Apache Summer sb-3

by Heather Graham

  her hand upon it. Where had he been? He'd been gone for hours. Had he

  really enjoyed the saloon so much? What part of the saloon?

  And why was she torturing herself so thoroughly over him? She couldn't

  change the man.

  The before twist the With a back.

  was hat less, his shirt open at the neck, his hands on his hips, his

  sandy hair tousled casually over a brow, but his manner anything but

  casual.

  "Why didn't you answer me?" he demanded. "Because I didn't want to speak

  to you."

  "It didn't occur to you that I might have been worried?"

  "I could have been in and out of the carriage house all evening, and you

  wouldn't have known. What, I'm supposed to be on a ball and chain if

  you're around? But if you're not, it doesn't matter?"

  She saw his jaw twist and a pulse tick hard against his throat.

  "That's about it, yes. Think you can live with the niles?"

  "No!"

  "Then I'm leaving."

  "what?"

  "You heard me."

  "But--'," In astonishment she stared at him. She inhaled sharply. She

  couldn't let him leave her. She couldn't!

  But she thought he wouldn't go. He just wanted to see her beg.

  "Leave," she told him. She'd call his bluff, she determined.

  He turned and reached for the door. She thought quickly and desperately,

  then said,

  "I thought you liked the property.

  And the house, and the horses. And I thought you wanted half of

  everything.

  If you want it, you have to earn it."

  He swung around. A smile curled his lip as he leaned against the door.

  "You just can't say please, can you?"

  "It isn't that! My God, this isn't fair! You want thousands of dollars

  worth of property" -- "If yon Heusen has his way, there won't be any

  property."

  "But you're unfair!"

  "Because I went to the saloon?"

  "Because you weren't here!"

  "But I was here. I was here exactly when you needed me." He walked

  toward her. She took a step back and tripped over the pile of half

  burned hay. He kept coming, and she reached out a hand, expecting he

  would help her up. He didn't.

  He dropped down, half on top of her and half beside her, his arms braced

  over her chest so that she couldn't move.

  Gray eyes looked into hers. He'd had a shave in town, she thought.

  HIS cheeks were clean, and he smelled slightly of a cologne. He smelled

  good all over, like good clean soap and like a man. He'd had a bath,

  too, she realized, and her temper soared again. He had stayed at the

  saloon. He'd had a drink and a bath and maybe a meal and. Maybe a woman.

  "Get off of me, Yank!" she said angrily. The smoke left his eyes. He

  stared at her with a gaze of cold steel. He leaned closer. So close that

  their faces nearly touched. The heat of his body was all around her, and

  she forgot everything, afraid, excited, wanting to ere ape him and run.

  And wanting to know more of him.

  "You're hurting me," she began.

  "No, I'm not," he corrected her flatly.

  "And I'm not moving a hair, because I really want your attention. Now

  listen. I can go, or I can stay. The choice is yours. But if I stay, we

  do things my way. I'll try to explain. I'm not desperate for land,

  cattle, a house or money. I've done all right myself, thanks, despite

  the war, despite everything. But tomorrow, you're going to turn over

  half of this place to me on legal papers.

  That way you may have a chance of keeping it. Pay attention. You're a

  smart girl, Tess. Von Heusen thought that all he had to do was kill you

  and your uncle and he could have this place. You have no next of kin.

  But dadin', I've got plenty. I've got brothers, nieces and nephews.

  It would take yon Heusen years to find them all if he did manage to kill

  both of us. That might give him some serious pause. Do you understand?"

  Staring at him, Tess simply nodded. He was right, and every word he was

  saying made such perfect sense. And she wanted to be sensible. She

  wanted to be dignified, grateful, strong.

  She wanted to be able to fight her battles, but she could not fight

  alone.

  If only she didn't want him as a man, if only she didn't grow jealous

  and angry so quickly. And yet. he still had that haunting aroma. His

  flesh would be slick and clean, and she wanted to know how the warmth

  would feel beneath her tongue.

  The way he lay against her, she felt the thunder of his heart, and her

  own, and the beats seemed to rise together, and fall away, and rise

  together again, quick, wild, rampant. She felt his breath against her

  cheeks, and the iron lock of his thigh upon her own. She wanted to reach

  out and run her fingers through the sandy tendrils of hair that fell so

  hauntingly over his forehead, and so often shadowed and shaded his eyes,

  and hid his innermost thoughts.

  "Yes? You do understand?"

  "Yes!" she cried out.

  "And it all makes sense to you? You'll do what I'm asking you to do?"

  "Yes. We'll go into town. As soon as I've stopped by the paper"

  "Before."

  "What difference does it make?"

  "Maybe none. But the sooner von Heusen hears about this, the better

  things are going to be."

  "Fine!" She was nearly screaming again. She was close to tears because

  she was desperate to escape him and the sensual blanketing of his body

  upon hers.

  "Please, let me up!"

  He rolled to his side, and she was free.

