Cowboy Heart (Historical Western Romance) (Longren Family series #3, Kitty and Lukes story) (11 page)

             
Sarah hated having so many of the men gone at the same time. She missed William whenever he was away and she clearly felt ill at ease alone on the ranch.  She kept some of the dogs off the trail and they stayed close with her during the days but, more than once, I found her standing in the garden where she'd gone completely still, her hands locked around some task and her eyes distant, gazing in the direction William had gone.

             
I saw Luke coming and going a great deal, working with the remaining herd, moving them about, walking fence lines, consulting with the other hands.  He was polite if we spoke, though he never instigated conversation, and his politeness held me at arm's length anyway.

             
Robert hadn't gone with a team either.  He remained on the ranch, running it, while Mike was on the trail.  I thought actually Sarah was more than capable of running it herself, and kind of was. 

             
Meals and evenings, I watched for Robert, that giddy, dizzy feeling throwing me off balance.  When he didn't come, I'd walk the fences myself, feeling hemmed in rather than protected, telling myself the adventure I was waiting for was nothing more than the future and there was no reasons the future couldn't be with Robert.

             
He hadn't asked to see me again, though.  He skipped meals, went to meetings instead, he didn't avoid me as neatly as Luke, who actually seemed to be trying to avoid me, but the effect was the same.

             
The day after the teams left, clouds rolled in and covered the sky by late morning.  In the sullen stillness, bird song sounded too loud.  The cattle lowed restlessly and the dogs seemed skittish.

             
"Thunderstorm on the way," Sarah said.  "They’ll be moving the herd to the upper pastures."

             
"Because of rain?"  The ranch looked like it could use it.

             
"For fear of flooding," Sarah said.  "Wildfire, if lightning sparks it."  She caught sight of my face and patted my arm.  "It's only happened a couple of times, just little blazes."  Her smile wasn't convincing.

             
The thunder and lightning started around noon, jagged lightning covering the sky across the horizon, painting the sky in sheets of violet.  Wind crashed through the trees but the rain didn't follow. 

             
In Virginia City, fires start easily in the dry grasses and oily sage and thunderstorms that come without rain happen a couple times in summer.  A wildfire on the Big Sky Ranch in the wake of the summer's drought could burn out of control in no time.

             
Not long after the storm began, Sarah suddenly stopped pacing and ducked out the door.  "Checking something," she called and the door slammed behind her, caught by the wind.  From the window, I saw her cross the yard and I almost followed, but the wind was strong now and Sarah's dress was battering her legs as she headed toward the east pasture where the dammed up stream had ceased to run.

             
"That's why I'm moving them, Sarah," William had said.  "Then, we can wait for the trial.  I don’t want to do anything to make him act."

             
"He'll act anyway, William, that's the problem," Sarah had said.

             
She'd meant Getties, the neighbor who'd sabotaged their water and probably stolen and sold some of their herd. 

             
Abruptly, I left the window and ran up the stairs, my dress weighing me down.  What was it Luke had said during one of our rides?  We'd been heading north along the creek that Mr. Getties was wanting to dam up, following a line of cottonwood.  Cottonwood are naturally water greedy, growing alongside streams and needing more water than is their fair share considering they choose to grow in deserts like Nevada.  I had pointed the trees out because they weren't summer green but January brown, even though they lined a waterway.

             
"They're tinder," Luke had said.  "Just waiting.  All it would take is one spark.  There's cottonwood that went up along one of Mr. Getties' fence lines not that long ago; took the neighboring rancher and all his hands to put it out."             

             
Rummaging through the trunk my mother had sent, I unearthed my hard trousers, the ones my father had brought me for riding, the secret I'd kept all those years.  I needed to be able to move.

             
It had been less than a week since I'd run into Cynthia Getties along that same creek, moving through the trees.  I thought I'd startled her, the way she'd jumped when I said hello, but what if she'd known I was there but meant not to be seen?  She'd looked around quickly as if to make certain I was alone, then handed me a blue crocheted shawl, told me it was Sarah's and she needed to return it, and took her leave before I could do more than ascertain her name.  I'd asked if she wanted to come to the house for lemonade or if I could take a message as well as the wrap, but she had said she had to be going and all but run back up the line of trees.

             
I'd taken the wrap to Sarah, who'd taken it wide eyed.

             
"What did she say?  Did she—"

             
Mention me
, I finished that to myself. 
Did she mention me? 
Her expression had turned wistful and I couldn't give the answer her half question wanted so, instead, I told her everything that had transpired, as short as it was.

             
When I finished, Sarah looked skeptical and sad.  She took the shawl from me and held it out in front of her.  "That's not mine," she said flatly, and then, "I never left a wrap at her house," and not long after, she had gone out without saying anything and, minutes later, I'd seen her making her way north, the direction the stream in question ran, the direction of the stand of cottonwood I'd told her about. 

