Chase the Wind (Apache Runaway Book 2)

by Madeline Baker

  Chase the Wind

  Madeline Baker

  CONTENTS:

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  About Madeline Baker

  Prologue

  Apache Reservation

  Fort Sill, Oklahoma

  March 1895

  Chase the Wind had always known he was a half-breed. As a young boy, he hadn’t understood what that really meant. Half-breed. Part Apache. Part white. What he had understood was that his mother had left him, that she had chosen to go off with a white man rather than stay at the rancheria with him and his father.

  As he grew older and more proud, he told himself it didn’t matter. His white blood didn’t matter. His heart and soul were Apache. He was Apache. A proven warrior, with a warrior’s name. He had fought alongside Mangus and Geronimo, fighting against the armies of Crook and Gatewood during the Apaches’ last desperate bid for freedom.

  A long sigh escaped Chase’s lips. There was no point in dwelling on the past. The Apaches would never fight again and he was a man alone. And yet, on nights like this, when the earth was quiet and the sky was clear and sprinkled with stars, he was haunted by the ghosts of his past, tormented by thoughts of the mother who had deserted him when he was no more than an infant. He knew little about her. His father had called her Golden Dove, but, after considerable prodding, Kayitah had revealed that her white name had been Jenny. She’d had pale hair and bright-green eyes, Kayitah had said, adding that the last time he had seen her had been near a small town called Twin Rivers. Was she still alive? Did she ever regret giving him away? Had she married the man she had run off with? Had other children?

  Questions without answer. A hurt that refused to be ignored no matter how often, or how deep, he tried to bury the pain beneath layers of indifference and disinterest.

  Why had she left him, he wondered bleakly. Had she been so ashamed of having an Indian baby that she had refused to accept him, refused to claim him as her own?

  When he’d been a child, he had often asked his father about the white woman who had given him birth, but Kayitah, like Alope, had refused to speak of the past. And now they were both gone. His father had been dead these past eight years; Alope, the only mother he had ever known, had died three days ago.

  Shivering from the cold, he stared up at the heavens, wondering if he would ever see the land of his birth again, if he would ever find the answers to the questions that had plagued him all his life.

  Chapter One

  Fallon Ranch

  Twin Rivers

  April 1895

  Dusty swung out of the saddle and stretched the kinks out of his arms and legs. Breaking and training horses was never easy. At times, it was backbreaking, bone-jarring hard work, but it was always satisfying.

  He took a few minutes to stroke the zebra dun’s neck. She was a fine mare; bridle-wise, with a soft mouth and a smooth gait. Jim Patterson had selected the pretty little mare for his youngest daughter, and Dusty was sure Patterson would be pleased. The dun had plenty of bottom and a willing heart.

  Removing his hat, Dusty ran a hand through his hair, then glanced up at the sun. Almost four. The little zebra dun was his last horse of the day, the last horse he’d be breaking for his father. Tomorrow, he’d start his new job.

  Dusty grinned as he replaced his hat, then brushed the dust from his jeans. Sheriff Fallon. His mother hadn’t been happy with his decision to run for sheriff, but she had supported him all the way, understanding his need to make his own way in the world. He had a good job here, and his father paid him well, but he felt the need to get out on his own, to leave his own mark on the world.

  Dusty gave the mare a final pat on the shoulder before removing the saddle and bridle and turning her loose in the corral.

  Leaving the pen, Dusty walked across the yard toward one of the horse troughs. Removing his hat, he dunked his head in the water, reveling in its coolness. Shaking the excess drops from his hair, he waved at his mother, who was hanging a load of wash.

  A sound from one of the other breaking pens drew his attention and he went over to see what the fuss was about.

  “Hey, Pat, Clancy, what’s goin’ on?” Dusty called as he neared the corral.

  Clancy flashed a grin as he jerked a thumb toward the pen. “We’re trying to decide who more stubborn, the bronc or your father.”

  “My old man,” Dusty said as he took a seat on the top rail, “without a doubt.”

  The horse, a big bald-faced black stallion, was as wild as a Saturday night in town. Determined to rid itself of the burden on its back, the stud bucked and crow-hopped from one end of the corral to the other. Hoots and hollers filled the air as the ranch hands cheered his father on.

  Dusty shook his head. His father was the best rider he’d ever seen. But even the best could be thrown now and then.

  Dusty grinned as his father hit the dirt, hard. “Hey, old man! Want me to take over?”

  Ryder Fallon glared at his son as he stood up and brushed the dirt from the seat of his pants. “That’ll be the day.”

  Face set in determined lines, Ryder took up the reins and swung into the saddle again.

  “He’s gonna break his neck one of these days,” Jenny remarked as she took a place at the rail beside her son.

  “Naw. He’s the best.”

  “Yes,” Jenny murmured. “He is that.”

  She felt a thrill of excitement as she watched her husband cling like a cocklebur to the stallion’s back. It was a sight she never tired of. Thick yellow dust rose in the air as the horse bucked its way from one end of the corral to the other. Sweat plastered Ryder’s shirt to his back. Dusty and the cowhands whooped and hollered and she raised her own voice in encouragement.

