The Darkest Heart (9 page)

He was hurting her, but she deserved it. “I’m not going away. I’m not leaving you like this. Now let me up, Jack.” Her voice wasn’t calm—it shook slightly. Partly because she was afraid—he was still so strong and so angry, and possibly crazed with fever—and partly because her breasts were crushed on his hard, wet chest and she could feel his heart pounding and smell his male scent. And then his grip went lax.

His head went back and his eyes closed, and she knew he had no more strength. She straightened and proceeded to bathe him with cool, clean water, cleaning the wounds as well on his chest and legs. They were angry looking and oozing yellow pus. When she drenched them with whiskey he jerked upright, eyes wide and startled until he recognized her.

She took advantage and grabbed him around the waist, blushing from the intimate contact. “Turn over, Jack,” she coaxed. “Onto your stomach, on the sheet.”

To her surprise, his eyes drooped and he obeyed, giving her the chance to get to work on his back. She picked out pieces of straw and dirt. She bathed the wounds with soap and water, then disinfected them with alcohol. As she was wiping his shoulders down with a cool cloth, another lantern flared in the doorway, making her look up, frozen.

Luke stared.

Candice felt resolve stiffen in her. Despite the frantic beat of her heart, she calmly wrang out the cloth.

Luke said quietly, “What’s going on here, Candice?”

“What does it look like, Luke?”

He approached with his lazy, relaxed stride. “Not good.”

Candice dumped the cloth in the water and glared. “How could you leave him here in the straw, without water or a blanket, Luke? I’d expect it of Mark, who’s never gotten over Linda, or even John-John, who is too young to know better—but not of you!”

Luke squatted. “I told Red to see that he had what he needed. I didn’t know they just dumped him here.”

His blue gaze was steady on her face. “I asked you a question, little sister. What’s going on?”

“This is my fault,” she told him, relieved to be sharing the guilt. “Luke, he saved my life, and how did I pay him back? By stealing his horse when he was hurt. Now he’s even worse, because he came after me on foot when he was too ill to do it. I had to come out and tell him I was sorry. And when I saw him like this …”

Luke regarded her. “His fever still high?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t tell anyone about this, Candice. But you’d better go on back to the house. I’ll go get Maria.”

“This is her fault too,” Candice protested. “It’s because he’s part Apache. You know how much the Mexicans and Apaches hate each other. We should have known she wouldn’t give him any care.”

Luke absorbed that, then squatted again. “You can’t stay here.”

“I won’t leave him while he’s like this.” Her dark blue eyes flashed. “It’s not right!”

Luke sighed. “I’ll stay, I’ll do what you’re doing. You go on back to bed.”

Candice realized she still didn’t want to go, even though she trusted her older brother completely—and even though she was proud of him for offering to help. But she realized she should give in now, so she hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Luke.”

He smiled slightly. But his gaze was still probing, questioning.

The Henderson womenfolk came to call the next day.

Millie Henderson was one of the town’s matriarchs, the rather weathered wife of a local rancher who was taking a beating from the raiding Apache and rustlers from south of the border. Her sister-in-law Elizabeth was Candice’s age, fair-skinned, petite, and dark. Candice wasn’t close to Elizabeth, even though she was one of the few women her own age in the area. First of all, the Henderson spread was at least half a day’s ride from the High C, which made visiting a big event. Candice had also never had a need for women in her life, other than Maria. With three adoring brothers and a doting father and a territory full of women-hungry suitors, she had about all she could handle in the way of company. And finally, Elizabeth was very quiet. They had never had a chance to get to know each other.

So the visit was a surprise.

In a way.

As soon as the two women were settled with lemonade, Candice saw Millie Henderson staring at her hands. And she flushed because she obviously lacked a wedding ring.

“We came to offer our regrets,” Millie said. “We hear poor Virgil Kincaid was killed.”

“Yes.”

“Such a tragedy, and right after your wedding,” Millie continued.

Candice wished she wasn’t so red. “Yes.”

“You’re not wearing a ring.”

Her color went crimson. “I know you’ve probably already heard the story, Millie. It fell off, when I almost died in the desert.”

“Eloping like that,” Millie said. “If Elizabeth ever did that my husband would tan her good.”