             
I surfaced from my thoughts.  Sarah was heading for the cottonwood stand; I was willing to bet on it. 

             
The hard trousers still fit and they'd be much easier to move in.

             
I ran.

              Wind lashed the trees.  Lightning struck violet sheets of light across the sky and thunder rumbled close after but I thought the storm might be moving away.  I saw Luke disappearing into one of the outbuildings and shouted to him.

             
"Get inside," he yelled back at me.

             
"I have to get to Sarah," I shouted.

             
He swore.  "She's out there?"

             
"She's by the cottonwoods."

             
I didn't actually know that but I wasn't taking a chance.  He followed me, passing me quickly and turning back to ask, "Are you sure?"

             
"No.
Go
.  You need to get to the animals.  I'll get Sarah."

             
He didn't bother to argue, he just ran ahead of me.  The trees danced and swayed.  The cottonwood stand wasn't that far away, but the distance to the cottonwoods took forever to run with panic beating at me and the storm winds driving me back. Just as we entered the copse, one of the cottonwood branches broke with a sound like a gunshot. 

             
Up ahead, I could see figures struggling.

             
Luke was faster than me.  I ran after him, trying to see around him.  The figures struggling were Sarah and a man I'd never seen before, Joshua Getties, probably, as Cynthia flailed nearby, stomping her feet as if throwing a tantrum.

             
Then, Luke was between me and them again and I couldn't see.  I ran blindly after him, shouting for the group to stop.

             
No one heeded at all.  As we came closer, I saw that Cynthia Getties was stomping out a line of fire as best she could.  Her skirt was scorched in places, her hands and face grimy, but she slammed her feet into the Earth, following the line of fire, trying to get ahead of it.

             
Sarah struggled against a man of medium height who snarled, making threats and shouting at Cynthia to
keep going, light the fires
!

             
There were already several fires burning in the grasses at the foot of the cottonwoods.

             
"They're tinder," Luke had said. "One spark could send them all up." 

             
Cynthia was trying to stop the spread of fire.  I ran at the flames and at the same time Joshua Getties shoved Sarah hard, sending her flying backward.  She collided hard with one of the trees and lost her breath as her back slammed into the trunk. 

             
I grabbed her instead of Mr. Getties, who slid away from Luke, heading to his wife.  Mr. Getties grabbed Cynthia by the hair, dragging her after him.  She shouted and reached for his hands, pressing them into her scalp as the pressure of his grip tore at her.  I went after both of them, no idea what I meant to do, just that angry determination rising up, this was my sister's home, this was her
life
. 

             
"Kitty!" Sarah tried to shout.  Her voice came out weak.

             
Luke turned back for Sarah. I put on a burst of speed and headed for Mr. Getties, when one of the cottonwoods caught, snapping resin heat like fireworks.

             
In an instant, the entire copse of trees went up, dried leaves snapping and flying from tree to tree.  A line of fire sprang up in the dried grasses, spreading every time a shower of sparks or a flaming leaf fell from the infernos.

             
We'd all run there.  None of us had taken tools.  No shovels, no buckets; just dirt and stones and us. 

             
Sarah was now standing bent from the waist, her hands on her knees, gasping for air.  I began to go to her, meaning to pull her upright and arch her back, the only way I knew to help her breathe again.  Luke grabbed my arm first.  "Run and get help.  Anyone you can find." 

             
"Look out!" I shouted.

             
He turned in time to deflect the blow from Mr. Getties.

             
"Kathryn, go!" 

             
I took time for one more look at Sarah, still bent, and then I ran.  The trip back to the ranch, an easy couple minutes every other time, took even longer this time.  I ran the way I had as a child, hard and fast as I could, no pleasure in the run, just panic for those I loved.

             
One of the trail teams was assembled in the yard. 

             
"You have to come with me," I shouted.  I hadn't even gotten into the dooryard yet.  There was only an instant in which I saw their startled faces. 

             
"Kitty?  What is it?"

             
"Mr. Getties … at the creek … with Sarah."

             
Their faces looked horrified.

             
"Fire!  They lit the trees."

             
Robert and William ran at once, heading straight at me and past, and I swallowed, spun, and followed.               

             
By the time we came back, carrying shovels and buckets, the men armed, all of us breathing hard, Joshua and Cynthia Getties had run and disappeared into the woods.  Luke and Sarah were stomping runners of flame, trying to keep the fire from spreading further.

