Apache Summer sb-3

by Heather Graham

Jori! He does like to stir up trouble.

  But then, maybe it's not trouble this time. Jon can be plain old silent

  as the grave when he wants, too. I think that he's just delighted to put

  Miss. Eliza's nose out of joint. She thinks she just about has her claws

  into Jamie, and who knows, it is lonely out here. But she isn't right

  for him, she just isn't fight at all. You'll see."

  "Miss. Simmons" -- "Dolly. We're not very formal out here.

  "Ceptin' the men, when they're busy playing soldier, that is."

  "Dolly, I have no intention of going to a dance with Lieutenant Slater.

  I don't really like him. He's self-righteous and hard as steel and cold

  as ice" -- "Hard maybe, cold, no. You'll see," Dolly predicted. "But" --

  "Come on, I've got a steaming bath over there in the corner . You just

  hop in, and I'll make you some good strong tea, and pretty soon dinner

  will be ready, too. And you can tell me all about yourself and what

  happened, and I'll tell you more about Lieutenant Slater."

  "I don't want to know anything more about Lieutenant Slater," Tess said

  firmly. But it was a lie. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted

  to know everything about him.

  And she did want to go to the dance with him. She wanted to close her

  eyes and feel his arms around her, and if she thought about it, she

  wanted even more. She wanted to see him again as she had seen him that

  morning with his shirt hanging open and his hair tousled and his bare

  feet riding the rocks with confidence and invincibility.

  "Let me help you out of those dusty travel clothes," Dolly said. She was

  quick and competent, and Tess felt immediately at home with her, able to

  accept her assistance. In seconds she was out of her dirt-coated

  clothing and into a wooden hip tub with a high back that allowed her to

  lean in 55 comfort. Dolly tossed her a bar of rose-scented soap and a

  sponge, and she blissfully squeezed the hot water over her knees and

  shoulders.

  "What did you do to your hands, young lady?" Dolly demanded.

  Tess looked ruefully at her callused palms.

  "Driving. I can do it, of course. It's just Uncle Joe usually did most

  of the driving."

  She didn't know what it was about saying his name, but suddenly, tears

  welled in her eyes.

  "You should cry it out," Dolly warned her.

  "You should just go right on ahead and cry it out."

  Tess shook her head. She couldn't start crying again. She started

  talking instead.

  "He raised me. My parents died when I was very young, both caught

  pneumonia one winter and they just didn't pull through. Joe was Father's

  brother.

  He sold Father's land and put the money into trust for me, and he took

  me to live with him, and he made me love the land and reading and Texas

  and the newspaper business, and most of all, he made me love the truth.

  And he never gave up on the truth or on fighting. And that's why I have

  to keep it up.

  He always gave me everything."

  Her voice trailed away. So much, always. She remembered learning how to

  ride, and how to ink the printing press, and then how to think out a

  story, and what good journalism was, and. And what it was like to live

  through pain, and stand up tall despite it, and to learn to carry on.

  Joe had been there when she had fallen in love with Captain David Tyler

  back in '64, when his Confederate infantry corp had been assigned to

  Wiltshire. She had been just seventeen, and she'd never known what it

  was like to love a man in that mercurial way until she'd met David.

  They'd danced, they'd taken long walks and long rides and they'd had

  picnics out by the river, and he had kissed her, and she had learned

  what it was like to feel her soul catch fire.

  They'd known the war Dolly sniffed, apparently uninterested in a woman

  running a paper or a ranch.

  "There's things a young lady should be doin', and things she shouldn't!

  Now you, you need to be married. You need yourself a man."

  Tess sank back into the water wearily.

  "I need a hired gun, that's what I need."

  Dolly was quiet for a moment, then she said enthusiastically, "Well,

  then, you really do need Lieutenant Slater."

  "What?"

  Dolly came around the side of the tub and perched on a stool.

  "Why, he was claimed to be an outlaw, him and his brothers! There was a

  big showdown, and the three of them shot themselves out of an awful

  situation.

  Then they surrendered, and all went to trial, and the jury claimed them

  innocent as babes!

  But those Slater boys--why, it was legendary!

  He's as quick as a rattler with his Colt." He was, Tess thought. She

  couldn't forget the way he had killed the snake. She might have died,

  except that he was so fast with that gun.

  She shivered suddenly. Maybe he wasn't what she needed. He was what she

  wanted. A man good with a gun. A man with hard eyes and a hard-muscled

  chest and hands that were strong and eyes that invaded the body and the

  soul.

  "Someone's got to escort you to Wiltshire," Dolly said flatly.

  "And Jamie, he's got time coming. And he really ain't no fool. I know

  there's this big thing going on about whether it was Indians or white

  men attacked you, but Jamie, he'll find out the truth." "He didn't

  believe a word I said."

  "Oh, but he could discover the truth! He knows the Shoshone, the

  Comanche, the Cheyenne, the Kiowas and even the Apache better than most

  white men--most white men alive, that is! Why, he speaks all their

  languages! He can tell you in a split second which tribes are related to

  which, and he knows their practices, and how they live.

