Renegade's Lady

by Bobbi Smith

  "I'll see what can be arranged."

  "I'd also like to see the place where Mrs. Garner's stage was attacked and, if possible, the site of her rescue, too."

  Lieutenant Long spoke up quickly. "That might prove dangerous. Why don't we leave the plans for your scout to Brand and Sergeant O'Toole's discretion?"

  "Whatever you say, Lieutenant Long," Sheri replied. "I just want to get a real feel for the area I'm going to be writing about."

  "I understand, and I'm sure Brand will take that into consideration when he's planning the trek. Brand, why don't you talk to Sergeant O'Toole and then let us know what you have laid out? Miss St. John and her cousin, Miss Cleaver, will be staying on with us in the officers' quarters until she's finished her research."

  "Yes, sir. Ma'am." Brand nodded curtly in Sheri's direction and left the office.

  Sheri was sorry when he'd gone. She had been watching his every move, mentally taking note of the way he walked, the way he held his head, the look in his eyes, and how carefully he guarded his expression. Brand was not a man to be trifled with, and she now understood what Charles had been trying to explain to her about him.

  She tried to imagine what it would be like to be a renegade and know that Brand was the scout coming after you. 'Unnerving' was the word that came to mind. She sensed there was a savage edge to him,

  and she knew he would be relentless in his pursuit. Accustomed as she was to civilized New York gentlemen, she realized that understanding Brand was going to be a real challenge. But challenge though it might be, she was up to the task. He was her new hero. There was no doubt about it.

  "Miss St. John, Miss Cleaver, allow me to show you to your quarters," Lieutenant Long offered. He was glad that the breed was gone. "Well get you settled in and then have a relaxing dinner this evening with Colonel Hancock, Captain and Mrs. Whitmore, and the other officers and their wives."

  "And Brand?" she added.

  "Of course." He hid his disapproval. "I'll let him know of the arrangements."

  "Thank you. We're looking forward to meeting everyone."

  "Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, are you planning to stay with us long?"

  "Well just be staying on for tonight. We're on our way to California, and well be returning to Phoenix tomorrow so we can continue our trip."

  "Fine. I'll make sure we have comfortable accommodations for you, too. And Mr. Brennan?"

  "It isn't every day that a famous author comes to the Territory." Charles flashed a grin at Sheri and Maureen. "I want to cover this for the newspaper, so if you have no objections, I'll stay on for a while."

  "All right. Well, if you'll follow me, I'll introduce to you Cecelia Whitmore, the captain's wife. She'll help you get settled in."

  Lieutenant Long offered Sheri his arm and she took it, allowing him to guide her from the office.

  Brand sought out O'Toole near the stables.

  The sergeant saw his scowl and wondered what had happened. "What's wrong?"

  "The author's arrived."

  "Well, we knew he was coming."

  "What we didn't know was that Sheridan St. John is a woman."

  O'Toole stared at him in amazement and then threw his head back and laughed. "A woman writer? If that don't beat all! I guess we're going to have to take things even easier than we'd planned."

  Brand's annoyance was obvious, and he didn't take kindly to his friend's sense of humor.

  "A whole lot easier," Brand agreed. "She's quite the Eastern lady." His tone was not complimentary.

  "Can she ride?"

  "Maybe sidesaddle."

  "We'll keep the scout short and simple. Shell have the taste of the wild West she's after and then we'll send her on her way. She'll never know the difference."

  "Good. The less I have to do with this, the better."

  "Don't let it bother you. It's not that important. We'll lose a day or two, and that'll be it."

  "You don't understand."

  O'Toole frowned as he glanced at his friend.

  "I just talked to her. Her whole point in coming out here was to meet me. She wants me to become the hero in a series of books she's going to write."

  "Are you serious?" O'Toole couldn't help chuckling. "I can see you now, immortalized forever in a dime novel."

  "I'm not interested."

  "But she is. I don't know how you're going to discourage her, or even if you should try. You know what the lieutenant said about us cooperating. Washington!s behind this, so it's our job to make her happy. We can do it willingly or under orders."

