Chapter 6

In seconds, the brawl became a rout. A few brave souls began stamping at the blaze, but most people ran terror-stricken as black smoke billowed over them in choking clouds. Muffled prayers mingled with shrieks and curses as several dozen men and women all pressed toward the doors at once.

Floorboards, slick with flour, caught fire, and yellow-orange flames snaked up the nearest wall to lick hungrily at the roof. Visibility dropped to zero, and it became more difficult for Rebecca to breathe.

Choking, eyes stinging, she ripped a sleeve from her dress and pressed it over her nose and mouth. Since there seemed little chance of successfully pushing through the frenzy to reach the wider openings at the far end of the room, she looked for another way out. The exit was blocked by the conflagration, but a third narrow doorway led back into the interior of the mill. She thought that one might be the safest, but she could no longer see exactly where it was located.

She slid off the bags of wheat just as a second lantern exploded. Startled, she threw up her arm to protect her face from the rain of flying glass, took two strides, and tripped over something lying on the floor. She uttered a small cry of alarm as she fell flat, her eyes streaming tears from the acrid smoke. Fumbling blindly, she tried to find out what she'd fallen over, and her fingers closed around the shards of a shattered violin.

Don't panic, she told herself. It wasn't that far. She could find the door if she kept moving. Coughing, she started to rise, but then realized that the air quality was better closer to the floor.

"Just move," she said aloud. But which way? For the space of several heartbeats she froze, no longer certain of her direction.

A faint whimper caught her attention. What was that? The noise of running feet and cries of fright rose above the crackle of burning wood, but there it was again. It was faint, but there was a definite high-pitched whining ahead and to her left.

"Becca! Becca, where are you?"

"Shaw? I'm here!"

"Where?"

The fire roared like a prairie tornado. Waves of heat struck her face and bare arms. But down on her level, close to the floor, she could hear the same odd mewl.

"Stay where you are! I'm coming to get you!"

Instinct told her to wait for Shaw. But something stronger made her crawl toward the source of that strange whimper. "Who's there?" Rebecca called.

"Becca!" Shaw's words—distorted by the rush of flames—sounded farther away.

She stopped, unsure what to do. If she went to Shaw, she knew he would get her out. Fire terrified her, but the tug of that small sound was irresistible. Irrationally, she crept forward another few yards.

"Mama."

The child's wail was more choking sigh than a cry for help, but it was enough to give Rebecca strength for one final attempt. She scrabbled frantically in the blackness until she touched the sole of a small boot. Clamping her hand around the tiny ankle, she pulled a sobbing toddler into her arms. "I have you! I have you. I won't let you go." And then she screamed with every ounce of breath she had left. "Shaw!"

* * *

Vaguely, she was aware of cool air on her stinging cheeks, of fighting to fill her starving lungs with gulps of fresh air.

"It's all right," Shaw soothed. "You're safe now. You can let her go."

Somewhere close, a baby was shrieking. The sound deafened Rebecca, but her hands remained locked around the squirming bundle.

Strong fingers pried hers apart. "It's all right," Shaw repeated huskily. "Her mother's here. Let the poppet go to her mother, darlin'."

Rebecca opened her eyes and stared into the smoke-blackened face of a teary-eyed woman. Behind the wide-brimmed bonnet loomed a man's worried face. "Hetty?" the woman cried. "Hetty?"

"Mama!"

"You saved my Hetty! We thought we'd lost her! God be praised! Thank you. Oh, thank you, Lord!"

Rebecca released the little girl to the frantic mother, murmured some reply, and sank back against Shaw's chest. She let her eyes drift shut, suffered another bout of coughing, and then stiffened as memories of the near escape flooded over her.

Her eyes flew open, and she tried to rise. "Is she all right? Is the child—"

"She's fine. Any kid that can yell that loud is right as rain." He pressed her down with a firm grip on her shoulder. "Sit there a few minutes until you're steadier on your legs. Clear that smoke out of your chest."

