Native Wolf (38 page)

He didn’t think.

He couldn’t speak.

He seized the horse nearest him, grabbed a lasso off the barn door, and knotted it around the horse's neck. Then, with deadly aim, he dropped the looped end over Frank, yanked it tight, and gave the nervous horse’s rump a slap.

Nature did the rest.

Chase entered the fiery barn, covering his mouth and nose with his shirt. His eyes watered as he hoarsely called her name. “Claire!”

She didn’t answer.

“Claire!”

He dropped to the ground. She looked so white, so frail, so still. His heart clenched in despair as he crawled to her on his belly, praying to his god, his father’s god, his mother’s god, that she wasn’t dead.

And then her fingers moved, just the smallest bit, so slightly that it might have been a trick of the heat.

But it was enough to give him hope and strength. Surging forward, he grabbed her forearm and dragged her toward him.

The flames were lapping at her skirts, and he beat them back, leaving only a charred edge. Then he took her limp body in his arms and carried her out of hell.

The sweet, cool night air riffled her hair as he laid her out gently on the ground, safely away from the barn. He could hear the ranch hands shouting orders. Someone went after the runaway horse. Someone else started pumping buckets of water. Two sobbing maids rushed over to Claire, wringing their hands.

Claire wasn’t moving. Chase wasn’t sure she was even breathing. His heart stabbed painfully between his ribs as he brushed her cinder-filled hair back from her brow and bent close to see if he could feel her breath on his cheek.

“Ride into town and get the doc!” he yelled to no one in particular.

Tears stung his eyes as he clasped her hand, willing her to live.

If it had been any other horse, Frank knew he’d be a dead man. But Sadie was an old gray mare. So after dragging Frank half a mile down the road—scraping him along the rocky ground, bruising his bones, shredding his best suit and a good portion of his skin—she tuckered out and slowed to an amble.

He was lucky. He could have broken several bones or lost a limb. A mile would have killed him.

Still, he wasn’t a pretty sight. He was sure of that. He was trembling in pain and shock. He could hardly put his battered lips together to whistle for Sadie to stop. Two of his fingers were bent at impossible angles. Blood dripped into his eyes, soaked his sleeves, and streamed down his bare legs. He felt like he’d gone nine rounds with a prizefighter, and he realized he wasn’t even feeling the full extent of the damage yet.

With his thankfully numb fingers, he managed to loosen the lasso and free himself. Holding onto the end of the rope to keep Sadie close, he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

What the hell had happened? All he could remember was that he’d been talking to Claire one moment, and he was being dragged by a runaway horse the next.

No, he remembered something else. He’d seen a man’s snarling face just as Sadie took off running.

The Injun had done this to him.

But where had he come from? How had he known Claire was in the barn?

A wave of nausea roiled inside him, and he spat out blood, along with a broken tooth, as an even worse thought crossed his mind.

What if Claire wasn’t dead? What if the half-breed had saved her?

It would ruin Frank. He’d lose everything. Claire would tell her father what he’d done, and Frank’s life would be over.

He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t take the fall for this. It wasn’t fair.

His head started throbbing, and he let it hang between his knees while he considered his options.

Then he realized the answer had been right in front of him.

The Injun.

Wasn’t it awfully convenient that the Injun had just happened to be at the ranch when the fire started? Maybe he’d come to take his revenge after all. At least Frank thought he could make her father believe that. Hell, the way Frank looked, he could even convince Mr. Parker that he’d grappled with the bastard, fighting for Claire’s life.

He just had to get to the rancher before anyone else did. If Frank played his cards right, it wouldn’t matter if Claire lived or died. He’d plant seeds of doubt in the rancher’s mind, pin the blame on the Injun, and the rest would take care of itself. After all, who was Mr. Parker going to believe—the villain who’d kidnapped his daughter or the man who intended to marry her?

Despite the sharp pain in his ribs as he hauled himself up by the rope and leaned against Sadie’s flank, his eyes were narrowed to gleeful slits. That Injun was about to discover he’d come to the wrong place at the wrong time.

Riding the horse bareback was a whole new kind of torture for Frank, even at a slow trot. He grimaced in agony, feeling his bones grind and rearrange themselves every time Sadie moved.

By the time he reached the ranch where Mr. Parker was staying, Frank was so worn out, he practically fell off the horse. Still he managed to hobble up the steps and banged hard on the door.

“Mr. Parker! Mr. Parker, you’ve got to come quick!”

The flames climbed higher on the roof of the barn, sending smoke billowing into the night sky. The buckets of water were no match for the roaring beast that was feeding on the dry tinder. So the firefighting efforts were instead centered on preventing the fire from spreading to the other outbuildings.

Chase cradled Claire’s wilting body in his arms. Her mouth was open, and he could see she was breathing now. But it seemed like every breath was a struggle as air rasped in and out of her damaged throat. With his thumb, he tenderly wiped away the ash that had settled on her face. He murmured words of comfort and prayers in his own tongue. But he wasn’t sure she could even hear him.

He narrowed his eyes at the blazing barn as its charred skeleton wavered in the heat. How had all this come to pass? Had Frank truly meant to kill Claire? Why? And where was her father?

It didn’t matter. None of it did. All he cared about was keeping Claire alive.

He asked one of the maids to fetch him a bucket of water. Then he tore his shirt into pieces, soaking them. He used the drenched cloth to dribble water between Claire’s scorched lips and placed a wet rag against her reddened eyelids, hoping to take away some of the sting of the burns.

