Apache Flame

by Madeline Baker

  “‘Lisha?”

  She leaned into him, her answer in her upturned face.

  His kiss was gentle, tinged with uncertainty, yet hot and eager, filled with years of unfulfilled desire.

  Her hands slid up his back to lock around his neck as she pressed herself against him. Her body had no memory of the five years they had been apart. It molded to his as it always had, eagerly, willingly, female to male, perfectly matched and mated. She had been made for this man, and no other. She had believed it five years ago; she believed it now.

  He slid his tongue over her lower lip, and heat exploded deep in the core of her being, spreading through her limbs like wildfire, leaving her breathless and limp and wanting more, so much more.

  “Mitchy…”

  “I’m sorry.” He let her go and drew back, his breathing as ragged as her own. “What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

  She took a deep breath and the words, held in for so long, came out in a rush. “We have a son.”

  He looked at her as though she were speaking a foreign language. “What?”

  She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but the words had been said and there was no way to call them back. “A son, Mitch. We have a son.”

  “Where is he? Why the hell didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  A low sound of disbelief rose in his throat.

  “It’s true. I mean, I knew I had a baby, but my father told me it was stillborn. I never saw him, the baby. Never. All these years I thought he was dead, and then, just before my father passed away, he told me he had lied, that the baby was still alive.”

  Mitch shook his head. “You had a baby and you never told me?”

  “I thought you’d left me, that you didn’t want me. I thought…”

  “Go on,” he said brusquely. “What did you think?”

  She clasped her hands tightly. “I thought you had lied to me about loving me. You never wrote. You never came back.” She looked up at him, eyes wide with defiance. “Why didn’t you come back?”

  “Because I thought you were married to Smithfield! I told you that.”

  “Let’s not argue, Mitchy, please.”

  He swore a vile oath. It was a good thing her old man was already dead, he thought bitterly, cause right now he could easily kill the man with his bare hands.

  He took a deep, calming breath. “So where is he now, the baby?” He laughed bitterly. “Hell, I guess he’s not a baby anymore. So, where is he? Our…our son?” As soon as he asked the question, he knew the answer. “That’s why you had Clements bring you here. You think our son might be with my mother’s people.”

  “I don’t know, but it seemed like a good place to start. All I know is that a friend of my father’s gave the baby to a mountain man who said he was going to leave the baby with the Indians at Apache Pass.”

  Well, that explained what she was doing out here. Mitch closed his eyes for a moment, putting his anger behind him, and then he drew Alisha into his arms again and tucked her head under his chin.

  “I’m sorry, ‘Lisha. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I would have been there if I’d known, I swear it.”

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I know.”

  “I’ll never leave you again. Never. I swear it.”

  “Mitchy. My Mitchy.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. She didn’t want to cry. She had already shed enough tears to last a lifetime, but it was no use. The tears came, unbidden, as the ice around her heart melted, as all the old hurts dissolved, like dew beneath the morning sun.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “I’ve always loved you, Mitchy. Even when I tried to hate you, I loved you.”

  “Shh.” He brushed his lips across the top of her head. “It’s all right, darlin’. You had every right to hate me. I never should have left you.”

  “Promise me,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “Promise me you’ll never leave me again.”

  “I swear it on the life of my mother.”

  “Oh, Mitchy, tell me, tell me that you love me.”

  “I love you, darlin’. I always have. Always will.”

  Happiness bubbled up inside her, warmer than sunshine, sweeter than sugar cane. Blinking through her tears, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him, sighing with pleasure as he drew her body against his, crushing her breasts against his chest.

  When he finally let her go, she felt like laughing and crying and shouting all at the same time, but all that emerged from her throat was a deep sigh of contentment.

  Mitchy was back, and everything was going to be all right.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hand in hand, they walked back to the fire. Most of the Indians were sleeping. Two of the warriors stood in the shadows, keeping watch.

