Free Innocent Fire by Brenda Joyce

room next to yours. No one will try anything, don’t worry.”
    Elizabeth gasped. “Try anything? Good Lord! What do you mean?”
    Bragg saw Miranda standing frozen by the window, her face a mask of raw terror. He wanted to kick himself. “Just don’t worry,” he said harshly. “You’ll be safe if you lock the door.” He closed the door and left.
    The crowd downstairs was worse than he had ever seen, and it was just his luck. He had no intention of moving from that common room, he decided, unless it was to sleep outside Miranda’s door.

Chapter 11
    Bragg settled himself comfortably at one end of a trestle table, his back to the wall. He met the Mexican’s assessing eyes. The man held his stare for a moment, long enough to show that he was not afraid. Then, smiling slightly, he gazed casually about the room. In that instant, Bragg felt a deep foreboding. The man looked like a half-breed, and if he was, he was a deadly foe. His glance moved to the brawny, bearded man, who was studying Bragg openly, also unperturbed. He suddenly smiled, said something to his companion—a thin, oily blond man—and they both grinned lewdly. Bragg knew who they were talking about, but ignored them.
    “Is the beautiful girl your wife?”
    Bragg turned to the lanky redheaded man on his left. “Yes,” he said, his eyes sharp.
    The man, clad in buckskin pants and a cotton shirt, smiled amiably. “You’re very lucky. She’s a rare beauty.”
    Bragg nodded, not smiling. He decided to be pleasant. “Do you know any of these men?”
    The man shrugged. “I’ve met a few of them on my travels.”
    “You pass through these parts often?”
    The redhead nodded. “I’m an impresario,” he said. “The name’s McDermott, Tim McDermott.”
    “Bragg,” he responded. “So you’re scouting land for settlement?”
    “Yes. In fact, I’ve filed on four hundred thousand acres north of here, way up by the Red River. I hope to find three hundred families to settle it.”
    “Good luck,” Bragg said. “That’s very wild country up there.”
    “Good farming and cattle land,” McDermott said.
    Bragg nodded. “Do you know that man?” he asked, not quite so casually.
    “Ah, one of your wife’s ardent admirers.” McDermott glanced at the dark, bearded man. “No, I’m afraid not.”
    “What about him?” Bragg turned a cool gaze on the Mexican, whose black eyes, just as unperturbed, met his glance in a slight salute—or a challenge.
    “Yes,” McDermott said, grimacing. “He’s a Comanchero.”
    Bragg tensed. So he had been right; the man was half Comanche.
    “His name is Chavez. Or that’s what he calls himself. He’s very dangerous.”
    “Was his mother or his father Comanche?”
    “His father was a chief. He is not the eldest son, however. It is rumored he has a Comanche wife. It is also rumored he has extensive land in Chihuahua, that his mother was a Spanish aristocrat.”
    Bragg lapsed into silence and fell into a waiting game.
    About an hour later, Chavez rose gracefully to his feet, sending Bragg a nonchalant smile. Bragg recognized the challenge. He watched as Chavez sauntered out, then, through the window to his right, he watched Chavez mount a magnificent black stallion and canter out of town. He felt no relief. He knew, beyond a doubt, that their paths were destined to cross again.
    It was much later when the bearded man rose to his feet and started up the stairs. Dusk had fallen. The common room was full. Bragg rose too, and quietly followed.
    At the top of the stairs, the man turned to look at him. Bragg stared back steadily. The man paused in mid-stride, then kept on walking down the hall, opening a door at theend and disappearing inside. Bragg knocked softly on Miranda’s door and Lady Holcombe cracked it open.
    “Is everything all right?” Bragg asked.
    “We’re fine. Miranda’s sleeping. She seems exhausted.”
    Past Lady Holcombe’s head, Bragg saw Miranda’s form curled on her side beneath a