Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

“Drink it,” Travis ordered in English. “Before you collapse.”

  Daniella’s hand shook visibly when she tilted the bottle to her lips, but Travis seemed to be the only one to notice. She took only a small sip, but still she choked and sputtered as the fiery rotgut burned its way down her throat and stole the breath from her lungs.

  Mon-ache reminded his men they were to get an early start in the morning, then turned back in time to see Daniella wheezing from the effects of the whiskey.

  “Supplies intended for a cantina in Fronteras. You like?” he asked.

  Daniella coughed and sputtered; tears streamed down her face. “It’s awful!” she exclaimed.

  Mon-ache laughed, then took a long pull from his own bottle. “Come, daughter of Cochise, introduce me to this man.”

  “Of course,” she said, handing the bottle back to Travis. “This is Travis Colton, my…friend and neighbor. I brought him here to see his son, who is with Cochise’s people, but we were too late. “Travis, this is Mon-ache, chief of the Membrenos Apaches, and war chief of all the Apache nations. He’s also known as Mangas Coloradas—Red Sleeves.”

  Travis did his best to hide his surprise. Mangas Coloradas had an even worse reputation than Cochise for being a bloodthirsty savage. Surely there was a reason for that reputation, yet here the man stood, drinking whiskey with him like they were old friends. Whether it was “magic” or just plain luck that Travis and Daniella were still alive, Travis didn’t care. He just hoped that whatever it was, it held long enough to get them out of there in one piece.

  When Mon-ache learned they wished to find Cochise, he offered to lead them there, as he was going there himself.

  “Right now,” the tall chief said, “I must collect what is left of the whiskey. My men love drinking the white man’s poison. So do I. But it is sometimes hard to know when to stop. If I let them have their way, jigunaa’áí, the sun, will be halfway across the sky tomorrow before any of them wake, and then they would spend the next hour trying to drink the stream dry. Better to listen to their grumbles tonight, than their moans tomorrow.”

  When everyone finally bedded down, the Apaches gave Daniella and Travis plenty of room and did not intrude on their privacy. Soon the clearing was filled with the sounds of enthusiastic snoring from the half-drunken warriors.

  Now that it was all over, the danger past, Daniella lay with her back to the fire and shook uncontrollably. From his position across the fire, Travis saw the violent tremors shuddering down her frame and swore softly. He yanked up his blanket and spread it next to hers.

  She rolled to face him. “What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes wary, body tense.

  “Relax. I just thought you might like a little company. I don’t bite, and I won’t touch.” He lay down a couple of feet away from her and propped his head on his hand. “I want to, though,” he added after a moment.

  “Want to what?”

  “Touch you,” he answered softly. “But don’t worry, I won’t. Besides, I can’t make up my mind whether I should kiss you for keeping us alive, or turn you over my knee and beat you for nearly getting yourself killed tonight. Are you all right?”

  Daniella closed her eyes and trembled visibly. “Ask me again, in about ten years.”

  Travis lay back and gazed at the stars, so big and bright he should have been able to reach out and touch them. But they were like Daniella—out of reach, not to be touched.

  “Yes, sir,” he said out loud to himself. “She has visions, she brews a mean pot of coffee, and she wields a knife better than an Apache warrior.” He rolled his head over lazily and gazed at her familiar features. “I’ve never met a woman like you in my life.” He considered his choice of words and smiled to himself. He’d stopped thinking of her as a girl sometime during the past few days, and started seeing her as a woman. A unique, special woman. One of a kind.

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she asked with a choked laugh.

  “Yes ma’am, Miss Daniella Blackwood, Woman of Magic, it certainly is.” A slow, devastating grin spread across his face.

  Daniella thought in that moment that he must be the most handsome man in the world. His eyes sent messages to hers, sparking a warm glow, wiping out the terror of the last hour. Her own tentative smile spread her lips. “Then, Mr. Travis Colton, Yellow Hair, I thank you.”

  “Yellow Hair?”

  “That’s what some of them are calling you.”

