by Jill Gregory
“You’ll go nowhere near that stream—or anywhere else. Stay inside the cabin!”
“You’re not my captor anymore—I’m a free woman and I’ll do as I please!”
All the intimacy between them had vanished, as well as all the tender feelings. Anger blazed in her eyes as she faced him in the cabin doorway, sunshine pouring through to light her face with gold. After what had happened this morning, she was damned if she’d let him tell her what to do. He wasn’t the only one who needed to be free. He might have made love to her last night—all night—but that didn’t give him the right to keep her locked in this cabin all day—she was no servant, no saloon whore, no prisoner. She had given of herself willingly, given him everything she had to offer with all the love and passion in her heart, and offered it again to him this morning—only to be thrust aside like a stranger who has put oneself in the way. If Cole Rawdon thought he could dismiss her whenever he chose, yet rule her life whenever it suited him, he had better think twice.
“Maybe you’ve forgotten,” Cole bit out, grabbing her by the arms so forcefully, she gasped. “Knife Jackson and his outfit will be combing the mountains for you. Line McCray will have them searching every inch of land between here and New Mexico. Not to mention the fact that renegade Apache are on the loose. And you won’t fire a gun.”
Her chin lifted, giving her delicate face a proud tilt. “I would if I had to.”
“You probably couldn’t hit a log cabin if you put the muzzle up against the logs.”
“Then take me with you.”
Cole released her with a groan, knowing he would shake her until her teeth rattled if he didn’t step back that instant. “I already told you. I’ve got business that doesn’t include you. Stay inside. Promise you will and maybe I’ll bring you back a surprise.”
“I can’t make any promises today either!” she shot back, and congratulated herself when his eyes narrowed.
“This kind of promise you can and will make to me. Or do I have to hog-tie you and keep you inside that way?”
He’d do it, too, she thought, fury making her clench her fingers into fists. He talked to her as if she were a child! Tipping her head to one side, Juliana regarded him coldly. “What kind of surprise?” she asked with all the dignity she could muster.
But he wouldn’t tell her.
“Promise, angel.”
“Oh, very well.” Sliding her hands behind her back, she crossed her fingers and promised.
“Kiss me good-bye?” she asked sweetly, her anger with him fading as she recognized the grim concern on his face. His eyes looked shadowed and dark in the bright glory of the summer’s day. His anxiety on her behalf touched her then, filling her with shame at her dishonesty, and with a rich sense of wonder. Did he care about her? Truly? Did he merely want to protect her as he might any woman who had fallen into his bed, and might again—or was it something more, something like what she felt whenever he was within ten feet of her.
He didn’t appear to be afflicted with madness, which she was certain was her own fate. He had acted downright cold and sane and rational this morning, hadn’t he?
But last night ...
When he touched her again, his grip was gentle. The kiss was not.
“Behave yourself—if you can,” he ordered. “Don’t forget where you are. This isn’t St. Louis.”
Wise words, but she scarcely heard them. Her senses were swimming from the kiss, from the warm, intoxicating taste of his mouth on hers, from the way his hands moved up and down her back when he held her. It was not the embrace of a cold and uninterested man.
“Mmm-hmmm.” Unaware of the effect her dreamy eyes were having on his insides, she smiled, feeling hopelessly foolish but happy in a deliriously silly way. Maybe Cole Rawdon was not as much a free man as he thought. Maybe she should think some more about his reaction to her pledge this morning.
“Hurry back,” she urged, longing in her upturned, eager face.
“I reckon I will.”
It was all Cole could do to mount Arrow and leave her, but he had to see Joseph Wells and it couldn’t wait.
The moment he was out of sight, Juliana closed the cabin door and strolled off, searching for a cool stream, a long bath, and the tattered shreds of her emotions.
* * *
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He ...
The delicate petals of the daisy lay like a spattering of white jewels in Juliana’s lap as she concentrated intently on her task.
He loves me not.
She frowned, holding the naked flower between her fingers. No more petals. The answer was there for her to see. He loves me not.
