Under Apache Skies

by Madeline Baker

  He shrugged. “I don’t. But if she’d really been in love with Cory, she wouldn’t have fallen for Sanza so fast. And even though she’s saddened by the kid’s death, she doesn’t seem to be brokenhearted.”

  Marty nodded. Everything he said was true.

  Ridge studied her, one brow raised quizzically. “So what’s really bothering you? Afraid you’ll be an old maid?”

  “Of course not!” Even though it was a wild guess on his part, it was a little too close to the truth.

  “No?”

  “No.” She grabbed at the one thing guaranteed to shut him up. “I’m engaged to Victor Claunch, remember?”

  Ridge muttered a vile oath under his breath.

  Bull’s-eye, Marty thought.

  “So I guess you’ll be getting married when you get back to the ranch.”

  She glared at him across the fire. “You know darn good and well I have no intention of marrying that despicable man.”

  “So,” he said, keeping his voice carefully indifferent, “who do you intend to marry?”

  He gazed at her across the fire, his eyes dark and enigmatic.

  Who would she marry? It was a good question, and one she had asked herself on more than one occasion. There were a good number of single men in Chimney Creek. She danced with them at barbecues and church socials, discussed the weather and the price of feed when she met them on the street. Unfortunately, she wasn’t attracted to any of them and had pretty much resigned herself to being an old maid until Ridge Longtree kissed her.

  He was still watching her, his gaze intent upon her face.

  “I’ll find someone,” she said defiantly, and knew it for the lie it was. Now that she had met Ridge Longtree, she knew she would never be happy with anyone else. He was the man she had been waiting for her whole life, the reason no other man had ever been good enough.

  “Good night.” She slid under the blankets and turned her back to Ridge. She could still feel his gaze on her back when she fell asleep.

  Marty removed her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. They had been riding for a little over two hours and the sun was high in the sky. It amazed her that Ridge could find his way across the seemingly trackless desert. There was little to see and few landmarks to show the way. A hawk circled high in the sky. A lizard sunned itself on a rock. Other than that, nothing moved as far as the eye could see.

  Replacing her hat, Marty slid a glance at Ridge. They had said little since they left the stronghold that morning. He had bid farewell to Nochalo and to some of the other warriors, then packed their gear. She wondered if Ridge was sorry to be leaving the Apache so soon after such a long absence. Did he resent her? Resent the fact that he had to leave his people to take her home? If he felt that way, he could have said so. She could have waited and gone home with Dani and Sanza. Lordy, what was Nettie going to say when Dani showed up with an Apache husband?

  Marty blew out a sigh. When had life gotten so complicated? Victor Claunch expected her to marry him. Dani was married to an Apache warrior. Nettie was waiting for them back at the ranch. Cory’s parents were doubtlessly worried sick over their son’s whereabouts. She had asked Smitty to ride over and tell Cory’s folks that Dani and Cory had been kidnapped. Now, when she got home, she would have to go over and tell Doreen and her husband their son was never coming home. She was no closer to finding out who had killed her father. And Ridge would probably ride out of her life as soon as they returned to the ranch. The thought left her feeling empty inside. She was going to miss him desperately when he was gone.

  She glanced at him again, wondering exactly what their relationship was. He was more than a hired hand. They had shared several sizzling kisses. She knew he wanted her the way a man wanted a woman. And she wanted him. Yet no words of affection had been spoken between them. She couldn’t help thinking that, even if they had made love, he would still ride out of her life.

  “Hey,” he called softly. “You all right?”

  She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “Why? Don’t I look all right?”

  “You look like you’re about to cry.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He shrugged. “You asked.”

  She stared straight ahead, her throat thick.

  “You wanna talk about it?” he asked.

  “No!”

  He lifted one hand. “Hey, no need to bite my head off.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ridge pulled his horse to a halt alongside a shallow water hole. “We’ll rest awhile.”

  With a nod, she swung out of the saddle. Loosening the cinch, she let her horse drink. She stared into the water. Were her thoughts so transparent that Ridge could see what she was thinking? Lordy, that was a horrible thought!

  She was aware that he had come up beside her to let his own horse drink. Even though her back was toward him, even though they weren’t touching, her skin tingled at his nearness. Why did this man, of all the men she had known, have such power over her? She had only to look at him, hear his voice, and it was as if her whole body came awake from a deep sleep. She yearned for him the way a flower yearned for the sun after a cold and bitter winter.

  He moved closer. His nearness sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. She wished she had the nerve to turn around, to rise up on her tiptoes and press her lips to his, to run her hands over his chest, to slide her hands up and down his back, to thread her fingers through his hair. A sharp stab of jealousy pierced her heart. She had always envied Dani. Dani was the pretty one. Dani was the talented one. She played the piano as though she had been born to it. Every year, her apple pie won the blue ribbon at the church bazaar. She had a fine hand for needlework. In spite of all that, Marty had never envied her sister more than she did now, because, no matter whether Marty approved of Dani’s choice of a husband or not, Dani had the right to hold Sanza anytime she wanted.

  She gasped as Ridge’s hand closed over her shoulder. “Martha Jean?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Wh-what?”

