Chase the Wind (Apache Runaway Book 2)

by Madeline Baker

  Feeling as though someone had just punched him in the stomach, Chase took a deep breath, and his nostrils filled with the scent of flowers and earth and an intoxicating fragrance that he realized came from the woman herself.

  He was staring at her as if he’d never seen a woman before, and she was staring back. The air seemed to vibrate between them. Earth, trees, and sky all seemed to fade away, and he was aware of nothing but the young woman standing before him. He could see the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat, hear the uneven rasp of her breathing. Was she real, or merely a vision sent to tempt him?

  For a moment, he thought of taking her in his arms, putting her on his horse, and carrying her far away from this place. He had the strangest feeling that she would go with him without question or complaint.

  “It’s you,” she murmured inanely, and again felt that warm surge of energy, of awareness, that had speared her when she met his eyes in front of the general store in town. Never before had she felt such a rush of recognition, as if she had been waiting for this one man for all her life.

  Incapable of speech, Chase nodded.

  “My name is Elizabeth,” she said, hardly recognizing her own voice. “Elizabeth Johnson, but folks generally call me Beth.”

  “I am called Chase the Wind.”

  Chase the Wind. It conjured up romantic images of a dusky-skinned man riding across the plains, of Indians chasing a herd of buffalo, of campfires and moonlit nights.

  “Are you staying in town?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you be staying long?”

  Chase nodded, though, until this moment, he had intended to stay only long enough to meet his mother and find out why she had abandoned him.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked.

  “Nothing, really. I just like to be alone sometimes.”

  Chase nodded. He, too, had often found comfort it solitude.

  Beth lifted one foot and wiggled her toes. “My mother doesn’t approve of ladies going barefooted…” she ran a hand through her hair, “or of letting their hair down, so I come out here where she can’t see me.”

  “Or speaking to Indians,” Chase mused, remembering how the woman in town had hurried her down the street before they could speak.

  “My mother has a lot of old-fashioned ideas,” Beth said with a shrug. But she wasn’t thinking about her mother, could think of nothing but the man standing before her.

  She took a step forward. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to slide her fingers down his arm, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her hand, to brush her fingertips over his broad chest, to measure the width of his shoulders with her hands. To keep from touching him, she clasped her hands together. Licking lips gone suddenly dry, she wished she could run her tongue over his lips, feel his mouth on hers.

  The thought shocked her even as a wave of desire swept through her. Disconcerted, she took a step backward.

  “I…I should go,” she said, and turning on her heel, she ran toward town, her shoes and stockings forgotten in her haste to get away.

  Chase stared after her, confused by her sudden departure.

  “Beth.” He picked up one of her stockings and wound it around his hand, marveling at its softness, imagining it next to her skin.

  “Beth.” He whispered her name again, liking the sound of it, the taste of it, wondering if he would ever see her again.

  Chapter Six

  Feeling somewhat dazed by his encounter with the young white woman, Chase caught up his horse and headed back to town. He looked for her on the way, but there was no sign of her, and he decided she must have taken a path through the woods to her home, wherever that might be.

  He had seen her, spoken to her, for only a few minutes, yet her voice and her image would linger forever his mind. He had vowed to hate the whites for as long as he lived. But one look into her eyes, into Beth’s beautiful brown eyes, had shattered that vow.

  He was aware of people staring at him as he rode into Twin Rivers. He reined his horse to a halt in front of the Red Horse Saloon. Dismounting, he tethered the buckskin to the hitch rack and entered the saloon.

  The bartender grunted softly as he offered Chase a beer.

  “Didn’t expect to see you in here again.”

  “I did not expect to be back,” Chase replied. He took a sip of his drink, then made his way to the same table he had occupied before.

  He sat there, gazing out the window, while day faded into night, his thoughts turned inward. So much to think about. His mother hadn’t left him because she wanted to. He had a brother. And a sister. Amazing as these things were, it was Beth who overshadowed every other thought. Beth… She had captured his heart and soul with one look.

