Son of a bitch. Miles had lied to him. He’d taken Blake’s hatred of Geronimo, which even Blake admitted bordered on obsession, and used it. Miles had played him like a fish on a line, then set the hook deep and reeled him in by offering the opportunity to follow Geronimo.
“Why?” he asked aloud. “He’d already given me my orders.” And now that Blake new the half-breed was Jessie’s brother, he damn sure wasn’t about to tell her what those orders were. “Why would he tell me something like that about you, when he had to know I’d learn the truth?”
“Probably because there isn’t an ounce of love or even common courtesy wasted between Nelson Miles and my family. If he thought a lie would cause me discomfort, he’d lie to his own grandmother.”
Blake heard her reasoning. He knew Miles well enough to believe he’d do just as Jessie said. But something more important caught Blake’s attention. It sank in—she doesn’t belong to the half-breed. He no longer had to despise himself for wanting her. The relief brought on by that realization left him nearly as giddy as a school boy in the throws of his first crush. She didn’t belong to the half-breed!
In fact, Blake would wager that with her sharp tongue and strong right arm—that was one hell of a swipe she took at the train robber last night—she didn’t belong to any man.
His euphoria lasted mere seconds before reality returned. He had a job to do, and someone as obviously sympathetic to Apaches as she was—hell, she was related to one by blood—would never condone what Blake planned to do. And dammit, he still had no business wanting her. Didn’t want to want her. They were still on opposite sides.
In the morning they would head back to civilization. Blake figured they were equal distance from El Paso due north and Sierra Blanca to the northeast. The Swede had headed north. Much as Blake wanted to get his hands on the bastard, he wouldn’t chance running into him with Jessie along. Sierra Blanca would be the best place to catch the train. Jessie would continue on to Florida to try to free her brother. Blake would go too, because his orders from Miles were to see that she failed.
Then there were his other orders…
No, he didn’t want to want her. When she learned what he was about she would have nothing to do with him.
And tomorrow, when they started back, they would only have one horse. He was going to have to hold her on his lap. All the way. He only hoped he had the strength to keep his hands to himself and resist the temptation she would offer.
But the next morning Jessie was in no shape to be held on anyone’s lap, in no shape to travel at all. If anything, she was in even more pain from her sunburn and bruises. She was too delicate to withstand the abuse she’d been put through yesterday. The thought of what her kidnappers had subjected her to raised a rage in Blake that was hot and fierce.
Jessie, however, was in no mood to wait. “I’m going to hurt just as much lying here as I will sitting on a horse.”
“We’re not leaving,” Blake said firmly. “Your ankles are swollen and you can barely move.”
Jessie quickly tucked her bare feet back beneath the blanket. She knew he was right, but it galled her to be so weak. She needed to get to Pace. And whatever Blake’s orders were, he, too, was undoubtedly in a hurry to get to Florida.
“I’ll get you some fresh water for your sunburn.”
Jessie nodded glumly and stayed in the shade beneath the overhang. The mere thought of the sun’s burning rays touching her aching skin made her hurt. She’d never last an entire day out in the open.
Blake was back in a few moments with a saddle bag draped over his shoulder, but no water. “I saw a lobster once when I was at West Point,” he said fishing inside the saddle bag. “It was almost as red as you are.”
Jessie raised one eyebrow and peered at him. “How indelicate of you to mention it.” Anxious to quell the treacherous warm tingling in her depths brought on by just looking at him, she glanced away. He was the Army. He was Pace’s enemy. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that.
Something flashed at the edge of her vision. Jessie turned and stared at a skirt and blouse dangling from Blake’s hand. Her skirt and blouse, the ones she’d packed in her valise. She jerked her gaze up to his.
“In all the excitement yesterday, I forgot I had these. One of the women on the train remembered you, ah, weren’t wearing much. She went through your things and gave me these to bring to you.”
Jessie took the clothes gratefully, then gave him a wry smile. “She was pretty sure of you, wasn’t she?”
His expression turned grim as he looked away. “More sure than I was.”
Jessie watched the emotions that marched across his face—fear, determination, frustration. He’d had no idea if he could find her or not, or if he could find her in time, when he set out from the train.
She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “Blake?”
He took a slow breath and finally looked at her.
“Thank you for coming after me.”
“Thank you for saving my life.”
His answer made her wonder, just for an instant, if he might have left her to her fate had he not felt grateful. But no, not Blake Renard. As little as she knew about him, she didn’t believe he was the type to sit back and do nothing when something needed to be done.
She smiled slowly. “I think we’ve had this conversation before.”
“Yes.” Something hot and urgent filled his eyes.
Jessie quivered in response. She knew what he was thinking. The last time they’d thanked each other, he’d kissed her. And she had kissed him back.
The reminder, plus the heated look in his eyes, sent her pulse racing and her nerves tingling. For one brief moment, she relished the sensations and let the feelings fill her.
Then it was if a light inside him went dim, for the glow in his eyes faded and his expression once again turned somber.
It was just as well, Jessie thought heavily. Hadn’t she only moments ago told herself he was all wrong for her? That he was the enemy?
