Maverick sighed. “You can hardly blame them for that. The plains tribes are all starving because of the damned buffalo hunters.”
“Let ’em starve,” Rand sneered. “The sooner we get the buffalo killed off, the sooner we can corral all those damned savages, pen ’em up like the animals they are.”
For a moment, Maverick’s face darkened and she wondered if there would be a fight, knowing there was an unspoken rivalry here for her favors. She had never been one to keep her mouth shut when she disagreed. “You should be ashamed,” she said to Rand. “I got good reason to hate the Comanche myself, but I can’t really blame the warriors for putting on war paint. Any man’d do the same if his family was starving.”
Rand colored and ducked his head at her scolding.
Maverick smiled thinly. “Like the mustang, she’s got spirit,” he chided his rival.
The tension in the air was too heavy to bear. Cayenne jumped up. “How about me cooking up some supper for all of us? How’d that be?”
The freighters nodded eagerly.
Hennessy said, “I shot a half-dozen quail an hour ago. Could you fry them?”
“Sure,” Cayenne nodded. “And if one of you will pick some of those wild sand plums off those bushes over there, I’ll make some fried pies.”
Byrd and Fleming rushed to pick the plums while the good-natured freighter boss cleaned the quail. Maverick and Rand both sat by the fire, smoking and glaring at each other while she got out flour to dip the quail in and mixed up some corn dodger batter.
“You two aren’t doing anything,” she scolded. “I needed more fuel for my fire; go find me some prairie coal.” Both men rose reluctantly, going to search the treeless plains and coming back with dried buffalo chips for the fire.
Then she watched with satisfaction as she handed out the tin plates, watched the men gobble the succulent golden brown quail, the hot corn dodgers. But Maverick bit into the fried quail hesitantly.
Rand sneered, his mouth full of food. “What’s the matter, Injun? The lady’s cookin’ don’t suit you?”
Maverick looked at the meat in distaste. “Comanche don’t eat birds or fish; it’s taboo.”
Arrogantly, Rand reached over as if to grab the quail off Maverick’s plate. “In that case, I’ll—”
Maverick’s hand caught his wrist in a steel grip, twisting until Rand screamed with pain. “A little dog doesn’t grab a big dog’s bone!”
Hennessy stood up. “Here! Here, boys! Rand, you’re out of line! You been looking for a fight ever since this pair rode in and I think you’d better back off! If it’s ’fight’ you want, you may get it ’afore we get where we’re going!”
Rand pulled away, nursing his injured arm. “Plain’s workin’ alive with redskins wantin’ to scalp folks and we got to feed one at our campfire!”
Cayenne paused in eating the juicy, crisp quail. “Mr. Hennessy invited us to eat.”
Hennessy nodded, glaring at Rand. “I beg your pardon for his bad manners, ma’am. We’re all a little edgy over all this Uprisin’ talk. You see any Injun sign?”
Maverick ate the quail reluctantly. “We buried a pair of cow hands up above the Territory border. Found a burial platform; seen a lot of unshod pony tracks.”
Hennessy frowned, wiping his greasy hands on his pants. “Cheyenne?”
Maverick nodded.
“How’d you know it was Cheyenne?” Rand challenged. “How you know it wasn’t, say, Kiowa?”
Maverick smiled grimly. “When the Kiowa take a scalp, they also take one of the ears as a trophy. Those poor devils had no hair left but they had both ears.”
The men looked at each other in stunned silence and Cayenne saw fear in their eyes.
Hennessy sighed. “We was warned not to make this trip; the cavalry says they can’t patrol the whole frontier. But if we can get all this food down to the Kiowa, maybe they won’t join the war parties.”
Rand looked at Cayenne. “You heard that, miss? Injuns everywhere! You’d be a lot safer traveling with us than with him.”
Maverick frowned at him. “No woman’d be safe with you, cowboy.”
“Boys, stop that!” Cayenne scolded sharply. “I—I’ll think about your offer, Rand. I know we’re riding right into a hornet’s nest but I need to get home. My—my papa’s sick,” she lied.