Candice squirmed. Both women had been staring incessantly. Now Elizabeth spoke. “Is he still here?” Her eyes were wide. Her voice was wispy soft.

Candice’s heart started a slow thud. “Who?”

Millie interjected. “Why, the
Indian
, of course.”

A silence fell. Candice broke it with a breath. “Oh, you mean the man who saved my life—Jack Savage is the name he goes by. Yes, he is.”

Another silence.

“So it’s true,” Millie said. “You left here with Kincaid and came back with a half-breed Apache.”

Candice gripped the arms of her chair. “Not quite—”

“Kincaid not a week in his grave, and you snowed up here on the breed’s horse.”

Candice stood. “If you’re here to accuse me of something, then you can just leave.”

“Why, Candice Carter,” Millie cried, standing also. “Excuse me—Candice Kincaid. It is
Kincaid
, isn’t it?”

Candice flushed.

“Dear girl, we didn’t come to accuse you, we came to offer our sincere sympathies. My God, to think of what you had to endure, alone with that … that …” She shuddered.

Candice stood very still.

Elizabeth turned wide, fascinated eyes on her. “Did he … did he … hurt you?”

“He saved my life,” Candice said stiffly. “Now, ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I have a terrible headache.”

“Of course,” Millie said graciously. “But, Candice, you can tell us. I mean, you look remarkably well. But—you must need to share such a horrible experience with other women. Other
white
women.”

“There’s nothing to share.”

Millie put her arm around her. “I don’t know how you can be so stoic. If it were me, I’d kill myself.”

Candice wrenched free. “You have a sick mind. Sick. He never touched me.”

Millie and Elizabeth both turned pitying, disbelieving glances on her.

“If he had touched me, do you think he’d still be alive?” Candice said too shrilly. “Still alive and on this ranch?”

“We thought about that. But John probably doesn’t want to make too much over it, for your sake, of course, and we understand. On the other hand, he’s probably got the Indian under guard. He’ll hang for what he did to you. Has he sent for the major?”

“Nothing happened,” Candice said stiffly, striding ahead of them and to the foyer, where she opened the door. And if you’ll excuse me, I have to lie down.

Millie and Elizabeth exchanged knowing glances. “Of course,” Millie said. “We certainly understand, don’t we, Elizabeth?”

Every time Candice thought about Millie’s and Elizabeth’s insinuations, she felt sick.

It was bad enough eloping and returning without the man she had supposedly married, but to return with a half-breed Apache …

She took a breath. The talk would die down. Nothing
had
happened. Not like they meant, anyway. But she was ashamed when she thought of what had happened—and what the reaction would be if anyone knew the whole truth. How had her life come down to this?

She managed to sneak in to see Jack after the Henderson women had left, and was relieved to see him sleeping peacefully, although he still had a fever. Later she cornered Luke as soon as he came in off the range. “How is he?”

“His fever was lower this morning. I’ll check on him again now.”

“Thank you, Luke.”

“The size of your heart is starting to worry me, Candice,” he said.

“Luke, if it was his horse in there sick, I’d be sitting with it all day.”

Luke just gave her a queer look and left, heading toward the barn. Thank the Lord for her brother’s compassionate nature. She bumped into Mark on her way back to the house. He was angry. I saw the Henderson ladies on the road a while back when I was coming in, he said.

Oh, no, Candice thought.

“Jesus Christ, Candice! They started asking me things, and insinuating things …” His face was red. “If they’d been men I would have called them out!”

“Leave it be, Mark,” Candice said. “It doesn’t matter. They’re just two dirty-minded gossips with nothing better to do.”

“It doesn’t look right, him being here, sick or not. We should turn him over to Major Bradley. There’s probably a price on his head. Christ! What if there is?”

“Mark, he saved my life, and we’re not turning him over
to any troops,” she said, thinking about the three cowboys he had killed in front of her very eyes. In cold blood. Good God—was there a reward out for him, as there was for Geronimo? Her thoughts must have showed, because Mark demanded to know what she was thinking. “Nothing,” she lied, turning away, agitated.

