Claudia Dain (17 page)

She was well surrounded by family. That had always played against his natural desires to have her. That, and she was so close. Maybe too close. He lived in Abilene. It wasn't smart to take a woman, make her your own, in your own town. Too many eyes to see. Too many mouths to talk. That kiss with Skull had proved that, if it needed proving.

She was too close.

But he wanted her. He'd always wanted her. There'd been family and the townsfolk. That had held him back. Now there was the bounty hunter. More than one man courting her made it easy. The door swung wider and he eased himself in, feeling the fit.

She was looking to marry, the whole town knew that. The door swung wide open. He wanted to hear her say the words. To hear her say she'd marry him. To let him touch her, to turn into his kiss, to smile her willingness. That's all he wanted.

All he had to do was get Anne to look at him. He could do that, easy. She liked him. She always had.

* * *

It was more than smoke that billowed out from the roof vents late that afternoon; it was pure flame, orange and alive.

Neil McShay, who owned the dry goods shop across the street, saw it first and stood in dumb horror for a moment before his lungs took over and he shouted, "Fire! Fire at the Cattlemen's! Everybody out!
Out!
"

Isaiah Hill ran out of his boot shop without stopping to look at the fire, shook his head in a daze, and then ran back into his store. He ran back out carrying leather buckets for the water line that had to form quickly, before the winds whipped the fire out of all control.

The door to the hardware and tinware shop banged open and John Wells ran out carrying metal pails, his long legs flying with urgency. The sun was low in the sky and the wind had been picking up all day. One good stiff wind and all of Abilene would be gone by midnight. Even the railroad wouldn't matter anymore; no trains would stop at a ghost town of charred timbers that smelled of smoke. There would be no chance to relocate with a healthy bankroll or a nice stockpile of goods to sell. All would be gone, house and livelihood at once.

The fire had to be stopped.

There were short and breathless bursts of conversation as the town converged.

"Was it lightning?"

"Didn't hear no thunder."

"Don't always hear it."

The sky was clear; the wind had pushed any clouds to the far reaches of the horizon and was holding them there, having itself a time fanning the flames in Abilene.

Moses Webster was standing on the boardwalk, watching his hotel being devoured by fire. He didn't say anything. He watched, his mouth soft with shock.

"Did everybody get out, Mose?"

Moses turned to look at the speaker, his eyes wide and unfocused. "Nobody in there but me."

"You sure, Moses? You sure there's no one in there?" Sheriff Lane asked, unbuckling his holster, ready to run in if there was the need.

"Yeah. I'm sure," he said, looking Charles Lane in the eyes, showing him that he knew what he was saying.

"Thank God for that," Lane said, his voice low with feeling.

The lines formed quickly, the men of the volunteer fire brigade falling back on their training and leading the others. There wasn't a man, woman, or child who lived in Abilene who wasn't there in the bucket line, helping bring water to a thirsty fire. Even Joel Walton was there, his nose running unheeded, forgetting even to sniff.

The wind swirled through the town, down the street, seeming to seek the fire it fed. The people kept their heads bent to their task, not bothering to waste breath on cursing what had fallen upon them so suddenly. Moses Webster had been led across the street and he alone of them all watched and did nothing. It was not expected that he do anything more than what he was—grieving, making a slow and stunned mental catalogue of everything he possessed being eaten by the fire that ran across the peak of the roof and burst forth from the window frames. The fire was a prisoner, destroying all in its escape from the wooden confines of the hotel.

Jack stood next to Powell, who stood next to Shaughn, who stood next to Charles, who stood next to Neil and on it went, a line unbroken of men and women who ignored the heat and the wild and the blackened air to fight the fire with all they had. It was powerful little, but it was a fight none would turn from. Prairie towns lived in constant fear of prairie fires and the wind that drove them. There was no time now for weakness or tears, anger or fear. There was time only to pass the bucket and pray that God would stop the wind.

"Lord Almighty, take what you will from us," Reverend Holt said loudly, praying for them all as he stood in the line. He was a powerfully built man, thick with muscle and barrel-chested; he did not shirk in helping his brothers under God. "We give it all to you, we give you Abilene, the hotel, the saloon, the church, and the stores. We know that you test those who love you. We know from the book of Job that Satan prods you to test your servants so that he may gloat when they fail. But, Lord, we will not fail!"

