Under Apache Skies

by Madeline Baker

  Nettie Flynn had come home.

  She should go upstairs and wake Dani.

  She glanced at the back door, tempted once again to turn tail and run away just as far and fast as she could.

  “Martha Jean?”

  Willing her hands to stop shaking, Marty turned around to face her mother.

  “What bedroom should I use?” Nettie asked quietly.

  “Why are you asking me? Like I said, the house is yours now. I guess you can have any room you want.”

  “That bitter tone is most unbecoming.”

  Marty squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Get used to it. As long as you’re going upstairs, why don’t you wake Dani? I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have chores that need doing.”

  Putting her cup in the sink, Marty grabbed her hat off the hook by the back door and left the house. It was all she could do to keep from running toward the barn. She needed to get away, at least for a little while. Needed to get used to the idea of Nettie being at the ranch again. Needed to start thinking of what she would do, where she would go, if Nettie sold the ranch.

  Caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t see Ridge Longtree until it was too late.

  “Whoa, girl!” he said as she barreled into him. “Where are you going in such an all-fired hurry?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

  “Yeah, I guessed that.” He held her at arm’s length. “Are you all right?”

  “No, I’m not. I may never be all right again.”

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  “Yes. No. My mother’s come back.”

  So he’d been right. Nettie Flynn had come home at last. He regarded Marty thoughtfully for a moment. “From the look on your face, I’d guess you don’t want her here.”

  “Of course I don’t want her here!” Shrugging out of his arms, she began to pace in front of the barn.

  “All right, spit it out; what’s got you so riled up?” Ridge crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s got to be more than the fact that your mother’s come home. Hell, you must have been expecting her. You wired her about your old man, didn’t you?”

  Marty nodded curtly. “All right, I’ll tell you why I’m so upset! Daddy left her the ranch!”

  “So?”

  She stared at him in exasperation. “Don’t you see? If she doesn’t want it, she can sell it, just like that!”

  “Didn’t he leave you anything?”

  “He left me the stock.”

  He nodded, understanding at last. “So if she decides to sell the ranch, you’ve got no place to graze the herd.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Maybe your old man figured it was a way to bring you and your mother back together.”

  Marty made a sound of disdain in her throat. “Then he was badly mistaken! I don’t want to have anything to do with her. I just want her gone.”

  “Maybe she won’t want to sell.”

  “Why would she want to stay?”

  Ridge glanced past Marty. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Marty turned to see her mother walking toward them, the hem of her skirt hiked up to keep it from dragging in the dirt.

  “Martha Jean, here you are.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Danielle isn’t in her room. She isn’t in the house at all.”

  Marty shrugged. Dani sometimes went riding early in the morning. “Cal!” she called to one of the hands who had just ridden in to get a fresh mount. “Did you see Dani this morning?”

  “No, ma’am, but I noticed her horse was gone when I rode out after breakfast.”

  Marty frowned. Dani sometimes got up early, but never as early as the cowhands.

  “Where do you think she’s gone?” Nettie asked.

  “I don’t know.” Marty looked at Ridge. “You haven’t seen her either?”

  “Not since late last night.”

  “When? Where? How late?”

  “Sometime after eleven. I figured she was sneaking out to meet the Mulvaney kid.”

  Marty stared at him, her hands fisted on her hips. “And you didn’t stop her?”

  Ridge shrugged. “I wasn’t hired to look after your sister.”

  “Did you see her come back?”

  “No. I heard a noise out behind the barn a little later and I went to check it out. For all I know, she could have shinnied back up the tree while I was gone.”

  “Did you notice which way she went?”

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “She started off toward the creek. I’ll go check it out, see what I can find.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “I’ll wait up at the house,” Nettie said.

  Ridge waited for Marty to answer, and when she didn’t, he said, “That’s a good idea, Mrs. Flynn. We’ll walk you back.” At Marty’s frown of annoyance, he added, “I need to check your sister’s tracks, make sure she didn’t veer off in some other direction before she reached the water.”

  They left Nettie Flynn standing on the porch, one hand clutching an upright, an anxious expression on her face.

  It only took a few moments for Ridge to pick up Dani’s footprints. They were the only fresh tracks leading away from the side of the house toward the creek. Marty trailed behind him, stepping where he stepped.

  Ten minutes later he hunkered down on his heels near the edge of the creek, easily reading what had happened in the scuffed footprints left in the damp ground along the shore.

  “She met someone here, the Mulvaney boy, most likely. They were standing close.” Ridge looked up at Marty and grinned. “Kissing, I reckon.”

  She made a face at him.

  Ridge chuckled, then turned his attention to the ground once more. He studied the tracks another few minutes.

  Rising, he shook his head. “They’re long gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  Ridge took a deep breath, wondering how she’d take the news. “They’ve been captured by Apache.”

  “What? I don’t believe you. The Indians have never bothered us.”

  “See that? It’s a moccasin print.”

  She looked where he pointed. The footprint was barely visible. If Ridge hadn’t pointed it out to her, she never would have noticed it.

