Ace's Wild (Hqn)

by Sarah McCarty

  Luke squatted down beside him in their meager cover and studied the canyon. “Something’s wrong.”

  “How wrong?”

  “There’s no sentry.”

  “There?”

  He shook his head. “From up there, I can see all around. There’s no sentry anywhere.”

  Fuck, they’d wasted all this time. Ace sheathed his knife. Cold, clammy dread settled in his stomach. “They didn’t stop.”

  “They stopped. I can hear the horses.”

  “What the hell?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t like the feel of this.”

  Neither did Ace. “It could be a trap.”

  Luke nodded. “Maybe. But even that doesn’t make sense. It’s not like Comanche to waste time with the odds so high in their favor. They could have attacked hours ago.”

  It didn’t make any sense at all. Ace scooted back down the bluff. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

  Luke was right behind him. “Yup.”

  * * *

  THE STRETCH FROM the canyon to the Indian campsite was the longest of Ace’s life. It wasn’t the first time, second time, third time or even the hundredth time that he’d crept up on an enemy, but it was the first time he’d felt like he’d aged a hundred years in the process. He wasn’t worried how he’d find Pet. It was likely she’d been tortured. Raped. He was braced for that. What he didn’t want to find was that she’d been murdered.

  The closer they got to the camp, the stranger the whole situation got. The only sounds breaking the night were crickets, the occasional hoot of an owl, the stomp of a horse’s hoof and the sound of men snoring. Why hadn’t they posted a sentry?

  Ace shook his head. It made no sense. He’d taken the path around the left perimeter; Luke had taken the right, watching for the sentry or guard. There was none. As he got closer, the faint red glow that had been the Comanche fire reduced into a pile of glowing embers.

  Another shiver went down his spine. Comanche wouldn’t make a fire on the way back from a raid. They were warriors through and through, as tough as this country. One of the fiercest enemies he’d ever faced. He might not share their philosophies, but he respected them as warriors and enemies.

  From across the way Luke gave him a signal. The soft hoot of an owl cut short followed by two calls, four warbles each. Luke had reached the far perimeter. And he counted eight men.

  The sliver of moon didn’t give out much light, but Ace was careful, very careful, not to step on a stick, not to break a branch. The only rustle marking his progress was the rise of the breeze.

  He wanted to charge in, find Petunia, snatch her close, keep her safe, apologize, tell her it didn’t matter. But it did. He knew it did. For all her bravado, she was a good woman, and tonight was going to change her life but he would fix it. He was good at fixing things. Card games, claim disputes at the assayer’s office, just subtly working in the background moving things around, playing the odds until they came out right. And he’d make it right for Petunia. He’d do what he had to now to get her out of this mess, and when he got her home, he’d convince her nothing that had happened today mattered. Because it didn’t. Not now. Not to him. Not ever.

  Another snore permeated the dark. The wind changed direction, and a sour smell blended with the clean night air. Every boy over the age of ten was familiar with that smell. Hooch. Gil had been carrying hooch on that coach, which might explain the unnatural stillness of the camp.

  Ace sent an answering signal back to Luke. He slid his knife between his teeth and pulled out his revolver, waiting for the little hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end, but while every nerve ending was snapping with attention, the warning tingle was absent. There was danger here but not an imminent threat. Normally, he would have just gone with that but ordinarily, Petunia wasn’t in the line of fire. He couldn’t afford a mistake. He crouched down and inched forward. A twig snapped beneath his knee. He swore internally and froze. No one stirred in the camp.

  Up ahead there was another snore. This close it was easy to pinpoint the person’s position. Asleep or not, it shouldn’t have been as easy as it was to creep up on the sentry sitting braced against a tree, but it was a cakewalk. Grabbing the man from behind with a hand over his mouth, Ace cut his throat, left to right, so fast the raider didn’t even tense up at the mortal wound. Along with the smell of blood came the sour stench of alcohol. There must have been a lot of hooch on that coach.