But how could a man whose eyes touched her soul, whose hands were so competent yet gentle, a man who suffered great pain and no small amount of danger to save her life—how could such a man be her enemy? And why, heaven help her, had her heart picked this man to yearn for?
“If you hurry,” Blake told her stiffly, “there’s a part of the stream that runs through the shade, if you want to clean up before you change clothes.”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. She would relish the chance to turn her mind from him just as much as she looked forward to being clean again. Holding the blanket awkwardly before her, she rose slowly to her feet. Every bone and muscle protested the movement, as did her skin. The pain in her feet, when she put weight on them, didn’t bear thinking about. She couldn’t help the low groan that came from her lips.
Blake stepped forward and lifted her carefully in his arms. “You’ll never make it on those feet of yours.”
As much as she hated being weak and helpless, Jessie knew Blake was right. Still, she could not bring herself to relax in his arms. His embrace felt entirely too good, every bit as warm and comforting as she remembered.
He took her to a tiny spit of soft sand that reached down into the water far enough so Jessie wouldn’t have to stand or kneel on gravel. The place was in shade, but only until the sun moved past the rim of the hill. Blake said he would come back for her when she called, then he left her there.
After assuring herself she was totally alone, Jessie stripped off the soiled gown and washed it as best she could in water that was only a few inches deep. She wrung as much water out as possible, then draped the gown across a stunted bush. Then it was her turn. The water didn’t even cover her thighs when she sat in it, but it still felt like heaven. Cool yet, because the sun hadn’t had much chance this early in the day to warm it. It soothed the fiery ache in her skin almost instantly. She splashed until every inch of her was wet.
Washing her hair proved to be a challenge in water so shallow.
She solved the problem by the simple method of lying down in the stream. The cool water on her sunburned scalp felt wonderful. How long she lay there savoring the sensation of water trickling down her length she had no idea, but it finally occurred to her she should hurry. Blake could get tired of waiting and come looking for her.
She rubbed sand into her hair to clean it, but didn’t dare get any near her tender scalp. It took long moments to rinse the sand out. By the time she forced herself from the water, her patch of shade was shrinking with the sun’s progress across the sky.
My kingdom for a soft towel, she thought. But she had no towel at all, much less one of the soft scented ones in her valise. All she had was the blanket she’d clutched to her chest to keep Blake from seeing through her thin gown this morning.
Funny, but she hadn’t worried about that the day before when she’d stood before him in the full light of day. She’d been too grateful to see him to worry about modesty. This morning, however, had been a different matter.
After patting herself dry as gingerly as possible with the rough blanket, Jessie dressed in the chemise, skirt, and blouse Blake had brought. The woman who’d gathered the clothes must have been in a hurry, for she hadn’t thought to include drawers, corset, stockings, or shoes, much less a comb. Still, Jessie was grateful for what she had, even though the soft clothes felt more like a rough, dry corncob against her tender skin.
Concentrating on fastening the button at the waist of her skirt, she turned around, then gasped. Blake stood no more than three feet away, yet she hadn’t heard him approach. “How long have you been standing there?”
His eyes were unaccountably fierce, his jaw hard beneath at least a day’s growth of dark whiskers. Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “How did you get bruises all over your ribs? I thought you said the bastards didn’t hurt you.”
Jessie sucked in another sharp breath and pressed her splayed fingers over her ribs as if to shield them from his gaze. “You spied on me?”
“I came looking for you. I waited an hour and a half, and when you didn’t call, I got worried,” he said tersely. “Tell me how you got bruised.”
It was not said as a polite request, but more as a demand for information he had a right to know. Jessie bristled. “It happens every time I spend the day draped belly-down over a saddle horn. I’m just funny like that, I guess.”
Pain flickered through his dark eyes. He reached a hand out and covered hers where it still spread across her belly. “All day?”
Jessie shivered at his touch and took a step back. “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. It was only as far as the river, and most of the time I was unconscious.”
“Not as bad—Unconscious?” Blake cried, outraged all over again at the way she’d been treated, the pain she’d suffered, simply for helping him. He noticed then the dark shading along one jaw. When he reached for it, his fingers trembled. “Damn, Jessie, they hit you?”
A fierce, primal urge swept through him. The force of it made him draw his hand from her, or risk bruising her himself. He wanted to roll back the sun until it was yesterday. He wanted to call the dead man back to life and kill him again. Slowly this time, one agonizing hour after another. The way an Apache would do it. He wanted to inflict such pain that the bastard would remember it, feel it pulling him apart, through all eternity. Then he wanted to ride after the one who got away and do the same to him.
Damn. Maybe the Apaches had something. Never before had Blake felt such primitive, vicious urgings. Even when it came to the man he’d hated all his life, the man he was on his way to Florida to kill, Blake didn’t feel the need to cause excruciating pain. He just wanted him dead. But the ones who hurt Jessie were a different matter.
Jessie spent the day napping in the shade of the overhang, with her ankles wrapped in cool wet rags. Blake absolutely refused to let her expose herself to the sun’s burning rays one minute more than necessary. That she gave in to his demands with little more than a token protest only made her more miserable. She felt like a chicken-hearted whiner, and she hated it. She wanted—needed—to go after Pace, to get him free. How in God’s name she would accomplish the task, she had no idea, but she would not rest until it was done.
