Twenty-five

Houston swiped at the rain running down his face, took her hand, and tugged her toward her bed beneath the chuck wagon. “I have about fifteen minutes. This will be our golden time.”

“I thought you’d forgotten,” Lara said softly.

“Not a chance.” He chuckled. “It’s all I’ve thought about since we spoke of it this morning.”

She crawled onto her blanket, laid on the dry ground beneath the wagon, with Houston stretched out beside her. As they faced each other, he put his arm out to serve as a pillow for her head. The other arm went around her, holding her snug against him.

“Warm enough?” he asked, willing her to respond to him, concerned that she held herself stiff.

“Yes. I’m warm.”

“Relax,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“I know.” She sighed. “It’s going to take a while.”

“I imagine.” He shifted, giving her more space. “Tell me what you were like as a little girl.”

Lara laughed. “Terribly spoiled. All arms and legs. I loved playing mommy. I had this rag doll my mother made for me out of scraps of material and yarn and I wagged that thing everywhere. One day it fell into the fireplace and I watched in horror as it turned to ash.”

Houston loved the sound of her voice and picturing her as a girl in his mind. As she talked, her muscles relaxed and she molded to him so closely he could feel her breasts against his chest.

“My mother offered to make another, but I wouldn’t let her.”

“Why?”

“I knew I couldn’t take the heartbreak if a similar fate befell the new doll. Besides, by then I had live babies to play with that offered a lot more. I learned how to change them and my mother often had me watch Virgil and Quaid while she did her chores.”

Houston kissed her forehead. “I’m sure you made a good substitute.”

“Until they got hungry.” She laughed quietly. “I couldn’t do anything for them in that department.” She stroked his jaw. “Tell me about your boyhood.”

“Mischievous. Always trying to get out of doing my chores. I would sneak away, get on my pony, and gallop bareback across the pastures like a wild heathen, searching for something to explore.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Always. With my vivid imagination, it didn’t take much. A rusted-out ammunition box became a chest that held pirate treasure. An old, grimy buckle belonged to a desperate outlaw, and once I found a coin that could’ve escaped from his loot, at least in my mind. Sam was two years behind me, and when he got big enough to join me, we got into all kinds of trouble. What one of us didn’t think of the other did. Luke didn’t live with us. In fact, we didn’t know he existed back then. I wish he had, though. When I was about eight, Stoker decided I’d been a boy far too long and went to work teaching me to be a man.” Houston grew somber, thinking about how strict his father became, seemingly overnight. “This harsh land drove him to teach us how to survive in all kinds of situations, knowing he wouldn’t always be there.”

“You were so young!”

“Didn’t matter. The lessons began.”

At the time, he hadn’t understood. Now he knew a big part of the changes came when his mother’s heart had begun to fail. It was about then she’d become bedfast, too weak to get up or walk across the room. Stoker didn’t know how to handle the changes. He missed his partner and grieved her death long before she died four years later.

“How old were you when your mother died, Lara?”

“Eighteen. And you?”

“Twelve.”

“You were just a boy.” Lara brushed a kiss across his lips. “I’m sure you were probably as scared as Henry.”

“Yep, but I had to be strong for Sam. He needed me to make sense of things for him, and to fill in for our pa when he went on whiskey binges and we wouldn’t see him for days.”

“I’m sorry.”

Houston shook himself. “Don’t be. I got through it and it made me tough.” He tweaked her nose. “Next time I’ll tell you about the time a big cat attacked while I was out riding. I killed it, but then I had to fend off a pack of hungry coyotes all night until help arrived.”

Lara rose up on an elbow. “Tell me now. I’m dying to hear your harrowing tale.”

“Nope. That’s for next time.” A bolt of lightning lit up the sky. “I need to go.”

She reached for him as he moved to scoot out from under the wagon. “Wait. I need to talk to you about Henry.”

