Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  He jerked on his pants, grabbed shirt, socks, and boots, and stomped from the room, swearing with every step. The door slammed behind him.

  Daniella flinched. It sounded so final, that slamming door. With a choking cry, she threw herself down on the bed and buried her face in his pillow.

  Dear God, what had she done? Had she driven him away for good? There’d been such anger, such frustration in his eyes.

  But it was that other emotion she’d seen, so poignant, so real, that she would see in her mind for the rest of her days…his pain.

  She had hurt him. A wife shouldn’t hurt her husband, shouldn’t refuse him in bed. A real wife would submit.

  But the things he made her feel, the rushing heat, the breathlessness—the fierce yearning for something she didn’t understand—made her want to do so much more than submit. And that’s what shamed her, terrified her. If she behaved the way her body wanted to, Travis would be repulsed. He had told her he didn’t like clinging women. What she wanted went far beyond clinging.

  The words Travis had spoken just before he had stormed out of their room did not sink in until late that night, when Daniella lay in bed—alone.

  I thought you were feeling the same things I felt.

  Daniella sat up, her eyes wide. Could he have meant…Did he want her to feel those things she felt?

  … the things a man wants his woman to feel.

  Was that what she had experienced?

  The memory of racing toward that huge black nothingness in her mind still had the power to make her heart race, her mouth go dry. To terrify her.

  Yet Travis would never hurt her. Why would he want her to fly off into that fearful chasm? Or had he no idea what she’d seen in her mind?

  It would take courage—perhaps more than she possessed—to talk to him about this, but she knew the discussion was long overdue.

  She kicked back the covers and was almost out of bed before she remembered the reason she was alone in the first place. Travis was out on the range somewhere with his men.

  She strongly suspected he was staying away on purpose because he was still angry with her. And still hurt. She vowed to do her best to correct the situation the minute he came home tomorrow.

  But when tomorrow came, Travis didn’t. Daniella lay awake for a second lonely night. All the next day she waited and paced.

  He didn’t come.

  In the wee hours of her third morning alone, she grew too restless to stay in bed. She lit the lamp and got up. The room suddenly seemed too big, too empty.

  She put on her robe, picked up the lamp, and crept quietly down the hall. With no real destination in mind, she roamed through the dining room and salon, finding nothing there to hold her interest. She stepped into Travis’s study and halted. He was there, slumped over his desk, his head resting on his folded arms. He’d returned, and hadn’t even told her. The room reeked with stale cigar smoke and whiskey fumes. At his elbow stood a nearly empty bottle with only an inch or two of amber liquid remaining. He had obviously been home awhile.

  Daniella thought he was asleep until the hand holding an empty glass began to move. She approached cautiously. “Travis?” she whispered.

  At the sound of her voice his head jerked up. When the light from the lamp stabbed his bloodshot eyes, he squinted and grimaced. She was appalled by his dirty, unshaven appearance and the dark circles beneath his eyes. She reached out a suddenly trembling hand toward his face, but he jerked away from her touch.

  “No!” he cried hoarsely.

  “Travis, come to bed.”

  “Huh. What for?” he grunted in disgust.

  “You need some sleep,” she replied with amazing calmness, ignoring the real meaning of his question. “And when you’re rested, I think we need to talk.”

  “We don’t need to talk,” he growled. “You need to get the hell away from me and leave me alone. Just go. Get out.”

  Dani felt the blood leave her face. Get out. It seemed to bounce off the walls and echo in her ears. His eyes pierced her like daggers, saying he wanted no part of her. With a strangled cry, she fled the room and the hatred churning in his face.

  Back in the bedroom, she set the lamp down and paced the floor in agitation. As she paced, her sense of rejection gave way to a sense of injustice and anger. How dare he do this? She tried to talk to him, to work things out, to share with him the way he’d asked her to, but would he listen? Would he try to see her side of things? Understand her feelings? No. He didn’t want to.

