Only in My Arms

by Jo Goodman

  Mary smiled faintly. "It's always been like that."

  Jarret grinned, understanding. He sorted through the items he had removed from the saddlebags and carried the most important ones to Mary's side. "Maggie's instructions were hurried," Jarret explained, "but I think I know how to use these things."

  Mary accepted a bottle of tincture and studied her sister's neat, handwritten label. "The wonder is she didn't insist on coming herself."

  "She did," Jarret said dryly. "Connor held her back."

  Uncorking the small brown bottle of white willow tincture, Mary swabbed Ryder's wound carefully. "I had to cut him open again to remove more of the infection," she told Jarret.

  "Then you haven't tried cauterizing the wound."

  "No. I was afraid to build a fire. Ryder would never let me."

  "It's all right," he said. "I'll light a small amount of your lantern oil and heat my knife."

  "I never thought of that."

  Jarret put his hand on Mary's shoulder. "You've done as much as any three people," he said. "Don't blame yourself now for what you didn't think of." That said, he began working quickly and efficiently, building the small fire to sterilize and heat the blade. Flames licked at the steel, turning it smoky blue. "Hold his shoulders, Mary."

  She frowned. "He's going to feel this?"

  "He's going to think he's coming out of his skin."

  Mary placed her hands on Ryder's shoulder and watched Jarret turn the blade to get the flat, hot side of it lined up with the wound. At the last moment she looked away. The smell of searing flesh assailed her nostrils and she squeezed her eyes tight. Under her palms she felt Ryder's immediate struggle and she heard his growl of pain. She counted a full five seconds before Jarret removed the blade.

  Ryder was breathing hard. There were white creases at the corners of his mouth. He had grabbed Mary's wrist to move her hand from his shoulder, and his fingers still pressed her skin hard.

  Jarret put the knife aside. "Let her go," he told Ryder.

  "It's all right, Jarret," Mary said. "He doesn't—" She felt Ryder's grip ease. When she looked down at him she saw that he had passed out. "I always feel relieved when he does that."

  Jarret nodded. "I know what you mean." He handed her the balm Maggie had packed for him. "Take this. I'll get the bandages. Rub it carefully around the burn, then I'll wrap it lightly. Maggie's also given me some herbs so I can make a tea."

  "You'll have to use cold water," she said.

  "That's all right. It will only take a little longer."

  * * *

  By Mary's estimation it was thirty-six hours before they were able to note any change in Ryder's condition and another twelve before they could be certain it was a change for the better. The herbs that Maggie had had the foresight to provide helped break Ryder's fever and reduce the inflammation around his wound. Mary gave thanks that when Ryder slept, his slumber was no longer tormented but was a deep, healing rest that would leave him stronger upon waking.

  Mary sat beside the well, rinsing bandages while Ryder slept. Jarret lounged in the rocker, watching her. When she heard the tempo of the rocker change for the third time, she glanced over her shoulder at her brother-in-law, a question in her eyes. "If you have something to say," she said, "say it."

  The rocking stopped. "Very well. Ryder's stronger now. The time has come."

  "Oh? What time is that?"

  Jarret studied her. Was she pulling his leg or did she really not know? "Did you imagine I'd be staying indefinitely?" he asked. Before she could reply he added, "Or that I'd be leaving without you?"

  Mary frowned, her eyes narrowing. "No, I didn't think you'd be staying," she said slowly. "But there's no question that you'll leave without me. I'm not going back to Fort Union with you."

  "I'm not going to argue about this, Mary."

  "Good." She shrugged and wrung out another bandage. "Neither am I."

  Jarret realized that not arguing did not necessarily put them on the same side of the issue. "Your mother, father, everyone, expects that if I find you I'll bring you back."

  "I'm aware of that. You'll have to lie to them, of course. Tell them you didn't find me."

  He shook his head and raked back his hair with his fingers. "I can't do that. They're worried, Mary. With good reason. There's nothing remotely safe about you being with Ryder McKay. I can't pretend that I haven't seen you. Your parents, your sisters—all of them deserve better than that."

