Apache Runaway

by Madeline Baker

  “It won’t matter, Jenny,” Fallon assured her. “Not if he loves you.”

  “I’ve been telling myself that every day for the last four years,” Jenny confessed, “but somehow it sounds more convincing coming from someone else.” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “I don’t know why I’m so worried. Hank’s probably forgotten me by now.”

  Fallon shook his head. “He’ll still be waiting.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because you’re worth waiting for,” Fallon replied, certain that no man who had once known Jenny Braedon would ever forget her.

  With a last sniffle, Jenny wiped the tears from her eyes, then gazed at Fallon, a mysterious smile playing over her lips.

  “You gonna let me in on the joke?” Fallon asked, and Jenny burst into giggles.

  “I was just thinking that when I was first captured, I prayed and prayed for someone to come and rescue me, and when no one came right away, I guess I gave up hope. But now you’re here.” Jenny smiled and gave a little shrug. “I guess it just takes longer for some prayers to be answered.”

  “I doubt I’d be considered the answer to anyone’s prayers,” Fallon retorted with a wry grin.

  For a moment, they smiled at each other and then, gradually, their smiles faded.

  He had wanted her for so long. All he had to do was take a step forward and fold her in his arms.

  Jenny gazed into the depths of his eyes, her heart reaching out for this man who had become her friend. She felt the need to lay her head on his chest, to be held in the arms of someone she cared for. Someone who cared for her in return.

  “Ryder…”

  Ignoring the inner voice that warned him he was on dangerous ground, Fallon opened his arms.

  She felt a wondrous sense of well-being as his arms closed around her. Funny, she thought, she knew nothing about him except that he was a half-breed drifter, yet she felt utterly safe in his embrace. There was a solid dependability about Ryder Fallon, a deep well of inner strength and confidence that she found reassuring. He never seemed ill at ease or unsure of himself. Even when the Indians were torturing him, he had been in control of his emotions. She had never known a man who possessed such self-assurance. Or one who was so outrageously handsome. His hair was long and black. His eyes were a dark, dark blue. Sometimes they were as expressive as print on a page, and at other times completely unfathomable. Often, she found herself wondering what he would look like clean-shaven. In truth, she spent far too much time thinking about him, period.

  Fallon frowned as Jenny snuggled trustingly into his arms. Did she have any idea of the powerful longing her nearness aroused in him? His nostrils filled with the scent of her, and a quick heat flared in his belly and spread downward with astonishing speed. He had not had a woman in a long time; her nearness was the sweetest kind of torment.

  He swore under his breath, chiding himself for being all kinds of a fool. No matter how their intended escape turned out, Jenny would never be his. If they failed to make it safely out of Rainbow Canyon, he would be killed by inches and she would be forced to return to Kayitah’s lodge. If, by some miracle, they managed to reach civilization, she would hasten to her husband’s arms.

  Jenny stirred in his embrace. “I’d better get back before Kayitah comes looking for me,” she murmured.

  “Yeah.” His voice was husky as he released her.

  Jenny looked up at him for a long moment, all her senses urging her to stay. Instead, she gave him a quick smile of farewell and hurried back to the village.

  Fallon watched her out of sight, admiring the gentle sway of her hips, the way the sun danced in her bright golden hair. No wonder she was the chief’s favorite wife, he mused. Just looking at her made a man feel good.

  Chapter Ten

  Silent tears tracked Jenny’s cheeks as she stared into the lodge’s murky darkness, but she made no effort to wipe them away for fear of waking the man at her side. The Apache chief lay close beside her, snoring softly, his arm heavy across her breast.

  Despair brought fresh tears to Jenny’s eyes. Even when Kayitah was not in the mood for lovemaking, he shared her bed most often. Little wonder Alope hated her. She was obviously the chief’s favorite, and Jenny wondered, as she had so many times, how he could find pleasure in a woman who made no effort to disguise the fact that his very touch repulsed her.