  I won’t let him treat me this way. I won’t stay where I’m obviously not wanted. I won’t stay here and be the object of your scorn, Mr. Colton. Get the hell away, you say? Well that’s exactly what I’ll do, you stubborn, self–centered ass.

  From the bottom of the wardrobe she pulled out her small carpetbag and started cramming clothes into it. The only place she had to go was home to Tucker and Simon. Home. Funny how El Valle didn’t really seem like home any longer. She’d grown to love the Triple C.

  Daniella shoved the thought and its accompanying sense of loss aside. A new thought intruded. El Valle was so close. It was the first place Travis would look. Would he come after her?

  Get out!

  She blinked at the stinging sensation in her eyes. No, he wouldn’t come after her.

  She crossed to the dresser and picked up her brush and comb. Just as she placed them in her bag the door crashed open. She jumped and squeaked. The carpetbag fell to the floor, spilling its contents.

  From the doorway Travis glared at her. His gaze took in the spilled clothes on the floor then raised to her face. With his eyes locked on hers, he kicked the door shut.

  “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Daniella took a step back from the heated, drunken glare in his eyes. “I’m doing what you asked,” she said breathlessly. “I’m getting out.”

  Travis took a step forward and swayed. “Women,” he said with a snort. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then looked at her. Before she realized it, he was standing only inches away. The backs of her knees were already against the bed. She was trapped.

  The babes in her womb, perhaps objecting to a lack of oxygen since she’d been holding her breath, chose that moment to kick—hard. Daniella gasped and placed a hand on her stomach.

  Travis frowned. “What is it?”

  She tried to smile, but couldn’t. “Nothing. Just a kick.”

  He raised a hand and stoked her stomach with one gentle finger. After letting out a deep sigh he said, “I only meant for you to leave the room, not…not leave me.”

  Daniella’s heart skipped a beat. “You did?”

  He blinked like an owl. “I drank too much.”

  “You did.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “We do.”

  “I need to sleep.”

  “Yes.”

  He stumbled around her, fell onto the bed, and pulled her down beside him. For a moment she thought he was already asleep, then he whispered, “You won’t leave?”

  She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, feeling the rightness of being next to him. “I won’t leave.”

  With his eyes still closed, he said, “Promise?”

  She heard the vulnerability in his voice and smiled through gathering tears. “I promise.”

  He answered with a soft snore.

  An hour later she slipped out of bed without disturbing him. She was wide awake and he was out cold. She doubted if a stampede would wake him. Still, she was quiet when she dressed and left the room.

  The day stretched and so did her nerves. He would wake up soon. What was she going to say to him? He thought she was afraid of him. How was she going to explain, to make him understand the nature of her fear?

  Oh, why didn’t he just wake up and get this discussion over with so she’d know where they stood with each other?

  By late afternoon she was ready to scream. She was in the kitchen when word came that Travis was asking for a bath. H
e was up, then. She would have to face him soon.

  With nervous fingers, she added wood to the fire beneath the big black kettle hanging in the kitchen hearth. The dry cedar caught and flared, sending out a pleasant aroma.

  Daniella stared at the flames, mesmerized. They raced along the wood like wild mustangs across open grasslands. She could even picture riders clinging to the backs of the fiery steeds. Dark–skinned, bare–chested riders with flowing black hair.

  In the next instant the picture turned sharp and clear. The riders were Apaches, herding cattle and horses away from a ranch. One warrior dismounted and entered the small adobe house, emerging a moment later with a terrified white woman in tow.

  Daniella’s heart pounded forcefully in her chest. The Apache flung the woman to the ground, flipped up her skirt, and threw himself down on top of her. Daniella stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to stifle a scream.

  She tried to tear her gaze away from the vision in the flames but couldn’t. It was as though there was something she should see, should know.