  “Does that mean if I fall asleep, I won’t wake up in the morning with my throat slit?”

  Her smile faded. “We’re safe now. They won’t harm us.”

  “I know that,” he answered seriously. “Thanks to you. I think you must be the bravest person in the world.”

  “Brave! I was scared to death, and you know it. I was terrified. I still am.”

  Without moving closer, Travis laid his hand palm up near her face. “I know,” he whispered. “Maybe we’d both feel better if you’d take my hand, just for a little while.”

  Daniella’s breath came in nervous little gasps. His hand, just inches away, was large, and tanned, and inviting. His warm, brown eyes implored her to reach out to him, to take what he offered. It would be so easy. All she had to do was move her fingers a few inches, and she’d be touching him. Touching another human being. One who offered his comfort, his understanding, his strength, all things she needed so badly and hadn’t had in so long.

  Her fingers jerked once, then slid slowly across the narrow space between their hands. To her, that six-inch span of blanket was a wide, deep chasm, and she felt perched on its edge. If she made that terrifying leap to the other side, where his hand lay waiting, would he be there? Would he hang on to her? Or was he just a phantom, someone she’d dreamed up in her desperate need to touch another person? Her fingers moved forward another inch.

  Travis held his breath, his eyes on her face, as she stared at his hand. At the first tentative touch of her fingers, his heart began pounding furiously. When her palm slid across his, he wrapped his fingers gently around hers and let out his breath. It was a tiny hand, delicate and fragile despite the small callouses he felt along the pads at the base of her fingers. Yet this was the same hand that only a short time ago had gripped the hilt of a knife with such deadly intent and skill. What strength lay within these fragile bones?

  He savored the feel of her while his mouth twisted ironically. He should be worrying that they were completely surrounded by cutthroat Apache murderers. Instead, he lay there thinking about how badly he wanted to slip his arms around Daniella and pull her close against his chest. He wanted to taste those soft, trembling lips and teach her she had nothing to fear from him. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and feel her run her fingers through his.

  Travis forced himself to relax and resist his urges. He was a man used to taking what he wanted, but this time, with this woman, was different. For the first time in years he found himself considering the future, not just his immediate desires. He would go slowly, take his time, and gain her trust. Then, well, who knew what would happen once she trusted him.

  When his bronze fingers closed over hers, Daniella breathed in deeply. His hand was so strong and sturdy, she could feel the comfort of his strength. Her eyes slid shut and she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  At dawn the next day they rode out, Daniella, Travis, fifteen Apache warriors, and twenty-two stolen pack mules laden with stolen goods. Around midmorning two riders dropped back behind the others. One was Golthlay. The other was Nana, the short, wrinkled old man who had stood at the right hand of his chief last night, the same as he’d done for many years. Nana had seen more than sixty winters and had been fighting to rid his homeland of intruders for as long as he could remember. He could out ride, out fight, and out last any man half his age, just as his chief, Mon-ache, could.

  For most of his life, Nana had fought against the Spanish-speaking Mexicans. Recent years had seen the white Americans as enemies of his peo
ple. Now he hated all whites and Mexicans, and vowed to kill as many as he could. He did not trust the two whites presently among them.

  “You don’t really believe Cochise would have adopted an American woman, do you?” Nana asked Golthlay, careful to keep his voice from carrying. “I have never trusted Los Goddammies, and I don’t trust these two now.”

  “You forget, Nana, how much Cochise trusted his old shaman, Nocholo, who was shaman before Dee-O-Det. When the first white-eyes came here and trapped the beaver in our mountain streams, Nocholo counseled Cochise to trust them. After all, weren’t these white men always fighting the Mexicans, the same as we were? And from the white-eyes we get the iron-that-shoots so we can kill more Mexicans. Cochise has only recently learned to hate the ‘indaa, these white enemies.”

  “Then you believe the girl?”

  “I believe her. How else could she know of that place we just came from?”

  “She and the Yellow Hair could have found it by accident.”

  Golthlay snorted. “You know that is nearly impossible. Besides, she knew too many other things. In any case, we will learn the truth when we reach Cochise’s main rancheria.”

