Savage Thunder by Johanna Lindsey
“I’ll speak to him.”
“Good luck.”
“Just what do you find so amusing about this, Vana?”
“I warned you, my dear, did I not? That man is going to do his utmost to make sure you regret hiring him. Guide indeed. He’s a born slave driver, is what he is.”
Vanessa left then to make sure the French in their party did not come to civil war. But she was back in a moment with Jane, who carried in a bowl of warm water and a clean towel. Babette was conspicuously absent, no doubt warned she had incurred Jocelyn’s displeasure, so Jane laid out Jocelyn’s clothes for the day before departing again.
Jocelyn remained under the covers, fighting with an irritation that had nothing to do with the recent conversation. Her lips felt puffy and sore, and a mirror would no doubt show them to be swollen. How was she going to hide something like that? And if Colt saw it, he would know he had actually hurt her. He would never understand then why she hadn’t fired him on the spot. And what could she tell him if he demanded an explanation? That she enjoyed being manhandled? Or the truth, that she wanted so much to have him be her first lover, she could overlook last night’s rough treatment?
“Well? He’ll be pounding on the—ah, tent flap, if you’re not up and ready to leave at his appointed time. Or is that what you had in mind? Should I leave so the coast is clear?”
Vanessa was most definitely not helping matters with her dry humor this morning. She loved to rub it in when she was proved right about something, and Jocelyn supposed she felt this ungodly early rising was proof that Colt was still getting even for the way she had trapped him into working for her.
“If he does come around knocking, that’ll be just too bad,” Jocelyn grumbled. “I’m not leaving until I’m good and ready.”
“What’s this? Are we preparing for our first argument with the chap already? Do I get to listen?”
“Vana!”
“All right,” the countess conceded as she came to sit at the bottom of Jocelyn’s furs. “I’ve made my point, I suppose. But why are you so touchy this morning?”
Jocelyn sighed. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly,” Jocelyn said as she turned over, and then she flinched to hear Vanessa gasp when she got her first good look at her face.
“Good Lord, it’s already happened! When? Why didn’t you tell me? And you’re still in one piece, thank God. Well, at least now we can dispense with that ruffian’s services.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Rubbish,” Vanessa snorted. “I know a well-kissed mouth when I see one.”
“That’s all he did, and he did that so I would fire him.”
“Did you? No, of course you didn’t, or he wouldn’t still be here. But…well, did you at least make some progress?”
“Progress?” Jocelyn felt like laughing. “Vana, he didn’t kiss me because he wanted to. He was trying—”
“Yes, I heard. To make you fire him. But was it…what you expected?
“Expected? Yes. Wanted? No. He made it as brutal as he could, and I hope his blasted lips are just as sore this morning!”
Vanessa blinked at that heated reply. “Well, I guess we can safely say no progress was made,” she allowed. “Unless of course you think he might have lost control and that’s why he was so savage about it.”
Control? His voice hadn’t been particularly steady when he’d asked her if she was ready to fire him. And now that she thought about it, his breathing had been kind of ragged too. And his fingers had tightened in her hair when he ended the kiss, not before. Was it possible some passion had come into that kiss without his planning on it? God, she would like to think so, but she was just too inexperienced to be sure.
“I don’t know, Vana, but it doesn’t really matter. I ended up thwarting him again, so he would have gone to bed damning me to hell and back, not pining away with desire. And now that I think about it,” she added, throwing back the covers to get up, “I would be smart not to get anywhere near him for a few days. I shouldn’t have approached him last night, knowing that he hadn’t had a chance yet to cool off. I don’t care to make that mistake again.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Pete’s ridin’ in.”
“’Bout time,” Dewane grumbled.
“Did he bring a doctor with him?” Clay asked from his pallet in the corner.
“Quit yar bellyachin’,” Dewane snapped at the wounded man. “I got the damned bullet out, did’n I?”
