Under Apache Skies

by Madeline Baker

With a nod, he kissed the tip of her nose, then released her and took a step backward. “You let me know when and where,” he said, “and I’ll be there.”

  Marty stared at him as he swung effortlessly into the saddle. Did he honestly think she was going to ask him to make love to her? Even as she vowed it would never happen, she was reliving every kiss, every caress. Though it shamed her, she had to admit she had hoped he would take her by force, thereby absolving her of guilt.

  Head high, she took up the reins and stepped into the saddle. Suddenly, going home and facing Nettie didn’t seem near as disconcerting as spending another restless night under the stars with Ridge Longtree.

  Marty felt a sudden tension in her shoulders as the landscape grew familiar. They were almost home. Another mile or two, and the ranch house would be in sight. She felt a sharp pang as they approached the family cemetery.

  Drawing her horse to a halt, Marty dismounted. Opening the gate, she made her way to her father’s grave. If only he were still alive. Since his death, she had felt as though a great weight had been placed on her shoulders.

  Kneeling, she ran her hands over the ground. If Pa were still alive, he wouldn’t have been any happier with Dani’s choice of a husband than Nettie would be when she found out. If Pa were still alive, Nettie wouldn’t be here, Marty thought, and her home and her future would still be secure. If Pa were still alive, Ridge Longtree would have been long gone.

  Ridge. She could feel him watching her from beyond the fence. She was tempted to stay by her father’s grave a little longer, but she knew putting it off wouldn’t solve anything. Sooner or later, she was going to have to face her mother. As Pa always said, it was better to get unpleasant tasks over and done with, and with that in mind, she stood up and brushed the dirt off her trousers.

  Ignoring Ridge, she mounted her horse and headed for home.

  At the sound of hoofbeats in the yard, Nettie hurried to the front window. Drawing back the curtains, she peered outside, felt her heart sink when she saw Marty and Longtree ride up to the porch. There was no sign of Danielle. Or Cory. Did that mean Longtree had been unable to find them, or…

  She stood there, feeling numb inside, unable to accept the fact that she would never see her younger daughter again. She pressed her hand to her chest, wondering if it was possible to die of a broken heart.

  She heard Martha Jean’s footsteps on the porch stairs, the faint creak of the screen door opening, footsteps behind her, but she didn’t turn around. If she didn’t look at Martha Jean, if she didn’t hear the words, it wouldn’t be real.

  “Nettie?”

  Not “Mother” or “Mama”, but Nettie. “Did you…did you find her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she…?” She couldn’t say the word aloud, couldn’t stay the quaver in her voice.

  “She’s fine.”

  “Thank God.” Nettie turned to face her daughter. She felt lightheaded, almost giddy with relief. “Where is she?”

  “Why don’t you sit down?”

  Nettie’s heart caught in her throat. No one asked you to sit down to hear good news. “What is it? What’s wrong? You said she was all right…”

  “Just sit down.”

  Nettie moved to the sofa and perched on the edge of the cushion. “What is it? What’s wrong with Danielle? Why didn’t she come home with you?”

  Marty sat down in the chair across from the sofa. “Nothing’s wrong with her, except I think she’s lost her mind.”

  “What?”

  “She got married.”

  Nettie blinked several times as she digested that. “She wasn’t captured by Indians then?” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Thank God.” That explained Danielle’s absence. She was on her honeymoon with Cory. Nettie wasn’t pleased with the idea that her daughter had eloped, but at least it was better than the horrible alternatives she had been imagining.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Martha Jean said flatly. “She married an Apache.”

  Nettie stared at her daughter in stunned disbelief. “What?”

  “You heard me. She’ll be home in a few weeks.”

  “But…an Indian? That’s impossible. No one would marry a white girl to an Indian. And what about Cory? Where’s he? His father came by right after you left. He said he was going out to search for Cory. Then, I think it was last Thursday, he came by again. He said they had lost the trail and wondered if I’d heard anything. I promised to let him know as soon as I had any news.”

