Only in My Arms

by Jo Goodman

  The chamber was not only well stocked, it was also furnished with a rocker, a three-legged stool, a faded brocade wing chair, and a cherry wood pie table. While the mix of pieces was odd, Mary recognized the quality.

  She was as astonished as she was appalled. "It's true, then," she said softly.

  "What's true?"

  Mary hadn't been aware she had spoken aloud. She nudged Ryder's shoulder, and he set her down. When he would have supported her, she took a step away from him. "Is this where you've hidden the gold?" she asked.

  He came to understand what she thought was true. She believed the contents of the chamber had something to do with the Colter Canyon raid. "There's no gold here." It was the only explanation he would make. When it looked as if she wouldn't be satisfied with that, he pointed to the well of water. "It's cold, but you can wash there. Bathe if you like. I get our drinking water from the source so you don't have to worry that it will be contaminated. There's soap in that trunk and liniment in my saddlebags."

  Mary looked longingly at the water, then back at Ryder, less critically this time. There was no gold here, he'd said. Did she dare believe him? Did she dare not? "I'd like a bath," she said quietly. "And perhaps I could wash my habit." From beneath her wide sleeve she pulled out her dusty veil and wimple. "And these."

  "Whatever you like."

  "Are there towels?"

  "This isn't a hotel."

  "I'm not likely to make that mistake. I just thought—" She glanced around the room. "It seems you have all the important amenities."

  He took pity on her. Her eyes were large and impossibly green, and for just a moment she had been uncertain. "In the trunk with the soap. I'll get them both for you."

  Mary exchanged the torch she was holding for the soap when Ryder brought it. She eased herself carefully onto the flat stones that ringed the small pool and took off her shoes and stockings. Looking sideways at Ryder, she raised her black skirt slightly and massaged her calves. "You already bathed," she said. "Alone." It wasn't a question; it was a hint.

  Ryder hesitated.

  "There's no way out," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."

  His eyes narrowed on her face a moment longer. "Very well," he said at last. "There are things I can do elsewhere." Ryder picked up one of the wooden buckets and a ladle. Still carrying the torch, he left the chamber.

  Mary waited, wanting to be certain Ryder was really gone before she stripped out of her habit and undergarments. When his light footfalls receded completely she believed she was safe. The pile of clothing she intended to wash was forgotten as she took stock of her bruised and battered body. There were large discolorations on her shoulder, upper arm, and hip and it wasn't until she recalled fainting that she understood their origin. The small, tender blisters on her palms and fingertips were easier to explain. She remembered the tight grip she had had on her saddle because Ryder wouldn't give her the reins.

  Mary explored lower, touching her ribs, her flat belly, the faint outline of her hipbone. Where she had controlled her mount with her inner thighs, the soft skin was burned from the constant rubbing. Touching herself gingerly now, Mary winced. It would take more than liniment to ease her pain there.

  Mary dipped her toes in the water, just skimming the surface. Ryder had understated the fact when he'd said it was cold. It was icy. She sat on the stones again and eased herself carefully into the pool until she touched bottom. The water cupped the lower curve of her breasts, and her nipples became almost painfully hard with the frigid temperature. In the beginning it was difficult to breathe. Mary was tempted to haul herself out, but it would have taken more strength than she could immediately muster.

  The current tugged on her at the level of her ankles and feet as the underground stream rushed past. The deeper water was even colder than the surface, so Mary made no attempt to dunk herself entirely.

  That is, until Ryder reappeared.

  She had soap in one hand and a scrap of linen in the other. She held both aloft as she sank into the water as far as her chin. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

  Ryder didn't miss that her tone was as icy as the water. "I didn't hear any splashing," he explained calmly. "I wanted to be sure you hadn't drowned."

  Mary made a sound that was both derisive and impatient. "You couldn't be that lucky."

  His pale gray eyes widened fractionally. "It didn't take you long to recover your sass."

  She wasn't certain she heard him correctly. "What did you say?"

