Chase the Wind (Apache Runaway Book 2)

by Madeline Baker

  “I haven’t skinned anybody in years,” Ryder remarked. He held the knife up, turning it this way and that. Sunlight glinted on the blade. “I could skin you alive and toss your body to the hogs. Nobody would ever know what happened to you.”

  “It was Rance!” Joby said, his voice high-pitched and shaky.

  “Go on.”

  “Rance wanted that damned stud, not me. It was all his idea. I just went along to keep him company. He shot Greenway and the redsk…and the Injun.”

  “Did the Indian have a rifle?”

  “No, just a knife. He threw it at Rance, and Rance shot him.”

  “And you lied about the rifle because Ned had been shot, right?”

  Joby nodded vigorously. “Rance shot him, just like I said. It was his idea to frame the Injun,” he said, meeting Ryder’s eyes for the first time since they’d known each other. “I swear it.”

  Ryder nodded. “I’m taking you into town with me. When we get there, I want you to go see Judge Brooks and tell him everything you just told me.”

  Berland’s eyes grew wide. “I can’t…Rance will…”

  “Everything you just told me. Understand?”

  Berland nodded sullenly.

  “And we’ll keep my little visit here today a secret, right?”

  “Right.”

  “After you see the judge, I want you to come to the jail and turn yourself in.”

  Berland’s eyes grew wide as he realized he wasn’t going to get away without facing the consequences of what he’d done.

  “I can see you’re thinking about leaving town,” Ryder said, his voice harsh. “If you do, I’ll hunt you down and hang you with your own innards. Do we understand each other?”

  “I understand,” Joby muttered, his gaze resting on the knife in Ryder’s hand.

  “Good.” Walking behind Berland’s chair, Ryder cut the man’s hands free, then tossed the knife onto the table. “Remember what I said. Not a word about this to anybody.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  “I wish I’d been there,” Dusty said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Damn, I’ll bet he was ready to puke.”

  “Close,” Ryder said, grinning with the memory. “Right close.”

  “I never believed his story,” Dusty said. “Not for a minute.”

  “Then Chase can come home,” Jenny said exuberantly. Throwing her arms around Ryder, she kissed him soundly. “We’ve got to get in touch with him right away…” Her words trailed off. “But we can’t, can we?”

  “I don’t know how. Damn Berland! If they hadn’t gone off on their own, Chase would still be in Rainbow Canyon.”

  “There’s got to be a way,” Jenny said. “Think of something.”

  Ryder put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Don’t worry, Jenny girl, the worst is over.”

  “Over? How can you say that? What if they’ve run off to Texas or Mexico? We might never see him again.”

  “We could put a flyer out on him,” Ryder suggested.

  “A wanted poster!” Jenny exclaimed, horrified by the very idea of seeing her son’s face on such a thing.

  “Not a wanted poster, exactly,” Ryder explained. “We could say he’s wanted for questioning in a murder case.”

  Jenny shook her head. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  Ryder nodded. “Maybe you’re right. It might be safer for both of them if we offered a reward for information about Beth.”

  Dusty looked at his father. “Beth?”

  “Yeah. We could say she’s a runaway and offer a reward for information on her whereabouts. Might cause less trouble for Chase that way.”

  Jenny nodded. “That might work. What do you think, Dusty?”

  “She’s… It’s no longer my concern,” Dusty retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t forget that she had betrayed him.

  * * * * *

  The following morning, Ryder rode out to Rance Crenshaw’s place.

  Martha Crenshaw looked surprised when she opened the door. “Why, Mr. Fallon, what brings you out this way?”

  “I’ve come to see Rance. Is he here?”

  “Yes. Come in.”

  She stepped back so he could enter the house. Unlike Berland’s place, the Crenshaw house was clean and neat.

  Rance was sitting on the sofa, sipping a cup of coffee. His right arm was in a sling.

  “What’d you want to see me for?” Rance asked, his expression wary.

