Patricia Potter (46 page)

He hadn’t known exactly when he’d started thinking that way. Maybe the idea had been simmering in his mind longer than he thought; maybe only during the past hours when he witnessed the strength of this town, and especially of its women. He’d never expected it. He’d seen Willow’s strength, and lately Marisa’s, and now even the shy Mrs. Stillwater as well as all the other women in town showed more courage and determination than their men.

He had thought he was protecting Marisa, but now he realized he had been protecting only himself. Marisa had shown so much courage in the past few days; he’d been a fool to think she couldn’t cope with occasional onslaughts of malaria.

Be careful, Marisa, he whispered. Be careful until I get there.

M
ARISA WAS ALMOST
at Willow’s ranch when she heard an explosion, and her horse reared slightly and stumbled. When he came down, he took several halting steps. Marisa had heard many curses from her father’s men, and now she borrowed several as she slid down from her horse and checked its hind legs.

Neither was broken, thank God, but the horse was lame and she didn’t dare ride him farther for fear of permanently maiming the animal. She took the rifle from the scabbard and started walking, though she knew she would not reach the ranch in time to do any good. She heard another explosion, and her mouth went dry as she hurried her steps.

She was still trudging along the road when she heard the neigh of a horse and the sound of wagon wheels against the dry earth. She turned around, and what she saw made her want to swear again.

Coming closer was Willow’s wagon. Chad was driving, and smaller heads were peeping fearfully over the front seat.

She started to wave when a third explosion came, followed several seconds later by the sound of rifle fire.

The wagon came to a stop, and Chad stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

She grimaced. “I could ask you the same question.”

“We’re not going to leave Willow there alone,” Chad said stubbornly. “It’s our home too.”

Marisa thought rapidly. If she could get there, she might still keep her father from doing something he would regret the rest of his life. But the children…

It was as if Chad read her mind. “You can go with us, but you’re not leaving us here.”

Racked with doubts and indecision, Marisa finally nodded, and climbed up next to Chad. “Let me take the reins,” she said.

Chad looked rebelliously at her.

“I’ve had more experience,” she said, “and I heard they were spooked the other day.”

Chad thought for several seconds. She was right. He hadn’t driven a lot, and the team was difficult to control even at the best of times. He reluctantly handed her the reins.

Marisa slapped them against the flanks of the horses. The firing was continuing, and she had to stop it. She had to.

She slapped the horses again, and they sprang into a run. “Hold on,” she told the children. They came over the hill and she saw the army arrayed in front of them. She slapped the horses again, her eyes intent only on the road in front of her, not on the riders who shouted and attempted to stop her. One leaned over to grab the traces, and she threw her quirt at him, knocking him off balance. She kept whipping the horses as she directed them around the buckboard where her father sat in astonishment. She went through the gates, slowing only as she approached the house, then brought the wagon to a halt just at the porch.

“Go,” she yelled at the children. “Go inside.”

Chad hesitated. “What about you?”

“I’m coming,” she said, her gaze locked on her father.

The shooting had become sporadic, with seemingly everyone watching to see what would happen next.

“Marisa,” her father roared.

Marisa turned to Chad. “Take the others in now.”

The twins jumped down, and Chad helped Sallie Sue. They were just entering the house when a loud noise erupted from the henhouse. There was a frantic fluttering of wings, and one of the chickens flew out. Then a shot rang in the air.

Sallie Sue stopped and turned, her huge blue eyes fixed on the chicken, and she ran for it, with Chad right behind her. Lobo sprang through the door, immediately followed by Willow, and they both went after the children.

All of a sudden a million images swam in front of Marisa’s eyes, so many she could comprehend none of them. Over a hill came a parade of some kind. The firing started again. Shots were ringing in every direction, along with shouts and curses.

Marisa screamed when she saw Sallie Sue go down. She jumped from the wagon and was nearly at the little girl’s side when a burning flash of pain struck her leg, sending her to her knees. She saw Lobo throw himself over the child, and then he jerked twice before red spurted from his body. She looked down at the ground beneath her, and blood was puddling there as well.

Then pain turned everything into a red haze.

K
ELLER HAD BEEN
baited all day, ever since his second humiliating confrontation with Lobo. His shame had turned into something close to insanity when they’d approached the Taylor ranch with old man Newton. The explosions had nearly upset him from his horse, and had done nothing to alleviate his rage.

Only two men were on the Taylor ranch, while Newton had fifty. There was no way Keller was going to let Lobo win this time. And then that damned Newton girl showed up, and her father ordered the firing to stop.

But nothing was going to stop Keller. If he fired at the stock, maybe Lobo would leave the house and the firing would start again. The henhouse was the closest. He aimed at it and fired, watching the chickens panic with pleasure. One of the chickens escaped and ran across the yard, and then there was the little girl…

He aimed again, not at the child, but at a space right in front of her, to draw Lobo out, but his horse moved suddenly and he saw the child go down.

When Lobo came running out, he aimed and fired, missing. Then Newton’s daughter got in the way, but he fired nonetheless. Lobo wasn’t going to escape this time. His gun barked and he saw Lobo fall while covering the child’s body. Keller pulled the trigger again and again, watching as Lobo’s body jerked and stilled.

Satisfaction and triumph darted through him. He looked around to see whether anyone had seen him take the notorious gunfighter, and his blood ran cold. Facing him was a man dressed entirely in black, and behind him, coming over the hill, appeared to be the entire town of Newton. He turned to his employer, and he saw hell in those eyes, hell and accusation and vengeance.

Keller’s gaze went back to the man in black, who was reaching for his gun. Keller raised his gun toward the new danger, scarcely believing the speed of the man’s hand as it moved. Before he could fire, he felt as if he’d been struck with a sledgehammer. He was falling, agony streaking through his body. His last thought, though, was that he had killed Lobo. He was the man who had killed Lobo.