             
William kept running, hard, into the woods and Sarah, shouting, followed him.  I took a bucket from one of the men, ran for the creek and tried to scoop water to throw on the fire.  The water was so low and the fire far enough away, I abandoned the effort and ran back to where men were creating a fire break, shoveling dirt on the flames, moving in a circle to contain the blazing cottonwoods.             

             
The tall trees burned like candles, lighting up the afternoon, giving off intense heat.  The men worked one after another, each shoveling then stopping, handing off the shovel, backing away from the heat, stomping out any leaves that blew further into the grasses.

             
I wanted to follow Sarah and William.  He'd gone after the Getties and Sarah had gone after him.  Anything could happen.  Both men were armed, tempers up, the trees burning.  Everything had gone too far.

             
The trees still flamed but the wind had died down and the circle of dirt kept the fire inside.  Men were starting to fill buckets, cursing at the low water, handing buckets one after another to drench the ground around the trees and any fallen leaves or smoldering grasses.

             
When a shot came from the trees, I began running.  I got as far as the entrance where the path led into the deeper underbrush and felt someone latch hard onto my wrist.

             
I spun back, yanking my wrist, trying to free myself.  "That was a shot!"

             
Robert shook his head at me.  "Go get help.  I'll follow them."  He released my wrist and started past me. 

             
"I don’t know where to go!"

             
"I'll go," Luke said and ran for the ranch.

             
I stared after Robert, stared after Luke, and tried to follow Robert into the trees.  There was another gun shot.  Mike threw a bucket of water onto a blazing leaf and grabbed me round the waist, lifting me off the ground as he spun me back the other way.

             
"Go with Luke.  Ride for the sheriff."  He went back to the bucket as if, of course, I would obey him.

             
I stared in the direction William, Sarah and Robert had gone, then turned and ran as hard as I could toward the ranch.  There were weapons there I could fetch, return; I could run with Luke for the sheriff, I could—

             
"Kitty!"

             
Luke, in the stables, saddling a horse.

             
"Can you ride?"

             
Of course I could ride.  I'd even been riding with him.  I caught the reins, mounted up, and waited to see if he'd saddle another horse or come with me.

             
The trail team's horses lulled nearby.  Luke untied the reins from one and threw himself on.  I looked back at the way I'd come, at the creek that led to the cottonwoods.  From the trees, I could see smoke rising in black coils into the pristine afternoon sky.

             
No more gunshots, no sound of anyone heading our way.  Redding was five miles to the east. 

             
We rode at a gallop and made town before 30 minutes had gone by.  The Sheriff's Office was a few buildings away from the hotel where Robert and I had eaten, on the main street where I had seen Luke watching us before he disappeared into the dancing crowd on a previous Saturday night.

             
There was a deputy in the office.

             
"Shooting on Big Sky Ranch," Luke said, even as he entered.             

             
The deputy rose from his desk, clapped a hat on and followed.  "That fool Getties again?"

             
"Set fire to the cottonwoods on the tributary," Luke said.

             
The deputy glanced at me but didn't waste time asking.

             
"Who's armed?"

             
"William Kennedy and Joshua Getties, both."

             
"His wife might have lit the fires," I said.

             
Neither man bothered to answer me.

              We were back within the hour, riding hard, galloping at times, the horses lathered.  Tiny met us at the entrance to the ranch.

             
"William's in the ranch house.  Shot."

             
I grabbed the saddle horn, dizzy, and slipped down from the horse meaning to go there.  "Where's Sarah?"

             
"With him." Tiny was already mounting my horse, leading the deputy and Luke.

             
Where's Robert?
I wanted to ask, and couldn't.  I ran for the house.  "What about the fire?" I called back over my shoulder.

             
"Burning," Tiny called just as I got inside.

              William was on the davenport in the parlor.  Sarah, her face ashen white, knelt beside him in a spill of tears.  A tall, thin man bent over William and I could see blood on a partially torn shirt from where I stood, suddenly trembling too hard to go any closer.

             
"Sarah?"

             
She reached for me with one hand without even looking away from William.  I went over to her instantly, one arm around her shoulders, one hand taking hers. 

             
William was propped up against the arm of the davenport, his legs out on the cushions, dusty boots still on.  His blue work shirt had been partially ripped from him, exposing a shoulder covered in blood.

             
The room around me danced briefly.  I shut my eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass.  When I opened them again, I could see dark stitches in the wound and that the wound itself was high on William's shoulder in the fleshy part of his arm.  If he was lucky, no bone had been broken.

             
The doctor nodded at me briefly, looked at Sarah, and looked at me again as if having decided Sarah was unlikely to move any distance from William any time soon.  "Is there whisky somewhere in the house?"                                         

             
"Whisky?" 

             
"He doesn't want morphine."