“Pete’s alone, Clay,” Clydell offered from the open doorway where he’d spotted the rider coming in. “A doc could’n do much now anyways, an’ then we’d jes’ hafta kill ’im ta keep his mouth shut. Ya want some more whiskey?”
Elliot watched silently as a bottle of the raw firewater that passed for whiskey in this area was handed over to the man called Clay. The chap was dying and just didn’t know it. He had lost too much blood before he had found his way back to them. Instead of making his suffering even worse by removing the bullet, Elliot would have simply put him out of his misery, but he wasn’t asked his opinion and didn’t volunteer it. He had wanted to kill him anyway for failing in his assignment, but he had kept that desire to himself too. It wouldn’t do for the others to know how really furious he was.
The ultimate blame for this latest failure was his and he knew it, for hiring incompetents, for not coming up with a better plan, for not sending more than just two men after the duchess. Luck had come into it again, her infernal luck, this time in finding assistance in the middle of nowhere, and skilled assistance at that. How did she do it every bloody time?
Clay had fallen back into semiconsciousness, which ought to keep his moaning down for a while. It had been driving Elliot crazy, that persistent moaning. But he had said nothing. He was allowing it to get on the others’ nerves, too, so no one would object very much when he suggested the chap be left behind to die in peace.
Dewane set the coffeepot down on the table, but Elliot made no move to refill his tin cup with the horrid brew. Their accommodations were deplorable, but at least there was a roof overhead.
Clydell had found the empty hovel which he called a line shack, a place the cowhands of one of the ranches in the area would use when they were out on the range doing whatever it was they did for a living. It sported a table and two chairs, an old cookstove, a few rusted tin goods in a chest, and a moldy mattress on a rope frame. Likely the roof would leak if it rained, but it gave them a place to wait while Pete Saunders was finding out what he could of the duchess’s destination.
After two nights of waiting, however, Elliot had begun to think the youngest member of his little group had deserted them. He wouldn’t have been overly surprised. After so bloody long having nothing go right for him, he had come to expect the worst. But Pete was back, and now he could finally get down to planning his next move.
Pete sauntered into the one-room shack, grinning and dusting his clothes off with a beat-up hat that was likely older than he was. Elliot had been leery of employing the boy when he first saw him, even though a full brown beard concealed his tender age somewhat. But after being given a list of his accomplishments, which included armed robbery, cattle rustling, and one gunfight where he had emerged the winner, Elliot had reconsidered. He still didn’t care for the eighteen-year-old’s enthusiasm and jolly manner, though, as if this were only a game he was playing at.
“Thought ya got lost, Pete,” Clydell remarked by way of greeting.
“Or too lickered up ta find yer way out of a pisspot,” Dewane added with a sneer.
“Didn’t have a drop,” Pete protested, still grinning as he plopped down across from Elliot in the only other chair. “But I could sure stand a drink now. How’s Clay doin’?”
“The same,” Clydell said and set his bottle of rotgut on the table.
Elliot allowed the boy only a few swallows from the upended bottle before demanding, “If you have something to report,
The grin was still there when the bottle was lowered. Elliot would have thought it was a deformity of the boy’s mouth, that constant grin, if he hadn’t seen him without it when Clay had rejoined them, all covered in blood.
“Sure thing, boss,” Pete replied. “When I got to Tombstone, it weren’t hard findin’ the lady. She’d caused plenty excitement ridin’ in the way she did with all those fancy rigs and guards of hers. Just about everyone was talkin’ ’bout her, speculatin’ who she was and what she was doin’—”
“Yes, yes, that happens no matter where she goes,” Elliot interrupted impatiently. “Just get on with it.”
“Well, she checked herself and her whole bunch into the Grand, so I figured she was there to stay a while. I was set to ride out the next mornin’ after I found out if we had to worry ’bout a posse comin’ after us—”
“Do we?” Dewane wanted to know.
