The Darkest Heart (35 page)

Still, from now until then it was his responsibility to provide for Luz. Her people were Chiricahua, a happy coincidence.
He thought her parents were dead, but that she had cousins and a married brother. When he left to return to the stronghold, he would take Luz with him. Depending on the situation, he would be glad to care for her it her family was too encumbered to do so. He looked up vaguely as Datiye came out of the
gohwah
and moved to sit down across the fire from him. Then he looked at her again, hard.

She was no longer so slender; in fact, her breasts were full and her belly protruding slightly. He found himself staring at that slight swelling, and then looked up at her smooth-skinned face, serious now, but flushed with good health. Her dark gaze was on him, “I am so sorry,” she said softly.

“Datiye, you are pregnant.” It was an accusation.

“Yes.” She smiled faintly.

Of course it wasn’t his. But he felt uneasy. His own wife had conceived some time in mid to late October—two weeks to a month after that one drunken time he had lain with Datiye.

Datiye looked at him. “Ask.”

“Who is the father?”

“You.”

He felt a choking sensation. “It’s impossible, Datiye,” he said harshly.

“Not impossible.”

“It was one time.”

“I have been with no one else since my husband died. That is common knowledge among this band.” She was serene.

He refused to believe it, and said so. His heart was beating too quickly.

“All the men have tried—many times—to take me to their beds. They become angry because. I always refuse, even offers of marriage. They say I am foolish. Then they say I think I am too good for them. But when I say I am with child, they all leave me alone, as is the way. Ask everyone,” she said. There is no man here who can claim this child as his own. Except you.”

“How many months?” His words were stiff.

She smiled. “Four and a half.”

He could count. He had lain with her then, exactly. Four and a half months ago he had taken her, too drunk to
care, knowing even then he would regret it, that she would make demands, interfere in his life. “I am married now,” he said angrily. “My wife is with child too.”

Datiye shrugged.

Jack frowned. He had so many thoughts at once. “Who brings you meat?”

She looked toward the
gohwah
where Luz was sleeping, not wanting to mention the name of the dead. Jack understood. Shozkay had provided for her. “Now who hunts for you?”

“I do not beg,” she said proudly, lifting her chin.

Datiye’s parents were dead, and she had no brothers, no sisters. She was alone. He felt the weight of his responsibility toward her as the mother of his child. It was a responsibility he did not want to feel. It made him angry. “You should have married four months ago,” he said.

“You can have many wives,” she reminded him.

He stood, walking away to think, Datiye needed care, and she needed it from now until the child—his child—was born.

How could this have happened?

Had she planned their night together knowing she was fertile—to trap him?

Did it even matter?

If Candice ever found out about this, their marriage was finished. He knew it instinctively. She would not care that a man had the right to more than one woman—an Apache to more than one wife. Further, the time of conception was so close for both women, she would believe he had slept with Datiye after being with her. He was sure of it. He was in a bind, and no matter which way he turned, he would feel the noose tightening. And once again he had no choice.

He found Datiye by the fire. He squatted. “I will return in seven days. Be ready, both you and Luz. I am riding with Cochise, and I will take both of you with me.” He grimaced at her smile of satisfaction, and turned and walked away. Tonight he would sleep. Tomorrow he would ride east—to El Paso.

To his wife.

She was showing.

It was eight days into March—and Jack had left exactly one month ago. Candice was four months’ pregnant and already beginning to show. However, she was careful to hide it, and so far her secret was safe. She’d let out two of her dresses and was constantly draped in a dark-green shawl that effectively hid the swelling of both her breasts and her belly. She had never been more tired in her life—or more lonely and afraid.

There had been no more news since Henry’s visit ten days ago. That frightened her. She didn’t believe that no news was good news. She had to find out what was going on—and there was no way for her to do so.

It was a bitterly cold, gray day and it looked as if more snow would fall. Just my luck, Candice thought bitterly. She had laundry to do. But today, because of the weather, she would wait just one more day, and hope tomorrow would be warm and sunny. Honestly, she was just too tired to do the backbreaking work, and Doc Harris had warned her a few days ago not to push herself so hard. He had been kind enough to bring her half of a roasted turkey with blackberry stuffing. She wondered if it was true—that ne was living out of wedlock with a young, very pretty Mexican woman. If so, she was a wonderful cook.

