Chase the Wind (Apache Runaway Book 2)

by Madeline Baker

  “No.” Opening her eyes, she shook her head. “No!”

  Her hands were shaking as she undressed, pulled on her nightgown, and crawled into bed. He couldn’t hang, not now, not when she’d just found him.

  Chapter Eight

  For Chase, the next three days passed in a haze of pain and confusion. His mother came to visit him every day. She brought him a change of clothes—a dark-blue wool shirt and a pair of black trousers. She brought him underwear, which he frowned at and cast aside. And she brought him a pair of Apache-style moccasins. He had looked at her, a question in his eyes, and she had said, with a hesitant smile, “I made them for you. I hope they fit.”

  They did. Perfectly. The knowledge that she had taken the time and effort to make them for him caused something painful to dislodge in his heart.

  Every day, she brought him a basket filled with food: fresh-baked bread, thick slices of cheese and beef, apples and carrots, a piece of cake or a dozen cookies. Never, in all his life, had he eaten so well, he mused ruefully.

  Ryder Fallon also came each day. Sometimes he didn’t say much, but Chase found a certain comfort in the older man’s presence, though he couldn’t say why.

  And always, Dusty was there. Dusty. His brother. Remarkably, since the day of their talk, a bond had formed between them. Chase was at a loss to explain why. Perhaps it was his brother’s unquestioning belief in his innocence, perhaps it was Dusty’s generosity of spirit that manifested itself in numerous small ways. Perhaps it was merely a bond of blood founded on nothing more than their shared ancestry. Whatever it was, it made Chase’s captivity easier to bear.

  Thursday night, Jenny and Ryder came to see him, assuring him that everything would work out.

  It was near ten when Ryder stood up. “Come on, Jenny girl,” he said. “We’d better start for home.”

  Jenny stood up, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “Don’t worry,” she said, squeezing Chase’s hand. “We’ll get through this.”

  Chase nodded. “Sure.”

  And then Ryder reached through the bars and clasped his hand. “You won’t hang, Chase. I promise.”

  And in that moment, Chase the Wind knew that Ryder Fallon was a warrior, a man to be reckoned with, and for the first time, he felt a slender ray of hope.

  The trial was held at nine o’clock Friday morning in the courthouse. To Chase, it seemed as though every man and woman in the town was packed into the building, craning their necks to get a look at him.

  He sat near the front of the room, his hands cuffed behind his back, listening to the low murmurs that ran through the crowd. They had already tried and convicted him, he thought bleakly. As far as they were concerned, he was guilty, and a hanging was sure to follow. He heard their excitement, sensed their anticipation, as they looked forward to the hanging. Stores would close. People would come to town, watch the hanging, and have a picnic lunch afterward.

  Sickened, he glanced once at his mother and Ryder, and then his gaze rested on Beth Johnson. She was seated between the grim-faced older woman he had seen her with in town and a man with dark-gray hair. Her parents, he guessed. Dressed in a frothy pale-pink dress, Beth looked like a flower in a field of weeds.

  Her tremulous smile went right to his heart, lodging there like a tiny ray of golden sunshine. His gaze still on Beth’s face, Chase paid little attention as four white men took the stand to accuse him of stealing a valuable horse and shooting Sean and Kurt Harvey’s foreman. Chase watched Beth’s expression change from mild worry to concern as the lawyers argued the case. The biggest hole in the prosecution’s case was the fact that the rifle Chase had allegedly used to shoot Rance had never been found, but, in the end, it didn’t matter. The jury reached its decision in less than ten minutes—guilty as charged.

  The judge declared the hanging would take place Monday morning at ten, the jury was dismissed, and the trial was over.

  Numb, Chase stood up. He forced a half-smile for Beth, then turned and preceded Dusty from the courtroom. Angry whispers followed him from the building.

  “Dirty redskin…”

  “Who does he think he is…shot Ned Greenway…”

  “…Doc doesn’t think he’ll recover…”

  Hardly remembering how he got there, Chase found himself locked in his cell again. Minutes later, his mother and Ryder were there, along with Dusty.