  "I said you were sassy."

  It was a word that had never been applied to Mary before. Tart. Blunt. Sarcastic. Those were descriptions she had heard. Sassy was girlish, a little flirty. It made her feel gauche, youthful in a way that she'd never been, even when she was young. Embarrassed, Mary lowered her hands and crossed them in front of her breasts under the water. Some of the heat drained from her face.

  Ryder watched her thoughtfully and revealed nothing. He approached the pool slowly until he could hunker at the edge. "This seems familiar," he said quietly.

  Mary was thinking the same thing. Except for the cold. That would fade in time, she thought. Soon she would be mercifully numb to it and the humiliation of her predicament. Mustering what dignity her situation allowed, she stared back at Ryder and waited for him to move away. When he didn't she said, "You might demonstrate some decency."

  "Do you need help?" he asked politely. It seemed the decent thing to do. He watched her lips flatten with exasperation, and one corner of his mouth lifted in an arch smile. "I've riled you again, haven't I?"

  Mary didn't know which she disliked more, the fact that he could get a response from her so easily or the fact that he seemed to enjoy it. "Will you please leave?" she asked.

  "You only had to ask." Still watching her from behind a mask of impenetrable calm, Ryder rose slowly. The stiffness that plagued all of Mary's movements was noticeably absent from his. He didn't know it, but that did as much to fire her anger as his careless reply. As soon as his back was turned she pitched the bar of soap at him hard. It caught Ryder squarely between his shoulder blades before it thudded to the ground.

  He spun around. Whatever retribution he planned in that brief span of time was aborted when he saw Mary's shoulder. She had risen far enough out of the water for him to clearly see the large bruise. "Did that happen when you fell?" he asked.

  She followed his gaze to her shoulder, glanced at the blossoming discoloration on her pale skin. "Unless you beat me while I slept," she said. Mary almost regretted the flippant remark when his eyes pinned her where she stood. "Yes," she said. "When I fainted."

  "Are there more?"

  She hesitated.

  "I'll drag you out of there and see for myself."

  Mary raised her arm and showed him the one there. "There's another on my hip," she said. When he merely stared at her, trying to gauge her truthfulness, she added, "That's all."

  Ryder nodded. His saddlebag was lying on the spread of blankets. He dumped the contents and spread them out. A brown bottle of Dr. Horace White's liniment was among the items Florence had packed for him. Ryder set it down beside the pool. "Compliments of Flo," he said. "She thought of everything."

  Mary didn't try to reach it, nor did she thank him for it. As far as she was concerned the general's mother had a great deal to answer for. "May I have the soap?" she asked.

  He handed it to her. "You'll be all right?"

  She nodded. "Yes," she said. "Of course." Watching him, seeing a thread of tension leave his features and a certain remoteness return to his eyes, Mary realized there was no "of course" about it. Ryder really had come back because he was concerned something had happened to her. She wanted to tell him that he should have thought of that before he forced her to leave with him. The moment to say it passed as Ryder picked up his torch at the entrance and disappeared into the corridor. There would be other opportunities, she reflected, glancing around the room. Her eyes landed on the box of Henry rifles and the cases of sh
ells, and she smiled. Opportunities could be made if one was resourceful.

  * * *

  Ryder leaned his torch against some rocks in the spring room. He filled the bucket with fresh water, took a few deep sips from the ladle, and then set it aside. He would give Mary ten minutes to finish bathing and no longer. The water was too cold for her to be safe any longer than that. Her strength had already been pushed to the limit.

  He could still feel the spot on his back where she had caught him with the corner of that bar of soap. She was at the end of her emotional endurance as well. He could only guess at the lengths she would go to be rid of him and the methods she might use. He would have to make certain she understood there was no escape from the cavern. Otherwise Ryder was very much afraid Mary would die trying.

  He mulled over the things he might say to her, testing them in his mind before he tested them on his tongue, and at the end of ten minutes he retraced his steps to the lighted chamber.