“Nah. The fella I asked who sweeps out the jail said we was listed as ‘persons unknown’ when they turned the body in. They didn’t give no descriptions, so the marshal had nothin’ to go on. But as I was sayin’, it’s a good thing I overslept the next mornin’ and didn’t leave first thing.”
“Had some fun, did ya, while we was sittin’ here twiddlin’ our thumbs waitin’ on ya?” Dewane asked in a surly tone.
“Ah, come on, Dewane, what was I supposed to do with time to kill? So I was up a little late that first night. If I hadn’t enjoyed myself some, I wouldn’t’ve still been there when the lady left town again.”
“She’s already on the move?” Elliot demanded with some surprise.
“Sure is. She took off right after the shootout—hey, Dewane, you’ll never guess who bought it!” Pete added excitedly. “The McLaury brothers and the Clanton kid.”
“The Earps?”
“Who else?”
“Didja see it?” Clydell asked.
“Nah. It happened while I was findin’ out what I could at the jail. But you could hear the shots firin’ from everywhere. By the time I got there it was all over.”
“If you please, Mr. Saunders,” Elliot interjected. “I am interested in the duchess, not some obscure shootout in one of your frontier towns.”
“Sure, boss, but you see, the lady was there. And right after is when she took to her heels. It don’t take much to figure that all that killin’ turned her stomach enough to want to get out of there. Anyway, I figured as late as I was, I might as well go by her hotel one more time, and that’s when I seen her wagons lined up out front and bein’ loaded up.”
“I will assume you were smart enough to follow her?”
Pete nodded. “Until they made camp last night a few miles past Benson. They’re stickin’ to the stage roads even though they picked up some breed for a guide before they left town. He had ’em pullin’ out by dawn this mornin’ and headin’ for Tucson. That’s when I come on back here.”
“Where is she going now?” Elliot asked.
“Sounds like Tucson,” Clydell offered helpfully.
Elliot sighed inwardly. Imbeciles. Nothing but a bunch of imbeciles.
“I assure you the duchess does not intend to remain in this territory, Mr. Owen. It is her ultimate destination I am concerned with.”
“She’s travelin’ north now, but it’s sure as shootin’ she ain’t headin’ up ta Utah,” Dewane said, the only one to grasp what Elliot wanted. “Nuthin’ but deserts up thataway. They can either turn off toward Californy or head on over inta New Mexico at any time, then maybe up ta Colirada. Thar’s railroads up thar’ll take her all the way back East if she’s a mind.”
“Very good.” Elliot finally smiled, though it was a cold, anticipatory smile. “And as long as she keeps to the roads, which is almost assured with those cumbersome vehicles of hers, then we can easily get ahead of her with a little hard riding. How far is this Tucson?”
“Too far fer them fancy rigs ta make it t’day, but if’n we leave now an’ ride through the night, we’ll get thar first.”
“Excellent, but we will also need more men. Would you happen to be acquainted with any in Tucson?”
“I might,” Dewane replied. “Ya thinkin’ of attackin’ in force now?”
“You are forgetting how many armed men she has, Mr. Owen, and now she’s added still another to that number. It’s too bad about that guide. One of you could have offered your services for the job, and once in her camp, it would have been a simple matter to slit her throat and escape the first moonless night. By the way, what exactly is a breed?”
“A half-breed. Ya know, part Injun. What was he, Pete? Apache?”
“Nah, too tall. And I ain’t never seen an Apache breed wear a Colt like he really knew how to use it. They stick to rifles.”
“Tall, huh?” Dewane said uneasily. “Ya wouldn’ happen ta have caught his name, would ya?”
“Matter of fact, I was close enough to hear two of her guards talkin’ ’bout him ’fore they kinda insisted I leave the area. They called him Mr. Thunder.”
“Ah, shit!” Dewane swore, then added a few more choice words to that. “She’s gone an’ got herself a fast gun, a real fast gun!”
“Am I to understand you know this Thunder chap?”
Dewane forgot himself enough to glare at the Englishman for his calm in the face of his own upset. Colt Thunder, the only bastard who’d ever made him back down from a fight. Shit! What the hell was he doing this far south?