  Mitch spread his bedroll, then looked at Alisha. With a shy smile, she stretched out on the blankets, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips as Mitch crawled in beside her and cradled her in his arms.

  “I’ve dreamed of this,” he whispered.

  “Me, too.” She glanced at the warriors sleeping near the fire. “Of course, I had a different setting in mind.”

  Mitch laughed softly. “Really?” He brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek and twirled it around his finger. “Wanna let me in on it?”

  “Well, I thought we’d be alone. Maybe by the creek back home.”

  “And what would we do there, by the creek, back home?”

  Stifling the urge to laugh out loud, she said, “Swim, of course.”

  Mitch did laugh, and the soft sound of his laughter filled her heart and soul with joy.

  “I love you,” she murmured. “I wish we were alone.”

  “We will be,” he promised. “As soon as I can arrange it.”

  * * * * *

  She woke a little after dawn, her head pillowed on Mitch’s shoulder, their legs entwined. She studied his face a moment, noting the shadow of a beard along his jaw. How handsome he was, and how she loved him.

  She watched him sleep for a few more minutes and then, feeling dirty and sticky after so many days without a bath, she slid out from under the covers and padded down toward the stream. She nearly jumped out of her skin when one of the warriors standing guard stepped into her path.

  She pointed to herself, and then the stream, and he nodded and stepped back into the trees. And disappeared from her sight. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see him.

  She had heard it said that an Apache could hide himself so completely you would never know he was there until you felt his knife at your throat. Now she believed it.

  At the stream, she found a secluded place and after looking around to make sure she was out of sight of anyone passing by, she stripped off her clothing and waded into the shallow water.

  It was cold enough to make her teeth chatter, but she was determined to be clean. Remembering something Mitch had once told her, she picked up a handful of sand and scrubbed it over her arms and legs. She rinsed her hair three times, then hurried out of the water. Wrapping her arms around her body, she stood in a patch of sunlight, her thoughts immediately turning toward Mitch.

  She had spent the night in his arms. The thought brought a smile to her face. It had been wonderful to fall asleep in his embrace, to wake beside him…

  Mitchy…a wondrous feeling of happiness bubbled up inside her. She laughed, then clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound, which seemed unusually loud in the stillness of early morning.

  “Wanna share the joke?”

  At the sound of his voice, she glanced over her shoulder to see Mitch striding purposefully toward her. “Go away!”

  He stopped less than a yard away, one brow arching as his gaze moved over her. “And leave the prettiest sight I’ve seen in years?”

  A rush of heat engulfed her from head to toe. “Mitchy…”

  “You didn’t used to mind my looking.”

  There was
a note of wistfulness in his voice that went straight to her heart.

  His gaze met hers as he stripped off his shirt, his moccasins, his leggings.

  “What are you doing?” she exclaimed.

  “Thought I’d take a bath, too.”

  He was a study in masculine perfection—broad shoulders, wide chest, flat stomach, strong sturdy legs. His desire for her was evident, and she felt her heart begin to race as he closed the distance between them.

  “The water’s that’s way,” she said, pointing toward the river.

  He stopped just short of touching her, a question in his eyes.

  “Mitchy, we shouldn’t.”

  “I know.”

  She took a deep breath, knowing if she said the word, he would leave. It was a quick battle, right and wrong warring with her need to be in his arms, to feel him all around her, to be a part of him.

  He nodded almost imperceptibly, as if he knew what she was thinking. “It’s all right, ‘Lisha,” he said quietly. Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead, then turned toward the river. A cold swim was just what he needed.

  “Mitch.”

  He paused, but didn’t turn.

  “Don’t go.”

  He went very still. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Slowly, he turned to face her. “We don’t have to, not now.” As much as she had enjoyed their lovemaking in the past, he knew she had always felt guilty about it afterwards. Guilty about facing her old man, about going to church, guilty for doing what she’d been taught all her life was a sin. He couldn’t begin to imagine the torment she must have gone through when she found out she was pregnant. “We can wait,” he said. “Until we’re married.”

