Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  Blake turned the corner and strolled through an open air market. A poor choice, obviously, as all four of the people who’d gotten off the street car followed him. He walked straight past the vendors’ wagons and crudely constructed booths and out the other end of the alley. Few people wandered that far down the alley. He stepped around the corner and pressed himself against the wall. Barely ten seconds later, the sergeant dashed out, looking harried, glancing anxiously around.

  Blake snagged him by the shirt front and threw him against the wall. “Looking for me?”

  The sergeant’s face turned a dull red. He swallowed heavily while his eyes bulged. “Uh, no sir. That is, I, uh, no sir.”

  Blake wound his fist tighter in the blue shirt. “You were following me.”

  A man and woman walked passed, staring at them. Blake ignored them. “Answer me. Were you following me?”

  “Uh, well, uh, I, uh, guess so, sir.”

  “Why?” Blake barked, not yet ready to ease his grip.

  The sergeant’s face fell. “Ah, jeeze, Cap’n. You officers are always putting us enlisted men in the middle of things. I guess I botched this up good. I’ll be peelin’ potatoes for the rest of my hitch.”

  “You were ordered to follow me?”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I ain’t allowed to say.”

  “You were ordered to not tell me you were following me?”

  The sergeant’s face brightened. “Yeah. That’s it. I’m not allowed to tell you I’m followin’ you.”

  “And who gave you these orders, Sergeant…”

  “Tipplemire, sir. Sergeant Henry Tipplemire, Eighth Cavalry. And I ain’t allowed to say where my orders come from.”

  When Blake eased his grip and turned loose of the sergeant’s shirt, Henry Tipplemire breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been liking the look in the captain’s eyes, no siree, not one little bit. Damn nonsense, anyway, being ordered to follow the captain. Henry didn’t cotton to the idea of the general setting spies on fellow officers. To his way of thinking, if a body wanted to know something, he oughta just up and ask.

  Then the captain gave him a sympathetic smile. “Guess this leaves you in an awkward position, doesn’t it?”

  Ah, to hell with it, Tipplemire thought. His enlistment was up next month. Maybe if he cooperated with the captain, the general wouldn’t have to know he’d screwed up the assignment. “Yeah,” he said. “But I’ll tell you this, there ain’t anybody at the fort high enough up to counter my orders.”

  Blake blinked, wondering at the sudden cooperation. Whatever the sergeant’s reason for giving that bit of information, Blake wasn’t going to question it.

  So. General Stanley wasn’t so ill he couldn’t sic a spy on him, only too ill to meet with a visiting officer he didn’t want to see. The general, it seemed, would rather play games. Well, the general wasn’t the only one who could play.

  “It seems,” Blake told the sergeant, “you’ve been given a particularly dull assignment. I’m just headed back to my hotel.”

  “Don’t matter, sir. If you don’t mind, I’ll just tag along behind you. You won’t even know I’m around. I only got a month left before I get out,” he added with a hint of pleading in his eyes.

  “A month, huh? Well, can’t have you getting into trouble so close to discharge, can we? Very well, Sergeant. Carry on. Oh, and just in case you lose me on the street, I’m staying at the Menger on the Alamo Plaza.”

  The sergeant grinned with relief. “Yes, sir.”

  In the shadows at the end of the alley, Wade watched Blake and the sergeant walk away. He hadn’t heard what they said to each other, but it was enough to know he hadn’t been spotted.

  With relief, he rubbed the heavy, sticky clay off his face and tossed his stolen sombrero and suffocating serape aside. But the disguise had been worth it. No one paid much attention to an old Mex. The getup had worked earlier in the day at the Menger, and later, at the fort. Damn accommodating of the Army to let all those crowds of people wander around the quadrangle to gape at the Apaches. No one noticed one more old man in the bunch.

  As Blake reached the end of the block and turned the corner, Wade felt the hatred flow through him. What Wade had learned at the hotel that morning had only made him more determined than ever to kill Blake and keep Tres Colinas for himself.

