“My name’s Zeke Maxwell.” Zeke had to get his mind off her body. “What’s yours?”
“You won’t be here long enough to need it.”
“Maybe not, but it’s common courtesy to introduce yourself, especially if someone offers to give you a helping hand.” He could understand her not trusting him, but her rudeness was something else.
“It’s Josie.” Her tone didn’t invite any comment.
The women had made camp on a sandy bank only a short distance away. It was shielded from view by another thicket of tamarisk and mature cottonwoods. The wheel had apparently come off when they pulled the wagon out of the creek. The vehicle listed at a crazy angle, the wheel leaning against its side. Three women occupied various positions near a small fire. A tall blond woman stood, feet well apart, as though ready to face any danger. The second woman, a brunette with hair halfway down her back, looked up momentarily before returning her attention to something she was cooking over the fire. The third, another brunette, lay on a blanket close to the fire. She propped herself up on her elbows when Zeke approached.
“Who’s the blonde with the attitude?” Zeke asked.
“Suzette.”
“How about the one cooking?”
“Anna.”
“Why is the other woman covered with a blanket?”
“Laurie’s been having chills for the last two days.”
Going over to the wagon, Zeke saw immediately what was wrong. “You lost the linchpin. Didn’t any of you see it when it dropped?”
“What’s a linchpin?” Suzette asked.
In the twenty-three years since the end of the war, Zeke had met hundreds of men and women coming West. Why didn’t they realize they had to learn to do things for themselves? At the very least, they could learn something about the equipment and animals on which their lives depended. “It’s the piece of wood that goes through the end of the axle to hold the wheel on. It looks like this,” he said, pointing to the linchpin on the front wheel.
“It just looks like a piece of wood,” Anna said. “Why would we notice it?”
Zeke wondered why women who knew so little thought they could start out on a journey like this by themselves. Either they were fools or they were running from something. Or someone.
“Can you fix it?” Josie asked.
Zeke turned to Suzette. “With Hawk’s help, I can get the wheel on in less than a minute. It may take a little longer to find a suitable piece of wood to form the linchpin.”
“There’s wood all over the riverbanks,” Suzette pointed out.
“Cottonwood is soft. Mesquite is better, but I’d prefer something hard like oak or hickory.”
“You won’t find that around here,” Josie said.
“I’ll probably have to cut a piece out of the wagon.”
Suzette and Josie looked at each other, their doubt apparent.
“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt your wagon. I’ll go get Hawk. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Do you trust him?” Suzette asked.
Josie didn’t answer right away, because she wasn’t sure she knew the answer. She hadn’t hesitated to shoot when she saw the Indian. She wasn’t stupid enough to think all Indians were trying to kill her, but this was southeastern Arizona where the Apache had been at war until four years ago. Yet, it wasn’t the Indian that concerned her. It was Zeke. Josie was used to men being attracted to her. In fact, she depended on it. She was a dancer and singer. If men weren’t attracted to her, she didn’t make money. What confused her was her attraction to Zeke. She was never attracted to men, not even handsome men. What was it about Zeke, a down-at-the-heels cowpoke, that could possibly hold her attention, much less her interest?
“I don’t trust anybody,” Josie said. “I intend to make sure those men leave as soon as they fix the wagon wheel.”
“I think we ought to invite them to supper,” Anna said.
“I want them gone before dark,” Josie said.
Josie didn’t like being attracted to Zeke. It made her feel vulnerable. That feeling brought back painful memories she’d sworn to forget. She would never allow herself to feel vulnerable again. Never.
“I agree with Anna,” Laurie said.
“And what are you going to do when he tries to crawl into your bed?” Josie demanded.
“He won’t be interested in me, not with you and Suzette around.”
“Thanks,” Josie snapped, “but I don’t want him in my bed.”
“He won’t try. He’s not that kind of man.”
“You don’t know anything about him,” Josie fired back. But her anger lacked conviction because she felt the same thing. Entertaining men was her business; being able to judge character was a skill she’d acquired through experience. Zeke’s physical attraction to her was strong, but he was the kind of man who would never allow his desires to overpower his will. Despite herself, that self-restraint intrigued Josie. What kind of man could deny his physical need when his body shook from the force of it?
The kind of man who would feel comfortable in the desert, who would know all about linchpins, and who wouldn’t be intimidated by her rifle. She looked around and shivered with disgust. She hated the heat, the bugs, the dirt, the effort it took to wrest a living from the hostile earth of the desert. Why would anyone want to live here? The land was covered with plants that offered little shade and came equipped with thorns that were sometimes poisonous as well as painful. She dug her foot in the sand and kicked a smooth pebble into the riverbed. The flow of crystal-clear water was so meager it filled only a few feet of the thirty-foot-wide riverbed. Grass, the ever-present willow, and some small yellow flowers Josie couldn’t identify had sprouted in the dry portions of the riverbed. Despite the clusters of flowers, she didn’t like the desert.
“I intend to keep my eye on him every minute,” Josie said.
“Me, too,” Suzette added.
“You’d better keep your eye on the other one,” Laurie cautioned. “I don’t trust Indians.”