  "I know."

  "Cheer up," O'Toole told him with a grin. "It's not every scout that gets to escort a real live author around the territory. Some of the other troopers would give their eye teeth for the chance."

  "They're welcome to it."

  "But she wants you, so there's no getting out of it. You may as well relax. When are you going to talk to her again?"

  "Some time tonight. I need to tell them our plans."

  "Well ride out at dawn and stay out for the day. That will give her one meal on the trail, and a good look at the lay of the land. Maybe that will be enough to satisfy her."

  "I hope so."

  "I'm looking forward to meeting your author." O'Toole grinned at him. "She must be some woman."

  "She's not 'my' anything." Brand's expression turned black, and he walked away.

  O'Toole agreed that it was distracting to have this St. John woman at the fort, but he believed Brand was overreacting. They dealt with murderous Apaches on almost a daily basis. One lone female writer from New York City wasn't going to give them any trouble.

  Sheri and Maureen were given a room to share that was spartan, but comfortable, with two single beds and a small dresser. They took some time before the evening meal to rest and freshen up.

  ''What do you think, Maureen? My blue gown or the green one?" Sheri asked as she smoothed the wrinkles from the two most fashionable gowns she'd brought along.

  "Hold them up and let me see," her cousin suggested.

  Sheri did, and Maureen quickly chose the green one.

  "It brings out the color of your eyes."

  "Not that it matters. There's no man here I'm trying to attract."

  "That handsome lieutenant seems quite taken with you," Maureen pointed out, remembering how solicitous Long had been.

  "Maybe, but he's not my type."

  "What is your type, Sheri? You've never been in love, have you?"

  "No . . . well, once . . . maybe."

  "Oh, really? Who was it?"

  "I thought I was in love with Gerald Ruskin in grade school, but he quickly disabused me of that idea."

  Maureen was smiling. "What did Gerald do?"

  "He stuck my pigtail in an inkwell!" Sheri was still righteously indignant when she remembered his meanness all those years ago. "I had to get some of my hair cut off because of him. It was awful."

  "Well, I think you're safe here tonight. Brand may not be a charming, debonair gentleman, but I don't think he's as mean as Gerald Ruskin."

  "Good thing, too," Sheri countered, her eyes alight with good humor. "Because I'm ready for the Gerald Ruskins of the world now."

  She was still smiling as she slipped into the emerald gown. It was long-sleeved and high-necked, a sedate, demure creation that somehow emphasized her femininity more than if it had been low-cut and revealing. She always felt confident and in control when she wore it. She added earrings and then styled her hair up away from her face.

  "There. I think I'm ready for Mr. Brand, the half-breed scout."

  "No 'mister', remember?" Maureen corrected.

  "For being the quiet one of the two of us, you're developing quite a sharp wit."

  "I guess being around you is starting to rub off on me. Pretty soon I'll be ready for the Gerald Ruskins of the world, too."

  "I hope not. I like you just the way you aresweet and innocent of the ways of the world. Now, what are you wearing tonight?"

  Less tha
n an hour later, they were being ushered into Captain Whitmore's quarters.

  "It's so wonderful to have you here visiting us," Cecelia Whitmore told them after she'd introduced them around the room.

  Sheri had been pleased to meet all four of the officers and their wives. Colonel Hancock and Lieutenant Long were there, as was Charles, but there was no sign of Brand yet. She was disappointed.

  "Is Brand coming late?" she asked her hostess.

  "Brand . . . Yes, he will be joining us," Cecelia answered, keeping her expression carefully guarded. "Although some of the ladies are a little uncomfortable with the idea."

  "But why? He saved Mrs. Garner. I thought everyone would be singing his praises." Sheri was confronting the prejudice against Indians for the first time, and she wasn't liking it.

  "He's part Apache, my dear," Cecelia replied.

