“I never wrote that note, Jon. I didn’t.”
His anger flared briefly; he could set aside the demons, but not forget. That time was never really gone, even though he wanted to believe her. “It’s over,” he said tightly, withholding all the convoluted fragments of doubt. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I could punch you,” Blaze retorted, her own sense of injustice equally thin-skinned, “when you get so damned masculine and condescending.” And she suited her actions to her words.
Hazard caught her small fist easily, lightly, just short of its mark, and enveloped it in his large hand. Smiling into her heated eyes, he pleasantly declared, “I’ve a better idea right now. But I promise,” he murmured, his mouth descending to brush hers tenderly, “you can assault my condescension afterward, if”—his tongue slid over the upper curve of her lips—“you still have the strength.”
“Have you considered,” Blaze whispered back teasingly, her lips wet from Hazard’s leisurely roving tongue, “you might be consorting with a wicked evil woman who may have tried to kill you?”
Hazard’s breath was warm on her throat as he nibbled her tender flesh. “Wicked sounds interesting,” he exhaled softly, sending shivers up her spine, “and evil.” His dark head came up, his long lashes brushing her chin, and he looked assessingly at her exquisite blue-eyed face, fair and fresh as a spring morning. His seductive glance turned beguilingly merry and he laughed softly at her teasingly and at his own ludicrous doubts. “With you and evil, fairy princess of the May, I’ll take my chances,” he sportively assured her. “And the only way you can kill me tonight, sweet-scented woman,” he whispered, his dark fingers unbuttoning the collar of her nightgown, “is a sweet death I welcome.” Unfastening the last of the buttons, he slid the loose gown over Blaze’s shoulders, his fingers splayed and drifting like silken caresses down her arms. “I’ve missed you like hell,” he murmured. “Do you know how long it’s been?” His breathing had altered, and Blaze felt his arousal come to life, felt the heat and pulsing splendor.
Her hands were being slipped free from the sleeves and she thought, as she did each time Hazard touched her, that such gentleness was like liquid pleasure. How could a man trained to warfare have hands that moved on her body like velvet? “Too long,” she softly sighed, reaching up to bring his face to hers. “Way too long,” she informed him in a low voice lush with promise, and holding his face with her small hands lying fragrant on his cheeks, she kissed him as if the world were going to end in the next minute. When her tongue invaded his mouth, softly demanding, his arms locked around her, one curving around her neck and shoulders strongly, pulling her closer, smothering her hair, crushing her to him with a desire unrequited for so many weeks.
What happened tonight, he thought, was past judgment or analysis, whatever the cruelties or failures. It was inevitable. And that it might be hopeless too no longer mattered. With joy he held her. With joy and disquiet and aching tenderness.
She was his wife. There was no turning back.
It was the jubilant spring of his soul’s hardest winter.
It was walking on air.
It was madness.
He entered her hesitantly as if he were a young boy, uncertain. And glided into her melting moistness so slowly she protested.
“Jon,” she softly cried, arching up to draw him in, demanding more, pulling him closer. He resisted briefly; she could feel the strong muscles of his back beneath her hands contract. “Please …”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, withholding himself.
“Oh, Jon, please, please. You won’t hurt me. It doesn’t hurt. I’m going to die, Jon, if you don’t let me feel you. Jon, please!”
But the “please” ended on an explosive sigh as Jon Hazard Black did what he’d been wanting to do since he first set eyes on his wayward wife in New York. He buried himself in her silky sweetness. “Di awátsiciky [I love you],” he breathed against her ear. He was home.
Blaze wouldn’t let him go, wouldn’t let him leave her. He was her lover, her friend, her husband. She wanted all his attention, and she got it. Much later that night, when Hazard rolled off her, he teasingly noted, “Only a rest, bia … don’t get alarmed.”
The bed was a shambles. They were both damp with sweat.
“I’d forgotten how demanding you were, puss,” he mocked, stretching his arms high and flexing his back.
“Complaining?” Blaze purred, smoothing his hair slickly behind one ear.
