The Darkest Heart (36 page)

He straightened before her, magnificently naked.

She looked at him hungrily, unable to turn her gaze away. So powerful, so beautiful, muscles rippling beneath bronzed skin. His manhood was thick, erect, eager. He came to her.

She enveloped him in her arms while he kissed her like a starving man, hard and frantically, his hands roaming desperately down her body, over her lush, swollen breasts. She loved him, needed him, badly. She locked her arms around him and probed his mouth wildly with her tongue. She bit his mouth, his jaw, his throat. She tasted blood. She held his head still with both hands and devoured his mouth.

He removed her dress and chemise and she heard a seam ripping but didn’t care. His mouth came down hard and unceremoniously on one nipple, and she moaned. He started to suckle wildly. His teeth almost hurt. He was frantic, as frantic as she. Through the haze of hot, pulsing desire, she knew he had missed her the way she had missed him. And she felt a thrill of elation in knowing that he needed her—still wanted her with a desire and passion that matched hers.

“Candice, you’re even more beautiful pregnant,” he said huskily, nuzzling her swollen breasts. He had removed her pants and undergarments, and now stroked his hand up and down her hips and thighs, again and again. He moaned, a choked sound, and rose up over her, parting her thighs with his knees. He paused to look down into her eyes.

His face was rigid with desire, his eyes glazed with lust. She captured his head with her hands, trembling uncontrollably, pulling him down so she could tear at his mouth with her own. He thrust into her.

His thrusts were hard and fast, and she arched to meet him, clamping her legs around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders. It was only a moment later that it came, their simultaneous release, bodies arched, convulsed, exploding, the one into the other. And then he dropped to lie drained and wet on top of her, still entwined, still as one.

She held him. She wrapped her arms around his back as he lay on top of her, their bodies wet, their heartbeats subsiding as one, and held him to her. Tears came beneath her closed lids. She fought them. She loved him so much it hurt.

He stirred, rolling off her, but she snuggled against him. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to keep out the ugliness of reality. In her arms his body was warm, damp, and hard against hers. She pressed her face against his broad, muscled chest.

“Candice.” His voice was like spun sugar.

She opened her eyes, and too, late, moisture seeped out. Her gaze met his silvery, shining depths. He touched a forefinger to the tear on her cheek. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” she lied.

He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze sweeping over her, lingering on her breasts, her thighs. She watched his expression, soft, slightly hungry. He reached out to cup one of her swollen breasts, playing languidly. “You’ve put on weight,” he said.

“Most pregnant women do,” she returned evenly.

He stroked her, the length of her body, from her breasts to her knees. His callused touch was possessive, lingering. She sighed. He caressed her hip. Then he met her gaze again. She saw the growing lights of desire.

“How did you meet the soldier?”

She was enjoying what he was doing yet she tensed. “He’s
a gentleman, Jack.”

“How did you meet him?” he asked again, his hand roaming over the curve of her buttock, roaming too low for comfort.

She didn’t want to lie. But she didn’t want to start another fight. Not now. This was too precious. If only she hadn’t told him the truth earlier. “Doc Harris and Henry are friends,” she lied.

“And he kissed you.” It was a flat statement.

Jack rolled her beneath him. He was already hard against her thigh, hard and hot. She met his gaze bravely. “Tell me,”
Jack commanded, and she heard the low note of restrained anger.

“It was for all of two seconds,” Candice said. “Oh, Jack, please. He surprised me. If you were here none of this would have happened. But now we don’t have to worry about Henry any more, do we?” Her tone rose hopefully and she held her breath. “Now that you’re back.”

His answer was a hot, demanding kiss.

Candice tried to resist. She tried to ignore the warming of her body, and the new evidence of his passion for her. She failed.

“I need you,” he said hoarsely, before taking her, claiming her, loving her. He made love to her all afternoon, knowing full well that he might not be able to see her again for a long while, and determined to fill himself up with her and her with him. His love and need drove him to frenzied desperation at times, at other times to languorous, tender sensuality. Hours later, they both fell asleep in each other’s arms.

