Hostage Heart

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Only in the eyes of some. The Apache will understand.”

  “I know that,” he said softly, gathering her into his arms one last time before he had to leave. “Come on, I want you to lie down and try to sleep. Some time tomorrow you will tell me what you’ve decided.”

  Lark savored his embrace and then reluctantly slipped beneath the coverlet. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. “I will tell you tomorrow,” she whispered, her words slurred from exhaustion.

  Matt pressed a kiss against her brow. Sweet God in heaven, what had he agreed to? He stood unmoving, stirred by Lark’s womanliness into painful wakefulness. Very soon, her breathing deepened. Forcing himself to leave her side, Matt knew sleep would evade him.

  Questions plagued him. Why had Ga’n suddenly turned on Lark? Had someone ordered him to kidnap her, or was he acting for his own selfish purposes? He had to find the answers.

  Lark awoke slowly, feeling as if she’d never slept so well in all her life. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, remembering her conversation with Matt and the near kidnapping of the night before.

  The fear that Matt might have changed his mind and left the ranch spurred her into action. Lark found Maria in the kitchen, preparing tortillas.

  “Ah, Patrona. You are well this morning?”

  “Yes. Have you seen Matt?”

  Maria gestured toward the stockyards. “Sí, Patrona. He ate a hearty breakfast with the wranglers and then he left.”

  Terror shot through Lark. “Left?”

  “Sí, he and Paco are over at the two-year-old colts’ pen. Señor Matt said he was going to begin breaking them out today.”

  Lark stood openmouthed. “But—”

  “He said to tell you not to worry. Come, eat breakfast.”

  “He’ll reinjure his leg,” Lark said, ignoring Maria’s entreaty and hurrying down the hallway.

  “Let him go.” Matt braced himself in the saddle as Paco released the blindfold around the eyes of the black colt Matt was riding.

  Just as the colt squealed and humped his back, Matt caught sight of Lark running toward the corral. He concentrated on staying on the back of the enraged colt, which crow-hopped around the arena on stiff, unbending legs. One thing he’d found out a long time ago: two-year-olds were a hell of a lot easier to break than crafty four-or five-year-olds. Each time the colt came out of his buck, landing with all four feet on the ground, Matt felt the horse losing energy. Finally, after a few more halfhearted attempts to throw him, the colt allowed himself to be guided around the circular corral by the hackamore and reins.

  Lark climbed up on the fence and hung over the edge, watching as Matt expertly worked with the black colt. Her fear and anger gave way to admiration. Matt had a skillful touch with the young horse. Paco came over, smiling broadly, his teeth stark white against his dark flesh.

  “Patrona, I think Señor Matt and I have found a way to be useful to the ranch even though we’re both injured.”

  Lark frowned down at her foreman, whose left arm was in a sling. “I’m not so sure, Paco.”

  “Eh? Already we’ve broke four colts this morning.”

  “You have?” Lark’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Sí. I help Señor Matt saddle them, then I put a blindfold across their eyes and twist an ear while he gets in the saddle. It’s easy.”

  “His leg won’t stand up to that kind of punishment, Paco.”

  Paco leaned against the logs, watching Kincaid. “He knows what he’s doing, Patrona. We need these colts broke, eh?”

  Lark bit down on her lower lip. She saw no evidence of blood on Matt’s thigh. Perhaps Paco was right. Maybe the wound wouldn’t bother him. Maybe she was being overprotective.

  Matt brought the colt to a halt in the middle of the corral and dismounted, then led the sweaty, hard-breathing animal over to where Lark and Paco waited. Pushing the hat up on his perspiring brow, he noted the concern in Lark’s gaze. Smiling, he handed Paco the reins. “Walk him out a little, Paco. Then put him in that holding pen.”

  “Sí, señor.” Paco patted the colt heartily, smiling.

  Matt took off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. “Four down and eleven to go.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to break the colts?”

  “Because you would have squawked like an old broody hen.”

  Lark climbed off the fence and joined him. “And your leg?”

  “A little tender, that’s all. Walk with me to the barn? I want to get a drink of water at the trough.”

