Only 06 - Winter Fire

Lola said bluntly, “is that we shoot ’em on sight and plant ’em where they lay. Savvy?”
    Ab understood. He didn’t like it any better than he liked the shotgun pointing at his brisket.
    A shot rang out from inside the cabin. It was followed quickly by two more.
    Sarah flinched but kept her attention—and her shotgun—on Ab.
    Lola didn’t even flinch.
    There was no return fire from beyond the cabin.
    â€œSounds like planting time,” Lola said. “You boys either grab iron or git.”
    Neither Culpepper moved toward his gun. Each man was looking straight down both barrels of a shotgun that was loaded, cocked, and ready to fire. The fact that women were holding the guns wasn’t a comfort.
    It took no particular strength to pull a trigger.
    â€œParnell!” Ab yelled.
    No one answered.
    â€œMore kin?” Lola asked blandly. “You boys sure are careless of yourselves.”
    Not once did Ab look away from Sarah. He memorized her face, her body, and her hands on the gun.
    â€œYour turn be coming,” he said. “And I be the man to lay it to you. Same for that hotheaded young pup lying back in the cottonwoods. Keep him leashed, else he won’t have no fancies to strut in front of the gals.”
    Ab’s hand jerked on the reins. His mule spun on its hocks and trotted off. Kester’s mule followed.
    Neither rider looked back.

6
    â€œ K eep watching them,” Sarah said tightly.
    Lola spat another juicy stream. “I weren’t born yesterday.”
    Without answering, Sarah uncocked her shotgun and ran into the cabin. She spared a quick glance for the injured hawk on its perch in a corner. The bird was ruffled and skittish from the noise, but otherwise unhurt.
    Not as much could be said of the man.
    Case was slumped on the floor at the back of the cabin, naked but for the loincloth. His forehead was propped against the wall. His six-gun was in his hands. The barrel was rammed through an opening in the planks where the chinking had fallen out.
    The bitter smell of gun smoke hung in the still air.
    â€œCase?” she asked.
    His only answer was an indistinct sound. He didn’t turn toward her.
    She rushed across the room and sank to her knees beside him. Hastily she propped her shotgun against the wall and began running her hands over his back and legs, searching for new injury.
    The gentle touches went through him like lightning. His breath hissed in on a muffled curse. He lifted his shaggy head and turned glittering gray-green eyes on her.
    â€œAre you all right?” she whispered.
    â€œNo.”
    She made a small sound and stroked his back as if he were a frightened hawk.
    â€œWhere do you hurt?” she asked. “Were you shot again? Your back looks all right. Roll over and let me check your front.”
    The thought of having Sarah’s gentle, quick hands exploring every inch of him sent another jolt of sensual lightning through Case.
    â€œDon’t tempt me,” he said.
    â€œWhat?”
    He said something rough under his breath. Her touch had transformed the fear he felt for her when the Culpeppers rode up into raw, reckless desire.
    â€œNothing is wrong with me,” he said, “except that I missed the son of a bitch.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œParnell, from what Ab called out,” Case said. “Hellfire and damnation!”
    â€œWhere was he?”
    â€œSee that pile of rocks yonder?”
    Sarah bent and peered through the broad crack. The only pile of rocks she could see was a lot more than a hundred yards away. She glanced at Case’s revolver.
    â€œGood Lord,” she said. “Of course you missed him. All you had was a six-gun.”
    â€œThat’s all I should have needed.”
    She started to argue.
    The look in his eyes changed her mind.
    â€œLet me help you back to bed,” she said.
    â€œYou go watch those Culpeppers. I’m fine where I am.”
    â€œLola’s watching them, Ute is trailing them, and Conner is lying back in the shadows to send up a shout if anyone else appears.”
    Case looked out through the crack in the chinking for a long time before he answered.
    Nothing moved on the landscape, not even the shadow of a high-flying bird.
    In the silence, the metallic sounds of Case uncocking his six-gun seemed almost as loud as the shooting had.
    â€œI guess you’ve done this a time or two before,” he said.
    â€œUte figures