The Darkest Heart (8 page)

She shrugged into a skirt and blouse and ran downstairs, barefoot, her hair still loose and uncombed.

He was standing in the yard, facing the verandah, at gunpoint. One of the hired hands had his rifle trained cautiously on his back, and three others ringed him warily. Mark, Little John, Luke, and their father stood facing him. His eyes were blazing, and he was wearing only the loincloth and moccasins, an empty gunbelt and the knife. One of the hired hands had his Colt stuck in his own waistband. The scabs on Savage’s chest and knee had opened, and were raw and bleeding slightly.

Their gazes locked.

Candice was shaking, and she could barely breathe.

He smiled, a mere baring of his teeth. “I believe,” he said harshly, “you have something that belongs to me.”

Candice opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Mark whirled, eyes wide. “This breed was at the gate, demanding to come in. He says you stole his horse.”

Candice looked at Mark and then at Jack. His gaze was ice cold and filled with contempt. Yet his face seemed pale beneath the bronze of his tan. “I …” She faltered completely. Oh, why had he come!

“I want my horse,” Jack said softly, slowly, enunciating every word, his gaze pinning her.

“Do you know this man, Candice?” her father said.

“Yes.”

Mark took a step toward her, incredulous and furious all at once. “How in hell do you know him?”

“Is it his horse?” John-John demanded, as angry as Mark.

“Yes.” Candice looked back at Jack and flushed with the guilt that resurfaced with full intensity. She quickly faced her father and Luke, the only ones who might show her any sympathy. “Pop, I didn’t tell you the whole story.”

“I can see that,” her father said, but he was cut off by Mark, who was shouting.

“Did he touch you? Did he? Did this red-skinned bastard touch you?”

Candice stepped back, flushing. Thinking many, many thoughts—waking up naked, standing together nude in the smoke, cleansing his body. Mark met her gaze and his own went wider, and then he whirled, drawing his gun in the same motion. Candice cried out, “No, Mark, no, he didn’t, I swear it!”

Before she had even finished the sentence, Jack grabbed Mark’s arm, hard, and the gun went clattering to the ground. Luke quickly moved between the two men. He said to his younger brother, very softly, “Don’t be a hothead.”

“If he touched her, I’ll kill him!”

Jack laughed, the sound hard and short and mirthless. “I have no interest in her.”

It was, of course, a lie, and they both knew it. Candice went crimson, wishing, with all her heart, that he hadn’t come.

“What happened, Candice?” her father injected firmly.

Candice took a breath, glad to turn away from Jack. “I bought a horse in Arizona City, but she got bit by a rattlesnake. I walked until I couldn’t walk any longer. I had no water, no food. I finally passed out. It had been three, maybe four days. He found me.”

Mark made a noise, and even John-John gasped. Everyone, including the hired hands, looked at the half-naked man standing tautly in their midst. Jack smiled again, savagely.

Luke spoke. “You were alone with him, in the middle of the desert?”

Candice flushed again. “He saved my life.”

Again, all eyes went from her to Jack.

Candice hurried on into the tense silence. She could feel the male anger, the maelstrom of hostility, the urge for violence. “He saved my life. He didn’t touch me. He’s part white, he speaks like a white man. There was a mountain lion—he got hurt.” She faltered and found herself looking at him, saw the fury in his gaze, and this time she couldn’t look away. Her voice went to a whisper. “That’s when I stole the horse.”

Their gazes locked in another silence, this one endless. Then Candice thought she saw him sway, but the movement was so slight and he was standing so rigidly that she had to have imagined it. John-John said, “He has a helluva nerve, coming here.”

“I don’t believe her,” Mark accused. “She’s lying.”

“Mark!” her father said.

Candice held her breath. Mark turned his hot, angry eyes on her. “If he didn’t touch you, why are you so guilty looking—so red? He’s a damn red-skinned breed. You were unconscious when he found you. They don’t do any different from animals. You might not even know if—”

“Enough!” John Carter roared.

Luke said, “If he had touched her, little brother, horse or no horse, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to come here.”

“I didn’t touch her,” Jack gritted. “At least, not the way you mean. I saved her damned life—and all I got out of it was a stolen horse and a delay in my journey north.”