  Sometimes he even knows the Indians better than Jon Red Feather, 'cause

  you see, Red Feather is a Blackfoot Sioux, and he thinks that the world

  begins and ends with the Sioux!

  If you're telling the truth--oh, my dear! I didn't mean that! I know

  you're not telling fibs! But if you're right about it being white men,

  why, Jamie will find that out. He won't let the Comanche be blamed for

  some atrocity they didn't commit!"

  Tess was silent. Dolly spoke again, softly.

  "If it isn't Lieutenant Slater who takes you, it might be the colonel

  himself. His wife was killed by Pawnees before the war, and he ain't

  ever forgiven any Indian since. Or else there's Sergeant Givens, and

  he's an Indian hater, too. Or Corporal Lorsby, and he's a lad barely

  shaving, he won't be too much good to you. Oh, wait just a minute, I've

  got some shampoo here, all the way from Boston."

  "I don't want to use your good" -- "Come, come, what good does it do to

  this old head of mine? Use it!

  Your hair will smell just like spring rosebuds, and every bit as sweet

  as sunshine."

  Tess accepted the shampoo. She disappeared beneath the water to soak her

  hair, then she scrubbed and rinsed it. As she rose from the water again,

  Dolly was still talking to her.

  "Lieutenant Lorsby, he's a good boy. He's just untried.

  He's never been in a battle. He came from the east, and I'm sure he's a

  bright an
d wonderful boy, but he don't know a Kiowa from a Chinaman, and

  that's a fact. You really need to think about this, you know."

  Tess nodded, feeling a chill as the steamy water cooled. Maybe she did

  need Lieutenant Slater after all. She smiled at Dolly.

  "Could I have the towel, please?"

  Dolly held it, and Tess stepped from the bath, wrapped the towel around

  her and took a seat before the fire as she started to dry her hair.

  "All right, Dolly, so tell me, please, just what is it about this Miss.

  Eliza that's so horrible."

  "why, I'm not quite sure.

  "Ceptin' she seems to think that she's God's gift to the men of the

  cavalry.

  Jamie's the only one who's never fawned over her, and I think that's

  exactly why she's set her cap for him! He ~ms to be amused most of the

  time, but the woman does have a wicked fine shape, and a wicked heart

  and mind to go along.

  You'll see. Now sit back, and I'll bring you your tea, and then some of

  the finest Irish stew you'll ever taste. Then I'll see to getting the

  rest of your things brought in. I have a nightgown for you, right over

  there on the bed. Once you're all ~uched in, I'll see to the rest. You

  need to get some sleep." Dolly brought her tea, then the stew, and it

  was delicious.

  Tess hadn't felt so warmed and cared for since. Since Joe had died.

  The thought brought her close to tears again, but she didn't shed them.

  She finished eating and put on the nightgown Dolly had provided for her.

  She crawled into the bed, more exhausted than she had imagined. As Dolly

  started to leave the darkened room, Tess called her back.

  "Thank you, Dolly. Thank you, so very much."

  "It's nothing, child."

  Tess sat up.

  "Dolly?"

  "yes?"

  "I didn't take you from your family, did I?" She smiled.

  "Me? No, child. I sit around most of the day and remember Will. My

  husband. He was with the cavalry, killed just a few years ago. He made

  it home, though. Jamie Slater brought him home to me. He rode through an

  ambush to bring Will home. So now I mind the store a few hours a day,

  and I try to look after the soldiers that need a little mothering. And

  now you.

  It's been my pleasure, dear, so you go on and get some sleep."

  Dolly was gone then. Tess yawned in the luxurious warm comfort of the

  clean bed. She stretched out, thinking that she would sleep. If she

  wasn't plagued with memories of Joe.

  But it wasn't memories of Joe that kept her from sleeping. Even in the

  darkness and the warmth, she felt strange 61 chills snake along her

  body. It was Jamie Slateifs face she saw before her in the darkness, the

  dry amusement in his gray eyes: Then she remembered the feeling of

  wicked, surging heat as his gaze fell over the length of her. He had

  stayed away. And he had been drawn back. Almost as if he was feeling the

  same thing.

  She didn't need a lover, she told herself. She needed a hired gun.

  Maybe she would have to barter to gain what she wanted. Barter! she

  charged herself.

  And in the darkness she admitted that he cola id be as cold and hard and

  ruthless as stone, he could care for her not at all, or perhaps even

  want her with a curious interest. It didn't matter. She hadn't thought

  about any man in over five years.

  But she wanted this one. That he could deal well with a gun was all the

  better.

  When she finally did sleep that night, it was with the stern reminder

  that she ought to be saying her prayers. That she ought to hope that

  Jamie Slater wanted nothing more to do with her, that the stoic colonel

  would take her to Wiltshire.

  She could fight von Heusen, and she would. She just wasn't sure if she

  could fight von Heusen and all the decadent and shameful things she felt

  for Jamie Slater at the same time.

  It was wicked.