  Lark fell into step beside him, wildly aware of him as a man. Had Matt forgotten their conversation of last night? He seemed so casual this morning, as if nothing had happened. They entered the shadow of the barn and halted at the huge wooden watering trough. Matt took off his thin deerskin gloves and tucked them in the belt of his shotgun chaps. Leaning down, he cupped the cold water and sipped several handfuls, then sluiced water over his sweaty face. Wiping his mouth, he sat down on the edge of the trough, studying Lark. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  ‘“The truth?”

  “Between us? Always.”

  Her heart beat painfully in her breast. Matt was wearing a dark red shirt and red bandanna around his throat. Sweat emphasized his rugged features. She stared at the fistful of black hair peeking over the top button of his shirt. He was so masculine, so beautiful in a haunting way that made her go weak and hot inside. “I awoke this morning and Maria said you had left.”

  “And?”

  “Well…I thought…”

  Matt heard the tremor in her voice. “Forever?” he guessed.

  She nodded once, unable to speak for several moments. “I was afraid our conversation, the things we shared last night, had frightened you away.”

  Matt held her hands gently. “We’re both people of our word, Lark,” he told her quietly. “Look at me.”

  She lifted her lashes, dying a little bit inside because she had no experience of relationships and didn’t know what to expect from him. But the instant she met his dark gaze, her heart burst with joy. “What?”

  “I haven’t forgotten a word of what we talked about last night, golden cougar. And judging from the look on your face, you haven’t either.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Well?”

  “I still want to share my heart with you.”

  Matt looked away. The sky was a bright blue, the mountains surrounding the ranch a deep green. The sunlight held promise, warming everything it touched. “You know,” he began softly, “you’re like that sunlight out there beyond the shade. Everything you come in contact with, you make better. You’re a healer in many ways, Lark.”

  “Ny-Oden has said that the greatest healer is love,” she ventured in a whisper.

  “He’s right, I think.” Matt rose, releasing her cool fingers. “Come on, let’s walk into the sunlight.”

  She walked slowly at his side, waiting, wondering.

  “Have you given thought to how this arrangement might influence the opinion of the people who live and work here at the ranch?”

  She hadn’t. Lark shook her head, her heart sinking.

  “Do you think the people will treat you differently if we share the same bed?”

  “The Apache way is to share a bed to let others know we’re bound to each other for life.”

  “The Apaches who live here will accept your decision. But your Mexican wranglers and their families? What will they think?”

  Lark knew all about the Catholic religion that her Mexican hands embraced. Her parents had been married by Father Mulcahy.

  Matt saw Lark’s brows draw downward. He read the confusion in her eyes. “Until I can hunt down Ga’n, Lark, I won’t expose you to that kind of talk or hurt. I can wait.” Liar, he berated himself. “Different people embrace different rules to live by.”

  “And you’re saying that because I live in two worlds, I must adhere to both sets of rules?” she challenged.
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  He paused at the corral. Paco had brought in another colt, a sorrel this time. “Sometimes, Lark, people have to make decisions based not on what they want, but on what is best for everyone.”

  She bristled, not wanting to admit the truth of his words. Unexpectedly, she felt the caress of his fingers against her cheek.

  “Listen, I don’t mean to be a devil’s advocate about this. I just want you to think clearly about it first, Lark.”

  “But you need me.”

  “I’ll always need you, golden cougar. Whether it’s today, tomorrow, or years from now, that’ll never change.”

  She considered Matt’s words as he climbed the rails and went about the business of breaking another colt. Frustrated, she headed back to the barn to saddle one of the mares. She would ride the arroyos high above the ranch and check on her men, who were hunting for mustangs. Perhaps by then she would have the answers she sought.

  “Paco!” she called a few minutes later, mounted and riding up to the corral.

  “Sí, Patrona?”

  “Where are Boa Juan and his men?”

  Paco’s eyes widened. “Patrona, Señor Matt doesn’t want you to ride anywhere without him. He says Ga’n will be around and it’s not safe for you to go out alone.”

  Snorting, Lark snapped, “He’s not the boss here, Paco, I am. Now, tell me the direction Boa Juan rode this morning.”