Candice was shaking. She looked everywhere but at Savage.

“Pedro, get his horse,” John said. The hand immediately turned to obey. John looked at Jack. “You saved my daughter’s life, and for that I thank you.”

Jack smiled again. It didn’t reach his eyes.

The stallion was led out, saddled. Candice looked at Jack again. He wasn’t looking at her, but at the horse. She saw the slick sheen on his oozing chest. Her mind started to work. He had trailed her on foot. He was still hurt. She should have never stolen the horse. She would never forget the look in his
eyes—or how close they had all come to violence and maybe murder. Pedro handed him the stallion’s reins. He didn’t move to get on. His hands on the leathers were white.

“You’d better ride out of here while you can,” Luke advised.

Jack met his gaze evenly. His was strangely bright. “My gun.”

Luke looked at Red Barlow, who still had his rifle aimed at the man’s back. He nodded. “Give him his gun, Red.”

Red hesitated. “You sure?”

“Give it to him, Red,” John said.

Red hesitated again, then, still training his rifle on Jack, he gingerly removed his gun.

“Wait,” John-John said, and moved in between them to take the Colt and quickly empty its chamber. He wheeled and thrust it at Jack. Jack sheathed it and moved stiffly to the stallion’s side. His back was bloody. The scabs had opened, and Candice inhaled sharply. He must have heard, because he tensed.

“Pop,” Candice said swiftly, “he’s hurt. He came all this way on foot. At least—at least he could have something to eat.”

Everyone stared at her.

“What in hell’s wrong with you?” Mark shouted.

“He did save my life,” Candice said, her chin coming up and her heart pounding furiously. She wasn’t looking at her brother or anyone other than the man whose bloody back was facing her. How could he have done it? Did the stupid horse mean so much to him? And how—how was he going to get on it and ride?

“You, boy,” John Carter said.

Jack was still standing with his back to them, facing the horse. Now he put his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle.

“Go around back to the kitchen. Maria will give you something to eat.”

The stallion swung sideways and Jack faced the Carter family with scorn blazing in his eyes. Candice blushed, knowing this proud man would never go to the back to take scraps like a dog. She felt a sudden shame for her family—and for herself. His glance settled on her and it burned.

Candice bravely held it, her hand coming up to her mouth. Something seemed to choke her from deep inside. She saw that his face was beaded with sweat. “Please,” she heard herself say. “Go around back and get some food and water.”

“To hell with your charity,” he said in a low voice.

He tore his gaze away and turned the stallion, who was prancing restlessly. As he did so he slumped slightly, from the waist, then pulled erect again. The stallion snorted and shook his head.

“He’s hurt,” Candice said.

And he fell from the horse with one crashing thud at their feet.

Candice moved with a cry, but not fast enough. Luke got to Jack first, bending over and feeling for his pulse. Candice became aware of her father’s hand on her arm, restraining her. Luke straightened. “He’s got a high fever. Looks like them marks got infected.”

“Red, you and Willie take him into the barn,” John Carter said.

“Pop!” Mark protested. “Set him on his horse and send him out of here!”

Candice opened her mouth to object, but Luke was already ordering Red to help him move Jack. He bent and lifted the man by his armpits, and Red took his ankles. Candice watched worriedly, blaming herself for everything. As they started across the yard, she took exactly two steps after them before her father grabbed her shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“He …” She faltered. “To see what I can do.”

“Maria will tend him, just like she tends everyone on this ranch when they get hurt.”

Candice flushed. But she met her father’s piercing stare and wondered what he was thinking. She soon had no doubt about what Mark and Little John were thinking.

“What do you care about that breed, Candice?” Mark shot. “You seem awful concerned.”

Candice tensed and was furious. “How dare you, Mark. How dare you call me a liar and—”

“Do you know what the talk is going to be?” Mark demanded.

Candice inhaled. She had been hoping no one would ever find out about her and Jack Savage. But now it would be spread around Tucson and all the ranches as soon as the first hands rode into town for a few drinks. And it didn’t matter that nothing had happened between them—or almost nothing. People would speculate. Talk. Condemn. “I don’t care,” she said, lifting her head. “Nothing happened. For God’s sake, Mark, he is a human being first. And he’s very white. I don’t need you siding with everyone else.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want you around him,” Mark said tensely.

