A Fire in the Blood (15 page)

      
"Nice fellow," Jess said drily to Tate as they observed the uproar.

      
"Brewster is purely mean," Tate said, sucking on a toothpick. "Watch him when you race—and them Spanish rowels he wears. Ain't afraid to use 'em on any rider or horse who gets near."

      
"I'll remember that," Jess said as he headed toward the stable where Blaze waited for the race along with the favorite mounts of a dozen contestants. He had sized them all up earlier and decided that Moss's big sorrel, ridden by Rob Ostler, would be the only other competition besides Brewster's white.

      
Lissa, sickened by Yancy's cruelty and eager to escape the aromatic press of sweaty cowhands on a hot day, slipped through the crowd and followed Jess into the stable. The air was heavy with dust motes dancing in the rays of golden sunlight filtering through the thin cracks between the boards. The nose-tickling smell of hay blended with the sweet musk of horse droppings. She let her eyes grow accustomed to the indirect light, then walked silently toward Jess, who was replacing his tack on Blaze.

      
"Are you ready for the race?"

      
He turned toward her with a look of irritation on his face. The subtle, clean scent of orange blossoms floated over the baser smells of the livery. His senses were humming with it, and he resented her for it. "Thought I warned you about sneaking up on me," he said, even though he had been aware of her presence.

      
"I'll take my chances," she replied with a smile, drawing closer to pat the big black's nose. "If you win today, you'll make an enemy of Yancy. You bet him almost two months' pay."

      
"It's a month's pay to me." He shrugged indifferently. "I just saw what a gracious winner your champion is. Wouldn't hurt him to lose for a change."

      
"But it might hurt you. He rides rough, Jess," she said, placing one hand on his chest experimentally.

      
He closed his hand over hers, planning to lift it away, but somehow, once he made contact with her silky pale skin, he couldn't let go. When she smiled, he knew she'd felt his heartbeat accelerate. "I consider myself duly warned," he said as he slowly removed her hand, "against both of you."

      
She stuck out her lower lip in a mock pout and stepped closer. "For luck, Jess," she whispered, tiptoeing up to plant a kiss on his lips. She only meant it to be a swift, light peck, but when her breasts brushed against his chest and she felt the scrape of his whiskers on her fingertips, she sank forward, leaning into him.

      
His arms closed around her involuntarily, crushing her against his body. She melted with a small, whimpering moan that opened her lips. His tongue responded by plunging into her mouth to taste her forbidden sweetness yet again. She met his invasion, letting her tongue touch his, sleek and hot, as their lips molded together, brushing, pressing, devouring.

      
She traced the hard line of his jaw and touched his bearded cheek with the pads of her thumbs, then sank her fingers into the long shaggy hair touching the collar of his shirt. Jess lifted her up, pressing her hips firmly against his and rocking them slowly as reality faded and they lost themselves in each other.

      
Tate's discreet cough brought back sanity. Jess broke off the kiss. Dazed, Lissa did not even notice the big black cowhand standing embarrassed in the stable door.

      
"Brewster's a comin' for his horse," was all Shannon said. He touched the brim of his hat respectfully to Lissa, then cast his reproachful brown eyes on Jess before turning his back and walking out the door.

      
"Get out of here before they find you," Jess gritted between clenched teeth as he shoved Lissa toward the smaller door on the opposite end of the stable. Once she was gone, he seized the rough boards of an empty stall and held on to them until he felt the splinters biting into his fingers.

      
What the hell's wrong with me? I'm the one who's a complete idiot!

      
Lissa raced from the stable with her fingers touching her bruised lips, looking neither left nor right. As she circled the outside of the building, she collided with Yancy Brewster, who took her shoulders and held her for a narrow-eyed inspection. He had just seen Shannon come from the stable, now Lissa, with her hair mussed and her breathing erratic. Then Jesse Robbins led his stallion through the front door, and the foreman understood.

      
A look of furious incredulity flashed across Brewster's face. "You 'n that breed!" he gasped, his breath catching in his throat.

