by Maggie James
The chief ran for his tepee and his weapons. Granger had a dead bead on him and would have shot him dead, but one of the braves threw himself in the bullet’s path in sacrifice.
Granger rode toward Tess as bedlam erupted. Arrows began to fly as the Indians began to fight back. “We’ve got to get out of here—now. Get on your horse, dammit.”
“Take him.” She thrust Perry at him, and he swung the boy up behind him. “I’ve got to help Curt.”
The scout was trying to get Curt to his feet. His head was bleeding profusely. “Maybe we better leave him. I don’t think he’s gonna make it.”
“We can’t.” Tess whistled for Saber, who obediently trotted to her side despite the din around him. “Help me get him up,” she said to the scout.
“You can’t make it with him,” the scout argued. “Save yourself, woman.”
“I’ve got to try, dammit,” she told him fiercely, “because he’d do it for me.”
And also, she thought with anguish burning in her veins, because I love him.
She heard a scream, and saw that one of Curt’s men had been felled by an arrow in his throat.
Another fell beneath the blow of a tomahawk, his head split open.
Ahead, she saw Granger and Perry disappear from sight and offered a quick prayer of thanks that they would make it to safety.
“Come on,” Nick bellowed from somewhere behind her. “We’ve got a chance. Homer sneaked around and set their horses stampedin’, so they can’t follow after us. Let’s go.”
With Curt behind her on Saber’s rump, Tess gave the mighty horse his head to gallop full speed out of the camp and into the early morning light.
The others were way ahead—the scout, Nick, Granger, Perry, and the rest of the men.
Tess was trying to keep up with them, about to make it through the nest of boulders and open ground, when Saber suddenly let out a loud whinny and reared up to send her and Curt spilling to the ground.
Saber kept on going, leaving them behind.
And then Tess saw what had startled him—a rattler, coiled and ready to strike.
She fired off one shot and blew his head away.
Curt moaned, “Go…go without me….”
“The hell I will,” she said tersely, getting to her feet. Then, grasping him under his armpits, she struggled to drag him inside the boulders.
The way was narrow, and he moaned as she had to pull him over rocks to where they could not be seen.
“Go on,” he continued to plead. “You can make it.”
“No, I can’t,” she said, wondering why she was saving him when she knew he would just go back to another woman, and knowing all the while it was because she loved him so damn much she couldn’t help it.
“What about…your brother?”
“Granger has him.”
“Good ol’ Granger,” he sneered, then coughed and swiped at the blood running down his face.
“And good ol’ Sanchina,” Tess muttered. “Now shut up and save your strength. Someone will be back for us when they figure it’s safe. Right now the Apaches are stirred up and nosing around, and we’ve got to stay still and quiet.”
He gave a short, bitter laugh. “I’m afraid that’s going to be impossible for you to do.”
“Oh, what are you talking about?” she snapped irritably.
She gasped and felt a wave of dizziness as her gaze followed his to see a snake slithering toward her.
It was another rattler. Probably there was a den somewhere nearby, but there was no time to wonder about how many there were in the family, because this one was inching ever closer.
Tess was almost hypnotized by how the snake watched her with its black, piercing eyes, its forked tongue flicking in and out.
Additional terror struck when she heard the Indians on the other side of the boulders.
The snake reached Tess’s leg and began to move upward.
Her gun was in her band, cocked and pointed right at the reptile, but she could not fire for fear of exposing them to the Apaches.
Also paralyzed by horror, Curt watched, sure that Tess would scream as she had in the mine shaft when a spider touched her flesh…as she had done in the mesquite when the big lizard came toward her.
Because this was much worse…much more deadly.
But she did not scream.
She held her breath as she mustered every shred of willpower she possessed to remain perfectly still.
The snake wound up her leg, across her belly, then across the dirt to disappear beneath a rock.
The sound of the Indians faded away as they went back into their camp.
“Thank God,” she whispered, able to breathe at last. “We’ll make it.”
Curt shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe what I just saw. I can’t believe you didn’t scream.”
“It’s called survival.” She tried to make light of it. “I seem to remember someone telling me that once upon a time.”
She frowned to note how his eyes were becoming glassy, his voice faint, slurred.
“Dying,” he mumbled. “I’m dying, but first I’ve got to tell you…”
Choking on a sob, she cradled his head in her arms. “Don’t try to talk, Curt. You need to rest.”
“No. I need to tell the truth, Tess…need to tell you how I’ve always loved you. Always…”
Her pulse quickened.
“I saw you at the window that day…” he rasped. “I wanted you to think there was something between me and Sanchina so it’d be easier to say good-bye, give you up.”
“Give me up?” she blinked, bewildered, all the while torn in two that he might be dying now that she knew, beyond all doubt, that he loved her. “But why?”
He told her, as briefly as possible, about his past and why he felt as he did…why he could never be contented with just an affair and wanted more than she could ever give.
