Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  Spence flinched at the barb and turned away abruptly.

  LaRisa was stunned by the uncertainty she’d seen flash across his eyes. Never had she seen him uncertain about a single thing. Why now? Did this have anything to do with his reason for giving up medicine? Having been a recipient of his skill herself, she couldn’t believe he thought he was lacking.

  A sharp ache bloomed in her chest, an ache for the look she’d just seen in his eyes. She didn’t like hurting for him, but wasn’t sure what to do about it until he spoke and fueled her anger again.

  “Hell, woman, if we run into any outlaws on the trail, we won’t need guns. You can just flay them alive with your tongue.”

  “Very funny, white man. From what I’ve heard, you’re an excellent doctor. It was your artistic skills I was questioning. Give me the damn gun and tell me what to do.”

  He drew the pistol from his holster, but before he would let her fire, he made her load and unload several times, until he was satisfied that she was comfortable and adept at doing it.

  Then he stood behind her, much, much too close. His chest brushed her back and sent a charge of lightning striking to her core. She shivered in response. He grasped her wrists and brought her arms up in front of her, with his alongside of them, and showed her how to hold the pistol with two hands, since she could not steady it with one, and take aim.

  “The head’s too small a target, and can be jerked aside too quickly. Go for the chest. It’s bigger, easier to hit.”

  LaRisa had trouble concentrating, with his lips so close to her ear.

  “Come on, imagine that’s me.”

  It was the wrong—or perhaps the right thing to say. It reminded her that she didn’t want these feelings. She hated the weakness that came over her when he was near. She took aim and, following his instructions, squeezed the trigger.

  “Again.”

  She shot until all six bullets were embedded in the wooden target.

  Spence dropped his arms from around hers and stepped to her side. “Well, at least you hit the board,” he said with disgust. “But you’re going to have to do better than that. You missed the chest by a mile.”

  She glared at him. “You said to imagine it was you. I wasn’t aiming for the chest.”

  Spence glanced at the outlined target again. A deep instinctive shudder racked him. By damn, she obviously hadn’t missed her target at all. According to her hits on the drawing, she’d just made a soprano out of him.

  That night, as every night since her lessons had begun, LaRisa dropped on the bed in utter exhaustion. Every muscle—even the ones she didn’t know the names for—quivered. No one had offered any more massages since that first night, but the bottle of liniment stayed by her bed. She used it on herself as best she could and silently dared Spence to even suggest he help her.

  He didn’t take her up on it.

  Several days earlier than expected, her new boots were delivered just before supper by one of the hands who’d been to town. After letting the family ooh and ahh over them, she took them to her room to try them on. The tall tops were smooth and supple to the touch. The fit, when she tugged them on, was perfect. They filled the room with the sweet smell of new leather, the dismaying scent of good-bye. Now there was no more reason to delay the trip to Mexico.

  “They fit okay?”

  She hadn’t realized Spence had followed her and closed the door behind him. The curtness in his voice irritated her. Damn him, this was all his fault. If he hadn’t dragged her to Arizona she would never have come to crave the sight of him. She wouldn’t have fallen in love with his family. She wouldn’t have heard the coyotes sing at night and known she was meant to live in this country. She wouldn’t now be facing leaving it all behind for the unknown.

  She knew she was being unreasonable. He hadn’t dragged her to Arizona, she had come more or less willingly, because she had promised her father. But she couldn’t blame her father. It was much easier to blame Spence, damn him.

  “They fit fine. What did you do, pay Enrique extra to get them finished early?”

  The way Spence’s eyes darted away, she knew she was right. Her spine snapped straight. “You did, didn’t you? You paid him extra so you could hurry up and get rid of me.”

  Spence’s gaze shot back to hers. “You’re the one who said there was no reason to wait. You’re the one in an all-fired hurry to leave.”

  “I never said I was in a hurry. I just said I didn’t see any reason to wait until your parents came home.”

  “I know what you said.”

