“I’m fine. This is a pretty place though. Let’s sit awhile.”
“Okay.”
Amanda sat down on the grass, and he sat beside her. It was quiet here, away from the camp. Peaceful. He stared at the river, watching the water swirl and eddy around the rocks. There had been precious little peace in his life. And now he had a price on his head. Langley might be out of the picture, but there were plenty of other bounty hunters who’d be on the look-out for him. He cursed Hollinger, cursed himself for not killing the man when he’d had the opportunity. Why hadn’t he pulled the trigger? He’d probably never get another chance, not now. But he’d never been a cold-blooded killer. Much as the man deserved killing, it looked like someone else would have to do it.
“Trey?”
He glanced over at Amanda to find her watching him, a look of concern in her eyes. She had beautiful eyes. They were a deep dark green, open and honest. Eyes a man could trust. Eyes a man could get lost in.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’m fine.” He reached for her without conscious thought, reached for her because she was warm and soft, because her eyes were filled with concern, because, heaven help him, he needed her in a way he’d never needed another living soul.
She leaned into him, unresisting, her lips parting as his mouth slanted over hers. He felt a twinge in his side as he drew her up against him, but letting her go would have hurt more.
He kissed her deeply, drank from her lips like a man dying of thirst. And she was kissing him in return, holding nothing back. They stretched out on the grass, bodies pressed intimately together. He was lost in her nearness, mesmerized by her touch. She moaned with pleasure as he caressed her, her quick response adding fuel to the flame that burned between them.
Her mouth was warm and softly yielding, sweeter than anything he had ever known. He tasted desire on her lips, a fiery yearning that matched his own. He kissed her until they were both breathless and then, reluctantly, he drew away. As much as he wanted her, as much as he needed her, anything more between them would have to wait until his ribs healed up.
She looked at him, her green eyes cloudy with desire, her fingers kneading his biceps. “Trey…”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and husky.
“It’s okay.” Sitting up, she took a deep breath, ran a hand through her hair. It was just as well that they’d stopped. As tempting as he was, she didn’t belong here, couldn’t stay here. Letting him make love to her would be a huge mistake. She wanted to go home, and she wanted to take her whole heart with her, although she was afraid that was already impossible.
He sat up, quietly cussing the pain in his side.
“It is pretty here,” Amanda remarked after a while.
“Yeah.”
“What was your mother like?”
“She was a gentle woman, soft spoken, patient. She drew people to her without even trying. I got jealous, sometimes, of the attention she gave to the other kids in the village. They swarmed around her. She would have liked more children. She got pregnant when I was five or six, but she lost the baby.” He shrugged. “She never got pregnant again.”
“How did she meet your father?”
“I’m not sure. She never talked about it. From the little I overheard when I was growing up, I gathered they met at a summer rendezvous. I think she must have run off with him.”
“Did you ever ask your father?”
“No.” He turned to face her, his gaze meeting hers. “What do you think of my people?”
“I like them, especially your grandfather. I wish I could talk to the other women.”
“Do you know any Spanish? Most of my people can speak it, some fluently.”
“I understand a little. That seems odd, their speaking Spanish. I always thought the Apaches and the Mexicans hated each other.”
“They do,” he said curtly. “That’s why we’ve learned their language. The Mexicans pay a hefty bounty for Apache scalps. It was to our advantage to learn the language of our enemies.”
“They pay for scalps? That’s awful!”
“One hundred dollars for the scalp of warrior, fifty for a woman or a child.”
“How do they know if the scalp belonged to a man or a woman?”
“They don’t.”
She stared at him, her horror clearly reflected in her eyes.
“Back in the old days, white scalpers got two hundred dollars for every scalp they brought in, and two hundred and fifty for a live warrior. Of course, it was safer to bring in a scalp than a warrior. The bounty hunters sometimes passed off Mexican scalps as Indian.”
“That’s awful. I always thought it was the Indians who took scalps.”
Trey shook his head. “My people do not take scalps. Apaches avoid the dead. They do not take souvenirs. We bury our dead as soon as possible, and the names of the dead are never spoken again, lest their spirits be called back to earth. When someone dies, his wickiup is burned, as is everything he owned. Those who burn his belongings also burn the clothing they were wearing at the time, and then they purify themselves in sagebrush smoke.” Trey looked at her and grunted softly. “I suppose our customs seem strange to you.”
“Well, a little. It must be difficult for you, living in both worlds.”
He picked up a rock and tossed it into the river. “Sometimes.”
“You called the Apaches ‘your’ people. Do you consider yourself more Apache than white? I mean, aren’t you as much one as the other?”
“No. To the whites, if you have a drop of Indian blood, you’re Indian. The Apache have accepted me as one of their own because I’m Apache here.” He put his hand over his heart. “The whites have never accepted me. To them, I’m a half-breed. And that’s the nicest thing they’ve ever called me.”
“I’m sorry, Trey.”
“No need to be. I’ve lived my life pretty much the way I wanted. My only regret is that I didn’t kill that bas— That I didn’t kill Hollinger when I had the chance.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to, but he was kneeling on the floor, crying like a baby, and I couldn’t pull the trigger.”