  Chase sat there far into the night, oblivious to the noise and the laughter around him. Once, a woman wearing a bright-red dress and black lace stockings sauntered up to him and sat on his lap, her arms winding around his neck.

  “Buy me a drink, cowboy?” she purred.

  “I am not a cowboy,” Chase replied.

  She leaned back a little and took a good look at his face. “Well, I’ll be,” she muttered. “You’re an Injun! Well, no matter. Cowboy or Injun, the price is the same.”

  “Price of what?”

  “For what, honey?” she asked, laughing. “Why, for me.”

  “You are for sale?”

  “More like for rent.”

  He understood then. She was a bija-n-ata, a whore. Shaking his head, Chase lifted the girl from his lap. “I have no money.”

  “Oh, well, perhaps another time,” the girl said and walked away, her hips swaying.

  It was after midnight when Chase left the saloon. Taking up the reins of his horse, he walked down the dark street toward the edge of town, heading for the stream where he had last seen Beth. He would sleep there, under the stars, and perhaps, if he was lucky, he would dream of her.

  * * * * *

  Chase came awake with a start. Jerking to a sitting position, he heard the sound of dogs barking, followed by the sound of gunshots and running feet.

  Rising, he drew his knife, then stood in the shadows, waiting, listening. He whirled around as two men came crashing through the underbrush.

  The man in front was leading a big chestnut stallion. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw Chase. “What the hell!” he exclaimed.

  Chase took a step backward, his hand tightening on the hilt of the knife as the second man leveled a rifle at him.

  “He’s an Injun,” the man leading the stallion remarked.

  “No shit.”

  The horse handler looked over his shoulder. “They’re comin’! I hear ’em. Dammit, Rance, I hear ’em! I knew this was a dumb idea.”

  The man called Rance smiled. “Stop worrying, Joby,” he said, grinning. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “Yeah? Well, I hope it’s a damn sight better than the last one.”

  “Trust me,” Rance said. And in the blink of an eye, he lifted his rifle to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel.

  With a cry, Chase hurled his knife at the man called Rance. He knew a brief moment of satisfaction as the blade sank into the man’s chest.

  There was a roar of gunfire, a flash of gunpowder. Chase saw the stallion rear up, jerking the lead rope from the white man’s hand, and then everything went black.

  * * * * *

  Dusty opened the jailhouse door, frowning when he saw Joby Berland standing on the boardwalk. He’d never trusted Berland. There was something about the man that set Dusty’s teeth on edge, and the fact that Joby never looked him in the eye was only part of it.

  He saw Kurt Harvey and his brother, Sean, dressed alike in overalls and plaid shirts, stood behind Joby.

  “What brings you all out here at this time of night?” Dusty asked.

  “We caught him, Sheriff,” Joby said jubilantly. “Me and Rance, we caught the Injun what stole the Harveys’ stud.” He jerked a thumb at the horse hitched to the rail. “Bas
tard shot Ned. He’s bad hurt. He shot Rance, too, but we caught him.”

  “Where’s Rance?”

  “He’s home. Martha’s lookin’ after him.”

  “And Ned?”

  “We dropped him off at Doc’s on our way here.”

  Dusty glanced at the body draped over the back of a big buckskin mare. “Is the Indian dead?”

  “No, just bleedin’ bad.”

  “Kurt, Sean, carry him on in here, then you can tell me what happened. Joby, you go tell Doc I need him here as soon as he can make it, then send the Indian’s horse down to the livery.”

  Dusty went back inside. Climbing the stairs to the second floor where the cells were located, he spared a glance at the prisoner in the first cell. Greg Paxton, arrested for being drunk in public, was snoring loudly.

  Moving down the narrow aisle, Dusty opened the door to the last cell and drew back the blankets on the cot. He’d been the sheriff for a couple of weeks. Up until now, except for arresting an occasional drunk on Saturday nights, things had been quiet.

  A few minutes later, Kurt and Sean dumped the unconscious man on the cot.

  “So, what happened?” Dusty asked.

  “We heard the dogs barkin’ about midnight,” Sean Harvey said. “When we went out to check, we saw a man running across the pasture with our stud horse.”

