Madeline Baker

by Prairie Heat

  How wonderful to be a man, to do as one wished, to always be in control of one’s own life. Women rarely knew such freedom. From birth, they were subject to the authority of others—mothers, fathers, older brothers and, eventually, husbands. A woman’s life was never fully her own, whether she was fifteen or fifty. She could not vote. Any property she might own became her husband’s when she married.

  If she needed to work, or wished to work simply to earn a little extra money, there were only a few areas of employment considered suitable for a lady.

  But a man—why, a man could do anything he wanted. Men owned hotels and stores, banks and saloons. They sold furniture and livestock and property. They prospected for silver and gold, they explored new lands, they sailed ships. Men voted and drank and smoked and cussed and did all manner of things no decent woman would dare to do.

  Matilda sighed heavily as she pushed a wisp of hair from her face. Perhaps the Apache were not so uncivilized after all. Among the Indians, it was the woman who owned the lodge and had custody of the children. When a woman married, the newlyweds made their home with the wife’s family. There were women warriors and women shamans.

  They stopped to rest the horses and eat at midday, and then they were on the move again. McCord was constantly checking the ground for sign, and Matilda wondered how he could determine which tracks belonged to Elias Kane. But she was too warm and too saddle weary to care.

  Jess concentrated on following Kane’s trail. It wasn’t hard to find. The ground held a good print, the tracks were fresh, and Kane’s mount had an odd way of going that made his tracks easy to distinguish.

  As the day wore on, his leg began to throb steadily. A sticky wetness trickled down his calf as the wound continued to drain.

  It would have been so easy to quit the trail, to find a shady spot and rest his leg, and when the temptation became too great, he closed his eyes and remembered how he had held Kathleen, hovering near death, in his arms, the bodice of her bright yellow dress stained with blood, her eyes dark with fear and pain.

  Once, leaning over his mount’s neck to check the ground for sign, he was overcome with dizziness but he shook it off, determined to close the distance between himself and Kane. Kane who had killed Kathleen, Kane who had left Mattie to die in the wilderness. Kane who had put a bullet in Jess’ leg out of pure cussedness. He would not rest until the man was dead.

  As the miles slipped by, Matilda’s thoughts turned to Josiah Thornton. What a story she’d have to tell him when she finally reached Tucson. Mr. Thornton would know by now that something had delayed her arrival. Would he think she had changed her mind, or would he guess that the coach had been attacked?

  She had no answers to her questions. She lifted her gaze to McCord, who was riding a short distance ahead. How did he manage to ride at all? she wondered. Instead of spending hours in the saddle, he should be sitting in the shade resting his leg. She could see a damp spot on the buckskin pants Vittorio had given him. The wound was still draining; no doubt it was still painful. And yet he rode steadily onward.

  She was almost asleep in the saddle when McCord finally drew rein for the night. Wordlessly, he helped her to the ground and stripped the rigging from the horses, hobbling them where they could graze on the short yellow grass that grew in scattered clumps. He tossed her their blankets and saddlebags, then began gathering wood for a fire while she prepared the evening meal.

  Matilda ate in silence, her gaze on the wooden bowl in her lap. Was he ever going to speak to her again? She found it odd that she missed the sound of his voice, but miss it she did. Perhaps he was waiting for her to apologize. Resentment washed through her at the very idea. Why should she have to apologize for behaving like a decent, God-fearing human being, for refusing to stand by and watch while Elias Kane was tortured to death?

  “I’m sorry,” she said sullenly. “I only did what I felt was right.”

  McCord looked up, his dark gray eyes meeting hers, and she felt the touch of his gaze go straight to her heart.

  “Forget it,” he said with a shrug. “We’ve all got our own paths to follow.” A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You freed Yellow Hawk. I guess I should have figured you’d cut Kane loose too.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to find him again?”

  “I’ll find him.” The certainty in his voice, the coldness, sent a shiver down Matilda’s spine.