Louis came running in with the morning’s eggs, a tall, gawky boy with a missing front tooth.
“Buenos dias, señora
. Today is very good,
sí?”

“Oh, yes, it is,” Candice replied with real delight, counting the precious eggs. “Thank you, Louis. Please bring me in some water before you go.”

He left as quickly as he had come and Candice sighed, setting the eggs aside carefully. The wind had picked up, indicating a storm, and the doors and shutters shook and rattled against the house. Doc Harris had also split some wood for her—which happened to be the least of her problems because, with a fetching smile, she could always get one of the soldiers to do it for her too.

There was a sharp rapping at the door.

Candice, who was kneading dough (and even that made her tired) got up, instinctively patting the gun in her apron pocket before pulling her shawl more securely over her breasts. She peered out one window, then smiled when she saw a red-nosed Henry Lewis standing on her doorstep with more laundry. She had just seen him last week, and she knew he was not there because he had a passion for clean clothes.

“Hello, Henry, come in, it’s cold out.”

“That it is,” he said, shivering despite his army greatcoat. “Who would have thought it’s like this in winter out here? I thought the sun always shone in the desert.”

Candice laughed as he came in. “So did we when we first came out here.”

He looked at her, removing leather gloves. “You and your husband?”

“No, me and my family. They’re in Tucson.” The instant she said it, she regretted it. She had been keeping her identity a secret.

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Let me take your coat,” she said. When she reached for it her shawl slipped, but she didn’t notice it as she hung his coat on a peg. She turned back. “How about—” Seeing his expression of shock, she froze.

Then went red. His eyes were on the protrusion of her belly, and she immediately dragged the ends of her shawl together.

“My God,” Henry said, stunned.

Candice decided to make light of it. “Surely I’m not the first pregnant woman you’ve ever seen?” She laughed and went to the coffeepot. “I just made fresh coffee, Henry.”

He was behind her, his hands closing over her shoulders. It was the first time he’d become so intimate. She stiffened as he turned her abruptly. “He deserted you while you’re pregnant?”

Candice felt the old combination of anger and hurt rising. Hurt and anger that Jack had deserted her. But she felt compelled to defend him. “You don’t understand.”

“You shouldn’t be doing laundry!” Henry cried passionately. “You need a man to care for you, my God!”

“I’m doing just fine,” she said, but she knew he was
right, she did need a man—she was too tired to bear her burden alone.

He cupped her face. “I’ll help you, Candice. I’ll split more wood and do your chores before I leave.”

“Henry …” She was overwhelmed with his kindness—but frightened by it too. Would a man who simply lusted after her go to such trouble? She didn’t want him to fall in love with her. But, God, she needed someone.…

“Don’t say a word. Let’s have that coffee and then I’ll go out, milk the cow, split the wood, fetch the eggs, and bring you water. Okay?”

He was still holding her face. Tears sparkled in her eyes. Damn you, Jack, she thought miserably, for putting me in this position. Then she blinked and knew Henry was going to kiss her.

His lips were light and tender, and so very gentle. Candice wanted to be held—she needed it. The kiss meant nothing to her, stirred nothing within her, but she leaned against him and he wrapped his arms around her and held her, and she closed her eyes, sighing. If only she were in Jack’s arms.

After a cup of coffee, Henry got up and went outside. She could hear him splitting wood. She was feeling dangerously emotional, and very low. But the rhythmic sound of the ax was reassuring and comforting. When suddenly it stopped, Candice waited for it to resume. When it didn’t, something pricked at her, and she got up and opened the door.

She almost fainted.

Jack sat on his stallion, dressed from head to toe in buckskins, fully armed with two revolvers, a knife and rifle, ammunition belts crossed over his chest. He was staring at Henry, who stood in his blue-and-black army unifrom, ax in one hand, staring back.

The stallion shifted restlessly.

Jack turned his gaze to her.