  “I’ve got a warrant for your arrest,” Ryder replied.

  “Arrest,” Martha Crenshaw exclaimed, her face pale. “What has he done?”

  “He killed Ned Greenway.”

  “No!”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Martha shook her head. “No. He said an Indian did it.” She looked at her husband, her eyes begging him to tell her it was a lie. “Tell him, Rance. Tell him you’re innocent.”

  Crenshaw looked at his wife for a long moment, then shook his head. “I ain’t sayin’ anything until I get a lawyer, Martha.”

  “Let’s go,” Ryder said.

  He regarded Crenshaw’s injured arm a moment, then pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. He locked one cuff around Crenshaw’s left wrist, then drew Crenshaw’s left hand behind his back and locked the other handcuff around one of the sturdy belt loops in Crenshaw’s Levi’s.

  “Rance!” Martha threw her arms around her husband’s waist, clinging to him as if she was afraid she would never see him again. “What will I tell the boys?”

  “Just tell them it’s a mistake,” Crenshaw replied flatly.

  “I will,” Martha said, nodding emphatically. “I will.”

  Outside, Ryder saddled Crenshaw’s horse, then helped the man into the saddle. Taking up the reins to Crenshaw’s mount, he headed for town.

  “How’d you get that warrant?” Crenshaw asked.

  “On some solid evidence.”

  “What evidence?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Why’d you steal the Harveys’ stud, anyway? You must have known you couldn’t keep it, and you sure as hell couldn’t sell it to anyone in town.”

  Crenshaw scowled at him. “You tell me how you got that warrant, and I’ll answer your questions.”

  “Can’t do that. You know, it might go easier on you if you confessed.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Ryder shrugged. “It’s a possibility, I guess. For you, I’d say it was a sure thing.”

  “My boys,” Crenshaw said. “What about my boys?”

  “What about them?”

  “They need me.”

  “You should have thought of that before you killed Greenway.”

  With a muttered oath, Crenshaw fell silent.

  They reached town forty minutes later.

  Reining his horse to a halt in front of the jail, Ryder dismounted. He started to help Crenshaw dismount, but the man jerked his arm away.

  Lifting his right leg over the saddle, Rance Crenshaw slid to the ground. He glanced up and down the street, as though considering his chances of making a run for it; then, with a sigh of resignation, he climbed the steps to the boardwalk.

  Opening the jailhouse door, Ryder motioned him inside. “Upstairs, Crenshaw.”

  Sullen-faced, Crenshaw crossed the floor to the stairway. “You gonna take these cuffs off?”

  “Soon as you’re locked up.”

  “What the…” Rance came to an abrupt halt as he saw the other prisoner. “Berland!”

  Ryder opened the door to the cell at the far end of the hall. “Inside, Rance.”

  Muttering under his breath, Crenshaw entered the cell, glaring at Berland while Ryder locked the door, then reached through the bars and removed the handcuffs.

  “Berland, you dirty sonofa…”

  “That’s enough, Crenshaw,” Ryder warned. “I want it quiet up here, understand
?”

  “Yeah, I understand,” Rance replied.

  “Ryder, don’t let ’em get me,” Berland said, his expression one of near terror. “He’ll kill me sure.”

  “He’s not gonna get you, Joby. I reckon you’ll do some time in jail, but he’s sure to hang.”

  Whistling softly, Ryder went downstairs. Jenny would be pleased as punch when she learned of this day’s events.

  Shortly after dusk, Pete Hampton entered the saloon. Pete was a middle-aged widower who lived above the saloon. Ryder had hired him on to take the night watch at the jail.

  “‘Evenin’, Ryder,” Pete said. Removing his hat, he tossed it on the desktop. “Anything new?”

  “We’ve got another prisoner. Rance Crenshaw.”

  “Crenshaw! No kiddin’? What’s he in for?”

  “As of today, he’s the number one suspect in the Greenway killing.”

  “Rance! Naw, I don’t believe it.”