Despite her pain, she eagerly agreed to Blake’s plan to ride at night. They started out an hour before sundown, with her sitting before him on their only horse. Sitting upright made the blood throb painfully in her lower legs and feet, but she ground her teeth and swallowed against the pain.
Even Blake’s arms, held so carefully around her, hurt her burned skin. But that, too, she endured, for there was no other way, unless she rode astride behind him. That position would have been even more painful to her bruised body. Then, too, she liked having his arms around her. She shouldn’t, but she did.
The sun set, but darkness didn’t have much chance against the huge orange moon that rose. For a long time, neither Blake nor Jessie broke the silence of the quiet night. They rode without speaking, hour after hour. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but Jessie couldn’t truthfully claim it was peaceful, either. She was ever aware of Blake’s nearness. She remembered when he’d walked up to her seat on the train that first day and she’d felt a peculiar tingling in the very air around her.
That total awareness of his presence flooded her again and kept the blood in her veins humming with the reminder of how it felt to have his lips on hers, his arms crushing her to his broad chest, his heat seeping through her skin to chase away her fear.
She both relished his nearness, and was wary of it. Wanted to be nearer, and wanted to escape the feelings that urged her to lean against him and let him hold her. But Jessie had things to do. She had a brother to help. She didn’t need to have her attention tangled up on a man. Particularly a man who hated Apaches.
Yet as the night wore on, exhaustion and pain claimed her. With each mile, Blake saw her shoulders droop a bit lower. He cursed the bastards who had caused her to hurt, cursed himself for not being able to do anything about it. All he could do was get her to town as fast and with as little discomfort as possible, so she could be properly cared for. He had nothing more than his own good wishes with which to treat her burning skin. Fat lot of good that was doing her.
Maybe if he could take her mind off it, that would help. But how? She wasn’t some nervous cow he could sing to to calm her down. He wasn’t much good with words. Didn’t know any poetry to recite. About the only thing he had floating around in his head was a string of questions she would more than likely refuse to answer.
Then again, what could it hurt to ask? Even if she got mad as a wet hen, at least it might take her mind off her misery.
“So tell me,” he said quietly. “How does a fair-haired, fair-skinned girl like you end up with a half-breed brother?”
When she stiffened in his arms, Blake felt like kicking himself.
“That’s right,” she said carefully. “You’re not from Arizona, are you?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Jessie took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. It was only natural that he ask, after all. To see her and Pace together no one could guess they sprang from the same womb. “It’s just that nearly everyone in Arizona knows our family history almost as well as we do.”
“Are you going to share this deep mystery, or is it none of my business?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “Why shouldn’t it be your business? Everyone else seems to think it’s theirs.”
“And you don’t like that.”
“Would you like every stranger you meet acting as if he had a right to discuss your private family matters in public? Lord, listen to me,” she said with amazement. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember the last time I got so defensive about my family.”
“Don’t worry about it. I probably shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, that’s all right. It’s a natural question.”
When she didn’t say anything else, Blake pushed. “Then
are you going to answer it?”
Jessie’s sigh was barely audible. “My mother was captured by Apaches.”
Blake waited. And waited. He knew what she wasn’t saying; there was no need for her to spell out what the Apaches did to her mother. It was a foregone conclusion that the poor woman was raped, probably repeatedly. But she couldn’t just stop the story with “My mother was captured.” So he kept waiting.
She said nothing more.
Frustrated, he prodded again. “And?”
Jessie shrugged. “And after they let her go, she—”
“Let her go? Apaches don’t let their captives go.”
“They did Mama.”
Blake heard what had to be a smile in her voice. “Why?”
“Mama’s a very special woman. And very strong. I don’t mean physically, but in her heart, you know?”
No, Blake didn’t know. Something tickled the back of his mind, some memory, but he couldn’t snag it. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“You will when you meet her.”
Something suspiciously close to a sense of loss snuck through Blake’s guard. He doubted he’d ever meet Mrs. Colton. There was no reason for their paths to ever cross. Yet he’d like to know the woman who could raise a daughter such as Jessie.
“I doubt I’ll have that pleasure.”
Jessie chuckled. “With Mama, you never know. Just don’t be surprised if she turns up somewhere during this trip. Anyway,” Jessie said. “Right after she left the Apaches, she met Daddy. The twins were born shortly after they got married.”
“Twins?”
“Pace and Serena.”
Then her other words struck him. “Your mother didn’t—Did your father…?”
“Yes, my father knew she carried them before they were married. He knew what had happened to her. He knew the twins were half Chiricahua before he asked her to marry him.”
Blake’s mind whirled. His own words came back to haunt him, words about no white man wanting Apache leavings. Yet Jessie’s father apparently had.
Of course, her mother had had no choice in her dealings with the Apaches. She’d been captured and raped. What Blake had thought about the relationship between Jessie and Pace had been different. He had thought she had freely given herself to a half-breed.
Apache-Colton Series Page 118
