by Georgina Gentry - Panorama of the Old West 08 - Apache Caress
The woman turned and glared at Sierra, then looked back at Cholla and smiled. “You take my fancy, Injun. I have a weakness for young Injun bucks, and Jim July would never know the difference. If you want to change your mind ...” Her voice trailed off as she looked up at him.
“We have to think of your reputation. No man worth his salt, not even an Injun, would dishonor a woman like you.” Cholla gave her a charming smile. “Maybe we’ll talk about it later.”
Almost reluctantly it seemed, Belle paused in the doorway with the lamp. “If you get tired of this inexperienced little chit,” she said to Cholla, “and decide you want a real woman, you know which room is mine.” She glared one last time at Sierra and left.
Cholla closed the door and looked at the damage he’d done. Then he dragged a chest in front of the entrance to the room. “I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble tonight.”
Sierra was incredulous. “You intend to sleep with me?”
“I could go back to Belle’s bed if you want. I’ve had an invitation.”
She was furious. “I’d say you’ve had more than an invitation, I’d say you’ve already had a sample.”
He looked down as if he’d just realized his clothing was unbuttoned, disarrayed. “I got into her room accidently, looking for you. Then I had to pretend it wasn’t an accident, so I wouldn’t get killed.”
“You’re just like a bull, aren’t you?” Sierra pulled her torn gown up on her shoulder. “Just climb any heifer that’s handy.”
Cholla came over to the bed. “An old cow is a better description,” he said. “She reminds me of what the cavalry says about a sorry-looking horse; she looks like she’s been rode hard and put up wet.”
He sat down on the bed.
“Get off my bed.”
“Don’t order me about, Sierra.” His voice was cold. “I’m not Slim, to be whipped like a cur. You’re my captive, remember? I give the orders now.”
This is crazy, Sierra thought. She had escaped from her captor, but now he was back in control and no one around here was willing to stand up to him. Her heart sank. She wasn’t safe after all. “I don’t have to stay in this room. I’ll go into the parlor and spend the night on the sofa.” She got up, went to the door.
“You just do that, Dark Eyes,” Cholla challenged. “Who knows which of those men will sneak into the parlor if they find out you’re there?”
She paused uncertainly, her gown falling off her shoulder, her breasts revealed in the moonlight that now shone through the window. “If one of them tries anything, he’ll have to answer to Belle and her quirt.”
Cholla got up off the bed, came to the door, whirled her around. “Every man among ’em would figure five minutes between your thighs was worth being whipped half to death.”
“Is it?” She hadn’t meant to say that.
“To me, it is.” Before she could say anything else, his mouth came down on hers, his hands went to her shoulders. She tried to pull away from him, angry that he had been in Belle’s bed and was now wanting to use her to satisfy the lust the outlaw queen had built in him.
She managed to turn her face away. “No!”
But his mouth found hers again, his hands inside the torn gown now, thumbs stroking across her nipples. “I just whipped a man to keep him from touching you. When two stallions fight over a mare, the winner gets to mount her.”
She tried to pull away, but he tangled his hand in her long hair, holding her face so she couldn’t move away as his mouth ravaged hers. His body pressed against her, and she felt his heart pounding against her breast, his manhood, throbbing, hard, against her body.
He picked her up as they struggled, holding her easily as she fought him. She dared not scream, sure now that Belle wouldn’t bother to come. He carried her to the bed, set her upon it and, with one hard yank, tore her nightdress away. “I’ve had you before, Sierra. Why are you resisting me now?”
I am trying to resist my own traitorous body, she thought as she pressed back against the headboard, watched him pull off his shirt, step out of his pants. She would not give him the satisfaction of letting him drive her so wild with desire that she would claw his back and whimper. Not when he had just come from another woman’s bed.
She made a dive, trying to get off the bed. “Damn you! Let me go!”
In answer, he pushed her over onto her back, fell en top of her. “You want to play it this way? Want me to beg your forgiveness? Beg to be allowed the privilege?” he said against her lips. “I’m a man, Sierra. A real man. I don’t beg, but I’ll wager I can make you beg for it!”
