Under Apache Skies

by Madeline Baker

  “What is it?” Marty asked, coming up behind him. They had been on the trail for five days now. It had been slow going. Sometimes the tracks were almost invisible. One night a cloudburst washed out the trail, which cost them valuable time the next day while Ridge scouted the area until he picked it up again. “What’s wrong?”

  “They’ve taken Cory’s boots and Dani’s shoes.”

  “What do you mean? Dani’s barefooted?”

  “No, they’ve put moccasins on her and the boy. See here.” He gestured at two sets of moccasin prints that were a little smaller than the others. “One set probably belongs to Dani.”

  “What about the other one? Cory’s feet are bigger than that.”

  “There could be a novice riding with the war party. A young warrior,” Ridge explained. “Or one of the warriors could be a woman.”

  “A woman?”

  “It’s not uncommon. Lozen is a warrior woman.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re just saying that.”

  “No, it’s true. From the time she was a little girl, she made it clear to everyone that she wanted to be a warrior like her brother, Victorio. She dresses like a warrior and she fights like one.” He grinned. “I’d rather tangle with a mountain lion than a woman warrior with her dander up. I heard once that when she was going out on a war party with her brother, she made the warriors promise that if her brother was killed in battle, they would eat his body rather than let it fall into the hands of their enemies.”

  Marty grimaced at the morbid images his words painted in her mind. “Is she still alive?”

  “Last I heard. Besides being a hell of a fighter, she’s also a medicine woman who has a unique gift for being able to find the enemy. I’ve heard it said she finds some quiet place to pray and that while she prays, she holds her arms outstretched with her palms turned toward the sky. She turns in a slow circle until her palms tingle and then she knows from what direction they’re coming.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “It is that. Handy, too.”

  Marty gestured at the ground. “You can still follow their trail, can’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Ridge moved through the deserted camp, checking the droppings left by the horses, stirring the cold ashes of the fire. “They’re still a good day and a half ahead of us.”

  “But we’ll find them? We’ll catch them?”

  “Sooner or later.” Ridge followed the tracks with his eyes. The Indians were still trailing south, toward the Dragoons. For Cory’s sake, it had better be sooner, but he didn’t mention that to Marty.

  Taking up his horse’s reins, Ridge swung into the saddle. He had been afraid having Marty along would slow him down, but that hadn’t been the case so far. She didn’t complain about the long hours in the saddle, bedding down on the ground, or the rough fare. When he said no fire, she didn’t argue. Best of all, she made the best camp coffee he had ever tasted, even better than his own.

  “I’ve been boiling coffee over a campfire most of my life,” she said when he remarked on it. “I’ve always helped out with the cutting and the branding, and I always went on roundups with…” She took a deep breath. “With Pa and the hands.”

  Ridge grunted softly. In her own way, Martha Jean was as much a warrior woman as Lozen or Dahteste. “Why did your mother go back east?”

  “Pa said it was because she hated it here.”

  “Why didn’t you and Dani go with her?”

  “We didn’t have a chance. We woke up one day and Nettie was gone. No note, no goodbye. She just left.”

  He noted again that she always called her mother by her given name. “And she never sent for you?”

  “No. When Dani found out Nettie was gone, she wanted to go and stay with her. Pa said if it was all right with Nettie, Dani could go. She wrote to Nettie that night, but Nettie never answered her letter.”

  “How do you know she got it?”

  Marty shrugged. “Dani wrote Nettie every few weeks. Surely one of her letters would have gotten through.”

  “Would you have gone with your mother, if you’d had the chance?”

  “No. I love it here; I always have. And I couldn’t have left Pa. I couldn’t have left him here, alone. Not after Nettie ran out on him.”

  She stared into the distance. She couldn’t believe her father was dead. He had been a harsh man, but he had always had a tender spot for her. He had been proud of her ability to rope and ride, and often said there wasn’t a man on the ranch who could sit a horse as well as she did. She had basked in his approval. And now he was gone. She wished she could have told him she loved him one more time.