  “Running?” Dusty asked. “Why didn’t he ride?”

  “Horse ain’t broke.”

  “Just one man?”

  Kurt Harvey nodded. “When he heard us coming, he turned and took a shot at us. He hit our foreman. Doc doesn’t think Ned’s gonna make it.”

  Sean nodded, as if to back up his brother’s story. “Ned Greenway’s a decent man. He’s got a wife and three kids that depend on him. We chased the Injun into the holler near the stream. Joby was there with Rance. Rance was bleedin’ pretty bad. Joby said the Injun shot Rance, and Rance shot the Injun. The Injun was out cold.”

  Dusty grunted softly. “What were Rance and Joby doing in Piney Hollow?”

  “Said they’d been out huntin’ coons and were on their way home when this Injun attacked ’em. Joby said Rance shot the Injun in self-defense.”

  “Okay. I’ll need the two of you to come back in the morning and make a statement.”

  “Right, Sheriff,” Kurt said. “Can we go now?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry about Ned. Tell Emma to let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  Sean nodded soberly. “I’ll do that, Sheriff. Good night.”

  “Good night.” Dusty shook hands with both men, then turned to study the Indian. His shirtfront was soaked with blood. His moccasins were cut in the Apache style.

  Curious, Dusty mused. He hadn’t seen an Apache in these parts in years.

  The sound of footsteps drew his attention. A short time later, Doc Forbes entered the cell, followed by Joby Berland.

  “Is the redskin gonna live, Doc?” Joby asked.

  “I don’t care for that word,” Dusty said.

  Joby looked down at the floor. “Sorry, Sheriff,” he mumbled.

  “How about it, Doc?” Dusty asked. “Will he live?”

  “Can’t say ’til I have a look at him,” Forbes replied. Opening the Indian’s shirt, he examined the wound. “I’ll need some water, Sheriff.”

  “I’ll get it. Joby, I won’t be needing you anymore tonight,” Dusty said, heading for the stairs, “but I’ll need you to come by in the morning and make a statement. Bring Rance with you if he’s fit to travel.”

  “Yes, sir, Sheriff,” Berland said, following Dusty down the stairs into the office.

  “One more thing,” Dusty said, frowning. “Where’s the Indian’s rifle?”

  Joby looked blank for a moment, then grinned. “Still in the holler, I guess. See you tomorrow.”

  “It’s already tomorrow,” Dusty muttered.

  After taking a bucket of hot water up to the doctor, Dusty went back downstairs and dropped into the chair behind his desk. Smothering a yawn, Dusty wondered if he could persuade the town fathers to let him hire a deputy so they could trade off staying the night when there was a prisoner in the jail.

  He was on the verge of sleep when he heard the doc’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

  Sitting up in his chair, Dusty leaned forward and braced his elbows on the desk. Doc Forbes was a man who commanded respect despite his short stature. He had graying red hair and dark-brown eyes that met the world head-on. “Is he gonna make it?”

  Forbes nodded. “Shouldn’t be any problem. The bullet went in low on his left side. Didn’t hit anything vital, but he’s lost a lot of blood. Still, he’s young and healthy, so I’m not anticipating any trouble unless that wound gets infected. You might want to see that he gets plenty of red meat the next few days.”

  “Did he regain consciousness yet?”

  “Briefly. You might want to check on him a couple times, make sure he drinks plenty of water when he wakes up. I’ll stop by and look in on him tomorrow.”

  “Right. What about Ned Greenway?”

  Forbes shook his head. “He’s hurt real bad. I told Emma there was a chance he’d make it, and there might be. But I wouldn’t stake my reputation on it.”

  “Thanks for coming by, Doc.”

  Forbes nodded. “Should have been a dentist,” he muttered as he left the office. “Never hear of dentists having emergencies in the middle of the night.”

  Grinning, Dusty closed and locked the door. It was going to be a long, sleepless night. And sometime tomorrow he’d have to find time to ride out to Piney Hollow and see if he could find the missing rifle.

