Under Apache Skies

by Madeline Baker

  Ridge was pondering the possibility of laying her down in the hay and whiling away a pleasant hour or two when she twisted out of his arms and slapped him across the face. Hard.

  “Don’t you ever do that again,” she warned, her voice as frosty as winter ice.

  Ignoring her, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again, hard and quick, and then, before she could react, he turned and left the barn, whistling softly.

  Outside, he lifted his hand and rubbed his cheek. She packed quite a wallop, he thought with a grin, but it had been worth it.

  Marty stared after him, her fingertips pressed to her lips. Why had Longtree kissed her? Why had she let him? And why had she kissed him back? She had caught Dani in Longtree’s arms last night, so why was he kissing her this morning? Making comparisons? Or was he in the habit of kissing every woman he met?

  Marty blew out a sigh. It was obvious Mr. Ridge Longtree had been smitten with her little sister, just like every other man.

  No matter where they went, men turned to stare at Dani, and who could blame them? Dani was beyond beautiful. She had a lovely willowy figure, big green eyes, skin that refused to tan, and an air of helplessness that men seemed to find appealing. Next to Dani, Marty felt like an ungainly heifer.

  Pulling Longtree’s kerchief out of her pocket, she blew her nose again and then wiped her eyes. Longtree was right. She had come out to the barn because she didn’t want Dani to see her crying. One of them had to be strong, and that responsibility had always fallen on Marty’s shoulders. When Dani found a spider in her room, it was Marty who killed it. When Dani had nightmares, it was Marty who soothed her fears. When the men needed extra help with the branding or the castrating, Marty pitched in to help while Dani hid away in the house, unable to bear the stink of burning hide or the bawling of the calves. It wasn’t that her sister was helpless. Dani kept the house clean, she did the cooking and the mending and all the other household chores, but there were times, especially at branding time or during the spring roundup when another pair of hands would have been a big help.

  Marty knew it wasn’t all Dani’s fault. Pa had always made excuses for Dani—she was too young, she was too delicate, she was too impressionable to be exposed to the rough behavior and the coarse language of the cowboys. If she was going to be honest with herself, Marty knew she was as much to blame as Pa. She was just as guilty of coddling Dani as he was.

  Taking a deep breath, Marty straightened her shirt, dusted off the seat of her jeans, and walked up to the house.

  Dani was in the kitchen making breakfast. She glanced over her shoulder when Marty entered the room. “Where were you?”

  “Nowhere.” Marty shrugged. “Just out in the barn.”

  “Breakfast is ready. I don’t really feel much like eating, though.”

  “You’ve got to eat. Starving yourself won’t bring Pa back.”

  “I know.” Dani set two plates on the table. “Do you think Mama will come home?”

  “This isn’t her home anymore,” Marty replied bitterly. “She didn’t want to be here when Pa was alive. Why would she come now?”

  Dani looked away, but not before Marty saw the tears in her eyes.

  Marty blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Dani.”

  She took a seat at the table. Maybe one of these days she would learn to think before she blurted out what was on her mind. She knew Dani still missed their mother, still hoped that someday Nettie would return to the ranch. There had been a time when those hopes had been Marty’s as well, but no more. Where there had once been love in her heart for her mother, there was only bitterness now. Bitterness and anger for the hurt her mother had caused her father and Dani, especially Dani.

  Dani filled their plates with scrambled eggs and ham, then bowed her head to pray. Marty dutifully bowed her head as well, but instead of listening to Dani’s prayer, her mind filled with the memory of Ridge Longtree’s kiss. She never should have hired that dreadful man, with his midnight blue eyes and insolent smile.

  The worst of it was, she was going to have to ask him to ride along with them when they went into town. She had considered asking Scanlan or one of the hands to ride in with her, but she knew the men all had chores of their own to take care of. And, if she were completely honest with herself, she knew she would feel safer with Longtree than with anyone else.

  “Marty? Marty!”