In the distance, he heard a horse approaching at a gallop. But he was too preoccupied to pay it much mind, until it slid to a halt in front of him, and Samuel Parker slipped from the saddle.

“Get away from her!” he bellowed, aiming his rifle at Chase. “Get your filthy hands off of her!”

The maids cowered in fright.

Chase knew better than to stand in the way of a father protecting his daughter. He raised his palms to show Parker he intended no harm, and then rose cautiously to his feet.

Parker stood not three feet away, frothing at the mouth, ready to shoot Chase. But once he laid eyes on his daughter—wan and weak and barely breathing—his fury melted into despair.

“Claire,” he said, his voice cracking as he lowered the rifle.

“The doc’s on his way,” Chase assured him.

Parker sent him a scathing glare. “So’s the sheriff.”

Chase wasn’t sure what to make of that glare. Surely Parker didn’t believe Chase had anything to do with hurting Claire.

He handed a dripping rag to the rancher. “I think the water does her good.” Then he hunkered down a few paces away.

Parker snapped up the rag, then crouched beside his daughter and began dabbing at her forehead with the shirt. He was silent for a long while, though his mouth was working as he fought back his emotions. Finally he asked, “Why? What kind of an animal would want to hurt Claire?”

Chase was about to tell him.

But at that moment, skidding up on the back of a gasping, frothy horse was an apparition too bloody and beaten to recognize. As the horse wheezed in exhaustion, the man astride shouted with broken, breathless fury. “He said…if he couldn’t have her…nobody could!”

Frank. That horrific mess was Frank. He was shaking a bloody finger at Chase.

“It was the Injun!” Frank said, garbling the words through missing teeth, “The Injun lured Claire into the barn…then set it on fire!”

Chase was too surprised to deny the charge. “What?”

Parker ground his teeth and glared at Chase. “Claire is all I have left,” he bit out, his voice breaking. “If I lose her, Wolf, I swear I’ll string you up myself.”

Chase scowled in disbelief. He felt like the world had turned upside down. “You don’t think I—”

Frank sneered, “He said he’d get revenge.” Then he lowered his head and sobbed, “It looks like he got it. She’s dead.”

“No, she’s not!” Parker roared, as if the force of his words alone would keep Claire alive.

“But,” Frank said, “she may be soon.”

Was that hope in Frank’s voice? Chase shook his head. He couldn’t credit what he was hearing. He turned to Parker. “You don’t think I… Hell, I wouldn’t hurt a hair on Claire’s head. I’m the one who pulled her
out
of the fire.”

Just then, Claire coughed softly, garnering their attention.

“Claire?” Parker placed a trembling hand on her shoulder.

She coughed again and tried to open her eyes.

Chase’s throat ached with emotion. “It’s all right, Claire.”

He had to resist the urge to weep in relief as he cradled her head.

She was alive.

Claire was alive.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he told her. “It won’t hurt so much.” He’d learned that from spending time in the heavy smoke of the sweat lodge. “I’m here now. And your father’s here. You’re going to be all right.”

Parker was staring at him with mistrust. Chase couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he didn’t much care. He was more concerned about Claire. He took back the wet rag and placed it gently over her eyes.

“That should feel better.”

She was trying to say something to him. Her lips were moving. But the effort was hard to watch.

Her father bent close. “What is it, Claire?”

She whispered in his ear, and he nodded.

“Frank,” he confirmed. “She’s asking for Frank.”

She coughed again, and this time she clenched her fist in her father’s sleeve.

Only Chase knew the truth. “She’s not asking for Frank,” he murmured. “She’s naming him.
He
did this.” He whispered to Claire. “Didn’t he?”

She nodded weakly.

Parker’s jaw tensed. "You're sure, Claire?" he asked. "Frank hurt you?"

She nodded again.

Parker's knuckles turned white where he gripped the rifle, and his voice came out on a strangled whisper. “Frank?”

Parker looked ready to spring on Frank with every ounce of his rage. Chase knew, given half a chance, the rancher would shoot the murderous bastard on the spot.

But Chase also knew the upstanding Mr. Parker would never be able to live with himself if he shot Frank in cold blood, no matter how much the son of a bitch deserved it. So he placed a restraining hand on Parker’s arm and said softly, “You said the sheriff’s coming?”

Parker met his eyes. In that moment, a look of understanding passed between them. Justice would prevail. They would have their vengeance. Frank would pay for what he’d done. And it would be by honorable means. Parker nodded.

“Mr. Parker,” Frank called out in feigned concern. “Is she gonna be all right?”

Chase, barely able to contain his own fury, bit out, “What’s the matter, Frank? Are you afraid she might tell everyone the truth?”

Chase didn’t think it possible, but beneath the bloody wreckage of his face, Frank blanched.

But Frank was spared having to reply when the barn suddenly creaked and squealed, wavering in the intense heat. Warning shouts went out among the firefighters. The flaming walls shifted as the roof gradually skewed sideways. Then, with an awful groan, like an injured beast succumbing to its wounds, the barn collapsed and crashed to the ground. Sparks shot out, lighting up the field like stars.

Claire flinched and gave a little cry, and Chase was beside her in an instant, clasping her hand. “I’m here, Claire. I’ll protect you.”

Parker grabbed Chase’s arm, and for a moment Chase thought he was going to pull him away. But when he looked up, Parker gave him a stiff-lipped nod of thanks.