  Ace gave the signal. One down. From across the way came Luke’s return signal. Two sentries down, six men to go. He eased the body to the ground, knowing the Comanche way, wondering if he’d had a turn on Petunia. The thought made Ace want to kill him all over again with that thought but slower, piece by piece, looking into his eyes while he understood retribution had come. Ace wiped the knife on the man’s pants, put it back between his teeth and crept forward. Drunk or not, six-to-two odds were barely even.

  Creeping deeper into the camp, he found a second warrior, a shadow on the ground framing the edge of the fire just beyond what would have been its light, had it been tended. He died as easily as the first. It gave Ace no satisfaction. Across the way he knew Luke was doing the same. He shook his head as the stench of vomit and alcohol and stale sweat surrounded him. There was a time when he would have shaken his head at how low a drink could bring the mighty Comanche, but right now, as he went from bundle to bundle, all he could think of was the hell they must have put Pet through before they’d passed out. And be grateful God had evened up the odds.

  He knew Petunia would be toward the back, tossed like so much debris to be used as they saw fit. God, he hated the thought of them with Petunia. She deserved flowers and tender touches and a man who guarded his nature as well as he guarded her. It hadn’t been fucking him.

  One of the Comanche rolled over and fumbled to his feet. He stood and swayed, clearly still intoxicated. Ace snarled, drawing his attention. The man spun around, instincts far sharper than his reflexes. Ace didn’t wait for him to find him in the shadows. As the raider reached for his knife, Ace grabbed his wrist, stepping in close, grabbing him by the back of the neck. This close he could see the darker marks of scratches on his face. With another snarl he turned the Indian’s blade and shoved it forward, gutting him on his own knife. The raider’s eyes flew wide, the whites gleaming. A harsh gurgling sound erupted from his throat.

  “For Pet, you son of a bitch.”

  Ace jerked the knife up, feeling his blood seep through his clothes, knowing he’d killed him. It wasn’t enough. The beast in him growled and writhed. The implications of those scratches stuck in his mind. He wanted to tear the world down. With a silent snarl, he pushed the disemboweled man off the knife.

  Three more feet he could make out the darker shadow of another body. Too big to be Petunia. He took a step; as he did his foot brushed something hard. Feeling with his foot, he found a short stake and a length of rope. There was only one thing the Comanche would tie up. Pet.

  Carefully, ever so carefully, Ace reached for the man’s face noticing even as he did that this shadow was different. A quick study revealed he was curled on his side. Adjusting his stance, Ace slipped his hand over the man’s mouth and slit his throat with the same efficiency as before, cutting him off midsnore. Blood spurted over his hands. A gasp snapped his gaze up. Even in the pale light he could make out the soft shine of Petunia’s eyes looking back at him from under the raider’s corpse.

  She was alive.

  Thank you, God.

  Signaling to Luke that he’d found her, Ace dragged the body of the dead Comanche aside. He reached for Pet’s shoulder. Instead, he found her naked armpit, then her ribs, then her torso. No material blocked his touch but thanks to him, she was covered in the Indian’s blood. The bastard had been sleeping wrapped around her. He put a bloody hand over her mouth and softly intoned, “S
hhh.”

  He prayed like hell she recognized his voice. Slowly he removed his hand. She didn’t scream. That was something. He skimmed his hands quickly over her body, checking for any obvious broken bones. When he got to her hips she started fighting. Again he put his hand over her mouth. Tapping her cheek with his finger, he brought her gaze back to him. He doubted she could see his face backlit as he was by the only source of light, but he knew she would see the shake of his head.

  Sliding his free hand up her arm, he found the ropes pinning her to the ground. He cut the left and the right, repeating the procedure on the ones binding her feet. Against his hand her head jerked. Damn, he couldn’t even afford to let her cry. He leaned down until he covered her body, feeling her tense, blocking her blows, whispering in her ear, “Quiet, Pet.”

  She only fought harder, and damn the woman was strong. He pinned her legs with his knees and her arms with his elbows, keeping his hand over her mouth and leaning in again, he breathed the words in her ear. “Unless you want another go with these Comanche, you’ll hold still.”