  She glanced up, wondering how many times Dani had called her name. “What?”

  “What time are we leaving?”

  “Oh. About half an hour, I guess.” Rising, she carried her dishes to the sink. “I’ll meet you at the barn.”

  Grabbing her jacket off the hall tree, Marty left the house. She paused on the front porch and took a deep breath. She loved the way the land looked after a good rain. The sky was bright and clear, dotted with a few stray clouds. Everything looked and smelled fresh and clean.

  Glancing at the bunkhouse, she summoned her courage. She wasn’t looking forward to asking Longtree to go with them. The man made her nervous, made her think about things she had no business thinking about.

  Putting a difficult task off never made it any easier, and, with that in mind, she descended the steps and walked toward the bunkhouse, her boots squishing in the mud.

  She found Longtree sitting on his cot, a game of solitaire spread out in front of him. He was dressed pretty much as he had been the first time she saw him. His trousers were black wool and looked custom made. His shirt was dark blue, emphasizing the color of his eyes. His hat hung on a hook over his bed.

  He looked up as she entered the room, one brow raised.

  “We’re going into town,” she said brusquely. “I want you to ride along.”

  “All right.”

  “We’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She should have turned and left then. She had said what she had to say but she stood rooted to the spot, held by his dark blue gaze, by the almost palpable attraction that hummed between them. It was a new sensation for her, and it left her feeling confused and uneasy. She didn’t even like the man, so why did she have the sudden urge to close the door and shut out the rest of the world?

  Her heart began to pound as he rose from the cot in a single fluid motion. He grabbed his hat and settled it on his head, then strode toward her, his long legs quickly covering the short distance between them until he was standing in front of her, forcing her to tilt her head back so she could see his face. She didn’t like having to look up at him.

  “What…what are you doing?” she asked, hating the breathless quality in her voice.

  He thumbed his hat back on his head. “Going out to saddle my horse,” he replied, his voice suddenly low and intimate. “What did you think I was going to do?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “I…um…nothing.”

  He smiled down at her, one brow arched, a knowing look in his eyes, a look that caused her cheeks to burn even more.

  His gaze moved over her face, lingering on her lips, before he stepped past her, his body lightly brushing hers. The mere touch of his arm and thigh against hers sent shivers down her spine.

  Turning, she watched him stride toward the barn. He was a dangerous man to have around, she thought. Dangerous in more ways than one.

  Marty slid a surreptitious glance at Ridge Longtree as he rode beside the buckboard on the way into town. He rode easily in the saddle, his hat pulled low, his hand resting on his thigh near the butt of his gun. A casual observer might think he was completely oblivious to what was going on around him, but she knew better. He was aware of everything around them. And she was acutely aware of him—of the way he sat in his saddle, the way he held the reins, the squint lines around his eyes. His eyes. At times they were as hard as flint and yet this morning…this morning his gaze had turned her insides to mush. Now just looking at him made her feel…shoot, she wasn’t sure what she felt. Nervous? Excited? Apprehensive? No other man had ever a
ffected her so strangely, or so strongly.

  She’d had her share of suitors over the years. After all, the men far outnumbered the women in this part of the territory. But none of the men who had come courting had appealed to her. They were too old, too young, too foolish, or just too darned ugly. She had turned them down one and all, especially Victor Claunch. She grimaced at the mere thought of him. He was a tall, heavily built man with dark brown hair and cold hazel eyes. He was also the richest man in the territory and accustomed to having his own way—with everything. He was determined that the Flynn ranch would be his, and Marty was just as determined that it would never be his, even if she had to burn the place down lock, stock, and barrel!

  Claunch. Even if she couldn’t prove it, she was certain he had killed her father.

  She glanced over at Longtree again. She had a feeling Longtree would shoot Claunch for her and never bat an eye if she just had the nerve to ask him, but if she did that, she’d be no better than Claunch.