“He’s a half-breed,” Josie pointed out.
Laurie remained unconvinced. “That’s even worse. He doesn’t belong on either side.”
Having a white father who’d married his former slave, Josie knew how that felt. The sound of hooves against rocks caused the women to turn. Josie felt a shiver go through her when Zeke appeared astride an Appaloosa gelding. She didn’t know a lot about horses, but she knew all about men who looked magnificent in the saddle. She couldn’t deny that watching him ride toward her stirred something deep inside, but she had learned long ago to throttle any such attraction. Married or not, men wanted only one thing from a woman.
And that was the one thing Josie was determined no man would ever get from her.
Excitement began to build inside Suzette when she saw one mare after another follow Zeke around the bend in the stream. Bay, dun, sorrel, and one with the distinctive markings of an Appaloosa followed in the footsteps of their leader. “You didn’t tell me they had horses,” she exclaimed. “That first mare looks ready to foal. I wish I could be there when she does.”
“If you want a horse, you can buy one when we get to Tombstone,” Josie said.
Suzette knew Josie didn’t understand her attachment to animals. Josie had grown up on a farm and hated anything to do with animals, but Suzette’s young years had been spent in very different circumstances. The stepdaughter of a wealthy man, she’d been allowed to have virtually any pet she wanted—cats, dogs, and rabbits—but she’d been especially fond of her horses. She’d been devoted to a Morgan mare she was given on her sixth birthday. But everything had changed abruptly for her and her sister after their mother’s death. Since then she’d never had the opportunity to do more than adopt a stray cat or feed and care for an injured dog.
“I can’t afford a horse. Besides, it’s not practical.” Maybe the men would let her watch the horses while they put the wheel back on the wagon.
“Don’t go wandering off looking at tho
se horses while they’re here,” Josie said.
Suzette counted nine horses, all mares, before the second man appeared. Having grown up in the East and having heard numerous stories of the barbarous cruelty of Indians, Suzette tensed when she saw the single feather hanging down the back of the man’s neck. He didn’t look like the Indians she’d seen in Colorado. His skin was dark and his hair as black as a raven’s wing, but his features were finely chiseled rather than rounded and blunt. Even though he was seated in the saddle, she could tell he was as tall and powerfully built as the black man.
While the horses fanned out to drink, the two men rode up together.
“I’m Zeke Maxwell,” the black man said, introducing himself.
“I’m Hawk Maxwell,” the other one said. He glanced at the wagon. “It shouldn’t take but a minute to fix that wheel.”
He must have realized all of them were staring, a question in their minds.
“We were adopted,” Zeke explained.
“Adopted? You two?” Josie asked.
Suzette didn’t understand why Josie had to be so abrupt with men. Suzette wasn’t thrilled to have these two intimidating strangers so close, yet she couldn’t help feeling a little sympathetic to them. It couldn’t be easy being an outsider wherever you went.
“Yes, by a couple crazy enough to adopt eleven orphans at once,” Zeke said, his manner as brusque as Josie’s. “Now, do you want to keep poking around in something that’s none of your business, or do you want us to fix that wheel?”
Suzette decided Zeke Maxwell was about as friendly as a prickly-pear cactus. Since she was a little afraid of Hawk, she agreed with Josie in wanting the men to leave as soon as possible. Not even the opportunity to be around the horses was enough to make her want them to stay past supper.
“Fix the wheel,” Suzette said. “In return, you can eat with us.” She couldn’t make herself say she wanted them to stay.
“I don’t eat with people who shoot first and ask questions later,” Hawk said.
“If you don’t want to be taken for a savage, you shouldn’t go around wearing a feather in your hair,” Josie said.
“If you don’t want to be taken for a strumpet, you shouldn’t go around in the desert wearing so much rouge,” Hawk responded.
Familiar with the way Josie’s temper could blaze out of control at the slightest provocation, Suzette intervened before the exchange could escalate into a full-fledged argument. “I think we all understand each other a little better now. First impressions can be misleading.”
“Or they can be right on the mark.” Zeke’s grin was wide and insincere. “Too bad we won’t get to know each other well enough to know which applies in this situation.”
Zeke turned away abruptly. He and Hawk walked over to the wagon, apparently deciding how to handle their tasks without the need of words. Josie followed close on their heels, her rifle still in her grasp, her gaze riveted on the pair. Suzette wondered if Josie thought they might try to steal something from inside the wagon. She could have told her they wouldn’t. They were the kind of men who would give, but never feel comfortable taking.
Suzette would have preferred that the women fix the wheel themselves, but she knew that none of them could have held up the wagon the way Zeke did by putting his shoulder under it. Or lifted up the wheel as though it weighed hardly anything as Hawk did. The bulging muscles in Zeke’s back, shoulders, and legs belied his calm expression. He talked to Hawk as though holding up a wagon single-handedly was something he did every day. Hawk acted like it was nothing to pick up a wheel so heavy it had taken three of the women just to lean it against the wagon.
“All I need to do now is find a piece of wood I can make into a linchpin, and you can be on your way,” Zeke said.
“Where’s he going?” Suzette asked when Hawk walked away without a word.
