Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family)

by Georgina Gentry

  She shook her head, and reluctantly he stood up, stretching. “Then I’ll go back over to my bed for a couple of hours.” He turned to walk away.

  “Maverick,” she hesitated, and he turned to look down at her. “Aren’t your blankets wet?”

  He shrugged. “I can sleep standing up if I have to; I’m tired enough.”

  “Do I have the last dry blankets in camp?”

  He paused. There was no use making her feel guilty about the damned blankets. Of course he’d given her the only dry ones. “You got a lot of guts for a woman, Cee Cee,” he said grudgingly, “I mean about your tryin’ to help Tom. Only one other woman ever showed me that kind of courage.”

  In his mind’s eye, he saw Annie’s plain little face, the large gray eyes. Was she pretty? Only when she smiled, he remembered, only when she smiled. God damn you, Joe McBride, he thought in sudden pain and fury. God damn you for marrying Cayenne’s mother and leaving mine to the Comanche !

  “ ’Night,” he said, and turned away.

  “Maverick, don’t go.” He looked back at her hunched in her blankets as she held out a hand to him. “You saved my life. I’m beholden—”

  “I owed you something for what I did to you this afternoon.” He couldn’t look at her, remembering he really hadn’t meant to hurt her.

  “Maverick, look at me,” she commanded in a whisper, and when he did, very slowly she opened her blanket.

  As she did so, he realized in sudden wonder that she was naked under the blankets, naked and warm and holding out her arms to him. His enemy’s child.

  With his emotions stormy as the night, Maverick crossed the ground to her in three giant strides.

  Chapter Four

  Cayenne held her arms out to him without even realizing she did so, without thinking of the right or wrong of it. In three strides, he crossed the distance between them and took her in his arms.

  “Maverick, you’re wet!” She flinched from the contact of his soaked clothes against her skin. “Here, let me warm you.

  He sat there obediently, looking down at her as she worked with the buttons of his shirt, unbuckled his belt. Then his bronzed skin was on hers, damp and cool. Maverick acted almost hesitant, not forceful and dominating as before.

  She should hate him for robbing her of her virginity, treating her so roughly. But he had just saved her life. She was grateful, she told herself, that’s why she felt the urge to take him in her arms, pull his shivering body against her own warm one under the blanket there by the small fire. He turned her so that her back lay against his chest and belly, her head on his arm while he buried his face in the tumble of hair on the back of her neck.

  “God, your little body’s hot,” he murmured, snuggling closer against her as they both lay looking into the flickering flames. “I feel like I’m embracing coals! ”

  His lips caressed the nape of her neck, pulled her hair up, kissed her there. I should hate him because of what his tribe did to Papa six months ago. Yet she knew she could not pull away from his Comanche caress.

  His muscular arm went around her waist as he leaned on his other elbow. She sighed and tipped her head forward to give him more expanse of neck to nuzzle. Cayenne was abruptly weary and saddened by the night’s events, and somehow, the feel of his body close to hers communicated that he felt the same.

  “Oh, Maverick, it was so terrible!”

  “I know, baby,” he whispered, and his hand came up from her waist to stroke her breasts. “I know. Don’t think about it. Things like that just happen.”

  Cayenne felt the warmth of his breath on her ear as he whispered and she knew he felt even worse about it than she did. She rolled over to face him, reaching up to touch the jagged scar on his face. “You’re a strange man, Maverick Durango,” she said, stroking his face. “So angry, so full of fury one moment; so tender the next.”

  He tried to laugh it off, catching her hand and kissing the tips of her fingers. “Now you sound like the old Don and Trace.”

  She leaned on her elbow, wrapped in the blankets, and looked up into his face, conscious of the feel of his naked body touching hers. “You think the world of that pair, don’t you?”

  Maverick hesitated, seeming to search for words, looking as if he were afraid to admit how much he might care for another human being, as if it were a weakness. “They’re all I’ve got, the Durangos,” he said finally. “ ’Long as I got a biscuit, they got half.”