“Ya could say I know ’im, yes. I seen ’im draw on a fella a few years back, and thar weren’ no contest to it.”
“But, Dewane, that were—”
“Shut up, Clydell!” Dewane growled at his brother. “I know what I seen.” And then in a calmer tone: “The Injun’s no one ta mess around with, boss. He don’ take no crap or insult from any man. He don’ hafta, as good as he is. An’ ya can bet yer sweet life he’s the one shot up our boys. That’d make sense, what with her bein’ able ta hire him so quick. She had ta already have met ’im.”
“So where is the problem? You simply eliminate him.”
“An’ how in hell we supposed ta do that? I tol’ ya—”
“Don’t worry, dear fellow,” Elliot replied sardonically. “I’m not suggesting you challenge him to a duel. A bullet in the back ought to do nicely, and then the duchess will need another guide, won’t she?”
“I guess she will at that.” Dewane grinned. As long as he didn’t have to get anywhere near Colt Thunder…
“If you have nothing else to report, Mr. Saunders, I suggest we be on our way,” Elliot said as he stood up to go. “I will need time to survey this next town to see what advantage, if any, might be found in its layout.”
“What about Clay?” Pete wanted to know.
“If you think he can survive the ride, by all means bring him along.”
Pete glanced at Dewane as the Englishman walked out, but they didn’t hesitate long in following. The fifth man of their group, who hadn’t contributed to the conversation, did the same. He had known Clay just a few months, but wouldn’t waste sympathy on a man careless enough to get shot, since they all took that risk. Clydell was the only one who spared a last glance for the dying man, and as an afterthought, set his bottle of whiskey on the floor next to Clay’s pallet before he, too, followed the others.
Chapter Sixteen
They were a beautiful sight, the woman and the magnificent horse. For a short while Colt was mesmerized by the skill that made her seem part of the animal in its wild race across the cactus-strewn basin. He would never have believed she could ride like that, not a woman who chose to pamper herself with fancy coaches. And she wasn’t even sitting the horse properly. She sat sideways, for Christ’s sake. It made him wonder what other misconceptions he might have formed about her.
But he didn’t wonder for long. Quickly his temper started to rise, and by the time she reached him, it was just short of boiling. He didn’t even give her a chance to catc
“—all the stupid, idiotic…you’re crazy, right? I should have known! Why else would you pay a dozen men to guard you, then take off without a single one of them beside you?”
“What are you talking about?” Jocelyn demanded when she finally brought Sir George up beside him. “I saw you from a distance. I rode directly toward you. If you haven’t noticed, there are no hills, or trees, or even bushes that anyone could hide behind. I was perfectly safe in covering this distance alone.”
“Is that right? Well, look again, Duchess. That mountain lion over yonder is a mite far from his hunting ground, but he’s still there. Whether he caught the dinner that led him this far afield is anyone’s guess, but it sure don’t mean he’d ignore an easy prey like you if he caught your scent.”
He waited a moment for her to stare aghast at the slow-moving cat which was only about three hundred yards south of them. Fortunately, it didn’t appear very interested, but she didn’t know that, and he wasn’t finished with her yet.
“And the snake that spooks that skittish animal of yours into dropping you in the dust will still be there to take a whack at you while your horse is galloping off to safety. You think someone can reach you in time to cut out the poison before you’re dead? Think again. Man isn’t the only danger out here.”
“I believe you’ve made your point,” Jocelyn said in a small voice.
“Good,” he replied with a great deal of satisfaction, only to add, “So what the hell are you doing out here?”
“Sir George and I both needed the exercise,” she rushed to explain. “He hasn’t had a good run since we left Mexico, and besides, it is my habit to ride him for a while each day. In this case, I…I wanted to speak to you, and as it didn’t appear that you would be returning before nightfall again, I didn’t see the harm…well, I see it now, but I didn’t when I decided to join you.”