Chase the Wind (Apache Runaway Book 2)

by Madeline Baker

He carried her up a shallow draw, across a narrow stream, his long legs eating up the distance. Content, she watched the scenery pass by until he came to a small blue pool surrounded by wildflowers. It was like a bridal bower, she thought, lush and green.

  With his arms still wrapped around her, he lowered her feet to the ground, and then he kissed her. It was a kiss like no other he had given her, possessive, gently demanding, filled with promises unspoken and a hunger that could wait no longer.

  His hands were trembling as he undressed first her and then himself.

  “You are so beautiful, Beth. More beautiful than any flower.” Sitting down, he took her hand and drew her down beside him. “Do not be afraid, Beth. I will not hurt you.”

  She gazed into the dark depths of his eyes. “Have you done this before?”

  “No.”

  “Me, either.”

  He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs lightly stroking her cheeks. “We will find out way together.”

  His hands slid over her shoulders, down her arms, and everywhere he touched, her skin tingled with excitement.

  “Touch me, Beth.”

  Eagerly, she brushed her hands over his chest, delighting in the sun-warmed bronze of his skin, in the taut muscles that bunched and relaxed beneath her hand. Leaning forward, she kissed the half-healed cuts on his arms and chest, reveling in his gasp of pleasure.

  He pulled her close, drawing her down on the grass beside him, his body pressed to hers, as they continued to explore each other. She discovered he was ticklish; he discovered the soft, sensitive place behind her knee. His tongue was warm as it laved her breasts, awakening sensations she had never known, until she yearned toward him, silently asking for that which she didn’t fully understand.

  And then he was rising over her, blocking everything from her view but his face, the fire that smoldered in his eyes. She cried his name as his body meshed with hers. She had not known what to expect, had never dreamed that the act her mother had said must be endured for the sake of bearing children could entail such ecstasy, and she knew, in that moment, that she would never be the same again, knew that, even as she had gifted him her maidenhead, she had also given him her heart and soul.

  Chase released a long, shuddering sigh as his body convulsed one last time. Being sheathed within her warmth was more wonderful than he had ever imagined. For a moment, he rested his head on her shoulder, shaken to the very depths of his being by their joining. All his life, he had heard men brag of their conquests, but none had ever mentioned the sheer wonder of possessing a woman, of becoming a part of her, so that it wasn’t merely a joining of flesh, pleasurable as that had been. No, it had been more than that, as if, in their coming together, he had become her, and she had become him, a part of everything that he was.

  Had his mother felt his same overwhelming sense of love for Ryder? If so, he could not fault her for risking everything to stay with him. He knew he would make any sacrifice to be with Beth, to fall asleep in her arms and awaken there in the morning.

  When his breathing returned to normal, Chase raised up on his arms, almost afraid to meet her eyes. Had he hurt her? Was she disappointed in him? He could not bear to think he had failed her, this woman who had vanquished the hatred from his heart.

  One look at her face, and all his doubts fled. Bathed in sunlight, she smiled up at him, her face radiant, and he knew he had not imagined the almost mystical bond that had flowed between them. She had felt it, too.

  “I love you,” she whispered, caressing his cheek.

  “And I love you.”

  Knowing he must be heavy, he started to withdraw, but she wrapped her arms around him, holding him in place. “Don’t go.”

  Content to be cradled in her arms, he brushed her lips with his, felt his body stir to life again as her tongue met his. That quickly, he wanted her again.

  It was a day never to be forgotten. They made love again, then swam in the pool, and made love yet again in the water’s cool embrace.

  Later, lying in Beth’s arms, with the stars shining down on them like a benediction, Chase the Wind knew he had come home at last.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jenny opened the door to her son’s room and peeked into the room. “Are you awake?”

  At Dusty’s nod, she stepped inside and closed the door after her. “Rebecca’s here again. Shall I send her in?”

  “What’s she brought this time?”

  “Apple pie.”

  “I’ll soon be as fat as old man Cheevers,” Dusty grumbled.

  “Hardly, but you could stand to put on a few pounds.” Jenny regarded her son for a moment. “Doctor Forbes said you could get up tomorrow.”

  “About time,” Dusty muttered, setting aside the book he had been holding, but not reading.

  “I’ll send Rebecca in. Try to look glad to see her, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know why she keeps coming here.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Feeling a flush climb into his cheeks, Dusty lowered his head. Rebecca had come out to the ranch every day since he’d been shot. His mother had told him Rebecca had sat with him while he was unconscious. He didn’t know how he felt about that. Sometimes it pleased him to think she cared so much, and sometimes it annoyed him. Mostly, though, it flattered his male ego to know there was at least one girl who cared about him, even if it was the wrong girl.

  “I could tell her you’re asleep,” Jenny suggested, “if you’d rather be alone.”

  “I’ve had a bellyful of alone.” He hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud, but they slipped out, awash with bitterness.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t judge Beth too harshly until you hear her side of the story.”

  “What’s there to hear? She drugged me and turned him loose.” He slammed his fist on the table beside the bed. “I just wish I knew when they met.”

