Apache Runaway

by Madeline Baker

  “Just getting by.”

  “Why did you come back here?”

  “To see you.”

  The longing in his voice threatened to weaken her resolve. Looking straight ahead, she continued walking.

  “Oh? Why would you want to see me?”

  He grabbed her arm and whirled her around so that they were standing face-to-face. She felt his fingers dig into her arms, felt the heat of his touch spread through her, warmer than the rays of the sun.

  “Why do you think?” He growled the words.

  “I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “Jenny, I… Dammit, Jenny, I’ve spent the last four months trying to forget you, but it didn’t work. I kept thinking, hoping…”

  He shook his head, wishing he was as handy with words as he was with a .44 Colt.

  “I had to see you, to know you were happy. Are you, Jenny? Just tell me yes, and you’ll never see me again.”

  “I’m happy,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted. Except my son.”

  “You’ll have other children,” he remarked, his gaze intent upon her face.

  “Yes, of course,” she said hoarsely. “Goodbye, Ryder.”

  “Jenny, wait. I know about Hank.”

  She stared up at him, her face suddenly pale. “You…how could you?”

  “I just do. Are you really happy with him, Jenny? Do you want to spend the rest of your life living like a nun?”

  “Yes…no…I don’t know. Please, I’ve got to go.”

  “I’ll be in town awhile if you change your mind.”

  She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Turning on her heel, she hurried down the street toward home.

  He had come back. Why did seeing him again make her feel suddenly alive? She hated him.

  At home, she removed her hat and gloves, then stood in the middle of the parlor, her mind reeling. He was back.

  Slowly, she began to pace the floor. He had come back because he couldn’t stop thinking of her, because he wanted her. But she didn’t want him.

  Liar.

  Sinking down on the sofa, Jenny closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her temples, trying to shut out the memories, the sound of his voice, the look in his midnight-blue eyes. But all too vividly she recalled those times when he had held her in his arms—the day by the river when he had held her because she was missing Hank, the day he had kissed her and she had kissed him back, her whole being vibrating with desire. She recalled how he had held her hand while she struggled to bring her son into the world, the way he had held her while she cried.

  He was the only man who had ever made her feel like a woman, the only man she’d ever yearned for, dreamed of. If only he hadn’t betrayed her trust, she could have loved him with her whole heart. But she couldn’t forget her son, couldn’t forget the anguish of watching Ryder give her only child over into Kayitah’s keeping.

  Her son. He would be four months old now. Growing every day. Smiling. Learning to love someone else.

  The tears she’d been holding back began to fall and she was powerless to stop them. “Jenny? Jenny, what is it?” The sound of Hank’s voice infiltrated her despair. She tried to wipe the tears from her eyes, but she couldn’t seem to stop crying. She heard his footsteps in the hall, and then he was there, in the room.

  “Jenny, what’s wrong?”

  She looked at him helplessly, knowing at that moment that it was Ryder she loved, Ryder she wanted, in spite of everything.

  Hank knelt before Jenny and drew her hands into his. “Jen, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  And she did. The words poured out of her. It felt so good to tell him everything, the whole truth, about Kayitah, about her son. The only thing she held back were her feelings for Ryder Fallon.

  Hank stared at Jenny, not wanting to hear, not wanting to believe. He’d known she’d been some redskin’s squaw, and he’d been able to live with that. But a child…the thought knifed through him. Jenny had borne a son to a heathen savage, a son that should have been his. A son he’d never have.

  He stood up, quietly cursing the war, cursing the doctors who had saved his life, cursing Jenny for making him believe his impairment didn’t matter, that they could have a life together.

  His gaze moved around the room. Things. He could give her things. Expensive paintings, elaborate furnishings, costly gowns, but he could never make love to her, could never give her a child to replace the one she’d left behind.

  The knowledge cut deep into his soul. And with the pain came an unreasoning jealousy, a need to hurt as he was hurting.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” Hank said flatly. “Mrs. Johnson told me she saw you walking with Fallon.”

  “It has nothing to do with Ryder,” Jenny replied quickly.

  “You’re lying.” All the doubts, all the fears, exploded to the surface. He’d seen the way women looked at Fallon. Despite the man’s reputation, women were taken with him, drawn to his dark good looks, to the mystery that surrounded him. “Tell me the truth, Jen. You owe me that.”

  “Hank, please…”

  He crossed the floor in two angry strides. “Tell me the truth!” he demanded.

  He stared down at her, all the old hurt, the old anger, flaring to life once again. He remembered how she’d come to see him every day in the hospital, always smiling, always assuring him that it didn’t matter. She’d told him she loved him, that his disability didn’t matter. They could always adopt a child. She’d made him hope, made him believe…

  Before he realized what he was doing, he slapped her, and then slapped her again and again, sickened because he wanted to hurt her, because he needed to hurt her.

  “Slut!” he roared, his anger feeding on itself. “You slept with him, didn’t you?” He slapped her again, harder this time. “Didn’t you?”

  Jenny shrank back against the sofa, the ache in her heart far worse than Hank’s blows. Slowly, she shook her head.

