Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  Desert Sunrise

  Raine Cantrell

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1992 by Theresa DiBenedetto

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com.

  First Diversion Books edition October 2013

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-155-3

  Also by Raine Cantrell

  The Homecoming

  Wildflower

  Silver Mist

  Western Winds

  Calico

  Tarnished Hearts

  Darling Annie

  Whisper My Name

  To my daughter, Joelle, who loves with an open heart.

  The Legend

  Skystone, the precious turquoise of Indian legends. A sacred stone, a talisman against evil, the stone of life-giving water and healing.

  From the days of the Spanish invaders who desired turquoise and forced the Indians to mine it for them along with other precious metals, the stones never quite equaled the gem quality of the turquoise that the Indians wore for their own adornment and protection.

  The use of turquoise was widespread among all the Indian tribes. They revered the stone in much the same manner as the Inde’, as they called themselves. But the Zuni Indians used another name that became theirs: apachu or “enemy.” Apaches de Nabaju was once the name for all the invading Athapaskans. Today we call them Navajo and Apache. While there are roots of similarity in their ancient cultures, they have long been separate tribes.

  Duklij is the Apache word for blue or green stone. The two colors are not differentiated in their language. The stone is a sacred substance. No matter what else the shaman (medicine man) may have lacked, he always tried to have a bit of the impure malachite known to the whites of the Southwest as turquoise.

  Before the birth of a child or several days afterward, turquoise beads were fastened to the cradleboard as one of the protective amulets. A bit of turquoise tied to a bow or a gun made the weapon shoot accurately. The stone had the power to bring forth life-giving rain and to help find water in the desert. It could be found by the man who would go to the end of the rainbow after a storm and hunt for the stone in the damp earth. Small pieces of turquoise were tossed into a river before crossing to appease the spirits.

  Duklij was the Apache shaman’s badge of office; without it he could not perform his ceremonies to heal, to protect.

  The land that became known to the Spanish as Pimeria Alta, the land of the upper Pima people, or Apacheria, the land of the Apache, is now called Arizona.

  The Dragoon Mountains in the southeastern corner were once home to the Chiricahua Apache. These mountains may have held the secret location of a mine that yielded gem-quality turquoise.

  But just as the burial place of the Apache chief Cochise went to the grave with the one white man he trusted, Indian agent Tom Jeffords, so was the mine’s location lost.

  Or was it?

  Chapter 1

  Faith Becket heard the rumors that smart men in the Arizona Territory stepped aside for him.

  She listened to the whispers about women who shivered in anticipation of drawing his attention.

  She paid heed to those who boasted that he knew every Apache trick and water hole, for he had been raised with Taza and Naiche, the sons of Cochise.

  She was cautioned by the claims that he rode the outlaw trail after his father died in Yuma Prison.

  But foolhardy souls whose need was desperate sometimes ignored the whispers and the warnings.

  Faith Becket was a woman in need and desperate.

  Delaney Carmichael was the man.

  He had the look of the land. Hard, unpredictable, and dangerous.

  Overhead, the sun burned fiercely on the parched earth streets of Prescott. Faith smoothed the front of her gown before she approached where he stood alone, leaning against the corner wall of the mercantile. He was tall, wide-shouldered, with a lean, dark face. His high cheekbones were shadowed by the slant of his battered, flat-crowned hat.

  Beyond a sparse move of his head, he did not acknowledge that he was aware of her. She fought the chill at the base of her spine and held her place. She had come to beg, even if innate pride made the act a bitter one.

  “Mr. Carmichael—”

  “No.”

  Faith looked up at his face and stared at his eyes. She realized that even the desert offered a promise of life. Delaney Carmichael’s eyes were the same tawny shades as desert rock. But, just as the miracle gift of rain brought unexpected beauty to the land, so did the flash of amber and green in his eyes offer her the gift of hope.

  He wouldn’t look directly at her. She sensed an intensity of heat to his gaze that rivaled that of the sun until she blinked. The heat was gone. Still, she stared and felt as if she were looking into shadows, for his gaze seemed to hold the secrets of a man who had seen too much, and survived.

  Faith’s past almost overtook her own thoughts. She knew what it was to struggle to survive. It was part of the reason she stood there, refusing to be dismissed.

  “For three weeks you’ve ignored my father’s messages. Now you won’t talk to me. Why?”

  “Silence is an answer.”

  “Perhaps to you, Mr. Carmichael. I can’t accept it.”

  Each word was starched, compelling Delaney to look at the young woman planted in front of him on the wooden sidewalk. There was no pleading in her voice. No flirtatious manner. Her shoe tips were worn and dusty, attesting to the long walk she had made into town. Her calico skirt was faded, and her hands, alight for a moment on barely discernible hips, were work-rough.

  Sodbuster stock. Robert Becket’s daughter. Delaney’s decision was quick and brutal. Prideful, virginal, and trouble. The wind and sun had left their mark on her face, for all that she wore a bonnet, yet his gaze lingered. There was a delicacy to her bone structure. Faith chose that moment to look directly at him.