  Smarting beneath her anger, he pointed to the west. “They were going up into Devil’s Canyon for the next week, Patrona.”

  “Very well. I’ll be up there for the day, Paco. And tell Matt to stay here. I’ll have the protection of eight wranglers and will be safe enough.” She sank her heels into her horse before Paco could voice his protest. The mare grunted, startled, and leaped forward into a gallop.

  “You didn’t kidnap her?” Cameron demanded.

  Ga’n sat tensely on his mustang, his eyes hard with anger as he studied the rancher.

  “You lied to me, Cameron,” Ga’n accused, placing his hand over the butt of his gun. “You said Lark Who Sings would be easy to kidnap. She wasn’t. Matt Kincaid was there and he killed Alchise!” His nostrils flared as anger shook his voice. “I should kill you for the death of my friend!”

  Cameron’s hand went to his gun. Like a fool, he’d told Shanks to stay behind, fully expecting Ga’n to tell him that the half-breed had been kidnapped. Now he was in danger of being shot by the renegade.

  “How in the hell was I supposed to know Kincaid was around?” Cameron demanded.

  Ga’n studied the pindah. “You speak with many tongues, Cameron. Even a snake is honest compared to you!” He spat into the dust and thrust out his hand. “Give me the money!”

  Cameron was going to argue, but quickly decided against it. He knew Ga’n would gun him down if he refused. He jerked the dollar bills from his vest pocket and threw them at the Apache. “Get the hell out of here. Go get drunk like you always do. I won’t need you or the other renegades for at least a month. We’re planning another attack near Phoenix then, and I want you to lead it.”

  Ga’n slid off his pony and picked up the money. “Kincaid is nearby. Until I kill him, I’ll go nowhere.”

  “Fine, you do that.” Cameron didn’t care. If Ga’n got rid of the gunslinger gratis, that would be unexpected luck. Cameron spurred his horse into a gallop. There was work to do. As soon as he got back to Prescott, he was going to put Shanks to work.

  Being out in Devil’s Canyon chasing wily mustangs up and down the vast, rocky canyon gave Lark no time to think or feel. It was nearly two in the afternoon and she had already changed horses three times. The running, scrambling, and climbing it took to catch the mustangs quickly wore out the hardy ranch horses. At the moment she was mounted on Four Winds, her fleetest mare.

  Boa Juan, Carlos and Lark rode toward another section of the canyon, Devil’s Mouth, an area riddled with large caves. The other wranglers had gone in another direction to hunt down five mustangs they had seen earlier that morning.

  Lark’s crew was stalking One Eye, a man-hating stud who had made her life miserable. An albino stallion with one glassy blue eye in his, hammer head, he stole Gallagher Ranch mares’ every season.

  This year, One Eye had boldly jumped over a corral fence and slashed and cut at the mares, sending them crashing through the rails to freedom. Now Lark and her men were rounding up those mares, who had already been bred to Kentucky.

  Lark wiped the sweat off her face. Boa Juan rode at her side on his small black mustang. He pointed toward the end of the canyon. “There he is!”

  Lark saw One Eye surrounded by at least six of their mares. “I see him.”

  “The bastard’s going to make those mares climb out of the canyon and escape along the rim,” Carlos warned, getting out his lasso and lengthening the loop on it.

  Lark saw that Carlos was right. The steeply angled hill behind them, nearly four hundred feet high, was the only avenue of escape out of the canyon. One Eye knew this country well. Lark saw that he’d spotted them. With a squeal, the stallion began slashing at the mares’ rumps and running doggedly back and forth, aiming them toward the steep hill strewn with boulders, brush and cactus.

  “Some of those mares might lose their foals,” Boa Juan muttered, taking the rope off the saddle horn and quickly running a large loop into it in his gloved hands.

  “Not if we get there first,” Lark said, automatically reaching for her lasso. “Boa Juan, Carlos, you ride around the canyon and come down that incline. If One Eye sees you up there, he’s going to be forced to turn back.”

  “Back toward you,” Boa Juan guessed. “You know One Eye. He attacks riders in a group or alone. You won’t be safe, Patrona.”