  Marty took a deep breath. There was no easy way to say it. “Cory’s dead. He was killed while trying to escape.”

  Nettie sank back on the sofa, her mind reeling. Her baby was married to an Indian. Cory Mulvaney was dead. It wasn’t possible. Poor Doreen!

  “I’m going upstairs,” Martha Jean said, rising. “I need a bath, and then I need to go and talk to Cory’s folks.”

  Nettie watched her daughter leave the room. It had to be a nightmare. Of course, that was it. She would wake up in the morning and find that it had been nothing but a bad dream.

  Marty sat in the tub, submerged up to her chin. When had anything ever felt so good? She had borrowed some of Dani’s scented soap, and the smell of lavender filled the steamy air. Marty loved working on the ranch. She loved roundups and branding. She loved riding, and all the other chores that came with running a cattle ranch. But at the end of the day, her one luxury had always been a long soak in a tub of hot water.

  Eyes closed, she let her thoughts drift. Not surprisingly, they immediately drifted toward Ridge Longtree. Scoundrel. Fast gun. Heartbreaker. Well, he wouldn’t break her heart, but she had to admit it was badly dented. Thank goodness she had come to her senses before she completely lost her head—and her virginity! Bad enough she had lost her heart to the man. But he would never know that.

  Later this evening, after she went to see Cory’s folks, she intended to talk to her mother and find out exactly what Nettie’s plans were for the ranch. Until then, there was no way for Marty to plan for her own future. She wondered if Dani really meant to live summer and winter with the Apache. She simply couldn’t imagine her little sister spending the rest of her life in a brush-covered hut, cooking over an open fire, sleeping on the ground. And yet she couldn’t forget the glow in her sister’s eyes when Dani looked at her husband, couldn’t forget the happy lilt in Dani’s voice whenever she spoke Sanza’s name. Maybe love did conquer all.

  She stayed in the tub until the water grew cool. Stepping out, she toweled herself dry, then went into her bedroom and, in deference to the task ahead, donned one of the few dresses she owned. She brushed her hair and tied it back with a ribbon, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her stockings and shoes. And all the while, she tried to think of the best way, the gentlest way, to break the sad news to Cory’s parents.

  With a sigh, she put on a straw bonnet, took a last look in the mirror, and left the house. Wishing she were going anywhere but to the Mulvaneys’, she walked down to the barn, intending to ask Smitty to hitch the team to the wagon, when Ridge appeared in the barn’s doorway.

  He lifted one brow as his gaze moved over her. “You going to church?”

  “No,” she replied curtly. “I’m going to see Cory’s folks.”

  He grunted softly. “I’ll hitch up the team for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She tried not to watch him as he hitched the team to the buggy, but it was impossible. He had cleaned up, too. Now, clad in a pair of clean black trousers and a dark gray shirt, his hat pushed back on his head, his holster strapped to his thigh, he drew her gaze like a magnet. The other men on the ranch carried weapons; some wore gun belts; but Ridge wore his Colt as if it were a part of him. She doubted she would ever tire of watching him. He moved with an economy of motion, and a kind of confidence she could only envy him. She admired the play of muscles across his back and shoulders as he worked. She had felt the easy strength in those arms… She thrust the thought from her mind. She w
ould not think of that, not now, not ever again!

  Offering her his hand, he helped her onto the seat, then swung up beside her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “I think I’m going with you.”

  “I think you’re not.” She smoothed her skirts, then reached for the reins. “I’m quite capable of driving myself, thank you.”

  “I’m sure you are. But I’m still going with you.”

  “Will you at least tell me why?”

  He shrugged. “Think of me as your knight in shining armor.”

  She stared at him. “You must be kidding.”

  “Then let’s just say I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be wandering around on your own.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Your old man was killed. Dani and Cory were kidnapped. Let’s just say I believe in being cautious where you’re concerned.”