  “I was coming up to the house to talk to you earlier, before your mother arrived. I found some Indian sign out behind the barn last night. They were likely looking to help themselves to a couple of your horses. I reckon I scared them off.”

  “So they took Dani instead?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “We’ve got to go after her.”

  Ridge stared across the creek. The last thing he wanted to do was go back home.

  Marty frowned at his hesitation. “I know I’m not paying you to look after my sister,” she said, and he heard the tears in her voice, “but…”

  Muttering an oath, he drew her into his arms. “Hey, don’t cry. I’ll bring her back.”

  “Thank you,” she said, sniffling. “She’s all I’ve got.”

  He wanted to remind her that she still had a mother, and that she ought to spend time with her while she could, but he didn’t think Martha was in the mood to hear that just now.

  He gave her a squeeze, then let her go. “Come on, I need to get my gear together.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “How soon will you be leaving?”

  “Just as soon as I saddle up. But you’re not going. You’ll only slow me down. Besides, somebody should ride over and tell Mulvaney’s folks what happened.”

  “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Can you ask Cookie to pack me enough grub for three or four days?”

  “Of course.”

  Nettie Flynn was waiting for them on the front porch.

  “Try to be nice to her,” Ridge said, giving Marty a little push toward the ho
use.

  Marty muttered something unintelligible under her breath as he turned and headed toward the barn. “Did you find her?” Nettie asked anxiously.

  “No. Mr. Longtree says Dani and Cory were captured by Apache.”

  Nettie clutched the porch rail, all the color draining from her face. For a moment, Marty thought her mother was going to faint.

  “Captured?” Nettie repeated. “By Apache?”

  “Yes. I’m going with Mr. Longtree to look for her.”

  “Oh, Martha Jean, do you think that’s wise?”

  “Probably not, but I can’t just sit here and twiddle my thumbs. Anyway, she’s my sister, not his.”

  “Martha Jean—”

  “I’ve got to get ready. He won’t wait.” Before her mother could argue further, Marty went upstairs to pack her trail gear.

  Ridge checked the cinch on his saddle, slid his rifle into the boot, and took up the reins. Leading his horse from the barn, he glanced toward the cookhouse, wondering if Marty had talked to the cook about provisions. He was about to go find out when he saw her emerge from the building carrying two pairs of saddlebags slung over her shoulder.

  “I asked Cookie to pack enough food for a week,” she said.

  “Obliged.”

  “There’s some hardtack and jerky in there, too, in case it takes longer. Just let me get my horse.”

  “Hold on. I said you weren’t going.”

  She glared at him, her chin jutting out in that obstinate way he was beginning to recognize. “And I said I was.”

  “Dammit, woman—”

  “Don’t swear at me!” She advanced toward him until they were standing toe-to-toe. “In case you’ve forgotten, Mr. Longtree, you’re working for me, not the other way around.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But this isn’t a pleasure ride. So you can fire me, or you can stay home. Either way, I’m riding out alone.”

  “You are the most obstinate man I’ve ever met.”

  “We’re wasting time, Martha Jean.”

  “Oh! I think I hate you. I really do.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She thrust a pair of saddlebags into his hand, turned on her heel, and stomped off toward the barn.

  With a shake of his head, Ridge stared after her, admiring the sway of her hips, the way her ponytail swished back and forth. She was the damnedest woman he’d ever known.

  After lashing the saddlebags behind the cantle, he swung into the saddle and rode out of the yard, aware of Martha Flynn’s angry gaze on his back. If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man by now, he thought as he urged his horse into a lope. At the moment, Marty Flynn was least of his worries.

  Marty paced up and down in front of the barn for ten minutes, mentally calling Ridge Longtree every nasty name she could think of. Stubborn, overbearing man! She was the boss here, not him, and if she wanted to go with him to look for Dani and Cory, then, by gosh, she would go! And not Ridge Longtree nor anyone else was going to stop her!

  Slipping a bridle over her horse’s head, she led it out of the stall. She dropped the saddle blanket in place, then smoothed it out the way her father had taught her so there wouldn’t be any wrinkles to raise sores on the horse’s back. The saddle came next, and she cinched it up tight.

  Mouth set in a determined line, she tied her saddlebags behind the cantle, put her foot in the stirrup, and climbed into the saddle.

  Leave her behind, would he? Not hardly!

  She knew which way he was headed. It shouldn’t be hard to find him.

  “Martha Jean!” Her mother’s voice stopped her.

  “What do you want?” Marty asked, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I told you before. I’m going to go and look for Dani.”

  “I don’t think you should go. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I’m past caring what you think,” Marty retorted.

  Giving her horse a kick, she rode out of the yard, leaving her mother standing on the top step of the porch, staring after her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dani had never been so scared in her whole life. Not that time when she was six and she got lost in the woods. Not the time she was eight and fell out of the loft in the barn and had the breath knocked out of her. Not even when Mama left without a word.