  She cringed as Kayitah moved against her, his touch somehow possessive even in sleep. How she hated him! If only she had the courage to kill him while he slept, but the consequences of such an act filled her with terror. Unpleasant as her life was, she had no wish to end it.

  Discouragement perched on Jenny’s shoulder like a carrion crow, and she turned her thoughts toward home, wishing she could see Philadelphia again. She had been so happy there, living in her little white house, surrounded by friends and neighbors, working in the hospital. It was there she had first met Hank. He’d been wounded in the war and had been sent home to recover. Only he hadn’t wanted to recover. He’d wanted to die.

  One of the doctors had asked her to spend time with him, to try to convince him that life was still worthwhile, in spite of everything. She hadn’t understood at first and then, when the doctor had explained that Hank could no longer function as a man, she had been overcome with embarrassment.

  But once that had passed, she had been filled with sympathy for the handsome young man. She had spent hours at his bedside, talking to him, reading to him or simply sitting there to keep him company. It had taken weeks, but eventually she’d managed to break through the icy wall that Hank had erected around himself and they’d become friends.

  When Hank was well enough to leave the hospital, he began to call on her, assuring her that he wanted only to continue their friendship. He had no one left in Philadelphia now that his brother had gone west, and he was lonely. As she was. Her parents had been killed in a carriage accident only a few months earlier and she was still mourning their loss.

  She’d been lonely, and he’d been lonely, and when, only three months later, he had asked her to marry him, she had accepted, even though they had known each other a scandalously short time. She had not minded that there could be no intimacy between them. She was a stranger to passion, to love. She had wanted only his companionship, someone to laugh with, to cry with. At night, in Hank’s arms, she had been content to be held. Gently reared all her life, she had never been alone with a man, never felt the faintest stirring of desire. Hank’s chaste kisses had not aroused her, his touch had never left her yearning for more, and so they had lived together amicably, sharing everything but passion.

  They might have lived happily ever after if Hank hadn’t decided to go west to be with his brother, Charlie. A new life, he’d said, and nothing she could say could change his mind. A week later he’d quit his job at the bank and headed for Arizona Territory to go into business with Charlie. Three months later, she had boarded a stage, headed for a town she’d never seen, never even heard of. Widow Ridge. The very name had sent a shiver down her spine.

  Fresh tears welled in Jenny’s eyes and she blinked them back. Crying was useless, as useless as blaming Hank for her predicament. It wasn’t Hank’s fault the Apaches had attacked her stagecoach any more than it was her fault she had been forced to become Kayitah’s woman. She supposed she should be grateful the Apache chief had taken her for his wife. At least she had been spared the cruel fate that had befallen the other woman on the coach. Even at this late date, she could hear the cries of that poor woman.

  Jenny thrust the memory aside and tried to visualize Hank’s face in her mind’s eye, but she hadn’t seen him in over four years and her mental image of her husband had grown fainter with each passing day, like a photograph left too long in the sun.

  She had no trouble conjuring up a picture of Ryder Fallon though. His bearded face danced before her in the dark lodge, his midnight-blue eyes warm as he assured her that everything would be all right. She remembered the strength
of his arms when he had held her close, how nicely she had fit in his embrace. He was every inch a man, from his broad chest and wide shoulders to his long lean flanks. She remembered how his muscles had bunched when Kayitah was tormenting him. So many muscles, she mused, so much lean bronze flesh.

  She turned her head and glanced to where Fallon lay sleeping, only a few feet away. She wished suddenly that it was Fallon lying beside her, his arm across her breast.

  Her cheeks grew hot and she put such thoughts from her mind, wondering instead how old he was. The beard and mustache made it difficult to judge his age, but she guessed him to be in his early thirties. Most men were married by then, and she wondered why he was still single, and then wondered what difference it made. He was nothing to her, only the means to an end. And that end was escape.

  She breathed the word aloud, and the sound of it rose like a prayer.

  “Escape.” She murmured the word again as she closed her eyes, focusing on how wonderful it would be to get away from the Apache, to see Hank again.