She nodded woodenly. Her throat felt raw; her eyes burned; her mouth tasted of ashes. "Water?"

"Bruce, bring that bucket."

Shaw's cousin handed the torch to one of the MacCade brothers—she thought it was Ewen—and came closer with a dipper.

Shaw's arm went around her shoulder, and she felt the gourd against her lips. Nothing had ever tasted as good as that lukewarm, rotten-egg-smelling mineral water. She sucked down every drop.

"Easy," Shaw warned. "You don't want to make yourself sick."

Gradually, his face came into focus. Shaw had a small cut across his cheekbone and the makings of a prize-winning black eye. Even the knuckles of his hand, the one holding the dipper and brushing her cheek and lips, were bruised and swollen.

"I'm all right," she said, acutely aware of his touch. "Are you..." Her stomach knotted. She knew that people must be watching them, knew that she should push him away. But she felt so safe in his arms that she didn't have the will or the strength to resist.

A hint of a smile teased the corner of his mouth. "I'll do."

Bruce and Ewen were staring down at her and muttering to each other, but she ignored them and tried to gather her composure. She still couldn't think straight, but whether it was from the smoke she'd breathed in or Shaw's presence, she couldn't tell.

She swallowed, still shaken by the racing of her heart.

"She's all right," Ewen growled. "Time we got goin', Shaw."

Bruce nodded. "We'll have Raeburns down our throats if you don't get away from her."

Shaw silenced them with a black scowl.

"I shouldn't..." Rebecca began weakly. "We can't..."

"Hush," he soothed as he offered her another drink of water. "Just lay still and catch your breath."

It was impossible to disobey him. She drank a few more sips, then leaned back against him and looked around. To her left, a few hundred yards away, Rebecca could make out the smoky outline of the mill. Figures moved in the torch-lit darkness. One man seemed to be gathering buckets. "I don't understand," she said. "Is the building still standing? I thought the mill burned."

"Nope." Brace pulled off his hat, and she saw that both his eyes were swollen and a trail of dried blood ran down his chin. "More smoke than flames."

Other than Shaw, Bruce had been the only one of the MacCade bunch who'd never shown open hostility toward her or her family. She'd never been afraid of him, the way she was of Will or Nigel. As for Ewen, he'd been starting school when she was about to leave it. He'd never spoken a single word to her before tonight.

As if he'd been reading her thoughts, Ewen passed the torch from one hand to the other and blurted out, "Once everybody got out and folks started toting buckets from the pond to keep the flames from spreadin', wasn't much damage done." His lower lip was split and his nose seemed twice its size, but he had the MacCade coloring and seemed all hands and feet. Doubtless, Ewen hadn't reached his full growth.

"Was anybody hurt?" Rebecca looked back at Shaw. "Other than in the fistfight?" A dull throbbing at the back of her skull seemed to be her only complaint.

"Nah," Bruce replied. "A few scrapes and bruises."

"A drover broke two of his fingers," Ewen added. "And somebody stole two jugs of whiskey from Dan—"

"Ewen, shut up," Shaw said. "Becca don't need a blow-by-blow tellin' of the fuss." He squeezed her shoulder. "You and that little young 'un come the closest to—"

Rebecca felt a ghostly chill down her spine as she remembered the smothering blackness that had almost cost her and the child their lives. She sucked in another breath of clean air. "If you hadn't come back for us... But maybe there wouldn't have been a fire if you hadn't gotten into that fight with—"

"That coyote-shit blacksmith," Bruce supplied. "Weren't Shaw's fault. Ewen was dancin' with his wife, and the smithy took offense."

Ewen nodded. "Guess he thought he could treat his woman like those two slaves he owns. He started smackin' her around."

Rebecca glanced from Ewen back to Shaw. "And you had to get in the middle of it, didn't you?"