  The gutsy young woman who’d thrown off his aim on the train was Jessica Colton, of the Coltons of Arizona. Hellfire, the Coltons were rich, with a capital R. And damn, they would practically be his neighbors. Their Triple C ranch was only a day’s ride north of Tres Colinas. He’d seen the Colton men and hired hands around Tucson a time or two, but hadn’t known they’d had a pretty little thing like that yellow-headed gal at home.

  Of course, the family also claimed a couple of half-breeds, but Wade had never developed the hatred for Apaches that Blake had. He should have. If that damn Geronimo hadn’t killed Blake’s mother, Wade wouldn’t have had to put up with the bastard all his life. But Wade didn’t have the energy to spend hating Geronimo or any other Apache. He didn’t like them, that was for damn sure, and he wouldn’t so much as piss on one if one was on fire. But all Wade’s hatred had been directed for his entire life at his cousin.

  Life was going to be particularly sweet when Blake was dead and the pretty little Colton daughter was his. He’d seen the way Blake looked at her. The sorry son of a bitch would be turning over in his grave every time Wade touched her. And touch her he would. Because Wade had also seen the way she nearly melted when she looked at Blake. When Blake was dead, the poor little darlin’ was going to need some mighty powerful consoling. Wade figured he could be particularly good at consoling.

  Then, not only would he have his own ranch, he’d have access to the strength and money of the Triple C, too. Besides, Wade reasoned as he fingered the hole in his ear. The little darlin’ owed him for throwing off his aim that way, and for costing him Hank and Sven to boot.

  Oh, yeah. Things were going to work out just fine.

  When Blake reached the hotel, he noticed with wry humor that Sergeant Tipplemire stationed himself in the corner of the courtyard to watch and wait. Poor bastard.

  Blake didn’t bother going to his room. The women would be anxious, he knew. He went to their suite and knocked.

  Daniella Colton opened the door, but Blake was hard pressed to so much as acknowledge her presence. His gaze went straight to Jessie.

  In the past week or two he’d grown accustomed to spending his days with her, and it had now been hours since he’d seen her. Hours since they’d argued. Since they had struck sparks off each other. Since he’d felt the fire of need and want lick through his veins and seen the answering flare in her eyes.

  His feelings for Jessie, confusing though they may be, had at some point along the way ceased to surprise him. The knowledge, the admission, came swiftly and simply. He’d missed her.

  Flanked as she was by her black haired mother and sister, Jessie stood out like a soft golden flame. Her anxious, troubled gaze immediately met his and held.

  Jessie’s anger at Blake’s interference that morning had long since vanished. For a brief instant she forgot why he had come, where he had been. She knew only that he was here. Then her mother’s voice reminded her.

  “Did you find him?”

  It took Blake perhaps a shade too long to realize what Daniella Colton was asking him. Then he jerked his gaze from Jessie and looked at her mother. “I found him.”

  Daniella whirled from the door and reached for her handbag. “Then let’s go.”

  Blake put a hand out to stop her. “Hold on. You can’t.”

  “Can’t?” Daniella Colton’s pale blue eyes pierced him. “You know where my son is, and you tell me I can’t see him?”

  Blake forced down the shudder that threatened. He remembered his remark to Pace about saying no to this woman. He’d spoken out of instinct. It seemed his instinct had been correct. All things considered, given his “d’ruthers,
” he’d “ruther” wrestle a rattler. But it seemed he wasn’t being given any “d’ruthers” at all.

  “I’m sorry. They won’t permit him visitors until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “But you saw him?” Serena asked sharply.

  “Yes, ma’am. I saw him.”

  “You spoke with him?”

  “I did.”

  “Then why,” Daniella muttered between clenched teeth, “can’t we? I’m his mother, for crying out loud.”

  Oh, brother. What the hell was he supposed to tell them?

  “Blake?”

  Jessie’s soft inquiry twisted something in his gut. His silence was only making them fear the worst.