He turned his head and looked at her. She was flushed, tousled, adorable … and his. “Do I,” he said with a slow smile, “look like a fool?”
Chapter 41
Very early in the morning while Blaze still slept, Hazard bathed in the creek and then ate breakfast with Lydia.
“You look as though you were able to mend your differences,” she observed. Hazard’s smile was contagious.
“Thanks to you.”
“No thanks needed. You would have figured it out sooner or later yourself. She sleepin’?”
Hazard nodded, his mouth full of bacon and eggs.
“Don’t be too hard on her, Hazard.” Even under Hazard’s deeply bronzed skin, the faint blush was visible. Noticing his discomfort, Lydia hastily amended, “Didn’t mean that … meant the long trip ahead. She’s not strong like a farm woman or one of your tribeswomen. She’s game, mind, but those hands ain’t seen no hard work—ever.”
Hazard set down his fork and quietly said, “I know that more than you do. It was one of the reasons I tried to tell myself to stay away.”
“I ain’t sayin’ it can’t work, Hazard. Just take it a mite easy at first, that’s all.”
“I’ll try, but”—he shrugged—“they’re bound to pick up the scent soon.”
“Stay here if you’ve a mind to.”
“That would only postpone it. Once we reach my people, Blaze will be safe … and the child.”
“You’re not thinking about doin’ anything foolish, are you, Hazard?” She’d noticed the significant absence of his own safety factor.
“He’s got to be killed eventually. Yancy Strahan’s the kind who doesn’t stop taking until he’s dead.”
“Take an old crone’s advice, Hazard. Killing doesn’t always tie up all the loose ends like you think.”
Hazard looked up from the corn muffin he had begun buttering. “It depends,” he said softly, “on who it is you kill.”
“Better think of your wife and the coming babe before you get all heroic. I know you damn Crows and your sense of justice.”
Hazard set down the knife and studied the butter melting on his muffin. “Right now,” he said, looking up with the same grave look Lydia first saw in his dark eyes on the Powder River years ago, “I’m only interested in reaching the village safely. There’s plenty of time to take on Yancy later.” His mouth curved in a sudden grin. “He has to catch us first, and right now I’m hoping like hell he doesn’t. And if I knew how to pray to your carpenter spirit, I’d add that prayer to mine.”
“Prayer don’t hurt, I suppose, but if I was a betting woman, I’d put my money on your Colts.”
“Let’s hope we need neither,” Hazard diplomatically said, and took a bite of his muffin.
Several minutes later, after harnessing up the team, Hazard carried a sleeping Blaze out to the carriage.
“Safe journey,” Lydia called to Hazard as he climbed aboard the driver’s seat.
Hazard waved and blew her a kiss. Then the whip snapped over the horses’ heads and the closed carriage rolled out of the farmyard. Following Lydia’s instructions, Hazard traveled off the main roads. At noon when Blaze woke they stopped at a stream to refresh themselves and the horses. After eating the lunch Lydia had prepared, Blaze put on traveling clothes and climbed up top with Hazard. They traveled the remainder of the day on sparsely populated byways, but by nightfall the settlements had fallen away and only the main routes west were left.
Leaving Blaze inside th
e carriage with the curtains drawn, Hazard drove into the next stage station, a small village with no more than a dozen families, and bargained for a stage, a team and two drivers. From here on, there was only one road west, and Yancy would know it if he trailed them to this point. They’d have to run like hell to the borders of Absarokee territory.
No one questioned the Indian dressed like a white man. Gold was the universal voice of commerce on the prairie, and the fabulous strikes in Montana the last three years had made idiosyncratic behavior common. Gold spoke volumes. And Hazard had plenty of gold in his saddlebags. Some might covetously eye the heavy saddlebags and the single man holding them, but he carried a dangerous aura about him and wore his guns down low like the gunfighters did who lived long lives. With such palpable strengths no one dared lay a hand on him, so Hazard, authoritative and roughly dressed for riding, got his stage and team and two drivers.