  “Look at me.”

  She shook her head. “No.” She would rather face a herd of stampeding cattle than look at him now.

  His hand tightened on her shoulder as he slowly turned her around to face him. “What’s wrong?”

  She lowered her head, refusing to meet his gaze. “Nothing.”

  Ridge muttered an oath. He didn’t know much about women, but one thing he did know was that “nothing” always meant “something”.

  “You might as well tell me what’s bothering you. We’re not leaving here until you do.”

  She looked up at him. “What’s wrong? What isn’t wrong? Dani’s married to an Indian. My mother not only owns the ranch, but she’s there, waiting for us. I still don’t know who killed my father. Victor Claunch thinks I’m going to marry him. And you…you…”

  Her words stammered to a halt, like a clock winding down.

  “What about me?”

  “Nothing.”

  He swore again, his gaze intent upon her face, and then his expression softened. “Nothing? Is this what you want, Martha Jean?” he asked softly, and, lowering his head, he kissed her.

  It was exactly what she wanted. There was no point in lying to herself, or to him. Her arms went up around his neck and she kissed him back, pouring out all her love and longing in that one glorious, heart-slamming, soul-stirring kiss.

  When the kiss ended, she stared up at him boldly. “Yes,” she said breathlessly, “that was just what I wanted.”

  “Well, honey,” he drawled, drawing her close once more, “why didn’t you say so?”

  And so saying, he kissed her again, a slow, deep kiss that drove everything else from her mind. His tongue feathered across her bottom lip, teasing, tantalizing, irresistible. The world spun out of focus as his hand slid under her shirt, caressing her bare skin, his thumb stroking the curve of her breast. Moaning softly, she clung to him, wanting his touch more than her next breath, yet knowing she
would hate herself if she let her body succumb to the urgings of her heart. No matter how badly she wanted him, no matter how she burned for his touch, it was wrong—wrong to let him make love to her like this. She was Seamus Flynn’s daughter, not some floozy whose time could be bought with a dollar and a couple of drinks.

  With a muffled cry, she pushed Ridge away. “I can’t do this.”

  “Sure you can,” he said, his eyes hot and heavy-lidded with desire.

  She glared at him, anger replacing passion. She made a broad gesture that encompassed the desert around them. “I’m not hiking up my skirts in the dirt for you or any other man.” Especially for a man who had never said, or even hinted, that he cared for her, let alone that he loved her.

  He nodded slowly. “We might as well get moving then.” Turning away from her, he tightened the saddle cinch, swung into the saddle, then sat there, looking down at her. “You coming?”

  Blowing out a sigh of exasperation, she tightened the cinch and mounted her horse. She had been right to stop him, she told herself. If he had felt anything at all, he wouldn’t have been so willing to stop, would he? She was probably just a pleasant diversion, something to pass the time on the long ride back to the ranch.

  Ridge shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, his body still hard with wanting her. Women! If he lived to be a hundred and ten, he would never understand them. Especially this one. One minute she was as hot as a Fourth of July firecracker, the next she was as cold as a high mountain lake in midwinter, and he had no idea what had caused the change from one to the other. Damn! His palm still tingled from the warmth of her skin. Her scent lingered in his nostrils. He could still taste her sweetness on his lips.

  He slid a glance at her, riding stiffly beside him. What the hell had he done wrong? Had it been any woman other than Martha Jean, he might have thought she was just playing hard to get, but one look in her eyes and he’d known she was dead serious. The last time he had seen that look in someone eyes, he’d been looking down the business end of a Colt .45.

  Damn. It was going to be a hell of a long ride back to the ranch.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nettie stood on the porch, one hand gripping the rail as she stared into the gathering dusk, searching for some sign that her daughters were on their way home. Her girls were the first thing she thought of when she woke in the morning, the last thing she thought of at night. She prayed as she had never prayed before, petitioning the Almighty to bring them safely home. She had missed out on so much. She couldn’t lose them now. She never should have stayed away for so long. She knew that now. She should have called her husband’s bluff. He might have told the girls the truth, but maybe he wouldn’t have. In hindsight, she realized it had been a mistake to let Seamus send her away. She should have stood her ground, should have threatened to tell the girls the truth about their father. But she had been so young then, afraid of her husband’s temper, afraid that telling her daughters the whole ugly truth would destroy them.

  With a sigh, she went back into the house and closed the door. After lighting the lamps in the parlor, she went into the kitchen to fix a lonely dinner.

  Later, sitting in front of the fire, she thought about the future. It was obvious that Martha Jean didn’t want her here. If Danielle felt the same, what then? Even though the ranch now belonged to her, Nettie knew she couldn’t stay if they didn’t want her here. She could always sell the ranch to Victor Claunch, but that would only make her daughters hate her more. This was the only home Danielle and Martha Jean had ever known.

  Victor. He was another problem she was going to have to deal with. He had come courting every day, bringing her flowers and candy, and a book of poetry, which, to her surprise, he had insisted on reading to her. Sitting beside her on the porch, he had assured her that everything would be all right, that he would be there for her, no matter what.