  Mary acknowledged the truth of his words with a slight bow of her head. "Then we'll have to think of something else, something that will appease them."

  "Your return to Fort Union will satisfy them."

  Her chin came up and her knuckles whitened on the cloth she was holding. "No," she said firmly. "It's not going to happen. Not now. Not without Ryder." Her eyes widened and her features became still as another thought occurred to her. "You don't intend to try to take him back, do you? You didn't help me make him well just to see him hang?"

  Jarret paused a beat too long in responding and had to duck the damp washcloth that she fired at his face like a snowball. He held up his hands, partly in surrender, partly to ward off another missile.

  "Answer me, damn you," Mary snapped, coming to her feet. "Is that why you've been so helpful, because you've planned all along to force Ryder to go back to Fort Union?"

  Jarret stood as well. His voice was deep and steady, reflecting a shade more control than Mary's. "Listen to me," he said flatly. "There are enough men already looking for Ryder. I don't have to concern myself with his capture. Do you understand what I'm saying? It's inevitable. Your father's offered a reward for him, separate from the one for your safe return. That means he's worth the same amount dead or alive." He saw Mary's complexion pale. Her green eyes were impossibly large in her face. "The one with the best chance to collect that reward is a Tonto scout who bears Ryder no special affection. I've already shared that with Ryder—which is more than I had to do or probably should have done. Ryder's accident out there enabled me to pick up his trail. It's only a matter of time before Rosario is able to do the same."

  Mary took no pains to hide the small measure of relief she felt. When Jarret looked at her as if she'd lost her mind she explained. "You don't understand," she said. "While the Tonto and the Chiricahua have no liking for one another, they're still Apache, and this is sacred ground to the Apache. That scout won't come in here, not if he doesn't want to be visited by the dead ancestors of all the tribes."

  Jarret let out a long breath. This information put another twist on their circumstances. "Burial grounds?" he asked.

  She nodded. "Ryder and I are safe in here. If I erase his blood signs on the route to this interior chamber, even you wouldn't be able to find your way in here again."

  There was more truth to that than Jarret wanted to admit. He sat down on the curved arm of the wing chair, stretching one leg out to the side, and considered what he had learned. "I doubt Ryder has plans to stay in here forever," he said finally. "Rosario will be waiting for him outside the cavern. If not Rosario, someone like him."

  "Then you'll have to make certain the trail to the cavern is covered. Better yet, that it proves misleading." Her expression was earnest now. "You can do that."

  "Why would I want to?"

  Mary nearly stamped her foot in frustration. "For me," she said. "Because I'm asking you to. If my safety means something to you, then don't let the scouts or the Army find me too easily."

  "I thought we were talking about Ryder being found."

  "It's all the same. If he's found, then I will be, too. I'm not going with you, Jarret. I mean it. I'm staying with him."

  "God, Mary... What you're asking..."

  "He's innocent," she said. There was a naked plea in her voice now. She was willing him to be convinced of her own conviction. "He had nothing to do with the Colter Canyon raid. If he served some purpose it was as a target for the blame."

  Jarret's eyes darted to Ryder's still and sleep
ing form huddled beneath a mound of blankets. His tone was frankly scoffing. "He says he was set up?"

  "No," she said, exasperated. "I say he was set up."

  "Mary, he oversaw every detail of the transport. Except for the newest recruits, he handpicked most of the men for the journey. The route was known only to a few officers, and Ryder himself was responsible for dividing the troop. As if all that isn't enough, he has a known history with the Chiricahua. His adopted Apache father is Naiche, blood brother to Geronimo."

  Mary was taken aback by all the information Jarret had on Ryder, most of which she did not know herself. Still, it did not sway her from her argument. "Who better to frame?" she asked simply. "With so much stacked against Ryder just because of who he is, it hardly provided any challenge for the real criminals."

  "And the real criminals would be...?" His voice trailed off expectantly and one of his dark brows kicked up.

  "I don't know," Mary admitted reluctantly. "That's what I plan to find out. That's why I'm not going back with you."

  His look was patently suspicious now. "And that's the only reason?"