  Fear did what his presence couldn’t. Pet went stiff as a board. Her chest rose and fell in rapid pants beneath his. Her breath hit his palm in soft, silent protests he couldn’t let her voice. Not yet. Above his hand, her eyes accused. Below, her body protested.

  “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound until I tell you. Understood?”

  It took a second, and she stopped breathing all together first, but then she nodded.

  Still keeping his whisper as light as the creeping moonlight he asked, “Can you do that if I let you go?”

  The nod didn’t come immediately.

  “I need to cover Luke.”

  He didn’t know if she was nodding “yes” she couldn’t stay still without him, or that she understood what he was saying. He stroked his thumb across her cheek.

  “They won’t ever touch you again, I promise. Even if I step away, know that. They’ll never touch you again.”

  He could feel her fear fighting with that relief. She needed something to hold on to. He gave it to her.

  “I’m not asking you, Pet, I’m telling you. I’m giving you an order and for once in your goddamn life, you’re going to follow it.” He gave her a little shake. “Because I’m the one giving it. You’re going to lie there as still as a mouse as if you’re still tied. You’re not going to move, you’re not going to cry out. You’re just going to lie there and wait for me to come back.”

  She shook her head. Grabbing her chin, he stopped the denial.

  “I will come back. That’s what you believe in and hold on to, all right?”

  He took his hand from her mouth, kissed her briefly, delicately, mindful of the injuries he couldn’t see, just a short touch of his lips to hers that he needed. “You’re mine, Pet, and you’re safe.”

  With that, he got up, not looking back. Leaving her with the expectation that she’d obey, hoping like hell she would.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ACE SLIPPED THROUGH the dark, rage pulsing in his blood, the need for revenge a coppery taste on his tongue. They’d touched her, hurt her. He was going to enjoy making them pay.

  He found another Comanche passed out on the ground and turned him over. The warrior’s eyes snapped opened, a faint glimmer of white in the dark of the night. Surprise muddled in his gaze longer than it should for a seasoned warrior. Ace pressed his knife against his throat and waited until through the befuddlement came knowledge.

  “You shouldn’t have touched her.” He drew his knife across his throat quick and clean, cleaner than he wanted. Blood sprayed. There was a gurgle of sound, and then it was over.

  He moved on, wanting there to be a next one, but there wasn’t. All he found was Luke standing over another body leaving Ace standing there with the scent of blood clinging to him and no place to go with the rage consuming him.

  “That the last?”

  “Yup.” Luke wiped his knife on the dead man’s shirt and sheathed it. “How is she?”

  Haunted, scared and broken. A far cry from the bold-as-brass woman who’d called him chicken shit just the other day. “About as good as you’d expect.”

  “They rape her?”

  Probably. “I don’t know.”

  “Shit.” Luke sighed. “Sometimes it doesn’t pay for you to play God.”

  Ace looked up, startled.

  “We been riding together for more years than I could count, Ace. You don’t think I don’t know when you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face?”

  “I put her on that stage to protect her.”

  “Never thought I’d say this,” Luke said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, “but I’m beginning to think you don’t know shit about women in general.” Grabbing up a canteen and blanket from one of the bedrolls, he handed it to Ace. “You might want to clean up before you go back to her.”

  “Why?”

  “You go to her with your face like that, she’s liable to start screaming.”

  Ace touched his fingers to his face. They came away wet.

  “You’re covered in blood.”

  Dousing the blanket in water, Ace scrubbed hard and fast. “Better?”

  “A little.”

  It was as good as it was going to get.

  Luke tossed him another blanket. It reeked of horse and smoke. The man was ever resourceful.

  Petunia lay right where he’d left her. She hadn’t moved. As he’d ordered. That in itself told Ace the level of damage that’d been done. The woman he’d known would have been scrambling for some weapon, escape, something. She wouldn’t have just lain there like a broken doll, body quiet, eyes screaming. He knelt beside her and drew the back of his fingers down her cheek. Her skin felt wonderful against his. Soft. Warm. Alive.

