Lake of Fire Read Free

through the vast cold wilderness.

    Cord Sutton lowered his gun, his pulse pounding as though he had run a long way. Though the outlaw richly deserved to die, killing a man still made him sick inside.
    He turned on the boy, who sagged against the coach wheel, face pale with shock. “What were you thinking? Hiding in the woods while they killed the driver …” Cord spat into the snow.
    The kid shoved small fists into the pockets of a brown woolen coat and looked away toward a stream running to join the torrent of the Snake. He looked even younger than Cord had thought, not old enough to shave. A glint of tears shone in hazel-flecked green eyes.
    “Name’s Cord,” he offered.
    The youngster bit his lower lip with even white teeth. Something in his manner suggested a city child; no doubt, he had never seen anyone die. For that matter, Cord had never killed a man.
    How he wished he could turn back the clock to when he’d risen in the predawn darkness, eager to embark on his journey.
    With another appraisal of the frightened boy, Cord put two fingers to his mouth and let loose a piercing whistle. A vague movement in the willow bottoms became his well-muscled black stallion trotting into the clearing. “There, Dante.” He stroked the horse’s flank.
    Cord needed to be on his way, but he turned back to the kid studying the snow. Without warning, the child dove on a black velvet pouch beside the steel-rimmed wheel. Trembling fingers shook out tissue paper that floated to earth, and he went onto his knees and pushed piles of snow aside with cold-reddened hands.
    “What are you looking for?”
    “A cameo on a gold chain. My mother’s.”
    “All this belongs to your mother?” Cord gestured at the scattered clothing. “Is she here?” He hoped there wasn’t another body.
    The kid shook his head and kept searching. Relieved, Cord knelt and sifted snow alongside. He lifted a blue-green ball gown trimmed in black lace and shoved aside a gold satin wrapper. After a few minutes, he realized the pendant might be beneath the body of the outlaw he’d killed. He’d never realized a gut-shot man would smell like a deer or elk carcass, a rank, sweetish stench.
    Cord pushed to his feet. Reaching down, he touched the kid on a slumped shoulder.
    “I have to go,” he began. “As we shouldn’t steal the stage horses, and mine can’t carry you and your mother’s bags, I’ll have to leave you.”
    “No!” The boy’s tone went shrill. “There might be more of them.” He looked at the man Cord had shot in the head and then away.
    “The stage company scouts will find you soon.”
    The last thing Cord needed was a greenhorn to slow him down. If he waited or took the kid back miles to the small town of Jackson, he’d be late for his appointment in Yellowstone. The deal waiting in the park promised to be the most important thing he’d ever done.
    The child in the snow looked up and, for the first time, met his eyes. “I need to get to Yellowstone.”
    Cord saw himself at age six, ragged, homeless, dependent on charity. They could ride for Menor’s Ferry; he’d speak to Bill Menor, who was a friend. He’d leave the kid there and report the outlaw.
    Before he could speak, something in the way the youngster moved, rising lithely to stand before him, set off alarms. Cord’s eyes narrowed, and he studied the smooth jaw. The whisper of suspicion grew stronger when he looked at long-lashed eyes and the generous curve of smooth lips.
    This was surely no boy, but a young woman. A lady of wealth, from the look of her belongings spread in the snow.
    “Please.” Her voice was not a beggar’s.
    Of all the times to play Good Samaritan, this was the worst. But there was something appealing about traveling with this spunky and mysterious female. Her green gaze was wary while she awaited his verdict.
    “I’ll take you to Yellowstone,” Cord agreed.

    For the first hour riding on a folded blanket behind Dante’s saddle, Laura sat