  She nodded in understanding. No cowboy could offer any more than to share his very last biscuit with a friend. She felt the heat of his big body against hers as his skin dried and radiated warmth from hers. Her gaze went again to the scar. “How’d you come by that?”

  He reached to brush a lock of hair from her eyes. “A long time ago, a Comanche brave tried to kill me because I fought him after he’d tortured that white captive. . . .” His voice trailed off and his gray eyes became tortured, tragic as he looked past her shoulder.

  She felt a sudden need to comfort him, this man who had raped her brutally, then saved her life. With her fingertips, she turned his chin down so she could look into his eyes. Then she reached up and kissed him very gently on the lips.

  For a long moment, he stiffened and she felt his body tighten as his hand on her waist held her close. “You’re askin’ for trouble, Cee Cee.” But he made no move.

  “No, I’m not,” she whispered, and her arm went up around his neck. She kissed him thoroughly while she pressed her full breasts against the hard muscles of his chest. “You just told me this afternoon I didn’t know anything about kissing a man. Besides, you said I’d have to beg you—

  “Cee Cee, I’m warning you—”

  “Warning me about what?” She was almost flippant about it as she rubbed her body against his, kissing him again.

  He swore softly. “You know about what!”

  “I’m not worried.” Even though his skin felt hot as a Texas summer against hers all the way down their legs, even though she could feel his manhood erect and throbbing, she wasn’t afraid. After this afternoon, she had a definite feeling that he wouldn’t force himself on her again, that she would have to be the aggressor. She was dizzy, heady with the power she suddenly felt over this big, rugged man as his breath quickened.

  “Oh, Cayenne! Damn you! He rolled over on his back suddenly, pulling her on top of him.

  In the flickering firelight, she put one hand on each side of him, palms on the ground, and looked down at him. Her long hair fell around them both. She lay on top of him and felt his hard maleness pushing against her, his pulse beating in his flat belly. And abruptly she was weary, in need of comfort herself, tired of playing games. Cayenne leaned over, ran her tongue deeply between his lips, felt him gasp before his hands came up to grasp her slim waist like steel bands.

  “Cayenne,” he said huskily, “I don’t want a repeat of this afternoon. I—I never meant to hurt you. . :”

  And she cut off his words by nipping at his lips with her sharp teeth, straddling him with her legs. “I think I love you, Maverick,” she murmured. She saw herself coming down the aisle with an armful of flowers to his waiting arms, and later, a baby boy named Jefferson Davis Durango.

  But he caught her shoulders, holding her up off his wide chest. “Don’t, Cee Cee,” he said. “Don’t. A woman never forgets the first man who takes her, but I’ll bring you trouble. You don’t know—”

  “I know all I want to know,” she protested huskily, and slipped her tongue deep into his mouth, probing its warm recesses as her hands went down to stroke his nipples.

  Maverick moaned against her lips, arching himself up against her, pulling her body up so that her breasts hung over his face. “Can’t get enough of these, of you,” he gasped, and his mouth reached up for her nipples.

  His tongue moved wetly across her breasts as he held her above him, imprisoned in his embrace. Cayenne trembled with delight as his teeth traced the edge of the pink rosettes and he sucked at her nipples. She couldn’t sto
p herself from moaning aloud.

  “That’s right, baby, let me know you like it! Tell me!” He pulled her down, opening his mouth wide to take much of her breast in his mouth, sucking hard.

  She couldn’t keep herself from digging her nails into his shoulders. “Don’t stop!” she whimpered. “Oh, Maverick, don’t stop!”

  His big hands cupped her small bottom as she crouched over him, legs astraddle. And as he kissed her nipples, his fingers stroked around the back and inner parts of her thighs.

  She had a sudden feeling of power, as if she rode and controlled a great stallion, could do with him as she wished. Although in his frenzy, the cowboy arched up off the blanket against her.

  “Ride me, Cayenne,” he commanded. “Ride me! It won’t hurt this time, I promise!”

  She hesitated, arching back as his mouth again sucked her taut nipples. Would it hurt? This afternoon was a confused memory of ecstasy and pain. Then she felt her body moisten as he stroked her, felt her body almost hurt from wanting him.