"I don't like to see women hit," he answered softly. "Not even by a husband. And I don't care much for slaveholders."

"Nor do I," she said. "That's the only thing your father and mine ever had in common. But will the blacksmith go any easier on his wife tonight because you fought him? I'm afraid you've only bought her more grief."

"She's a handful, that gal," Bruce put in. "If Ewen had've—" Shaw cleared his throat meaningfully and glared at Bruce. Bruce reddened. "Guess I'll just—"

"Check on the horses," Shaw suggested. "Both of you."

"Yeah, check on the horses." Bruce put his hat back on, nodded to Rebecca, and sauntered off toward the mill with Ewen.

"Regardless of how the fight got started, I owe you my life," Rebecca admitted. "Mine and Hetty's." Somehow, in the darkness, alone and without the glare of torchlight, it was easier to talk to him.

"You gave me a start when I got to that heap of sacks and you weren't there." The deep timbre of his voice sent shivers through her. Shaw's words were innocent enough, nothing one neighbor couldn't say to another. But beneath what he was saying, she was certain she could read another message.

"You could have run and saved yourself like everyone else did."

"No, not like everyone else, Becca," he said. "You put that poppet ahead of your own safety. That was a brave thing you did."

"Or foolhardy." She offered her hand, and he helped her to her feet. "The smoke made everything so confusing. But you were near the door. Why didn't you—"

He silenced her with two fingers over her lips. "No need to run on about it," he said. Removing his shirt, he slipped it around her shoulders. "Here, wear this. Your dress got torn."

"I can't take your shirt," she replied. "It's cool and—"

"I've got a jacket in my saddle roll. I'll survive."

"Thank you." She pulled the garment close around her. "Actually, I tore the sleeve myself. I thought it would be easier to breathe through." She still felt giddy, her thoughts clouded. She knew that the last thing she should do is to be seen in public wearing Shaw MacCade's clothing. But his shirt was warm against her skin and smelled not just of charred wood and smoke, but of him. The scent brought back a lot of memories, not all of them bad ones.

She could feel his gaze on her in the darkness, and heat flashed under her skin. Her heart felt as though it was ready to leap out of her chest. And if she wasn't careful, she'd lose all sense of reason.

"You always were the smartest girl I knew."

"And you were the wildest boy."

"I'm not a boy anymore, Bee."

"No, you're not. But I can see you didn't learn much out west. You're still in the middle of trouble."

"Reckon that's true," he agreed.

A wagon rolled past, followed by a man on horseback and a couple on foot. Families and individuals were scattering into the darkness. Rebecca heard a baby crying, and a woman murmuring to it in a foreign tongue.

"I have to get back to my friends," Rebecca said. "I came with the Andersons. They'll be worried sick about me, and—"

"They left."

"They what?" Her eyes widened. "Jorgan wouldn't leave without me. He promised my father—"

"Bruce and Ewen had a talk with him. Told him I'd see you safely home."

"You had no right. I'm grateful to you for saving my life, but that doesn't mean you can—"

"Did." He offered his arm. "He's not good enough for you. If he was, he'd never have left you in that burning mill."

"That's not fair. We were separated when everyone started running. Jorgan—"

"He got out; you didn't. That says all that's needed about what kind of man he is."

"What business is it of yours who courts me?"

"Courting, is it? You can do better for yourself than that mule driver."

"You don't have the right to tell me who to choose as friends."

"Save it for another day, Becca. It's gettin' late. Do you want to go home, or do you want to stay in town with some—"

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" she demanded. "How do I know that Jorgan's gone?"

"I don't lie. You ought to know that."

She shrugged off his grasp and began to walk unsteadily toward the road. "I can get my own self home, thank you very much."

He followed her. "Walkin'? You mean to walk home? Fifteen miles in the dark?"

"Yes, I do."

"The hell you will. Wait here while I get my horse. I'll take you home."