  “You ready to go home, Pet?” he asked, draping the blanket over her.

  Her eyes darted around as if looking for enemies to be springing out of nowhere.

  “There’s no one here that’s going to hurt you. Just Luke and I, and you already know you’ve got both of us wrapped around your little finger.”

  Slipping his hand down her cheek on the next pass, he opened his hand, curling his fingers around the nape of her neck. “Are you hurt anywhere serious?”

  She shook her head. He didn’t believe her.

  “Any of your bones broken? Any bad bruises?” Luke asked.

  Her gaze didn’t leave his. Her dry lips worked, struggling for words. She shook her head again, the “No” an aborted attempt.

  Ace forced a smile. “Then I’m going to lift you up but if anything hurts you let me know. Fast.”

  He just didn’t like the way she was lying there. Sometimes a body in shock wasn’t aware of how much damage had been done. He pulled her up gently, supporting her with his hand, slipping the second around her shoulders as he got her a bit off the ground. Drawing her up and over, she leaned against his chest, her face tucked into the hollow of his neck as if it belonged there. She smelled of dirt, sweat and the faintest scent of perfume. She shuddered and let out a sigh.

  Stroking her hair, he whispered, “You gave me quite a scare, woman.”

  She nodded then took another shuddering breath. Her fingers crept up his vest digging in at the shoulder, asking permission.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Put your arms around my neck, please.”

  Luke made a rough sound in his throat. Petunia’s arms slowly encircled his neck. There came another broken breath. She was trying not to cry, he realized. He stopped immediately.

  “Are you hurting?”

  Another shake of her head. Slipping his hands under her knees and his arm all the way around back, he lifted her up into his lap and just held her for a minute. As long as she was alive, he could make it up to her.

&
nbsp; There was another sound from the vicinity of his chest. He looked down. Her hair brushed his cheek, tickling his nose. He didn’t move it aside. “What’d you say?”

  The sound came again, raspy on her dry lips. This time he could make out the words. “Thank you.”

  Son of a bitch! She was thanking him. He looked up to find Luke looking down. The other man just shook his head.

  “Trust me, my Pet, it was my pleasure.”

  Ace made a rough sound in his throat at the endearment, then, “We’d better be going.”

  They traveled back in silence to the horses. Halfway there, the back of his shoulders were burning, and his thighs were shaking.

  Luke looked back. “I can take her for a bit.”

  Pet’s fingers tightened around his neck, his arms tightened back. He’d almost fucking lost her. “Not yet.”

  By the time they reached the camp, Ace’s breath was soughing in and out of his lungs and he had to sit down. Luke reached the horses first. They nickered a soft greeting. He came back with a blanket and a bundle.

  “What’s that?” Ace asked.

  “I picked up some of her clothes that were strewn around while we were back at the stagecoach.”

  He unrolled the blanket to reveal shirt, skirt, camisole and shoes. All matching.

  Ace just shook his head.

  Luke smiled. “Bet you won’t begrudge my preference for the necessity of a good wardrobe in the future, huh?”

  “Never again.”

  Petunia would feel better in her own things.

  “I’ll go water the horses while you get her settled.”

  “Don’t take too long. That canyon had the look of a permanent stopping-off point.”

  “I noticed.”

  Luke led the horses away. As Ace peeled off the blanket, he touched his lips to Pet’s hair. “It’s going to be all right. I promise you.”

  She didn’t say a word. He didn’t suppose she had to.

  * * *

  PETUNIA WANTED TO stay in her cloud forever. That soft, fluffy place where sound was muted, sensation was blurred and time drifted. Just like the white clouds in a summer sky. There was peace in the cloud. She didn’t have to face anything in the cloud. The cloud was her haven. And while, on some levels, she knew things were happening outside it, they didn’t really touch her. Not the voices. Not the hands. Nothing. She just drifted.