             
Not with a fire burning so near his ranch,
I thought.  He probably didn't want a lot of whisky either, but I went looking for the crystal decanter Sarah treasured and poured out a healthy measure, returning with it to find the doctor packing up his bag and telling Sarah how to keep the wound clean, that he'd be back the next day, and that there was a birth he needed to attend to in Redding itself.

             
"He arrived here fast," I said as the doctor let himself out.

             
"Tiny found him on the trail.  He was on his way to Redding."

             
"I hope the baby has waited for him," I said.

             
Sarah looked blank.  "I don’t care," she said.

             
"I'm alright, Sarah," William said. He tried to sit up and subsided promptly, turning even whiter than he had been.

             
"He could have killed you," she said, fiercely.

             
"Only if he'd been aiming at something else completely."

             
"How can you laugh?"

             
"I'm not laughing, Sarah.  But I'm not dead, either."  He tipped the glass up and took a swallow, grimacing.  "Help me up.  I need to get out there."

             
"No," Sarah said.

             
"No," I echoed, though no one had asked me.  "Your ranch hands are doing everything you could do and they're not bleeding."

             
"Damn it, Kathryn, Sarah, I'm not asking you."

             
"Good," Sarah said.  "Because we're not helping you.  Kitty, where are you going?"

             
"To look for Robert, Luke and the deputy."  I went out the door before Sarah could get off the davenport and try to stop me. 

              One of the Juans, Mike, and a couple ranch hands whose names I'd never quite figured out were in the pastures, riding with the dogs, rounding up the herds in case the fire spread.  Tiny had taken the deputy into the trees.  There were still saddled horses tied to the stable gates.  I untied the first I came to, ran a hand over her muzzle and tugged her after me until I could get to the stile, climb up and mount.

             
Seconds later, I was following the path along the creek again, already beginning to cough as the smoke blew toward us.  The horse pranced uneasily as we rode closer.  I allowed her to slow.  No need hurting the horse or allowing her to bolt.  From the underbrush, I could hear the fire crackling, maybe under control but still burning.  The voices of the men came back as well.

             
When the other horses came into sight, I left mine tied with them and went on foot.  Clouds of smoke made it dim as twilight on the path.             

             
Abruptly, I entered the clearing where they worked.  Several hands looked up, blinked at me, and went right back to shoveling.  The deputy wasn't there and neither was Robert.

             
Luke was.  He didn't go back to shoveling right away, but came over to me.

             
"Go back to the house.  Help Sarah if you can."  He put one hand on my shoulder, trying to turn me around and give me a push.

             
I pushed his hand off.  "Your concern is appreciated.  Mrs. Kennedy is caring for William, Mr. Michaels, and doesn't need me.  The doctor has been to see him.  This is where I'm needed."

             
Luke rolled his eyes, shot a beseeching look at the other hands, who didn't even slow what they were doing, and said, "This isn't safe.  Go pack for yourself and your sister, then.  Likely we're going to have to give up on the fire and get the animals out."

             
Anger rose.  He'd ignored me for weeks.  Now, his concern was out of place.  "It's not your place, Luke Michaels," I said and stepped past him to take a shovel.

             
I heard him slap his hat against his dusty denim leg before he grabbed his own shovel again and went back to it.

              Maybe an hour passed.  The fire roared in the cottonwoods, still burning hot and starting to consume the trees.  They'd given up on the buckets—the water in the creek was too low and the process was too slow.  As soon as a bucket began to dampen the flames, another patch would roar up.

             
Men shoveled, throwing warnings and suggestions to each other and to me.  I worked alongside them, my shoulders and arms aching.  A few animals ran from the brush.  The fire spread, became contained, and blew and burned again.  The sun began to drop to the Cascade Mountains in the west.  Still mid-afternoon but time was passing.

             
"McLeod was going to ride on for help," one of the men shouted finally as another line of flame jumped the dirt barriers.

             
"We're losing ground," another called back. 

             
"We can't stop," I yelled, trying to be heard, and coughed on the smoke in my throat.

             
"Get her out of here," Luke bellowed to no one in particular.

             
"We all need to fall—" Juan started and shouted something incoherent.  One of the biggest remaining branches on one of the cottonwoods gave way, crashing down through the black branches that snapped with flames.

             
Instantly, the fire spread outward, catching in grass that had been smoldering or put out, jumping the barriers easily.

             
"Go!" Juan shouted. 

             
"Is anyone coming?" I yelled.  We couldn't just stop, there was no break in the trees and grasses and pasture land before the ranch.

             
"Sheriff and Tiny'll send back people."  Luke had come up behind me, was shouting above the sound of flames and the other men shouting to each other.  He had a hold of me by the waist.

             
"I'm not going until everyone goes."  I kicked at him, childish but furious.