Houston heard something different in her voice. Not fear; deep concern. “Other than this drive being too dangerous for him, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve never seen him this terrified. I think we should send him back.”

He brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “How? Who’ll take him? I can’t spare anyone. For that matter, I’d like to send you back also.”

“I’m staying,” she stated bluntly. “So don’t get any notions about that. As for Henry…I’ll think of a way.”

“Let me know when you do.” Clothing rustled as he pressed his lips on hers. The kiss settled his jumpy nerves. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Be careful.”

He crawled from her bed and strode to his horse in the driving rain, wishing they were anywhere but the lawless Indian Territory.

* * *

Lightning flashed around Houston as he moved among the herd. Blue flame danced along the six- to nine-foot horns of the frightened animals, leaping from tip to tip. A hissing sound accompanied the eerie sight he’d seen several times on the ranch, the first as a boy. He hadn’t believed it possible for the animals to live. Stoker explained that it was electricity in the air and he called it St. Elmo’s fire. The only thing Houston knew was that St. Elmo was sure raining flames down on them this night.

In the midst of the midnight summer rain, he scanned the herd, looking for signs of a possible stampede. So far, they were only restless. The biggest threat was always at the beginning of a trail drive. After a few weeks, the jumpy cattle settled into the routine and became acclimated to the noises. Thank goodness for that, or this storm would send them into a panic.

His thoughts tried to return to Lara and he kept reeling them back in. Lives depended on him focusing on the work right now. Everything else would have to wait. He rode around the fringes, speaking soothing words, keeping the animals in a tight bunch.

Harmonica music drifted in the air as Joe rode alongside him.

The song “Beautiful Dreamer” had a calming effect on the herd. One by one they lay down, lulled by the music. Houston breathed a sigh of relief that the danger had passed. He watched the steady drip of water off his hat brim onto his oilskin slicker, wishing he was in a Dodge hotel. After a hot bath with his lady, Lara would curl up next to him with nothing between them but skin.

With what had happened tonight, he had high hopes for the very near future. He still felt her hand brushing his chest and sneaking up under his jacket. She seemed to like touching him and he certainly didn’t mind a bit. Whatever she fancied to do was fine with him.

But teach her how to love?

Not a chance. What did he know? He was raised with precious little softness. Stoker was a hard man and he’d instilled that sharp-edged toughness into his sons, leaving no room for affection and sentiment. Houston had been so convinced he had loved Becky, and yet that had proved to be nothing more than a fantasy. The best teaching method was by example and he’d show her tenderness and patience. He wanted more than anything for Lara to know a true husband’s love and be treated like the special woman she was.

Clay rode to him. “I think we’re all right, boss. These cows sure wanted to raise a ruckus tonight but we talked ’em out of it.” A lit cigarette dangled from his mouth. The thing had to be damp, yet somehow it still burned.

“Yep, we did. They just decided to bed down docile-like.”

“Want a snort?” Clay pulled a flask from inside his slicker.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Houston welcomed the bite of the whiskey, hoping the alcohol might make him forget the ache for the woman sleeping beneath the wagon. He took the flask and turned it up, letting the liquid sear a path down his throat to his belly.

“You think Yuma and his varmints will pay us a visit tonight?” Clay asked, taking the flask from Houston.

“Might.” Houston glanced toward the chuck wagon and the low flames of the campfire. “It’d be a foolish move.” The storm was the perfect cover, though. All the men were busy and the peal of thunder would drown out any noise.

Clay wore a grim look. “No one ever accused Blackstone of having brains.”

“Nope.” All Yuma had was a ruthless mind and a heart of stone. “If you have this under control, I’m going to head back. Just want to make sure Lara, Gracie, and Henry are all right.”

“Go ahead while these dogies are taking a nap.”