  "You do sound more like him every day, though," she muttered heedlessly,

  lpache Summer 145 rolling from him to rise and dust the hay from her

  gown.

  "Carpetbagging Yanks, all of" -- "That's another thing we're going to

  get straight here once and for all!" he stated. Before she could flee as

  she had intended, his arm snaked around her, and she was tumbling into

  the hay again. He straddled her, and his hands pinned her down.

  "I'm not a Yank. I'm all.S. Cavalry of- ricer now, Miss. Stuart, but I

  was born and bred in Missouri and I fought with Morgan for many long

  years in the war. As a Reb, Tess. Got that straight? Don't you ever go

  calling me a carpetbagging Yank again, and so help me God, I mean that!

  Understand?"

  She stared at him blankly. She had called him a Yank a dozen times, and

  only now was he telling her the truth.

  "Tess!"

  "Yes!" she cried. She tore at her wrists and freed them from his grasp,

  then shoved him as hard as she could. He didn't move.

  "Either Jon or I should know where you are at all times.

  All right?"

  "No hiding in barns or carriage houses."

  "I wasn't hiding! I was trying to make sure the fire was really out."

  "I wouldn't have walked out of here without making sure the fire was

  out."

  "Maybe I needed to see for myself. The printing press is in here."

  "That damned press! It's everything to you."

  "Yes! The paper does mean everything! It's the only means I have to tell

  the truth!"

  He was silent for a moment. Then he moved slowly to his feet and reached

  down f
or her. She tried to ignore his helping hands, but they were

  quickly upon her. He stood her up, but he wasn't ready to release her

  yet.

  "I know what I'm doin [."

  She inhaled the scent of him.

  "I do imagine that you do, Lieutenant ."

  "What does that mean?"

  "You've had a nice bath, so it seems."

  "And a shave."

  "May I go now?"

  He was smiling again.

  "Jealous little thing, aren't you?"

  "Why should I be? I had a wonderfully pleasant afternoon with Mr. Red

  Feather. He's extremely well read and well traveled."

  Jamie's eyes darkened and narrowed. For an instant she hated herself;

  she had no right to want to cause trouble between the friends. But she

  seemed driven to try and make Jamie angry.

  And then it hit her like a bolt from the blue. She was falling in love

  with Jamie!

  No! I am not in love with him, she thought in dismay. But maybe she was.

  She wanted him. In ways she had never imagined a woman would ever want a

  man. "It's important," Jamie repeated softly, "that Jon or I know where

  you are at all times. Did we get that one down yet?"

  "Yes, thank you, I think we did. But since I do seem to get along much

  better with Jori, don't you think I should report to him, Lieutenant?"

  She twisted free and saluted stiffly.

  He caught her shoulders and pulled her back.

  "You're a minx, Tess. A tart-mouthed little m'mx with siren's eyes and

  the longest claws this side of the Mississippi."

  "Lieutenant, you're" -- "I'm not a Yank, or a carpetbagger, Tess, and so

  help m ~"

  "You're about to crush my shoulder blades, Lieutenant," she said as

  regally as she could manage.

  "Oh." He released her.

  "Do excuse me."

  "I try, Lieutenant. Daily. Hourly." She started for the door.

  "Tess?"

  She didn't turn.

  "I could have made you beg, you know?"

  She spun around. He was laughing. She raced forward in a sudden surge of

  energy and butted him in the stomach.

  Taken off guard, he fell into the singed hay. She didn't stay to hear

  anything else he might have to say.

  She raced from the carriage house and back to the house, not pausing

  until she was inside. She leaned against the door, gasping for breath.

  The dining table was clean. Jane came from the kitchen and paused when

  she saw Tess.

  "They've all gone to bed, Tess. Hank just went to the bunkhouse. Mr. Red

  Feather suggested that the hands take a few hours apiece on a kind of a

  guard duty. Roddy called in that big guard dog of his and he's going to

  have the dog on the porch, once he sees the lieutenant and tells the dog

  that the lieutenant is a friend. I was going to go to bed. It's been a

  big day for me, Miss. Stuart. A real big day."

  Her eyes rolled and Tess laughed. Impulsively she gave Jane a big hug.

  It was a mistake. Jane looked as if she was going to start crying all

  over again.

  "I'm just so happy that you're alive!" she said.

  "Thanks. And I'm happy to be home. Come on, let's go They walked up the

  stairs together. Jane hugged Tess quickly and fiercely again and headed

  toward her own room. Wearily Tess pushed open the door to her bedroom

  and walked in.

  Lighting the lamp at her bedside, she shed her clothing and dressed in a

  soft blue flannel nightgown. She sat in front of her dressing table and

  picked up the silver-embossed brush that had belonged to her mother. It

  was good to be home.

  She pulled all the pins out of her hair--and then all the little pieces

  of hay that had stuck into it--and began to brush it. It fell down her

  shoulders, long and free. She brushed it mechanically for several

  minutes, staring at her reflection and not seeing a thing.

  Jane had been fight. It had been a big day.