  “Then don’t twist my words. Help me get these boots off,” she demanded. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

  Spence bowed low and mockingly from the waist. “The queen has spoken.”

  “Now who’s got a chip on his shoulder?”

  “Not me,” Spence bit back.

  “No?”

  “No. I’m not the one who’d rather stay in my room and sulk than finish reading that story you promised the boys.” He rustled through the brown paper that the boots had been wrapped in and brought out a bootjack. “Here. Take off your own boots. The mood you’re in, I’m not about to turn my back and bend over.”

  “Now that’s just about the smartest decision I’ve ever heard of a white man making.”

  “Woman,” he said threateningly between clenched teeth.

  “What, white man?”

  With a low growl of frustration, Spence spun on his heel and reached for the door knob. “Hurry up. They’re waiting supper on us.”

  The tension between Spence and LaRisa permeated the meal and left everyone subdued. After supper the family adjourned to the parlor. As promised, LaRisa finished reading the end of Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty to the boys. She’d done her best to put a little enthusiasm in her voice, and must have succeeded, for the boys seemed pleased.

  Anger at Spence, and if she were honest, at herself, too, robbed her of the ability to savor what was sure to be one of her last nights on the Triple C. Leaving, even though she felt she had no choice, was going to hurt.

  But she had to leave. Somewhere out there in the world was a place for her, a place only she could fill. And somewhere, God willing, was a man who could make her eyes glow the way Serena’s did whenever Matt’s name was mentioned.

  The ache in LaRisa’s heart grew stronger as she longed for a love like that for herself. She would not find it at the Triple C. Spence had made it clear from the beginning that he didn’t want a real marriage with her. Besides—he was a far cry from the warrior she’d always dreamed of. She had to accept that there would never be anything between her and Spence. Never anything but anger.

  So why couldn’t she forget the way he’d kissed her at the boot shop? He’d practically devoured her, making her feel things she’d never felt before, even after that brief touch of his lips against hers when they’d stood outside on the train and he’d welcomed her home to Arizona. That first time had been such a small, insignificant thing, yet she hadn’t been able to keep it out of her mind until he’d burned the memory to cinders with the heat of that second kiss.

  Then there was the night he’d given her the rubdown. Lord help her, but she’d wanted nothing more than to turn over and pull him down on top of her. Despite herself, she still wanted it. Wanted to feel the sudden rush of blood and tingling heat that had made her heart pound.

  It wasn’t love, she knew. Maybe it was lust, but she didn’t care. She wanted Spence to touch her, to kiss her, really kiss her, at least once more before they went their separate ways.

  She took a final look around the parlor at one of the few quiet moments in days. The boys were sprawled across the braided rug before the empty fireplace with the checkerboard between them, stealing each other’s pieces when the other wasn’t looking. Joanna was poring through the latest issue of Harper’s Bazaar.

  Serena and Spence were at the desk going over a map. “I remember,” Spence told his sister.

  Serena chuckled. “It�
��s been so long since you were down there, I’d hate to see you take LaRisa out in the desert and get lost. And don’t forget to stick to these trails between here and the border. We’re not the only ranch that’s strung barbed wire in recent years.”

  “Three days, you think?” Spence asked.

  “Three to Cos-codee. You’ll reach there probably in the afternoon. Wait until morning to take the trail up the mountain. If there’s one place on earth you don’t want to be when dark hits, it’s on that trail.”

  “I remember,” he said, his voice grim.

  LaRisa’s blood chilled. They were talking about the trail to Pa-Gotzin-Kay. The trail she and Spence would take in a few days. A very few days. She would be alone among strangers again, because Spence didn’t want her. She muttered a swift good night and fled to her room.

  She’d scarcely closed the door behind her when Spence barrelled in. “What the devil’s the matter with you now?”

  LaRisa schooled her expression as best she could. “Nothing’s the matter.”

  “Bull. You’ve been moping around the house all night like you’re waiting for a trip to the gallows, and just now you flew out of the room like your skirt was on fire.”

