Chasing Rainbows Read online

  Jake grabbed the knife without missing a beat. He plunged it into the giant’s belly and jerked the blade upward. The man’s eyes dilated wildly and a gurgling sound filled his throat. Blood gushed from his wound and spilled over ground. A shudder tore through him, then his head fell back and he gazed up at the sky, his eyes blank and unseeing.

  Jake watched, sickened but resolute. One less man to go after Annie, he thought grimly.

  The knife clutched firmly in his grasp, he pulled himself to his feet. Santo and the Apache stood a few yards away, their expressions dark and menacing.

  Santo pointed his revolver directly at Jake’s chest. “Now it is time to watch your blood spill, gringo.”

  The gunshot blast ripped through the air.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jake’s hand instinctively flew to his chest, searching for what he knew would be a gaping, bloody wound. Instead he found nothing but a thinly torn line of skin from where the knife had grazed him. Nor did he experience the hot, searing pain he knew would accompany a gunshot wound at close range.

  His astonished gaze shot back to Santo.

  The outlaw’s eyes widened with shock, then a thin trickle of blood emerged from the corner of his mouth. He pitched forward without a sound and landed facedown in the dirt.

  The roar of thundering hoof-beats snapped Jake’s head around. What greeted him was a sight he would not soon forget. Annabel Lee Foster charged back into camp like a gutsy, glorious, angel of wrath. Righteous intensity filled her eyes, and her small chin was tilted with fierce determination. Her golden-brown hair streamed about her shoulders in wild disarray. She gripped her reins tightly in her teeth; a pair of blazing guns filled her hands.

  Jake quickly recovered from the shock of seeing her as the world exploded around him. Thick, acrid smoke filled the air. Bullets tore the sky and ricocheted through the camp. Annie fired at the Apache, while the knife-scarred outlaw — who was hot on Annie’s trail — fired at Annie, and the Apache aimed at Jake.

  Jake lunged for Santo’s gun and joined the melee, sending a lump of hot lead into the knife-scarred outlaw’s leg. He fired his remaining shots at the Apache and missed, too hampered by the smoke and confusion to be effective. His gun empty, he yelled for Annie and motioned her toward him. Then he rolled for cover, dodging bullets as he lodged himself behind a dense outcropping of boulders.

  Annie spurred her little mare on and raced to join him behind the makeshift shelter. She leapt off Dulcie’s back and crouched beside him. Wordlessly she passed him two unfamiliar cartridge belts — probably taken from the outlaw’s horses — and a set of holsters and guns that Jake instantly recognized as his own. A temporary calm settled over the camp as the outlaws scurried to find cover.

  Jake gave her a cursory once-over. “You hurt?”

  “No. You?”

  “No.”

  “What the hell are you doing back here? I thought I told you to ride.”

  She scowled up at him. “In the first place, you don’t tell me what to do. In the second place, I’m not about to have your dead hide hanging over my clean conscience — not when things are finally starting to look good for me.”

  Jake’s brows shot skyward. They had been robbed, cheated, left for dead, and shot at. “This is ‘things finally starting to look good’ for you?”

  She shrugged. “More or less. Anyway, I had to come back.” She glanced toward the blanket where their possessions lay scattered about. “I’m not leaving without that deed.”

  He directed his attention to the opposing cliff, watching the shadowy forms of the Apache and Scar Face as they positioned themselves for the fight. “I hope it’s worth dying for.”

  Annie clicked open the circular chamber of her revolver and grabbed a handful of bullets. “If you’re half as good with your gun as you are at flappin’ your jaw, I won’t have to find out, now, will I?”

  A reluctant smile touched Jake’s lips. “Now, there’s gratitude for you, darlin’. After everything I did for you—”

  “Dammit. The chamber’s cracked.”

  Jake glanced at her gun and frowned. He offered her one of his own, fully loaded and ready to fire. “Can you shoot with a .38?”

  “I can, but I won’t hit anything. It’s too big for my hand.”

  “A .32?”

  “Better.”