  “I say we should kill them both!” Nana urged. “How else will you get even with her for what she did to you last night?”

  Golthlay smiled grimly at the old man. “Do not worry, my friend.” His black eyes gleamed evilly. “If she is who she claims to be, I have the perfect way to make her pay. Soon she will be begging me to touch her.”

  “Take care, Golthlay,” his old friend warned. “If Cochise really has adopted her, he will protect her in all ways. So will his band. This you must know.”

  “Yes, but you forget—his oldest son, Tahza, already has his eye on my sister, Nod-ah-Sti, and intends to offer for her as soon as she reaches womanhood. I am almost like one of the family. There is much Cochise would do for the future brother-in-law of his firstborn son.”

  Nana resisted the urge to snort his disgust. Golthlay was a brave, fierce fighter, but when not fighting, he sometimes turned into a self-important fool. Cochise was a great man. A man who never put himself in another’s debt. The chief of the Chúk’ánéné would feel no obligation to favor a young hothead like Golthlay.

  Of course, Nana wasn’t about to speak his thoughts aloud—that would be rude. But he would listen and remember. Perhaps, if the white girl calling herself Woman of Magic spoke the truth, Nana would be able to warn Cochise of Golthlay’s scheme.

  “What are you planning?” he asked.

  “You will know soon enough, for I will need your help when the time comes.” Golthlay smiled mysteriously, then kicked his mustang into a gallop to rejoin his chief at the head of the column. Nana followed swiftly.

  When they rode past Travis and Daniella, Golthlay still wore his mysterious smile. He looked steadily at Daniella for a moment, then laughed before he and Nana rode on.

  Travis’s hands tightened on the reins. “I’m not exactly comfortable being constantly surrounded by Apaches,” he admitted. “But those two make me wish I had eyes in the back of my head.”

  “To Apaches, raiding and killing enemies is exciting,” Daniella said. “It’s something they’re supposed to do. It’s their way of life. But a few of them—I’ve heard Mon-ache is one—they really, truly hate their enemies. It’s as if it’s personal. And then, Apaches are just like any other people. Some individuals are just plain mean. That, I believe, is Golthlay’s problem. But then, I’m just guessing.”

  “And Cochise? He enjoys killing his enemies?”

  “I don’t know if ‘enjoy’ is the right word, but he kills them. If he didn’t, his warriors wouldn’t follow him, and they all follow him. I’ve heard that when Mon-ache dies, all his followers, all the Apache tribes, will follow Cochise.”

  “So why would he adopt a white woman into his family?”

  Daniella’s eyes darkened, then darted away. “It’s…a long story,” she said in clipped tones.

  “I’ve got all day,” he said easily, trying to maintain the friendliness they’d been sharing since they broke camp.

  Daniella looked at him again, then lowered her gaze to the trail. “Don’t worry,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sure you’ll hear all the gory details when we get where we’re going.”

  She, too, remembered this morning. She had awakened to a gentle squeezing on her fingers and had at first been startled, then embarrassed to find her hand still resting in his. The rough sleepiness of his voice when he’d said good morning still sent her pulse racing when she thought of it. There had been a new easiness between them all day.

  Yet she knew it couldn’t last. Soon he would remember who and what she was. What he hadn’t already guessed, he would hear around the campfires at the rancheria. Then he would withdraw from her and shut her out of his life. If her own father could disown her, then this man beside her, who made her ache with a longing she’d never known, would not want anything more to do with her once he had his son back.

  She barely knew him at all, yet the thought of how he would shun her sent a coldness creeping through her. She shivered beneath the folds of her poncho.

  It took them two and a half days to reach the Chúk’ánéné summer stronghold. By the time they arrived, mid-afternoon of the third day, Daniella was ready to drop. She hadn’t slept at all the past two nights, and there had been few opportunities for napping.

