warmth, the night air brisk, she attempted to hug her arms. Hermann got in the way.

“You're a nice get-in-the-way, my son.”

She scanned the horizon, seeing the outline of cattle, cattle, cattle. Where was her husband? She wanted a moment alone with him. She needed to find out,
had
to have an answer to the question: For herself, for Gil, for Hermann, what would the next few months bring?