  Sweet heaven! Delaney felt gut-punched. His lungs constricted like the first time he had been forced to kill a man. Her eyes were the color of skystone: bright turquoise with stunning flashes of gold woven like matrix in them. Long ago he had been promised that one day he would find the mate to the skystone he wore on a rawhide thong around his neck.

  He had been a boy then. Now he was a man who did not believe in promises. Anger rose inside him that he had to check his involuntary move to touch the stone. It had always felt cool, soothing in its place. Now a hot, almost burning sensation spread out from where the stone touched his skin. He took a deep shuddering breath and released it to ease the tension that gripped his body.

  The need remained to touch the skystone. A need strong enough to send his blood pumping with a fevered surge. Delaney had to exert himself to tamp it down. His gaze cooled. She was a woman. Once need for a woman had ordered his life and cost others theirs. But that, too, had been long, long ago.

  He noted, resented, and then buried the knowledge that he had to force himself to breathe evenly, to look away from her and her bewitching eyes.

  Insulting. Rude. Arrogant. Faith spoke the words silently to herself and gritted her teeth. She knew what he saw when he looked at her. She was piqued to her feminine core.
There had been no time and less energy to devote to primping. It would have served her no purpose if she had. The long walk and stifling heat would have taken its toll, had already done so. She could feel sweat collect and pool down her back. Delaney Carmichael could go to blazes in a basket if her appearance offended him!

  “See ya found him, Miz Becket.”

  Faith half-turned, and shaded her eyes, before she smiled. “Oh, yes, Mr. Abbott, thank you.”

  Tolly Abbott lumbered across the street toward them, wiping his face with a bandanna. He was a thick-bodied man, full-bearded with an unkempt, windblown stand of gray whiskers.

  “Del,” he muttered as he joined them, resettling his hat firmly on his head.

  Delaney acknowledged the greeting with a curt nod.

  “Miz Becket’s pa’s mighty anxious to get south. Ya plan on takin’ ’em?”

  “We haven’t had a chance to talk yet, Mr. Abbott,” Faith answered, afraid that Delaney Carmichael would walk away.

  “Ya ain’t, huh? Sure enough hot, ma’am.” Tolly directed the rest of his questions to Delaney. “Ain’t ya got no sense? Why’re ya standing out here? Take Miz Becket over to the café. Bet’s got lemonade.”

  “Oh, no. I wouldn’t—I mean, that would be an imposition on Mr. Carmichael. What I have to say won’t take that long.”

  “Tole yore pa he’s the best there is ’round here. Hell with a gun. Good man in a brawl, too. Knows every darn water hole an’ seep ’tween here an’ the border. Tracks near good as an ’Pache, too. Why, one time he got hisself cornered by three Ute up ’round Defiance an’ he walked—”

  “Tolly, ain’t you got business down at your livery?”

  “Sure, Del, sure. Jus’ tryin’ to help Miz Becket here an’ her pa.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Now, just one moment, you can’t…” Faith nearly choked swallowing her words of protest. Delaney had not moved. But she shivered with the sudden impact that he was now somehow coiled, ready to walk or strike, she was not sure which, and yet, there was no visible sign that she could pin her feeling upon.

  It was simply there. Like the man. Like the desert. Unpredictable. Dangerous. And hard. She would not forget again.

  “Jassy’s down to the livery, Tolly. Best you go see what he wants.”

  It was an order, nothing less. Faith knew it and so did Tolly.

  “Ain’t stablin’ that mule of his, Del. Tole him so. Ain’t gonna do it.” He tipped the brim of his hat to Faith and with his lumbering stride left them.

  “Are you always so rude? Tolly didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Tolly never does. And if rude gets the job done, ma’am, well, I don’t need to say more.”

  “Job done? Oh, I understand. Getting rid of me. How do you manage to get on, Mr. Carmichael, when you ignore people who offer you a decent job?”

  “I ain’t got a corral on that, ma’am. You’re doing just fine ignoring the fact that I don’t want to talk. Don’t want a job.”

  If a thought could become a physical act, Faith knew she could be hanged for what she was thinking. But her need to hire this man did not stem from stubbornness; it was a matter of survival.

  “Just listen to me. We can’t stay in Prescott any longer. You may not realize how important it is for us to reach our land claim. We need time to scout the land, set up a proper irrigation system, and build a home. The Homestead law allows three years to show the improvements before we have to pay an additional dollar per acre fee. To some, that may not be a hardship, not if there’s money enough to hire men to do the work. We can’t hire help, but there’s enough to pay you to get us there.”

  Delaney leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and slanted her a puzzled look from beneath his hat brim. “Cattlemen toss a cup of water over the land and call it irrigated.”

  “Fraud, Mr. Carmichael. Farmers are well aware of all the methods cattlemen employ to hold back land from them. We will do things legally. And we’ve already been warned about the cattlemen. No one is going to stop us from claiming the land we paid for.”

  Delaney stared above her head, dismissing the way she said cattlemen, like the word soured her mouth. He had no great love for them himself.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “Ain’t you heard? ’Pache are riding.”