Houston turned the horse toward the flickering fire. The camp looked peaceful enough, but he wanted to make damn sure. He wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He dismounted at the wagon and looped the reins through a wheel. Thankfully, Gracie was still asleep in her crib beneath a covering of canvas some of the drovers had rigged. He pulled a blanket up over her, then knelt to check on Lara beneath the wagon. At her soft breathing, he looked around for Henry. Not finding him on the ground where he usually slept on a bedroll with his brothers, he checked inside the wagon and there he was. Asleep on a sack of flour.

At last Houston let out a sigh of relief and added a piece of wood to the fire, watching the flames flare and cast sparks. He sat down on a barrel and put his head in his hands.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle, showing signs of petering out. He was glad of that. The storm had turned the summer air a bit chilly. He hadn’t felt the cold one bit when he was kissing Lara, mind you. He doubted he’d have felt freezing snow. He grinned. His wife knew how to warm him up.

His wife?

Houston jerked off his hat and scrubbed the back of his neck. How was it possible he’d come to think of Lara that way in such a short time? Yet he did. That’s what she’d become, and he found what once seemed impossible to accept now easy to embrace.

Having her in his arms with his heart racing brought a sense of heaven and an all-was-right-with-the-world sort of feeling. Damn, he’d never felt this way before about any woman. Only once in a lifetime did a man meet his soulmate. No getting around it; Lara was truly that.

He settled his hat back on, reached for the coffeepot, shook it, and got up for a cup. One swig of coffee and he’d return to the herd.

Returning to the barrel, he sat down and let his thoughts drift back to Lara. Lying on her blanket, talking about their childhoods had put her at ease. He needed to turn the conversation to more of that. And to their future. He just prayed they’d get back to the Lone Star so they could have a future. He emptied his lungs in a big whoosh. Just then, soft hands touched his shoulder. He turned to find Lara.

“You sound like a cross bear,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

“So far.” Houston pulled her onto his knee. “I came to check on you. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Nope. I don’t know why, but I find it hard to sleep when you’re close.” Lara laid her head on his shoulder. “I’d rather be up, talking to you.”

Houston kissed her forehead. “I feel the same way.” His senses heightened each time she came within a hundred yards. It pleased him that he had that effect on her too. She was everything he wanted and needed in a wife, a partner, and a lover.

“Why did you come to check on things? Did you think Yuma might’ve paid me a visit?”

For a second, he almost lied but remembered he’d promised to be honest. “Thought entered my head. Wouldn’t put anything past him. He’ll be out for blood now that we killed his man, captured one, and shot up the other. Might’ve killed that second one too for all we know.” Houston drained the cup and tossed the dregs into the crackling fire.

Lara stirred. “You’re out of coffee. I’ll make another pot.”

He tightened his grip, preventing her from getting up. “No need. Have to head out. Go back to bed for a little more shut-eye.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.” Houston slanted a kiss across her mouth. He stood and she walked him to the Appaloosa.

Lara rested her hand on the saddle. “Please don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Yuma is probably holed up in the rocks, nursing his wounded partner. He’s not a particularly brave man…except where women are concerned.”

Anger climbed up the back of Houston’s neck. Some men loved preying on those who were weaker. Let them face a stronger person and they crawled away with their tails between their legs every time. The thing that worried him about Yuma was that he was mad. Angry men were foolish.

And very dangerous.

“Are you keeping the revolver close?” he asked.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste and pulled it from her pocket. “I hate this gun but I never let it leave my side.”

“Good. If you need it, don’t hesitate to fire.”

“Believe me, I won’t.” She put the gun away and clutched Houston’s vest. “Please be careful.”

He kissed her once more, tugged away to untie the reins, and stepped into the stirrup. Before he could spur the animal, a yell rent the air. He took off at a gallop. Clay and the drovers had gathered into a circle when he reached them.

Houston slid down. “What’s the problem?”

“Emmett is missing,” Clay barked. “I’m organizing a search party.”

“Good. Count me in.” Houston remembered how Emmett had been calm and collected under pressure during the shoot-out yesterday. The drover wouldn’t have just up and ridden off.