Before dinner, Luke took her aside and gave her good news—that Jack’s fever had broken and he was sleeping. Candice felt a huge relief, and she gave Luke a grateful smile, which was quite brilliant. He looked at her and frowned thoughtfully. Candice didn’t notice. But she did have a frisson of fear when Mark announced to the table that he was riding to Fort Buchanan that night.

“Tonight? What for?” her father asked.

“We got that breed here and we don’t know anything about him,” Mark said vehemently, not looking at Candice. “I want to know if he’s wanted. Just curing him and turning him loose isn’t right.”

“He saved my life,” Candice protested, aghast.

“Son, we owe the man that.”

“Pop, Lynch was telling me that the other day the troops were cutting off Geronimo when some brown-haired breed interfered, led them away. If this man is him then he’s damn sure wanted for questioning at least. I’m going. It’s got to be done; what’s going on here isn’t right.”

Candice was standing, her fork flung on the table. “What you’re doing isn’t right, Mark, and I’m sick of your interfering. He doesn’t ride with Geronimo—I know!” She turned and strode out, angry and upset. She could hear her family arguing about what Mark was going to do—whether they agreed or not. Later, when she was in her room waiting for everyone to fall asleep, she heard him riding out.

She couldn’t help but think that there were so few half-breeds with sable-colored hair and gray eyes.

That if such a man had interfered with the army, it had to be he.

Did that mean he was Geronimo’s ally?

Geronimo was at war with everyone except Cochise.

She had bitten down all her nails by the time the house was bathed in darkness and everyone except Mark had come to say good night. Then she scrambled out of bed, downstairs,
and into the barn, closing the door before she lit the lantern. She held it up.

Jack turned his head toward her and stared, his gray eyes lucid and angry.

He was lying on his back, his hands bound in front of him, his ankles trussed as well.

Candice hurried forward, dropping to her knees, “Who tied you up?”

“Your brother and a few of the men.”

Damn Mark, Candice thought, and reached for his wrists. The knots were thick and tight. She felt his gaze on her face and met it. “I need a knife.”

“My gear’s over there,” he said.

She looked behind her and hurried to his saddlebags, the gunbelt and knife belt. The knife slid effortlessly out of the sheath and she knelt beside him again, slicing the bonds in one motion. The instant she had done so he was on her, flipping her beneath him, pinning her with the full weight of his body, one hand coiled in her braid, the other flinging her two hands above her head. She stared, breathless, stunned. His face was so close his breath was hot on her face.

“Do you know the trouble you’ve caused me?”

“I’m sorry,” she cried, meaning it. “You’re hurting me.”

“Good.”

They stared.

His eyes had gold flecks in them, and his lashes were a dark, dark brown and thick and long. He had beautiful eyes, too beautiful for a man, even when so angry, although she could see the anger fading, changing, even as her own body started to relax and throb in awareness. He was hard, but not heavy. His thighs were like steel. He had quite a beard now, and his lips … his mouth was parted slightly, sensually curved, the lower lip fuller than the upper. She fixated on that mouth. Warm breath. She was vaguely aware that she might have stopped breathing, that her own mouth was slightly open, wet. Waiting. Something stirred between them, became heavy against her thigh. Her heart picked up a slow, heavy thud.

His head moved slightly, lowering. Candice thought, He’s going to kiss me, and a hot thrill flamed through her veins. She closed her eyes, lifted her head. Their lips touched.

It was the softest of testing, the barest of brushing.

Candice opened her mouth wider, dazed, and pressed her hips against his, her thigh up into the fullness of his groin. His mouth opened and came down hard and voraciously on hers. The intensity was bruising, his teeth cut her mouth, his tongue plunged deep inside, taking her by surprise. He lifted his head, her lower lip between ms teeth, pulling, then came down again, opening, sucking her lips in, then parting them urgently and thrusting his tongue deep again. And again. She opened her mouth wider to admit him, a shocked heat racing through her when his tongue flicked over hers, circling it, wrestling, trying to entice hers into a response. And then he shifted his weight abruptly, so that his thick, swollen penis settled in her groin intimately. She gasped, arching.

His hands released hers and slid down her back to grab her hips firmly, hard. His devouring mouth moved over her jaw to her neck, biting, teasing, hurting, exciting her. She arched her head back. His mouth slid abruptly down, his hands up, pushing up her breasts, and he buried his face between them.