Candice didn’t think, she reacted. She smiled, a dazzlingly brilliant smile of profound joy, and ran down the two steps and across the yard, arms open. He slipped from the horse and then she was in his embrace—his warm, hard embrace, cheek to cheek.

He set her back, gave her a long, hot look—the kind of
look that told her he hadn’t had a woman since he’d left her—and he turned to Henry, who was flushing furiously. Candice clung to Jack and he put his arm possessively around her. “Thanks for chopping wood for my wife,” he said levelly.

Henry dropped the ax and came forward, still highly colored. “You’re the one who should be here doing this! Not me!”

Candice bit her lip. “Henry!”

“And just how is it you’re on such close terms with my wife?” Jack asked, with no inflection except to the last word.

“I—”

“We met through Doc Harris,” Candice cut in, using the first lie she could think of. She gave Henry a warning look, then flamed when she saw Jack reading it.

They stared at each other.

Henry broke the silence and awkwardness. “Candice, I guess I’ll go.” With that he turned and retrieved his coat, shrugging it on. Jack didn’t move, his arm still around her until Henry had mounted and was riding out.

“You go inside,” Jack said, looking at her with piercing eyes. “I have to rub down the black.”

“Jack …”

“We’ll talk inside.” He led his horse to the covered remuda.

Candice turned and went into the house. There was no mistaking her joy. She was apprehensive, too, because of Henry. But if Jack had never left her, she wouldn’t have the need for another man to do her domestic chores. She was just praying that he wouldn’t think it meant something more.

And then there was the anger. Even though it had taken a backseat to her happiness at seeing him again, he had left her at a terrible time, and that wasn’t something she could forgive him for so quickly. Even now she could feel her body tensing.

But maybe he had come back to stay.

She was standing with her hands on a chair when Jack entered, tossing his rawhide hat onto a peg. Their gazes locked. Nervously Candice said, “Jack, Henry only helps out because of my condition.”

He unstrapped his gunbelt and hung it on a peg, then turned, eyes blazing. “He’s in love with you.”

Candice went red. “I don’t think so. It’s not what you’re thinking.…”

He removed the ammunition belts, tossing them on a chair. “No?” His tone was as cold as ice chips.

He had left her. If he’d stayed, she wouldn’t have needed Henry’s help, and now, now he was making accusations … “How dare you!” she cried. “What are you accusing me of? Are you calling me a whore again?”

His fist smashed down on the table, making it jump, knocking a pitcher and bowls to the floor, where the pottery shattered. “Has he touched you?”

“You left me. You abandoned me, you have no right coming in here demanding—”

He grabbed her, pulling her up against him. “I have every right. You’re my wife. Did he touch you?”

Candice could feel the entire length of his hard body, and it was trembling with fury and jealousy. She herself was shaking, enraged and sick. “Damn you, Jack, damn you! I needed his help, you left me, and Henry was kind.”

“How kind?” Jack gritted.

“You bastard!” she cried. Tears welled up in her eyes. “All right, he kissed me once, damn you, once, and if you were here he wouldn’t have. It’s all your fault!”

For one instant Jack stared into her eyes, and she thought she saw it all, the anger, the hurt, the jealousy, the love. Then his mouth came down, hard and abrupt, on hers. Candice tried to turn her face away, but he held her jaw. “Did he kiss you like this?” He claimed her lips again.

“No.” Candice sobbed. “Don’t. Not like this.”

Jack froze, eyes squeezed painfully closed, his big body rigid. She felt him fighting with himself, felt him begin to relax, felt his hands slide up her arms. Their gazes met, and the agony in her own heart was clearly mirrored in his eyes. “Don’t cry,
shijii,”
he said, his voice husky. “I’m sorry.” He kissed her, slowly and sensually, and she could feel him trembling with the restraint of his pent-up passion.

“Don’t leave me again, Jack,” she said, tears streaking down her cheeks.

He groaned and his arms went around her. “Darling.” He kissed her again, this time with urgency, and she opened to him, just as urgently.

After a long time he lay her on the bed and began removing his clothes. She stared at the necklace of turquoise and silver lying on his broad, muscled chest. Need for him rose up in her, swelling her painfully. It pounded through her veins. It throbbed in every pore. “Oh, Jack.”