      
Lissa jerked free of his clawlike hands, but stood her ground. "Keep your crazy accusations to yourself, Yancy," she hissed. "You say anything like that to my father and he'll kill you. Or Robbins will." She flung her tangled hair over her shoulder and stalked away as rage-filled hazel eyes met cold, deadly gray ones.

      
"Don't push, Brewster," was all Jess said.

      
"Push, breed? I'll ride you into the ground," Brewster whispered hoarsely.

      
A crowd of the other hands who were riding in the big race converged on the two tense figures, laughing and joking, oblivious of the impending conflict.

      
Brewster turned and stalked into the stable to get his horse, and several of the others followed. Tate Shannon fell in step beside Jess as he led Blaze toward the start of the two-mile race course.

      
"You're playin' with fire, Jess. Oh, I seen her a-comin' after you, battin' them big yeller eyes 'n smilin' like Eve with an apple, but Brewster always figgered on gettin' her. She's poison for you."

      
"If I remember my Bible, that first apple was poison, too," Jess replied grimly.

      
"I jes hope you ain't fixin' to take a bite," Tate said dolefully, then added, "Watch Brewster durin' the race. He'll sure try 'n cut you now."

      
Jess nodded grimly as he mounted up.

      
The eleven contestants lined up their horses while Cy Evers explained the rules to the assembled crowd. "Course is from here around the big stand of cottonwoods by the creek and back. First one who comes under my flag here wins. Get fixed to race when I fire my rifle."

      
Lissa stood behind the corral gate, steadying her trembling legs by holding on to the rough log poles of the fence. She could see the two tall riders at the starting line, could sense the crackling animosity between them. Would Yancy go to her father? Why had she done such a rash, reckless thing?
I haven't had a sensible thought since I first laid eyes on Jesse Robbins.
She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, mesmerized by his dark, savage sensuality. Even now her unwilling gaze fastened on him as he bent low over Blaze's neck, crooning softly to the stallion.

      
Cy Evers's rifle cracked and the riders exploded from the starting line in a cloud of dust. Yancy dug his sharp Spanish rowels into Thunderbolt's side, drawing blood on the gleaming white coat, and the big white leaped ahead. One of the hands on a big dun and Rob on Moss's sorrel pulled close to Yancy. Jess seemed to be pacing his big black midway back. The dun quickly faded, but the white and the sorrel raced neck and neck for several lengths. Then, with a lightning flash, Yancy's quirt caught the sorrel on the neck, causing the horse to break stride and stumble.

      
Her heart in her throat, Lissa climbed on the corral fence to get a better view, but the riders were headed around the trees by the shallow creek. The last thing she saw was Jess pulling closer to Yancy as they went into the turn. She clung to the top rail of the corral, frantically searching the horizon for the riders, afraid to breathe until she saw Jess reappear.

      
Finally they emerged, thundering back toward the finish line with the white still in the lead, but Blaze was relentlessly gaining. Yancy heard the pounding of hooves growing nearer and turned to see the black closing the gap. As Jess pulled alongside, Yancy began slashing with his quirt, landing several blows. Jess fell back, then surged forward once more, this time ready for the onslaught. When Yancy struck out, Jess seized the foreman's quirt in his gloved hand, almost yanking Brewster from his saddle.

      
The spectators could partially see the struggle between the two men as Jess tossed away the quirt. Then Brewster kicked free of his right stirrup and slashed at Blaze's side with the wicked rowels on his spur, but Jess blocked him with his boot. Brewster tried again, but this time Jess's hard response jammed the foreman's leg backward. The boot with its sharp rowels slid past the sweat flap and raked hard into Thunderbolt's flank. The big stallion screamed and veered sharply to the left. Brewster was off balance and could not regain the stirrup. As the horse lunged in pain, the foreman pitched headfirst off the right side of the frenzied animal.

      
Jess crossed the finish line well ahead of the others. Everyone thundered by Brewster, who rose slowly, brushing dust and twigs from his clothes, apparently none the worse but for his pride.