  “If they’re trying to keep me from finding out he’s been in chains all this time,” Daniella said harshly, “they’re wasting their time.”

  Stunned, Blake looked away, hoping she wouldn’t see the truth in his eyes. “What makes you think that?”

  She gave a sharp bark of laughter. “For one thing, the guilty look on your face. But don’t feel too badly, Captain, because I really did know already.”

  Blake frowned. Jessie had surely told her about the condition Pace had been in when he’d been thrown on the train, but there was no reason to believe the Army had kept him chained. Blake had certainly not expected it.

  “Why is he still chained?” Jessie cried.

  Serena caught Blake’s eyes, then pursed her lips. “Who’s in charge of him?”

  “Technically, Lieutenant Gatewood has responsibility for the Apache prisoners. But General Stanley has command of the fort.”

  “Gatewood?” Jessie looked floored. “But he’s known Pace for ages. Why would he treat him this way?”

  “Precisely because he does know Pace, is my guess,” Serena offered with a wry twist of her lips. “How long do you think it would have taken Pace to escape if he weren’t chained? He’d have at least half the renegades with him deep into Mexico by now if he’d had the chance.”

  Blake nodded. “That’s more or less what Gatewood is afraid of,” he admitted.

  “I want to see my son, Captain. And I want to see him now.”

  Blake heaved a sigh. He shifted his weight, then plunged in. “He…doesn’t want you to see him in the shape he’s in.”

  Daniella closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. “Is he worse? Have they beaten him again?”

  There was nothing Blake could say to that.

  The word that hissed from Daniella’s lips startled Blake. He’d never heard a woman—at least, not a lady—say such a thing. But he couldn’t say he blamed her.

  Then she gave a snort of disgust. “Does the idiot think I’m getting too old and feeble to withstand the sight of a few bruises?”

  A few bruises was, in Blake’s opinion, a severe understatement to describe Pace Colton’s condition, but he wasn’t going to tell these women that. He allowed a small smile. “Frankly, I doubt he’s worried so much about your reaction as he is his own pride. No man likes to have it known he’s been on the losing end of a battle, even if he was grossly outnumbered.”

  Daniella pursed her lips. “I understand about a man’s pride, Captain. No doubt you’re right. Pace has always had more than his fair share. We can see him tomorrow, you say?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Daniella let out a low sigh. “All right. I don’t like it, but we’ll wait.”

  Daniella and Serena said their good nights and went to their respective rooms adjoining the sitting room. Daniella was the last to leave. When she closed her door, leaving Blake and Jessie alone, Blake suddenly felt as awkward as a schoolboy. Jessie wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  He cleared his throat. “Are you still angry about this morning?”

  Jessie clasped her hands behind her back. She wasn’t angry any longer, but perhaps she should be. Maybe anger would keep the yearning in her heart in line. Why him? her heart cried. Why did this man, and only this man, generate such feelings inside her? She didn’t want to want him.

  She didn’t want to lose all sense whenever he was around. Yet it happened. Had happened the first time they met, when he’d wrapped his arm around her and kept her from going after Pace. She had practically gone crazy. She’d been so damn angry. Never had she lost control of herself the way she had then.

  But when he kissed her…His kisses were even more unsettling. It was one thing to lose one’s temper to the point of distraction. But to lose all sense from a kiss, to long for the things she’d longed for, to have no will to stop her very soul from slipping away and entwining itself with his…

  No. She didn’t want to want him. Didn’t want to ache for his presence when he was gone. Didn’t want to lose herself to the overwhelming emotions his nearness generated deep inside her. Yet it seemed she had no choice, for want him, she did, even while she wished she could hold on to her anger.

  “Jessie?”

  She sighed. She’d never been a good liar. “No, I’m not angry.” Although I wish I were.

  Blake gave her a crooked smile. “Your brother wouldn’t have thanked you for finding him, if you’d succeeded this morning.”

  Blake was probably right, but she wasn’t used to others making her decisions for her. “Shouldn’t that have been left to be settled between him and me?”