  “I did no such thing.” With chin raised, she brushed past him and went behind the dressing screen.

  “You damn sure did. Even before tonight, you’ve been quiet and moody for days and I’d like to know why.”

  LaRisa stepped out of her dress and draped it over the top of the screen before her. “I can’t very well tell you why, since I disagree that there’s anything to tell.” Her petticoat landed beside the skirt.

  “You’ve quit helping Will with his reading.”

  “He’s doing fine. He doesn’t need help anymore.”

  “You barely speak to Serena or Jo anymore.”

  “I’ve been tired, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “You’re hurting their feelings, dammit. You’re making everyone around you miserable.”

  “If I am—” Wearing her old dingy nightgown, she came from behind the screen and, as she sat at the dresser, started taking the pins from her hair. “—I assure you it’s not intentional.”

  Spence ground his teeth and watched her take her hair down and brush out her braid. The sight of those thick black tresses draping almost to her knees stopped him cold for a moment.

  This was only the second time he’d seen her hair down. The first had been the night her father had died. Instinctively, he fingered the scar on his cheek. As it had before, the sight of her hair made his pulse race. This time, however, he refused to let it distract him.

  “Intentional or not,” he told her, “I’d appreciate it if you’d put a little effort into at least acting like you’re enjoying it here.”

  She put down her brush and rose from the stool. “And you accuse me of having a chip on my shoulder.”

  LaRisa started past him toward the bed, but he grabbed her arm and drew her to an abrupt halt. She tried to hold back the shiver that raced through her. Even through the old worn cotton, his touch burned her arm. It was the first time he’d touched her, except when teaching her to shoot, since the night he’d rubbed her down with liniment. The night he had deliberately aroused her, then left her wanting things she didn’t fully understand. She wanted to sink into his touch, wanted to touch him in return, wanted to see just how fast her heart could race.

  She wanted him to like her, to care if she was happy or sad, cold or warm, dead or alive. Wanted him to care if she was here, or gone.

  Dismayed and angry at her own thoughts, she jerked her arm from his grasp.

  “You do have a chip on your shoulder,” he avowed. “And it’s getting bigger by the day.”

  “If that’s what you think of me, maybe you should go back to the parlor and study that map some more. The sooner you take me to Mexico, the happier everyone will be.”

  “You got that right.”

  She trembled with outrage. “How nice of you to say so.”

  “Why shouldn’t I say so?” he demanded. “You’ve done nothing but argue with everything I’ve said and fought me every step of the way since the day we met. You befriend my family then push them away. Hell, look at that rag you’re wearing. You won’t even wear most of the new clothes I bought you.”

  LaRisa’s chest heaved. “That’s the second time lately you’ve complained about my clothes. Have you forgotten what happened the first time you tried to tell me what to wear?”

  “How the hell could I forget that? You damn near busted my face open again. I’m not complaining about your clothes. I’m talking about that chip on your shoulder that won’t even let you accept a simple gift. I’m tired of it, tired of it all. If you’re in such an all-fired hurry to get to Mexico, then start packing. You’ve got your boots now. There’s no more reason to wait. The sooner I can get you out of here, the sooner I can forget I ever agreed to have anything to do with you.”

  Forget? He not only wanted her gone, he wanted to forget her? The little stab of pain in LaRisa’s chest was quickly overwhelmed by anger. Here she’d been, trying to keep from throwing herself at him just to feel his flesh next to hers, and he was already working on forgetting they’d ever met.

  Not if I have anything to say about it. “Forget this, white man.” Acting purely on instinct, LaRisa grabbed a handful of his hair in each hand and pulled his face down to hers. With her mouth open in a soundless gasp of disbelief at her own behavior, she covered his lips with hers.

  Shock. Heat. When his lips moved against hers, a sudden wildness raced through her blood.

  Spence’s mind went numb and his eyes slid shut. He couldn’t even grasp the memory of why he shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t need it. All he could grasp was LaRisa, and he pulled her flush against him. Ah, God, she didn’t have a stitch on underneath that age-thinned gown. The warmth of her, the way she melted against him, was welcome. So damn welcome.