  Sheri wanted to argue that Brand was a scout for the U.S. Army and risking his life tracking and fighting the renegades, but she avoided the issue. She'd wanted to learn the truth about the West, and she was learningeven though some of the lessons were coming as a shock. She remembered Charles's words on the trip out, cautioning her about Brand, reminding her that he was half Indian, and now she was beginning to understand far more clearly just what that meant in this part of the world.

  "What do you think of our fort so far, Miss St. John?" Reginald asked as he came to stand with them.

  "Everyone has been very helpful, but there is one thing troubling me."

  "What's that? Perhaps I can help."

  "If the Indian problem is so bad here in the territory, why doesn't Fort McDowell have walls?"

  "Spoken like a true Easterner." He smiled at her.

  Sheri thought he sounded a tad condescending, but she wanted an answer to her question. Every fort she'd ever seen a picture of was a stockade. "I doubt my being from back East has anything to do with it. If all those wild Indians are out there just waiting for the chance to murder white people, it would seem to me that safety would be one of your top concerns. The way McDowell is built, there's little to protect you. What's to stop the Apache from just sneaking in, stealing all your stock and killing everyone?"

  Lieutenant Long stepped in, wanting to calm her fears. "Many Western forts lack walls. Nature provides much of our protection. As flat as the desert is,

  we can see for miles, and we're heavily garrisoned. We try to keep the hostiles on the run so much that they don't have time to mass an attack against us here."

  "So we're safe?"

  "Absolutely," Cecelia replied with confidence.

  "You need have no fear," Reginald added.

  "I'm here to do research, but there is a limit to how much I actually want to experience," she told them with a smile.

  "The Apache are ruthless. Why, when I think of what could have happened to Melissa Garner . . ." Cecelia shuddered.

  "They're more than ruthlessthey're savages," Reginald said. "Some of the things we've witnessed . . ." He glanced toward the colonel to make sure he was a distance away and couldn't hear what he was about to say. "It was terrible what was done to the colonel's daughter."

  "You mean Brand's wife?" She thought it odd that they referred to her as the colonel's daughter and not Brand's wife.

  "Yes. Becky was a dear girl, and it was all so tragic," Cecelia put in.

  "It's hard to imagine how one human being could do such things to another," Reginald went on.

  "There are ladies present my dear," his wife admonished gently, afraid of just how much he might say in delicate company.

  "But if I'm going to write about this things accurately, I need to know the truth," Sheri interrupted, wanting to learn more.

  "I'm not sure that's a good idea," Charles spoke up. He knew the truth. He had seen the results of Indian attacks several times himself.

  Long was tempted to join in and tell her tales of the Indian's torturous ways to impress her, but he did not want to risk offending Mrs. Whitmore. There would be time later for him to describe some of the depredations to her, and once he did, he was sure it would influence her thinking about the half-breed. "I know it's important to you to understand how vicious the renegades truly are, but some things are better left unsaid."

  Sheri was left to imagine the horror Brand had faced in having his wife murdered that way.

  "Just trust us when we tell you that the Indians are untamed heathens," Cecelia said. "This is why we're always careful, even around the scouts."

  "You can never know what viciousness lurks within them," Colonel Hancock finished as he walked up.

  She heard the disdain in his voice and realized that he despised the very men who worked for him, including the man who had been his son-in-law.

  There was a knock at the door then, and Sheri glanced over to see Brand enter the room. He was dressed as white man this night in boots, dark pants, and a white shirt. Even across the room she could feel the power of his presence. She watched with interest as the ladies moved as far away from his path as they could. The men merely nodded to him as he passed by. Only Charles and Maureen went forward to speak to him, then walked with him to where Sheri stood with Hancock and the Whitmores.

  "Good evening, Brand," Sheri said, trying not to sound too excited about seeing him again. He had been handsome as a warrior, but he was devastatingly good-looking dressed in the clothes he was wearing now. She understood completely how Becky had fallen in love with him.

  "Miss St. John," he said curtly, making it clear he had no desire to be there.

  "Please, call me Sheri," she invited. She was so caught up in talking to him that she didn't see the quickly masked looks of outrage from the other ladies.

  He only nodded in response.