Paunchy little Fleming tilted his head to one side. “McBride? I don’t suppose that might be Joe McBride?”
“You know my papa?” she smiled warmly.
The man grinned, shaking his head. “Just heard of him. He the one they call ’the shootin’ preacher’? Heard he gave the cash prize to charity but kept the fancy rifle he won as first prize.”
Maverick looked at her. “What rifle?”
Cayenne stood up, brushing grass off her pants. “I told you Papa was the best rifle shot in west Texas.” Or used to be, she thought.
Fleming shook his head. “Man! Man! What I wouldn’t give for a fancy rifle like that! Guess that’s why so many tried to win it. Your papa must be some shot! A gun like that’d be a real treasure to give to a son.
Cayenne shook her head sadly. “Papa has no sons.”
Rand wiped up the last of his gravy with the corn bread. “If you’re in the market, ma’am, I’m not married and I’d be right proud—”
“She’s not in the market,” Maverick said flatly.
Rand looked at Cayenne. “That right?”
Her temper flared as she resented Maverick’s arrogant assumption. “No, that’s not right! You know, Rand, maybe I ought to ride along with you all to the Darlington Agency; it wouldn’t be much out of the way since it’s south of here. Suppose it would be a whole lot safer.”
Rand’s face lit up. “From there, I could escort you the rest of the way home, ma’am. I’d be interested in talkin’ to your pa about courtin’ you.”
“I don’t know. . . . ” She looked over at Maverick. His eyes were as cold as a Texas norther.
Hennessy scratched his head. “Well, you don’t have to decide right this here minute, Miss McBride. Let’s all bed down for the night, talk about it at dawn.”
Maverick glared at her in sullen silence as he went over, got her blankets, and tossed them to her. “Just keep it up!” he said. “You’re too innocent to know what you do to men. You had him prancin’ around as eager as some stud horse!”
“Rand’s a perfect gentleman!” She colored at his words, tossed her head in defiance, and went back to the camp circle.
In minutes, the fire was banked, the small group asleep on the ground.
It was the middle of the night when Cayenne felt an urge to relieve herself, quietly got up, and crept out of the circle of sleeping men. She tiptoed out to the grove of wild plum bushes. Cayenne was on her way back through the thicket when she heard a twig crackle and she started.
Rand stepped out of the bushes ahead of her. “Evening, ma’am,” he said softly. “Sorry if I scared you. I heard you leave, got worried something might happen to you out here unescorted. Decided I’d better come see about you.”
She was touched by his chivalrous concern. “Why, thanks, Rand, it was kind of you.”
“Miss McBride”—he moved closer—“about this evenin’, I really meant that. I’d be proud to accompany you back to Texas, proud to court you, give you a chance to get to know me. I’d be interested in marryin’ up with you.”
“I—I don’t know what to say except I’m flattered, Rand.” He was handsome, she thought, and polite. She couldn’t stop her mind from picturing him naked. Would he have hard, sinewy muscles like the half-breed? Would he take her with the savage frenzy of Maverick Durango?
The cowboy must have taken her hesitation for encouragement because he reached out and put. his hands on her shoulders. “Stop actin’ so innocent!” His tone dripped arrogance. “You built a fire in me, honey, flirting with me like you done. I know what you want; why you came out to the bushes, hopin’ I’d follow you!”
Before she r
ealized his intent, he pulled her to him, kissing her thoroughly while she froze in shock. One of his arms held her tightly to him while he tried to force his knee between her thighs. Her arms were pinned to her sides by his embrace, and when she tried to cry out, his tongue went into her mouth, hot and demanding. She struggled against his strength but he held her easily, his free hand coming up to stroke her breasts.
She saw the dark shadow past his shoulder as she struggled in his arms. Before she could move, a hand came out of the darkness, caught Rand’s shoulder, and spun him around.
Maverick’s white teeth shone in the darkness as he snarled. “You snake!” He hit Rand then, a solid blow that caught the man in the chin with a thud, sending him stumbling backward.
Over by the campfire, the others came out of their blankets. “Fight! Fight!” one of them yelled.
