The Touch of Fire Read online

  It took iron self-control to turn the horse and calmly walk it away, but the ground was too uneven to risk even a trot. Now was the most dangerous time, when Trahern was most likely to be awakened—

  He heard the snick of a hammer being thumbed back and instantly bent low over the horse’s neck as he reined it sharply to the right and kicked its flanks. He felt the sharp burning in his left side a split second before he heard the shot. The muzzle flash pinpointed Trahern’s position, and McCay had drawn and fired before Trahern could get another shot off. Then the big horse bolted, encouraged by another thud from McCay’s bootheel, and the darkness swallowed them. He could hear Trahern’s curses even over the thunder of his horse’s hooves.

  Concern for both their necks made him rein in the horse before they’d gone a quarter of a mile. His side was burning like hell, and wetness was seeping down the side of his pants. His horse at a walk, McCay pulled off his glove with his teeth and felt around, finding two holes in his shirt and corresponding holes in his body where the bullet had entered and exited. He yanked his bandanna from around his neck and wadded it up inside his shirt, using his elbow to keep it pressed to the wounds.

  Damn, he was cold! A convulsive shudder started in his boots and rolled all the way up his body, shaking him like a wet dog and nearly making him pass out from the pain. He put his glove back on and untied his coat from the bedroll, then shrugged into the heavy fleece-lined garment. The shivers continued, and the wetness spread down his left leg. The son of a bitch hadn’t hit anything vital, but he was losing a lot of blood.

  The guessing game started again. Trahern would probably expect him to ride hard and fast, putting as much distance between them as he could manage by sunrise. McCay figured he’d gone about a mile when he walked the horse into a thick stand of pines and dismounted. He gave the animal a handful of feed and some water, patted his neck in appreciation of his steadiness, and untied the bedroll. He had to get the bleeding stopped, and get warm, or Trahern was going to find him lying unconscious on the trail.

  Keeping the canteen of water beside him, he wrapped up in the blanket and settled down on the thick layer of pine needles, lying on his left side so his weight would put pressure on the back wound while he pressed the heel of his hand over the exit wound in front. The position made him grunt with pain, but he figured the discomfort was better than bleeding to death. Sleeping was out of the question. Even if the pain would let him, he didn’t dare let himself relax.

  He hadn’t eaten since noon, but he wasn’t hungry. He drank a little water every now and then and watched the glimmer of the stars through the heavy tree cover overhead. He listened for any sounds of pursuit, though he didn’t really expect Trahern to come after him so soon. The night held only natural sounds.

  Gradually he began to warm, and the hot pain in his side subsided to a dull throb. His shirt was stiffening, which meant the flow of fresh blood had stopped. It was harder now to stay awake, but he refused to give in to his growing lethargy. There would be time for sleep later, after he’d killed Trahern.

  It wasn’t quite dawn when he eased to his feet. A wave of dizziness threatened to topple him and he braced his hand on a tree to support himself. Damn, he must have lost more blood than he’d thought; he hadn’t expected to be this weak. When he was steady, he went to the horse with a soothing murmur and got some beef jerky from his saddlebag, knowing that food and water would steady him faster than anything. He forced himself to eat, then quietly led the horse back the way they had come. It hadn’t worked the first time, but it should the second. Trahern would be intent on following the blood trail.

  He had been in position only a few minutes when he saw Trahern slipping up the hollow, handgun in his fist. McCay cursed silently, for the fact that Trahern was on foot meant that he was wary. The bounty hunter either had a sixth sense for danger or he was the luckiest son of a bitch McCay had ever seen.

  He steadied the rifle, but Trahern used his cover well, never exposing all of himself at the same time. Rafe caught only a shoulder, part of a leg, the flat crown of that distinctive hat; he didn’t have a clear shot at any time. Well, if a wounding shot was all that was offered, he’d take it. At the very least it would slow Trahern down, even the odds between them.

  The next target that Trahern offered was a sliver of pants leg. A cold smile touched McCay’s face as he sighted down the barrel. His hands were rock steady as he gently squeezed the trigger. Trahern’s scream of pain was almost simultaneous with the sharp report of the rifle, both sounds muted by the trees.

  McCay withdrew and pulled himself into the saddle, the movement more difficult than he had expected. His side began to burn again, and a damp feeling spread. Damn it, he’d opened his wounds. But now Trahern was wounded, too, and it would take him a long time to get back to his own horse, giving McCay a good head start that he couldn’t afford to waste. He’d see to the wounds later.

  Annis Theodora Parker calmly brewed a mild valerian tea, all the while keeping a weather eye on her patient. Eda Couey looked like a big, competent country girl, the sort you’d expect to give birth as easily as any woman could wish, but she was having trouble and was beginning to panic. Annis, known from childhood as Annie, knew that both Eda and the baby would fare a lot better if Eda was calmer.

  She carried the hot tea to the bedside and held Eda’s head so she could sip. “It’ll help the pain,” she quietly assured the girl. Eda was only seventeen, and this was her first. The valerian wouldn’t really ease the pain, but it would calm the girl so she could help get her child into the world.

  Eda quieted as the sedative began to work, but her face was still paper white and her eyes sunken as the labor pains continued. According to Walter Couey, Eda’s husband, the girl had already been in labor for two days before he’d given in to her pleas for help and fetched Annie to their one-room lean-to shack. He’d grumbled that he hadn’t been able to get any sleep with all the carryin’ on, and Annie had controlled a strong urge to slap him.

  The baby was turned breech, and the birth wasn’t going to be easy. Annie silently prayed for the infant’s survival, for sometimes the cord would get pinched during a breech birth and the baby would die in the birth canal. And she wondered if, even should it survive being born, it would live to see its first birthday. The conditions in the miserable lean-to were appalling, and Walter Couey was a mean, stupid man who would never provide anything better. He was in his forties, and Annie suspected that Eda wasn’t really his wife but only an illiterate farm girl sold into virtual slavery to relieve her family of one more mouth to feed. Walter was an unsuccessful miner, even here at Silver Mesa where men were finding the precious metal in thick veins; mining was hard work and Walter wasn’t inclined to work hard at anything. She couldn’t allow herself to think that it would be a blessing if the baby did die, but she felt pity for both mother and child.

  Eda moaned as her belly tightened again with a massive contraction. “Push,” Annie commanded in a low tone. She could see a smooth moon of flesh crowning: the baby’s buttocks. “Push!”

  A guttural scream tore from Eda’s throat as she bore down with all of her strength, her shoulders lifting off the pallet. Annie put her hands on the hugely swollen belly and added her strength to Eda’s.

  It was now or never. If Eda couldn’t deliver the infant, both mother and child would die. Labor would continue, but Eda would grow progressively weaker.

  The tiny buttocks protruded from Eda’s body. Quickly, Annie tried to grasp them, but they were too slippery. She worked her fingers inside the stretched opening and caught the baby’s legs. “Push!” she said again.

  But Eda was falling back, almost paralyzed with pain. Annie waited for the next contraction, which followed within seconds, then used the natural force of Eda’s internal muscles to aid her as she literally pulled the infant’s lower body from the mother. It was a boy. She inserted the fingers of one hand again to keep Eda’s muscles from clamping down, and with the other hand st