“I’m glad.”
He snorted softly. “So was he, I reckon.”
“Trey, what are you going to do with the rest of your life?”
“I was plannin’ to settle down in a little valley I found,” he replied ruefully. “And raise horses.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know. The money I was countin’ on to buy the land with is sittin’ in your house.” He laughed softly. “Ironically, the land I was going to buy isn’t far from your place.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Let’s try to go back, Trey, please? You can still raise horses. We could raise them. Together.”
“You proposin’ to me, Miss Amanda?”
“Sounds like it.”
“What about good old Rob?”
She looked at him, a faint smile hovering over her lips. “Who?”
Trey laughed out loud. “Shucks, ma’am, I don’t even know your last name.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
She wasn’t laughing.
Trey cleared his throat. “Amanda…”
She turned her face away. “It’s all right. It was a stupid idea. Forget I ever mentioned it.” She started to rise. “We should go.”
Trey grabbed her arm, wincing as the movement pulled on his bruised ribs. “Dammit! Wait a minute.”
“Just let me go.” She jerked her arm from his grasp and started walking. Abruptly, she changed direction, her steps gaining speed, until she was running, away from the camp, toward the stand of timber that grew along the back wall of the canyon.
It felt good to run again. She tried to push everything from her mind, to concentrate on the sheer joy of her feet pounding against the ground, but it was impossible. She had humiliated herself. Tears stung her eyes and were quickly b
lown away. How could she have been so stupid? She didn’t want to marry Trey Long Walker. The man was an outlaw. Sooner or later he would be caught and most likely hanged, and then where would she be? Stuck in the past, alone.
She veered to the right. The horse herd grazed in the distance. Trey’s spirit horse might refuse to take her out of the canyon, but there was nothing magical about her gelding. She had to get out of here, had to get away from Trey before she made a fool of herself again. If she couldn’t get back to her own time, she could at least live in a city. Trey had said Tucson was only a couple of day’s away. Surely she could make it that far without anyone's help. She was a seasoned rider now, and the gelding was a good reliable horse. There would be some kind of work she could do in Tucson, even if it was waiting tables or washing dishes. She wasn’t afraid of hard work; she would do whatever it took to earn enough money to buy a train ticket back east, to New York or Boston or Philadelphia. Anywhere, as long as it was away from the wild frontier.
She slowed to a walk, not wanting to spook the horse herd. Brushing the tears from her eyes, she searched for her gelding.
Relámpago trotted up to her. Snuffling softly, he rubbed his forehead against her chest, begging to have his ears scratched.
“Go away, you traitor,” she muttered. But she couldn’t resist scratching the stud’s ears while she looked for her gelding.
“Ah, there you are.” She started walking toward her horse, with Relámpago trailing at her heels like a puppy, when it occurred to her that she had neither rope nor bridle. Of course, she hadn’t had a bridle for Relámpago either, but with the stallion she hadn’t felt like she needed one.
With a sigh of exasperation, she turned toward the village, came to an abrupt halt when she saw Trey walking toward her.
Relámpago gave her a push with his nose, and when she refused to move, he nudged her again, pushing her toward Trey.
“Just what I need,” Amanda muttered crossly, “a match-making stallion.”
Relámpago nudged her again, but she refused to move. Let Trey come to her.
She couldn’t help feeling a surge of pity as she watched him walk toward her. She knew he was hurting. Well, so was she!
She lifted her chin. And waited.
Trey took a deep breath as he slowly closed the distance between them. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but he had been shocked by her unexpected mention of marriage. Certain she had been joshing him, he had replied in kind. Only she hadn’t laughed.
“Amanda…”
“Go away.”
“Let’s talk this out.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m leaving.”
He lifted one brow. “Oh? Where do you think you’re going?”
“Tucson.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. Tucson! The woman didn’t have the sense God gave a goose.
“Listen to me,” he said, speaking slowly. “Tucson is no place for a woman…”
“Are you telling me there aren’t any women there?”
“Of course not, but you’re not like those women.”
“Oh? What kind of women would those be?”
“Dammit, Amanda, you know what I mean. I’m not letting you go to Tucson alone. The town’s full of…”
“Outlaws?” she supplied sweetly.
He curled his hands into tight fists to keep from strangling her.
“If you’ll excuse me…” She took a step forward, intending to sweep by him, gasped when his hand closed on her arm.
“You’re not going anywhere.” His eyes burned into her own. “Understand?”
“You can’t keep me here against my will!”
“Wanna bet?”
Fueled by a sudden overwhelming anger, she drew back her arm and punched him in the stomach. The corded muscles there hurt her fist, which made her furious, and she hit him again.
He grunted with pain, but didn’t let go of her arm. “Go ahead, hit me if it makes you feel better,” he said grimly. “I’ve taken harder licks…some of them just recently.”
Amanda felt the color drain from her face as she remembered what he had been through at the hands of the miners.
She stared at him, her eyes wide with horror as she realized what she had done. Pain etched his features. “Oh, Trey, I’m sorry!”