  “Is there a town nearby?” she asked. “Somewhere I can catch a stage to Tucson?”

  “Tucson?”

  “My…my husband has a store there.”

  Her husband. So she really was married. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. “We’ll be in Lordsburg in a couple of days. You should be able to get a ride from there.”

  A couple of days, she thought, dismayed. So soon?

  I don’t want you to go, he thought. Not now, not ever.

  “I’d better get these dishes cleaned up,” Matilda said. She reached for his bowl, felt his fingers close over her hand.

  “Mattie.”

  “Don’t, Jess, please.”

  His hands gripped her shoulders and he stood up, drawing her with him. “Mattie.”

  His face was shadowed, but she felt the heat of his gaze, the power of his hands. It didn’t occur to her to pull away as his mouth slanted over hers. Instead, she closed her eyes, her body swaying against his, the two of them fitting together like two halves of a whole. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, her hips pressed to his. She felt his tongue whisper over her lips, stroking the soft, silky flesh of her lower lip, and she moaned softly as her arms went around his neck. His hands slid over her arms, then moved along her rib cage, teasing and tantalizing.

  “Mattie.” The longing in his voice was as intimate as a caress and the faint stirrings of desire grew stronger, like a flower turning its face to the sun, its petals unfolding to receive sustenance and life.

  She stood quiescent in his arms while his hands played restlessly over her back and arms, his touch trailing fire, his lips nourishing her budding passion like the promise of rain after a long drought.

  “Mattie,” he whispered, “sweet, so sweet.”

  Effortlessly, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bedroll and gently placed her on the buffalo robe. His mouth covered hers again as he unbuttoned her shirtwaist and parted the ties of her undergarments.

  A breath of cool air sighed over Matilda’s bare breasts. She heard McCord draw a deep breath, felt the brush of his hand against her skin.

  The touch of his calloused palm brought reality crashing down around her. “No.” She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “No!”

  “Mattie—”

  “We can’t do this,” she gasped, drawing her shirtwaist over her breasts. “We won’t!”

  Jess loosed a long, heavy sigh, then, hands clenched at his sides, he stood up. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, and walked away, the pain in his leg swallowed up by the ache of unfulfilled desire.

  Matilda stared after him, her eyes burning with tears of misery and frustration as she sat up and rearranged her clothing. What was happening to her? How could she ever face Jess McCord again?

  And even as she chastised herself for her brazen behavior, she was remembering the sweet intoxication of his kisses, the gentle persuasion of his hands caressing her arms and back, the sheer wonder of his body pressed intimately against her own.

  But it was wrong, so very wrong. She was married to another man, and though their union had not yet been consummated, Josiah Thornton deserved her loyalty, her devotion. He had married her in good faith, expecting to receive a bride who was faithful, chaste and pure. It was what she had promised him, what he deserved, and she could give him nothing less.

  *

  Jess McCord stood in the shadows, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he watched Mattie. Tears glistened like moon drops on her cheeks, and he quietly cursed himself for trying to seduce her. She was a
decent, God-fearing woman, and another man’s wife, to boot, and he would do well to remember that in the future.

  But even as he vowed not to touch her again, he was remembering the honeyed sweetness of her lips, the way her slim body had molded itself to his, the soft moan of pleasure that had escaped her lips as they kissed.

  Damn! The sooner they reached Lordsburg, the better!

  Chapter Twelve

  Josiah Thornton heaved a sigh of dismay as he reread the telegram in his hand:

  Santa Fe stage attacked by Indians. Fear Mrs. Thornton abducted or killed. Will notify further details as available.

  The message was signed by his old friend, Sheriff Patrick McKaye. Josiah stared, unseeing, out the front window. He’d been so eager to meet Matilda, to share his life with her. Though they’d never met, he felt as if he’d known her all his life.

