The Cattleman Meets His Match

The kidnapper whipped around with a snarl and her stomach clenched. Roaring in fury, he hurtled across the distance. Moira quickly sidestepped, then stumbled.

A glint of light reflected from a star on the kidnapper’s lapel. Moira blanched.

Had her past finally caught up with her?

Chapter Two (#ulink_cf7ad725-4bcc-511b-975b-ae37ba217e65)

Fear spiraled through Moira’s stomach and shot to her knees, weakening her stance. She’d gone and done it now.

The cowboy was easily two paces behind the kidnapper. Feinting right, she swept the handle around and batted her attacker’s legs. The man staggered and his arms windmilled. His left hand smashed against a hanging lantern. Glass shattered and sparks showered over the hay-strewn floor. Like a wild animal set loose, brilliant orange flames spread across the dry kindling. Astonished by the sudden destructive force, she staggered back a step.

In light of this new threat, Moira tossed aside the pitchfork and stomped on the rapidly spreading danger.

“Get back!” John hollered.

The kidnapper’s face twisted into a contorted mask of rage.

He pointed at Moira through the growing wall of smoke separating them. “It’s fitting you’ll die in fire, you little hoyden.”

With another shouted curse he pivoted toward the exit. Midstride, his right foot caught the curved tongs of Moira’s discarded pitchfork. The handle sprang upright and ricocheted off his forehead. The kidnapper’s expression morphed into a comical mask of astonishment before going slack. He stumbled back a step, jerked and collapsed. A soft cloud of hay dust billowed around his motionless body.

Moira stifled a shocked peal of laughter.

The cowboy gaped. “You are a menace.”

Her sudden burst of hysterics dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. Flames licked across the floor, belching black smoke in their wake.

Moira waved her hand before her face. “Stop bickering and help me put out the fire. I’ll get, I’ll...”

She stumbled over her words and her feet as she dashed back into the stall.

She lifted the sacks, revealing four flushed faces. “Fire! Everybody up. Help me beat out the flames.”

The girls scrambled from their hiding place and dutifully rushed past, each of them snatching a sack in turn.

Using his coat, the cowboy had already doused two of the smaller fires. “Wet those sacks first!” he shouted.

Without needing instruction, Moira and Tony doused their sacks and joined him. Hazel tugged a heavy bucket of water from a nearby stall. Sarah met her halfway and together they hoisted it into the air and dumped the contents onto a pile of glowing embers. The water hissed and steamed over the scorched ground. Darcy flitted around the edges, snapping her damp sack and adding more fuel than help.

The horses whinnied and kicked at their stalls. Tony opened the enclosure nearest the fire, then covered the horse’s eyes with a scrap of cloth.

A panicked shout announced the arrival of yet another man. He was old and grizzled, his back bent into a c and his arms no more than long, thin twigs jutting from his spare body. Judging by his muttered grumblings, Moira figured he was the Norwegian she’d heard earlier—the livery owner. He joined their efforts, stomping on the dying embers in a frantic jig.

Between the seven of them, they had the flames under control in short order. As the smoke dissipated, Moira kicked at the dusty floor, scraping away the top layer of ashes. The room went silent for a tense few minutes as they searched for hidden embers.

Once they determined the fire was well and truly extinguished, their forced camaraderie ceased.

The irate old man flailed his puny arms. “What in the world? You nearly burned down my barn. I ought to call the sheriff.” He stilled and scratched the prickly gray patchwork of whiskers covering his chin. “Except Sunday is poker night. Maybe the new deputy is around. Haven’t met that feller yet.”

John dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “This is feed and board for my horses.” He added several more bills to the fat pile. “This is for the damage.”

The wizened man accepted the money with one gnarled hand and rubbed the shiny bald spot on the back of his head with the other. “Suit yourself.”

Moira wasn’t certain the exact amount the cowboy had paid, but it was enough to send the livery owner away whistling a merry tune.

Gathering her scattered nerves, she folded her burlap sack into a neat square. Her eyes watered and her lungs burned from the grit she’d inhaled.

John paced back and forth before her, his face red. After three passes, he halted and opened his mouth. No words came. Moira tilted her head.

“Are you crying?” he demanded at last.

“No. It’s from the smoke.”

“Good.” The cowboy worked his hands in the air before her as though he was strangling some invisible apparition. “I gave you very specific instructions. What did you think you were doing?”

“Assisting you, of course. And you might have thanked me.”

“I had everything under control. You, on the other hand, nearly burned down the barn. And us in the process.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

“If you had followed my very simple instructions, none of this would have happened. Give me some credit. I happen to know what I’m doing.” The cowboy thrust his hands into his flap pockets and his expression turned incredulous. He lifted his jacket hem, revealing where his fingers poked through a charred hole. “You’ve ruined my best coat.”

Moira stifled a grin at this outrage. He didn’t appear in the mood to appreciate the absurdity of the situation. “You were the one who used it to beat out an open flame.”

“I didn’t want to die.”

Moira’s eyes widened. She’d never heard anyone enunciate that clearly with their teeth still clenched together.

And why on earth was he angry? She planted her hands on her hips. Judging by the mottled red creeping up his neck, he wasn’t merely angry, he was furious. His searing glare would have melted a less hearty soul.

Moira straightened her spine. “You were hardly at risk of death.”

“You don’t know that. Your crazy stunt set this place ablaze.”

“I beg to differ. My crazy stunt saved our hides. Not to mention I used this perfectly useful burlap sack and not my best jacket. You might have done the same.”

“You could have trusted me. I haven’t proven myself unworthy yet. You might have at least waited.”

She cast him an annoyed glance. “What are you blathering on about now?”

“You are the most—”

“I haven’t time to debate with you.” Moira rubbed her eyes in tight circles with the heels of her hands. She instinctively knew their plight no longer suited John Elder’s interest. He’d be gone in a flash for certain.

Moira smoothed her hair and adjusted her collar. For a moment she’d thought the kidnapper was sporting a silver star. The glimpse she’d seen must have been a trick of the light. Besides, St. Louis was a lifetime ago. If the Giffords hadn’t looked for her after she’d left four years ago, they certainly weren’t looking for her now.

Dismissing the cowboy, her reluctant rescuer, she faced the girls.