"No, you won't. Poppa would kill me. I'll catch a ride with a neighbor, or I'll walk to Angel Crossing. You've done enough for me tonight."

He tried to take her arm, and she refused. "Leave me alone, Shaw. There will be talk enough about us without making things worse."

She kept walking. Behind her, she heard Shaw give a shrill whistle. She was trembling, and her knees felt weak; but she kept putting one foot in front of the other until she reached the rutted road that led northwest, away from town. The moon was a huge white disc. The shimmering light turned the surrounding landscape to silver, bright enough to see without a lantern.

She told herself that she wasn't afraid. Nothing ahead of her could be as frightening as the danger behind her.

* * *

"Come on, Becca, be reasonable," Shaw said. He was following close behind on Chinook, but she hadn't slowed her brisk walk or spoken to him, although they must have covered a good two miles from Eden Spring. "Why are you so mad at me?" he asked her for the second time. "You can't be that fond of that big Swede."

Without warning she whirled on him, spooking Chinook and sending the stallion up on his hind legs. "Whoa, whoa, boy," he soothed the horse. Chinook came down, but arched his neck and laid both ears back against his head as he danced a tight circle in the dirt.

"You want me to come out and say it, don't you, Shaw?"

"Hell, yes, I do," he agreed. "Regardless of what happened before I left, you had no call to try and drown me."

"Didn't I?"

"What happened before I left... that was a long time ago. I can't change any of it." His voice thickened. "When you saw who I was, on the ferry, you could have told me about Laird. You knew how close we were." When she hesitated, he went on. "Is this over your father? Do you blame me because they tried him for killing Laird?"

"This has nothing to do with your brother or Poppa's arrest. I'm sorry about Laird. You may not believe it, but I am. Why I'm furious with you is... is—"

"Spit it out, woman." Chinook was high-stepping, nostrils flared. Shaw gave a snap on the reins to remind the animal who was boss. "Say what you've got to say, Becca."

Angrily, she rested balled fists on her hips. "Eve!"

"Eve, what?" He dismounted and strode toward her, the reins in his hands. She didn't back down an inch. "You're still mad because I got drunk and kissed her? After four years?" He made a sound of disbelief. "It was as much her kissing me as—"

"No!" Her voice cracked with anguish. "It's that Eve—"

"Has something happened to your sister?"

"You could say that."

The moonlight glittered in her eyes, making them glow with a cold fire. But there was more than anger in her gut; he could hear the pain. "I don't know what you're getting at. What about Eve?"

"She had a baby."

"She got married? I didn't hear that—"

"Three years ago. A boy, Shaw. She had your son."

"Hellfire and damnation." He pushed his hat brim back from his forehead and swore softly. "So that's what this is all about. You think I—"

"Don't try to lie your way out of it!" she flung back at him. "I know you're the 'cather. My whole family knows." She was crying now, her words coming out in hot, quick sobs. "Eve told me it was you, Shaw. You got her with child, and you rode off and left her."

"It ain't true."

"I don't believe you. You're lying to me now. Lying to cover up what you did! Bastard!" She flew at him with flying fists, and he had to throw up his arms to protect himself.

"Stop it!" These were no girlish taps, but real blows. He'd taught her how to use her fists himself, and years of hard work had given her the strength and muscle to deliver them.

"Liar!"

"I said, stop!" he repeated. In the end, he had to yank her up tight against his chest and hold her there. She struggled in silent fury, breathing fast and kicking at him with her hard-toed boots. "Listen to me," he murmured into her hair. "I didn't do it."

She was quivering like a bird caught in a bush, and weeping bitterly. "I saw you with Eve," she reminded him. "I saw you—"

"Becca! Enough. You saw me kissing her, that's all."

"That wasn't all," she protested. "You had your hand under her—"

"Yes, I admit it. I was drunk, and she was willin'. But that's as far as it went. I swear it."

"My sister?" Her voice was a broken whisper. "My own sister."

