Sweet Savage Heart

by Janelle Taylor

  She had despised Marissa for intruding on her life and for gaining a hold on her father’s life and affection, a hold she had never possessed. When she had been a teenager and Marissa had returned home for visits, she had faked a friendship with the ill-fated vixen in order to find a way to destroy her. She had thought she had discovered how when she had learned of the hostility between Raymond and Nathan, for Raymond had always stayed in town while Marissa and her child had visited Nathan. She had found a clever way to meet Raymond and had sought her revenge by plotting to steal Marissa’s husband, though she had remained ignorant of the couple’s shocking relationship until she and the devilish gambler had begun a torrid affair. One night she overheard the sordid truth during a violent argument between Marissa and Raymond, and later confronted her lover; afterward they had shared secrets about Marissa. She had plotted with the handsome rake to get rid of Marissa and Harrison so they could marry and take possession of both ranches, using Marissa’s past, present, and bastard child as their weapons. Clarissa tingled as she recalled the secret times she had made passionate love to Marissa’s husband. She had hated Marissa even more for obtaining—no matter the reasons—one of the few men who had truly made her body and blood boil, for Raymond’s matchless sexual prowess, abundant charms, and superb looks had been his greatest assets. If the Indians had not killed her dreams…

  It was too late to fret over that annoying defeat. Thinking back on the whole situation, she was glad she had not become partners with Raymond Michaels, for at times he had been cruel and untrustworthy, very much like her father. Raymond had married Marissa before learning the truth about her, then had blackmailed her and made her whore to support him, just as her own father demanded she whore for him so that he might attain his diabolic ends. Marissa had married Raymond to escape her wanton trap, and Raymond had claimed to have married her for her wealth and position. Clarissa admitted she had been enamored for a time by the virile, handsome charmer, for he had had a winning way with women and had been intoxicating in bed, and perhaps his devious character had unconsciously reminded her of her father, whose love and attention she had craved yet had been denied. With her years of experience with men and life, she had learned how to handle and judge men and situations, at least most of them.

  With Raymond, Marissa, and a saloon whore dead, she was the only one who knew the truth about her father’s ex-mistress, though there appeared no way she could use or profit from that shocking information. She had never told her father, for she believed she might one day be able to twist that staggering truth and use it to her advantage. In time she would find a way to destroy her despicable, selfish father, as Marissa had been destroyed. Poor Marissa, she mused cruelly. She never knew the truth about her child’s father, a truth that could have freed her from her nightmarish life with Raymond…

  Clarissa thought about Marissa’s last visit to the ranch shortly before her death. She had known Harrison had been up to something that day, so she had sneaked back to the ranch at night. She had witnessed the depth of his cruelty and the height of his infatuation for Marissa. What she had not known then about them or Marissa, she had learned that night as they had quarreled and battled. After Marissa’s departure, she had watched her father gloat over his behavior and power and had overheard him talking to himself about his plan to murder Raymond so he could take possession of the flaming-haired witch, now that she had been properly punished for her past rejection. Determined to keep them apart, she had warned Raymond, a warning that had impelled him to flee to his death. At first she had been sad and sorry and had blamed her father; later she had calmly accepted the situation and had begun searching for another path to her victory. Looking back, she realized it would have been a careless mistake to have become partners with an untrustworthy beast like Raymond, especially since her father was steadily increasing holdings that would soon be hers alone.

  After the Simses had departed, Clarissa looked at her grinning father and boldly questioned, “Papa, what do you want with a silly child like Mary Beth? I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing her. What are you planning?”

  “Why, Clarissa Caldwell, you sound jealous,” Harrison teased playfully. He realized he would have to tell her something or she might be prompted to interfere. “I’ve got plans for Miss Mary Beth Sims. When I take over the rest of this area, I’m going to need a proper wife to entertain my friends and clients and take care of me. Surely my daughter isn’t going to be around much longer, not if she doesn’t want to be called a spinster. You’ve got to start thinking about marriage and children. Since I’ll be in need of a wife, she suits my purposes perfectly.”