  “Don’t tell me you think my life’s in danger.”

  “No.” Lifting the reins, he clucked to the team. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

  Careful to keep her eyes straight ahead, Marty sat back in the seat, her arms folded over her chest. He really was the most insufferable man she had ever known! She tried to ignore him, but every time the buggy hit a rut in the road, her shoulder and thigh brushed against his, sending little frissons of awareness skittering through her. Why hadn’t he just stayed at the ranch? And yet, in a little corner of her mind that she refused to acknowledge, she was glad he was there beside her. She had never had to deliver news like this before, and she spent a few minutes trying to compose her thoughts. It reminded her that she had intended to ask Reverend Waters to accompany her. He would have known what to say, what to do, under the circumstances, but it was too late to think about that now.

  Her thigh bumped against Ridge’s again, and she silently cursed her attraction to the man. Maybe she should have taken Nettie with her after all, she thought sourly. Of course, then she would have had to contend with another kind of tension. She wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

  “How’d your mother take the news about Dani?” Ridge asked after a while.

  “How do you think?”

  “I guess she wasn’t too happy about it.”

  “No.”

  “Did you talk to her at all?”

  “What do you mean? Of course we talked.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Marty glared at him. “I’m going to talk to her later tonight about the ranch.” She blew out a sigh of exasperation, certain this was one of the worst days of her life. First she had to give Cory’s folks the bad news, and then she had to talk to Nettie and find out what her mother intended to do with the ranch. She wasn’t looking forward to either one.

  “Did you ask your mother why she went back east?”

  “No, and I don’t intend to.”

  “You might want to reconsider.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “She’s still your mother. I think you need to hear what she has to say.”

  “I really don’t care what you think!”

  “One of these days, you might feel differently. People die sudden-like, you know. Like your old man. Sometimes, if we wait too long, we don’t get the chance to say the things we want to before it’s too late.”

  “Well, aren’t you the philosopher,” she retorted. But his words gave her pause. She would have liked to have talked to her father one last time, tell him that she loved him. But that was different. She didn’t love Nettie anymore… She bit down on the corner of her lower lip. What if Longtree was right? What if something happened to Nettie? Would she spend the rest of her life wishing she had done things differently, wishing she had taken a few minutes to hear her mother’s side of the story?

  “You know I’m right, don’t you?” Ridge said quietly.

  She nodded, even though she didn’t want to admit it. Before she could say anything else, the Mulvaneys’ ranch came into view.

  She just wished she knew what she was going to say.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Doreen Mulvaney opened the door at Marty’s knock. She was a plain woman, with light brown hair pulled back in a tight bun at her nape and pale blue eyes that seemed to hold all the sadness of the world. It was evident from her loosely fitting brown dress that she had lost considerable weight since Marty saw her last.

  “Martha Jean,” Mrs. Mulvaney exclaimed softly. She glanced past Marty, the sudden flare of hope in her eyes quickly turning to disappointment when she realized the man standing behind Marty wasn’t her son. “Come in, won’t you?”

  Wordlessly, Marty and Ridge followed Doreen into the house. “Here,” Marty said, handing a casserole dish to Doreen. “My mother sent this over.”

  “Oh? Well, that was mighty kind of her. Please,” Doreen said, indicating a worn sofa, “won’t you sit down? I’ll just put this in the kitchen.”

  Marty sat down. Removing his hat, Ridge sat beside her.

  Marty glanced around the room. The Mulvaneys weren’t nearly as successful at ranching as her father had been, and it was reflected in their surroundings. The furniture was well worn, the curtains a little faded, but Doreen took good care of what they had. Her house was neat, the windows were clean, the floors gleamed with a fresh coat of wax.

  Returning to the parlor, Doreen took a seat in the rocking chair beside the sofa. Folding her hands in her lap, she stared at Marty, waiting for her to disclose the reason for her unexpected visit.

  Marty cleared her throat. “I… Where’s Mr. Mulvaney?”