  Twenty minutes later, the battle was over. The stallion stood in the center of the corral, ears twitching, nostrils flared.

  Dismounting, Ryder patted the animal’s neck, then handed the reins to one of the men. “Dry him out, Pat, then give him a good rubdown and a quart of oats.”

  “Right, boss.”

  Ryder smiled at Jenny as she entered the corral.

  “Been a long time since you’ve ridden a wild one like that,” she said, slipping her arm around his waist.

  “Yeah. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to come down and watch my favorite cowboy at work.” She winked at him. “Why don’t you take a break? I made some fresh lemonade.”

  “Sounds good. You coming, Dusty?”

  “Sure.”

  Dusty walked behind his parents, grinning inwardly. Sometimes, they reminded him of newlyweds, the way they were always gazing into each other’s eyes, or sneaking kisses when they thought no one was lookin
g. It used to embarrass him, the way they were always carrying on. As he grew older, he realized what a rare and precious love his parents shared. Now, he hoped that, one day soon, Elizabeth Johnson would look at him the way his mother looked at his father.

  When they reached the house, Dusty accepted a glass of lemonade from his mother, then sat on the porch rail, listening idly to his parents talk about ranch business.

  There had been numerous changes in the ranch in the last fifteen years. His parents had built a new house about ten years ago and converted the old place into a bunkhouse. They had built a barn and corrals, planted fruit trees.

  There had been other changes, too. Twin Rivers had become a good-sized town. Twenty years ago, there had been only thirteen cabins in the valley; now more than sixty houses lined the riverbanks and hillsides. The town had its own newspaper now, a telegraph office, two banks, a blacksmith, a cooper, a barber shop, a post office, a doctor and a dentist, a couple of saloons and three churches. Mace Carson, one of the valley’s first settlers, had built a new general store. Melinda and Ivy, two of Abel and Laura Patterson’s daughters taught at the new schoolhouse; Daisy Patterson owned a millinery store; their youngest daughter, Opal, worked in the general store. Solid wood boardwalks fronted most of the buildings, saving wear and tear on skirts and footwear in rainy weather.

  The Indian problem had been settled. The Apache wars had ended in the middle of the 1880s. In 1886, four hundred and ninety-eight Chiricahua Indians from Arizona had been sent to Florida as prisoners of war. Of course, there’d never been an Indian problem in Twin Rivers. The Howard brothers had been the original settlers in the valley. Both men had been married to Comanche women and had come to the valley looking for a place where they could raise their children. As more people had drifted into the valley, the Howards had made it clear that anyone willing to live in peace was welcome.

  Dusty remembered his mother saying that, years ago, the valley had been a refuge, a sanctuary for men and women who were running from an unpleasant past. After the Howards arrival, a handful of others had found their way into the valley—an outlaw on the dodge, a woman running away from an unhappy love affair, a drifter who stopped by and fell in love with the woman, a retired sheriff and his wife, a priest, a Negro family. The Howards had made them all welcome. Mace Carson had married an Apache woman and raised a brood of black-haired daughters. Carson had traded with the Indians who came to the valley, giving them a fair price for their furs. In the old days, the Apaches had come often to the valley, bringing their wives and children with them.

  Dusty slid a glance at his parents. They’d had some hard times. Life hadn’t been easy for his father. In his prime, Ryder Fallon had been known as a fast gun. Dusty remembered hearing one of the men in town remark that Ryder Fallon could “draw quickern’ you can spit and holler howdy”. Not only that, but his father was a half-breed. Less than thirty years ago, that had been a dirty word. In some places, it still was. It had never been a problem in Twin Rivers, at least not until recently. Half the population seemed to carry Indian blood of one sort or another. Hell, he was proud to be a quarter Cheyenne. But lately, with more and more people arriving from the East, there’d been some name-calling that had led to more than one barroom brawl. A month ago, one of the Howard boys had been lynched by three outsiders who claimed he’d stolen one of their horses.

  It was that incident that had led the town fathers to decide they needed a full-time lawman. At first, they had been reluctant to hire Dusty. They’d told him it was because he was so young, but he suspected it had more to do with the fact that he was part Indian. In the end, he’d gotten the job because no one else wanted it.

  Rising, he gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Thanks for the lemonade, Mom.”

  “Going to see Elizabeth, I guess,” Jenny said, smiling up at him.

  “Right the first time. I’d better get cleaned up, or I’ll be late. Don’t wait up.”

  Whistling softly, Dusty went into the house, a thrill of anticipation running through him as he contemplated seeing Elizabeth again. If he was lucky, she might let him steal a kiss.

  * * * * *

  Later than night, Jenny stood on the porch, gazing into the vast empty darkness that surrounded the ranch. It was late, almost midnight, and the whole Earth seemed to be sleeping.