“That’s enough,” John interrupted. “Mark is right, Candice. Stay away from him while he’s here. And you, Mark, keep your opinions to yourself. You too, John-John. Now don’t you have some work to do this morning?”

Both young men turned, Mark still angry, little John a shade less. Candice met her father’s gaze. “You have a lot of explaining to do,” he said.

“I wanted to avoid all this, I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Maybe if you’d told the truth from the start, we could have been prepared for this. Mark is right. There will be some talk.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “The sooner he’s well enough to ride on, the sooner we can get past this.”

Candice nodded, knowing he was right, but she couldn’t resist one last glance back.

She couldn’t sleep.

She wondered if he was all right.

The day had dragged endlessly, and Candice had kept thinking about the hurt man in the second barn. A visit from one of her beaux, the widower Judge Reinhart, did not help the time to pass any easier. And after all the accusations and confusion of the morning, she was afraid to ask after him. When she finally did, Maria barely answered, unusually curt, brushing her off.

She was forgiven, she knew that. Even Mark was acting normally toward her, with teasing affection, except when he would glance out the window toward the barn—and then his face would become grim. Mark was not just the most volatile of her brothers, with John-John following close in his footsteps—he also hated Indians. That had never bothered Candice before, because everyone was afraid, so to some degree they hated the natives of the area. Mark, of course, had stronger personal reasons than most. He had been in love with a pretty Mexican girl from Nogales. She had been killed by Geronimo and his renegades—and not prettily, either. Candice hadn’t seen the body, but she had heard that Mark wept when he did. That had been two years ago.

Of course, Candice reflected, this man didn’t even belong to Geronimo’s band—or did he?

No, he couldn’t.

Everyone knew Geronimo had once ridden with Cochise. But a few years ago when Cochise had made an alliance with the whites, Geronimo had left the tribe—taking with him many Chiricahua warriors who wanted to fight. Apaches on the warpath were deadly. These renegades showed no mercy, ever, to women or children, much less men. They were worse than deadly.

Candice knew he couldn’t belong to Geronimo, because if he did he would have certainly killed her—after using her brutally.

Trying to sleep was hopeless. She got up and slid on a cotton wrapper. What would one peek hurt? Everyone was asleep. This was all her fault—she had no doubt about that. If she hadn’t stolen the horse, he wouldn’t have had to come after her, pushing himself while he was still healing, infecting his wounds with sweat and dirt. She took a small lantern with her but didn’t light it, stealing through the house in the blackness like a thief.

She hurried across the yard in her bare feet, seeing by the moon and stars. She swung the big barn door open, then knelt to light the lantern. After carefully adjusting the wick, she held it up to see.

She gasped.

He was lying on his back in the straw, without a single comfort. No blanket, no water. He was sweating heavily and shaking. Candice’s heart ripped in two. How could Maria do this to him?

She rushed forward and knelt. “Jack.” She touched him. He was burning up.

At her touch his eyes flew open and he twisted his head violently. Recognition flared. “Don’t touch me,” he said hoarsely.

She froze, her hand still on his wet, slick temple, then said, “Nonsense. I’ll be right back.” She ran out of the barn.

She returned with water, linens, and whiskey. He was waiting for her now, his eyes bright and angry. She knelt beside him and spread a linen sheet alongside him. Then she gave him a coaxing smile. “Let me help you up and onto this sheet. It will be much more comfortable. Come on.” She touched his shoulders.

He wrenched violently away. “I told you—don’t come near me.” His teeth clacked together on the last syllables.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I am sorry.”

He closed his eyes and turned his head away.

She hesitated only a moment. Then she dipped a linen strip in the water and proceeded to wipe his face. In the next instant his hand was on her wrist, yanking her chest on top of his, surprisingly strong, hurting her. Her face was inches from his, her eyes wide with surprise and shock.

“I told you, Candice Carter, get the hell away from me. Or don’t you understand English?”