  “He’s out in the barn. Did you want to see him?”

  “Yes,” Marty replied, grateful for the reprieve, however brief it might be.

  “I’ll get him,” Doreen said, rising. “Just make yourselves to home. I’ll be right back.”

  When they were alone, Marty looked at Ridge. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do you want me to tell them?”

  She did, more than anything, but it didn’t seem right. Ridge was a stranger to the Mulvaneys. News like this should be delivered by a friend. “No, thanks. I think I should tell them.”

  “It’s your call.”

  Marty stiffened as she heard the sound of footsteps coming through the kitchen, and then Mr. and Mrs. Mulvaney were there. Doreen sat down. Jacob Mulvaney stood behind her. He was a tall man with dark blond hair, close-set brown eyes, a nose that was too big for his face, and a generous mouth. Looking at the two of them, Marty thought they looked like they had aged ten years in the last few weeks.

  “Do you have news?” Mr. Mulvaney asked. “News about Cory?”

  Marty nodded. “I’m afraid it isn’t good news.”

  Jacob placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Go on.”

  “Cory’s… I’m so sorry, but he was killed trying to escape from the Apache.”

  Doreen Mulvaney stared at her, and then a high-pitched wail rose in her throat. “My boy! Oh, my boy!” With tears streaming down her cheeks, she looked up at her husband. “He’s gone. Our boy’s gone!”

  Kneeling in front of his wife, Jacob took her hands in his, then looked over at Marty. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damned Injuns!” Jacob said. “Ought to wipe out the whole bunch of ‘em.”

  Marty glanced at Ridge. A muscle worked in his jaw.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Truly sorry.”

  Jacob nodded. “I’m obliged to you for letting us know. Now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to be alone.”

  “Of course.” Rising, Marty gave Doreen’s shoulder a squeeze, then headed for the front door.

  Ridge followed her outside.

  “Well, I certainly handled that badly,” Marty said, descending the stairs.

  “You did just fine,” Ridge said. “There’s no good way to deliver that kind of news.”

  “I knew I should have brought Reverend Waters with me. He would have known what to say.”

&nb
sp; “It’s not too late. We can drive into town if you like.”

  “Maybe we should.”

  Nodding, Ridge handed Marty into the buggy. He climbed up beside her, took up the reins, and then released the brake. Clucking to the team, he pulled out of the yard onto the road that led into town.

  “They don’t even have a body to bury,” Marty lamented. “It doesn’t seem right, somehow.”

  Ridge grunted softly. Maybe it was better that way.

  He would never forget seeing his sister lying on the ground with two bullet holes in her back, her dark eyes vacant, her body limp, lifeless. In all his life, he had never loved anyone the way he had loved that little girl.

  They rode in silence the rest of the way. When they reached town, Ridge parked the buggy in front of the reverend’s white picket fence, then handed Marty out of the rig.

  “Are you coming in?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’ll wait out here.”

  With a nod, she opened the gate, walked up the narrow path to the minister’s house, and knocked on the door.

  The reverend answered it a moment later. He was a portly man, with black hair going gray, honest hazel eyes, an aquiline nose, and a perpetual smile.

  “Miss Flynn, this is a pleasant surprise.” He stepped back. “Come in, come in; I was just having a cup of tea.”

  “Thank you.” She followed him into the parlor and took the seat he indicated.

  “Can I have Mrs. Monson fix you a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Well, then,” he said, sitting down across from her, “what brings you here on such a lovely day?”

  “I think you should visit the Mulvaneys. Cory…”

  The reverend leaned forward. “Has something happened to the boy?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Dead! When? How?”

  “It’s a long story. He was killed by Apache.”

  The reverend stood. Picking up his coat, which was folded over the back of a chair, he slipped it on. “Dear Lord, I’ll go to them immediately.”

  Marty rose. “Thank you.”

  Waters grabbed his hat and followed her out the door.