  Dusty looked up at his mother, his eyes dark with torment. “Do you think he kidnapped her?” he asked, then shook his head. “I know, stupid question. He was locked up.”

  “Dusty, don’t think about it. You’ll just drive yourself crazy.”

  “I know.”

  “Well,” Jenny said, “what shall I do about Rebecca?”

  “Might as well send her in, seeing as how she’s here.” He tried to make it sound as if her being there didn’t matter one way or the other, but just the thought of Rebecca made him smile.

  She entered the room a few moments later, looking exceptionally pretty in a gown of gold-and-green striped taffeta. “Hello, Dusty,” she said, returning his smile. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  “You’re looking better. Your mother told me you can get up tomorrow.”

  Dusty nodded.

  Moving with an innate grace, Rebecca rounded the footboard and sat down in the chair beside the bed. “What are you reading?” she asked, gesturing at the book he’d tossed aside.

  “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne. Do you know it?”

  “I’ve read it. Twice.”

  “Really?” He found it fascinating that she had read the book. Few of the women he knew read anything other than Vogue or Good Housekeeping. “Have you also read Mr. Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth?”

  “Oh, yes,” Rebecca said, her eyes sparkling. “I thought it most exciting, though I’m sure I would never have had the courage to go exploring as his characters did.”

  “No? Think of it, a chance to go where no one had ever gone before, to see things no one else had ever seen.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I’m afraid I lack the courage. I wouldn’t have made a very good pioneer, either. I’m afraid if it had been up to me, the Indians would still own all the land west of the Missouri.”

  “I admire your honesty,” Dusty said, laughing. “But it’s been my experience that women have far more courage than men.”

  “Really?”

  Dusty nodded, thinking of his mother. She ha
d endured much in her life, had defied Kayitah to save his father’s life. She had married a man who was a half-breed and a gunfighter.

  “Would you like me to read to you awhile?” Rebecca asked.

  “Sure, if you want to.”

  He handed her the book, then sat back against the pillows while she read to him. Engrossed in the story, she made the characters come alive, her voice changing tone and inflection for each character.

  Dusty applauded when she stopped at the end of the chapter. “You should have been on the stage, Miss Winterburn.”

  “Me? On the stage?” A bright-pink blush colored her cheeks. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t. Crowds make me nervous.”

  “I guess the stage’s loss is my gain.”

  Her gaze flew to his. Only then did he realize how possessive those words sounded.

  Suddenly flustered, she stood up, one hand worrying the wide velvet sash on her gown. “I should be going.”

  “Do you have to?” he asked, surprised to find that he wanted her to stay a little longer.

  “Well…”

  “Please? Stay for dinner.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t think of imposing on your mother.”

  “Believe me, she won’t mind.”

  “Well, if you’re sure…”

  “Good. We can probably get in another chapter or two before dinner.”

  * * * * *

  “Well,” Jenny said, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, “what do you make of that?”

  “Of what?”

  Dusty inviting Rebecca to stay for dinner.”

  “I’d say the boy’s got good taste,” Ryder retorted with a grin.

  “Good taste, indeed,” Jenny exclaimed, flicking him with a corner of the towel.

  “It’s obvious she’s crazy about him, and just as obvious that he’s beginning to see her as more than an irritant.”

  “An irritant! Ryder, what a thing to say.”

  “Well, you have to admit he wasn’t too crazy about her being here at first.”

  “True.” Jenny wiped another plate and put it in the cupboard. She had to agree with Ryder—Rebecca suited Dusty far better than Elizabeth ever would. Thinking of Elizabeth brought Chase to mind. It had been almost a month since the jailbreak.

  The posse had come back to town, subdued and silent. When questioned, they had said only that they’d found Chase but he’d gotten away and yes, Beth Johnson had been with him.

  “Jenny?”

  “I wonder where they are.”

  Ryder shook his head. “They could be anywhere by now. If it was me, I’d head for Mexico.”

  “Mexico! How will we ever get in touch with him?”

  “I reckon we’ll have to wait for him to get in touch with us.”

  “I just feel so helpless.”

  Ryder nodded. It wasn’t a good feeling. “Berland’s the key,” he mused. Rising, he started toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To talk to Dusty.”

  Brow furrowed in thought, Ryder made his way to his son’s room and rapped on the door. “Dusty? You still awake?”

  “Yeah, come on in.”

  Ryder picked up the chair beside the bed and turned it around, then straddled the seat, his arms resting over the back. “So, you and Rebecca seem to be hitting it off pretty good.”

  Dusty shrugged. “She’s a nice girl.”

  Ryder raised one brow in wry amusement. “Nice?”

  “All right, I like her, but…”

  “But she’s not Beth.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That’s not why I wanted to see you. Do you remember anything Berland might have said the night they brought Chase in?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Anything that made you suspicious?”

  “You mean aside from the fact that it was Joby?”

  Ryder grinned in acknowledgement.

  Dusty thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. His story seemed pretty straightforward, except that he insisted Chase had a rifle.”

  “But you never found one?”

  “No. And Chase said all he had was a knife, and that he threw it at Crenshaw.”