  “From the talk in town they always are. Haven’t you heard that the army issued a bulletin that assures all settlers coming into the territory that they will make every effort to patrol known trails?”

  “Ma’am, for three hundred years men have been trying to run the Apache out of the territory. They ain’t done it yet. Ain’t about to. The army can’t even keep them on the reservations. So take their bulletin and their assurances and use them to light your campfire. That’s all they’re good for.”

  “Obstacles, Mr. Carmichael, are meant to be overcome.”

  “The truth, Miz Becket, ain’t to be denied.”

  Faith tapped her foot in annoyance. She was afraid that what he said was the truth and not to be denied. She had even tried to tell her father that approaching this man would be a wasted effort, but he had insisted. With her head bowed, she prayed for patience and then tried again.

  “Didn’t we offer you enough money?”

  “No.”

  “Just no? Well, then, tell me how much money it takes to buy a man like you?”

  With a quick, yet almost lazy shift of his body, Delaney half-turned and swept her back against the wall. Faith contained a cry as he towered over her. Beyond his brief touch on her shoulder, he made no other attempt to hold her, but she didn’t move.

  He studied her face with eyes that could track a man over desert sand and rock. Her chin, with a slight cleft, rose, but the rounded curve softened its most determined set. Her eyes met his directly, hot with pride. She had the kind of mouth that made a man look twice. Delaney was man enough to look his fill. The ready stance of her lithe body was set for battle. A grin, reckless and taunting, kicked up the corner of his mouth.

  “Maybe money ain’t my price, duchess.”

  The proposal was meant to shock her. Faith was quite sure of that. It worked. She was shocked, but not, she was just as certain, the way he had meant her to be. She was stunned to find herself angry that there was no desire in his eyes. For a moment under the blistering sun, she stared at the finely molded planes of his face. Reluctantly she turned her head to the side and stared out over the street. Her father called her wholesome, and she believed him, but that didn’t give Delaney Carmichael the right to mock her.

  “Everything they say about you is true, isn’t it?”

  Her tone condemned him like a preacher set against Satan. Delaney refused to acknowledge the hurt in her eyes. He stepped back and away from her to resume his leaning stance. He knew himself to be slow to rile, but the duchess grated his nerve ends.

  Duchess. She was anything but in looks. Her manner now, that was another tale. His gaze shifted to the doorway across the street from them. He watched three men come out of the land office. More trouble. Miners, sodbusters, or cattlemen, it didn’t matter to him what they were. They wanted land, and Delaney knew that the boundaries of the reservations would once again be pushed back. It had been nearly two years since John Clum had resigned as the Indian agent at San Carlos, the largest of the five Apache reservations. The fools in Washington couldn’t see the worth of his demand to raise his salary and give him two additional companies of Indian police to run the reservation. The army, the merchants that supplied them, as well as the citizens of the territory refused to see merit in his plans. Or so they claimed. Delaney knew it was greed, pure and simple, that resulted in John leaving.

  His gaze hardened as he watched the three men slap each other on the back before they walked down toward Whiskey Row. In two years the continued discovery of gold and silver at the edges of reservation land had the government nibbling at the boundaries to give the land awa
y to whites. Along with that crime, goods that were to be sent to the reservations were diverted to the miners, and what was left for the Indians was inedible and insufficient.

  There had been times when he actively disliked the strutting John Clum, but the man had been daring to give the San Carlos Apache a chance to speak their minds on the advisory council he started. Delaney knew how hard John had to fight to get the army to accept an Indian police force along with a court where Clum and an Apache sat in judgment. He could forgive John his personal ambition to make San Carlos succeed after he brought in four hundred and fifty rebellious Mimbreños from the Warm Springs agency in New Mexico along with renegade Chiricahua under Geronimo.

  What he couldn’t forgive Clum for was leaving the Apache that trusted him at the mercy of the army that wanted them wiped out from memory.

  At the slight move Faith Becket made at his side, Delaney glanced at her but didn’t say anything for a moment. He wasn’t a man given to impulsive moves or to curiosity. He’d seen men die for either or both. Yet, before he could stop himself, he asked why her father had sent her to talk to him.

  “Have we broken some unknown law out here?”

  “Pardon?” he asked, puzzled.

  “Talking to a woman, Mr. Carmichael. Does that break some male territorial law? Or does it offend you personally?”

  “Didn’t mean for you to think I don’t like women, duchess. Like them well enough,” he drawled, then grinned. “In their place. Now, why did your father send you?”

  “His leg is broken,” she replied quickly, unwilling to spar verbally over his thoughts on a woman’s place.

  “There’s more,” he prompted, swearing at himself for giving in to the urge to know and to keep her here a bit longer.

  “He was jumped and beaten after he won heavily in what was to be a friendly card game. It happened the first night we arrived here. That’s why he kept sending you messages to come and see him. If it wasn’t for Tolly Abbott finding my father, I don’t know what would have happened to him. We were lucky, too, that Dr. Holliday set his leg without charge, since he lost everything.”