  Chase faced them through the bars. A short time ago, he’d been a man alone. Now he had a family who cared for him. There were tears in his mother’s eyes, compassion in Dusty’s, determination in Ryder’s.

  “Don’t worry, Chase,” Ryder said, “we’ll get you out of this.”

  Jenny glanced at Dusty, and then Ryder. ”You’re going to break him out of jail?”

  “You got any better suggestions, Jenny girl?” Ryder asked, grinning.

  “No, but…” She put her hand on Dusty’s arm. “If anyone finds out…”

  “We’ll have to hightail it out of town,” Dusty said.

  “No.” Chase shook his head. “I cannot let you do this.”

  “I don’t see how you can stop us,” Ryder said.

  “Anyway, maybe no one will find out,” Dusty remarked. “We can make it look like you escaped, and then, when we clear your name, you can come back home.”

  Home. It was word that conjured up love and security and permanence, something he hadn’t had since Kayitah surrendered.

  “Sounds simple enough,” Ryder said. He looked at Dusty and grinned. “You can bring Chase his dinner Sunday night and arrange for him to get hold of your gun, accidental-like. He’ll take your gun, lock you up, take your horse, and leave town. He can hide out in Rainbow Canyon until we find out who really stole the Harveys’ stud and shot Greenway, and then Chase can come forward and clear his name.”

  “It might work,” Dusty said.

  “It has to work,” Jenny declared fervently. “It has to.”

  “If the people in town find out that Dusty is my brother, they will not believe that I escaped without help.”

  “They can think what they like, they won’t be able to prove a thing,” Dusty said. “Hell, you can hit me over the head with my gun on the way out. A good-sized lump on the back of my head ought to be convincing enough.”

  “I cannot let you do it,” Chase said again. “The risks are too great.” He wrapped his hands around the bars. “Make them listen, my mother. You have much to lose.”

  “Are you suggesting that I stand by and let them hang you just to save a house and a few acres of land?” Jenny exclaimed.

  “You do not even know me.”

  “You’re my son, Chase. I knew you before you were born, and if I have to spend the rest of my life hiding out in the hills to keep you from hanging, then I’ll do it gladly.”

  Chase sent a pleading look at Ryder. He didn’t want to be beholden to these people, to this woman. He had hated her all his life. “You cannot let her do this.”

  Ryder reached through the bars and clapped Chase on the shoulder. “Son, I’ve never been able to tell your mother what to do, and I don’t imagine she’ll let me start now.”

  * * * * *

  Chase paced the floor of his cell, the ache in his side forgotten as he tried to absorb the fact that his brother, who was supposed to uphold the white man’s law, was planning to let him out of jail, with the full knowledge and approval of his parents. Even more incomprehensible was the knowledge that they were all willing to risk everything they had to help him escape.

  All the bitterness and anger he had harbored melted away in the face of their love. He had done nothing to deserve their affection, yet they had welcomed him with open arms, accepting him as one of them simply because Jenny was his mother… His mother.

  Chase felt his heart grow warm at the thought of her. Someday, when all this trouble was behind him, he wanted to hear about her life, starting from the day she had met his father, and every day since.

  His musings came to an abrupt halt when he heard Be
th’s voice downstairs. What was she doing here? She had been much on his mind since the trial yesterday. Whether he hanged or Dusty helped him escape, he knew he would never see her again. The sound of her laughter filled him with a longing for something that could never be, and he wondered again what she was doing there. Though he knew little of the ways of the white man, he was certain it was not customary for young women to visit men in jail. And then, hearing her soft laughter float up the stairs, he realized she had probably come to see Dusty.

  Chase knew a sudden, fierce rush of jealousy as he pictured Beth talking to his brother, smiling at him.

  Hands clenched around the bars, Chase tried to hear what they were saying, but, try as he might, he couldn’t understand their words.

  * * * * *

  “Hello, Sheriff.”