  But it was Ryder Fallon’s image that followed her to sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jenny watched with narrow-eyed envy as Fallon left the lodge the following morning. She was supposed to be Kayitah’s wife, and Fallon, though no longer a slave, was still supposed to be a prisoner, but he had more freedom than she did!

  He left the lodge early every morning, joining the other men at the river to bathe, then going off to train the big black stallion that Ziyah’s husband had given him.

  Jenny had, on occasion, sneaked over to watch Fallon exercise the horse. They were two of a kind, the ebony-colored horse and the dark-haired man. Both big and strong. Both still more than a little wild in spite of the reins of civilization. She had seen Fallon riding bareback across the valley, using only the sound of his voice and the pressure of his legs to guide the big black stallion. They were beautiful to watch. He was beautiful to watch…

  She drew her thoughts from Ryder Fallon, wishing she had an excuse to leave the wickiup, especially now when Alope was nagging her again, complaining that the tea was too strong and the berries not ripe.

  She waited until Alope went out, and then, with a sniff of defiance, Jenny walked out of the lodge. If Alope and Ryder could come and go as they pleased, then so could she!

  Fighting back tears of anger and frustration, she made her way to her favorite place along the river. How she hated Alope! The Indian woman’s temper had not improved since Kayitah had declared that Fallon would no longer be considered a slave. Now that Alope could no longer vent her anger on the white man, she had taken to taunting Jenny again, her voice harsh and critical. More and more, Alope tormented Jenny, seeming to take great pleasure in making her angry.

  Nothing Jenny ever did was right as far as Alope was concerned. There had been a time when Kayitah had interceded on Jenny’s behalf, but no more. With typical male cowardice, he fled the lodge at the first sign of trouble, leaving the two women to settle their disputes without benefit of his counsel.

  With a wordless cry of despair, Jenny flounced down on the grassy riverbank. Cradling her head in her hands, she began to weep. It wasn’t fair, she thought petulantly, wishing she had the nerve to fight back, to call Alope all the unkind names that stuck in her throat, but she had never been given to violence, either physical or verbal. A proper lady did not resort to such things. But oh she was so tired of feeling worthless and unwanted.

  Sunk in the depths of her despair, she didn’t hear Fallon’s footsteps coming up behind her. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

  Startled, she glanced over her shoulder, then relaxed. “No.” Raising her head, Jenny wiped the tears from her eyes with the hem of her skirt. “Darn that old witch. She makes me so mad!”

  “Which old witch is that?” Fallon queried, dropping down on the grass beside her.

  “Alope!” Jenny answered vehemently. “She criticizes everything I do.”

  Fallon chuckled softly. “Why don’t you learn to do things right?”

  “I do them right!” Jenny snapped. “I can cook and sew and tan hides just as good as she does, but she’s always finding fault with me, even if she has to make things up.”

  “Jenny, take it easy,” Fallon said soothingly. “I was only kidding.”

  “I know,” she said contritely. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t let her walk all over you. She’ll never respect you if you don’t fight back. Next time Alope starts to give you the rough side of her tongue, tell her to shut up. Or slap her face.”

  “Slap her!” Jenny gasped, horrified by the thought of striking the other woman.

  “Hell yes. Slap her silly. Once she knows she can’t bully you, she’ll stop.”

  Jenny glared at him, appalled, and then angry. “You mean stand up to her the way you did when she was treating you like a horse?”

  Fallon mumbled an oath under his breath. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

  “I know,” Jenny admitted, instantly penitent. “I’m sorry.”

  She had no right to insinuate that Fallon had been afraid to stand up to Alope. If Fallon had openly defied the Indian woman, she probably would have killed him, and taken great pleasure in the deed.

  Jenny sighed. No matter how bad things got, she knew she didn’t have to fear for her life, because Alope would never dare lay a hand on her, not so long as Kayitah was there.

  “Forget it. Listen, Jenny, you’ve got to trust me on this. I know what I’m talking about. If you stand up to her, she’ll back off.”