  She felt an uncharacteristic wave of melancholy as her gaze moved over the ranch. There had been many changes since she had first come here with Ryder over twenty years ago: changes in their lives, changes in the valley, in the world.

  The ranch had prospered. The little cabin where they’d spent the first years of their marriage had been replaced by a rambling three-bedroom house with oak floors and leaded glass windows. She had insisted on painting the new house yellow with white trim to remind her of the old place. The corrals out back were filled with blooded stock; people came from near and far to purchase a horse that had been raised and gentled by Ryder Fallon. They’d built a new barn last year. Where had the time gone? It seemed like only yesterday that Dorinda and Dusty had trailed at her heels.

  Leaning back against the porch upright, Jenny closed her eyes. Maybe it was the fact that her only daughter had recently taken a trip to New York that had her feeling so blue. She knew Dorinda would only be away for a few weeks, but it seemed to emphasize the fact that her children were all grown up, that they no longer needed her as they once had.

  Or maybe it was the fact that her oldest son’s birthday was this month.

  Cosito… The son she had traded for her husband’s life. Cosito… He would be twenty-four now, a man grown. She had not seen him since he was a baby. She remembered how Ryder had risked his life by riding into the Apache rancheria to kidnap her son. He had known how she missed Cosito, how she grieved for her son, and so, without telling her what he planned, he had ridden out to bring him back.

  When she discovered what Ryder intended to do, she and Will Howard had gone after him. She would never forget the soul-shattering joy she had experienced when she saw her husband riding toward her with Cosito in his arms. Nor would she forget the heart-wrenching fear that had engulfed her when Cosito’s father, Kayitah, overtook them. She had pleaded with Kayitah for Ryder’s life and, in the end, she had surrendered her son to his father in order to save Ryder’s life.

  She had never regretted her decision. But sometimes, like now, the pain of not knowing what had become of her firstborn son was more than she could bear.

  “Jenny?”

  She turned at the sound of Ryder’s voice. “I’m out here.”

  Familiar footsteps crossed the porch, and then Ryder was gathering her into his arms, holding her close. Lamplight filtered onto the porch from the parlor, and she smiled up at him, thinking he was still the most handsome man she had ever known. His hair was still long, black as pitch save for a few gray strands; his eyes were the same compelling shade of blue. It was hard to remember that he had once been a drifter, a gunfighter without equal. To her, he would always be a knight in shining armor, the man who had rescued her from the Apaches, given her a home, children…

  She sighed as she thought of Cosito again.

  “Something troubling you, Jenny girl?” Ryder asked.

  “No, not really.”

  “You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?” Ryder remarked.

  She didn’t deny it, and Ryder felt a twinge of guilt. Jenny was the sweetest, kindest, most soft-hearted woman he had ever known. And the most courageous. She had endured two years of captivity with the Apache. She had saved his life at the risk of her own when he had been captured by the Indians, and then she had saved his life a second time, giving up her firstborn son in exchange for his life. In all the years of their marriage, she had never once hinted that she felt she’d made a bad bargain, never said or done anything to make him think she regretted that decision.

  “Jenny.” He gazed deep into her eyes, eyes as green as spring grass, thinking she was even more beautif
ul now than she had been twenty-five years ago. Jenny.

  He brushed his lips against her hair, remembering the first time he had seen her. He had been Kayitah’s prisoner at the time, badly wounded, when she had come to him under cover of darkness, her bright golden hair hidden beneath a blanket. That night, she had saved his life at the risk of her own.

  He couldn’t help grinning as he recalled how she had brought him water when he would have sold his soul to the devil for just one drop, and then, turning that same need for water against him, had extracted his promise to help her escape from the rancheria. He stroked her hair as she buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. “I still miss him, Ryder.”

  “I know, honey.”

  “I wish…”

  “What, Jenny girl? What do you wish?”

  “I just wish I knew he was all right.”

  With a sigh, Ryder drew her closer. The Apache, like the Sioux and the Cheyenne and the Crow, had been sent to live on the reservation years ago. “Do you want me to see if I can find him?”

  “Do you think it’s possible?.”

  “I don’t know, maybe. There must be records of some kind on the reservation.”

  “It’s been so long, so much has happened since then. How would you even know where to start?”

  “I can ask around.”

  “I’d love to know how he is, but…” Jenny shook her head.

  “But what, honey?”

  “I feel like I gave up all my rights to him years ago. He probably doesn’t even know I exist.” She took a deep breath. “The house seems so quiet with Dorinda gone. Do you think she’s having a good time in the big city? I wish she’d taken someone with her.”

  “Me, too, but you know Dorinda. Stubborn and independent. Kind of like her mother.” Ryder grunted softly as Jenny cuffed him on the shoulder. “She was determined to go alone. I’m sure she’s fine.” Ryder rested his chin on the top of Jenny’s head. He understood why she had changed the subject, knew thinking of Cosito was too painful to endure for long. “Besides,” he said, hoping to cheer her. “It’s not forever. She’ll be back soon.”