"There's no way I could be the father of Eve's baby No way at all. I didn't... We never..." He swore softly. "Hell, Bee, this isn't something we should be talkin' about."

"Why not? If you could do it, why—"

He grasped her shoulders and pushed her far enough away that he could stare into her face. "Eve's a pretty girl. Why wouldn't I kiss her if she'd let me? You'd made it plain enough that you wanted no part of me. But there was nothin' more than slap and tickle. I'd had too much to drink that night, and she—"

"It's a habit of yours, isn't it? Having too much to drink?" She glared into his face. "Even tonight."

"I'm not drunk." If he had been, the fire had sobered him quickly enough—that and the terror that had wrenched his gut when he couldn't find Becca in the smoke.

"I suppose I'm not the judge of how much a man can drink before he loses all reason, am I?"

"I'm no drunk," he insisted. "And I would have hit that bully if I was cold sober."

"You like fighting, don't you? All of you MacCades do."

He loosened his hold on her and stepped back. "We've not come to that, have we? Echoing hard words against our families? I thought we swore we'd never let the feud come between us."

"Us? There isn't any us," she replied harshly. "My father almost threw Eve out when he learned she was in the family way. Did you know that? Or care? She was ruined. The least you could have done was marry her once you had your way with her."

He swore again, a Spanish oath that would have curled his mother's hair. "Are you listenin' to me?" he demanded. "How plain do you want it? I never bedded your sister. Not once."

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I suppose you didn't bed Libby Hurd either?"

He gritted his teeth. Becca's hair smelled of smoke, but her own special scent lay just beneath it, the scent that had haunted him a thousand miles away. Even now, he wanted her...

wanted to throw her back on the ground and run his hands over her soft curves. Wanted more... wanted...

"You can't deny it. Can you?"

"What happened or didn't happen between me and Libby isn't up for discussion. Libby Hurd..." It galled him to talk bad about a woman, no matter how loose her morals. If Libby had gone to California, she'd have made a fortune in the gold camps selling what she was giving away here at home. But Libby was a merry soul, and he'd not damn her for it.

"You can't deny Libby, yet you expect me to believe..."

He shook his head and backed off a step. Lord, but Bee was a spitfire when she got her dander up. He hadn't seen her this mad since her father had drowned a litter of wolf pups when she was sixteen.

Rebecca drew in a ragged breath. "Eve never lied to me. And she wouldn't start now. Not about the father of her child."

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"I don't know. That's the trouble, Shaw. I don't know."

"I guess that's something that needs straightenin' out, doesn't it? Where is she? We'll just go and ask her. Maybe her memory will be—"

Rebecca shook her head. "There was nothing for her here. She went away, to Saint Louis. She's working in a laundry. I haven't seen her in two years."

"So that's it. All this time, you've been thinkin' that I—"

"He looks like you, Shaw. He's got your hair, and your eyes."

"Lots of kids have dark hair. It doesn't make him mine."

"She gave him your middle name: James. Jamie, she calls him."

"When was he born? Exactly."

"About eight months after you left." Her shoulders stiffened. "Not long after your brother was killed."

"Laird." He wondered. Was is possible that Laird or Bruce had been with Eve?

"It broke Poppa's heart, Eve shaming him that way with a MacCade. But it was worse, that you had run off without—"

"You're not hearin' what I'm sayin', are you?" He tried to curb his own rising anger, tried not to think that maybe Eve's swelling belly had something to do with his brother's murder.

"I've done a lot of things in my life to be ashamed of, but getting your sister with child and abandoning her isn't one of them."

"Then why would she tell me that you did?"

"Spite, maybe. Or protecting somebody else. How the hell do I know?" He looped the reins over Chinook's neck and thrust his foot into the stirrup. He swung up, then offered her his hand. "Maybe she did it to protect the real father."

"Why did you go away?"

"Climb up here behind me, and I'll tell you."

"I'd sooner leap naked into the devil's bake oven."