  "It's the only reason I'm giving you," she said tartly. "I'll return to Fort Union with Ryder when his name is cleared. Not before then—not alive anyway."

  Jarret rolled his eyes. "A bit too much drama at the end for my tastes."

  Mary's expression turned sheepish. "I couldn't help myself."

  He sighed. "All right, so you're not going back with me. That doesn't help me deal with your family. I owe them some explanation. God knows, they're preparing for the worst."

  "That I'm dead?"

  "That you're involved."

  Mary's brow puckered. "Involved? How do they mean that?"

  "They mean from the beginning. We all know you met Ryder before you ever came out here. Florence Gardner gave that tidbit to your mother." When Mary didn't deny it he went on. "You had also mentioned Ryder McKay to me before we ever reached the Fort."

  Mary nodded slowly. It had happened just as Ryder had said it would. The odd circumstances of their first meeting gave support to their subsequent one six months later.

  "There's the fact that you went to his cell and that you were wearing that habit. General Gardner believes you helped plan and carry out Ryder's escape. Your family is only a little less inclined to believe it."

  Mary was silent for a long time. She stared off at a point beyond Jarret's shoulder, thinking. A chill seeped through the flannel shirt she wore. She crossed her arms in front of her to ward it off. Finally she looked at Jarret. "Then you should make them believe it," she said quietly.

  Jarret's gaze narrowed. "What?"

  "Make them believe it," she repeated firmly. "This way you can tell them you found me, I'm safe, and I refuse to abandon Ryder until his name is cleared—for my own sake. After all, why would I come back to face charges of aiding his escape before I can prove his innocence?"

  "Mary, if I take back that story you'll face charges whether Ryder's proved innocent or not. It's called obstruction of justice, and you're admitting your guilt."

  "I don't care. There is no alternative I will accept."

  "But it's a lie. You didn't help him escape."

  Mary's faintly sly smile touched her eyes. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

  "I'm..." He broke off, studying her face closely. The inscrutable, serene expression was firmly in place. "Oh, hell. I'm not sure anymore."

  "Good. Then you'll be especially convincing."

  Jarret didn't smile as he was meant to. "I don't like it."

  Mary approached him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "He didn't do it," she said quietly. "You need to believe that, Jarret. The rest will come easily."

  He looked up at her, wondering how she passed on the strength of her convictions so effortlessly. "Mary—"

  She shook her head, stopping him before he could muster an objection. "He's an honorable man. He respects tradition and values honesty. He married me in the Chiricahua manner because the ceremony was important to him. I didn't care if there was a ceremony at all." Mary's faint blush made Jarret understand what she meant. "He did it so there would be no shame in our being together. He did it to protect me from the consequences of my own rash actions. And without warning me at all, he risked a great deal to have Jay Mac and Mama brought there to witness the ceremony."

  Mary's hand dropped away from Jarret's shoulder. Her eyes darkened and her voice took on a harder edge. "I know what he's supposed to have been doing at the time of the Colter Canyon massacre," she said.

  Jarret nodded. "I wondered about that."

  "Well, I don't believe it and neither should you. Anna Leigh Hamilton lied. I don't know why exactly, but I know she did. Whether by intention or coincidence, she helped set up Ryder."

  "You're taking on quite a bit, Mary. What can you hope to accomplish here?"

  "Not much," she admitted. "But as soon as Ryder's better we're going to find the gold."

  * * *

  Ryder knew instantly that something was different. Though nothing had moved, there was a shift in the air in the room that captured his attention. He sat up. The throbbing in his leg was only a dull ache now, and he rubbed the stitches absently. He was alone in the chamber. Jarret's saddlebags and bedroll were gone, but the bottles of tinctures and liniments had been left behind. There was no sign of Mary.

  Closing his eyes briefly, Ryder rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

  "You're awake," she said.

  Ryder's head snapped up and he stared at the entrance to the chamber. She was standing in the archway, holding a lantern in one hand and a rolled map in the other. "You're still here," he said.

  Mary hung up the lantern and approached the bed. "I'm going to choose not to be insulted by that." She placed the back of her free hand over Ryder's forehead. "No fever at all. That's good."