  Clarissa argued, “Even when I marry, Papa, I can stay here to take care of you and the ranch. Who deserves to become the mistress of your new spread more than I do? I’ve worked just as hard as you to obtain it. Why not find a nice widow closer to your own age? I tell you, Papa, you’re wasting your time and energy on her.”

  Harrison frowned. “Don’t go telling me how to handle matters, girl. If you had done your part, Kincade would be on my side, you two would be married, and the Crandall ranch would be ours. They’ve been gone nearly two months. You didn’t even know he was leaving, and you can’t find out where they are. I’ll make sure you get what’s coming to you, so don’t you worry none. As for my taking a wife, it isn’t any of your concern or business. Surely you don’t begrudge your dear father a little happiness and excitement with another woman. Pretty widow or not, I don’t want any man’s leavings. In case you don’t have eyes, girl, I’m still a virile man, and sometimes I get itches stronger than yours. I want Mary Beth Sims to scratch them because she’s pretty and young and innocent, and I can train her as I please. Your mother has been dead since ‘44, and I raised you all alone. Don’t you think I get lonesome, and tired of using those cheap women in town?”

  Clarissa wanted to shriek at him: Like you trained that young and innocent Marissa? but she restrained herself. “You misunderstand me, Papa,” she guilefully protested. “Mary Beth has a sweetheart: Cody Slade, who works for Nathan Crandall. Even if you and her father try to convince her to marry you, I doubt she will. She loves Cody and plans to marry him. You don’t want to be embarrassed by having her reject your proposal. Besides, she’s such a fragile, timid creature. You need a woman with backbone, one who can stand at your side and help you run your holdings, a woman who knows how to take care of a home and a husband. Don’t reach for the impossible,” she entreated softly and slyly.

  Harrison was vexed by his daughter’s words and her attitude. “I don’t care about Mary Beth’s girlish feelings for Slade. She’ll do as her father commands. You think Clifford would allow her to marry Slade when I’ve asked for her? Never. Once she get settled in here, she’ll do exactly as I say. It won’t take long for her to realize how lucky she is to have married a wealthy and powerful rancher instead of a cowpuncher who can’t earn in his lifetime what I spend in a year. She’s got manners and breeding, and she’s educated and charming. She’s perfect for my needs, Clarissa, all of them. Besides, no wife of mine is going to refuse me anything or disobey me.”

  “Does she know that you and her father are discussing marriage?”

  “Not yet. I’m giving her a taste of what I have to offer. Once I get my hands on Nate’s ranch, then I’ll reveal my plans for her.”

  “Are you sure her father will go along with you after she cries and begs to marry Cody? He loves his daughter. Surely he wouldn’t force her to marry you.”

  “That’s what you think, girl. Sims owes me plenty, and soon I’ll have his neck in a financial noose. She’ll do as I say, one way or another. You see, girl, her father’s done a few things that the law will frown on if I choose to expose them. As his lawyer, I know all about him and his dealings. She’ll agree, to keep her father from being hanged. That’s something you should learn, Clarissa. Always have an alternate plan, and always know the strengths and weaknesses of your enemies and rivals. That’s the only way you ca
n succeed with your plans or defeat a foe. Just make sure you’ve got the guts and wits to stand firm once you make a decision to go after something or someone.”

  Clarissa decided she needed to learn what that “financial noose” was so that she could secretly tie it. Too, she would find some clever way to warn Mary Beth or Cody about her father’s devious plan. If those two could elope before her father staked his claim on Mary Beth, it would halt his scheme. She did not want another woman in her house, especially one who could give her father a child and give her an unwanted rival for his inheritance. No matter what she had to do, she would prevent him from marrying before she could take all he owned, including his miserable life. If only Travis would return soon, she reflected, and she could find some way to win his heart and help. Women had ways of entrapping resisting men, and she vowed to use any or all of them if necessary.