As the others came running, Cayenne watched the two square off, snarling with fury. There might be a killing here tonight and whoever won figured her body would be the prize!
Chapter Seven
All Cayenne could do was watch as the two men fought. Hennessy and the others came running, but when paunchy Fleming moved as if to stop them, the bearded leader gestured him away. “These two been snarlin’ and circlin’ each other all evenin’ over that girl! We might as well let them get it outa their blood!”
The moon came out, lighting up the shadowy ground as the two men meshed in combat.
Maverick hit Rand hard, sending him falling into a plum bush. “You dirty sonovabitch! I’ll teach you how to treat a woman!”
Rand came up, blood dripping down his chin. “She can’t be much, travelin’ with a filthy Injun! ” He swung, catching Maverick on the jaw, the half-breed went down.
Cayenne looked on helplessly as the fight moved out onto the grassy prairie. She gestured toward the others. “Aren’t you gonna stop them! They’ll kill each other! ”
Hennessy shrugged. “I can only do so much, miss. Are you going with the winner?”
Maverick hit Rand again and they clenched, rolling over and over.
Of course not, she thought. I never had any interest in Rand. I’m going with Maverick. And with that decision, she grabbed up a plum bush branch, running over to attack Rand who had Maverick down choking him.
She flayed him about the head and shoulders until he was forced to let go, trying to fend her off. “You little bitch!” he howled.
“Don’t call her that! ” Maverick roared, stumbling to his feet. Cayenne backed off as Maverick hit him again. This time when the driver went down, and the half-breed looped the rawhide thong around his neck and pulled both ends.
Cayenne saw the fury on Maverick’s face as he garroted Rand, and she knew the savage half-breed intended to kill him.
She ran over and caught Maverick’s hands. “Stop!” she shrieked. “Maverick! Don’t kill him! He isn’t worth it.
For a split second she thought he would strike her as she struggled to pull his hands away. Then reason seemed to return to the cold gray eyes, and he loosened the thong and stood up. “You’re right,” he muttered. “He isn’t worth it.”
Rand stumbled to his feet, clutching at his reddened throat and gasping, “He was going to kill me! Damned Injun!”
Hennessy shrugged. “You brought it on yourself, boy, messin’ with his woman! No real man’d do any less! Now maybe you’ll behave yourself ’til we get to Darlington!”
Maverick came over to Cayenne and caught her shoulders in his strong hands. “Are you all right, Reb?” His voice still shook with uncontrolled fury. “If he’s hurt you, I’ll—”
“I’m all right,” she nodded quickly. “Don’t kill him!
Maverick’s grip relaxed and he let go of her shoulders almost reluctantly.
So uncivilized, so savage, she thought, studying his hard features. She remembered the gentle way his hands had stroked her when they made love, but those same hands had almost taken a man’s life because of her. Maverick Durango was clearly no one to be messed with!
Maverick glanced up at the moon. “We need to move out anyway, see how far we can get before the heat of day.”
Hennessy stroked his beard and looked over at the choking, stumbling Rand. “You two are ridin’ into the heart of the Uprising country! You’d be a lot safer going to the Darlington agency with us, then on down to Fort Sill.”
Maverick ran his hand through his tousled black hair. “No. Rand might decide to paw Cayenne again and I’d kill him next time for sure!”
Hennessy laughed. “And I reckon you’re surely the man who could do it, Maverick!”
Rand didn’t say anything as he brushed past them, limping back to camp.
So the pair saddled up, loaded their packhorse, and headed southwest again. They rode until late afternoon, stopping only to make a cold camp and eat a little dried beef jerky and stale cornbread.
Maverick smiled at her. “Now I wish I’d saved the butter.”
She felt a flush of embarrassment at her wild, abandoned behavior. There was something about this man that heated her blood, made her react in ways she’d never dreamed possible. “I didn’t ask you to waste it on my sunburn,” she replied coldly.
He grinned and her heart melted. Was he really all that handsome? Only when he smiled, she thought suddenly, watching the big gray eyes soften, only when he smiled. She imagined a son with those big gray eyes. Would he be dark like Maverick, too? Jefferson Davis Durango. Then she remembered that he would never settle down to a peaceful, married life, would always roam and search until his thirst for vengeance was sated.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, standing feet wide apart, thumbs hooked in his gun belt.