  He passed her Santo’s gun. She hefted it in her hand, testing the grip, then loaded the chamber. Apparently satisfied with the weapon, she tilted her head toward the outlaw camp. “You think you can cover me while I make a run for that blanket?” she asked.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  She tightened her lips in obstinate determination. “I ain’t leaving without that deed. I’m going to make a run for it — with or without your help.” She twisted up and peered over the top of their rocky shelter, scanning the distance to the blanket. “It’s just a few measly feet—”

  A well-placed rifle shot seared the air just inches above her ear.

  She jerked back down, hitting the ground hard as she landed unceremoniously on her rear.

  “Change your mind, darlin’?”

  Annie sent him a withering glare, dusted off her clothing, and resumed her crouched position. She stewed in silence for a long moment, finally admitting in a small voice, “I reckon I could use your help, mister.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Her expression darkened, reflecting both embarrassment and mulish obstinacy. “You gonna help me or not?”

  “You any good with that gun?” he parried.

  “I usually hit what I’m aiming at.”

  Good enough, Jake thought, mulling over a plan. As near as he could tell, they had three immediate objectives: one, to secure their horses and belongings; two, to kill or wound the remaining outlaws before the outlaws got them; and three, to get away alive. Although he normally preferred subtlety in battle, this situation seemed to call for a direct frontal assault.

  “You cover me, I’ll go for the blanket,” he said.

  “Why you?”

  “For one thing, I can run a hell of a lot faster than you can while someone’s firing a gun at my head. Trust me, darlin’, I’ve had plenty of experience in that area. For another, I need to get near that pen if I want to bust out Weed. We won’t make it more than ten miles riding double on Dulcie.”

  He turned and gestured across camp. “The Apache’s over there at the base of those cliffs. Scar Face tucked himself away behind that pack of cotton-woods. He’s got a slug of lead in his leg. With any luck, that’ll take the edge off his aim. I’ll move out on three. Any questions?”

  Much to Jake’s relief and amazement, Annie shook her head without further argument. “On three?”

  “Three.”

  “One, two… three!” Jake shoved his hat down tight and leapt out from behind their shelter. Annie jerked to her feet, her gun blazing. Bullets instantly tore up the ground around him, kicking up clouds of dust as the outlaws returned fire.

  Jake swerved and pivoted, moving in a precarious, zigzagging run as he dodged flashes of lead. He ducked low, and a well-placed bullet nearly tore off his right ear. Shit! he thought, jerking left. He had to be stupider than a greenhorn cowhand on his first Saturday night drunk to even think about trying this.

  After what seemed an infinity, he reached the blanket that held their possessions. He dove for it, grabbed the corners, and rolled. He brought his gun into play at the same time, firing at the base of the cliff as he slid across the dirt. He heard a cry of pain and knew that by sheer luck he had hit his mark. Whether the hit had been disabling was another matter, but he didn’t intend to stay around long enough to find out.

  Moving from a roll to a crouch, Jake tossed the blanket over his back and broke into a dead run for the pen. He let out a sharp whistle for Weed, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that the outlaws had been too lazy to unsaddle him. He swung onto Weed’s back and looped the makeshift blanket bag over the saddle horn. He leaned do
wn low over the bay’s neck and spurred toward Annie, relieved to see that she was saddled and ready to ride.

  “Move!” he shouted.

  She fired a few shots for cover, scattering the horses that had remained in the pen. Then she spurred Dulcie on, urging the mare into a thundering gallop.

  The sound of a high-pitched, frightened meow rang shrilly through the air. Jake glanced over his shoulder, spotting a familiar bundle of white fur directly behind them.

  He drew in a sharp breath, hoping Annie hadn’t heard the cat. Even if she had, he reasoned, she wouldn’t be fool enough to —

  Annie drew Dulcie to an abrupt stop and whirled around.