And no one remarked on the request for two pillows any more than they did the quietly spoken order for grapes. They managed to find some at Widow Brown’s, and the tall Indian said thank you softly and paid Widow Brown twice what she was asking.
It was almost dusk when they started out again, the dying light of the setting sun a dim glow on the horizon. Hazard rode inside that night, having left instructions to drive straight through. With two drivers, they could spell each other, and Hazard descended at each stage station to bargain for the fresh horses. He always carefully selected them with an eye to stamina and speed.
Traveling by stage on a well-traveled road was his idea of the worst possible way to avoid Yancy and his trackers, but with Blaze he didn’t have much choice. He always bought the best food he could at the stops and only dozed occasionally once Blaze went to sleep. They could make it to Absarokee land in six hard-driving days from here if they were lucky, and he figured he could sleep after that.
It was midafternoon of the second day on the stage road when he sighted the faint cloud of dust on the horizon behind them. He climbed on top of the stage and watched the landscape behind them for perhaps twenty minutes. They were so far behind that if he hadn’t been trained as a scout, taught to read the most minute changes on the horizon, they wouldn’t have been visible at all.
From the dimension of the dust cloud being raised, Hazard guessed maybe eight or ten men. And they were riding hard; maybe an hour, he estimated, before they were distinct enough to count.
Climbing forward on the stage roof, he explained what he was going to do to the two drivers and reviewed what he expected of them—for a generous bonus, of course.
Swinging down through the window, Hazard proceeded to apprise Blaze of their situation. He was calm, explaining that the trackers were a good hour behind. He was also pulling off his boots.
“How many?” Blaze asked.
“Eight, maybe ten. But don’t worry,” he quickly said when he saw the panic rising in her eyes. “They’re going to have to split up to come after us.” He slid his moccasins on and retied his small sack. “They’re not going to know whether we left the stage or the drivers did. And if we run into a real streak of luck, they may not notice our tracks at all. There’s a creek coming up, and if I can get the horses cut out fast enough, we’ll head out that way. Now give me a kiss, bia, and be ready to go out that door when I ride up.”
The kiss was sweet and warm. “We can do it,” Hazard reassured her, throwing the strap of his leather satchel over one shoulder and heaving the saddlebags over the other. He smiled a quick encouragement and then pulled himself up and out the window. He hung for a moment or two, his moccasins visible, their red-beaded fringe swinging, before he secured his grip and swung atop the stage.
“Just remember to go full speed to the next station,” Hazard reminded the drivers before he launched himself with a light leap onto the back of the nearest offside horse. Balancing for a brief moment, with what was incredible poise, Hazard jumped over to the middle offside bay and without hesitation, as though he were walking on solid land, leaped aboard the leader. His knife was in his hand before he was fully astride, hacking away at the harness connecting the leader with the middle team. Six economical slashing strokes later, he pulled the lead team free of the swiftly racing stage with Herculean strength and a miraculous finesse.
The two horses ran alongside their stablemates for the time it took Hazard to cut away the excess tack, but the sudden lightening of the controlling leathers bewildered them and they fell behind. With the lead reins still in place, Hazard guided the leader he was mounted on, pulling the second horse in their wake with its reins twisted twice around his wrist. As he kicked his mount into more speed, they soon caught up to the stage; but he had to manhandle the frightened animal over to the stagecoach door against the wheel noise and flapping door that was spooking it.
Hazard glanced ahead once, briefly, gauging the distance to the creek just this side of the approaching rise.
Clutching both sides of the door frame on the wildly careening stage being whipped along at the full-out gallop Hazard had ordered, Blaze had watched Hazard cut the horses loose, her heart in her throat. It was impossible, she thought the whole time he was dancing atop the horses’ backs like an acrobat; he was going to fall and kill himself; he was going to be crushed by the back teams before he could pull the confused horses free; then, dear God, he was free. He slowly drew near over the lost ground and, yanking at the terrified horse, forced it to within a foot of the swaying coach. Then he moved it up parallel with Blaze and the door.