  A slow smile spread across Ryder’s face. “That might be just the answer we’re looking for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll let you know after I talk to Forbes. In the meantime you should get some sleep. But first, I want you to swear me in as your deputy.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You’re gonna be laid up for another four or five weeks. The town needs a lawman until you’re on your feet again.”

  Dusty grinned. “Hold up your right hand and repeat after me…”

  * * * * *

  Ryder left the ranch early the next morning. His first stop was at the sheriff’s office, where he picked up a badge. His next stop was at Doc Forbes’.

  Forbes looked up from the book on his desk. “Anything wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “Dusty hasn’t had a relapse, has he?”

  “No, Dusty’s doing fine. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Well, come on in and sit down then. Want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks, this’ll only take a minute.”

  Forbes stood up and stretched. “I was about to pour myself a cup. Come on in the kitchen.”

  Ryder followed the doctor through the house, then stood in the kitchen doorway, his shoulder braced against the frame, while Forbes poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “You said you had some questions,” Forbes said, adding a spoonful of sugar to his cup. “Fire away.”

  “Did you ever examine Crenshaw’s wound?”

  “No.” Forbes sat down at the table and indicated Ryder should join him.

  Ryder took a seat opposite the doctor. “Funny Martha didn’t send for you,” he remarked.

  “I thought so, but then, lots of people don’t cotton to doctors.” Forbes shrugged. “Sure you don’t want a cup of coffee?”

  Ryder shook his head.

  “I stopped by Crenshaw’s the day after he got shot and offered to take a look at his wound, but he said no. Insisted he was fine. He said Martha had taken care of him.” He shrugged again. “Martha’s a competent nurse, so I didn’t think anything of it. I take her with me on calls now and again. What’s this all about?”

  “Berland claims Crenshaw was shot, but the Indian denied having a rifle. Said all he had was a knife.”

  Forbes nodded slowly. “And you were hoping I’d seen Crenshaw’s wound.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Ryder said, and then grinned. “See ya later, Doc.”

  * * * * *

  Joby Berland was slopping the hogs when Ryder rode into the yard. Ryder shook his head in disgust as he took in the man’s appearance. Berland looked like a bandy rooster with his bright-red hair and skinny legs. His hair was limp and greasy, his eyes were a washed-out blue. Sneaky eyes, Ryder thought. Never, in all his life, had he seen Berland in clean clothes. Today was no exception.

  Berland tipped his hat back on his head as Ryder drew rein near the pen. “What brings you out here?” Joby asked, his expression sour.

  “Just stopped by to make a friendly call.”

  “Yeah?” Berland asked skeptically. “How come? You ain’t never bothered afore.”

  “Just in a talkin’ mood, I reckon,” Ryder replied. Dismounting, he dropped the reins of the black. “You gonna invite me in?”

  “Just say yer piece,” Berland growled. “I got work to do.”

  “I want to know about the night Ned Greenway was shot.”

  “I already told the sheriff everything I know.”

  Ryder nodded. “So you did, but I’d like to hear it for myself.”

  “Go to hell, Fallon. You ain’t the law.”

  “I am now,” Ryder replied softly. He p
ulled his vest back so Joby could see the tin star pinned to his shirt, and then he drew his gun.

  Berland’s expression quickly changed from insolence to fear.

  Raising his hands, he took a step backward. “Here now, wait a minute!”

  “I’m tired of waiting.”

  “I don’t know nothing, I tell ya!”

  “We’ll see. Let’s go inside.”

  Joby started to protest, but one look into Fallon’s eyes quickly changed his mind.

  Ryder swore under his breath as he followed Berland into the house, although calling the place a house was giving the dump more credit than it deserved. The first thing he noticed was the musty smell, the second was the fact that the pigsty was cleaner.

  “Now what?” Berland asked.

  Ryder gestured at a spindly-legged chair. “Sit down.”

  “Why?”

  “Sit!”

  Joby dropped into the chair.

  “Put your hands behind your back.”

  A movement of the gun in Ryder’s hands stilled Berland’s protests and he put his arms behind his back.

  Grabbing a length of rope that was lying over the back of a ratty-looking sofa, Ryder bound Berland’s hands, then holstered his gun.

  Rounding the chair, he stood in front of Joby, one hand resting negligently on his gun butt. “What happened that night?”

  “We was huntin’ coons, me and Rance, when the Injun showed up with the Harveys’ stud. He threw down on us and shot Rance, and Rance shot him.” Joby shrugged. “That’s all there was to it.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “The Indian told me he didn’t have a rifle.”

  “Who you gonna believe, me, or some dirty redskin?”

  “You seem to forget,” Ryder said, every syllable fraught with deadly menace, “that I’m a redskin.”

  “I…uh…I didn’t mean you.”

  “Didn’t you?” Ryder picked up the butcher knife lying on the kitchen table and ran his thumb over the blade. “Sharp,” he mused. He pressed the edge of the blade against Berland’s cheek. A fine line of red rose in the wake of the blade.

  Joby yelped and jerked his head back. “You cut me!”

  “I’ll bet I could skin you alive with this.”

  Berland’s face went deathly pale.