Hostage Heart

by Lindsay McKenna

Matt reached out before she could cut the bandage over the dressing. He cradled her hand. “Maria did that earlier, and you’re barely awake. Why don’t you go to bed?”

  Lark’s flesh tingled hotly in his grip; her hand felt small against his massive, hairy one. His fingers were warm and gentle. Shanks’s had been cold and damp. A frisson of panic sped through her and she remained frozen, combating her own internal fear.

  Matt released her hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She closed her eyes, the knife blade trembling in her hand. “I—I shouldn’t be so jumpy,” she admitted in a strained voice.

  Matt watched her fight the haunting memory of her beating. She sat there, head bowed, face curtained by that thick black hair, through which he ached to run his fingers. “How can I help you, Lark?”

  His question was like spring sunlight after winter snows. She forced a lopsided smile to her lips. “Tell me that you’ve found three hundred dollars in my father’s accounting books.”

  He met her tenuous smile with one of his own. “I did. You can rest easy. How about if I explain it tomorrow morning?”

  Relief swept through her, and Lark felt the weight on her shoulders miraculously lift. Her expression took on new hope. “Truly? There is money?”

  “Enough,” Matt cautioned, melting beneath her suddenly joyous gaze. Her cobalt eyes had turned lighter, a flame of gold flickering in their depths. “Why don’t you put those things away and call it a night?”

  Wearily, Lark agreed. “I will,” she told him, rising.

  Suddenly dizziness swept through her. She gave a small cry of distress, her hand moving instantly to her brow.

  Blinding pain stabbed through her head, and she lost her balance.

  Matt had seen Lark’s face drain of color. When she wavered, her knees buckling, he threw out his hand to break her fall, and she landed on the bed instead of on the floor.

  Lark drew in desperate gasps of air, wildly aware of Matt’s hand on her shoulder steadying her spinning world.

  “You’ve done too much,” he muttered. “You’ve pushed too hard, Lark.”

  The pain was worse than Matt’s censure. Lark could do nothing but lie there, trying to live with the stabbing ache in her temples.

  “I’ll be all right,” she whispered tightly between thinned lips.

  “You will if you just lie still and rest a minute,” he said gently. He removed his hand from her shoulder and sat quietly beside her, inches separating them.

  Matt was right. As she lay on the bed, eyes closed, the pain began to recede. Was it because of his closeness? Somehow, Matt was giving her strength when she had none left herself.

  “How’s the head?” he asked her quietly a few minutes later.

  “Better.”

  “You’ve had a rough week.”

  She barely opened her eyes. “How do you know that?”

  “You said earlier today that your father recently died. I’m sorry.”

  Fresh anguish washed over her. The tone of his voice told her his sympathy was sincere. “He was murdered.” The words came out clipped and angry.

  Matt held her gaze. “So was my family. My wife, Katie, and my six-year-old daughter, Susan, were murdered by Ga’n and his renegades a month ago. I’ve been on their trail ever since. Ga’n is the one who shot me.” Irony tinged his voice. “We’re a hell of a pair, aren’t we? We’ve both suffered great losses.”

  Lark drew in a deep, ragged breath. “Captain Frank Herter from Fort Whipple was here the other day. That’s when I learned you had lost your family. I’m sorry.” She ached for him as well as for herself.

  “Look,” Matt muttered, “you don’t need to hear my troubles. You’ve got enough of your own right now.”

  “I understand why you acted so angrily toward me when you became conscious,” she said softly.

  “I was wrong to blame you for my family’s death, Lark. You don’t deserve my hate for what other Apaches did.” He gestured toward her wrist, which still bore the marks of his fingers. “I’ve never before raised my hand against a woman of any race or color. You were the first, and you’ll be the last. I’m going to try and undo the damage I’ve done around here. I don’t hate you, Lark. I was out of my head at the time.”

  “I realize that now,” she answered, her words slurred from tiredness.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” he said as her dark lashes caressed her cheeks. Exhaustion claimed her, and she fell asleep.