  “Berland’s willing to testify against him.”

  “Joby.” Hampton shook his head. “I just can’t believe it. Joby’s scared to death of Rance. Everybody knows that.”

  Ryder nodded. “I reckon so, but he’s gonna testify just the same.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Take care,” Ryder said, plucking his hat from the rack near the door. “I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was like being in heaven, Beth thought. Or Eden. Like carefree children, they ate when they were hungry, slept when they were tired, made love beneath the bold blue sky, or by the silvery light of the moon.

  She had never realized how restricted her life had been until she came here, to this place, with this man. Nothing she had learned before seemed important. She had no need to speak softly, to wear a corset or shoes. She left her hair unbound because Chase liked it that way. She ran barefoot in the dew-damp grass, swam naked in the pool, slept in the arms of the man she loved.

  She could not get enough of him, never tired of looking at him, of hearing his voice. She taught him to read. He taught her to speak his language. But at night, cradled in each other’s arms, they spoke a language of their own.

  She glanced up at the sound of his footsteps, a smile of welcome curving her lips. Just looking at him made her heart leap with joy.

  “No luck, I see,” she remarked as he sat down beside her.

  Chase shook his head. “Game is scarce here. I think we will have to leave.” He laid his bow and arrows aside, grinning a little as he recalled how surprised Beth had been to learn he knew how to make weapons. He had reminded her, somewhat ruefully, that he had once been a warrior, had kissed her when she replied that, to her, he would always be a warrior.

  “Where will we go?” she asked.

  “South.”

  “To Mexico?”

  “Yes.”

  “But…”

  His gaze probed her. “But what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me, Beth.”

  “I think we should try to get in touch with my parents, or with Dusty. Maybe we’re running for nothing. Maybe they found out who really took the Harveys’ horse.”

  Guilt rose up inside Chase at the thought of his brother. No matter what Beth said to the contrary, he felt as if he had taken her when he had no right.

  “It’s worth a try,” Beth insisted. “No one knows us around here. I can send a wire to Dusty, or to your mother.”

  “Very well,” he said heavily. “But if nothing has changed, we will go to Mexico. Agreed?”

  “All right.”

  “We will leave tomorrow. There’s a small town not far from here.”

  Beth glanced around. She would hate to leave this place. Sidling closer to Chase, she placed her hand on his knee, and then, oh so slowly, ran her hand up his thigh.

  “Beth?” She loved the husky sound of his voice, the sudden flare of desire in the depths of his eyes.

  “Hmmm?” She ran her other hand over his bare chest, felt his muscles tighten beneath her fingertips.

  “Beth…”

  She smiled up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Twining her arms around his neck, she lowered herself to the ground, drawing him down on top of her.

  With a low groan, Chase claimed her lips with his. It still seemed like a miracle that she was his, that she wanted him. His response to her touch was immediate and unmistakable. Heat infused him, then settled in his groin, as her hands played over his back and chest. His mouth plundered hers. Her lips were sweeter than wild honey, the small purrs of pleasure that rose in her throat stoked the fires of his own desire. She was his, he thought exultantly. His woman. His wife.

  They undressed each other, tossing their clothes aside with careless abandon in their haste to be together. Her skin was smooth and soft, warmed by the sun. Her soft curves fit against him, molding to his body as though she had been fashioned solely for him, even as her love filled the cold, empty places in his life, making him feel as if he belonged.

  She whispered that she loved him and he knew he would ask nothing more of life than to spend the rest of his days in her arms.

  * * * * *

  They left the meadow the next morning. For a time, they rode at a walk and then, with a whoop, Beth urged her mare into a lope.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she yelled, “Can’t catch me!”

  Chase quickly took up the challenge. He drummed his heels against the roan’s sides, and the gelding shot forward.

  A thrill of exhilaration spiraled through Beth as the sorrel lined out in a dead run. The wind whipped her hair back and stung her eyes as she urged the mare on, her ears were filled with the roar of the wind and the quick tattoo of the mare’s hooves as she flew over the ground.

