Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  She waited, breath held. Would he smile at her? Would he be more at ease today than yesterday? Or would he try to shut her out again?

  Finally, when she thought she couldn’t stand the wait another moment, he turned. She saw his struggle to keep his expression blank. Then a pained looked settled in his eyes.

  “You’ve been crying,” he said, his voice sounding rough and unused.

  She lowered her gaze and held out the coffee. “Here. I thought you might like some.”

  He took it from her hand and placed the cup on the stump he used for splitting wood. “Why?”

  Nervous under his close scrutiny, not wanting to give him anything else to feel responsible for, she forced a light shrug. “It was there on the stove. I just thought—”

  “Why have you been crying, Jessie?”

  Her gaze went involuntarily to his, then lowered swiftly again. “It was silly, really. I woke and you weren’t there and for a minute…”

  He swore. “You thought I’d left.”

  “It did cross my mind, until I heard the ax.”

  The ax in question slipped from his grip. “Ah, Jessie.” He pulled her into his arms. “I wouldn’t just walk out on you and leave you here alone. No matter what happens, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “No matter what happens?” She had to fight to keep her voice from breaking. “What does that mean?”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Jessie. I only know I don’t want to hurt you. If we stay together…”

  “Nothing, nothing could hurt me worse than to lose you,” she told him fiercely, her fingers digging in to his sweat-slicked arms. “We can make it, Blake, if you’ll give us a chance. I know we can.”

  Blake swore again. He let his head fall until his forehead rested against hers. “You sound so positive, like you really believe it.”

  “I do. Because I love you and you love me and there’s nothing in the world stronger than that.”

  “Hate is stronger. Hate and prejudice. I can’t subject you and the baby to that. I can’t, Jessie.”

  “Excuse me?” She arched a brow at him. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? Who my family is? We had this conversation yesterday. I know how to handle prejudice. I’ve dealt with it all my life. It’s nothing, not even worth thinking about. The only power anyone has to hurt us is the power we give them. I choose not to give them any.”

  She hadn’t convinced him, she knew. But he was at least thinking about what she’d said. He was wavering. He didn’t want to leave her, he only thought, in the pigheaded way men had of trying to think for everyone else, that his leaving would be the best thing for her.

  Well, she would give him a little more time to do his thinking. And if he didn’t come to the right conclusion…Well, in that case, she would just have to think of something else to keep him by her side.

  “Don’t worry, baby,” she whispered to the child in her womb. “We’re not about to lose your daddy. Wait until you meet him. You’ll be so proud to be his son. So proud. He’s strong and stubborn and oh, so honorable. More honorable than a man has a right to be. And I love him so very much.”

  As he groomed the horses and made still more repairs to the corral, Blake heard Jessie’s words echo in his mind. Words, he thought with a wry grin. Hell, it had been more of a lecture than any he’d had in school.

  Was she right? Could they thumb their noses at the world and get away unscathed? And if not, would the struggle and pain be worth it?

  You know it would. For you, anyway.

  Yes, he knew it. Being with Jessie, spending the rest of his life with her, would be worth anything, any amount of pain he might suffer. But dammit, he didn’t want her to suffer. Not because of him. Not because of the bastard half-breed son of the most hated, most feared renegade the Southwest, maybe the entire continent, had ever known.

  He was grateful she’d gone back in the house and left him to do his thinking, yet he was surprised she’d given him so much time to himself. Surprised she hadn’t come back outside to make sure he wasn’t saddling up to ride out on her.

  The way the clouds were building up in the west, it looked like nobody was going anyplace but to shelter this afternoon.

  But then, even if he meant to take her back to the Triple C, it was too late in the day to start.

  As if to make sure he believed his own words, thunder rumbled in the distance.

  After another hour, he couldn’t stand the suspense and went to the house. Just how the hell much time was she going to give him, anyway? Was she so sure of her power over him that she thought he’d made up his mind to stay?

  Hell. Who was he kidding? He might as well have told her earlier that he couldn’t leave her. He could cut off his own right arm with a rusty table knife easier than he could leave Jessie. He knew it. She probably did, too.

  But he would take her back to the Triple C. Tomorrow. For there was something else weighing on his mind that he had refused to admit to her, because he didn’t want her worrying about it. But the very thought turned his insides to ice: His mother had died giving birth to him. In two or three weeks, Jessie would give birth to his child. What if…

  Dear God, he couldn’t even finish the thought. Didn’t dare. He had to get her back to the Triple C where she would have help.

  All he had to do now was figure out a way to get her to go willingly, without telling her why. He didn’t want to put this particular fear on her head. But he couldn’t tell her he was taking her back to leave her, either, or she would dig in her heels. He had to think of something. And he would. Surely he would.

  He found her curled up on the bed, sound asleep. Confidence? More likely, exhaustion. Another wry smile twisted his lips. After the way she’d turned him inside out last night, it was no wonder she was tired.

  He tiptoed back to the door and let himself outside. He entered the shadowed interior of the barn and stopped. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end for a split second before he heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked.

  “Hello, Cousin. What do you say we take a little walk into the hills? After all, we wouldn’t want to disturb the little woman, now, would we?”