He had only one free hand, since unlike Indian ponies, which could be guided by the rider’s knees, Hazard’s horse needed a firm hand on the reins. But he steadied the frightened horse for ten galloping yards alongside the stage and then, leaning over, gripped Blaze securely around the waist and shouted “Jump” through the noise and dust.
He had her. Five seconds later the stage had whipped past and, slowing the horses slightly, he swung Blaze across his lap. He was smiling. “Said we could, didn’t I?”
“You’re a maniac,” she remonstrated. But she was smiling too.
“Your maniac, until we cross the slippery log, darling,” he reminded her with a teasing lift of his eyebrows and a nervy smile.
“My Lord, I’m going to have my hands full.”
“Lucky girl,” he mockingly teased, then, setting his gaze on the rough wash ahead, whipped the horse, forcing it into the creek. “Can you ride for an hour or so?” he asked once his mount was safely splashing through the shallow stream.
“More if necessary.”
“I’ve orders from Lydia … so we’ll start slow.” The next hour would be the critical one anyway, Hazard thought, but he didn’t tell Blaze that. If they were followed, they’d know in an hour. And if they were followed, they’d know by how many of the men. And if they were followed, they’d have to stand and fight because Blaze didn’t have the stamina to ride day and night to stay ahead of professional trackers.
Making sure Blaze was comfortably seated on his mount, Hazard pulled the second horse up and swung across to it. He kicked his horse into the lead, and Blaze followed him down the shallow, sparkling creek.
Chapter 42
In the country north of the Platte and south of the Powder22 River, the prairie gave way to rolling hills and patches of badlands. Hazard had his eye on an outcropping of rock used for generations of Indians as a lookout, and after almost an hour of riding, they eased their horses out of the creek onto coarse river-washed gravel that left few traces or tracks. The rugged needle of sandstone towered over them, casting long shadows of shade over the cottonwood and willow scrub beneath it.
Settling Blaze in the cool shade, Hazard scrambled up the rough pinnacle of pale yellow stone. Looking back the way they’d come, it didn’t take him long to spot them. Four. He counted them twice before carefully surveying the surrounding country to see if any more were riding flank positions. No more, he noted with reflexive exhalation of relief.
They were coming up the creek slowly,
checking for signs, and although he had tried to be careful, any tracker with experience could follow them. The danger set his adrenaline pumping, and he forced himself to stay calm. If they’d only had a day’s start, he thought, even a half a day’s, they might have made it into Lakota territory. And while it would have been dangerous for them to traverse the Absarokee’s enemy’s land, it would have been infinitely more dangerous for the four heavily armed trackers. Weapons, new weapons, were always at a premium in the Indian tribes, and such rich spoil would have been sighted within five miles. Either the Lakota would have taken care of Hazard’s problem for him or the trackers would have turned back. His eyes searched the surrounding countryside … he needed a special place to ambush four well-armed men.
After several minutes of scrutiny, he was forced to conclude that the outcropping offered the only opportunity, something he must have realized an hour ago. Not a first choice, by anyone with options, but for them an only choice.
Sliding down the steep incline in a swift descent of tumbling gravel, he helped Blaze climb the rocky treacherous trail and concealed her safely behind a natural redoubt. “Stay down,” he instructed. “Don’t make any noise. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Do we have a chance? The truth, please,” she said, her expression a curious combination of fear and challenge.
He sighed and looked away, contemplating the lie. But he changed his mind. His dark gaze returned to her face and he said simply, “A slight chance. Can you shoot?”
Blaze took a deep steadying breath, her eyes on the man she wanted to live a long and happy life with, and reaching deep for a courage she’d never had to call on before, said, “Moderately. Target practice, that sort of thing.”
“If you have to, can you do it?”
She knew what he was asking. It was their lives at stake. “Yes,” she said, “if I have to.”
He smiled, a quick flash, gone almost before she saw it. “Good. Take the rifle, then. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m going to try to split them up so we can get two of them before they have time to reach cover. Then the odds will be even and I’ll feel a helluva lot better.”
Susan Johnson Page 43