  Silence fell as Matt lay beside Lark. He knew Maria had already left the house for the night and that alone he hadn’t the strength to move Lark to her own bed. Reaching down, he pulled a quilt over her. Unthinkingly he grazed her hair with his hand in an effort to soothe away the tension on her sleeping features. Disgruntled, Matt realized that when it came to Lark he was acting on instinct, with very little conscious thought. He’d just lost Katie. How could he respond so soon to another woman? Their attraction was dangerous for both of them.

  Somehow, he told himself, sliding back down on the bed, he’d have to ignore Lark’s presence tonight. He didn’t have the heart to awaken her. No, let her sleep. God knew, she needed some peace and rest. It was the least he could give her.

  Chapter 7

  Matt couldn’t sleep. Lark’s feminine scent filled his nostrils. Unconsciously, he inhaled it deeply. Until a month ago, he had slept with Katie. True, she hadn’t curled up against him so he could wrap his arms around her, but she had shared his bed. Now that was gone. A hunger ate at him, a feeling so intense and startling that he scowled.

  Lark lay curled like a kitten in sleep, lips slightly parted, breasts rising and falling beneath the crinkled cotton shirt she wore. Guilt over his attraction toward her serrated him. Matt tried to diffuse his powerful, hungry passion.

  The moon shone through the window, the long, unbroken streamers penetrating the lacy curtains. Matt stirred restlessly, obsessed with grief over his family’s death. Yet when his gaze moved to Lark, the pain lessened. Her black hair outlined the curves and hollows of her sleeping form. What was it about her that produced this ache in his chest and loins, holding him in a relentless grip? Angry with himself because he could feel anything beyond his loss of Katie, Matt cursed himself softly.

  Lark stirred, a whimper slipping from her lips. She moved restlessly, as if trying to escape a nightmare.

  Matt rolled to his side, facing her, watching as the terror grasped her. Lark threw the covers off, kicking violently. Matt reached out, sliding his hand down her back.

  “Easy, Lark, easy,” he crooned. The simple act of rubbing large, soothing circles across her shoulders began to calm her, but he was totally unprepared when she moved the last few inches separating them and pressed her soft length against his steely frame.

  His eyes darkened as her head nuzzled beneath his jaw. She was trembling. Automatically he wrapped his arms around her, whispering softly. You shouldn’t be doing this, his conscience screamed at him. You shouldn’t be holding her. What about Katie? Remember Katie.

  With a sigh, Matt struggled to suppress his errant emotions, tried to stifle his awakening senses. But she was warm and yielding against him. He could feel her moist breath against his chest, her steady heartbeat in synchrony with his own. Tentatively he laid a hand on her hair. Sweet Mother of God, but it was soft and thick. Trying to convince himself that he was only calming her, he ran the ebony strands of her hair through his fingers.

  Gradually Lark stopped trembling and her breathing evened out, indicating that she had once more found refuge in sleep. But Matt lay wide awake and wracked with guilt, certain of only one thing. He would never allow Lark to know how fiercely he wanted her.

  A scolding jay eased Lark from her deep, healing slumber. The slow beat of a heart against her ear made a smile lift the corners of her mouth. A pervasive feeling of warmth and safety soothed her aches and calmed her anxiety. Gradually, as the jay’s guttural song trilled into silence, she opened her eyes. The discovery that she was ly
ing on Matt’s shoulder, his arms draped loosely around her, came as an abrupt shock.

  For an instant Lark froze, her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding wildly in her breast. She had slept all night in Matt’s bed!

  A hot flush stung her neck while other sensations, other longings, clamored for attention and she remained frozen in her embarrassing position, one arm across Matt’s flat belly, the other tucked at her side, her legs intimately entwined with his. Oh, the shame of being found in his bed!

  Lark quickly untangled herself and retreated to the far side of the bed, pressing her back against the headboard. She must have fallen asleep in Matt’s bed last night, and since Maria hadn’t been available, he’d been forced to let Lark stay there all night. What must he think of her now?

  She stared over at his sleeping form, her gaze settling hotly on his full mouth. Her lower body tightened with some unknown sensation that sent waves of pleasure through her.