I got Lobo.

O
BLIVIOUS TO THE
confusion around her, Willow knelt beside Lobo and Sallie Sue, her heart shattering at the stillness of the two bodies. Lobo was now lying on his side in a growing puddle of blood, his arms still protectively around the child. Willow became aware of others moving toward her, and she felt a moment of panic that perhaps they’d come to finish what they started, and she moved her body to shield the two wounded ones.

Fury and anger, but most of all grief, flooded her mind. Sallie Sue looked so small, so innocent, so incredibly precious as she was cradled by one of the most notorious gunfighters in the territory. Willow saw blood running from a hole in her arm when she reached out a hand to the face of her protector.

“Thess,” she cried, tears tumbling down her face. And Willow sensed that somehow Sallie knew that Lobo had saved her life.

Lobo didn’t stir, and she clutched at him, saying, “Mama,” in confusion and terror and pain.

Willow tried to take her, but the child wouldn’t let go. Willow buried her head in SalUe’s blond hair while she frantically reached out to search for signs of life in the prone figure. But he was so quiet, all the restless energy in his body stilled, the vibrant blue-green eyes closed.

She felt the wet stickiness of blood on her hands and then the hot flood of tears on her face.

“No,” she cried out, her terrible grief silencing the noise and confusion around her. The parade on the hill stopped, the townsfolk stunned by the scene below them: Marisa twisting in agony, the child trembling and bloody, the gunfighter lying motionless, and Willow clinging to both the child and the man while defying anyone to touch or hurt them again.

It was Sullivan who broke the spell, who ran down the hill, disregarding the gunmen, disregarding the growing mumblings of outrage, disregarding anything but the figures on the ground.

Willow was barely aware of his presence, of his arms prying her away from Sallie. “Lobo…Jess,” she whispered achingly, now touching him, seeking an answer, any answer, even the slightest movement, the smallest breath.

Blood was seeping from him in three places, the back of one shoulder, his chest, and his right hand, which was a mass of mangled bone and tissue. Willow leaned down, putting her lips to his, and she breathed sharply when she heard his ragged gasps for air. She took his undamaged hand, holding it tightly as if giving life to him.

Where was Sullivan? She looked around and saw him bent over Marisa while Mrs. MacIntyre held a crying Sallie Sue, her arm now bandaged. After a few moments Sullivan returned to Lobo’s side.

“Sallie Sue and Marisa will be all right,” he said softly. “Sallie’s wound is only superficial. Marisa’s is more serious, and she’s in a great deal of pain.” He deftly examined Lobo, his face growing more and more grave.

“Sullivan?”

“It’s bad, Willow, but I’ll do what I can.”

Willow felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned, her fingers still clasping Lobo’s. She now saw the mass of people coming toward them. She didn’t know who was touching her; she didn’t care as she shied away. These were the people who had done this, who’d let this happen.

Fear for Lobo replacing her anger, she allowed her eyes to move warily around to make sure no one would touch or hurt Lobo again. She saw men taking down Alex Newton’s wheelchair from the back of the wagon, and then helping him from the buckboard and placing him in the wheelchair. She saw Canton, still dressed in black, his hand holding a gun, walk over to a man lying on the ground just outside the fence. The atmosphere of menace was gone. Only shock remained. Shock on the faces of Newton, of his men, of the townspeople, of Brady and Estelle, who were emerging from the barn. Brady, who had his rifle ready…

All were fleeting images that barely registered in Willow’s mind, once she understood the danger of more violence was gone. Now there was only the need to keep Lobo alive. She leaned down and whispered to him, loving words, pleading words, demanding words.

Sullivan was busy taking off Lobo’s shirt, his eyes intent on the wounds.

“I won’t let you die,” Willow said. “I won’t.”

From a distance she heard Alex’s voice. “Sullivan! My daughter!”

Even while Sullivan’s hands continued their work, trying to staunch the bleeding in Lobo’s hand, he looked up quickly.

“My daughter needs you.”

“This man needs me more,” he said, and Willow saw the agony on Sullivan’s face at the choice.

Alex’s face tightened, but he visibly controlled himself. “How is she?”

He looked steadily at Alex. “A bullet hit a bone. She’s in a lot of pain, but she’s not in any immediate danger.” His gaze went back to Lobo. “No thanks to you,” he added bitterly.

Lobo slowly opened his eyes, but no sound came from him, not even the slightest groan when Sullivan knew he must be in agony. One of his ribs, possibly more, was shattered and his breathing was ragged, indicating damage to at least one lung. His hand was also a mess, and Sullivan knew several bones had been hit. As a gun hand, it was probably ruined forever.

But the most immediate problem was loss of blood, and he did what he could to slow the flood as he prayed there was no internal bleeding. Lobo lay still during Sullivan’s examination, although his questioning gaze moved toward Sallie Sue.

“She’ll be all right,” Sullivan said. “So will Marisa.”

“Willow?” It seemed to take every ounce of his strength to ask.

“I think that depends on you,” Sullivan said dryly. He turned around and called out to several townspeople while studiously ignoring Newton and his men. “Take him inside. Willow will show you where.”

He turned back to Sallie Sue, who was now being held tightly by Estelle. They were both surrounded by a group of women wearing shocked and sympathetic faces. He pushed through them, and looked at the child.

“Thess,” Sallie Sue demanded again, and Sullivan’s heart hurt as he saw the anxiety in the tiny, drawn face. She was a gallant little thing, and he couldn’t help but envy her devotion to Lobo. Envy but no longer wonder. He, like everyone else in the town, had seen Lobo risk his life for the child, perhaps even give it His throat tightened as he felt a certain helplessness. But perhaps he could perform a miracle of his own with God’s help.