  Help, she mentally echoed, then smiled wickedly. If she were cunning and daring, she could beat her father at his own game with his own hirelings! If she played her cards right, as Raymond had once done, she would undermine the entire situation with the very men her father had hired to help him attain his goals…

  Chapter Eleven

  After they had eaten the next morning and were preparing to break camp, Rana handed Travis the red headband that she had removed the day before when tending his wound. “I will sew it for you later,” she offered, pointing to the bullet hole. She tingled at his nearness and longed to embrace him on this new day.

  Travis grinned and said, “Thanks for saving it; it’s my lucky charm, or used to be. An Apache shaman gave it to me after I saved his hide. He told me to wear it every time I rode into Indian territory and the Great Spirit would protect me from all harm. It worked until yesterday when you had to save my hide,” he remarked, then chuckled. His smile and laughter seemed to flow over her and coat her like warm honey, and she gave him her full attention. He observed how she was looking at him and how her cheeks flushed with desire, and his smile broadened. He wondered if she was aware of how potently she affected him. All it required to send his senses soaring was a smile, or a laugh, or a glance, or a casual touch. His blood raced inside his body as his igneous eyes roamed her features and his senses drank in her aura. Visions of her naked body lying beneath his in the moonlight filled his mind. He knew he would have to halt his fantasy, for his body was responding.

  She noticed how tiny, golden brown flecks seemed to appear and dance in his green eyes when he was in a tranquil mood, a mood that caused her body to tingle and her heartbeat to increase. Little creases that suggested his sincerity and happiness teased at the corners of those entrancing eyes and deepened the lines near his mouth. He had shaved at first light and his strong jawline was now visible to her wandering gaze. She watched him remove his bandage to secure the red strip around his head, then fluff his sable hair over it, thick hair that seemed to fall into a natural part just off center and cause his wispy locks to settle in careful waves. Evidently he had used his sharp knife to keep his hair from growing too long on the top and sides or past the nape of his neck. She noted how his brows grew at an angle that gave him a devilish or arrogant look when he arched one or narrowed his leafy green eyes. His face was lean and his features well defined, as if carved by a loving and talented creator. She recalled that very little dark hair grew on his chest, not enough to conceal his scars or his muscled torso. With a smile, she debated, “It did not fail to protect you; you are alive. How did you meet this enemy shaman and save his life?” she inquired, snared by curiosity.

  He did not hesitate before answering. “Years ago, I scouted for the Army for awhile, until I got tired of their lies and tricks. I was at loose ends; I didn’t have any place to go or anything special to do. At the time, it seemed like a good way to learn about the white man and his world; you might say it was one of the safest ways for a half-breed to move around in dangerous territory without being trapped between two sides that hated each other. You see, Rana, whites despise half-breeds more than Indians, but they don’t mind using them as trackers and scouts. At first, I didn’t try to hide my mixed blood. I was too cocky and bitter to care what anybody said or thought about me. It didn’t take long for me to realize how foolish that was. It caused me too much trouble; I was always having to fight or kill some man who couldn’t let the matter pass. Not that I was really looking for friends or a home, though the truth would have made that impossible. That’s the trouble with people; they judge you by the wrong measure and they’re always looking for a way to use you to get what they want. Thing was, the Army needed my skills and Indian contacts, so they kindly overlooked my heritage,” he said with a sneer, exposing his lingering resentment and the anguish he had endured since birth.

  “On my last assignment, I was guiding four soldiers to a secret meeting with some Cheyenne chiefs. We came upon an Apache shaman who was on a vision quest. He was sitting on this big rock, praying and chanting for a message from the Great Spirit. The soldiers decided to have some fun, as they called it, with the old man. You see, soldiers love taking on defenseless Indians and collecting souvenirs.”

  She was delighted he was revealing part of his past and his emotions, though she realized how difficult it was for him to speak of these painful memories. She wondered if he was afraid she might think badly of his mixed blood and troubled past. When Travis grew silent for a time, Rana softly probed, “What happened?”