  Dusty came to his feet, smiling. But then, she always had that effect on him. His gaze swept over her, admiring the way her lavender shirtwaist and full skirt emphasized the fullness of her breasts, her narrow waist. She wore a perky little bonnet that tied under her chin.

  “Hi, Beth. What are you doing here?”

  “I just wanted to see you. Mother got one of her headaches and went home. Father thinks I’m over at the millinery shop.”

  “Here,” he said, holding a chair for her. “Sit down.”

  “Thank you.” Beth folded her hands in her lap. “The trial was interesting. I’ve never been to one before.”

  “Short,” Dusty remarked, “but interesting.”

  “You don’t think he’s guilty, do you?”

  “I’m sure he isn’t.”

  “You’re not going to let them hang an innocent man, are you?”

  “He was tried and found guilty,” Dusty replied. “I’ll have to carry out the sentence of the court.”

  “But…” Beth bit down on her lower lip. It wouldn’t do to protest too much. She couldn’t afford to make Dusty suspicious. “Are you coming to dinner Sunday night?”

  “’Fraid not. I’ll have to stay here and keep an eye on the prisoner.”

  “Oh.” Beth stared at her folded hands. “Maybe I could bring you something to eat.”

  “That would be real nice,” Dusty said, “although I doubt if your mother will allow it.”

  “I’ll manage somehow.” Beth stood up and offered Dusty her hand. “’Til Sunday, then.”

  Taking her hand, Dusty drew Beth into his arms and kissed her lightly, gently. “Did I tell you how pretty you look today?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you do. Pretty as a spring flower.”

  Beth closed her eyes as Dusty kissed her again. His mouth was warm and soft and she felt her heart beat a little faster as he deepened the kiss. And even as Dusty was kissing her, she was wondering what it would be like to be in Chase’s arms, to feel his mouth on hers…Chase. It came to her in a blinding flash of insight. She loved him. Impossible as it seemed, it was true nonetheless. She loved him. She admitted it, and realized that he was not only the man she had been waiting for her whole life, but he was the answer to her problems, the fulfillment of all her dreams.

  Heady with excitement, she placed her hands on Dusty’s chest and eased out of his embrace.

  “I’d better go,” she said, the daring idea that had occurred to her making her feel fluttery inside. “My father will be looking for me.”

  Dusty nodded. “I’ll be looking forward to Sunday.”

  “Me, too. ’Bye, Dusty.”

  “So long, Beth.”

  Whistling softly, Dusty sat down and propped his feet on the desk. Life was good, he mused. And Beth was the best part.

  * * * * *

  Sunday morning dawned gloomy and cold. Dark-gray clouds shrouded the sun. Standing at the barred window looking out, Chase prayed that it would rain before the night was out, knowing that a good heavy storm would eliminate his tracks.

  His mother and Ryder had come to visit him in the afternoon.

  Ryder had informed him that there would be a cache of supplies, including a rifle, a couple of canteens, a change of clothes, and a bedroll waiting for him in the hollow where Berland had shot him. Jenny had smiled, saying she’d packed plenty of dried beef and venison, a dozen fresh-baked biscuits, some fruit, and as much canned goods and coffee as the pack would hold.

  Chase had stared at the two of them, his throat clogged with emotion. He had never seen two people who were so much in love, so united in their thinking. Kayitah had been a good man; Alope had been a dutiful wife, but they had not shared the kind of devotion that was so readily apparent between Jenny and Ryder as they stood outside his cell, holding hands. It had been difficult to say goodbye, knowing he might never see them again.

  “Don’t worry,” Ryder had said in parting. “Everything will work out.”

  His mother had hugged him fiercely, her eyes bright with tears. “You’ll be in my heart and my prayers every day until you come back to us.”

  He had hugged her once, hard, unable to speak past the rising lump in his throat.

  That had been hours ago. Now, he paced the narrow cell, his nervousness mounting with each passing minute. How soon would Dusty come to turn him loose? In spite of all Ryder’s assurances that there wouldn’t be many people in town on a Sunday night, Chase couldn’t help wondering if he’d make it out of town.

