The Darkest Heart (39 page)

“Jack!” she screamed, galloping forward, toward him.

He was diving toward a building, and Candice thought he was hit. “Jack!”

He was on his feet, running toward her and the thundering horse. Candice pulled hard on the reins but the frenzied horse wouldn’t stop. Jack grabbed for the saddle and missed as they shot past him, toward the mob. His hand clung to the heavy wood of the stirrup as he half ran and was half dragged alongside.

Candice shifted the reins into one hand, pulling back with all her might and reaching for her derringer with her other hand. A bullet whistled past her, and another. She felt the sting of something on her cheek. The stallion screamed while she took careful aim at a man who was reloading his gun. She fired. He fell. The stallion reared wildly. When his front legs hit the ground, Jack was suddenly behind her, his hands on the reins, twisting the animal’s neck around. They took off at a gallop in the opposite direction, away from the shouting, furious mob.

They rode like the wind.

It wasn’t until they were out of El Paso that Candice became aware of the throbbing in her face and the stickiness running down the side of it. They were disappearing in the
rolling swells of the desert. The stallion was slowing, obviously tired. Jack’s arms were around her, supporting her. She became aware of the feel of him behind her.
They were alive
. She leaned against him, felt another cramp, and moaned reflexively.

“Candice, you’re bleeding,” Jack cried. He pulled up the horse.

He was on the ground, lifting her gently down. “Usen, it’s your face,” he said, helping her to her knees.

He touched her cheek and she whimpered.

“It’s only a graze,” Jack breathed. “Dammit! I told you to ride like hell! Do you ever do what I tell you to?”

“Oh, Jack” was all she could say.

He fell to his knees beside her and took her in his arms, holding her tightly for a long moment. He released her. “Let me clean this up.”

She nodded, waiting with a terrible fear for another cramp. With her hand she began massaging her belly, praying it wouldn’t come. Jack had gone to the horse, and she heard him exclaim in dismay, then curse audibly.

“What is it?”

“He’s hurt,” he said. “Easy, fella, easy, sshh,” he said, and then began soothing the beast in soft Apache words.

Candice looked past him and saw the horse’s heavily bleeding hindquarter. “Oh, Jack, he’s been shot.”

“It’s just a graze, but it probably hurts like hell.” Jack’s hand stroked down the stallion’s neck. “This horse has more courage than any I’ve ever seen.”

He left the animal and returned to her, tenderly wiping her face of blood, then holding a strip of cloth in place to stop the bleeding.

“Will he be able to carry us?”

“Yes, but not far. He needs rest, and more important, so do you. You look very pale, Candice. Are you all right?”

Tears came to her eyes. She touched his face. “I was afraid they were going to kill you.”

“And keep me from you?” he said with attempted levity. “Never.”

“Jack, I’ve had a few cramps.”

Jack sucked in his breath harshly. “I want you to lie down. Now. How do you feel?”

“Weak. Relieved. All right.”

He cursed, again and again. “I should have never left you there in the first place. We’ll stay here the night.”

“We’re too close to town,” Candice said.

“I won’t jeopardize the baby. We have some natural protection, and I’ll keep watch. Besides, a mob is a coward. They want to take what is easy. I wounded four of them, and unless I saw wrong, you got one too. I doubt they’ll come after us, and if they do, they’ll regret it.”

Candice found herself closing her eyes. Jack laid out his bedroll and lifted her onto it. His hand was gentle on her hair, smoothing it back from her face. She turned her cheek into his palm. She was exhausted, so exhausted. She fell asleep.

It was while he was salving the stallion’s flank that Jack’s hands began to shake. He glanced over at Candice. If anything had happened to her … He would have never forgiven himself. Never.

In making the spontaneous decision to take her back to the camp with him, he had acted without thinking, responding to the male instinct of possession and territoriality. Candice was his, whether that preacher was a fake or not, just as the child she was carrying was his. Nothing and no one could change that. But now coherent thought returned. He was in deep water. Almost drowning.

How in hell was he going to explain Datiye’s presence in his
gohwah?

