Catch the Lightning #2
Macie was considering sliding off the horse and walking back to town when Lightning broke into a gallop.
With a startled cry, she leaned low over the stallion’s neck, her hands clutching his mane, praying all the while that the horse wouldn’t step in a prairie dog hole and break its leg. Or her neck.
The horse was incredibly fast. Grass, trees and hills flew by in a blur as he raced across the ground until the town was far behind and there was nothing ahead but tall yellow grass and scattered stands of timber.
Just when she was beginning to think the animal would never stop, it slowed to a trot, then a walk, and came to a halt at the head of a shallow draw.
“About time,” she muttered. After taking a couple of deep breaths, she slid off the stallion’s back.
And found herself staring into a pair of dark eyes that belonged to a tall, dark man with a gun in his hand, a knife in his belt and a dark red stain spreading over the lower half of his shirt front.
Before she could think, before she could speak, the weapon fell from the man’s hand and he pitched forwards to land face down at her feet.
Pressing a hand to her rapidly beating heart, Macie stared at him.
Good Lord, was he dead?
She stood there, staring at him, wondering what to do, even though there was nothing she could do. They were miles from town, and even if they weren’t, there was no way she could lift him on to the back of the horse. Besides, he really did look like he was dead.
Macie was still debating her next move when the stallion nudged her from behind. She stumbled forwards, landing on her knees beside the man. Reaching out to steady herself, she accidentally hit the dead man’s arm.
And he groaned.
Not dead then, she thought. But she still couldn’t lift him.
Kneeling there, she noticed a pair of saddlebags, a bedroll and a canteen lying in the dirt behind him. And beyond his gear, the body of a horse.
Heaving a sigh, Macie gained her feet. Maybe he had something in his bags she could use for bandages.
Rummaging inside, she found a box of ammunition, a sack of what looked like beef jerky and a clean shirt. Feeling like Florence Nightingale, Macie rolled the man on to his back, drew his knife from the sheath and cut the shirt into strips.
Taking her lower lip between her teeth, she lifted his bloodstained shirt, and gagged when she saw the bloody furrow in his left side, just above his belt.
Had he been shot? She had never seen a gunshot wound before, but that’s what it was, she was sure of it.
She wiped away the blood, then saw that the bullet hadn’t penetrated his flesh, just gouged a deep gash along his side.
Using water from the canteen, she cleaned it up as best she could, then wrapped several strips of cloth around his middle to staunch the blood. When that was done, she sat back on her heels and blew out a sigh. She had done all she could. The rest was up to him.
Macie glanced around, wondering how far they were from town. When she looked back at the man, he was awake and watching her.
“Water.” His voice was deep, raspy with pain.
Macie retrieved the canteen, uncapped it, and held it for him.
He drank long and deep, then looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the one who just bandaged you up. Who the hell are you?”
His lips twisted in a wry grin. “Ace Bowdry. Excuse me if I don’t get up, Miss . . .?”
“Jenkins.” She cocked her head to the side, studying him. Long dark hair hung past his shoulders. Dark eyes, high cheekbones and skin that was more red than brown. “You’re Native American, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Indian. You’re Indian, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “That a problem for you?”
Macie shrugged. “No, why? Is it a problem for you?”
He groaned softly when he sat up. “Sometimes.”
“What happened to you?”
“I got into a disagreement with a fella about the way he played cards.”
“You got shot over a card game?”
“Yep. Fella was dealin’ off the bottom. When I called him on it, he called me a name I won’t repeat in your presence, and then he pulled a gun on me.”
“Oh!”
Bowdry nodded. “He nicked me. I killed him, and then I hightailed it out of town.”
“What happened to your horse?”
“He took a stray bullet meant for me. He was a game little stud. I didn’t know he’d been hit until he dropped out from under me.
” Bowdry glanced over his shoulder and there was a note of admiration in his voice when he said, “I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did.
So,” he added, his tone brisk, “what the hell are you doing way out here? And why are you dressed like that?”
Macie glanced down. What was wrong with the way she was dressed? True, her jeans had faded from red to a washed-out pink, her boots were a little run down at the heel and her sweatshirt was a trifle large . . . she sighed again. So, she wasn’t at her best.
Shrugging, she said, “I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone.”
“Who’s the white-haired guy on the front of your shirt?”
“It’s Grumpy. You know, from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”
Bowdry frowned at her. “Grumpy?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of Snow White?” she asked, then realized that, even if he had, Disney’s version hadn’t been written yet. “Do you live around here?” she asked, changing the subject.