  “Married?” He smiled at the note of surprise in her voice. “Are we getting married?”

  “Don’t you think we should? We have a son, after all.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. “Oh, Mitchy, I love you so much.”

  He had to touch her, had to hold her, or die. He drew her into his arms, a sigh issuing from deep in his throat as her body pressed against his. It was the sweetest kind of torment, holding her close, knowing that, as much as he wanted her, he’d have to wait.

  “Will you marry me, ‘Lisha?”

  “You know I will.” She looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes. “Just name the day.”

  “Is tomorrow too soon?”

  “Tomorrow? We can’t be back at Canyon Creek tomorrow. And even if we could, I can’t go home now. Not until I find our son.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about Canyon Creek. I was thinking about getting married back at the rancheria.”

  Alisha blinked up at him. “You mean have an Indian marry us?”

  Mitch nodded. “You don’t like the idea?”

  “But it wouldn’t be legal, would it?”

  “We can get married again when we get back to Canyon Creek if it’ll make you feel any better.”

  She thought about it a moment, then smiled. “I’ll marry you anywhere, anytime.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to it this time,” Mitch said with a grin. “Come on, the sooner we get going, the sooner we can tie the knot.”

  It was almost sundown by the time they reached the encampment. By then, Elk Chaser, Clements, and Fights the Wind looked ready to collapse. It had been a hell of a trip for all three of them, Mitch thought, yet none had complained.

  As soon as they reached the edge of the village, the woman of Fights the Wind came flying across the ground, followed by her two young sons. Taking the reins of Fights the Wind’s horse, she led the animal to their wickiup.

  White Robe emerged from her wickiup a moment later. She hurried to Elk Chaser’s side, clucking softly as she helped him out of the saddle and assisted him into the wickiup.

  Red Clements slid from the back of his mount. He leaned against his horse’s shoulder for a couple of minutes, breathing hard, and then went to sit in the shade.

  “You all right?” Mitch asked.

  “I will be,” Clements replied with a wry grin. “Hell, I been stove up worse than this more times than I care to remember.”

  “Let me know if you need anything,” Mitch said.

  “Sure, sure. You go take care of that pretty little gal,” Clements said. “Don’t pay me no never mind.”

  With a nod, Mitch went to lift Alisha from the saddle. She smiled at him, laughed softly as he crushed her close for just a moment before releasing her.

  Alisha glanced around the village. Was her son here? If not, would these people know where he was?

  Until the Comanche had captured her, she had never seen any Indians close up. Now, surrounded by Apaches, she couldn’t help feeling a little out of place. It was a large village. Men and women stood outside their lodges in small groups, drawn by the returning war party. Bare-footed boys in clouts and little girls in buckskin tunics stared at her, their black eyes wide with curiosity.

  “Come on,” Mitch said, and taking Alisha by the hand, he led her into his mother’s lodge.

  White Robe looked up as they entered.

  “Shi ma, this is Alisha Faraday. Alisha, this is my mother, White Robe.”

  “Your mother!” Alisha exclaimed. “But I thought she was…”

  Mitch smiled at her. “So did I. I’ll explain it to you later.”

  “Welcome, Alisha,” White Robe said, smiling. “Please, sit down.”

  “Thank you,” Alisha said. She sat down on a fur robe, and Mitch sat beside her. Reaching over, he took her hand in his again and gave it a squeeze.

  “Will you eat?” White Robe asked.

  Alisha glanced at Mitch. She didn’t want to be rude, but Mitch had told her the Apache ate mule meat and dog meat, and while she was hungry, she wasn’t that hungry.

  Mitch sniffed the air. “It’s venison stew.”

  Alisha felt her cheeks grow warm. “Yes, I’d love something to eat, thank you.”