She brushed the petals from her lap and stood up, biting her lip. The afternoon sun had swept far into the western sky. The air, laced with pine, was becoming cooler. Where had the day gone?
She had enjoyed the solitude and freedom. Here, by the mossy edge of this lovely, crystal-blue stream, with junipers overhead to shade her from the sun, she had bathed naked and frolicked in the cool waters. She had sprawled on the grass, reveling in the silken caress of the meadow flowers on her bare skin, daydreaming about Cole and all that had passed between them last night. Happiness washed over her. Remembering the way he had kissed her and touched her and united his body with hers made her quiver with a warm delight that had nothing to do with the golden sunshine splashing down all around her. She was certain that beneath that tough exterior, and all his protestations, despite the horrors of his violent past, Cole Rawdon was capable of intense tenderness—yes, of love—but the question plaguing her was whether or not he felt love for her. It was too soon; they hadn’t known each other very long, and most of that time they’d been enemies trying to outwit each other. Yet her own feelings were so powerful, rocking her whenever he was anywhere near, that she couldn’t help wondering if he didn’t feel the same way, if the lightning current that kept jolting her could possibly run in only one direction. From the way he had held her and made love to her last night she was tempted to believe that it couldn’t, that he matched her feelings with equally strong ones of his own, that his passion was as reckless and heartfelt and unstoppable as that which rushed over her whenever he touched her or smiled at her or even looked at her with those unforgettable fire-blue eyes.
But ... He loves me not.
How stupid. It was only a silly flower, a foolish game. It didn’t mean anything. Yet she was dismayed. Uncertainty spoiled the exquisite peace and beauty of the day.
Buttoning her shirt, and tucking it into the oversize trousers with their makeshift rope belt, Juliana was suddenly in a hurry to get back to the cabin. Cole had said he’d be back by sunset. He’d be furious if he returned and found that she’d disobeyed him, but really, she had needed the relaxation of the bath, needed the lush beauty of Fire Mesa to enfold and soothe her and help her sort out what had happened this morning, and it had done just that. Twisting her hair into a knot in back of her head, she secured it with a tortoiseshell clip that had been in her preciously guarded money pouch with some other small pieces of jewelry. Cole had handed it to her this morning, reminding her that he had removed it from around her waist while she slept after reaching the cabin, and the glint in his eyes had made her blush down to her toes, for she remembered that last night when they made love had not been the first time he had seen her naked.
Was that part of the reason why he had wanted to make love to her—because he had seen her when he’d undressed her that other time, and desire, maybe even curiosity, had caused him to set his mind to having her? Maybe that was all he had wanted, maybe it would never happen again, maybe he wouldn’t even come back for her ...
But here she managed to halt the fearful direction of her thoughts, racing like a runaway locomotive into a tunnel of gloom.
No, Cole would never leave her when she was in danger. He had too much sense of honor for that. As for the reasons why he had made love to her, she would have to wait and discover those in time, along with the secret
s he kept locked in his heart.
Time. It was growing later with each moment that she dallied here, and Juliana, stooping to gather a fistful of daisies for a centerpiece on the cabin table tonight, realized she’d have to race back and start that damned stove again.
But as she stepped past a juniper tree and headed toward the little dell that separated this part of the valley from the cabin, she heard a sound in the brush. She froze.
Was it an animal, a deer, perhaps? Or something—someone—else?
Glancing around uneasily, she could see nothing but the lilac-gray sweep of sagebrush hills, the staggering red rock escarpment rising to a sheer cliff beside her, and the trickling stream, its clear dancing water aglisten in the sunlight, behind her.
All was quiet. Maybe too quiet. She put a hand to the rock to steady herself. She had the eerie, skin-prickling sensation that she was not alone. Her heart in her throat, she moved forward again.
The Apache dropped down from the sheer cliff above her with incredible grace, his moccasined feet making only a soft scrabble in the grass.
