Love and Fury: The Coltrane Saga, Book 4 (13 page)

Colt ground his teeth together because it was hurting like hell to have Branch touch him. He bit out the words to tell him he was hit in the shoulder, the bullet was still in him, he’d lost a lot of blood, and the bastards were all dead.

At once, Branch knew relief over the outlaws’ deaths and fear for Colt. “It’s a couple miles back to where the posse’s camped. Can you make it there? We’ve got to get that bullet outta you, or you’re gonna bleed to death.”

Colt told him there wasn’t time to ride back. “We’ve got to do it here.”

Branch gave a low whistle. “I’ve taken plenty of bullets out, and I’m damn good at it, but I sure ain’t never cut one out in the dark.”

“Get a fire going,” Colt said, his voice barely audible as he struggled against the dizziness and pain. “Either you try or I bleed to death.”

Branch gathered dry sage and twigs. In moments, flames were licking up toward the sky. They could see each other in the yellow-gold light. Branch ripped Colt’s shirt open, prodded the wound, and shook his head. “Hell, that’s deep. I ain’t got a good enough knife. I’ll gouge you to dog meat.”

Colt told him to look inside his boot, and in a moment Branch triumphantly held up the knife. “Hot damn! Your pa’s old Arkansas toothpick. This’ll do it!” He went to his horse, muttering, “Just one thing more…”

He found his bottle of whiskey in his saddlebag and held it out to Colt. His usually gruff voice was filled with pity as he instructed, “Take a big drink, boy. You’re gonna need it.”

Colt took several long swallows, coughing at the deep, burning sensation but welcoming the instant comfort.

Branch looked at him in silence for a moment, needing to steady himself as much as he needed to reassure Colt. “You ready?”

Colt hesitated. “Cut off the end of one of your reins,” he said. It’ll give me something to bite down on.”

A minute later, Colt had the length of leather in his mouth, his teeth clamped tightly, and he nodded to Branch to begin.

Taking a deep breath, Branch began probing into Colt’s flesh, wincing as he felt the contortions of agony in Colt’s body. He moved quickly, wanting to get it over with as soon as he could. The tip of the knife struck lead. Forcing himself not to hurry, Branch scooped, dug, gouged, then maneuvered the blade upward, grasping the bullet eagerly. “Got it!” Immediately he turned to the fire and held the knife blade in the licking flames, crying, “Hang on. Gotta stop that bleeding.”

He pressed the red-hot steel against the wound, smelled the nauseating odor of burning flesh. The leather fell from Colt’s mouth and he screamed once, then mercifully passed out.

Branch sat back gratefully, and found he was shaking. He stared at the bloodied piece of led in his hand. Now he had to get Colt somewhere to rest.

He gazed back toward the posse’s camp, but Colt was too weak to be moved that far just yet, Branch decided. He could sleep where they were until the next day. Then they’d go due south, skirting the Esmeralda salt marshes and riding on into California where there was a small mining camp, Golconda. Not much in the way of a town, it was mostly just a place where prospectors could come in from their digs and raise hell. It would be a good place for Colt to rest up.

Branch smiled as he thought about Golconda. Candy and her girls would be there. Candy ran one of the best bawdy houses in the West, and Branch had friends there. They’d be happy to look after Colt while Branch went back to Silver Butte to look after the Coltrane place till Colt could take over again.

Branch chuckled. Why, some of his best friends were whores, and he was proud of it. They made
nice
friends, and he figured that’s just what Colt would be needing to pull him out of his grief—some nice friends.

Chapter Eight

Each time his horse set a hoof against the rough, rocky terrain, a jabbing pain shot through Colt’s shoulder, but thanks to constant sipping from Branch’s bottle, there was a cushion against the agony. Soon they would be in Golconda where he could rest while Branch returned to Silver Butte with the money stolen from the bank. The plan suited Colt just fine. He was in no hurry to go home to the memories…and Charlene’s father.

Branch frowned as Colt drank again. “You better watch that stuff. You’ve been guzzlin’ since we started out, and you’re already weak from all the blood you lost.”