“No, I was just passin’ through.”
“Is there a town closer than the one I just left?” She glanced up at the sky, which had grown considerably darker in the last few minutes. Dark grey clouds scudded overhead, blanketing the sun and bringing the promise of rain.
“There’s a ghost town a few miles from here.” He swore softly as he gained his feet, one hand pressed against his side. “I’d be obliged if you’d give me a ride,” he said, then whistled softly when he noticed the stallion for the first time. “Is that Relámpago?”
“Who?”
Bowdry shook his head. “It’s gotta be. Where’d you get him?”
“I didn’t ‘get him’. He just showed up at my house yesterday. Is he yours?”
“Nah. That stallion doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“Maybe it isn’t . . . what did you say his name is?”
“Relámpago. It means lightning.” Bowdry moved towards the stud, one hand outstretched. “Hey, boy. My great granddaddy told me about you.”
“What about him?”
“He’s a ghost horse, you know, magic.”
“A magic horse?” Macie said with a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. Legend says he appears to those in need, that he’s as swift as lightning, as sure-footed as a mountain goat and as reliable as the sun.” Bowdry patted the stallion on the neck. “My people believe if you treat him right, he’ll always carry you away from danger.”
Macie frowned. Had Relámpago brought her here to save Bowdry? But that was silly. If saving Bowdry had been the horse’s mission, wouldn’t Relámpago have just come here? There was no reason for the stallion to come to her. She hadn’t been in any danger . . . except from herself.
“You all right?” Bowdry asked. “You look a little pale.”
“What? Oh, I’m fine.”
“Well, whaddya say we get going? We’re gonna get mighty wet if we stay here.”
After gathering what gear he could carry, Bowdry swung on to the stallion’s back. Macie thought he looked a little pale himself when he reached down to offer her a hand up. She couldn’t blame him. Even though the wound wasn’t serious, it probably hurt like the devil.
Once she was settled behind him, Bowdry clucked to Relámpago and the stallion moved out at a brisk walk. A short time later, the horse broke into an easy lope.
Macie wrapped her arms around Bowdry’s middle, careful to avoid the wound in his side. It was rather pleasant, riding behind him. His broad back blocked the wind and made a nice pillow for her head.
Strange, she wasn’t more upset about finding herself in the Old West with a complete stranger, one who had recently killed a man. But then, there was no reason to be upset. She was only dreaming, after all.
Three
The ghost town rose up out of the prairie like a mirage, shimmering in the light of the setting sun, only to fade to dull grey as the sun dropped below the horizon.
Macie shivered as Bowdry reined the stallion to a halt in front of a dilapidated building. The sign over the door read THE PALACE HOTEL. She thought it a rather pretentious name for a hotel stuck out in the middle of nowhere.
The town itself was little more than a block long. Judging by the number of saloons, the inhabitants had had quite a taste for whiskey. Besides the saloons and the hotel, the only other businesses were a blacksmith and a barber.
Swinging his leg over the stallion’s withers, Bowdry dismounted.
Macie slid off the horse’s back. “Is it safe to stay here?”
Bowdry shrugged. “I reckon so. I don’t see anybody else around, do you?”
“No, but . . .” She shivered as a chill wind blew a tumbleweed down the middle of the dusty street. “It feels, I don’t know, eerie.”
“Well,” Bowdry said with a grin, “it is a ghost town.”
“Maybe our ghost horse will protect us,” Macie muttered.
“Maybe so,” Bowdry said, chuckling.
“Shouldn’t we tie him up or something?”
Bowdry shook his head. “He’s not going anywhere.”
Puzzling over his reply, Macie followed Bowdry into the hotel. As was to be expected, the floors were covered with dust, as were the chairs and the registration desk.
The steps creaked as they made their way up the stairs. Bowdry opened the door to the first room they came to.
“I’ll take the next room,” Macie said, though she wasn’t looking forward to being alone with night coming on.
Bowdry shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I’ve only got one blanket.”
Macie stared at him. “I don’t suppose you’d let me have it?”
“Sorry, but I’m willing to share.”
She stared at him a moment, her thoughts racing. Sleep alone and be cold, or share a bed with a remarkably handsome, sexy man and be warm? It really wasn’t much of a choice.
Bowdry stifled a grin as she followed him into the room. She was a pretty thing, slender and not too tall, with a mess of dark brown curls, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and eyes as blue as the Pacific.