Things were bad enough. The mob had only delayed the conflict between them. He knew she had meant it when she’d told him she would not give birth to her child in an Apache camp. He knew she was with him unwillingly. But it was too late. Circumstance had forced his hand. He was no longer giving her a choice—he couldn’t.

He needed to think his way out of this predicament. It wasn’t easy. He thought up a dozen different ways of telling her about Datiye and her pregnancy, and in each his relationship with Candice was irrevocably ruined. He decided to put off telling her about who would be sharing their
gohwah
until the morning—or the next evening—or the day after that.

He kept watch all night, repeatedly checking on Candice, who slept heavily and undisturbed. Then, just before the first flush of daylight, he crawled into the bedroll with her. He wrapped his arms around her and fell asleep.

Candice awoke to an early-morning sun that promised more of spring. She was in Jack’s warm embrace. Instinctively she snuggled closer, then remembered where she was, and why. Jack had come back, as she’d known he would—only to take her with him. Now, in the light of a new day, with the terror of the mob behind them, Candice felt grim and sad. Nothing was right. Nothing was as it should be. There was no way she could live with the Apaches, who were at war with her people. It was impossible. She sat up.

She gazed down at him, and although she suspected he hadn’t joined her until very recently, his eyes were open and alert. She could see tired lines etched around his mouth. “Come back here,
shijii,”
he said softly.

She looked at him, with sorrow she couldn’t hide in her eyes. She pulled her shawl more tightly against her and walked away, to relieve herself and to think. When she came back Jack was saddling the stallion. He didn’t look at her.

“I want you to take me back, Jack,” Candice said. “Take me home, or take me east. What you’re asking of me isn’t fair.”

He turned to her, his mouth hard. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

“It’s not fair to our child either.”

“That’s why I didn’t take you with me to begin with,” he said harshly, with ill-concealed anger. “But now fairness doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

“War isn’t fair,” Jack said. “That Shozkay was killed isn’t fair. There are worse things than your coming with me—your rightful husband.”

“Shozkay is
dead?”

Jack turned his back to her and began tying on their saddlebags. “Yes.”

“Oh, God.” She stared at his rigid back, feeling him withdraw. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”

He didn’t turn and didn’t answer. Candice approached and laid her hand on the tense muscles of his spine. He
quickly moved away—away from her touch. She stood there helplessly. They had never been intimate, except physically. Why now, when there were more walls between them than ever, did she expect him to open up to her, turn to her with his heavy need?

Now was not the time to bring it up, but when they stopped before dusk that night, Candice did. “Jack, if you wont take me to the High C, why won’t you consider letting the Apaches wage their war without you? You’re half white. You have a family to think of. We could go away, the three of us, go where no one knows us, where no one will call the baby names.”

He stared at her. “And leave my brother’s soul unavenged?”

She wanted to weep.

That night there was no need for Jack to keep guard. Candice curled up in the bedroll and began to feel warm as she watched him carefully put out the small fire they’d cooked over. She wondered if he would try to make love to her. Then she instantly chastised herself. Of course he wouldn’t—she was too heavily pregnant, and there was so much stiffness and anger between them—the bricks of insurmountable walls. She pretended to be sleeping when he crawled in beside her, but couldn’t fool herself. She wanted him. That was the only way they were close, the only time they were like one, the only time reality became irrelevant. She ached for him desperately.

His hand settled on her hip, stroking slightly, and desire filled her groin. When she didn’t move away she felt him press against her, and there was no mistaking the throbbing erection against her buttocks. His hand moved over the swell of her belly, so very softly.

“Candice,” he said huskily, his voice heavy with need.

“Jack.” She moaned, arching back into him.

He held her buttocks tight against his manhood with a long, slow groan. She felt his mouth against her hair. He began rubbing his cheek there. She turned her face toward him, rolling onto her back, and his mouth came down on hers.

She wished he would tell her again that he loved her.

He didn’t.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his hands
splaying over her full breasts, rubbing her large nipples into erectness.

“You won’t.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I’ve become a cow.”