  Hours passed. He judged the time to be about eight o’clock when he heard Beth’s voice downstairs, the lilting sound of her laughter. He felt his heart ache at the thought of never seeing her again. Ryder and Dusty made it sound so simple—they would find out who had stolen the stallion and shot the white man, clear his name, and he could return to Twin Rivers. In spite of their confidence, Chase doubted it would be that easy. There was a good chance that they would never find out who had stolen the Harveys’ stallion, in which case he would never see Beth Johnson again.

  Perhaps it was just as well. He was a half-breed. He had no way to care for a woman, nothing to offer. He owned nothing. His horse had been stolen. The clothes he wore had been a gift from his mother.

  He stared into the night. Though he couldn’t see it in the darkness, he knew the gallows was out there. Yesterday, he had stood at the window, watching in morbid anticipation as the trap door was tested, imagining himself standing on the wooden platform, a noose around his neck. Hanging. It was a bad way to die, the rope choking the life from his body, trapping his soul within a prison of flesh.

  With a shudder, he turned away from the window. It was almost ten. How much longer would he have to wait?

  Moving to the door of his cell, he cocked his head to one side, listening. Where was Dusty?

  Thirty minutes passed. And then he heard the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  Chase frowned. No light showed from below.

  He felt a rush of apprehension as a dark form materialized at the head of the stairs.

  And then he caught the faint fragrance of flowers. “Beth?”

  “Shhh.” She was at the cell door now. He heard the faint jingle of keys. “I’ve come to get you out of here.”

  “What?”

  She muttered something under her breath as she struggled to fit the key into the lock.

  “Beth…”

  “Got it!” she exclaimed. “Hurry.” Opening the door, she grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”

  Feeling somewhat stunned, Chase followed Beth down the stairs. She paused at the door, opened it, and peered out. It was then that Chase saw Dusty. The lawman was slumped over his desk, his head pillowed on his arms.

  “All clear,” Beth said. “Come on.” When he didn’t move, she glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about Dusty,” she said, tugging on Chase’s arm. “I put some of my mother’s sleeping powder in his coffee. He’ll be fine when he wakes up.”

  Chase nodded. He didn’t understand why Beth was helping him, but, in one respect, it made things easier. His family wouldn’t be involved now. They wouldn’t have to lie to protect him; he wouldn’t have to wo
rry about his mother being forced to leave her home.

  He followed Beth out the back door of the sheriff’s office. Two horses waited in the alley behind the jailhouse.

  Taking the reins to a long-legged sorrel mare, Beth glanced at him over her shoulder. “Hurry!” she called softly, and tossed him the reins to the other horse.

  Chase’s gaze ran over Dusty’s horse. It was a red roan Appaloosa, with wide-set, intelligent eyes. Grabbing a handful of the gelding’s mane, he swung into the saddle, grimacing as pain lanced through his left side.

  “Thank you,” he said, glancing down at Beth. “Tell my mother…tell her goodbye for me.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  Chase stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown two heads and a tail. And then he shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “No,” Chase repeated, and reining his horse around, he urged the horse into a gallop. He would ride for the hollow, find the supplies Ryder had promised to leave him, and return to Rainbow Canyon. He would hide out there, as planned, until Ryder sent word that his name had been cleared.

  Chase leaned low over the roan’s neck, the ache in his side forgotten, swallowed up in the knowledge that he was free! He grinned, reveling in the bite of the wind against his face. He was free! The week he’d spent behind bars had seemed like a year. Never again, he vowed, never again would he let anyone lock him up.

  For a short time, he considered heading for Mexico. He would be safe there. But he would have no way to get in touch with his mother, no way to find out if his name had been cleared.

  His hands tightened on the reins. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life on the run, always looking over his shoulder, afraid to settle down in one place. He wanted to get to know his mother, to have a home of his own, perhaps here, in Twin Rivers…

  He felt a peculiar tug in the region of his heart. He wanted a woman of his own, a woman of courage and honor like his mother. A woman like Beth Johnson.