He woke first. The sun was rising outside in a hushed display. He gazed upon his wife, enjoying her beauty and the serenity of her features in sleep. He smiled tenderly, but inside he was hurting. He wished for a moment that she wasn’t pregnant, then he would take her with him. He instantly new he didn’t wish that at all. In five months Candice was going to have his child. He smiled again and touched her belly gently, not wanting to waken her. A slight, slight swelling. Their child. It warmed him. Thrilled him.

Silently he rose and dressed. When he had done so he paused to gaze at her again, drinking her in, not wanting to leave. He could not stay any longer. He had his responsibility, not just to Cochise, but to Luz and Datiye. Worse, if he stayed a few days he might forget his duty, not just to his people, but to Shozkay as well. He might not leave. Even now he didn’t want to. He stared out the window.

There was snow on the highest peaks of the Organ Mountains to the east, peach-colored in the first rays of sunlight. He thought of his burdens—Luz, Datiye, Candice. He heard her stir and turned to find her on her side looking at him.

“You’re leaving,” she said, alarmed.

“Yes.” He met her gaze and saw the undisguised hurt,
the bitterness, the sadness. He didn’t want her to be any of those things. Why couldn’t she understand?

She sat, hair parting like two curtains to reveal all her splendid nudity. “Were you going to wake me, or were you just going to leave?”

“I was going to wake you. Candice …”

“Don’t! Is this the way it’s going to be? You ride in and bed your wife whenever you feel like it? Or did you just happen to be passing through town?”

“I told you I would come as soon as possible,” he said carefully, refusing to be drawn into an argument.

Her tone didn’t change. “And when should I expect another magnanimous appearance?”

He frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t even bother!” she cried with rising hysteria.

“Are you telling me I shouldn’t stop by?” he asked calmly, but inside he was frozen like a winter lake.

“Very astute, Jack Savage! You expect me to manage by myself, pregnant, without a husband while you ride off to war on my people? No! I won’t do it!” Tears came. She swiped at them. She was standing. “I want a divorce, you bastard. I want a divorce!”

He felt like she’d kicked him in the groin. “You don’t mean that.”

“Just go,” she said, her voice breaking, turning her back to him, her shoulders shaking. “Just go and get out! And this time—don’t ever come back!”

He couldn’t leave like this. He went to her and put his arms around her, to comfort and reassure her and make peace between them. But she writhed away like a furious spitting cat. “Just go,” she said vehemently. She was crying. “Just go and don’t ever come back!”

He hesitated, then took her roughly in his arms and kissed her, his mouth hard—a brand, not a lover’s kiss. “I’ll be back,” he said. And he left her there, crying, as he went through the door.

Luz came to him shortly after he arrived back at the Coyotero camp three days later. He tried to keep the pain and sadness he felt from leaping into his eyes at the sight of her. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman he had known. Her face and forearms were scabbing where she had gouged them deeply with her nails. Her hair had been cropped raggedly at ear length. Her skirt and shirt were torn and dirty. Jack grieved with her, and for her.

“What happened?” she asked evenly. It was the first time she had questioned him about the way Shozkay had died. Her green eyes were glazed with anguish.

With a deep breath, Jack told her. Luz listened without expression, then turned away. “Wait,” Jack said, catching her. “Luz, I know you’re mourning, but can you be ready to leave today?”

She looked at him blankly.

They left a few hours later, Jack on the black, Luz and Datiye each mounted on Shozkay’s ponies, a mule packed with hides, supplies, and gear. They rode at a walk because of Datiye’s condition, and made camp that night in the San Pedro Valley, almost where the Butterfield Trail crossed the river.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asked Datiye.

“Just tired. I am all right.” Her gaze held his searchingly, making Jack feel grim.

She wanted mm, wanted to be his wife, wanted to bear more of his children. She was the noose, one he couldn’t remove. At least, not until the child was born. He looked over at Luz, who had ignored her food and was staring toward the east.

Datiye followed his glance. “She won’t eat. Except to ask you what happened, she doesn’t talk. There will never be another man for her.”