  “Please, baby.” His hands on her waist were hot and shaking. “Oh, Cayenne!”

  Very slowly, she raised up, sliding backward on her knees until she felt his hard manhood pulsating against her inner thigh. She leaned over, biting his nipple, and he gasped and shuddered. “You little hussy! If I don’t get some relief—”

  He never finished, because she spread her thighs and came down on him very slowly while he writhed and cursed under her. And she arched backward as she took him to the hilt, so deeply that she could almost feel him throbbing up under her navel. And he was right. It didn’t hurt.

  Cayenne rode him expertly, instinctively, rhythmically. He grasped her waist, trying to pull her down on his manhood, to grind himself against her. But she controlled this mating and she was giddy with the power she held, the way the man writhed and begged under her.

  She lay down on him as she rode him harder, wrapping her arms around him. His tongue explored feverishly between her lips.

  “Baby, I—I’m not going to be able to hold it, stop it. Come with me!”

  Puzzled, she looked down at his tortured face, unsure what he was talking about, although she could feel him pulsating within her, could hear him gasping for breath as the coupling grew more frenzied. His hands caught her breasts, squeezing them as his thumbs caressed her nipples.

  Then suddenly he gasped and cried out, his face contorted as he locked her in an embrace so hard she could scarcely breathe.

  Then she felt his body shudder, felt his manhood give up its seed deep within her. The idea of his seed flowing deep in her waiting vessel excited her and her own body trembled with expectation. Cayenne had a sudden vision of two great eagles mating as they fell toward the earth locked together. And then she fell, too, fell into an endless blackness of ecstasy, her body locking onto his as if reluctant to ever give him up or let him go.

  It was sort of like dreaming: strange, crazy images of eagles falling, the rugged face of Maverick Durango, the feel of his powerful arms holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She was falling . . . falling. They say if you hit the ground before you wake up, you die, she thought, but she didn’t want to come out of the exhilarating plunge. If this were death, so be it.

  “Cayenne? ”

  For a moment, she didn’t know where she was but she felt lips gently kissing her face. “Baby, are you all right? ”

  She blinked, opening her eyes. Had she been unconscious or asleep? Her muscles were relaxed, weary. All she wanted to do was sleep. The big cowboy disengaged himself, rolled her over on her side, and pulled her up against the protection of his muscular chest.

  “Maverick, I never felt like that before. ..”

  “I know, I know.” He stroked her, pulling her against the warmth of him, pushing her tangled curls out of her eyes while his lips caressed her face. “Oh, God!” He sounded angry. “Why do you have to be who you are? Why do you have to be—?”

  “What?” She looked at him sleepily, snuggling even closer against him. She was so sleepy and she was safe in his arms; she knew it somehow. Safe.

  “Never mind,” he whispered. “Go to sleep. It’s not long ’til dawn.”

  She felt him lay his face against her hair. As she dozed off, she heard the even rhythm of his breathing.

  In the morning, the pair was up and dressed before the others, and after breakfast, Cayenne insisted on a proper service for poor Tom. She said a few words for which the cowboys seemed grateful. And then as they all stood there in the coming light of dawn, she sang the hymn that had become her father’s favorite:

  Lead, kindly light amid the’n circling gloom, lead Thou me on. The night is dark, and I am far from home. Lead Thou me on. Keep Thou my feet. I do not ask to see the distant scene, one step enough for me. . . .

  Many of the men had wet eyes when she finished. Several took out bandanas and wiped their eyes. The dawn came, pink and orange over the scene. Even Maverick looked shaken, troubled.

  But he only said, “Thanks, Cayenne. The men appreciated that. It’s hard enough to leave one of our own so far from Texas soil, and nobody usually knows enough Scripture to have a proper service.”

  Cayenne wiped her own eyes, and turned away from the simple grave. “It was the least I could do. I wish I could have done more.”

  Old Sanchez came over to her, twisting his battered hat between his calloused, mangled fingers. “The men asked me to tell you, Senorita McBride, how much they appreciated your singing.”