“To see to the horses,” Zeke said.
“Would he mind if I went, too?” Suzette asked. “I used to have two horses,” she explained when Zeke looked surprised. “I miss them.”
“Go if you want,” Zeke said. “If Hawk doesn’t want you around, he’ll let you know quick enough.”
“Are you always this rude?” Josie asked Zeke.
“Actually, I’m being very well-mannered. Isabelle would be proud of me.”
Suzette didn’t know who Isabelle was, but she didn’t have a high opinion of the woman’s notion of what constituted good manners. Suzette’s stepfather had been a member of Quebec society, so she knew all about suitable behavior. As far as she was concerned, neither Zeke nor Hawk had a nodding acquaintance with it, but she decided a chance to be with the horses was worth a brush with a prickly personality.
Chapter Two
Hawk wasn’t happy when he turned to see Suzette following him. He didn’t mind helping the women, but that didn’t mean he wanted to have anything more to do with them than necessary. Thirty-six years had given him no reason to believe a woman was anything but trouble.
Hawk studied the ground as it changed from sandbar to riverbank to desert, looking for a good place to picket Dusky Lady. The other mares didn’t need to be hobbled, because they wouldn’t leave without their leader. They needed to graze, and the abundant growth along the river would be enough to last them through the night.
“What do you want?” He didn’t mean to sound rude or angry, but he didn’t bother to modulate the tone of his voice.
“I love horses.” Suzette’s expression softened as she looked at the mares. “I miss having some of my own.”
“You don’t look like a woman who spends much time around horses.”
Hawk had seen enough saloon women to recognize one the moment he saw her. Their clothes were different. It wasn’t just the colors or even the style. It was the way the material clung to their bodies, accentuating their breasts, hips, legs, and shoulders. It was also the way saloon women wore their clothes, like they were part of their personalities, as if they were never able to take time off from the business of attracting men and seducing them into spending time and money on them. This woman didn’t look like she’d ever saddled her own horse, much less cleaned up behind one.
“I had two horses when I was growing up,” Suzette said. “They would take sugar or apple pieces right out of my hand.”
“I don’t make pets out of my horses.”
“Mine were riding horses, one a Morgan very much like that mare.”
Hawk looked at Dusky Lady and his anger subsided. “She’s the best horse we own. She’s in foal to a stud with Morgan blood. I’m hoping she’ll drop a filly so I can breed them both to our new stud horse.”
“What are you planning to do with these horses?”
“Breed quality horses for sale.”
“I could never sell them if they were mine.”
“Then you’d go broke and the bank would sell them for you.”
Hawk didn’t understand why some women seemed unable to think logically about animals that they depended on for a livelihood. If you had a product—no matter what the product was—you had to sell it if you wanted to make money. It was probably a good thing Suzette was a saloon girl. That way she only had to sell herself.
“I’d raise cows for money,” Suzette said. “I’d keep the horses for myself.”
She walked up to Dusky Lady and reached out to pat her neck. The mare raised her head from the scarce grass and thrust her muzzle against Suzette’s chest. Suzette’s peal of laughter sounded as out of place as an exotic bird; the look on her face was near bliss. She looped her arm around the mare’s neck and leaned against her. Moments later she stepped back and walked around the mare, her fingers trailing along her sides, probing, caressing, all the while murmuring softly.
“She’s going to have twins,” Suzette announced.
“How do you know?” Hawk didn’t want twins. He wanted a single, strong, sturdy foal.
“A woman knows.”
How many times had Hawk heard that before? It translated as
There’s no logical reason to support my opinion, but I’m going to stick with it because it’s how I want things to be. What was it about females that told them when another female—regardless of the species—was pregnant? Maybe it was the same kind of instinct that told a man when he was facing an enemy even before the other man said or did anything.
“Maybe they’ll both be fillies,” Suzette said.
She wandered among the horses, going from one to the other without fear or hesitation. Entranced, she talked to them, patted them, stroked them, hugged them.
“All the mares are in foal,” Hawk told Suzette. “We’re hoping to get to our ranch before they start dropping their foals. Travel isn’t easy on new foals or nursing mares.”
“Are these all the horses you have?”
“We have more at the ranch, but these mares are the best we’ve bought so far. We’ve followed back trails all the way from the Mogollon Rim to keep thieves off our track. That’s part of the reason we were surprised to see your wagon. There must be easier ways to get where you’re going.”
“I’m sure there are.” Though she responded to his questions, Suzette’s attention was still focused on the horses. “But we didn’t want anyone to follow us, either.”
“Where are you headed?”
“To Tombstone. We hope to work at the Birdcage.”
Tombstone had once been the biggest city between St. Louis and Los Angeles, but the town had begun to slip into decline after water started filling the silver mines four years earlier.
“Do you know how to get there?”
“Follow the San Pedro River.”
That directive wouldn’t get them to Tombstone, but they’d be close enough to make it the rest of the way. He couldn’t imagine why they had started on such a journey in a wagon. It would have been much easier and faster on horseback. This woman certainly seemed more comfortable around horses than around him. She continued to weave among the mares like she was one of them.
The Mavericks Page 2