  Travis looked her in the eye and calmly divulged, “I killed the bastards.” When she did not appear shocked or distressed by his revelation, he continued, “I tried to talk them out of tormenting the old man and killing him, but they laughed and ordered me to stay out of it. I told them that it was bad luck to intrude on a vision quest and that the old man was harmless. The shaman just stood there with his eyes closed, chanting and waiting to die with courage and honor. I had no choice in the matter. When the battle was over, the old man smiled at me and nodded his understanding,” he remarked casually, amazing her with how modestly he had revealed what must have been a fierce and dangerous battle against four soldiers and increasing her respect and admiration for him.

  “The old shaman removed his headband, said a prayer over it, tied it around my head, and told me it would protect me from evil spirits. He said I could never die as long as I was wearing it. I sure am glad he didn’t say I couldn’t be defeated or injured, ‘cause I would have known it was worthless and thrown it away a year later. He asked my Indian name, then carved those initials on a hunting knife and handed it to me. It had a thunderbird painted on the handle and he said I would receive power from it every time I used the blade. Somewhere a rattlesnake is carrying that knife and, when I find him, he’s dead,” he murmured coldly, his eyes glittering with hatred and desire for revenge as that infuriating betrayal and defeat flooded his mind.

  “When he tried to give me his horse, I told him he was being too generous. He smiled again and said a man’s life and honor were worth far more than a headband, knife, and horse. That’s how I got Apache here,” he told her, stroking the animal’s forehead. “I don’t know what the shaman whispered in his ear, but he won’t allow anyone on his back but me, and I know he would give up his life for mine. He’s gotten me out of many a scrape, like yesterday. He’s mine until one of us dies.” As if knowing his master was speaking highly of him, Apache nuzzled the side of Travis’s head and brought a smile to his lips.

  “How did you lose the knife?” she inquired, aware of how important those belongings and that episode were to him.

  For an instant, he tensed, then forcibly relaxed his hard body. “I didn’t. I was ambushed by two cutthroats when I was twenty. After they tortured me, they stole everything I had but Apache. He wouldn’t let them near him. For months he had rope burns on his neck from trying to get free to save my life.” Travis remembered the pistol he had been wearing that fateful day, one he had taken off a gunslinger who had challenged him to the death, a pistol that had revealed the man’s prior victories in
gun battles in the tiny stars notched on its butt.

  Rana glanced at the animal to discover that the scars Travis had described were still visible if she looked closely. “Why did they not steal your wanapin?” she asked, wishing he would explain its significance, for a warrior’s markings on his possessions and body told much about him. Delving into his dark past made him tense, she realized, so she probed lightly and gingerly and was ready to end the conversation the moment he desired it.

  Travis absently touched the sacred token that had been carved and given to him by the legendary Sitting Bull. Only twice had it been removed from his neck—the day he had handed it to Buffalo Slayer to give to her if he did not survive his pursuit of Claude Chambers, and the day Lowry’s hirelings had tried to steal it. Both times he had recovered it. “One of them cut it off, but he dropped it. Nate found it when he found me, half-dead. He took me to his ranch and brought me back to life, in several ways. That’s how we met seven years ago.”

  “You searched for these men to slay them?” she pressed, acting as if she knew nothing of the circumstances.

  “Yep, but their trail was too cold by the time I healed. The man who hired them had been murdered, so I couldn’t beat any clues out of him or his… Nate was the first person who had accepted me and needed me since I had left the Hunkpapa camp, so I returned to the ranch to help him and stayed there. It took him years, but he settled me down. I owe him my life and loyalty, Rana,” he explained pointedly. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to disappoint or hurt him.”

  Rana watched him intently as he spoke so openly and sincerely. Every day, nearly every hour, he touched her heart more deeply. It was clear to her that he had endured a hard, painful life. She was glad he had been thrown together with her grandfather and cast into her life. “I am happy Grandfather found you and saved your life.”