Free Marshal of Hel Dorado by Heather Long

the front of the bodice, buttons flying every which way.
           “Sorry Lena,” he muttered. “Turn.” He
twisted her when she stumbled against the skirts, trying to obey. The tear of
fabric rent the air. Her vision blotted out and she was on her hands and knees
when the cage around her chest burst.
           Her ribs expanded as she gulped in the cold
air, the taste of the pond a sting in the back of her throat. Heat poured out
of her hands and she dug her fingers into the loamy clay and dirt that bordered
the edge of the pond. Flushing the heat out into the dampness. Three feet away
a spark struck a rock and she heard the sizzle and pop as it went air born to
land against the water.
           Her temperature spiked and then cold hands
were rubbing against the bare flesh of her back. Even the hot sun washed cool
against her overheated skin. She pushed the flames surging inside of her
through her hands. The yellowed grass shimmered, shriveling.
           “Easy,” Sam was talking to her. His words a
comforting mumble. The cold hand stroking up and down her spine, a second
bracing her as she knelt. Scarlett gulped in more air, feeling the first stone
inside of her explode and the heat rushed out, a trickle bursting the dam of
her control.
             Have to get to the water. If I don't,
everything is going to burn.
           The water in the pond bubbled and her
vision blacked out totally.
          
     
           A wareness
buzzed around her lazily, summer flies humming in her ear. Bit by bit, a
shimmer of wakefulness sliding over her muscles, each protesting in turn. Her
chest was the worst, bruised like the fall taken from a green horse and
dragged. Hot and tight, her skin squeezed her bones. Slushy coldness trickled
down her breastbone, pooling between her breasts.
           “Pa’s gone for the doctor.” The muffled
words came from far away.
           “Get some more ice and bring me another
bucket of water from the well.” Sam. His voice was closer, an odd note of
concern pinching his words.
           “I’ve got men hauling some up from the ice
house. Maybe you should come out here, till the doc comes.”
           “And leave her alone?” Censure heated Sam’s
tone. “Go Micah, one of us exposed is enough.”
           “Sam…”
           “Go.” A door shut, closing her into the
pocket of silence. Had Sam left? Scarlett struggled with the dark, forcing her
eyelids to open. Overhead, wooden beams stretched up into the shadows. A single
light flickered. Sliding her tongue over rough, dry lips, she turned her head,
looking for the light.
           Sam filled her vision, his face harsh in
the shadows cast by the kerosene lamp. It had to be kerosene. She could smell
the oily smoke. Her throat burned when she swallowed and blessed coldness
washed over her face.
           He was bathing her cheeks with a damp
cloth.
           “Easy there, Miss Scarlett.” The gruff tone
was nearly gentle, betraying a kindness she thought she’d imagined during their
nighttime flight from Dorado. Her head ached. Her chest was worse.
           “Hurt,” she managed to whisper, surprised
at the rawness of her voice.
           “You’re burning up.” The cool swipe off the
cloth stroked relief over her face, softening the too taut skin. She was so
hot. The fiery pricks of heat stabbed into her consciousness, the fire in her
belly was raging in her blood, scorching her skin.
           “Not safe for you here.” Terror chased the
flames through her blood. Overhead, the wood taunted her. Her gaze skittered
around the room. It was a log cabin. Like those she’d seen sprawled about the
property.
           She could torch the place with a stray
thought.
           “Shh,” Sam whispered, his hand dipping down
off the bed. Water splashed and then the cold cloth was bathing her face again.
“We’re getting more ice. Pa went for the doctor. You