  All of his carefully considered phrases were left unsaid. Mary Francis met him at the entrance wearing nothing but a blanket and a feral smile. She was also silent.

  The Henry rifle she aimed at Ryder's chest spoke for her.

  Chapter 6

  "I know how to use this," Mary said, raising the rifle a notch.

  Ryder nodded. "That's important information for me to have," he said. "Thank you."

  Mary's forest green eyes flashed, set off by the hint of amusement she thought she heard in Ryder's tone. "You might want to know this also," she told him. "I will use it."

  "I didn't think you'd pick it up otherwise."

  This time she was satisfied with his sincerity. "You can put down the torch," she said. "And the bucket. Then I'd like you to remove your gun." Her eyes dropped momentarily to the weapon Ryder had tucked in his pants. "You can put it on the ground and kick it toward me."

  Ryder dropped the torch and bucket. He raised his right hand slowly and took the Colt out. He was careful not to indicate in any way that he might turn the tables on her. The Henry rifle had a quick trigger and deadly accuracy. At her present range, she could hardly miss. Even if her intention was only to wing him, the wound could prove fatal. Ryder knew she hadn't entirely considered the consequences of killing him. If he died she had only the slimmest chance of finding her way out of the cavern. That still left her to face the mountains. She had even less chance of surviving in them.

  Ryder carefully placed the Colt on the cavern's rock floor and kicked it in Mary's direction. "Now what?"

  Mary's chin jerked briefly in the direction of the odd assortment of chairs. "You may have a seat," she said. "Your choice."

  He took the stool. Mary followed but didn't sit. Ryder watched her heft the rifle again, and knew it was getting heavy for her. "Your blanket's slipping."

  She shook her head. "I won't be so easily taken in."

  "All right," he said, his eyes dropping to the upper curves of her breasts. "Then you won't mind if I enjoy the view."

  Mary considered shooting him just to shake his imperturbable calm. "Where are we?" she asked.

  "You don't have to point a rifle at me to get an answer to that."

  "Apparently I do. You haven't answered it yet."

  "This is the Cavern of Lost Souls."

  How fitting, she thought. "A burial ground?"

  "At one time. It hasn't been used for that for centuries. There are chambers within the cavern with human remains. It's still a sacred place to the Apache."

  "Particularly the Chiricahua?"

  "Yes."

  "Then the cavern is well known."

  He shrugged "It's drawn up on all the geological surveys of the area."

  He was being purposely and maddeningly obtuse, she thought. And he was still staring at her breasts. It was very tempting to look down to ascertain what he could see, but Mary resisted. The blanket was heavy wool, and she could feel the weight of it against her skin. She was still modestly covered even if he pretended to see right through her. "Will the search party know to look here?"

  "We spent most of the night laying down false trails," he said. "This isn't the first place they'll come."

  "I see."

  "And if they do, it's doubtful they'll find this chamber."

  Mary almost told him about her brother-in-law. Jarret Sullivan had made a good living bounty hunting before he'd married Rennie. She quelled the urge to be smug and said instead, "The Army has scouts as clever as you."

  "More clever," he said modestly. "But at Fort Union they're all Apache."

  "So?"

  "They might lead the Army to Lost Souls if they pick up a trail, but not one of them will enter."

  "Because it's sacred ground."

  He nodded. "The Apache are superstitious about the dead, even fearful. They won't come in here."

  "But you did."

  Now Ryder raised his eyes and regarded her frankly. "I'm not Apache."

  Mary felt the pull of his pale, frost gray eyes. "Not half?"

  "By blood, not a quarter. Not even an eighth. Scots-Irish on my father's side, French on my mother's. And that's generations ago. My parents were born and raised in Ohio."

  Mary's weight shifted from one foot to the other. She wished she could shift the rifle with as much ease. He was an enigma to her, raising more questions in her mind than he was answering, and she was already tiring. Mary backed up to the wing chair and stepped behind it. The high back gave her support for the rifle and steadied her aim. It also provided adequate cover. If the blanket slipped now, she would be the only one who knew it. "People at the fort think you're a friend of the Chiricahua."