  The rancheria was nestled high in the cool, pine-covered mountains south of the towering rock formations south of Apache Pass. There were natural pastures for the cattle and horses, and cool mountain streams provided a continuous supply of fresh water. Dogs barked and children shrieked and jumped aside when the riders thundered into the compound, Mon-ache’s warriors shouting and calling out greetings to friends. Dozens of wickiups, looking like so many grass domes, were grouped in every direction, each one with its opening facing east, so everyone could view the rising sun and pray. The tantalizing aroma of roasting meat mingled with wood smoke and drifted on the cool breeze.

  A tall man shouldered his way through the gathering crowd. He stood a head taller than those around him, and was nearly as tall as Mon-ache. His long black hair hung below his shoulders, and his keen dark eyes searched the newcomers, for word had been brought to him by the trail guards that there was a special visitor among this group. When his eyes found Daniella, a soft welcoming smile curved his lips.

  “Jeekę’!” he cried. “Daughter!”

  Daniella slid from the saddle and did something she never dreamed she would do—she fell gratefully into the arms of Cochise, war chief of the Chiricahua Apaches.

  “Shitaa,” she murmured against his chest. “My father.”

  He was the only father who would acknowledge her now. Never had she thought to be so glad to see him. He welcomed her as her own father hadn’t. He would take care of her, keep her safe. She could stop worrying, for now, about the sly, speculative glances cast her way for the past two days by Golthlay. She could stop fearing the warriors would change their minds and kill Travis and her.

  Cochise stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “You look terrible,” he stated bluntly. “What is the trouble?”

  Daniella shook her head in denial. “There is no trouble, Cochise. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Golthlay flash her a look of warning. He needn’t have bothered. She had no intention of talking about the trouble between them the night they met.

  “Come and rest, then,” Cochise suggested. “This one said you would come.” He nodded toward Dee-O-Det, the old shaman, Daniella’s friend. “He had a wickiup prepared for you. Tonight we will have a fiesta to welcome you back among us, and to welcome our brothers from the west who brought you to us.”

  Daniella smiled her thanks. “I’ve brought someone with me, shitaa.” She motioned Travis forward. She noted with relief that he had already unstrapped his gunbelt and handed it to Nali-Kay-deya, Cochise’s wife, who ha
d come to greet her father, Mon-ache. “This is my friend and neighbor, Travis Colton. Travis, this is Cochise, my…father. Cochise, I’ve brought him here to find biye’.”

  “His son?” Cochise repeated.

  “‘Au, shitaa. When your men took the boy from the stage last winter, they must have thought Travis was dead. I’ve assured him you’re not the kind of man who would keep a young boy away from his father, even though you’ve been accused of it before.”

  Cochise eyed the white man sharply, then turned his gaze on his shaman. “You knew of this?”

  “I knew Woman of Magic was coming—I told you that,” Dee-O-Det answered calmly.

  “That’s not what I meant, old man, and you know it.”

  Travis shot Daniella a worried, questioning look.

  She shook her head. She had no idea what was going on.

  “Did you know the boy had a father?” Cochise demanded.

  There was no need to specify which boy. Even though she’d never come face to face with Matt before, Daniella knew the resemblance between father and son was too striking to leave room for doubt. But Cochise had forgotten one thing: it never paid to lose his temper with his shaman. If he had noticed the gleam in the old man’s eye he would have been warned.

  “But my chief, everyone has a father.”

  “Bah! I should have known better than to expect a straight answer from you.” Cochise glared at the old man.

  Dee-O-Det shook his gray head and cackled. “Welcome, child,” he said to Daniella.

  “Thank you, Dee-O-Det.” She kissed his wrinkled cheek. The shaman let out a wild Apache war whoop, bringing raucous laughter from those present. He jumped into a crazy, comical dance and circled Daniella before coming to a halt before her. “Taeh! Kiss me again, girl, and I might die from too much excitement!”

  “Stop trying to court my daughter, old man, and let her get some rest. You’ll need your wits about you if you intend to call a council meeting to discuss this new development before the feasting begins. Go with him, child,” Cochise said to Daniella in a somewhat softer tone than he’d used on Dee-O-Det. “I will see to our guest.”