  White Robe finished changing the bandage on Elk Chaser’s wound and after making sure he was resting comfortably, she filled two bowls with stew and handed one to Mitch and one to Alisha.

  Alisha took a bite, surprised to find it quite good. While eating, she watched Mitch’s mother, her mind filling with questions. Mitch had told her his mother was dead, yet here she was, bustling about like any woman anywhere, serving her guests, beaming at her son, tending her wounded husband.

  She was a handsome woman, with her thick black braids and dark eyes. She wore a colorful cotton skirt and blouse and moccasins. The ends of her braids were tied with strips of red cloth.

  They ate in silence for a time. Alisha noted the way Mitch’s mother kept looking at him, the way she touched his shoulder when she passed by. She didn’t know why, but she had not expected the Indians to be an affectionate people, but there no mistaking the love in White Robe’s eyes when she looked at her son. No doubt that that love was returned.

  “There will be a victory dance tonight,” White Robe remarked, “to celebrate your return and your triumph over our enemies, the Comanche.”

  “Tonight?” Mitch looked at Alisha.

  “Yes. The people are anxious to celebrate your victory.”

  Alisha was wondering if Mitch would say anything about their getting married when the lodge flap was flung aside and a young boy burst inside.

  “Otter, you have returned!” the boy exclaimed, and hurled himself into Mitch’s arms.

  “Quiet, ciye,” White Robe admonished gently. “Your father sleeps.”

  The boy was instantly contrite. His gaze moved to the rear of the lodge, his mouth forming a perfect O when he saw the bandages swathed around his father’s middle.

  “What happened to my father?” the boy asked.

  “He was wounded,” Mitch replied. “But he’s going to be fine. Don’t worry.” He smiled at Alisha. “This is my brother, Rides the Buffalo.” Mitch ruffled the boy’s hair. “This is Alisha.”

  Alisha’s gaze moved from Mitch’s face to the
boy’s and back again. Even without being told, she would have known they were related, the resemblance was so strong.

  Rides the Buffalo sat down beside Mitch and White Robe handed him a horn spoon and a bowl of stew.

  Mitch glanced at Alisha. Rising to his feet, he offered her his hand.

  “Where are we going?” Alisha asked as she placed her hand in his.

  “For a walk.”

  “Thank you for bringing my husband home.” White Robe smiled at her oldest son fondly. “Do not forget the celebration. It will begin in about an hour.”

  “Sure, ma,” Mitch replied. “We’ll be back soon.”

  White Robe nodded. There was no mistaking the fact that her son had deep feelings for the white woman; just as there was no mistaking the fact that those feelings were returned.

  Outside, Mitch headed for the river. There were a lot of secluded places along the riverbank, places where young lovers went to be alone.

  At last, he came to a place screened from casual view by a stand of saplings and tall shrubs. Impatient and needy, he drew Alisha into his arms and held her tight. A faint breeze stirred the leaves on the trees, carrying the scent of earth and sage, mingling with the scent of the woman in his arms. Desire stirred within him. He heard her soft laugh as the evidence of his desire pushed gently against her belly.

  Drawing back a little, he gazed into her face, and saw his own hunger mirrored in the depths of her eyes.

  “Maybe coming down here wasn’t such a good idea, after all,” he muttered.

  “It was a wonderful idea.” She nestled against him, as warm and trusting as a kitten.

  Lowering his head, he nuzzled her hair, his hands moving restlessly up and down the length of her back, his mind exploding with remembered images of the woman in his arms, of the girl she used to be—Alisha looking up at him the first time they had made love, her eyes wide as she experienced the thrill of desire for the first time; Alisha laughing at him the day he fell in the creek; Alisha sobbing in his arms the day her mother passed away; begging him not to go when he told her he was leaving town to find a better life…Alisha. She was a part of every good memory he carried with him.

  “‘Lisha.”

  “I know.” She wrapped her arms tight around him, wanting to be closer, wanting to feel the hard length of his body against her own. “Mitchy…”