Amens were whispered up and down the lines. God would do what God would do and they would fight the fire until every ember was cold and black.

"Take what you will from us, we will not turn from you. We will not doubt and we will not despair, for we know that no one and nothing can snatch those who love you out of your hand. Not fire. Not wind."

A gust of dusty wind pressed hard against their legs, pressing against their resolve and, weakening, lost.

"Take this wind from us and give us the strength to fight!"

"Amen, Reverend!" came a wobbly chorus from throats tight with soot and dust and heat.

Arms blurred in motion, heads bent in labor, and lips murmuring prayers for safety and strength were there for God to see, if He chose to intercede. The wind ran off out onto the prairie, a weak and listless foe, beaten and humbled. A prayer answered.

The fire raged.

But they were beating it. It burned and flared, hot and molten yellow, within the confines of the outer walls of the hotel. It was not spreading.

By dusk, it was over, though the embers were still alive and red, waiting for a chance wind to give them roaring life. Buckets of dirt, plentiful in Kansas, penned them in, smothering them. But the dirt was quickly hot and they knew the fire only awaited a better time to burst into flickering life again. If they could beat the fire's heat back until tomorrow, then it would be truly over. Second fires burn hotter than the first and were nigh impossible to put out. If the charred remains of the Cattlemen's burned again, it would take the town with it. Powell, Chris Dodd, and Neil McShay would stand watch during the night and no one feared they would sleep away their vigil; it was that important to them all.

"Does anyone know how it started?" asked Tom Monahan, the owner of the mercantile.

"Didn't hear no thunder, but I was with the stock," Jim Conner said.

"It was a hot fire. Never seen a fire burn so hot and so fast," Isaiah Hill from the boot shop said, wiping a sooty hand across a blackened face. One of the Walton kids brought him a cupful of water from a pail he was carrying round; Isaiah drank it down and nodded his thanks.

"Same here and I saw a scorcher up in Deadwood once. Took out three buildings before it was stopped and it didn't burn near as hot as this one. Them flames was high and strong, not wispy and struggling," said Everett Winslow, owner of the Demorest Restaurant.

"Did anyone hear any thunder or see lightning strike?" Powell asked, rubbing the bowl of his pipe, too dry in the mouth to want to light it.

"Nope and I was looking out the window when it happened. I didn't see anything but the flames. No lightning," said Neil McShay.

Nobody said anything for a bit, chewing that one down. Fires didn't start without some effort.

"Moses? You sure you were alone in there?" At his distracted nod, McShay asked, "For how long?"

Moses was starting to pick through the smoking rubble; the love seat that had graced his lobby was in one piece but blackened beyond saving. The stairs to the second floor reached up to open sky. There was nothing above the ground floor.

"Mose?"

"Huh?" He turned to face McShay.

"Who was the last one in the hotel, besides you?"

Moses Webster thought for a moment, a moment that stretched out. Thinking was an effort.

"Jack Skull."

"Figures," Isaiah grumbled.

"What figures?" Lane said, coming up to get a drink from the Walton kid and his bucket.

"That the last person in the Cattlemen's was Jack Skull," said Powell, shoving his pipe into his shirt pocket with angry energy.

"Now what's to that?" Lane said before he upended his drink. Water never tasted so good to him.

"You doubt that he's mean enough to burn a man's business to the ground for the sheer perverse pleasure of it? You didn't see him at my livery. He's probably going to hit me next."

"Now that's talk that can get a man killed, Powell," Charles said sternly, dropping the cup back in the bucket. "You put a bridle on that tongue of yours before you talk yourself right into a cell."

"You think he'd come to get me himself? You think I'm in danger?"

"Nah, I think you'd talk that man into a noose without raising a hair. It's him I'm trying to protect, not you."

"But that fire started somehow, Sheriff, and there warn't no lightning," Isaiah said.

"This isn't the first fire to take down a building. It won't be the last. You can't lay them all on the bounty hunter just 'cause you've taken a dislike to him."