  She patted his arm. “Tell the men I’m only sorry my papa wasn’t here to preach a real service, but I did the best I could.”

  She looked at Maverick and saw troubled doubt there.

  “Cee Cee, I’ll catch up a Triple D horse for you and we’ll go on to Wichita.”

  Such a strange, tortured man, she thought as she watched him stride away. She had never met anyone quite like him, so sensitive, so brutal. His tragic gray eyes seemed to be hiding something, something terrible that drove him relentlessly. Well, maybe someday he would finally unlock his heart and soul to her. Maybe then she could help him against whatever inner demons possessed him.

  He caught up a fine roan mare. “This is Strawberry,” he smiled, handing her the reins. “She’s ’lady broke.’ ”

  Cayenne frowned as she mounted. “I’ll have you know I ride well enough that you don’t have to find me a ’lady broke’ horse like some eastern dude!”

  “Then let’s just say Strawberry’s a pretty filly and her red tail and mane reminded me of your hair! ”

  Cayenne felt the blood rush hotly to her face, remembering last night, and she glanced quickly around to see if the crew was listening. But the cowboys were busy stringing the herd out along the trail.

  “Ride point with me,” Maverick gestured, and she fell in alongside him as he led out on the trail. From the corner of her eye, she saw the “swing” riders lope out along the sides of the herd, keeping the stragglers in line as the weary longhorns bawled and pushed each other. She felt sorry for the “drag” riders bringing up the rear, eating the others’ dust, but someone had to do it.

  In spite of last night’s terrible events, she enjoyed herself riding alongside the half-breed on his big gray. The morning sun felt warm like a lover’s kiss on her face, and she remembered Maverick’s mouth on hers, his hands cupping her breasts. She sighed audibly.

  He glanced over at her. “What’re you thinking about?”

  She wasn’t about to tell him. In a flurry of embarrassment, she asked, “Why’d you leave the herd so far out of Wichita?”

  “You remember the summer drive of ’71?”

  She shifted her weight in the saddle, enjoying the smell of leather, the bawl and lowing of the big longhorns walking behind her. “No, I’ve only been in Kansas three months.”

  “It was a terrible drive year.” Maverick shook his head. “All these thousands of cattle coming into Kansas, more than could be sold.”

  She looked over at him, appreciati
ng the outline of his wide-shouldered frame. “So what’d you do with them if you couldn’t sell them? Drive them back to Texas?”

  “Take coals to Newcastle?” He laughed.

  When his big gray eyes crinkled with laughter, it transformed his face, made him so much more handsome.

  He said, “All the trail crews kept them grazing around town, hoping the market would pick up, but it didn’t.”

  “My stars! What happened?”

  Maverick tipped his hat back. “There were fifty thousand unsold cattle grazing up all the grass around town and we couldn’t sell them. Then when the grass ran out, the blizzards moved in.”

  “And the cattle starved and died.” She suddenly remembered her neighboring ranchers talking about that year.

  “That’s right,” Maverick nodded grimly. “Poor devils could have survived the winter, maybe, if there’d been enough grass. Fifty thousand dead cattle. Now it’s Durango policy to keep the herd far enough out that we could graze them a long time on the open range if we don’t sell them.”

  “I guess the drives will go on as long as there’s open range, maybe forever.”

  “No, Cayenne,” he shook his head regretfully. “Somehow I feel the days of these cattle drives are numbered, that someone’s going to invent some kind of cheap fencing—

  “Cheap fencing?” she scoffed, shaking her hair back, enjoying the creak of the saddle, the pleasant smell of the sweating horse. “There’s no such thing! The range will always be open because of the cost of stones and rails.”

  He looked over at her. “Don’t count on it, Cee Cee. Someone will figure out a cheap way to fence off fields, keep the cattle in, the buffalo out. Then if they can find a way to get water to their fields, the homesteaders will move in with their plows and start farming. »

  “Maybe the cattle drive is doomed anyway,” she admitted, “with trains beginning to lay track everywhere. Sooner or later, it’ll be cheaper to ship the cattle by train out of Texas rather than walk them all the way to Kansas.”