  She stared at the Indians spread out on either side of her. They were the most fearsome-looking creatures she had ever seen. They had dark skin and thick black hair that fell to their waists. They wore breechcloths and thigh-high moccasins with turned-up toes. The paint smeared on their faces and chests made them seem even more frightening.

  She glanced over at Cory, who was riding beside her. The Indians had tied his hands behind his back. Blood was crusted in his hair. There was a nasty lump on the side of his head where one of the Indians had struck him the night before.

  She shuddered with the memory. One minute she had been wrapped in Cory’s embrace, caught up in the forbidden thrill of his kiss; the next he had slumped forward, nearly knocking her off her feet. Before she could react, before she could loose the scream that rose in her throat, one of the Indians had covered her mouth with his hand and carried her, kicking and clawing, across the creek. Another Indian had taken up the reins to Cory’s horse; a third Indian had settled Cory over his shoulder and splashed through the stream. The other five Indians had followed them, as silent as shadows.

  On the far side of the creek, the Indian carrying Cory had dumped him facedown over the back of a horse, then tied Cory’s hands and feet together beneath the animal’s belly. She had been thrust onto another horse’s back and an Indian had taken the reins.

  They had ridden until well after dawn, then stopped for a short time to rest the horses. When Cory had regained consciousness, the Indians put him astride the horse and then tied his hands behind his back.

  To her surprise, the Indians had removed her shoes and Cory’s boots and given them moccasins to wear instead. It seemed an odd thing to do, but after she thought about it awhile, she realized it was probably so anyone following them wouldn’t be able to distinguish their footprints from those of the Apache.

  Less than thirty minutes later, they were riding again. Clinging to the saddle horn, she had looked over at Cory, hoping for reassurance; instead, she had seen her own fears mirrored in his eyes. After a while, fatigue had overcome her fears. She wasn’t used to riding for long periods of time. Usually, when she went into town with Marty, they took the buckboard.

  Dani groaned softly. Her back and shoulders ached, her thighs were sore, and she was thirsty, so thirsty. Sweat beaded across her brow, pooled between her breasts, glued her shirtwaist to her back. Considering all that Cory had been through, she feared he was probably feeling even worse.

  Tears stung her eyes. When Marty found out that Cory was also missing, she would likely assume they had run off together to get married. No one would come looking for them, at least not right away. By the time Marty and the Mulvaneys realized she and Cory were missing, it would be too late. They would be so deep in Indian country that no one would ever find them.

  Dani lowered her head, blinking rapidly so Cory wouldn’t see her tears, but, try as she might, once she started crying, she couldn’t stop.

  “Dani, honey, don’t cry.”

  “I can’t help it,” she sobbed. “I’m so…so scared.”

  “I’m sure they won’t hurt you,” he said reassuringly.

  But she heard the lie in his words. She knew about the Apache. She had overheard the cowboys talking on more than one occasion. The Indians were savages, heathens who killed indiscriminately. In the old days, they had covered people with honey and buried them up to their necks in anthills. They had staked captives out in the sun, tied wet rawhide around their heads, and left them to die in agony. The Apache were known to be tireless, merciless, relentless. And even though they were supposed to be at peace, the Indians still raided the nearby ranches from time to time.

 
And now she was their prisoner. A shiver ran down her spine. She was afraid to die, so afraid, and even more afraid that they wouldn’t kill her.

  Dani slid a surreptitious glance at the warrior riding beside her, felt her heart leap into her throat when she saw that he was watching her intently.

  She quickly looked away. Why was he staring at her? What would the Apache do to her when they finally reached their destination? The answer that sprang to her mind was far more frightening than anything else she had contemplated.

  In spite of herself, she looked over at the Indian again. He returned her gaze, his expression impassive. She tried to draw her gaze from his but instead found herself noticing that his eyes were black, his brows thick and straight. He wore some sort of amulet on a rawhide thong around his neck; there were yellow zigzag marks painted on his cheeks and chest. His arms and legs were long and well muscled. The sun cast blue highlights in his hair.

  Her eyes widened as he lifted one brow, a faint smile curving his lips. With a little huff, she stared straight ahead, shocked to realize that, for an Indian, he wasn’t bad-looking, and even more mortified to think that he knew she thought so.

  And still they continued on, stopping only once to water the horses at a slow-moving river.

  She practically fell off her horse in her hurry to reach the water. Dropping to her hands and knees, she drank greedily, crying out in protest when someone pulled her away from the water.

  She glared at the Indian who had been riding beside her. “Let me go! I’m thirsty.”

  “The water is cold. You must not drink so fast. It will make you sick.”

  She jerked her arm from his grasp. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do,” she said, and then frowned in astonishment. “You speak English!”

  He grunted. “Come. We go.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “I am Sanza. How are you called?”

  “Dani.”

  “Da-ni.” He nodded. “We go now.”

  “I’m still thirsty.” Turning her back to him, she scooped water into her hands and drank and drank. The water was cold and it tasted wonderful. And then, to her horror, her stomach cramped and she vomited.