Juliana’s scream echoed through the tall rocks. She turned and tried to run, but he grabbed her, holding her in muscle-corded brown arms. Fighting him, scratching, biting, she felt herself lifted in arms far too strong to resist, carried to a paint horse, tossed up into a saddle. Wild panic flooded over her, closing her throat. He sprang up behind her before she could move, and they were off, galloping like the wind itself across the stream where she had bathed, crossing the summer-soft valley floor and then climbing a rocky embankment, which led to an overgrown trail that twisted and turned and led them impossibly far from the cabin.
A sob broke from Juliana’s throat. Stark terror had taken possession of her. So far, the Apache had made no sound, had not spoken one word to her, not even a grunt. All the stories she had ever heard of Indian atrocities flashed through her brain at once, and she wondered with a sickening lurch of her stomach if he was bringing her to a camp where there were other braves, if they would all watch while he killed her or ... or whatever ... if they would each take their turn torturing her.
On and on they rode, while the fading sun burned like a bronze disc above them, and mesquite and wildflowers whipped by. How far they had gone, even in what direction, was impossible to tell. Juliana, in her terror, could think of nothing but that she would never, ever see Cole again, that if he ever found her after this Apache was finished with her, he would doubtless find only a scattering of broken bones and bloodied flesh.
She wondered in agonized sorrow if he would even mourn her death or if he would simply ride on and return to his own violent and personal business without more than a fleeting regret.
The cabin appeared out of nowhere, a rundown pine structure larger than Cole’s, but in far worse condition from the outside, stuck in a slab of mountain that rose, sheer and stark, to the sky. There was a clearing of about fifty feet around it, with a spring behind the cabin, and a row of scattered piñóns alongside. But everywhere about was desolation. Wild, beautiful, lonely desolation. For miles she could see nothing but rocks, brush, open mountain, and cacti.
When the Indian pulled her down from the horse, she tried to run, but he seized her about the waist, his black eyes slitted and intense.
Fear closed around her heart tight as a vise. Every muscle was tense; her throat seemed to be stuffed with flannel. Yet she screamed. Out of pure terror, she screamed. Loud and long, the scream echoing among the rocks, bouncing off the mountain walls, trailing through the crevices where wildflowers poked their bright heads.
All hell broke loose.
The cabin door was flung wide and a group of men rushed out.
“Gray Feather, what the hell ...”
“Lord, Wade, it’s her ...”
The Apache released her, grinning. But Juliana was no longer looking at him—she was staring dazedly at the two men nearest her. They had stopped ten feet away, while the others hung back, and they were staring at her as if searching for something ... something lost or forgotten or perhaps something that never existed at all.
Wade. Tommy. Could it be?
Her breath quick and shallow, Juliana stared from one to the other. The taller man appeared to be in his early twenties and had wide shoulders and light brown hair beneath a hat of pearl gray. His eyes were a keen, piercing shade of green, riveting in a handsome, square-jawed face that was just now frozen in shock. The second of the two had hair of the richest gold, worn straight to his shirt collar. Rangy and muscular, he cut a dashing figure in a fine blue linen shirt and dark trousers, with a silken neckerchief knotted about his throat. But it was his eyes, dancing, bold blue eyes set within a merry, good-looking face that captured Juliana’s attention. They were fixed on her with an expression of pure happiness, sparkling blue light seeming to fly from them as their owner started forward at a run.
“Aw, shucks, Juliana—it’s us. Wade and Tommy. Don’t you recognize us, peanut?”
“Hold on, Tommy.” Wade seized his brother’s arm before he could reach the stunned girl. With a stern look, he said something quietly to the other man, and then took a halting step forward.
“Juliana. I’m sure this is a shock for you. Gray Feather must’ve scared you pretty badly bringing you here like this—but hell, we’ve been searching all over for you and all I can say is: Thank God he found you.” Wade hesitated, then went on, the silence in the clearing loud as thunder.
“We’ve been ... we want ... oh, hell, there’s so much to say, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re safe. You are safe, you know. We’ll see to that. We’re your brothers, honey, and whatever you may have heard about us, well, it may or may not be true, but we’ve come clear across Arizona to find you and ... you may not want anything to do with us after all the stories, you may not have forgiven us for not writing to you in so long, but ... We’ll take this real slow and let you get used to us again and try to explain ...”