“Damn you!” She tried to twist out of his hands, but his mouth was ravaging hers, sucking her tongue deep into his throat, and his hands were all over her. When she fought him, he caught both her small wrists in one big hand, brought her hands down to his manhood.
“This is what you want, Sierra. Tell me.”
“No!”
“No, you won’t tell me, or no, you don’t want it?”
He was hot and throbbing under her fingers. She arched up against his lips, trying to remember what he had asked. “No ...” she whispered again, “Don’t ... don’t stop.”
She was only vaguely aware that he had turned loose of her wrists and that she was pulling at him, wanting him between her thighs, digging her nails into his wide shoulders and lean hips.
“I won’t stop,” he whispered. “I’m going to brand every inch of you.” He came into her with one hard, long stroke, his lips on hers, so that when she felt him ram deep, her cry went into his mouth and she didn’t know whether it was a sound of pain or pleasure. She only knew that she couldn’t let him go until she had reached whatever zenith of feeling her body was rising to. Nothing mattered but this sensation of him inside her, the ecstasy of her body locking onto his.
He was still in her as they both dropped off to sleep.
The next morning early, as they drank coffee at Belle’s table, Cholla told the older woman they were going to leave.
Belle glared at Sierra. “You goin’ with this Injun?”
Sierra considered the question. Not willingly, she thought. But if she stayed, she’d be in danger the first time Belle turned her back. Being Cholla’s hostage was better than that. She thought about asking Belle for help in contacting the authorities, decided she would be wasting her time. Belle was a bandit. She wouldn’t contact the law.
“Well?” Belle demanded.
“I ... I think I’ll go with him,” Sierra stammered.
Belle gave her a black look. “Now if you ain’t sure–”
“No, I’ll go with him.”
With a glum shake of her head, Belle stood up. “In that case, I’ll have someone pack you some supplies, give you a couple of horses.”
Sierra and Cholla looked at each other in surprise.
“Why not?” Belle shrugged. “I have a reputation for hospitality. Just don’t tell anyone I did this, okay? If anyone asks where you got the stuff, say you found the horses or something like that?”
They nodded.
She went to the door, yelled. “Hey, Joe! Slim ever turn up?”
“No, he’s hightailed it for someplace else, I reckon.”
“This pair is leaving.” Belle looked back over her shoulder at them. “Saddle up those two palominos and pack some grub.”
“The palominos, boss? But–”
“No ‘buts’, Joe; just do like I tell you.”
Sierra could hardly believe her eyes when they went outside into the cold, crisp dawn. “These are two of the finest horses I’ve ever seen.” She traced the Running B brand on the mare’s rump, “They are worth a lot of money. I can’t believe you’d be so generous.”
Belle smiled thinly. “I can afford it, and Belle Starr has a reputation in these parts for being generous.”
Cholla gave her a grateful nod, then helped Sierra into the saddle and swung up onto the other horse. “Thanks, Belle.”
For just a moment, Sierra thought
she saw jealous rage cross Belle’s face, and then it faded. Of course she could be mistaken about the woman. If Belle was angry about Cholla ending up in Sierra’s bed, this was a strange way to show her displeasure.
Cholla said, “We don’t know the country, Belle, which way is best?”
Belle hesitated, then pointed. “If you’ll ride in that direction, you’ll do just fine.”
They thanked her again, turned the horses, and rode out.
Belle stood looking after them a long time, until they were only small dots on the far horizon.
Joe stood with her, scratched his head. “Belle, I don’t understand you. The directions you gave them, they’ll be damned lucky if they don’t end up riding into Sundance, and that’s one tough town.”
“Ain’t it, though!” She stared after the pair, still angered because the man she’d tried to seduce was interested only in the younger woman. “Joe,” she said, “get over to Fort Smith. See if Judge Parker is looking for an Injun named Cholla or a woman named Sierra Forester. If so, let the law know which way they headed, just in case they don’t ride into Sundance.”