  Had his knees ever trembled before from kissing, being kissed by, a woman? Never. Some part of his mind recognized that this should scare the holy hell out of him, but he dismissed the worry in favor of delving his tongue between her parted lips. Sweet. She tasted sweet, hot, and he was suddenly starving. And greedy. God, she made him greedy.

  Beneath the worn cotton of her gown he felt her smooth firm flesh and resented the barrier that kept them apart. Again and again he ran his hands over her back, pulling her closer, pressing his aching hardness against her cradling softness.

  What had he said? That he wanted to forget her? Christ, but he knew better. She was all woman, fiery and passionate like none he’d ever known, and her reaction to his touch drove him racing toward the edge of sanity. How could he ever forget her?

  He didn’t mean to back her toward the bed, but it happened. Once there, he didn’t mean to lower her to the mattress or follow her down, but she clung to him so fiercely, and he to her, that there was no separating them.

  And God help him, he didn’t mean to nudge her legs apart and settle his hips in the welcoming cradle of her thighs.

  He deepened the kiss, lost himself in her taste and in the tiny whimpers of pleasure coming from her throat. His own growl of response came from somewhere deep inside him.

  The sound vibrated through his chest and into LaRisa. She reveled in it, in the fierce, hungry way his hands moved over her and his lips devoured. Her heart thundered and her lungs labored and she never wanted this to end. His weight between her legs tantalized her, had her raising her hips to meet him.

  Spence groaned again at her movement. He couldn’t keep his hands from pulling on the gown until he felt the bare flesh of her legs. He tore his mouth from hers and trailed his lips along her jaw, down her neck, to run his tongue over the delicate structure of her collarbone. Even here, she tasted sweet. But her lips called him back, and he went willingly, eagerly, like a starving man to a feast.

  His head spun and his loins throbbed. And into the maelstrom of sensations that threatened to con
sume him came the unwanted realization that if he didn’t stop, their only real grounds for annulment would be shredded in moments, along with her maidenhead.

  “Christ,” he cried as he freed his mouth and flung himself onto his back beside her. The loss of her warmth felt like he’d been stripped of his own flesh, leaving exposed every raw nerve ending in his body. It was all he could do to keep from curling into a fetal position and moaning. Or throwing himself back on top of the woman who, except for her heaving chest, had gone stock still beside him.

  “Christ,” he said again as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He buried his face in both hands. “Don’t ever do that to me again, woman.”

  “Me?” she cried, flinging herself from the bed, hands clenched at her sides. “Do what?”

  “Yes, you, dammit, kiss me like you know what you’re doing. You don’t, believe me,” he said harshly. “The next time you throw yourself at me like that, I won’t stop. Then we’ll both be sorry.”

  Chapter Twelve

  They left for Mexico at the end of the week, Spence and LaRisa and a string of three pack mules laden with supplies, some for the trip, most for the Apaches hidden in the secret, ancient stronghold in the heart of the vast Sierra Madres. The trail led from the Triple C south along the Santa Cruz valley. At midday Spence turned them onto a southeasterly course toward the gap between the Santa Catalina range and the Santa Ritas.

  LaRisa had thought—hoped—that getting underway would lift her spirits. She’d been wrong. Since the night she’d initiated that kiss between her and Spence, he had barely looked at her, had spoken to her only when necessary, sharply, curtly. To her dismay, she found that all she really wanted to do was kiss him again. She couldn’t even find the determination to be angry with herself. She settled deeper and deeper into depression and couldn’t seem to shake out of it.

  The Triple C, the wide-open land, the wonderful people, they were all behind her now. So, too, was, or soon would be, whatever lay between her and Spence. She would never see him again. Once more she faced an unknown future, one filled with strangers. That these strangers in Mexico were her own people should have eased her mind, but didn’t. What if they rejected her as the tribe in Alabama had? What then?