  He went to a small oak desk and withdrew a packet of letters tied with a piece of string. Matilda’s letters. Corresponding with her during the past two years had brightened his life. Her cheerful letters had kept him company on many a cold winter night and lifted his spirits after a hard day.

  His gaze moved to the small tintype on the mantle. She looked young and innocent, and he felt a tug at his heart as he imagined her being tortured and abused.

  The sharp talons of grief and remorse impaled him. He had known it would be dangerous for her to make the trip to Tucson alone. Why hadn’t he gone after her? He might have been able to save her. But he’d been too busy with the store, and now she was at the mercy of a bunch of savages.

  With a groan of despair, he crumpled the telegram in his hand. “Forgive me, Matilda,” he murmured as he clutched the wad of paper to his heart. “Please forgive me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “How much farther?” Matilda asked.

  “We should be in Lordsburg tomorrow night,” Jess replied, and Matilda felt her heart sink. So soon. She knew she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the man riding beside her, nor was she ready to become Josiah Thornton’s wife. All this time she’d been so sure she would make Mr. Thornton a good wife, that they were well-suited, but now she was filled with doubts. How could she go to Josiah when she felt such a strong attraction for Jess McCord?

  She slid a glance in his direction, her eyes pleased with what they saw. He was tall and ruggedly handsome. Dressed in buckskin leggings, clout, shirt and moccasins, he looked more Indian than white. His skin was a smooth reddish-brown, his hair straight and long, black as a raven’s wing, his eyes as dark as thunderclouds. He rode superbly, his long, lean body moving in perfect rhythm with the horse. She wished she knew more about him, about his past, wished she could explain why she found him so appealing.

  With an effort, she drew her thoughts from McCord and let her gaze wander over the landscape. It was endless and flat, with long sandy stretches of ground interspersed with treeless patches of grass. There were mountains in the distance, and over all a cloudless blue sky.

  It was near noon when they came to a small, grassy swale. Matilda’s gaze met McCord’s as he lifted her from the back of her horse, and she felt a little thrill of pleasure at the touch of his hands at her waist. Her breasts brushed across his chest as he lowered her to the ground, and she felt a sweet yearning ache in her belly. He held her for several moments longer than necessary, his stormy gray eyes locked on her face.

  Matilda’s lips parted in silent invitation, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as she waited for him to kiss her. Just one, she told herself. Surely just one kiss couldn’t hurt.

  Jess gazed deep into Matilda’s eyes and saw the wanting there, the growing awareness of the tension between them, the first faint stirrings of desire.

  Just last night, she had pushed him away.

  Just last night, he had vowed never to touch her again.

  But that had been last night, and this was now. Slowly, he lowered his head and his mouth covered hers, the touch of his lips as light as dandelion down. Just one kiss, he thought. What could it hurt?

  It was like touching a match to gunpowder, and he knew one kiss would never be enough. His arms went around her, drawing the length of her body tight to his, letting her feel the heat radiating between them. His mouth ravaged hers, greedy and gentle by turns, his tongue teasing her lips before dipping inside to savor the smooth, silky sweetness within. He felt the warmth of her breasts against his chest, the supple sway of her hips, the restless movement of her fingers tracing the muscles in his back, and he kissed her again, and then again, his senses reeling, the blood pounding in his ears.

  Matilda did not resist as he drew her gently to the ground. Her lips were bruised from the force of his kisses, but she held him close, wanting more, and more again. Her fingertips roamed the length and breadth of his back and shoulders, clutching him ever tighter. His lips moved over her breasts, the heat of his mouth searing her skin even through the layers of cloth, and the heat spread quickly downward, fanning the embers of desire until she was on fire for his touch, aching with a need she dared not name.

  She was trembling all over now, frightened and excited by the torrent of emotions that his kisses and his touch aroused in her. From the far recesses of her mind came the unwelcome reminder that she belonged to another man; in a brief moment of sanity, she opened her mouth to tell him they had to stop before it was too late, but he was kissing her again, the heat of his lips driving all rational thought from her mind. He was fire and she was fire and together they made the most beautiful flame…

  He sat up without warning, leaving her lips bereft.