  Blake slowly turned to face is cousin. “What do you want, Wade?”

  The grin on Wade’s lips hardened. “Everything, you stinking redskin bastard. And I intend to have it. Now walk.”

  Blake thought hard before giving in, but decided that whatever was going to happen, he wanted it to happen as far away from Jessie as possible. So he walked.

  Jessie woke to the sound of thunder in the distance. Wind gusted against the house. Somewhere outside, wood slapped against wood. It sounded like the door to the outhouse. She lay there several minutes, waiting to hear Blake secure the door. When it kept slamming back and forth, she realized he must be busy getting the Arabians into the barn. A storm was coming. She could smell it on the wind.

  He would undoubtedly see to her mare, too. The mustangs her father had given them for a wedding present would be fine where they were. Still half wild, they wouldn’t know what to do if they were locked inside a stall. They would tear the barn down trying to get out.

  With no little effort—it seemed to take more each day—she pushed herself up from the bed. “God, Jessie, you’re as big as a cow about to calf.”

  She grimaced at her own choice of words. They were a little closer to the truth than she thought was funny.

  A look in the mirror over the dresser made her groan. Her hair was in worse shape than the ungroomed tail of the wildest mustang. Going outside in the wind wasn’t going to improve its condition any, either. Impatient as she was to stop that infernal whacking of the outhouse door, she made herself sit before the dresser and brush and braid her hair.

  When she was finished, she stood, rubbed at an ache in her lower back, and tried to smooth the wrinkles from her dress and apron. “I was only going to lie down for a minute. Humph. What a mess.”

/>   In the kitchen, she paused at the counter where she’d left her derringer the day before. Poor Blake, she thought, running her finger over the pearl grips and down along the gold plated, engraved over-and-under three-inch barrels. He thought he’d corrupted her. She smiled at the thought and slipped the gun into her apron pocket. Sure as the world, if she didn’t carry it with her, that cougar whose tracks Pace had seen in the hills would be waiting for her at the outhouse.

  And Blake, being a rather typical male, would then scold her for not carrying her gun.

  She patted the familiar weight and stepped outside, where a grit-filled gust of wind hit her full in the face. She grimaced and headed not toward the barn and Blake, but toward the outhouse to latch the door. The wind whipped her braid and her skirt, whipped her. She hurried as best her bulk would allow.

  On her way back to the house, she noticed her mare and the Arabians were still out in the corral, stomping and snorting at the oncoming storm. Where was Blake? Why hadn’t he put them up yet?

  Ducking her head against the wind, she made her way across the bare ground and into the barn. “Blake?” There was no answer, but then the way the wind was howling, he probably couldn’t hear her. She tried again, louder. Still no answer.

  She stepped outside and looked around. Where could he have gone?

  In the rocks on the hill to the north, a splash of color flashed, then disappeared. Blue. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been bare-chested, but his blue chambray shirt had been hanging from a corral post.

  She felt her spirits sink. He must be brooding again. She could think of no other reason for him to neglect the horses and go for a walk in the rocks.

  Well, it was enough, she decided. If he wanted to brood, fine. He could do it at home. She was not about to let him sit up there alone and feed the insecurities Lucien Renard had bestowed on him. Her jaw squared with determination, she took the shortcut across the pasture, fully intending to meet him at the top of the hill and drag him home by the ear, if necessary.

  But no, she wouldn’t do any such thing. She would go, and she would meet him. But no dragging by the ear, Jessie. He’s a grown man, not a child.

  “And I’m his woman. His wife. I won’t let him hurt himself anymore.”

  The wind gusted, her skirt flapped, and the sky grew darker by the minute. Jessie made her way between two of the three short hills for which the ranch was named and crossed the field. At the edge of the meadow a tumble of giant sandstone boulders piled one atop the other up the hillside. Halfway up, Jessie paused to catch her breath. With a hand cupped beneath her belly, she realized that lugging a baby around in the rocks was hard work. Yet the child didn’t seem to mind, for he lay still and snug, no protesting kicks to her ribs.

  “Thank you, baby. I promise I’ll go home the long way instead of climbing back down these stupid rocks.”

  The wind tore her words away so only she and the baby could hear them.

  She was almost at the top when she thought she heard a voice. Poor Blake. Was he talking to himself?

  But no…there were two voice. Two angry male voices.

  “…is mine, I tell you.”

  “How do you figure…” The wind snatched the rest of the words away.

  Suddenly feeling the need for stealth, Jessie crept cautiously closer.

  “…off playing soldier. I’m the one who worked and made this…”

  “Dammit, Wade…down to the roots? You damn near ruined the grass, you stupid…”

  “Yeah. I did, didn’t I?”

  Jessie froze. No need for alarm. It was Wade, Blake’s cousin. From the sudden clarity of his voice, she knew he stood just on the other side of the boulder before her. But something stopped her. His voice. Something about his voice, those words…

  Why would those words, uttered with an obvious sneer, make her think of gunfire? Of pain?

  Suddenly time seemed to fly backward, back and back, until she stood in the narrow aisle of a Pullman car, terror seizing her throat, gunshots echoing in her mind.