  “Dammit, Annie, you can’t—”

  She flew past him without a word, her face intent, her eyes panicked. Just as she bent over Dulcie’s neck to pick up Cat, a shot cracked through the air. A shuddering jerk seemed to tear through her frame, and for one heart-stopping moment, it looked as though she’d been shot. But she didn’t fall, nor did she stop. Moving with more grace than Jake would have believed possible, she leaned down low and scooped up Cat. Then she whirled around, spurring Dulcie toward him.

  Jake dug his heels into Weed’s flanks and let her take the lead, firing off a few warning shots behind them as they tore out.

  They rode hard and fast, with nothing but silence between them, listening for the sound of men giving chase. The longer they went without hearing anything, the more Jake’s mind was eased. Scar Face was wounded, and the Apache might have been hit as well. Even if they were able to give chase, it would take them at least an hour to round up their horses.

  He glanced over at Annie. She rode stiffly, staring straight ahead, Cat clutched tightly in her grasp. Delayed shock, he suspected. “You all right?” he called.

  Her face was pale when she turned to look at him, her expression drawn and tense. Her words, however, were vintage Annie. “You got my deed?”

  Jake nodded. “I’ve got it.”

  Her mouth curved in a tight, satisfied smile. “Then I’m fine, mister. I’m just fine.”

  By mutual unspoken consent, they slowed their pace, moving from a flat-out run to an easy canter. As the hours passed, clouds gathered overhead and a soft, misty rain began to fall. A sudden chill filled the air, leaving them both cold and miserable. But at least the rain would help cover their tracks. They rode on in silence, wanting to put as much distance between themselves and the outlaw camp as they could before nightfall.

  Jake soon began to feel every bruise and cut that the giant had left on his body. His muscles were aching, his bones felt brittle, and his skin stung as though it had been rubbed raw. Glancing over at Annie, he saw her face was tight and drawn as well, etched with lines of fatigue and strain.

  He surveyed the horizon, looking for a place to stop. Finally he spotted a narrow stream that curved through a dense grove of pine. It was situated atop a mesa of rich red clay earth. The surrounding terrain sloped gently downward, giving them the advantage of miles of visibility. Not a bad spot to camp for the night. The ground beneath them was softly bedded with pine needles and looked every bit as inviting as a goose-down bed lined with satin sheets.

  Jake glanced over at Annie. “You feel like resting for a bit?”

  In answer, she wearily reined Dulcie to a firm stop.

  Jake gratefully eased out of the saddle, biting back a groan as he did.

  Beside him, Annie dropped Cat to the ground. The feline arched her back and stretched dramatically, then set out to explore their new camp. Jake watched without much interest as Cat poked about her new surroundings, then sat down to lick herself clean. The mud and dirt from Annie’s clothing had rubbed off on Cat, he noted, eyeing the dark stain that coated the animal’s fur. The dark, reddish brown stain…

  His gaze shot back to Annie. She carefully slid off Dulcie’s back, swaying for a moment as her feet hit the ground. She closed her eyes and grabbed her saddle horn for support.

  Jake was at her side in two long strides. “Where is it?”

  Annie didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “My left side.”

  He put his hand to her waist, gently probing the wound, but drew back quickly at Annie’s sharp gasp of pain. A thick smear of blood coated his palm. He jerked his gaze to hers, fighting back panic and anger. “Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

  “I figured it was just a scratch.” Her lips twisted into a bleak smile. “Imagine that, mister,” she said weakly, glancing down at her side. “I ain’t never been shot before. Now I finally get on the right side of the law—” She stopped abruptly and swallowed hard. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  Jake wrapped his arm around her shoulders for support. “Easy now, darlin’. It’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  Annie didn’t fight his touch as she usually did but leaned heavily against him instead, a fact that only served to heighten his alarm.

  “Let’s get you down somewhere so I can take a look at that,” he said. He tucked his arm behind her knees and lifted her, feeling the hot, wet smear of her blood against his chest. Her head lolled limply against his shoulder as he carried her toward the grove of pine. A fine sheen of perspiration coated her skin. Her eyes were shut and her lips tightly clamped. Whether she was fighting back pain or nausea, or perhaps a bit of both, Jake couldn’t tell.