  With a nod, Ridge touched his heels to his horse’s flanks.

  Blinking back her tears, Marty followed him. She gazed at the surrounding countryside. She had never been this far away from the ranch before, at least not on horseback. She had tried to convince her father to take her along on trail drives, but he had adamantly refused. Roundups were one thing, he’d said, but trail drives were out of the question. No matter how she’d argued or begged, he had never relented. He had been willing to let her spend a few days in the company of the cowhands during roundup, eating trail grub and sleeping under the stars. Trail drives lasted a month or more, and as far as he had been concerned, that was just too far, too long. Besides, he’d argued, he couldn’t expect the men to mind their manners and their language for weeks at a time, and he didn’t want her showing up back home knowing more bad words than she knew when she left.

  They rode for hours, going deeper and deeper into Indian country. Once again, Marty’s thoughts turned to her sister. Poor Dani. She must be terrified. She hadn’t gone on trail rides, wasn’t used to sleeping outdoors or eating food cooked over a campfire. She was used to the comforts of home, of sleeping on a soft bed and bathing every day. She hated getting her hands dirty, refused to wear the same dress more than two days in a row.

  Why had the Indians taken her sister? She shied away from the obvious answer. Apache men were still men, and Dani was young and beautiful. What other reason did they need? And where did that leave Cory? Again, she shied away from the answer that quickly came to mind. Everyone knew the Apache were a brutal, merciless people. She had heard lurid stories of Apache prisoners who had been tied to wagon wheels and used for target practice, of prisoners buried up to their necks, then covered with honey and left for the ants. She had never heard any tales of Apache showing mercy or pity. Instead, she had grown up on tales of their treachery…

  So why was she putting her trust in Ridge Longtree? He was half Apache. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he could be as cruel and ruthless as the rest.

  She looked at him now, riding easy in the saddle, his hat pulled low to shade his face, one hand resting idly on the butt of his Colt. A casual observer might think he was hardly aware of his surroundings, might even think he was dozing in the saddle. But she knew otherwise, wouldn’t be surprised if he knew exactly how many jackrabbits they had passed in the last hour and if they were male or female.

  She looked down at the ground again, needing to see the trail. Those faint, barely visible hoofprints were her only link to Dani, her one and only hope of getting her sister back.

  And still they rode on. After a time, the silence wore on her nerves. “So what brought you to our ranch?” she asked, unable to endure the quiet another minute.

  “Just geography, I guess.”

  “Geography?”

  “I was headin’ west and your place was in the way.”

  “I see. How far west were you planning to go?”

  “San Francisco, California.”

  “Really? I’ve never been there.”

  “Me, either.” He looked over at her and grinned. “I reckon it’ll still be there after I find your sister and take care of Claunch.”

  “Claunch.” She spat the name as if it tasted bad.

  “Just why do you think he’s the one who killed your old man?”

  Marty stood
up in the stirrups to stretch her back and shoulders, then settled into the saddle again. “He’s made no secret of the fact that he wants our ranch. He’s been trying to buy us out for the last five years.”

  “That doesn’t make him a murderer, just persistent.”

  “Why do you think he’s innocent?”

  Ridge shrugged. “I didn’t say that. I just wondered why you’re so certain he’s guilty.”

  Marty frowned. She didn’t have any real evidence against Victor Claunch other than her dislike for the man. She wasn’t even sure why she disliked him so thoroughly, except that his very presence annoyed her. And if he wasn’t guilty, then who was? Claunch was the only person she knew who had a motive. And it seemed awfully suspicious that every time her father had turned down one of Claunch’s offers to buy them out, something had gone wrong at the ranch. A river dried up. One of the outbuildings caught fire. A couple hundred head of cattle took sick and died. It couldn’t be coincidence every time.