  "Hmm." Expecting to see Jarret, he looked past her shoulder. "Where's your bodyguard?"

  "Bodyguard?" Realization dawned. "Oh, you mean Jarret. He's gone back to Fort Union. I told him to wait until you were awake before he left, but he said it was better his way."

  "Wise man," Ryder said.

  Mary looked at him oddly. "Why's that?"

  "Because I damn well would have insisted he take you with him."

  That rocked Mary back on her heels. She pitched the map on the bed in anger. She had a good mind to clip him on the jaw he thrust in her direction.

  Ryder had no difficulty reading the bent of her mind. There was no sense giving her a clear target. He curbed the defiant angle of his chin. "What the hell was he thinking, leaving you here?" he asked instead.

  "He was thinking it was what I wanted!" She gritted her teeth. "Oooh, when I think of all the breath I wasted convincing him, I could just... just..." Words absolutely failed her as Ryder simply stared at her, his head tilted slightly to one side, his fascination total. "Stop looking at me like that," she said, but there was no real conviction in her tone.

  He didn't stop, but the centers of his eyes became a shade darker. "Like what?"

  Her eyes dropped to his mouth. It was slightly parted. "Like... that."

  Ryder took Mary by the wrists. Her fists were still clenched and he could feel the tension in her forearms. The blanket hitched around his waist parted along his wounded thigh. He brought Mary between his opened legs and placed her hands on his hips. His hands went around her back and clasped at the base of her spine.

  Mary couldn't take her eyes away from his mouth. She felt her own lips part, but there was nothing she wanted to say, only something she wanted to do.

  She leaned into the waiting kiss, slanting her mouth across his. The taste of him was sweet, with the lingering coolness of mint tea. Her tongue traced the line of his upper lip, and she felt him draw in a sharp breath, robbing her lungs of the same. Her hands ran up the length of his chest. Heat followed in her wake.

  Ryder pressed the kiss more deeply. It had been too long to go
gently. His tongue was hard against hers, and the rhythm was achingly familiar and intimate. Her fingers splayed flat on his chest and then curved at the tips. He could feel the tiny crescents of her nails mark his skin. Her mouth was warm and sweet, her response full and generous.

  Mary wanted to be closer to him. She wanted to feel the press of his skin against hers, the delicious contrasts of contour, texture, and shape. When his hands moved to the buttons of her shirt, she knew a rush of heady anticipation.

  Ryder broke the kiss and felt the loss keenly. Almost immediately, Mary brushed her mouth against his, seeking what he was denying them both. "Take off your shirt," he said.

  Mary's fingers stilled on Ryder's chest. Her eyes opened slowly and she stared at him, the centers of her eyes dark and wide.

  "Take off your shirt," he said again.

  There was the merest tremor in his voice and Mary responded to it. Her hands went to the throat of her shirt as Ryder's dropped away. She looked down at herself as her thumb made a pass across the uppermost button.

  "Look at me." The husky order was accompanied by his forefinger under her chin, raising her face.

  Color rushed to Mary's complexion as desire warred with uncertainty. His eyes held her, waiting and watchful. It was her nearly imperceptible nod that made him release her face. Mary drew in a shaky breath, and her fingers slipped to the next button on her shirt.

  She couldn't see her reflection in the darkly mirrored centers of his eyes, but it was as if she could. Her slightest movement raised a response there, and she knew she was looking at powerful, naked hunger held in check. Mary's fingers fumbled on the next button.

  Lantern light cast its warm glow across her skin. Strands of copper and gold were highlighted in her hair. A shadow was chased across her collarbone as she shrugged out of the shirt, first with the left shoulder, then the right. Without conscious thought she raised her arms to cover her breasts. The look in Ryder's eyes stopped her.

  He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Mary removed the rest of her clothing.

  His eyes touched her everywhere, and the impact was greater than if he had used his hands. She felt them on her breasts, her abdomen, the curve of her hip, and grazing the lengths of her legs. Between her thighs she was warm and moist, and when his eyes went there she felt a tug on her womb.