  Yet the woman, whose face Daniella would never forget, was unfamiliar to her, as was the house. Why then, was this violent scene being forced upon her? Why was she made an unwilling eyewitness?

  Then she saw what she was meant to see. It wasn’t the woman she was supposed to recognize, it was the Apache. At the sight of that embittered face, those thin, cruel lips and black, beady eyes, Daniella moaned and spun away from the flames. The vision disappeared.

  But never would she forget the sight of Golthlay forcing himself on that poor woman. Golthlay, who, if not for Travis, might have become Daniella’s husband.

  In spite of the intense heat of the room, a cold shiver ran down her spine. When Rosita and Juanita entered the kitchen a moment later, Daniella kept her back toward them. She had to get out of the house, at least for a few minutes, no matter how hot it was outside. “I think I’ll take a walk,” she announced to no one in particular.

  With decisive steps bordering on flight, she left the house by way of the courtyard and headed for the line of cottonwoods along the creek.

  The creek was dry now, but she didn’t care. The cottonwoods offered shade and privacy. It wasn’t until she was there that she remembered. This was where Travis brought her the night of the fiesta. The night he’d held her and kissed her so passionately. The night she’d panicked and fought him.

  With a cry of denial, she stepped toward the creek and stared blankly down the steep, five–foot incline to the dry, rocky bed. That night of the fiesta was weeks and weeks ago. So many things had happened since then. She was his wife now. She thought she’d changed so much. Yet the vision of Golthlay brought back all her old fears.

  Chewing on her lower lip, she stared into the dry, rocky creek bed. Maybe that vision was supposed to remind her of her old fears. Maybe it was meant to show her that what happened to her at Travis’s touch was not to be feared. Maybe—

  Somewhere close a twig snapped. She stiffened. Her heart pounded. This was it, then. She would have to turn and face him. Ask him—beg him if necessary—to give her another chance.

  But she couldn’t turn around. Her legs refused to move. In a ragged voice she said softly, “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I, little darlin’“ came the rough, gravelly reply.

  Her heart stopped. That wasn’t Travis’s voice! Before she could turn around or even take a breath, a large, beefy hand clamped over her mouth and jerked her back against something…a man’s chest!

  A scream built in her throat.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Travis woke with a groan. His eyes were glued shut. His mouth tasted like a moldy cow patty. And somebody was driving a railroad spike through his brain. A dozen somebodies.

  Lord, what had he done to himself? And why? An instant later he remembered.

  Dani.

  He forced his eyes open and hissed at the stabbing daggers of light. After several slow, painful blinks, the room was almost in focus. But even as he coerced his creaking muscles to turn his head to look for Dani, he knew he was alone. He felt her absence every bit as strongly as he’d ever felt her presence.

  Judging by the angle of light, it was late afternoon. He’d slept the entire day!

  When he finally sat up he didn’t know which to grab first, his pounding head or his churning stomach. He groaned again. Somehow groaning seemed to ease the misery.

  He had to find Dani. He had to convince her to give him another chance. And he swore to himself he’d never blow up at her again the way he did the other day. God, what a fool he’d been to lose his temper like that. She couldn’t help the way she felt. It was just going to take more time, that was all. He prayed fervently she’d give them both that time.

  But he couldn’t face her looking like a derelict. He’d slept in his clothes, hadn’t shaved in four days, and he smelled like the inside of a keg of cheap belly-wash. That last thought brought indignation. The brew he’d drowned himself in last night was definitely not cheap.

  It took him less than an hour to shave, bathe, and dress. By the time he left the bedroom he felt almost human again. And hungry. The queasiness had left him. But food would have to wait. Dani was more important than his stomach.

  Yet he couldn’t find her anywhere. He checked room by room, but she wasn’t in the house. In the kitchen he finally learned she’d gone outside. He knew where to look then. He left through the courtyard and headed for the creek.