She glanced at the scalp dangling from the big gray’s bridle. No, he was too much of an uncivilized savage to ever be tamed, even if he survived the showdown in Texas.
“Nothing,” she lied. “Nothing.”
They spread their blankets, resting through the heat of the afternoon in what little shade they found under a lone cottonwood, while the horses grazed peacefully. He made no moves toward her and quickly dropped off to sleep on his blanket, his pistol ever ready under his hand. As he slept, his face smoothed out, the worry and emotion leaving it. She realized then he wasn’t nearly as old as he’d seemed before, surely not more than his middle twenties. A troubled frown crossed his face and she heard him whisper, “Annie, I’m sorry . . . I couldn’t stop him. . . . ”
She listened jealously, straining to hear his words, but he only moaned softly, as if remembering something too horrible to face, and thrashed around.
Cayenne reached over and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Maverick, wake up. Are you all right?”
He jerked upright suddenly, startling her. “What happened?”
“Nothing. You were having a nightmare, that’s all.”
He frowned, running his hand down the scar on his cheek. “Sometimes it’s so bad, I’m afraid to go to bed, afraid I’ll dream. . . . ”
She waited expectantly but he only sighed, running his hand through his tousled black hair.
“Maverick,” she said softly, “if you’d let go of her memory, you wouldn’t have those dreams.”
His eyes shone with unshed tears and his hand trembled as he reached for his tobacco. “Not until I get him.” His voice shook with anger and she didn’t need to ask what he meant. “When I get him, then she can rest in peace.
Could she give this tortured soul any comfort at all? “Papa used to pace the floor at night. I can remember hearing him walking up and down when I was little.”
Maverick rolled a cigarette. “Lots of men have regrets, guilt they can’t deal with,” he said acidly.
“Who? Papa?” she almost scoffed. She couldn’t imagine her beloved papa doing anything wrong. But then she knew nothing about his past except that he’d been a poor immigrant who’d come with a wagon train many years ago from Kentucky. His drawling accent still betrayed his southern past.
“T
hen why’d he pace the floor?” He stuck the “quirley” between his lips.
Cayenne shrugged. “I—I don’t know, really. It started when some boy came to the ranch with some kind of message. That was maybe a little over ten years ago. After that, until Mama died three years ago, he paced nearly every night. I used to lie in my little bed wondering what worried him and how I could help.”
“Ten years,” Maverick seemed to speak without thinking. “Twenty-five is what it should be.”
“What?” she eyed him curiously.
“Nothing, nothing,” he muttered, and seemed flustered as he lit a match with his thumbnail. “What’d the young man say?”
Cayenne shook her head. “Don’t know, really. Papa and Mama took him into the parlor, closed the door, sent me out to swing. But things were never the same after that day. There was tension between my parents; I could feel it. Mama always acted as if she was jealous of me.” The old hurt came back as she reluctantly relived those years. She’d never discussed it with anyone before.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I ever met, Cayenne,” he said simply, shaking out the match. “Was your mother pretty?”
She blushed at the compliment, ducking her head. “No, Mama was plump and plain. But she’d inherited a big ranch. Sometimes when I was little, I used to wonder why a handsome redheaded man like Joe McBride would marry a homely, sour woman like Hannah Adams” .
Maverick snorted as he smoked. “It wouldn’t be the first time a man married a lonely spinster for her dowry.”
Cayenne frowned. “Well, he sure doesn’t have anything now. He mortgaged it all to raise the ransom for the Comanche hostages eight months ago.”
“Any of those hostages related to him?”
“No. My papa is a kind man, a heroic man. That’s why he mortgaged our place to stingy banker Ogle to raise the money; went into that camp when everyone else was afraid to.” She swallowed hard, remembering that terrible day. “I tried to keep him from going, told him it wasn’t his responsibility. He said the welfare of other people was his responsibility, and besides, he owed a debt to someone he’d never paid. This was his way of evening things up.”
Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) Page 12