  “I’ll try,” Jenny said resolutely. “Thanks for the advice.”

  “Any time.”

  Toying with the folds of her skirt, Jenny covertly studied Ryder Fallon. What was there about him that made her blood sing whenever he was near? It was more than just his rugged good looks. No man had ever made her feel so feminine or so vulnerable. She knew she had no business thinking about him in any way that was remotely personal, and yet he filled her thoughts by day and crept into her dreams at night.

  She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to feel his mouth on hers. He was tall and strong and handsome, and though she knew it was dreadfully wicked, she could not help wondering what it would be like to feel his hard muscular body next to her own, to feel his hands in her hair, the touch of his lips brushing her skin…

  She felt a sudden wave of heat wash into her cheeks as all the thoughts that had kept her awake the previous night came back to haunt her. She was a married woman, morally and legally bound to her husband, yet she was forever daydreaming about another man, a man she hardly knew. It was shameful, disgusting.

  With a sigh, she fell back on the grass and gazed up at the clear blue sky, forcing her thoughts away from Ryder Fallon. It was beautiful here by the river, peaceful and secluded. If only she could stay here forever, away from Kayitah, away from his sharp-tongued wife.

  If only she were free…

  Frowning, she closed her eyes. She would catch the devil from Alope for staying away from the lodge for so long when there was so much work to do, but sometimes she just had to get away, to be alone with her thoughts.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  A dark shadow blotted out the sunlight. Opening her eyes, Jenny saw Fallon leaning over her, his midnight-blue eyes smoky with desire, his mouth descending on her own.

  She whispered, “No, don’t,” but she made no move to resist as his mouth covered hers. His lips were warm and firm, undeniably hungry as he kissed her with a passion she had never known. His mustache tickled her upper lip as his tongue probed the warm secrets of her mouth. Such unexpected intimacy should have made her cringe; instead, she shuddered with pleasure as a quick heat shot clear through her, then settled in the center of her being, filling her with a delicious glow. His beard was soft and strangely sensual as it brushed against her cheek.

  Caught up in the wonder of his touch, Jenny did not stop to think about what she was doing. She knew only that
she had never experienced such a surge of emotion or known such delight, had never yearned so deeply to be held, or to feel a man’s hands caressing her.

  Moaning softly, she slid her arms around Fallon’s neck and drew him closer, wantonly pressing her body against his, reveling in the sheer masculinity of his chest and thighs. The passion that had lain untouched within her sprang quickly to life in response to the touch of Ryder Fallon’s hands and lips. Hank’s chaste kisses had never aroused her to such fever pitch. Kayitah’s occasional caresses had filled her with revulsion, but Fallon’s touch was exquisite and she gloried in the tutelage of his hands as he lightly stroked her breasts and gently massaged her belly, igniting little fires of pleasure wherever he touched.

  She closed her eyes, shivering with wonder as wave after wave of sensation washed over her, arousing her, engulfing her.

  She was drowning in a sea of honey. His mouth was warm against the side of her neck, his tongue like a silken finger of flame as he teased her lips, then dipped into her mouth to sample the nectar within.

  A soft moan rose in her throat, a sob of mingled pleasure and exquisite pain. She was going to die, she thought. Any moment now, she was going to burn up and die from the sweet fire of his touch. Already, her blood had turned to flame and her limbs had gone weak. Like butter left too long in the sun, she was sizzling, melting.

  Fallon held Jenny tight, amazed at her response. He had not expected her to return his kisses, had, in fact, expected a slap in the face.

  Her quick surrender fired his blood and urged him to taste and touch and explore every inch of the delectable body that had been tormenting him for weeks. He knew he should stop, knew he should release her and run like hell before it was too late, but he could not bring himself to let her go. Her kisses were as intoxicating as brandy, her skin was like soft satin beneath his hands.

  Heat engulfed him, arousing him to such a state there could be no doubt of what he was feeling, what he was thinking, wanting…