He gazed at her, affection mixed with aggravation, and stroked his ribs gingerly. “You pack a pretty good wallop, for a city girl,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Honest.”
“You…” He took a deep breath, and the corners of his lips twitched. Down, then up. “Are a lot of trouble.”
“Does it hurt very bad?”
“Me brave Apache warrior, used to hardship,” he grunted, mimicking the way the Lone Ranger’s companion had talked. “Yeah, it hurts a little.”
“You don’t need to make fun of me. I said I was sorry, and I am.”
He nodded. “You have every right to be angry, but I can’t let you go. You know that, don’t you?”
“Why not?”
“What do you want me to say?” His grip on her arm loosened. “That I need you?” His hand slid down her arm. “That I love you?” His thumb moved back and forth across the inside of her wrist, sending shivers of delight up her arm. “That I can’t live without you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes. That’s exactly what I want you to say.”
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. “Will you marry me, Amanda? In the Apache way?”
She met his dark gaze directly, her heart beating double-time. “I’ll marry you in any way you want.”
“It won’t be binding anywhere but here, you know.”
“I know.”
“I’ll speak to my grandfather. As shaman, he’ll be the one to marry us.”
She nodded, pleased and excited. She had grown fond of the old man, with his warm smile and gruff manner.
“I think we’d better wait a week or so,” he said.
“A week!” she exclaimed. In one way, a week seemed far too short for such a step. But in another way…. “Do we have to wait a whole week?”
He seemed surprised by her question, surprised but pleased.
“We can get married tomorrow,” Trey said. He pressed a hand to his rib cage. “But I’m afraid the honeymoon might have to wait a few days, if you know what I mean.”
“Whatever you want is fine with me.” Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed him. “And my last name is Burkett.”
* * * * *
Returning to the lodge, they told Trey’s grandparents of their decision to be married right away. But Yellow Calf Woman shook her head. They would need to wait at least a week, she said. There were things that must be done, and she would need time to fashion a dress for Amanda to be married in, she said. After looking Trey up and down, she declared he would also need new clothing and moccasins, and extended the date another week.
As anxious as Trey and Amanda were, they both decided it would be best to wait. Amanda was touched by Yellow Calf Woman’s generosity in offering to make her a dress.
Living in the same lodge made it difficult to keep their hands off of each other. A look, the slightest touch, and the attraction between them flared to life. Amanda hadn’t done this much necking in high school, she mused, or enjoyed it so thoroughly. Trey tempted her touch at every turn. It was impossible to be near him and not run her hand over his arm, his shoulder, let her fingertips trail down his back, slide down his chest.
Here, among his own people, he shunned the clothes of civilization. Clad in a brief buckskin clout and moccasins folded over at the knee, his long hair hanging past his shoulders, he looked wild and completely untamed. She dreamed of him at night, erotic dreams that shocked her upon waking, and made her yearn for the day when he would be hers, when the dreams would become reality. The two-week wait seemed to stretch on forever into the dim future, fanning her yearning for the moment she would be totally his, and he would be totally h
ers.
To pass the time and give her mind something else to think of, she made an effort to learn the language, to understand the Apache customs, to accept with a smile whatever food was offered her. The Apache diet consisted largely of meat, roots, mescal, berries, and mesquite beans. The mescal plant was plentiful in the desert. The women gathered it and roasted the pulp in pits. It was easily stored and carried. Mesquite beans and acorns were pounded into meal and made into cakes. The fruit of the giant cactus was also harvested. Amanda thought it tasted a little like figs.
The women made lovely baskets. There were two kinds, those used to carry burdens and those used for water.
She loved the children, with their luminous black eyes and sweet smiles.
The Apache were a superstitious people. They believed that the devil was in the whirlwind, and that anyone caught in one would die. It seemed an odd belief to her, but certainly no stranger than believing that spilling salt would bring bad luck.
She learned there were many bands of Apache Indians. There were two bands of Mescalero and two bands of Jicarilla. The Chiricahua tribe was made up of three bands; the Western Apaches consisted of four groups. Trey’s band was Chiricahua. She had heard of them, of course. Who hadn’t heard of Cochise and Geronimo? When she asked about them, she was told that Cochise’s band was located further to the southwest, and that Geronimo was most likely in Mexico.
Trey was pleased by Amanda’s interest in his people. Though their customs were strange to her, she did her best to accept and understand them. She was polite to his grandparents, gracious to those she met. The children were curious about her red hair, seeking every opportunity to touch it, then crying, “hot, hot” as if the bright strands burned their fingers.
How had he lived without her? He took pleasure in her laughter, the sound of her voice, the way she touched him, the way she smiled when he touched her. And they found numerous excuses to touch, he mused, especially at night, alone in their wickiup. They spent hours touching, kissing, exploring, the knowledge that they would soon consummate their love giving them the willpower to wait.
And now it was the night before the wedding.
Trey slid out from under the furs and stepped out of the lodge. The village was asleep. He stood there a moment, and then, feeling restless, walked through the camp toward the horse herd. A spotted dog growled softly as Trey passed by.
Chase the Lightning Page 21