  Chimney Creek was a good-sized town. It had three churches and twice that many saloons, a new schoolhouse, a fancy two-story hotel, a couple of restaurants and dress shops, a general store, and a meat market. The doctor’s office was sandwiched between the bank and the sheriff’s office. The barbershop was at the far end of the street. The barber also acted as the town dentist.

  McClain’s Funeral Parlor was located across from the newspaper office. Marty pulled up in front and set the brake. Joe Alexander, the newspaper editor, crossed the street as she alighted from the buckboard. He was a short, rotund man, balding, with a fringe of wispy gray hair, and watery blue eyes behind round spectacles. He had been one of the town’s first inhabitants, along with Jim Eggers, who owned the hotel, and Jonas Murray, who owned the stage line.

  “Miss Flynn, I was sorry to hear about your father.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Alexander.”

  “He was a fine man.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, you just let me know.”

  “I will, thank you.”

  Turning away, the newspaperman tipped his hat to Dani. He paused in the middle of the street when he saw Longtree, a frown wrinkling his brow.

  “What was that all about?” Marty asked when Ridge joined them.

  He shrugged. “Beats me.”

  “Do you know each other?”

  “Not as I recall.”

  With a shrug, Marty stepped up on the boardwalk.

  “I’ll wait for you out here,” Ridge said.

  “All right. We won’t be long.”

  Taking her sister by the hand, Marty opened the door to the funeral parlor and stepped inside.

  Ridge stood on the boardwalk, his shoulder propped against one of the uprights that supported the roof overhang. Tugging his hat down, he stared after the newspaperman, wondering if the man had recognized him. Ridge had never been in Chimney Creek before, but there had been some flyers out on him in the past. It was possible one of them had made it here.

  Dismissing the idea, he glanced up and down the street. It looked like a decent town. A number of men were gathered at the blacksmith shop across the way, their voices raised as they discussed the upcoming election.

  Ridge blew out a sigh. It had been years since he had hired out his gun. After his last job, he’d vowed never to do it again, yet here he was, playing hired gun for a couple of females. He shook his head ruefully. Working for a woman was never a good idea. Working for two of them was probably worse, especially when one of them was as young and beautiful as Dani Flynn. It would be no trouble to seduce her, he mused. No trouble at all. A few compliments, a couple of kisses in the moonlight, and she would be his for the taking. Unfortunately, tender young virgins had never appealed to him. He liked women, not girls.

  Women like Martha Flynn.

  He pulled away from that thought like a jackrabbit from a rattlesnake. Marty Flynn was as thorny as a prickly pear. A man would have to be crazy to get involved with her. But there was nothing prickly about her kisses. Her lips were as soft and smooth as the petals of a wild rose.

  He swore under his breath. He was here on business, nothing more. He’d find out who killed old man Flynn and then be on his way. Maybe he’d mosey on down to El Paso for a while, or head on over to Virginia City and renew acquaintances with that pretty little girl who worked at the mercantile. Hell, maybe he’d head south and spend the summer with the Apache. It had been a damn sight too long since he had paid a visit to his mother’s people. Yet even as the thought of going home crossed his mind, he knew he wouldn’t.

  So how best to go about finding the old man’s killer? The only real clue they had was that the killer rode a horse that had a tendency to drag its left hind foot. Not really much to go on, he thought, but it was all they had, that and the missing pocket watch.

  He was still trying to figure out a plan of action when a ruckus over at the blacksmith’s shop drew his attention. Glancing over his shoulder, Longtree saw that the discussion had gone from heated words to fisticuffs. Two men were rolling around in the street trading blows while another dozen or so looked on, whooping and hollering and making bets on which man would win. Ridge shook his head. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. The younger man was putting up a good fight, but he didn’t have a chance.

  Ridge was enjoying the show when Marty and Dani emerged from the funeral parlor.

  Dani’s eyes widened when she saw the scuffle.