  It was true. If Joe had taught her anything, it was wisdom. She couldn't

  change what she was feeling, even if what she was feeling could only

  cause her pain. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she slept. Slept, and

  dreamed.

  Of smoke-gray eyes, of a man with broad shoulders, taking her into his

  arms.

  Naked, as she had been by the brook.

  He was moving into a trap, Jamie thought the next night as he walked

  along to the Casey house, where Tess Stuart was. He was definitely

  moving into a trap, because he couldn't call Tess a liar. He did know

  the Indians well, and he couldn't let a huge war get started because

  everyone was unjustly blaming the Comanche. He was going to have to find

  out what had happened.

  He paused at the door before knocking upon it, swallowing down a

  startling, near savage urge to thrust the door open and sweep the

  challenging and all too luscious Miss. Stuart into his arms. No matter

  how he tried, he could not forget everything that he knew about her. No

  matter what gingham or frills or lace or velvet adorned her, he kept

  seeing beneath it.

  He'd lied to her. She was very much alive. She spoke of passionate life

  and living with her every breath, her every word. Her gpirit was ever at

  battle, never ceasing. She would stay on in Wiltshire, he was certain,

  no matter how stupid it would be for her to do so. She was determined to

  fight this von Heusen, and she would fight him even if they met on the

  plain and he was carrying a shotgun and she was completely unarmed.

  If. if. Was the man really so dangerous?

  He didn't want to believe her. He wanted to be a skeptic. But there was

  truth in her passion, in her determination.

  There was truth in the honesty of her beautiful, sea-shaded eyes, eyes

  that entered into his sleep and made him wonder what it would he like if

  she looked at him with her hair wound between them and around them in a

  web of passion.

  Every time he was near her he felt it more. Something like a pounding

  beneath the earth, like a rattle of thunder across the sky. Every time.

  And if he didn't watch out, the day would come when he would thrust wide

  a door and sweep her hard into his arms.

  He wouldn't give a damn then about Indians or white men or the time of

  day or even if the earth continued to turn. All that would matter would

  be the scent of her and the feel of her silken flesh beneath his

  fingers. He was going to a dance, he ~-r. afinded himself. And every

  officer in the post would be there, and the enlisted men, too.

  He gritted his teeth and willed his muscles and his body to cease

  tightening with the harsh and ragged desire that seemed to rule his

  every thought. He knocked on the door. "Come in, Lieutenant."

  He pushed open the door, irritated that he should want her so badly,

  determined that he would control himself. She was probably late, women

  always were. She was probably trying to pin up her hair, or fix her

  skirts or petticoats.

  She wasn't. She was standing s'fiently by the small fire that burned in

  the hearth. She didn't need to change a thing about her hair--it was

  tied back from her face with a blue ribbon, then explode
d in a froth of

  sun-colored and honey ringlets. The tendrils curled over her shoulders

  and fell against the rise of her breasts.

  Her gown was soft blue, with a darker colored velvet bodice over a skirt

  of swirling froth. The sleeves were puffed, baring much of her arms, and

  the velvet bodice was low, but just low enough to show the risc of her

  breasts, the beautiful texture of her flesh, the fascinating way the

  soft curls of her hair lay upon it. She was even more beautiful than he

  had seen her before, her eyes bright and fascinating with the light of

  challenge, her smile soft and untouched by tragedy this night.

  "You're ready?"

  "Yes, of course. You did say sunset, didn't you?" He nodded. She reached

  for a blue silk stole and handed it to him. Woodenly he took it from her

  fingers and set it around her shoulders. The sweet scent of her hair

  rose against his nostrils, and the essence of it seemed to fill him.

  Damn.

  He'd tried so hard to gain control before entering the house. Now the

  scent of her was tearing through his senses, exciting his temper as well

  as his passions.

  "Shall we go?"

  "Yes, of course." Her smile, he decided, was a wan- toh's. Miss. Stuart

  was not entirely innocent, but rather a woman completely aware of her

  power. She hadn't become a fluttering belle. Her intelligence was

  apparent, along with her rock-hard strength, in her steady gaze.

  And still . her beauty, her femininity . they were breathtaking. Jon had

  seen it even when Jamie hadn't.

  "Where is the dance?"

  "In the alehouse," he said curtly.

  "But then he determined that he knew the game himself; he would play it,

  too.

  He smiled graciously, capturing her hand and slipping it around his

  elbow.

  "The rest seems to have done you quite well. You're looking

  wonderfully--healthy."

  "Why, thank you, Lieutenant. With such flowery compliments a girl could

  surely lose her head."

  "What a little liar. You wouldn't lose your head if the entire Apache

  Nation was staring you down, would you, Miss. Stuart?"

  "There you go again, Lieutenant, what a dazzling compliment."

  "Do you need compliments?"

  "Maybe."

  They had reached the open doors to the alehouse. Already music could be

  heard, the strains of a lively jig. The notes of the fiddle seemed to be

  loudest, and for a moment Jamie thought that Tess's smile wavered. He