  And then a new sound was borne to her on the wings of the wing, a shrill ululating cry that sent shivers down her spine.

  Darting a glance over her shoulder, she saw Chase riding up behind her. He was leaning low over the roan’s neck, riding with the ease of a man who had learned to ride before he could walk.

  He threw back his head, and the war cry rose on the wind again. It was a horrible bloodcurdling sound and it carried with it a quick image of Chase clad in nothing but a loincloth, a feather in his hair, black paint streaked across his face. The image imprinted itself on her mind and she felt a sudden sense of unease. For the first time, the fact that he was an Indian registered in her mind. He had fought against the army, had killed white men. Women and children, too, for all she knew.

  Spurred on by a sudden unreasoning panic, she kicked the mare again, then slapped the end of the reins across the sorrel’s neck. “Faster!” she begged.

  She screamed as an arm snaked around her waist, lifting her from the saddle.

  “Beth. Beth!” Chase reined his horse to a halt, grunting with pain as Beth pounded her fists against his chest. “Beth!”

  Breathing hard, she blinked at him. “Chase? Oh, Chase, for a moment I was so scared.”

  She felt him stiffen. “Of me?”

  “Yes…no…that is…” She looked away, feeling suddenly foolish for letting her imagination run wild.

  Very carefully, he lowered her to the ground, then swung out of the saddle. “Tell me.” It was not a request.

  Beth stared at the two horses who were standing together, heads hanging, tails swishing.

  “Tell me what frightened you.”

  “Nothing. It’s silly.”

  “I would have no secrets between us.”

  “It was that war cry,” Beth said, not meeting his gaze. “It scared me and…” She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “I looked at you and I imagined you riding to war against the army,” she said, her words coming in a rush. “I imagined your face streaked with paint and your hands red with blood, and…”

  “And you saw an Indian.”

  She nodded, feeling more miserable than she’d ever felt in her life.
/>   “I will take you home.”

  “What?” She stared up at him, certain she had misunderstood him.

  “I will take you home,” he repeated, his voice void of emotion. It no longer mattered that he was wanted for stealing a white man’s horse. He no longer cared if they hanged him.

  “But I don’t want to go home.”

  He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

  “Chase, please. I’m sorry. I just let my imagination get the best of me, that’s all.”

  He didn’t say anything, only continued to stare at her as if she were a stranger.

  “Chase! Please, talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make things right.”

  “You will never look at me the same again,” he replied, his voice so quiet, his eyes filled with such pain, that it broke her heart.

  “That’s not true. I love you.” She started to touch him, then jerked her hand away at the warning look in his eyes.

  “Chase, please don’t turn me away. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’ve got to believe me.”

  He turned his back to her, not wanting her to see how badly her words had wounded him. What had started as a harmless game had opened a chasm between them, one he wasn’t sure he could cross again.

  And then he felt her arms curl around his waist, felt her cheek press against his back. The warmth of her tears penetrated his shirt, and he knew he would risk his heart, his very life, to stay with her.

  “Say you forgive me.” Her voice was soft and low and thick with anguish.

  “Beth.” Turning, he placed his hands at her waist and gazed down into her eyes, beautiful earth-brown eyes glistening with tears. “It’s true, I fought against the whites. I killed many men. There was hatred in my heart, my hands were stained with the blood of my enemies. But I never killed women or children. I would never hurt you.”

  “I know.” Her hand trembled as she reached up and caressed his cheek. “I know.”

  “I love you, Beth. If you do not wish to stay with me, you have only to say so, and I will take you home.”

  “I am home,” she said, smiling. “Here, with you.”

  He drew her up against him, his arms wrapping around her in a hug that threatened to crack her ribs. It felt wonderful.

  They reached the town of Sandy Flats three days later.

  Chase reined his horse to a halt just outside of the town, his expression ambivalent.