Colt grinned. “We aren’t far from Golconda now.” Then he muttered, “Wonder if Candy is still around. Fine woman.”

Branch looked more than a little surprised. “You know Candy?”

Colt hiccupped. He felt god-awful, but he’d be damned if he’d give in to misery.

“Well?” Branch prodded.

With false heartiness, Colt responded, “You don’t know all my business. I’ve been riding down to Golconda since I was fourteen.”

“Yeah?” Branch growled. “I’ll bet your pa didn’t know about it.”

“Oh, I imagine he did,” Colt said fondly
.
“Never was able to slip much by my father, you know. But he never said anything.”

Branch knew Colt was hurting, hurting bad and putting up a front. He decided to help by coaxing his mind away from the pain. “Tell me,” he urged, “which one of the girls do you like the best? Rosie? Tilly? Jenny-lou? Candy’s got some fine-looking women.”

Colt shook his head feebly. “I haven’t been there for over a year.” His words were becoming slurred and the buzzing in his head was getting louder, but he was determined to keep going. They could see the shanties and tents of Golconda, but he was having difficulty focusing.

“Well, tell me,” Branch pressed on. “Which one did you like best?”

A wave of warmth moved through Colt that had nothing to do with the liquor. “Becky. Sweet as honey. Eyes that make you think of violets, and hair the color of sunrise, all red and gold.”

Branch was confused. He knew all Candy’s girls. He didn’t boast about it, keeping his personal life to himself, but he made three or four trips a year down to Golconda, and he didn’t know anyone named Becky. “You sure you ain’t fevered? I don’t know Becky.”

Colt was locked in pleasant reverie. Several moments passed before he explained, “Becky is Candy’s niece. She’s not one of the
girls.
She just works at the place—cooking, cleaning, you know.”

Branch cried, “And you been foolin’ around with her? Are you crazy? Candy might seem like an easygoin’ woman, but you get her riled and she can be a hellcat. I don’t think she’d like you foolin’ around with her niece. If she’s still in Golconda, you forget about her, you hear? You ain’t in no shape for that anyhow. I don’t want Candy on my neck, understand? Leave her niece alone.”

Colt didn’t answer was having a hard time remaining upright, and he didn’t want to waste his strength trying to explain. Branch had jumped to conclusions about how it was between him and Becky. No matter. It was not important that Branch be told the truth, that nothing had ever happened. Becky was sweet…special…untouched. Colt stayed away from virgins, just as his father had advised him. But there were times with Becky when Colt wished things could be different.

They rode in silence the rest of the way into Golconda.

The town, if it could even be called a town, consisted mostly of shanties and a few tents, temporary shelters for the prospectors and drifters who came and went. The only permanent structures, besides Candy’s place, were a store and two saloons, both constructed of wood, both yielding to the ravages of time and the desert.

There was almost no vegetation. Tumbleweeds danced in the ever-present desert winds. Here and there a mesquite grew, brown and scraggly. There were no trees or grass, just rocks and sand, and a scattered cactus.

Golconda was in fact right in the middle of nowhere.

Candy’s place was at the end of the town’s only street. Easily the nicest thing to look at in town, it was kept whitewashed, and it sparkled in the brilliant sun. The shutters and trim were pink, as was the picket fence surrounding the yard. The house was two stories high, and a wide porch wrapped around the front.

Men standing in the street and outside the saloons did no more than glance at the duo as they rode in. No matter that one of them was slumped forward in the saddle, a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his chest. Folks in Golconda minded their own business. It was a rough town, a rough life. Everyone tried to stay out of everyone else’s business.

All appeared quiet at Candy’s, but then, it was midmorning on a weekday. Nights, especially weekends, would find men coming and going like small armies on parade.

Colt was nearly blinded by pain. He was dizzy and terribly weak. He felt warm—too warm. It was not the alcohol. A fever was spreading through his body. The wound was infected.

They drew up at the gate. Branch dismounted, tied their reins to the hitching post, and turned just as Colt fell from his horse. As he bent over him, Branch felt the burning heat radiating from his body and knew he had a raging fever. As gently as possible, he lifted the unconscious Colt and hurried up the steps to the house.