  “Maybe,” Blake admitted grudgingly. Then he thought of the sergeant, Tipplemire, standing down in the courtyard to watch Blake’s every move. Whatever game General Stanley was up to, Blake did not want Jessie caught up in it. “All the same, I don’t want you going to the fort alone again.”

  Jessie gave a toss of her head, making the soft lamplight sparkle in her hair. “You don’t make my decisions for me.”

  Damn her, she was just stubborn enough to do something foolish just to prove her point. “There’s something going on at the fort, Jessie, something dangerous. It’s not safe.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “For starters, I’m being followed.”

  The connotations of that sent apprehension shivering down Jessie’s spine. “Followed by whom? Whatever for?”

  “By a sergeant who’s just following orders. As to why, I don’t know. But whatever the reason, I don’t want you mixed up in it. You could get hurt, Jessie. After you see Pace tomorrow, will you go home?”

  “Just leave him there, a prisoner?” And leave you? Not see you again? “Are you out of your mind?”

  “What good can you do him?” Blake struggled to keep from grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her. “You said yourself that your father was in Washington, working for your brother’s release. Let him do it. Go home, Jessie.”

  “Why?”

  Because I don’t want you around when I do what I came to do. “Because you don’t belong here. It’s not safe.”

  Anger firmed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “You know, I’m really getting tired of hearing you say that.”

  “Then go home, and you won’t have to listen to me.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of, Jessie admitted to herself. When she went home, she could very well never see Blake again. She wasn’t ready to face that too-real possibility yet. Of course, she’d die before she admitted such a thing to him. Admitting it to herself was difficult enough. Men weren’t the only ones who had pride, after all. And he was walking all over hers.

  She gave another toss of her head and added a sniff of injury for effect. “I don’t see you trying to convince my mother and Serena to go home. Do you think I’m so much less capable of taking care of myself than they are?”

  “No. But I have no right to ask them.”

  “What makes you think you have the right to ask me?” she cried.

  “This.” Blake pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was hard and fast, and so damned sweet that he had to push her away almost instantly or risk taking her down to the floor right then and there and laying his aching body over
her soft curves. Damn, but he’d never been so affected by a woman before.

  Why her? he asked himself. Why did this woman, and only this woman, generate such feelings inside him? He didn’t want to want her. She was all wrong for him.

  When he turned away from the look of bewilderment in her eyes and reached for the door knob, he was astounded to realize his hand was shaking.

  They went to the fort the next afternoon, the five of them: the three Colton women; Blake; and trailing at a discreet distance, his shadow, Sergeant Tipplemire. A young corporal met them at the gate.

  “I’m to take you to the quartermaster’s office,” he offered.

  Daniella looked him in the eye. “Is my son there?”

  The corporal swallowed. Blake felt a spurt of sympathy for the innocent young man for having to stare into those pale blue eyes blazing with animosity. “Yes, ma’am,” the corporal said.

  “And Lieutenant Gatewood?” Daniella asked with a raised eyebrow. “Where is he?”

  “He, uh…” The corporal raised his eyes to the sky. His lips moved a time or two, as if reciting something, or praying. Then he gave a small nod to himself. “Lieutenant Gatewood is otherwise occupied with his duties at the moment, and conveys his apologies for not meeting you personally.”

  “The coward,” Daniella hissed.

  Personally, Blake thought Gatewood was showing an uncommon amount of intelligence by avoiding what would surely be an explosive confrontation. And Blake was suddenly glad Daniella Colton had no one on whom to vent her rage. With a little luck, she would carry it home with her and let it loose on the one who deserved it—Nelson Miles.

  The corporal led them to the quartermaster’s office. Two armed guards stood outside the door. Four more, rifles in hand, surrounded Pace Colton inside the room. His chains had been removed, he’d cleaned up, and even wore a new shirt. But the swollen eye, the split cheek, and the fat lip told the tale plainly enough, even without noticing the raw, red band of skin around each wrist when he moved to put his arms around his mother’s shoulders.