  “Yes, I will.” Lark’s eyes glinted. “If I get a clear shot at him, I intend to kill him with the rifle.”

  “Good!” Carlos exclaimed. “And if we can draw a bead on him, we’ll kill him first.”

  Lark nodded. She didn’t like killing animals unless it was necessary, but for years her father had tried to track One Eye down and destroy him. If he had been like other mustang studs, who left the ranch and the mares alone, Lark wouldn’t take such an extreme measure. And right now, this was the first opportunity they’d had to get close enough to kill the animal.

  “Darse prisa!” Carlos called, spurring his horse forward.

  Lark held Four Winds back. The mare danced nervously, wanting to join the galloping riders disappearing around the rim of the rocky canyon. “Four Winds, I’m going to need all your courage,” she crooned to her mare. “We’re going to have to face One Eye. Be brave, my heart. Stand quietly beneath me when I draw my rifle….”

  Lark cantered down the floor of the canyon, all the while warily watching the stallion who stood less than half a mile away from her. One Eye shrieked in a high, angry bugle when he saw the two wranglers appear at the top of the steep hill. Immediately the mares turned, skidding wildly back down the grade, raising a cloud of choking dust. The stallion turned, and Lark knew he realized he couldn’t drive the mares upward. Ordinarily a good stallion would stay at the rear of his herd to make sure no mares escaped. This time Lark saw him take the lead and head directly at her. She was the only rider preventing his escape from the canyon.

  Lark watched the albino plunge ahead of the scattering band of frightened mares. She saw a bay mare go down, rolling end over end. When she finally got to her feet, her left front leg dangled, broken. Crying out in anger, Lark pulled the rifle out of the case beneath her leg. One Eye leaped to the canyon floor at a gallop, his screams caroming off the ocher walls.

  Pulling Four Winds to a halt, Lark had only seconds to lift the rifle, pump a round into the chamber, and aim at the charging stallion. She saw One Eye’s mouth open, his yellow teeth exposed in a vicious snarl. His tiny ears were pinned against his thick neck, his nostrils flared and bloodred in color.

  “Steady, steady,” she crooned to Four Winds, who heaved for breath between her clamped legs, al
l four feet planted firmly. The cross hairs of Lark’s gun wavered on the approaching stallion. Sweat trickled down her wrinkled brow. Taking a breath, she prepared to fire.

  Before she could pull the trigger, shots rang out behind her. Shaken, Lark saw Boa Juan and Carlos scatter away from the rim, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Who had fired those shots? She jerked her attention back to One Eye, but it was too late.

  The stallion, a battle-hardened veteran of many fights, lunged toward the mare’s head, his teeth ripping into the flesh of her neck. He threw all his weight into the staggering mare, using his shoulder to send her crashing to the earth.

  Lark was thrown upon impact, the rifle flying out of her hand. One Eye skidded to a halt and wheeled around, the ground thundering beneath his hooves. Lark scrambled to her hands and knees, but just as her fingers closed over the rifle, the stallion lashed out at her. Her head exploded with bright light and pain. Darkness engulfed her.

  Chapter 12

  Nearly three hours had passed since Shanks had captured Lark Gallagher. He’d bound her hands in front of her so she couldn’t reach out and claw him like she had two years ago. The yellow cotton shirt she wore had been torn, exposing the subtle shadow of her cleavage. He itched to put his hand on those small, firm breasts. But he’d wait. He’d wait until she was awake, when he would enjoy forcing her to sign the papers. He wasn’t going to disappoint Cameron this time. He didn’t want to lose his job to that new gun from down South.

  “Come on, Lark, wake up!” he growled, prodding her shoulder. Her hair was a blue-black sheet around her head. He leaned over, fingering the dusty strands while keeping an eye on her. Her lashes fluttered. He grinned, waiting….

  Pain throbbed between her eyebrows and fanned upward, through her brow. Lark ached all over. Groaning, she opened her eyes to mere slits. It took her several moments to digest the fact that Bo Shanks was crouched over her. Her throat closed in terror. No! It couldn’t be! Her mind whirled with questions. He was grinning like a wolf prepared to eat his prey, his yellow teeth glistening with saliva. She looked around and found herself in a cave.