  Thoughts of Claunch and the ranch brought her mother to mind, and she wondered what Nettie was doing. Had she put the home place up for sale?

  Her thoughts scattered as she and Longtree crossed a shallow stream. The Dragoon Mountains loomed ahead, high, rocky cliffs that rose in jagged splendor against the vast blue vault of the sky. Although it seemed as if they were thousands of miles from civilization, there were a number of towns within a few days’ ride. She had even been to a few of them with her father, towns like Benson and Bisbee and Tombstone.

  They made camp at dusk. Marty kept glancing over her shoulder as she dug a shallow pit and gathered wood for the fire, half expecting to see an Apache war party sneaking up on them. She told herself they should be safe enough. After all, Ridge was part Indian. Of course, that didn’t mean she was safe.

  She filled the battered coffeepot with water, her gaze drawn toward where Longtree was looking after the horses. She enjoyed watching him. He spoke softly to the horses as he removed the saddles and blankets, his movements swift and sure. She shivered as he ran his hands down her mare’s neck, all too easily imagining those large, capable hands moving over her own body. He looked up just then. His gaze brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. She told herself it was silly of her to feel embarrassed. There was no way he could possibly know what she was thinking. Or was there?

  A slow smile spread over his lips as he ran his hand over her mare’s neck again. Discomfited, Marty turned her attention back to the coffeepot, surreptitiously watching Longtree again. He spent a few minutes scratching his stud’s ears before he hobbled both of the horses for the night.

  When he started toward the campsite, she busied herself with fixing the evening meal. Even when she wasn’t watching him, she seemed to know exactly where he was, could feel his gaze following her every move. It made her body tingle with an awareness she had never known before she met him. She grinned inwardly. Lozen tingled when the enemy was near, Marty mused, but she tingled whenever Ridge was close by.

  She felt that awareness now as he sat down behind her. And because she was trying to ignore him instead of concentrating on what she was doing, she accidentally sliced her thumb on the lid of the tin can she was trying to open.

  Gasping in pain and surprise, she dropped the can, oblivious to the peaches and juice that scattered on the ground. She stared at the bright red blood oozing from the cut at the base of her thumb.

  He was beside her in an instant. “What happened?”

  She held her hand out, palm up, so he could see.

  Removing his kerchief, he soaked it in water from the canteen and wiped the blood from her hand. He quickly rinsed the cloth, wet it again, then wrapped it tightly around her thumb and held her hand in his. “You need to be more careful.”

  She nodded, her gaze drawn to his.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No.” She was too caught up in his nearness, in the touch of his hand, calloused and warm, on hers, to feel anything else. “Is it very deep?”

  “No. You were lucky.” His gaze searched hers, settling on her mouth for stretched seconds before meeting her eyes.

  She licked her lips, unnerved by his nearness, by the desire rising in the deep blue depths of his eyes. His eyes burned hotter as his gaze followed the tip of her tongue sliding over her lips.

  “Dammit, Martha Jean, do you know what you’re doing to me?” he muttered, and before she could say yes or no, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Her eyelids fluttered down, and she was lost in the searing heat of his mouth on hers. His free hand traveled restlessly up her spine, slid slowly down her back, his touch giving birth to little shivers of pleasure. She sucked in a deep breath as his hand settled on her hip and pulled her closer, letting her feel the need rising within him.

  He swore softly as she pressed against him. “Martha?” She looked up at him, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes cloudy with passion. “Have you ever done this before?”

  She stared at him blankly. “Done what?”

  “Have you ever been with a man before?”

  “No.” Her hand cupped his nape, drawing his head down. “Kiss me.”

  He drew in a long, shuddering breath and let it out in a sigh of exasperation. He’d never deflowered a virgin in his life, and, as tempting as this particular flower was, he wasn’t going to start now.

  Placing his hands on her shoulders, he put her away from him and strode into the darkness, softly cursing the ache her nearness had aroused in him.