  “Hank, please, don’t do this.”

  He drew a deep shuddering sigh. Horrified, he stared at Jenny, at the vibrant red marks his hands had left on her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, Jenny,” he said hoarsely. “So sorry.”

  And turning on his heel, he left the room, unable to endure the pity and remorse in her eyes a moment longer.

  The tension between them grew worse in the next few days. Once Jenny admitted to herself that she loved Ryder, it seemed as if her whole world began to fall apart. Her marriage, which had been amiable if not passionate, seemed stifling, a mockery. She thought of Ryder constantly during the day, dreamed of him at night. She avoided going to town for fear of running into Fallon, for fear that Hank would accuse her of being unfaithful. And though she never mentioned Ryder’s name, Hank seemed to know what she was thinking. She saw the knowledge in his eyes, in the dispirited slump of his shoulders.

  He began coming home late, drinking after dinner. Often, she found him sitting in the library, a bottle in his hand, his eyes red-rimmed and dull. He accused her of sneaking off to meet Fallon, accused her of betraying their marriage vows.

  His drinking led to violence. Sometimes he smashed the furniture. Sometimes he slapped her. He was always sorry, always ashamed.

  Now, lying in bed, alone, she knew she had to do something. Perhaps divorce was the answer. Certainly they couldn’t go on as they were. Their marriage was a failure. It was time to end it now, before they started hating each other.

  She would tell him in the morning.

  Her decision made, she closed her eyes, feeling at peace for the first time in weeks.

  She woke with Hank’s voice shrieking in her ear, calling her vile names, accusing her of unspeakable things.

  She blinked up at him, confused. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

  She stared around the room.

  “You’ve been seeing him on the sly, haven’t you?”

  Jenny sat up, drawing the covers t
o her chin.

  Hank stood beside the bed, his face haggard in the early morning light filtering through the windows.

  “Have you been drinking all night?” she asked.

  “Don’t try to change the subject, you tramp. You’ve been seeing him, haven’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Liar!” He choked back a sob. “You were calling his name. You reached for me, but you were calling his name. Dammit, Jen, how could you?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Liar!” He grabbed her by her hair and dragged her across the bed. “You’re no better than a whore!”

  “Hank…” She cringed as he hovered over her, his eyes dark with jealous fury, cried out as he slapped her. “Hank, no…”

  But it was too late. Drunk with whiskey and rage, he hit her again and again until, abruptly, he let her go.

  “Jenny…Jenny, oh God,” he sobbed, and ran out of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The sound of the door closing behind her husband sounded like a death knell in Jenny’s ears, the death of her hopes and dreams, the death of her marriage. She had tried, she thought bleakly, but maybe such a marriage had been doomed to fail from the start.

  She dried her tears on the hem of her nightgown and then, groaning softly, slipped out of bed.

  Downstairs, she heated water on the stove, then filled the tub. She scrubbed herself thoroughly, as though she could wash away the hurt, the ugliness, the awful sense of failure that engulfed her.

  Returning to her bedroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. A stranger stared back at her, a stranger with lifeless green eyes. There were livid bruises on her arms. Her face throbbed from where Hank had slapped her; her left eye was red and swollen.

  Poor Hank. It would have been better for him if she’d never come back here.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, too numb to think. She had to get away, she had to leave before Hank came back. She couldn’t face him, not now.

  She dressed quickly, then left the house. She had no clear idea of where she was going, she knew only that she had to get away.

  Head lowered, she began walking, away from the neat rows of houses that lined the road, away from the town.

  She walked all day, not caring which way she went, oblivious to the setting of the sun, to the sudden chill in the air.

  “Jenny? Jenny!”

  She looked up at him, her expression blank, her eyes red with tears that seemed to have no end.

  “Jenny.”

  Ryder slid from the back of his horse, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the dull red imprint on her cheek. Her left eye was red and swollen.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded, his anger making his voice gruff.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Dammit, what happened?”

  She shook her head, two fat tears sliding down her cheeks.

  “Jenny.” He drew her close, felt her flinch as he touched her arm. “Jenny, what happened?” he asked again.

  “Hank. He…”

  Fallon swore. “He hit you, didn’t he? The bastard. I’ll kill him for this.”

  “No. Please, Ryder.”

  “You’re cold,” he muttered. “Here,” he said, removing his jacket, “put this on.”

  His coat was warm, fragrant with the scent of tobacco and man.

  “Jenny, you shouldn’t be wandering around out here alone.”

  She shrugged, past caring what happened to her. She didn’t think to question his sudden appearance. From the moment she had met him, Ryder had always been there when she needed him.

  Fallon muttered an oath as he stripped the saddle from his horse and spread the saddle blanket on the ground.

  Jenny didn’t resist as he sat down and drew her into his lap. With a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder. It felt so right to be in his arms; how could it be so wrong?

  The night was quiet, the sky alight with a million dancing stars and a pale yellow moon. A faint breeze stirred the tall grass, whispering good night to the trees.

  “Do you want to talk about it, Jenny?”