With a sob of overwhelming joy breaking from her throat, Juliana rushed headlong into his arms.
Wade hugged her tight, still dazed by the joy and unquestioning acceptance in her face.
“Whoopee!” Tommy pounced on her then like a wild young cougar. He grabbed her and whirled her in the air until she was dizzy, then wrapped her in a giant hug. “I told Wade you wouldn’t be some prissy, snooty little thing. Didn’t I tell you, Wade? But, peanut, you sure did grow into a beauty! And Keedy—no wonder he’s been like a lovesick calf all this while—where the hell is Keedy?”
From the doorway of the cabin came the tall, redheaded figure of the cowboy she’d met at Twin Oaks.
“Howdy, Miss Juliana. Sure is good to see you again!” he said, sweeping his hat off his head and grinning from ear to ear.
“Gil!” Her mind whirling in confusion, Juliana hugged him as if she couldn’t believe he was real. “Oh, Gil ... I don’t understand. How did you get mixed up with Wade and Tommy? How did you find me? How ... Well, I don’t care, really! What matters is that we’re all here—I can’t believe it.”
“Come inside, Juliana.” Wade, his handsome face somber but his eyes lit with a warm glow as he stared down at her, took her arm. “Skunk has supper just about ready and we can explain everything while we get some grub. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of questions—and so do we. Such as where Gray Feather found you, and how you got those bruises you’re wearing.” Ever so gently, he touched the faded marks upon her face. “It looks like you’ve had a bad time of it. But never mind. You’ll rest first and we’ll talk later. The most important thing is, no one is ever going to hurt you again, Juliana. Not while Tommy and I are alive.”
“Oh, Wade,” Juliana gasped, still scarcely able to believe that this tall, keen-eyed handsome young man was her eldest brother.
Just saying his name, feeling the touch of his hand on her arm, made Juliana’s eyes swim with tears. “It’s really you.” She was babbling like an idiot, but she didn’t care. She was too happy. “And Tom
my.” She smiled a brilliant, tremulous smile, drinking in the sight of each of them in turn and rubbing her wet eyes with the back of her hands. “It’s a miracle. There were times when I thought I’d never see you again.”
Wade enfolded her in a strong embrace. He smelled good, of leather and spice, and he felt so solid, so real, that Juliana felt all her cares fading away as he held her. She leaned against his chest and closed her eyes, filled with an exhausting relief.
“Skunk!” Tommy yelled suddenly, shattering her tearful reverie. Juliana opened her eyes and couldn’t help laughing as he grabbed ahold of the short, wiry little man closest to the cabin and shook him off his feet. “Better whip out some of that elderberry wine ‘cause we’re going to celebrate something fierce tonight. My little sister’s here, and damned if she isn’t the prettiest, finest girl you ever did see! Dancing! That’s what we’ll do! Juliana, will you dance with me? Skunk has a fiddle, and Keedy can call the steps and we’ll just tear this little old cabin to pieces!”
Grabbing her hand, he raced with her into the cabin and lifting her, spun her about again, round and round until Juliana shrieked, caught between laughter and tears, and Wade ordered him to stop. But Juliana clung to him after he set her down, gazing with soft, loving eyes into his mischievous face.
“Tommy,” she said, tenderly stroking her fingers through his gold hair, the same shade as hers, soft and thick as velvet, “you haven’t changed.” Her voice broke. “Oh, thank God, you haven’t changed.”
20
There were five members of the Montgomery gang—not counting Gil Keedy—and Juliana met them all that evening over Skunk Moses’ roast venison feast. And what a feast it was, with potato soup, corn bread biscuits dripping with butter, beans sweetened with molasses, elderberry wine, sugared coffee, and peppermint candy for dessert. Her brother Tommy, she learned, had a sweet tooth and purchased stick candy by the pound whenever he passed through a town. Before she entered the cabin on Stick Mountain—for that is what the place was called—she knew virtually nothing about the young men who were her brothers. But by the time that rollicking, festive meal was over, she knew a great deal indeed.