“Then Wendell died, and I wanted to tell you how it was and hope you’d understand…that you loved me, too. Only you had someone else, and—”
“But I didn’t, Curt. I don’t,” she cried. “I only made you think that to get back at you. Can’t you see that? Because I was hurt and angry, and because I love you, too, and…”
She fell silent.
For he could no longer hear her.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tess smiled at her image in the mirror.
The wedding dress fit perfectly. Twirling in the sunshine streaming through the window, the white satin shimmered like moonbeams on water.
It was virginal white, but she felt no hypocrisy to be wearing it.
After all, she was marrying the first—and only—man to ever possess her.
And also the only man she wanted to be possessed by. It had been over a month since that day Granger and Nick had managed to return without the Apaches spotting them to rescue her and Curt.
Curt had been unconscious when they arrived, and nothing Tess could do would awaken him.
She had been in a panic, fearing he was dying. But the doctor at the way station they had managed to reach by dark said it was due to the hard blow his head had taken from the bullet grazing his skull.
There had been a good deal of bleeding, which had finally slowed. The doctor declared Curt was extremely lucky not to have been killed and said he would probably be fine in a few days.
Mercifully, the doctor had been right.
Curt had awakened the next day, complaining of a terrible headache, but otherwise was his old self.
The ride home had been pleasant, with Tess overjoyed to have Perry safely at her side.
She was also grateful her brother seemed in good health despite his ordeal, which he wanted only to put behind him. The Indians had not been cruel, he’d said, but neither had they treated him well. He had not wanted to learn to be a warrior, but they let him know if he did not obey them, he would be tortured to death.
Tess worried that he might have nightmares, but once they got back to the ran
ch he was so intrigued by it all she was confident he would be fine.
And yes, he did confirm that Aunt Elmina had received a great deal of cash some time back. She never said where it came from, and Perry hadn’t asked. But Tess knew the source. It was the money Curt had thought he was returning to her.
Suddenly she was pulled from reverie by a knock at the door that opened to the service stairway at the back of the bedroom.
“Yes, come in,” she called, thinking it was one of the servants.
Instead, Curt entered, so very handsome in a new black suit with white ruffled shirt and a black string tie. His dark hair was freshly trimmed, touching his broad shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” she cried, noting how his eyes were twinkling. “Everyone will think you’re awful, sneaking up to my bedroom like this.”
Despite the scolding, she could not help smiling.
“Oh, they won’t think any worse of me being up here than you exchanging your mourning clothes for a wedding gown so soon.”
Tess was not really concerned with what people might think. Besides, the only ones invited to the wedding were the hired hands, who couldn’t care less about decorum. They were too pleased their bosses were marrying each other to think of anything else.
As for Perry, he was going to give her away and was so crazy about Curt already that he wasn’t worried about anything else.
With hands on her hips, she feigned a menacing glare as she said, “Well, at least you’re making an honest woman of me.”
“After you roped me in.”
“What?”
“That’s right.” He shook his head in mock wonder. “I’ve heard of desperate women in my time, but you beat all I’ve ever seen.”
She knew he was teasing and played along. “What are you talking about?”
“You know dang well what I’m talking about. You nearly got me killed, and then when I was out of my head, you took everything I said seriously and twisted it around into making me marry you.”
“That’s right,” she said firmly, turning back to the mirror to pin on the cap of her veil. “Because if you think I’m going to sneak off in the bushes or some horse stall with you the rest of my life, you’re crazy.
“Besides,” she could not resist goading, “you probably got shot because you didn’t know which end of the gun you were holding.”
“Oh, yeah?” he fired back. “And another thing—not only are you making me marry you, but you’re giving me a ready-made family to boot. Perry acts like I’m his daddy, already.”
“And you love it.”
“Yes.” He was instantly serious. “I do.”
“So what are you complaining about?”
He pretended indignity once more. “Well, for one thing, I’m sore all over.” He sat down in a chair next to the dresser. “I’ve still got bruises from you dragging me so roughly across those rocks.”
“You’d have been bruised a whole lot worse if the Indians had found us. And you should also be ashamed for acting like such a big baby about it.” She could see him in the mirror and wrinkled her nose at him. “I sure hope you aren’t going to be a sickly husband. Heaven knows, a woman needs a strong man in these parts.”
He was having a hard time keeping from bursting out loud with laughter. “I guess you consider yourself a strong woman because you dragged me into hiding and then let a snake crawl over you without screaming like you once would have? Well, maybe so, but I still say you’re a desperate female.
“You even tried to make me jealous with another man,” he said, as he continued to imitate affront. “You let me think you were carrying on with your foreman.”
She matched his facade with finger pointed. “You deserved that at the time, and you know it.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But I still say when a man can’t think he’s dying and spill his guts to a woman without her taking it for a proposal—”
She bantered right back, “Well, you said it yourself, Curt.”
“Said what?”
“That a person has to do whatever it takes to survive in the West.”
“And what has survival got to do with your lassoing me like a calf on branding day?”