  But yon Heusen had been beaten back. Between Jamie and Jon, he had been

  beaten back. She never had told Jamie that she was grateful. Truly

  grateful.

  He never seemed to give her a chance to say thank you. He was on her

  side, but it seemed that she was always fighting him. At first, she had

  been fighting him to make him believe her. Now she was certain he

  believed her.

  He had met yon Heusen. He couldn't have any doubt that yon Heusen had

  been responsible for the attack on the wagon train.

  And now. Maybe she wasn't fighting him. Maybe she was fighting herself.

  First it had been that darned Eliza. Tess had managed to walk away from

  Eliza with her dignity intact, but she had heard Jamie speaking to the

  woman.

  No one can make me marry anyone.

  No one can make me marry anyone. So he wasn't the marrying kind.

  She was. She wanted a man, a good man. She hadn't had much time to think

  about it, what with the war and then everything that had happened since.

  But when she thought for a moment, she knew. She didn't want to be a

  spinster.

  The paper was important to her, and she wasn't just copublisher and a

  reporter anymore, she was the only publisher.

  She had to keep it alive. But she wanted more, too. She wanted a

  husband, one she really loved, and one who loved her. And she wanted

  children, and she wanted to give them a world that wasn't forever

  tainted with the memories of conflict and death.

  And she wanted Jamie Slater. She wasn't at all sure how the two things

  intertwined-- they didn't intertwine at all, she admitted. She sighed.

  She had to get by the present for the moment. She had to survive yon

  Heusen.

  She shivered suddenly, violently, remembering the way von Heusen had

  threatened her. She would be getting out of town, he had told her. If

  not by stagecoach, then by some other means.

  What could he do to her? She wasn't alone. She had help now.

  But to pay for it she was about to turn over half her property--half of

  Uncle Joe's legacy to her--to Jamie Slater. If he chose, he could be her

  neighbor all her life. She could watch him, and torture herself day

  after day, wondefing who he rode away to see, wondering what it was like

  when he took a woman into his arms.

  She groaned and pushed away from the table. She couldn't solve a thing

  tonight. She needed some sleep. She needed some sleep very badly.

  She doused the light and crawled beneath the covers. It felt so good to

  be in her own bed again. The sheets were cool and clean and

  fresh-smelling, and her mattress was soft and firm, and it seemed to

  caress her deliciously. A faint glow from the stars and the moon entered

  the room gently. It kept everything in dark shadows, and yet she could

  see the familiar shapes of her dressing table and her drawers and her

  little mahogany secretary desk.

  The breeze wafted her curtains. She closed her eyes. Perhaps she dozed

  for a moment. Not much time could have passed, and yet she suddenly

  became aware that nome thing was different. Her door had been thrust

  open.

  She wasn't alone.

  Jamie was standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips, his body a

  silhouette in the soft
hazy moonbeams. There was nothing soft or gentle

  about his stance, however. She could feel the anger that radiated from

  him.

  "All right, Tess, where's my room?"

  His room?

  "Oh!" she murmured.

  "Your room ... well, I didn't think you were going to stay here."

  Long strides brought him quickly across the room. She scrambled to a

  sitting position as he towered over her.

  "I

  just spent two days riding with you to get here. I spent two nights

  sleeping on the hard ground beneath the wagon."

  "The hay in the barn is very soft."

  "The hay in the barn is very soft," he repeated, staring at her. He

  leaned closer.

  "The hay in the barn is very soft? Is that what you said?" She felt his

  closeness in the shadows even as she inhaled his clean, fascinating,

  masculine scent.

  His eyes seemed silver in the darkness, satanic. She was rid- died with

  trembling, so keenly aware of him that it was astonishing.

  "You don't have a room for me?" he demanded. "All right, I am sorry.

  But you were gone, and we were all exhausted. And you did have a bath

  somewhere. I just believed that you meant to sleep where you had

  bathed."

  He was still for a moment--dead still. Then he smiled. "Miss. Stuart,

  move over."

  "What?"

  "Move over. If there's no room for me, then I'll sleep here."

  "Of all the nerve!"

  "Hush! We share this bed, or we sleep in the hay together," he warned

  her.

  He meant it! she thought, still incredulous. She started to rise, trying

  to escape from the bed. He caught her arm and pulled her gently back.

  "Where are you going?" he whispered.

  "Where else! You're bigger than I am--I can't throw you out! I'm going

  to the barn!"

  "Wait."

  "For what?" she demanded.

  For what? Every pulse within her was alive and crying out. She felt him

  with the length of her body, with her heart, with her soul, with her

  womb.

  He did not hold her against him. He caressed her. He was warm, and his

  smile and the white flash of his teeth in the night were compelling and

  hypnotic.

  "I said that we'd go together," he told her. He swept her up, cocooned

  in a tangle of sheet and quilt. He held her tightly against his body and

  started for the door. Her arms wound around his neck. She stared at the

  planes of his face and felt as if the soft magic of the moonbeams had

  wrapped around her. She should have been screaming, protesting, bringing