Candy Faro had rushed to the window in response to her servant’s cry of alarm, and by the time Branch reached her front door, she had wrapped a pink satin robe around herself and was scurrying down the steps. “Hurry, let him in,” she commanded the frightened Negro maid.

Branch stepped into the dimly lit foyer, glad to see Candy. On his pleasure visits, he always paused to admire the red velvet wallpaper and the big vases of ostrich feathers. It was a beautiful house. “Where can I put him?” he asked Candy. But before she could say anything, he ordered the maid, “Go get the doc. Fast.”

Her mistress nodded for her to obey, and the girl ran from the house.

Candy led Branch down a narrow hallway, to the rear. They entered a dayroom in the back of the house. Six girls, in various stages of undress, stared curiously as they passed. Reaching a small room at the very back of the rambling house, Candy pointed to a sofa. “There. It’s quiet here.” She watched as Branch laid Colt down, then went over to get a better look at the wounded man. She whirled about, exclaiming, “That’s Coltrane! What happened?”

Branch’s eyes flicked over her appreciatively. She was a fine-looking woman—tall, slender, with large breasts that spilled provocatively from her plunging neckline. Her hair was flame red, obviously dyed, and her bright green eyes were framed by thick, long false eyelashes. Lavender shadow was smudged in the lines around her eyes. A little age on her, yes, but she was still most appealing. Branch was sorry that she never offered her own services, but she reserved herself for her long-running romance with a married lawman who came to town about once a month.

“Well, are you going to tell me?” Her arms were folded across her bosom, for she had seen the lust in his eyes. “I’m doing you a favor letting you bring him here, so I’ve got a right to know what happened.”

Deciding it was all right, Branch told her everything except about Charlene Bowden. That, he felt, was Colt’s business.

“It was too far back to Silver Butte,” he finished. “He’d lost a lot of blood already. So I brought him here.”

He walked to a side window and peered out, but he couldn’t see the front of the house. “Where’s that damn doctor?” he snapped.

Candy scowled. “Probably sleeping off a drunk, as usual. Poor excuse for a doctor, he is, but if he were any good, he wouldn’t hang around here. Still, he’s better than nothing. Luly will bring him as soon as she finds him. Meanwhile I’ll take a look at that wound myself.”

She went to the door and yelled, “Someone get Becky. Tell her I need hot water and three or four bandages. And whiskey.” To Branch, she said, “He’ll need that for cleaning the wound and for himself.”

Branch grunted. “That’s partly what’s wrong with him now. He’s been suckin’ whiskey the whole way.”

Candy pulled up a chair and sat down beside Colt. Very gently she removed his bandage, wincing at the sight of the ugly wound. “Goddamn, Branch! What’d you try to do? Burn him to death? Look at that mess.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Branch said huffily. “All he needs is lookin’ after—and rest.”

“He’ll get both here.”

Suddenly Branch realized how tired he was. “Any chance of getting some coffee and a bite to eat?”

She nodded toward the door. “Luly probably has something set back. Help yourself. We’ll settle up the bill when he’s on his feet.”

Just as Branch started out of the room, a young woman rushed through the door. He was stunned by the sight of her lovely face, framed by curls in a sunburst of color. Her eyes were wide, bright, and beautiful. Their radiance could put a lilac to shame. She was tiny but well proportioned, and he marveled at the peach softness of her complexion.

When she approached Colt, her hand flew to her lips, and a broken sob came from her. She rushed to the sofa and dropped to her knees, reaching out to touch his brow. “Colt,” she whispered tremulously. “Oh, Colt, what happened to you?”

Candy looked at Branch and murmured, “This is Becky, my niece. They’re old friends—but it’s not what you think.”

Branch merely nodded and left the room, finding the kitchen easily. Against a wall was a cabinet called a “pie safe”, where leftover cooked foods were stored so that flies couldn’t get to them. He opened one of the wooden doors and found a pan of cold cornbread. He crumbled several chunks into a bowl, then found a pitcher of buttermilk on the table and poured that over the cornbread.