  She closed her eyes, wondering where to start. His hands, so big and brown and strong, were infinitely gentle as they stroked her hair. What a comfort he was! So understanding and sympathetic. She was tired of trying to hate him, of trying to fight her feelings for him.

  “Jenny?”

  She looked up at him, knowing that her sadness, her hunger, were mirrored in her eyes. Her hand reached up to caress the dark bronze of his cheek.

  Just looking at him stirred something deep within her soul. His hair was long and thick, as black as the night, his shoulders were solid and wide, wide enough to carry the weight of the world. His arms were corded with muscle, strong enough to hold her, to protect her. And he had been kind to her, so kind.

  “I wish…” She turned away so he couldn’t see her face.

  “What do you wish?”

  “I wish I’d met you first, before Hank, before Kayitah.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I wish you hadn’t given my son to his father.”

  “I’m sorry, Jenny girl. I wish to hell things hadn’t turned out the way they did, but there was nothing else I could do.”

  She nodded, too weary to argue. She was married to a man she didn’t love, and she loved a man she’d sworn to hate. It just wasn’t fair. She wished suddenly that she could forget it all, that she could run away and start all over again, free of old hurts, old memories.

  Ryder smiled at her, his dark eyes filled with yearning. “If you were a Cheyenne woman, I’d ask you to run away with me. And if you said yes, it would end your marriage to Hank.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. Life among the Indians is a lot less complicated than life among the whites. Sometimes the new husband sends one of the old men to the first husband. The old man offers the injured party a pipe and asks him if he wishes something in exchange for his wife. A horse, perhaps, or a buffalo robe.”

  “Is a marriage undertaken with as little ceremony as divorce?”

  “No. A couple usually court for a long time. Then the man sends horses to the girl’s father. If she accepts them, they set a date for the wedding. On her wedding day, the girl rides her best horse to the lodge of the young man’s mother. Some of his relatives spread a blanket on the ground. They place her on it and carry her into the lodge. In her mother-in-law’s lodge, the girl removes her old clothing and puts on a new dress and moccasins. Her mother-in-law prepares a meal for the bride and groom, and then the young couple go to their own lodge. Sometimes a couple decides to run off together, especially if her parents don’t approve her choice of a husband.”

  Jenny stared up at Fallon, her eyes suddenly bright. “Let’s pretend,” she whispered. “Let’s pretend I’ve run away from Hank and we’re eloping.”

  “Jenny…”

  “Please, Ryder, be my husband for this night.”

  “For this night and every night,” he replied fervently, and lowering his head, he kissed her.

  She moaned softly as his tongue slid over her lips, shivered with delight as his hands moved over her back and shoulders, drifted lightly over her breasts, his touch trailing fire.

  This was what it meant to be a woman, she thought, to be loved by a man. She’d been married to Kayitah, had borne his child, but she had never felt like this, as if her whole being was alive, glowing, ready to burst into flame.

  She returned Ryder’s kisses with a fervor never before known, whimpering for him to hurry as he undressed her, and then shed his own clothing.

  This was what she had wanted, had needed since the first time she saw him in the Apache camp, a prisoner, badly wounded. He had stirred something deep within her, something that had lain dormant until he looked at her for the first time. Perhaps she had loved him even then. He was kindness and caring, love and security, and more, so much more. For this one night, she would be his and he would be h
ers.

  Fallon held Jenny close, unable to believe she was a reality in his arms and not just another dream. He had been on fire for her since he first laid eyes on her in Kayitah’s camp, had wanted her desperately even though she had been forbidden to him. Sometimes he had thought of dragging her into the bushes and making love to her regardless of the consequences. She had haunted his dreams at night, filling him with a restless yearning, a hunger that nothing else could feed.

  But now she was in his arms, warm and willing and eager. Her nails raked his back as he moved slowly within her, and it was like coming home. She was his now, his woman, the wife of his heart, as surely as if they had been joined together by a minister.

  He needed no written words, no signature on a piece of paper. He knew how meaningless words and papers really were. His people had been cheated out of their lands by the worthless words and treaties of the whites. The Indian way was better, more honest. Jenny was his now and he would care for her, provide for her, protect her with his dying breath.

  He whispered her name as he buried his face in the soft cloud of her hair. Her scent, the silk of her flesh against his own, the taste of her sweetness, all fired his blood, and he drove into her, possessing her, branding her as his woman for all time.

  Jenny breathed his name as his hands and lips aroused her, filling her with a wild desire such as she had never imagined, wrapping her in layers of ecstasy until she was certain she would melt from the heat of it, the intensity of it, the sheer joy of his touch.

  Higher, higher, they climbed, leaving the earth and its cares behind.

  For Fallon, there was nothing but Jenny, nothing but the sweetness of her love and the soft sound of her voice in his ear as she whispered his name over and over again.

  And for Jenny there was only Ryder. Ryder, whose very touch had the power to make her forget old hurts, old memories, old pains. Ryder, who had caused her such anguish, and brought her such joy.

  She sobbed his name as her desire crested and broke, leaving her adrift in a sea of wondrous warmth and peace. She clung to Ryder as he arched over her, his whole body shuddering as his life spilled into her, binding them together in a way nothing else ever could.