      
Lissa sat frozen on the rail as Jess dismounted amid cheers from the J Bar men. His shirt was torn in several places, and small weals of blood seeped through the thin cotton. She wanted to run to him and tend his hurts, to hold him safe in her arms and whisper that she loved him. But to do so would seal his doom.

Chapter Nine

      
Jess accepted the good wishes of the J Bar men. A few had bet on him and were collecting their winnings, but the cheerful excitement died into a tense lull as the foreman rode in mounted behind the Diamond E man who had stopped to pick him up when the white bolted. Everyone grew silent as Brewster approached Robbins.

      
"I always heard greasers and gut-eaters were natural-born riders. You bein' both, I reckon a white man never stood a chance."

      
The silence was thick enough for Vinegar Joe to slice and fry for dinner. Everyone waited to see what the fearful gunman would do.

      
"You gonna shoot me, Robbins?" Brewster taunted. His face was coated with a thick gray film of dust. Rivulets of sweat ran down his temples and cheeks. He looked pale beneath the dirt, and a crazy light gleamed in his narrowed eyes.

      
"I hear you never shoot a man unless you're paid." Sneering, the foreman threw down a handful of silver dollars.

Lissa climbed off the fence, desperately searching the crowd to find her father and Cy Evers. They had to intervene before the two fools shot each other!

      
Jess smiled thinly and wiped the trickle of blood from his temple with the back of his hand. Then he pulled off his gloves and stuck them in his belt. "I'm paid real good, Brewster. Sometimes I can afford to indulge myself."

      
"Why don't you just do that?" Brewster said savagely. "You been indulgin' yourself real handy already from what I seen."

      
"There'll be no more of that on Diamond E, Yancy," Evers said then. "You slap leather 'n I'll send you packin'—ridin' if you win, feet first if you lose."

      
The crowd cleared as he and Marcus strode toward the two combatants, who stood facing each other. Brewster was tense as a bobcat on a wire. Jess stood indolently still, muscles loose, hands resting casually on the buckle of his gunbelt.

      
"I hired you to shoot rustlers, not the ramrod of Diamond E, Robbins," Marcus said coldly.

      
Jess shrugged, his deadly gaze never leaving Brewster. "He made the call, not me."

      
By this time Lissa had elbowed her way through the men and thrust herself, breathless, into the clearing. "Jess is telling the truth, Papa. Look at what Yancy did to him," she said, gesturing to the quirt marks on Jess's face and arms.

      
"You stay out of this, Lissa. It has nothing to do with you," Jacobson commanded.

      
Jess's eyes narrowed on Brewster, waiting for him to challenge the old man's last statement, but the foreman said nothing, just let his eyes rake Lissa contemptuously.

      
"The man owes me money. I'll just collect it and be on my way. Very peaceable," Jess said, relaxing now that Brewster had held his silence.

      
Jacobson said nothing, looking to Evers since this was his ranch. The old man pulled a well-worn cowhide purse from his belt. "How much you owe, Yancy?"

      
"Two hundred fifty. I'm good for it, boss."

      
"I reckon you will be." Evers peeled off a thick wad of bills and handed them to Jess. "That settle it for you?"

      
Jess shoved the money in his pocket, then touched his fingers to the brim of his hat and walked to his horse. He felt Lissa's eyes on him as he mounted up and rode off.

* * * *

      
The promised heat arrived, leaving the July earth as scoured by blazing sun as it had been by May thunderstorms, whose moisture had long since been sucked up by thirsty vegetation. Lissa stood in her room, staring out the window at the merciless, pale blue sky. "Not a cloud in sight, much less a thunderhead," she murmured.

      
A trickle of perspiration ran between her breasts and she rubbed her sheer camisole to absorb it. Even stripped down to underwear, she was cooking. She watched two hands ride over the horizon, their horses kicking up big soft puffs of dust. The thick grama grass had turned from tender green shoots to tough brown stalks, thinning but still rich in nutrients.