  What was he going to do about Martha Jean Flynn? Back at the ranch, he could have found a dozen ways to elude her. But there was no way to avoid her out here. He couldn’t ride off and leave her behind, couldn’t pretend she wasn’t there, not when he was aware of her presence every minute of the day. And worse, every minute of the night. Like now.

  From the shadows, he watched her finish preparing the evening meal, noting the way she moved, the way she repeatedly brushed a stubborn lock of hair from her forehead, the way the light from the campfire caressed her face, the way her breasts strained against her shirt. Damn and double damn! Watching her wasn’t doing anything to ease the ache in his jeans.

  And it only got worse later that night while he watched her brush out her hair. It was a curiously sensual thing, watching her drag the bristles through her hair, which shimmered like auburn silk in the light of the fire. He longed to take the brush from her grasp and run his hands through the heavy fall of her hair, to bury his face in its softness, to lay her down on her bedroll and bury himself deep within her.

  As though sensing his thoughts, she glanced over her shoulder. Feeling his gaze, she froze, the brush in midair. Like a rabbit cornered by a mountain lion, she didn’t move, only stared at him, watchful and waiting. The tension hummed between them. She wanted him, wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Hands clenched, he stared back at her. She was here and he wanted her.

  He took a step toward her, his earlier good intentions overpowered by the primal need burning through him.

  She watched him a moment, her eyes wide and scared, and then she tossed her brush aside, dove into her bedroll, and pulled the covers up over her head.

  Ridge sat down on his own blankets and fished the makings out of his shirt pocket, grinning ruefully as he rolled a cigarette.

  In the morning, she refused to meet his gaze. With a shake of his head, Ridge led the horses to water, then checked their feet and saddled them while Martha Jean prepared breakfast. He thought she was going to jump out of her skin when he sat down beside her to eat.

  “Dammit, girl, take it easy,” he said. “I’m not gonna bite you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered, her cheeks a bright red.

  “You’re not making this any easier.” He sipped his coffee. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.”

  “Isn’t there? I wasn’t brought up to roll around in the dirt with a man I hardly know.”

  “You know me, honey. You knew me the minute I rode int
o the yard.”

  She looked at him then, and he saw the truth of his words in her eyes.

  “I want you,” he said quietly. “You want me. There’s no shame in it.”

  She stared at him, mute. He couldn’t blame her. For all that she had been raised on a ranch surrounded by men, he doubted if anyone had ever spoken to her so bluntly. He wondered if Nettie had talked to her oldest daughter about intimacy between a man and a woman.

  “Do you want me to take you back to the ranch?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? There’s no telling how long we’ll be out here.”

  She nodded, well aware of what he wasn’t saying. They could be spending many more nights together, just the two of them. But she couldn’t let him take her back home. It would waste too much time. Time Dani might not have.

  “What I said before still goes. I’m a stubborn man, and likely to try again.”

  The flush in her cheeks grew brighter.

  “But if you say no, I’ll respect your wishes.”

  She nodded and they finished the meal in silence.

  Marty quickly packed up the last of their gear. A short time later, they were riding again. She hung back a little, still embarrassed by what had happened between them the night before and his reference to it this morning. Part of her embarrassment came from her ignorance. She was twenty-three years old, yet she knew very little about what went on between men and women other than what she had overheard from the ranch hands. None of the hands were married, though, and all their experience seemed to be with saloon girls.

  When they had been younger, she and Dani had often talked about it, wondering what all the fuss was about. They had watched horses breed, which had led to some interesting speculation about male anatomy which, Marty was thankful, had been put to rest when Marty accidentally saw one of the hands with his trousers down. Neither Marty or Dani had felt comfortable taking their questions to Pa. She had a feeling Longtree could tell her everything she wanted to know, and then some.

  They rode at a quick walk, with Ridge stopping every so often to check the trail. “I’m surprised that the Indians don’t make any effort to hide their tracks,” she remarked.