  "That's probably because it's true," he said. "Did that make you assume I was one of them?"

  "I... I don't know. I suppose I thought it would explain some of your actions."

  Ryder's features remained impassive, but tension was tightening his jaw line. A tiny muscle began to tic in his cheek. "What do you know about my actions?"

  "I know you abducted me," she said.

  He dismissed that with an abrupt slash of his hand. "Before you came to see me in my cell," he said tersely, "what did you know of my actions?"

  "I thought you were honorable," she said. "And perhaps you still are, but I don't know who you honor any longer. If the Colter Canyon raid was your doing it may be that in order to honor your friends you had to betray your country."

  "I seem to remember you saying something about helping me if I had asked. If you believe I had a part in the raid, then wouldn't you be betraying your country?"

  How was it possible that she had the gun and he still had the upper hand? "If I thought you were responsible for the raid I wouldn't have offered my help."

  "Exactly."

  His logic confounded her. "That was then," she said. "I don't know what I think about your notions of honor now. You haven't behaved honorably toward me."

  Ryder didn't deny it. "No," he said. "I haven't."

  Mary hadn't expected his easy admission. Her brows drew together as she studied him. "Then why—"

  "I sacrificed you to protect Florence. I suppose you would see that as more proof of my divided loyalties." Ryder leaned forward on the stool, resting his forearms on his knees. His posture was relaxed, casual. "I'd rather you put the rifle down, Mary. I don't mind explaining things to you, but not this way."

  She was struck by the fact that he had used her name. She couldn't recall that he had done so before, and now he did it with a certain deliberateness, as if there were meaning and some expectation attached to its use. "Just tell me this," she said. "Would this rifle be enough incentive for you to lead me out of here?"

  "No," he said quietly. "But I think you already know that."

  Mary sighed and lowered the weapon. She let Ryder take it and return it to the crate with the others. "I didn't like holding it on you," she said.

  "I didn't imagine you did." He picked up his Colt and placed it on top of a flour keg. "And I don't think I'll need this. Why don't
you sit down?"

  Mary adjusted the blanket, giving it a yank upward before she rounded the wing chair. She thought she saw Ryder smirk, but the expression was so brief and so faint that she warned herself she could have imagined it. "I could have shot you," she told him.

  "I was convinced."

  She sat in the wing chair, drawing her legs under her. When her thighs rubbed, she winced and sipped the air to catch her breath.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "Nothing."

  It was such an obvious lie that Ryder's lip curled derisively. "Should I get the gun?"

  "Oh, if you must know," she said impatiently, "I'm tender from riding all night."

  "Tender?"

  Mary's mouth flattened. Just how plain did he want her to speak? "It feels as if someone's set fire to my thighs."

  Ryder watched as Mary's complexion suffused with enough color to rival the red-gold in her hair. She was staring hard at him, daring him to mention it. "I'll make a salve for you." Ryder didn't tell her it would mean leaving the cavern. He would have to do it while she slept, but judging by the faint drooping of her eyelids, he wouldn't have to wait long. "It will help."

  She didn't thank him for his offer. "What did you mean about Florence Gardner?" she asked. "About sacrificing me to help her?"

  "I thought you understood her part in the escape."

  "I understand she arranged for me to see you, hid the key in her Bible, hid a gun in the valise, and saw to it that you had fresh horses."

  "That's right. You know that because you were there. How do you suppose it looks to everyone back at Fort Union?"

  Mary considered that for all of a second. "But you abducted me!"

  "Really?" he asked calmly. "Or did you come willingly? Harry Bishop will have no record of receiving an order from General Gardner for your admission into the stockade. He let you in because you're a nun. Florence herself couldn't have gained entry that night. You were the one who carried in the valise, which we have with us, so who's to say it wasn't yours? You didn't call out for the guard while I changed into uniform, and you didn't try to warn him when he walked into the cell area."