  Quietly rising, Lark went to her own bedroom and retrieved a towel and soap, then took her morning bath in the stream. She dried herself in the bedroom. Looking in the mirror, she muttered an oath in Apache. Indeed, she looked more like an abused animal than a woman. No wonder Sancho had hidden from her. Ny-Oden’s poultice had done its work, however, and the swelling on both her eye and her cheek were greatly reduced. Wrinkling her nose, she ignored the assortment of colorful bruises that covered her.

  Sitting in the rocker, she pulled on her kabun boots, purposely ignoring the ribbon of happiness that flowed through her. It didn’t have anything to do with sleeping in Matt’s arms last night. Instead, she anchored that inexplicable happiness to the fact that he had said there was enough money left in the bank to replace the stolen two hundred dollars. Rising, Lark went to the kitchen to make herself breakfast. She had a long, grueling day ahead of her.

  Matt awoke with a jerk, his first instinct to tighten his arms around Lark. But she was gone, and the bed was cold to his touch. He opened his eyes. Sunlight poured through the east window, and he rolled onto his back.

  Last night…The aching memory of holding Lark in his arms drowned him in sweet, throbbing longing. Rubbing his face savagely, as if to purge those memories and feelings, Matt sat up.

  “Good morning, señor.” Maria smiled shyly as she entered carrying a tray with eggs, cured ham, and hot bread.

  Disgruntled, Matt pulled the blankets across his lap. Was Maria aware that Lark had inadvertently slept with him? He didn’t think so, judging from her reaction to him. Relieved more for Lark’s sake than his own, he accepted the tray.

  “I guess it is a good morning. What time is it?”

  “Nearly ten, señor. You slept long. That is good. Your eyes look clearer.”

  He felt like the proverbial bear that Lark had accused him of being. “Maria, can you get my clothes and boots for me?”

  She frowned. “señor?”

  “And a razor and some soap.” He rubbed the bristles on his chin. “I want to shave and clean up. I’m not staying in this bed any longer.”

  “But—”

  “Please?”

  With a shrug, Maria said, “I’ll tell the patrona of your wishes. She must change your leg dressing anyway.”

  “No!”

  Stunned by his growled rejoinder, Maria halted. “señor, she is the patrona. I must follow her orders.”

  Digging in to the hot, tasty food, Matt shot her an irritated look. “What orders?”

  “She asked to be told when you awakened.”

  Damn. “Then at least wait to tell her until after I get dressed.””

  “Sí, señor. I will find the razor that the patron used to shave his face.”

  Matt’s mood improved with each task he accomplished. The food was delicious, and he ate enough for a couple of starved wranglers. Maria brought him a fresh set of clothes from his saddlebags and set them on the dresser. Provided with a small bowl of warm water and a blade, he began to soap down his face.

  A few minutes later, Maria returned. “I’ve told the patrona that you are awake and want the dressing changed as quickly as possible, señor.”

  “Good. Thank you.” Matt was intent on scraping away a week’s worth of bristles when Lark entered soundlessly. Glancing up as she rounded the foot of the brass bed, he muttered, “Good morning.”

  Shyly Lark inclined her head, gripping the poultice bowl more firmly. A sharp twinge settled in her breasts at the sight of his naked chest. “About last night—”

  He looked up, holding her anxious stare. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you, Lark. You were exhausted.”

  Grimacing, she murmured, “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on your bed.”

  “Does Maria know?”

  “No. No one does.”

  “No one will,” he promised her.

  Lark felt a weight slip from her shoulders. “Among the People, a maid is not allowed to sleep with a man until she marries him.”

  “It’s the same for white folks,” Matt said, wanting to dispel her guilt over the incident. “Don’t be hard on yourself. We both understand what happened and why.”

  Trying to change subject, Lark said, “Watching you shave reminds me of my father.”

  Matt tried to ignore her nearness. He looked up, the razor suspended over his throat. “Oh?”

  “When I was little, I used to watch him.” There was a wistful tone in her voice.

  Matt tried to ignore the grace of her hands as she worked over his leg wound. The razor scraped across his flesh and he washed off the residue in the bowl. Taking a mirror, he gave another grunt. “Well, at least I’m not going to look like a savage anymore.” He saw the beginning of a small smile on Lark’s tempting mouth. “What’s so funny?”