“A beautiful cow,” he said, smiling slightly, and she laughed just before he abruptly bared a breast and took the peak in his mouth. Then her laughter died.

It had been so long for both of them. Jack rolled onto his back, rolling her with him, on top of him. His hands were at her skirts, shifting them out of the way, and at his pants. She felt him the moment he was freed, straining against her bare thigh. His finger slid into her and Candice arched, dazed and mindless and ready for him. “Please.”

“Yes, darling, yes.”

He lifted her hips, then pulled her down onto him. They gasped together at the sensation of their tight, throbbing fit. His hold on her hips never ceased as he instructed her in a rapid rhythm, until Candice exploded, collapsing in Jack’s arms. Jack’s own cry was harsh and guttural in the night.

Afterward he held her tenderly in his arms until she fell asleep.

They rode for three more days at an easy pace, keeping an apparent truce between them although nothing was settled. And at night there was always the bittersweet lovemaking. Candice began to take an interest in being outdoors and riding again. She was also curious, and Jack soon told her what had happened at Apache Pass and the raid down the Sonoita Valley. He edited the version as he told it. Since the attack, he had tried not to think about what had happened at Warden’s ranch. Now he remembered the woman. He kept seeing her, terror etched on her face as she raised the rifle at him. His own gun’s report, and the blood blossoming on her chest. He felt sick.

“Is something wrong, Jack?”

“The Warden boy’s real father is a Coyotero,” he told her, changing the subject. “From one of the White Mountain bands. Cochise found out about two weeks ago. The boy’s father kidnapped him and has no intention of giving his son back, and I can’t say I blame him.” But he couldn’t get the woman’s image out of his mind. He would never forget her
face, her look of fear. He would never forget that he had killed her.

“Was it really Cochise’s wife and son that the troops had taken prisoner, Jack?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to them?”

“They were taken to Fort Buchanan and later released. They returned on foot.”

Candice thought about a young mother and a boy walking all the way from Fort Buchanan to the Chiricahua Mountains. It was incredible. “Did they … hurt her?”

“You mean, did the soldiers rape her? If she’s told anyone what happened, she’s told Cochise. And he certainly wouldn’t spread that kind of news around.”

Jack put off bringing up the subject of Datiye. While Candice wasn’t exactly warm, she wasn’t cold or aloof, and she accepted his ardent attentions at night with the same need as his. He didn’t want to upset the precarious state of their relationship. It felt so good to be with her again. But … he wished they could have more. Maybe it would never be like that.

“Do you expect me to live as a squaw forever, Jack?” she asked on the third day, quietly.

“Of course not.”

“So you do see an end in sight. You don’t intend to die fighting with Cochise.”

“Wars always end, Candice,” he said heavily. What would happen? Cochise had vowed he would never stop fighting the whites over their betrayal, not until he was dead. What if a peace could be worked out? Cochise would never accept a reservation for his people. Even if by some miracle the government gave him Chiricahua territory, Jack couldn’t imagine him accepting a circumscribed area for the Apache. It would be the end of their freedom, and this Cochise would never agree to.

On the fourth morning, when they were breaking camp at the foot of the Dragoons, just fifty miles from Cochise’s eastern stronghold, Jack decided to tell her. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He wished he were still making love to her, as he had been doing a few moments ago. He dreaded this. He felt like a coward. He watched her rolling up the bedroll.

When she stood, he took it from her and threw it across his saddlebags, tying it in place. “Candice, Datiye is at Cochise’s camp.”

She looked at him blankly, then her eyes grew wide. “What?”

“Let me explain,” he said.

Her face had paled with a terrible anticipation.

“Her family is dead. There was no one to provide for her. And … she’s pregnant. So I brought her to the camp.”

Candice didn’t move, couldn’t move, for a long, stunned moment. “I take it you’re the father.” Her voice was curiously low and calm.

“Yes.”

She turned her back to him, shocked. It couldn’t be … this was a dream … he couldn’t do this to her.…

“Candice, there was one time—before we were ever together, after I went to the ranch to get back my horse. I was with her then, just that once.”