  "We were just discussing scouts and their value to the cavalry. From the accounts I've read, General Crook's soldiers wouldn't have fared nearly as well without the scouts' help tracking. Isn't that true?"

  "Their talent is amazing," Captain Whitmore said. "I've seen some Indian scouts follow trail over solid rock."

  "That's what I've been wondering about in connection with your rescue of Mrs. Garner," she said to Brand. "From what I've seen of the territory so far, you must have made an incredible effort to find her."

  Long grew irritated that she was praising the half-breed. "It's his job."

  "But surely not just anyone could have found her, considering the circumstances."

  "He's paid to track down renegades, and that's what he did. He deserves no extra glory or praise for doing what he was suppose to do," Long said stiffly.

  "If the damned Apache stayed on the reservation, Mrs. Garner would never have been taken in the first place," the colonel said with a savage note to his voice.

  "But Brand is by far your best scout, wouldn't you say, Colonel?"

  The fort commander looked at the man who had been married to his daughter. "He is a good scout."

  At his words, Brand met his gaze, but he found no warmth there. There never had been, not even when he'd been married to Becky. The colonel's statement was just thata statement of fact.

  "I think it's very heroic of you to work with the cavalry to keep the territory safe from renegades." Sheri wanted him to know just how much she thought of him, in spite of the way Lieutenant Long tried to minimalize his work.

  "I don't do it to be heroic," he answered, and then turned to Long. "Lieutenant, if I could speak with you for a moment? There was something I needed to discuss with you."

  Long was glad to get him away from Sheri. "If you'll excuse us for a moment?"

  Sheri was disappointed when they moved off, and she wondered just what they were going to talk about.

  Brand was eager to tell Long what he and O'Toole had arranged for the following day and then leave the party. He had no desire to be a part of this world. He was a loner, a solitary man, and he liked it that way. He didn't need anyone. He definitely didn't want to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary with the St. John woman. It was going to
be difficult enough being stuck with her from dawn to dusk tomorrow.

  "Have you talked with O'Toole?" Long asked.

  "Yes, well be tiding out at sunup. We're going to keep it simplejust one day, out and back."

  "That sounds good."

  "She can ride horseback, can't she? She's not planning on going out in a carriage in one of those fancy gowns, is she?"

  "I most certainly can ride," Sheri said from behind them, surprising them both. Neither man had noticed that she'd maneuvered herself closer to listen to their conversation, and she was proud of herself. If they were talking about her, she was entitled to know what was being said.

  When Brand turned to look at her, she met his mocking gaze with a defiant lift of her chin.

  "I'll be ready to go whenever you are," she told him with confidence.

  "Good." Brand stared at her, seeing the fire in her eyes. He had to stop himself from smiling, a rare occurrence for him. He had to admit to himself that she was a beautiful woman. Sleek and sophisticated. He doubted seriously that she'd last ten minutes on the trail. He felt a stirring of admiration for her, and his resolve to get the next day over with as quickly as possible and be rid of her hardened even more. "Meet us at dawn near the stables. We'll be riding out then."

  "Fine." She responded to the unspoken challenge in his words and in his regard. "Maureen and I will be there."

  Chapter Five

  Brand, the Half-Breed Scout, or Trail of the Renegade

  The Hero

  Some said Brand, the half-breed scout, was a dangerous mana savageand they were right. Naked to the waist, wearing only buckskins and moccasins, he looked every bit the savage warrior as he moved silently among the boulders above the renegade camp. His hair shone blue-black in the glinting late afternoon sun, and his darkly tanned, heavily muscled chest glistened with sweat from the ordeal of his two-day relentless search. He was a sleek and deadly predator, and he had cornered his prey at last.

  Brand smiled grimly to himself as he found the vantage point from which to launch his ambush on the murderous raiding party below. They had attacked a small ranch outside Phoenix two days before, killing all of the family who lived there, and Brand had been on their trail ever since. He settled into position and lifted his rifle to take aim. The renegades thought they were safe. They thought no one had followed them. They were wrong.