His weather-beaten face furrowed in surprise. “You turning them in?”
“Not if no one’s looking for them.” She felt tired, defeated, and betrayed. In spite of everything, her own half-grown son hated her for her stern discipline with the quirt. Her daughter had gotten pregnant, and was even now at an aunt’s home in Missouri, hiding and in disgrace. Belle didn’t have to ask why the lock on that bedroom window of Pearl’s was broken ; probably Pearl had broken it herself so her lover could get in at night. Belle just hoped it hadn’t been that worthless Slim.
“But, Belle, those horses,” Joe said.
“What about them?” She glared in the direction the pair had ridden on the fine palominos. Joe was right; if they kept on in that same direction, they were going to end up near the edge of Sundance.
“You know what they’ll do to that pair if they get caught with them horses from the Berrigan Ranch?”
Belle smiled and nodded. She would have her revenge on the virile brave who had dared spurn the Bandit Queen of the dime novels. “Sure, I know. But then, in the West they always lynch horse thieves!”
Chapter Thirteen
Sierra heaved a sigh of relief as she and Cholla rode away from Younger’s Bend. Though she was still a hostage, she’d rather not risk staying at Belle Starr’s place until she could get a message to the Army or the law. She’d take her chances with the Indian.
At least they had fresh clothes, two good horses, and supplies, including a saddle gun. Belle had given Sierra a buckskin-fringed outfit and a pair of soft, rawhide boots. Now they rode southwest through the cool autumn day.
Cholla. glanced over at her. “With your hair in braids, you look like a local Indian. It should be easy for us to pass ourselves off as Cherokees, and it’s probably safer.”
“Suppose we run into some real Cherokees?” she challenged.
“Don’t borrow trouble. Well worry about that if it happens.”
Now that they were safely away from the outlaw hideout, Sierra wondered if there was a settlement in the area and whether she could figure out a way to escape from Cholla if they found one.
They rode several miles. The sun was out, burning away the frost from the flaming red sumac and yellow-leafed cottonwood trees.
Cholla glanced abruptly toward a small rise. “Get down!”
“What?”
Before she could move or react, he dived for her knocking her off her horse. They both hit the dirt heavily as a rifle shot whined past them, echoing and reechoing.
She lay on the soft dirt, the breath knocked out of her, breathing heavily and looking up at him as he shielded her with his body. The horses whinnied and reared, galloped off. “What ... what happened?”.
He grabbed her by the collar, dragged her behind a rock as the rifle cracked again. Cholla swore softly under his breath. “I happened to look up, saw the reflection off the gun barrel. Someone’s trying to kill us!”
Her heart pounded with apprehension. They were at a disadvantage since the carbine was in the rifle boot on Cholla’s palomino. “Why–?”
“Shh.” He held his finger to his lips for silence. “All we’ve got is my knife,” he whispered. “If he decides to come after us, we’ve no chance against a rifle. I’m going to try crawling around behind him. In a few minutes, maybe after he fires again, you cry out or do something to hold his attention.”
She grabbed his arm as he crept away. “Suppose you don’t come back?”
He grinned at her. “Then you’ll have to try to cut your own deal with the dry-gulcher. It shouldn’t be hard ... with that body.” He crawled away.
Her mouth felt so dry, she couldn’t swallow. Somewhere close beside her, a redheaded woodpecker beat a rat-a-tat-tat on a dead tree. Suppose the unseen assassin isn’t a man, she thought, suddenly remembering the way Belle Starr had looked at her. Or maybe the sharpshooter wasn’t after her at all; maybe he was part of a posse or an Army patrol looking for the Apache. If she stood up, threw up her hands and surrendered, warned them, would they get Cholla and free her? A shot cracked past her, splintering a nearby oak tree and sending a squirrel racing away, chattering indignantly.
Maybe she should just stay down and wait, see what would happen. No, she had to know if that was the Army or a posse.
She made her decision. “Don’t shoot!” she shouted and gradually stood up, hands in the air. “Don’t shoot! That last shot got him. I’m not armed!”