  Marty shook her head in disgust. “Come on, Dani; let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait! Isn’t that Cory?”

  “Yes, the fool. Thinking he can take on Ben Watkins when the man outweighs him by a good forty pounds. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Dani stared at the two men, her teeth worrying her lower lip as the two men continued to slug it out.

  Ridge looked at Marty. “You want me to break it up?”

  “You?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you think you can?”

  His eyes filled with amusement. “Do you think I can’t?” Without waiting for an answer, Ridge stepped out into the street. When the two men separated a moment, Ridge drew his Colt and fired into the dirt between them. “That’s enough,” he said curtly. “You’re upsetting the women.”

  The two men turned to stare at him. “Mind your own business,” the bigger of the two said, scowling.

  “I am minding my business,” Ridge replied, holstering his weapon. “I work for Miss Flynn, here, and your fighting was upsetting her little sister.”

  A few titters ran through the crowd of onlookers at the blacksmith’s shop. The younger man—Cory, no doubt—flushed scarlet. The second man took a step forward. He was a big, bulky man, with hunched shoulders and bushy eyebrows.

  “Ben, don’t.” The warning came from a tall, grizzled man wearing a pair of faded overalls. The muscles in his arms clearly proclaimed that he was the town blacksmith.

  The man called Ben scowled over his shoulder. “Mind your own business, Hofstetter.”

  “Don’t be a damn fool,” the blacksmith warned softly. “He’s a gunslinger.”

  Ben’s eyes narrowed. He stared at Ridge for several moments, then, apparently deciding his friend was right, he turned and shuffled down the street.

  “Here, now, what’s going on here?”

  Ridge swore under his breath as a man wearing a badge arrived on the scene. That was all he needed, he thought irritably, a run-in with the local law.

  “Nothing, Sam,” the blacksmith said jovially. “Couple of the boys got into a little scuffle, that’s all. No harm done.”

  The lawman’s gaze moved over the crowd at the blacksmith’s shop, settled briefly on Ridge, then moved across the street to where Marty and Dani stood, looking on. He nodded to the women, then swung his attention back to Ridge.

  “You’re new in town, aren’t you?” he asked.

  Ridge nodded.

  “Just passing through?”

  M
arty Flynn stepped off the boardwalk. “He’s working for us, Sam.”

  The lawman regarded Ridge a moment more, then turned his attention to Marty. “I was sorry to hear about your father.”

  “Thank you. The funeral’s set for tomorrow morning at ten.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have…have bushwhacked him?”

  “No, I surely don’t, but we’ll keep looking.” The marshal glanced at Ridge. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I didn’t give it.”

  Marty sent a warning glance at Ridge, and then smiled at the lawman. “Sam, this is Ridge Longtree. Mr. Longtree, this is Sam Bruckner.”

  The two men shook hands warily.

  “You about ready to go, Miss Flynn?” Ridge asked.

  “Yes, but first I need to send a wire. Goodbye, Sam.”

  Bruckner tipped his hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  With a nod, Marty set off down the street toward the telegraph office. Dani smiled shyly at Cory, who was standing outside the blacksmith’s shop dabbing at his bloody lip with his kerchief, and then hurried after her sister.

  Conscious of the lawman’s gaze on his back, Ridge followed the two women down the street.

  Once again, he remained out on the boardwalk while they went inside. He didn’t know whom they were sending the wire to, but figured it was most likely to a member of the family.

  There were tears in Dani’s eyes when she stepped out of the telegraph office. Ridge glanced at Marty, one brow raised inquisitively. She dismissed his unspoken question with a shake of her head, then took Dani by the hand and moved down the boardwalk to where she had left the buckboard.

  Ridge lifted Dani onto the front seat, grinning inwardly as she smiled at him while murmuring her thanks.

  He walked around the buckboard, intending to offer Marty a hand, but she waved him away and climbed up on her own.

  With a rueful shake of his head, he swung into the saddle. “Where to now, ladies?”