  She flushed and concentrated on the dressing. “Nothing. By shaving, you brought back warm, good memories for me, that’s all.”

  Matt studied Lark’s reddening cheeks. “Tell me what happened to your father. Do you know who murdered him and why?”

  “Captain Frank Herter, who is a good friend of our family, said that Jud Cameron wants the water rights to the ranch. Cameron’s ranch is located next to ours, and he doesn’t have enough water to feed his growing herd of cattle. We’ve got artesian wells on our property.” She stilled her hands for a moment, staring hard at the dressing, fighting her anger. “I think Cameron ordered Bo Shanks, a gunslinger, to kill my father. I can’t prove it yet, but I will. With my father out of the way, Cameron probably thinks he can scare me off the ranch. But he’s wrong. I’ll die before I give up my parents’ home.”

  Matt wiped his face free of lather with a damp cloth. “Is that why you went into Prescott?”

  “I went to Sheriff Cole, but he isn’t going to do any more investigation.” Lark couldn’t stand the compassion in Matt’s eyes. “You’ve lost your family, too. At first, when you called out for Katie, I didn’t know who you meant.”

  “Katie was my wife,” he began, a catch in his tone. “Susan, my daughter, was six. She had her mother’s brown hair and my eyes.”

  Lark bowed her head, unable to ignore the anguish in his husky tone. “You said Ga’n killed them.”

  “I saw him,” Matt said harshly. “And I’m not going to stop chasing the bastard until I catch him.”

  Feeling uncomfortable, Lark completed bandaging the wound and got up. If Matt knew that Ga’n knew her and had sworn to protect her, he would undoubtedly be upset. They’d both gone through a living hell and she didn’t want to contribute any further to Matt’s obvious grief. She forced a slight smile for his benefit.

  “Now you no longer look like a bear,” she teased, pointing to his shaven face.

  Matt rubbed his clean jaw. He realized how depressing the conversation had gotten and rallied for Lark’s benefit. “A bear, eh?”

  “Yes. The bear is greatly feared and respected by the Apache.”

  He grinned. “Because of his hair?” he asked, teasing her.

  Lark laughed, a clear, music
al sound that delighted Matt. In that instant, he understood why her parents had named her Lark.

  “Of course not,” Lark chuckled. “Because the bear is strong and can overpower a warrior, that’s why.” She shook her head, more laughter spilling from her. “If the People feared hair, then they would fear the white man, and they do not.” She lifted her chin, feeling relaxed because of their small shared joke. Confused by the kaleidoscope of feelings he unleashed with his nearness, she finished bandaging his leg and accepted the towel he handed her. As he shrugged into his dark blue cotton shirt, she shifted nervously from one booted foot to another, feeling on unfamiliar territory with him once again. Somehow, Matt made everything they shared seem intimate, and that frightened her.

  Matt slowly shifted until his legs were dangling over the edge of the mattress. The wooden floor felt cold on his feet as he pulled on his Levi’s. Not wanting to destroy the tenuous thread of trust between them, he said, “I’ll make another deal with you.” Standing, he buttoned his pants.

  Lark met his sober gray eyes. This morning, Matt was not threatening her in any way. Instead, he was warm and engaging and she could barely think straight, much less talk coherently. “You’re always making deals with me,” she parried. “And who told you you could get out of bed? Your leg is barely starting to heal.”

  Matt grinned, hoping to tease the edge off her voice. He reached for the ledgers on the stand. “Deals can be good.” Besides, he thought, I want to prove to you that whites can be fair with you. “Ask me what the deal is. I think you’ll like it.”

  Refusing to be baited, Lark asked with all seriousness, “What is your deal?”

  Matt limped to the end of the bed, using the brass footboard for support. “If you’ll let me stay out of bed while I’m healing, I’ll teach you the basics of accounting. How does that sound?”

  She couldn’t believe his offer. “Numbers? You’d teach me how to read the numbers?” Did he know how bad she was at sums? Had Maria told him of her inability to be educated? The offer sounded too good to be true.

  “Sure.” Matt gave a lazy shrug. “My mother’s a schoolteacher and I consider myself to be fairly good at teaching people.”