For a long moment she just stood there in the stillness, listening. At any second, she expected a bullet to take her life. Would she feel any pain? The silence was unbearable. “Don’t shoot!” she screamed again. “I’m not armed!”
Very slowly, a man stuck his head out from behind a rock in the distance, his rifle barrel glinting in his hands. “No tricks now!”
She held her hands high, shook her head frantically. “No tricks! I’m keeping my hands where you can see them!”
He stood up, grinning, his rifle still trained on her. He was lean and broad-shouldered, and he had ice blue eyes. “Well, sweet thing, it seems we meet again.”
Slim. Not again. Where was Cholla? It occurred to her that given the odds, the Apache might elect to steal Slim’s horse and take off at a gallop. The palominos had probably run a short distance and stopped to graze.
Her mouth seemed frozen with fear, but she forced her lips to form a smile. “Well, hello, Slim, I was hoping to run across you again.”
He waved the gun at her. “Come out where I can see you, gal. Is the Injun really dead?”
She saw Cholla loom up behind him, slash at him with the big knife.
Slim tried to scream, but the sound became a bubbling gurgle as scarlet blood splashed the front of his shirt.
When Slim fell, abruptly, Sierra’s legs would support her no longer. She leaned against a boulder and shook all over as Cholla took Slim’s rifle, then wiped his knife on the dead man’s shirt and put it in his belt. He came through the brush to her. “Are you all right?”
“I ... I ...” She finally managed to nod. “I never saw a man get his throat cut before.”
He looked almost sympathetic. “You’ve been through a lot of things you never experienced before you met me.”
She stared at him. He wasn’t a man; he was a cold, killing machine. How could she have felt drawn to him? “How many men have you killed?”
Cholla sighed. “Too many. If I could find some little corner of the world and live in peace without anyone trying to kill me or lock me up, I’d be glad not to ever have to do it again.” He took her arm, gently stood her on her feet. “Let’s see if we can catch the horses.”
They caught Slim’s bay and one of the palominos. Unfortunately, it was hers, not the one with the saddle gun, but now Cholla had Slim’s fancy rifle. The palomino they caught had thrown a shoe.
She looked toward the dead man. “Aren’t we goi
ng to bury him or something?”
Cholla shook his head as he put his big hands on her waist, helped her mount the palomino, and swung up on the bay himself.
“That other palomino will head back to his own barn. That may bring riders backtracking him to this place. Even Belle might not take kindly to my cutting Slim’s throat. For all we know, she sent him out here to ambush us; I don’t trust her. Let’s clear out in case anyone shows up
“What about this palomino’s shoe?”
They started out at a walk.
“Maybe it’ll be all right for a while, until we can find a blacksmith,” Cholla said. “I just hope he doesn’t come up lame.” He looked at the rifle in his hands, whistled low. “This is fancy–cost a lot. I’m afraid to guess how Slim came by a rifle like this; looks almost one of a kind.”
Sierra looked up at the sky. Late morning. She wondered what day of the week it was? What month even? Probably the middle of October or even later, she thought, looking at the golden leaves swirling from the trees. They blew in small drifts and made dry, crackling sounds as the horses rode through them.
Within a couple of hours, the palomino came up lame. Cholla dismounted, examined the hoof, shook his head. “I was afraid of this; bruised the frog of its hoof in that headlong gallop when Slim spooked them.”
“So now what?” She looked over at him as he swung back up in the saddle, the leather creaking beneath his big body. He fingered the rifle absently. It is unusual, Sierra thought, gazing at the fancy etched brass on the stock. But then gunslingers liked fine guns and spent a lot of money on the tools of their trade.
“I don’t know. We’ll keep riding to the southwest. Maybe we’ll run across a ranch where we can trade horses, or even a blacksmith.”
If we find some law-abiding people, I’ll have a chance to escape, Sierra thought.
They rode the better part of an hour before Cholla’s keen eyes noted a couple of wisps of smoke drifting on the horizon. He pointed them out. “Maybe a ranch, let’s go.”