“Already did,” Clay answered, suggesting he check out a nearby ravine. The second in command turned back to the cowboys. “If you find him, don’t fire your gun into the air or it might spook the cattle. Just hightail it back here.”

Before the men could scatter, Houston spoke up, “You’ve all had a miserable night. Just want to say that I couldn’t ride with a better bunch of drovers. Thank you for your loyalty.”

They nodded, then fell into the search. Houston’s area was rugged, a thicket of bramble making the land mighty near impassable. The darkness added to the peril, hiding dangerous drop-offs. He took great care in picking his way down the rocky ravine. One wrong step of his horse and that would be it.

Rocks weren’t the only danger either. His gut still told him Blackstone was near. He slid his Colt from the holster and continued.

A shot rang out, the bullet barely missing him.

Houston dove to the ground into some thick brush. His heart hammered as he scanned the area. Where had the gunfire come from?

Nothing moved.

Every rustle of the brush only heightened his senses more. He jumped not only at sounds but shadows. The Appaloosa was skittish too, snorting and swinging his head. Muscles jerked beneath the layer of hide and hair.

He listened to the sounds of the ravine but heard only the birds and the wind through the brush. Houston was beginning to think he’d imagined the shot, when a horse and rider burst past, almost running him down. By the time he aimed his Colt and fired, they’d already disappeared into a thicket. So had his Appaloosa.

Damn! He should’ve drawn a bead on the rider quicker.

Kicking himself, Houston went to find his horse. Thankfully, it hadn’t gone far. He found the animal up against the wall of the ravine and worked to calm him. Finally, Houston climbed into the saddle. He pondered the wisdom of going after the rider, but the man would be long gone by now. He decided to resume his search for the missing drover.

The rain had long stopped but he hadn’t removed the bulky gear. He needed the warmth a little longer. The clouds passed, allowing the quarter moon to shine. It didn’t give much light but he welcomed what he got.

After the slow going, he finally made it to the bottom and proceeded the length of the narrow arroyo, a space that measured no more than the breadth of six horses across. Small branches from a mulberry tree grabbed him when he rode by, ripping a hole in his slicker. He got off and stuffed it into a saddlebag. The sky had begun to lighten but he saw no sign of dawn.

He rounded a bend and emerged from the small canyon into a little clearing. A dark splotch lay on the ground in front of him. A large animal of some kind? He couldn’t tell but he needed to approach with caution. A wounded animal could be very dangerous.

“Whoa, boy.” Houston swung down. Gripping his Colt, he crept forward.

As he neared the dark shape he could tell it wasn’t an animal at all, but a man lying facedown. Houston turned him over and found the face of the missing drover staring at him. His hands and feet were bound and caked blood had formed around a hole in his forehead. Someone had shot Emmett between the eyes.

Someone had executed him.

Pain and rage ricocheted through Houston. He rocked back on his heels. Emmett had worked for the Lone Star for ten years and given the Legends everything he had. The middle-aged, crusty cowboy had loved everything about riding the range.

A thin cigarette paper sticking from Emmett’s pocket caught his eye. Houston reached for it and read the words someone had scrawled.

One a day.

No one had to tell him who’d written the note. He stuffed the warning inside his vest then hoisted Emmett onto his shoulders. He eased the faithful employee across the horse’s rump and began the arduous trek back. His mind churned. He had to stop Blackstone. And he had to do it before those expected reinforcements finally caught up, which they would eventually.

How was he supposed to keep driving the cattle, protect the men, shield his family, and go on the offensive?

He needed more help, more men. But from where?

Stoker’s voice echoed in his head. When trouble comes, stand proud. Remember you’re a Legend. You carry the blood of generations of fighting men who don’t know the word quit.

Damn it to hell if his pa wasn’t right!

A Legend could handle a bunch of ruthless outlaws. He’d still be standing when the dust cleared. Blackstone had better find a hole, because he was coming for him, and this was Houston Legend’s fight to win.