  He set her down, making her as comfortable as he could in the bed of pine. Then he stood and turned to go back to Weed. As he moved, he felt a soft tug at his boot. Jake looked down to see Annie’s pale hand holding on to his ankle. She quickly released her grasp, as though embarrassed by the neediness of the gesture and resigned to its futility. She stared up at the sky, blinking hard, clearly fighting to get a rein on her emotions.

  “I reckon you’re just gonna ride off and leave me here,” she said. Her voice was tinged with hard-edged acceptance and weary inevitability.

  “No. I’m not going to do that.”

  Jake waited for her eyes to meet his. Once they did, he saw that her gaze was cloudy with pain and confusion, fear and mistrust. She obviously didn’t believe him.

  “I’m not leaving you, Annie,” he said, schooling his voice to a tone of gentle reassurance. “There are some supplies in my bag that I need. I’ll be right back.”

  He strode quickly to Weed and fumbled through saddlebags until he found his knife, a shirt he could rip apart to bind her wound, a canteen of water, and a flask of bourbon.

  He returned to Annie, wrapped his arm beneath her shoulders, and eased her to a half-sitting position. He brought the flask to her mouth and carefully tipped it, swilling a generous portion of the contents down her throat. With any luck, it would be enough to knock her out.

  Annie swallowed and coughed, then a shudder ran through her thin frame. “You trying to poison me?”

  “That’s fine Kentucky bourbon, darlin’. You keep it down, or I’ll never forgive you for wasting my good liquor.” Jake took a generous swig for himself, then set the flask aside.

  Annie’s eyes opened and locked on his face, watching his every move. He carefully cut open her clothing, gently prying it away from her wound. Knowing she was watching him, he feigned an expression of calm detachment. But what he saw sent his pulse rocketing and his heart pounding hard against his chest. Blood, and lots of it, staining her pale skin and dripping down her left side. Some of the blood had begun to clot, some of it was still flowing freely. He gently examined the wound with his fingers and found the thick, hard lump where the bullet had lodged beneath her skin.

  Annie bit back a gasp of pain at his probing. Her eyes flew to his.

  “The bullet is still inside,” he said, answering her silent question.

  “All right.” She clenched her fists as she fought back another spasm of pain. “You reckon you can get it out, mister?” she asked hoarsely.

  “I reckon so,” he said, forcing a calm assurance into his voice.

  “Good.” She let out a shallow, bourbon-sce
nted breath as a weak smile touched her lips. “Cause I ain’t ready to die just yet.”

  Icy dread lodged tightly in Jake’s gut. Panic gripped him, momentarily leaving him paralyzed. But night was quickly falling; best to get it over while there was still enough light to see by. He tilted the flask toward her. “You want another swig?”

  Annie shook her head. Her eyes were frightened but disturbingly lucid.

  Jake poured a generous stream of the bourbon over blade of his knife.

  “That for luck?” she asked.

  “I guess.” During the War Between the States, he’d seen a few surgeons douse their instruments with alcohol before cutting open a body and then douse the wound itself once the operation was complete. For some reason, those patients seemed to fare better than others. Damned if he — or the doctors, for that matter — knew why.

  Jake set the flask aside and wiped the sweat from his palms on his pants. No more stalling. He took a deep breath, bracing himself, then looked his patient straight in the eye.

  “You don’t have to be brave for me, darlin’. Go ahead and scream if you want.”

  He lifted the knife and touched the blade to her skin.

  Annie ran as fast as she could, terrified. Hannah was ahead of her, but she was seven, three years older than Annie’s age of four, and her long, skinny legs carried her much faster than Annie’s short, pudgy ones. Mama was going to be furious. She’d warned them to stay away from that beehive, but the honeycomb Papa had brought home had tasted so sweet, they couldn’t resist going back for more. Now the bees were everywhere, swarming all around her. She couldn’t get away, no matter how fast she ran. They started biting her, driving their sharp, pointed stingers into her side. Her left side…