  Blake’s head rolled limply. The exposed side of his face and head, along with the pillow where he’d lain, were covered in blood.

  Violent trembling seized Jessie. “You’ve killed him!”

  The man’s evil laugh sent icy fingers of terror around her throat. “Yeah. I did, didn’t I?”

  Jessie covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the same man. It was only his words, his tone that made her remember the train robbery. This was Blake’s cousin, for heaven’s sake.

  “You fool,” Wade was saying. “It’s spring and the grass is thick again. I can run another thousand head of cattle through here before fall.”

  “If you didn’t care about wearing out the land, sure. Where would you get a thousand head of cattle, anyway?” Blake asked.

  “None of your business, Cousin.”

  “I don’t see why not. You’ve already said you’re going to kill me.”

  Jessie bit down on her hand to keep from crying out. A violent trembling shook her from head to toe.

  “That’s right,” Wade said coldly. “I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blake read the hatred in Wade’s eyes and knew his cousin meant every word. “At least do me the courtesy of telling me why.”

  “Courtesy! I don’t owe you any damn courtesy. All my life, since that day your old man left you with us, all red-faced and squalling, when I was six years old, I’ve had to take second place to you. When I was hungry, you had to be fed first. When I was thirsty, you got the first drink. You always came first in our house.”

  “Funny, but that’s damn sure not the way I remember it.”

  “No, you wouldn’t, would you? But it’s true. You, with your big sad eyes, you always got the best of everything. The prettiest girls, the fastest horses. Hell, I couldn’t even get into West Point, but you didn’t have any trouble. You always had everything you wanted. Even this ranch. Well I’m telling you, we might not have shared much over the years, but we’ve got one grandfather in common, you and me. He’s the one who got the original Spanish land grant for this valley. I have as much right to Tres Colinas as you do.”

  The wind shifted, gusting full in Wade’s face and blowing his black hair away from his neck and ears. Blake stiffened, stared, for one minute, unbelieving. “Good God.”

  Wade’s eyes narrowed to dark slits. “God ain’t gonna help you this time, you son of a bitch.”

  “You were the one—on the train.”

  Wade stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

  Blake ground his teeth in rage. “I wondered why you suddenly decided to wear your hair so long. But if you really don’t want anyone seeing that little chunk missing from the lower edge of your left earlobe, you shouldn’t stand out in the wind, Cousin.”

  Wade snarled.

  “Jesus. You had me dead to rights on that train. Even you shouldn’t have been able to miss at that range.”

  “And I wouldn’t have, either, if it hadn’t been for that interfering little bitch.”

  Blake clenched his fists in fury. “You had her kidnapped.”

  “I meant to have her killed.”

  “Screwed that up, too, did you?”

  “You were supposed to be dead!” Wade’s eyes glazed. “A half dozen times, I had you. I swear to God, I had you. But every time, you managed to get lucky. Christ, I’ve never seen such a lucky bastard.”

  Blake narrowed his eyes. “If you take off that glove,” he said, nodding toward Wade’s left hand, “am I going to find half your thumb missing?”

  Wade snorted. “That shot was pure luck. Just like it was pure luck—bad, on my part—that it wasn’t you I grabbed that night in San Antonio.”

  Blake felt his blood turn cold. “What night?”

  Wade stepped forward. Blake had to stop himself from taking a step back. He knew what was back there; he’d already looked. Nothing, for ten
feet down, nothing but air. Then a smooth rock ledge, home to at least a half dozen rattlers. As if to remind him of their presence, a soft burring rattle sounded on the wind.

  “How the hell was I supposed to guess that you’d loan your hat and coat to some ignorant sergeant? It almost worked out, though, didn’t it? They almost got you with that court martial. But once again, the little woman came to your rescue. She’s really something, you know? Real pretty, too. I figure she’ll just about be devastated when they find your snake-bit body down on that ledge. Hell, if they take long enough to find you, there might not be enough of you left to tell you’ve even been shot. And if there is, well, hell, everybody’ll just think you didn’t want to live, knowing your own sweet daddy was none other than Geronimo himself.”

  Wade saw his words hit home in the tightening of Blake’s mouth. Laughter, hot, hysterical, liberating, bubbled up inside him and cut loose across the hills. He was finally, for the first time in his life, going to be free of Blake Renard. No longer would he have to live in his cousin’s shadow, always being compared to Blake, always falling short.

  No, not anymore. Now he was going to have it all. All! Including the woman.

  “Not to worry, though, Cousin. I’ll soothe the grieving widow. Yeah, I’ll soothe her all night long, night after night. Not only will I end up riding between those soft thighs, I’ll have the ranch, too. Shit, I’ll even have all your rich in-laws. Oh, yeah,” Wade said with a chuckle. “The grieving widow and I will get along just fine.”

  Then Wade stiffened. Something cold and hard pressed against the back of his neck just above his shirt. The sound of a pistol being cocked froze his blood.

  “There’s just one little problem,” came a hard, female voice. “I’m not quite ready to dress in black. And even if I were, you would be the last man on earth I’d let near me.”

  Blake nearly swallowed his tongue. His mind screamed in protest. Get out of here, Jessie! For God’s sake, run!