  “Goddammit!” Billy Joe Crane struggled to hold on to the woman in his arms. She was slipperier than a greased up snake. She squirmed every which way and used her small feet like lethal weapons. His shins would be bruised for months.

  But he didn’t dare let go of her now that he had her. He couldn’t believe she could still fight like this with him squeezing her breast as hard as he could. Maybe if he let go there and wrapped his arm around her waist he could—

  Good God Amighty!

  She was…she was gonna have a baby! He’d never even spoken to a woman who was gonna have a baby before, much less touched one! Lordamercy! If he caused harm to a woman in a family way, he’d never be able to sleep nights for the rest of his life.

  Why hadn’t that Mex slut told him about this? There was no way in hell he’d go through with his plans now. No sirree, not Billy Joe Crane. Not on your life. That bloodthirsty señorita would just have to wait, or get somebody else to do her dirty work. It damn sure wasn’t gonna be Billy Joe Crane, by God.

  The woman in his arms whimpered, reminding him he still held her. His arm pressed tight against the bulge of her stomach. He let go so quick they both stumbled. He had to get away, and fast. A man could hang for what he’d just done. Not to mention what he’d planned to do.

  When Colton’s new wife righted herself, her back still to him, Crane gave her a slight shove that sent her staggering forward, then he hightailed it for the bend in the dry creek bed where he’d left his horse.

  Daniella stumbled forward, carried by momentum to the crumbling edge of the bank. With her heart in her throat, she hung there a second, waving her arms frantically to catch her balance. The loose rocks beneath her feet shifted, then gave way. All she could do was flail her arms and shriek as the rocky creek bottom rushed up to meet her.

  Travis was about a dozen yards from the line of cottonwoods when he heard a high-pitched shriek from directly ahead. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He sprang forward at a run. “Dani!”

  He broke into the trees and slowed, his eyes darting all around, searching, searching frantically. “Dani!”

  No answer.

  He whirled, ran a few feet right, then left. Stop! Think! Dani was in trouble. She needed him. Now was no time to panic, regardless of the fear that threatened to suffocate him. He turned in a circle again. Where was she?

  “Dani!”

  No answer.

  He came out of the trees at the edge of the creek. Three steps to the bank and he saw her. “Dani!”

 
; Terror clutched his heart and threatened to render him senseless at the sight of her still form lying at an odd angle on the rocks below.

  If he scrambled down the bank where he stood, he’d shower her with rocks. He had to move several feet left. That’s when he heard another sound that sent his hackles rising.

  Hoofbeats.

  Someone had been there! Someone had been there and left Dani lying limp and lifeless on the rocks. And Travis couldn’t give chase because he couldn’t leave Dani. Was she dead?

  God, no. “Dani!”

  No answer.

  He leaped from the bank and disregarded the sharp, tearing pain when he wrenched his knee upon landing. He reached Dani in an instant and knelt beside her. Her breath was shallow, but it was there, thank God. With trembling hands he felt for broken bones and gratefully found none. But the knot on the side of her head worried him.

  “Dani?” He shook her gently and got no response. “Dani, can you hear me?”

  He had to get her to the house. Rosita would know what to do. Rosita always knew. He forced his arms beneath her and lifted her to his chest. With terror clutching his throat and his heart slamming against his ribs, he carried her out of the creek bed, through the cottonwoods and brush, across the barren, sunbaked ground to the house.

  He went in through the courtyard and bellowed for Rosita. At their bedroom, he shouldered the door open and placed Dani carefully on the bed. Hurried footsteps sounded in the hall, then Rosita and Juanita burst into the room.

  “¡Dios! What has happened?” Juanita cried.

  “She’s been hurt,” Travis answered needlessly without taking his eyes from Dani’s face. “I don’t know how bad or by who. There’s a knot on her head.”

  Dani rolled her head on the pillow and moaned. A second later her eyelids fluttered open. While she blinked and tried to focus, Travis brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. At his touch her eyes widened with fright and she gasped.