Jack frowned. How long should he let her go on starving herself? The problem was, he knew it was true. Luz would never love again the way she had loved Shozkay. Few were fortunate to experience mat kind of love in a lifetime.
He thought about his own wife. Before Candice, he had not understood Shozkay and Luz’s relationship. Now he could understand what Luz was feeling—it was what he would have felt if Candice should die. And thinking of her, as always, brought with it the pain of having had to leave her. Once again he wondered if he shouldn’t have brought her with him, and then instantly knew she would never come—not of her own free will, not to live with her enemy.

“Eventually Luz will remarry,” he said, “It is the way of things.” His words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“No,” Datiye said.

Jack was startled.

“Soon she will join Shozkay.”

“Don’t say that,” Jack snarled. He walked away and sat down to eat dried venison and dried beans. There was no fire, for the last thing he needed was to have to defend two women, one deep in mourning, the other pregnant, against scouting soldiers. But the moon was half full, shining, and the sky was lit with a million glinting stars.

Jack put his plate down and looked up into red eyes.

For a moment he froze, then reached for his gun as he realized he was staring into the eyes of a coyote, one that stood not fifteen feet from him, and an even shorter distance from Luz. The starlight turned the animal’s coat a silvery white—or was it a white coyote? “Don’t move,” Jack said, slowly drawing his Colt.

“Shozkay,” Luz breathed, and the coyote, hearing her voice, turned to look at her, his ears up.

Chills swept Jack’s body, and he hesitated. A lone coyote did not wander into a human camp, ever. Was she right? He held the gun, prepared to kill the small beast if it so much as moved toward any of them. His heart was thumping. The coyote’s eyes were so damned unnatural, like red coals, burning with an almost human intelligence. He had never seen anything like it.

The animal stood there for a minute at the most, but it was a long minute. Then it turned and raced off silently. Jack looked at Luz. She was trembling, tears spilling down her face, clutching herself with her arms. He wanted to hold her, but it was totally improper. He was relieved when Datiye did, comforting her as one would a child.

Disturbed, Jack sheathed his gun. Had it been Shozkay? For a moment, he closed his eyes. Of course it had. Between him and Luz, they were thinking about Shozkay continuously, and spirits always delayed their journey to linger under such circumstances. More so in this case, for there would be no journey to the afterworld for his brother. Shozkay would wander the face of this earth forever, crying with a need to be avenged.

How could his brother be avenged? Kill Bascom? Kill Warden? Kill the lieutenant in charge, Morris? Or all three?

Morris, he thought savagely, and knew his own war would never be over until Morris had died in retribution for ordering the hangings. Then his brother could leave this world and find peace for eternity in the next.

Three days later they rode into Cochise’s stronghold. It was a sea of
gohwahs
, for the Chiricahuas numbered some twelve hundred men, women, and children. On the outer edge of one side of the village, Jack stopped and dismounted, helping Datiye down carefully, then Luz. “I’ll start cutting juniper immediately,” he told Datiye. “You supervise the unloading and the animals.”

She nodded.

It was some time later, when he had brought the last of the tall juniper logs to the site where he would erect the
gohwah
, that he saw Nahilzay watching. Jack ignored him and began to dig holes, then to erect the frame. Datiye came over and protested.

That is my duty,” she said, placing her hand on his.

“No,” Jack returned. “You can weave in the bear grass.” She met his implacable gaze, then nodded. Jack began to secure the juniper poles with pliable branches of desert willow. He didn’t look up as Nahilzay came over, but stepped back to view his work. It was certainly better than the last time, and a pang struck him as he thought of that day he had shared with Candice.

“The woman should do it,” Nahilzay said, referring to Datiye. He knew Luz, of course, though he probably didn’t recognize her, for it had been years since she had left the Chiricahua to marry Shozkay and join the Coyoteros. But anyone who saw her knew she was deep in mourning and would both shun her and respect her grief.

“I prefer to protect the babe,” he said, looking at him for the first time.

“Is she your wife?” Nahilzay asked. It was a natural conclusion.

“Yes,” Jack said. She was now. He was providing for her and she was pregnant with his child, and under Apache custom that was enough to make her his wife. “My second wife,” he added. “My first wife is white and I left her with her people.”