  Last night, he had started talking about how lonely he was, and the next thing she knew, she was confiding in him, admitting that she, too, had been lonely since she went east. He had put his arm around her and she had let him, finding comfort in being held in a man’s arms after such a long time. She had a niggling feeling that he was going to ask her to marry him one day soon. She wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that.

  For the first time, she wondered if Victor had had anything to do with Seamus’ death. She dismissed the idea as soon as it occurred to her. Victor might be tough and powerful, but a murderer? No.

  Still, she couldn’t put the thought out of her mind. Victor was a ruthless man, but then, Seamus had been ruthless, too. Men who couldn’t be decisive and weren’t willing to fight for what they wanted rarely got anywhere in the West. It was a hard land, and it took a hard man to conquer it. But murder?

  Frowning, she stared into the fire. Soon after she had married Seamus and arrived in Chimney Creek, Jim Blackmer, the man who had owned the ranch that bordered the other side of Victor’s spread, had been found dead in the river. It had been during the spring, when the river was running high and fast, and everyone had assumed that Blackmer’s horse had gone down and that he had drowned. Four days after the man’s funeral, Victor had bought Blackmer’s ranch from the bank.

  She shook her head. There was nothing incriminating about that. If Seamus had had the money to spare back then, he, too would have put in a bid for Blackmer’s land. That didn’t make him a murderer.

  Was it merely coincidence that both of Victor’s neighbors had died violently? It was possible, she supposed. After all, it was a wild land. Still, it seemed mighty fortuitous that both men owned land that Victor had coveted. Maybe tomorrow she would ride into town and have a talk with the sheriff. She didn’t really expect to learn much, but it couldn’t hurt. And while she was there, she could buy presents for her girls.

  She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. She knew she couldn’t buy Martha Jean’s affection with a new gown or a pretty bauble. Then she smiled.

  She knew exactly what to give Martha Jean.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “How much longer until we get to the ranch?”

  Ridge looked over at Martha Jean. It was the first time she had spoken to him other than to answer a direct question since he had kissed her a few days back. “We should be there tomorrow afternoon.”

  With a nod, she stared straight ahead once more.

  It was the last straw. He didn’t know what had set her off, didn’t know what in the great green hell she was so upset about, but he’d had just about enough. Urging his mount up alongside hers, he took hold of her horse’s reins and brought both animals to a stop.

  Dismounting, he grabbed Martha Jean around the waist and set her on her feet. “All right,” he said, “what’s eating you?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’m sure you do. Now spit it out.”

  She glared at him, her arms crossed over her breasts, her chin thrust out.

  He suppressed the urge to put her over his knee and give her a good thrashing. “We’re not leaving this spot until you tell me what put a burr under your tail.”

  “I don’t have a burr under my tail, Mr. Longtree. And stop looking at me like that.”

  “I’ll look at you any damn way I want, Miss Flynn. Now, stop being so damn stubborn and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. What’s the matter—are your feelings hurt because I didn’t fall into your arms?”

  He lifted one brow. “Honey, that’s just what you did. And as long as you brought it up, what changed your mind?”

  “I told you.”

  “Ah, yes. You said you weren’t hiking up your skirt,” he glanced pointedly at her trousers, “for me or any other man.”

  She made a face that seemed to say, That’s right, so what?

  Ridge frowned at her. “I don’t recall asking you to hike up your skirts or drop your drawers. Seems to me that all we were doing was kissing.”

  Her eyes shot sparks at him e
ven as her cheeks turned bright pink.

  “So are you mad at me, Martha Jean, or are you mad at yourself for wanting something I hadn’t asked for?”

  Bull’s-eye. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

  “There’s nothing wrong with what you felt,” he said quietly. “It’s perfectly natural. You’re a young, healthy woman…” He held up one hand, silencing her. “You can deny it all you want, but that doesn’t change a thing.” His eyes grew hot, his voice thick. “You want me. And I want you.”

  She didn’t argue, merely stood there staring at him as if he had lost his mind. But he knew the truth. It was evident in the sudden intake of her breath, the quiver in her lower lip. She wanted him. She might not want to admit it, but it was still true.

  And he wanted her.

  Moving slowly, so there could be no mistaking his intentions, he reached for her. He had expected her to slap him or tell him to stop. Instead, she just stood there, her eyes wide as he drew her into his arms. She had beautiful, deep, dark brown eyes fringed by thick lashes. He ran one finger over the curve of her cheek. Her skin was warm and smooth, soft as a newborn baby’s bottom.

  “What are you doing?” she asked tremulously.

  “What do you think?”

  “Don’t.” There was no heat in her voice, no conviction.

  “Want this to be all my idea, do you, so you can blame me for it later?” His forefinger traced the seam of her lips, back and forth, back and forth. “When we make love, it’ll be because you asked for it, not because I forced you.”

  She noticed he said “when”, not “if”.

  He jerked his chin toward a patch of grass. “We could spread a blanket over there and spend the rest of the afternoon making love.”

  She shook her head. Not here. Not out in the open. Even though they would be able to see anyone approaching long before they arrived, she wanted privacy and the cover of darkness, especially the first time.