  * * * * *

  “A horse thief,” Beth exclaimed, her eyes growing wide. “Why, we haven’t had a horse thief in Twin Rivers since I was a little girl.”

  “Well, they caught this one dead to rights.”

  “What’ll happen to him?”

  Dusty shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s up to a judge and jury.”

  “Is it anyone I know?”

  “Not unless you’ve been seeing an Indian on the sly.”

  Beth’s heart caught in her throat. “An Indian?”

  Dusty nodded. “Apache, by the cut of his moccasins. I don’t what he’s doing here. Last I heard, all the Apaches had been rounded up and sent to Florida.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t been conscious long enough to tell me.”

  It was suddenly hard to speak. “He’s…he’s hurt?”

  “He got shot pretty bad, but…Beth? Beth, are you all right? You look right pale.”

  “I’m fine.” Beth stared out the window. Her parents were sitting on the porch swing. Her father was reading the newspaper, her mother was shelling peas for dinner. She could hear a bird singing in the tree that grew alongside the porch, smell the pot roast cooking in the kitchen. But none of it seemed real.

  “Beth? Beth, are you all right?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t feel very well, Dusty,” she said. “I think I’ll go upstairs and lie down for a little while.”

  “Yeah, you do that.” He stood up, frowning. “I’ll call on you tomorrow and see how you’re feeling.”

  “All right.”

  “Well, okay, I guess I’ll go on over to the hotel and get some dinner.”

  Bending, he kissed her cheek, but she hardly seemed aware of it. Puzzled by Beth’s strange behavior, Dusty grabbed his hat off the rack and left the house.

  Beth stared out the window, worrying her lower lip with her teeth as she watched Dusty take up the reins to his horse. Was Chase the Wind the Indian in the jail? How could she find out? She had gone back to the river to look for her shoes yesterday. At least that was the excuse she had given herself. In truth, she had hoped to see Chase the Wind again. She had found her shoes and one stocking on top of a flat-topped rock, but there had been no sign of Chase. And no sign of her other stocking.

  Rising, she paced the floor. Dusty would be ove
r at the hotel having dinner for at least half an hour. Did he leave the jail unlocked when he was away?

  Grabbing her bonnet, she quickly put it on, then went out the back door. Picking up her skirts, she began to run through the woods toward town, praying that no one would see her.

  When she reached the end of town, she stopped to catch her breath; then, head high, she made her way to the rear of the jail. Murmuring a silent prayer, she put her hand on the latch, felt a wave of relief as the door swung open.

  She stood there a moment, listening, before she closed the door and hurried toward the steps.

  Too late, she wondered what she’d do if the Indian wasn’t the only prisoner. At the top of the stairs, she peered around the corner, relieved that all the cells were empty save one.

  Heart slamming against her ribs, she tiptoed toward the last cell, murmured, “Oh, no,” when she saw Chase lying on the cot, his eyes closed, his breathing labored. A thick bandage was wrapped around his torso. The cloth was very white against the dark bronze of his skin, but it was the ugly reddish-brown stain on the cloth that held her gaze.

  Chase stirred, his nostrils filling with a familiar fragrance. Beth? Turning his head toward the cell door, he blinked, and blinked again. Dressed in a gown of lavender plaid trimmed with yards of white lace, she looked like a porcelain doll he had once seen in a store window. He shook his head, certain he must be dreaming.

  “Chase?” Beth wrapped her hands around the bars. “Chase, are you all right?”

  “Beth,” he said, gasping with the effort it took to speak. “What are you doing here?”

  “What happened to you?”

  With an effort, he sat up, his arm wrapped protectively over the wound in his side. For a moment, the room spun wildly out of control. When the dizziness passed, he stood up. His legs felt like wet reeds as he crossed the few feet separating them.

  “Beth.” Hesitantly, he placed his hand over hers. “You should not be here.”

  “What happened?”

  “I have been accused of stealing a horse and shooting a white man.”

  “No!”

  He nodded, and then, succinctly, he told her all that had happened the night before.