  “What is it?” Matilda asked, dazed. “What’s wrong?”

  “See for yourself,” Jess answered quietly.

  She followed his gaze, fear quickly replacing passion as she saw the Indians. There were ten of them. Ten warriors, their faces hideously painted, their hair hanging in greasy braids. Fresh scalps fluttered from their lances. They all carried war shields, some decorated with bear teeth, others with tufts of human hair.

  “What do they want?” Matilda asked tremulously.

  “What do you think?” Jess answered wryly. He glanced at his rifle, calculating the odds of reaching it and squeezing off ten rounds before he was shot to pieces.

  But he didn’t reach for his weapons. To do so would be suicide. They knew it. And so did he.

  Four of the warriors dismounted. One took McCord’s rifle, another took his knife, then the other two grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. With rough hands, they stripped off his shirt and leggings, then bound his arms tightly behind his back. That done, they removed his moccasins, then turned their attention to Matilda.

  One of the warriors took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She looked back at Jess, her eyes wide and scared as the warrior lifted her to the back of his horse and vaulted up behind her.

  “Jess!”

  He started to tell her not to worry, that he’d think of something, but before he could form the words, the warrior on his right struck him a savage blow across the mouth, warning him to keep silent.

  The warrior who had claimed McCord’s rifle took up the reins of his horse and the pack mule. A second brave took Matilda’s horse, and the Indians moved out, leaving Jess to follow on foot.

  The warrior who had struck him across the mouth now prodded Jess in the back with the point of his lance and Jess started walking, his gaze focused on the back of the warrior ahead of him.

  For a time, he thought of Mattie, of what would happen to her when the Indians stopped for the night, but as the hours and the miles passed, he put everything from his mind but the necessity of putting one foot in front of the other.

  The bandage wrapped around his leg slipped down to his ankle and he kicked it off. He glanced at the half-healed wound once, wishing it belonged to someone else.

  The Indians marched him through the roughest ground they could find, over rocks, through cactus, across the blistering sand, until the soles of his feet were raw and bleeding and
each step was agony.

  They’d gone about five miles when he fell the first time. He choked back a groan as he landed on his wounded leg. The warrior riding behind Jess laughed derisively as he prodded the captive with his lance, making tiny cuts along the back of McCord’s legs, jabbing him again and again until he regained his feet.

  Mouth set in a determined line, Jess started walking, silently cursing Elias Kane with every step and every labored breath he took. His leg throbbed relentlessly, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet, his hatred for Kane and his need to avenge Kathleen’s death sustaining him mile after mile.

  He figured they’d gone about ten miles when the Comanche stopped for the night, making camp in the lee of a tall sandstone spire. Jess sank to the ground, watching helplessly as the warriors surrounded Matilda, reaching out to touch her sun-kissed cheeks, her long black hair, the curve of her breast.

  She screamed as one of the warriors pulled a lock of her hair, and then she began to scratch and kick, her nails leaving a long bloody trail down one man’s cheek, her toe catching another square in the groin so that he fell back, howling with pain and rage.

  The warriors drew away then, nodding to themselves. The white woman had a fighting spirit and they would not break it by raping her now. Instead, they would take her back to camp and show her off before deciding whose slave she would become.

  With the fun over, the warriors quickly prepared something to eat. Matilda shook her head, refusing the charred hunk of meat they offered her. Then, thinking to help McCord, she started toward him, but one of the braves intercepted her. Grabbing her arm, he pushed her back the way she’d come.

  “Jess!”

  “I’m all right, Mattie. Stay there.”

  The Indians didn’t offer McCord any food or water and when they were through eating, they tied his feet together and then turned in for the night, leaving two men to stand guard.