Suddenly she turned from the mirror to drop to her knees before him and take his hands in hers. Pressing them to her lips, she whispered fervently, “Because I can’t live without you now that I know you love me, Curt…as I love you. I can’t survive without you.”
With a soft moan, he gathered her to him and rained kisses over her radiant face. “Oh, God, Tess, I’ve loved you so damn long, only I didn’t know how to tell you, wasn’t sure you wanted me to. But that’s behind us now. We’ve got the rest of our lives together, and I’m going to treasure each and every moment.”
He stood and drew her up with him. “I’ll always love you, Tess. I swear it.”
Her laugh was as soft as china bells in a summer breeze as she drew away from him, still holding his hands. “I’m the happiest woman in the world.”
“And I’m the happiest man.”
“Then come marry me,” she said, “before I have to find me a lasso.”
With a chuckle, he gave her bottom a sound pat on the way out the door. “By the way, it’s nice you could fit into your mother’s wedding dress, because I think I’ve found the kind of woman I’ve always wanted.”
“Forever.” She beamed up at him. “Forever and always, I’m your woman, Curt.”
About the Author
Maggie James aka Patricia Hagan might be the New York Times bestselling author of 38 novels and 2500 short stories, but she can also lay claim to being among the vanguard of women writers covering NASCAR stock-car racing. The first woman granted garage passes to major speedways, she has awards in TV commentary, newspaper and magazine articles, and for several years wrote and produced a twice-weekly racing program heard on 42 radio stations in the south.
Patricia’s books have been translated into many languages, and she has made promotional trips to Europe, including England, France, Italy, Norway, Greece, Turkey, Croatia, Spain and Ireland.
Hagan’s exciting eight-book Coltrane saga, which spans from the Civil War to the Russian Revolution, has appeared on every major bestseller list and is one of the most popular series published in France, never having been out-of-print in that country in nearly 30 years.
Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Patricia grew up all across the United States due to her father’s position as a federal attorney, finally settling in Alabama where she graduated from the University of Alabama with a major in English. She now resides with her husband in south Florida where she volunteers as a Court-appointed Guardian Ad Litem for abused children.
But of all her accolades and accomplishments, Patricia most of all loves to boast of being the proud mom of a Navy SEAL.
Look for these titles by Patricia Hagan
Now Available:
Writing as Patricia Hagan:
Souls Aflame
Passion’s Fury
This Savage Heart
Love’s Wine
Midnight Rose
Heaven in a Wildflower
The Coltrane Saga
Love and War
The Raging Hearts
Love and Glory
Love and Fury
Love and Splendor
Love and Dreams
Love and Honor
Love and Triumph
Coming Soon:
Ryan’s Bride
My Irish Love
Arizona Gold
Amongst the fires of war, Anjele discovers that love is truly blind.
Heaven in a Wildflower
© 2013 Patricia Hagan
Brett Cody was Anjele Sinclair’s first love. Under the hot Louisiana sun, they discovered each other, body and soul. Torn from his arms and sent to a boarding school in England, it is four long years before she returns to her beloved home. But when she discovers that Brett is fighting for the hated Yankees, Anjele believes their love can n
ever be.
Then the unthinkable happens. Her father is murdered, and an injury from his attackers leaves Anjele blind. Struggling to save her beloved home and heritage, Anjele relies on the help and support of a stranger—a man she grows to love. But when she discovers that man is none other than Brett, Anjele must decide if she can accept the love of an enemy.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Heaven in a Wildflower:
New Orleans, Louisiana
Summer, 1858
A warm breeze wafted through the open French doors leading to the porch. Wearing a thin chemise and pantalets, Anjele stood just inside her room. She was supposed to be taking a nap, or at least lying down, because it was the season of the ague, or yellow fever. People believed resting in the hottest part of the day helped prevent the disease, but going to bed was the last thing she felt like doing in such miserable heat.
The shade of the spreading oaks, dripping with shadowy moss, looked cool and inviting along the avenue leading to the sleepy river beyond. She longed for a swim, but not in the thick, brown waters of the serpentine Mississippi. It was her secret place she yearned for, the hidden freshwater pool she and Simona and Emalee had discovered a few years ago. Hidden in the fringes of Bayou Perot, it was fed by an underground spring that kept the water from becoming stagnant. Best of all, they had never seen a snake or an alligator there.
Sadly, as she stood there enjoying the view, she was struck once more with awareness of how time was running out to enjoy the things she loved on the plantation. Since her sixteenth birthday the month before, when the formal announcement of her engagement to Raymond Duval was made, a feeling of desperation had descended. All her life, she’d been well aware of the pact between their parents, but it wasn’t till it became official and a wedding date set for Christmas that the actuality had soaked in. Now, thinking about moving into New Orleans, leaving this beloved place to return only for visits, made her stomach knot with dread.
She had grown up loving to spend as much time as possible traipsing after her father, whom she adored. He had taught her to ride a horse and shoot a gun as well as any man—unknown to her mother, of course, who didn’t approve of her learning masculine skills. So it had become a cherished secret between her father and her, only now she had to fit in those times around her music.