"He was the last one in the building, 'cept Mose," McShay said, who saw himself as an eyewitness and if he kept talking, would convince himself that he'd seen Jack throw the match.

"And he was staying there," Lane reminded him. "What man burns down the place where he's stored his gear? Did you bother to think that he lost about all he owned in that blaze, same as Webster? His gear was stashed in his room and he didn't come out with it, did he?"

"I saw his gear. It wasn't all that much," Powell said in a surly rumble.

"But all he has," Lane repeated, driving the point.

A small crowd had gathered around the Walton boy and his bucket; that was the excuse they would give if anyone bothered to ask, but the real draw was the talk about Jack Skull, the fire, and how the two were hitched. The way they all felt about Jack, the two had to be hitched with an iron halter and they'd keep talking if they had to forge the iron themselves with the heat of their own rage and suspicion.

Anne could feel the way the mind of the crowd was headed as she and Sarah stood on the edge of the growing throng. Jack, who'd done as much as anyone standing here to fight the fire, was going to be blamed for starting it. No town welcomed a bounty hunter, that was certain, but he had kissed her under the open sky and with half of Abilene looking on. That hadn't won him any friends. But Sheriff Lane was handling it; he wouldn't let the town run after Jack with a rope. She didn't have to feel guilty about that kiss and what it had done to a man's already shaky reputation. She didn't have to get into the middle of this fight.

"And now he and the others who were staying at the Cattlemen's will need some help," Lane said. "Can anyone donate clothes and such to the folks who were staying there? McShay?"

"I have some dress goods that I could part with," he said. "Some shirts and underclothes, combs and brushes and hats."

"Thank you, Neil," Charles said sincerely, glad for both his generosity and the turn in the conversation.

"I'll organize the donations, Sheriff," Sarah volunteered, "if you can get people to bring it all to your office."

"I'll do that, Sarah," Neil McShay said, "and you can use my store to organize; I doubt the sheriff wants his jail piled high with shoes and shirts."

"Thank you, Mr. McShay," Sarah answered. "If you can get the other shop owners to contribute what's needed, I'll find out who was staying in the Cattlemen's, what they need, and arrange to get it to them."

"Don't forget Mr. Webster," Anne said softly. Moses was still walking through the wet and filthy wreckage of his material possessions, burned beyond all recognition to anyone but him.

"Best find him a place to stay tonight and for a while beyond that," Charles Lane said. "He looks as lost as a lone wolf pup."

"I'd be happy to make the arrangements for anyone who needs a bed, Sheriff," Anne offered. "Could you just get them corralled together? It would make it easier."

"Of course, Anne. There were five guests of the hotel; I'll round 'em up and have them ready for you at the saloon."

"You get them lined up with a bed and I'll bring over the goods they'll need to survive and start again," Sarah said.

"I'll help," Neil said. Sarah gave him a quick look, but said nothing. Folks were generous in a calamity.

"When you have them settled, bring them over to the Demorest for a meal, on the house," Everett Winslow said, his wife nodding her agreement.

It was clear to Anne they had all forgotten that Jack was one of the people who had just been offered free lodging, free food, and free clothes. But she hadn't forgotten.

"I'll see you at the saloon in a few minutes, Sheriff. I'm certain it won't take long for me to find beds for these poor people."

The crowd slowly drifted apart, some hanging back, eager and ready to offer a bed to some poor passing stranger in the name of charity. Giving to those who suffered surely made a man feel noble.

"We have a bed, Anne," Mrs. Walton said. "I can double up the twins and Joel since they all have the same sickness, shift Bob and Tim in with Zeke and Luke, move Ellen and Lillian, and that frees up my bed. I'll have it made up with fresh bedding in no time." Anne didn't see how Mrs. Walton was going to get a spare bed out of all that shifting and moving, but then, she didn't know what the normal sleeping arrangements were for the Waltons anyway.

"Thank you, Mrs. Walton," she said. "I don't know if there were any women staying at the Cattlemen's—"

"Anne, in times like these, a woman can't be particular. It's my Christian duty to open my home to a stranger in need. Why, I might be entertaining an angel unaware!" At that, Emma turned to Joel and said, "Go pick me some early blooms to put on the table, Joel. We want to show our best."