Tin-Stars and Troublemakers Box Set (Four Complete Historical Western Romance Novels in One)

by Rice, Patricia

  They were sitting side by side, and she leapt to her feet, hands clenched into tight fists. "You only feel that way because the only life you've ever known is that of a savage. You might have gone to school in Mexico, but so what? That didn't tell you anything about my people."

  "Oh no?" He laughed bitterly and rose also, towering angrily above her. "I know plenty about your people." He felt a wave of bitterness to recall the prejudices he had known whenever he crossed the line between red and white. The army might respect him for the expert scout he was, but he was ever aware of the shadowed contempt. The only way he had ever been accepted was to dress like a white man, wear his hair like one, and pretend to be everything he was not. Luke did not like living that way and passed for white only when necessary.

  Jacie was staring at him warily. The way his face had turned to granite, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly in his fury, she was not sure she wanted to continue the debate. Better to be on their way and part company as soon as possible. She got up and started toward her pony, but his next words stopped her dead in her tracks.

  "Yes, I know all about your world, Jacie, but you know nothing of mine."

  "Nor do I want to," she said coldly. "And I told you before—we are even now. You saved my life. I saved yours. You got what you wanted last night. You have no more need of me, so let's be on our way. The sooner I'm rid of you, the better."

  He reached her in quick strides to grab her by her shoulders and spin her about. "No," he said, face ashen, eyes flinty. "You're wrong. You got what you wanted last night. I would have stopped any time you wanted me to, and you know it. But you didn't want to stop. You wanted to see what it was like to mate with someone you think of as a savage, didn't you?"

  She slapped him.

  He saw the blow coming and could have ducked or caught her hand but didn't, because he wanted her to lose her temper, to get mad. Anything to head off the emotions he had sensed smoldering beneath the surface all day.

  Jacie braced herself, unsure of what he would do. He could snap her neck with one squeeze of his strong hands, but he merely glared at her with icy black eyes.

  After what seemed forever, he said, "Let's go. We won't reach Nacogdoches by night, but don't worry. I won't touch you."

  "Well, that's fine, because I—"

  He held up a hand. "Silence. Don't move." Hurrying to his horse, he took his rifle, and motioning again to Jacie to stay where she was, he disappeared among the thick trees.

  Jacie drew her knife and quickly dropped to her knees behind a clump of plum bushes, praying there were not other Indians around who might be Luke's enemies. If they killed him, she shuddered to think of what they would do to her, but she also knew she did not want anything to happen to him. No matter that he had made her mad, no matter how she argued within herself, she knew she cared for him deeply.

  Long, torturous moments passed. She could stand it no longer and was about to creep out and see for herself what was happening but heard footsteps approaching and stayed where she was. Only when she heard Luke's voice speaking his native tongue did she dare rise up, then shrank back to see he had two Indians with him.

  He saw she was alarmed and called, "It's all right, Jacie. They're friends."

  She peeked out. Scalplocks fell from the tops of their heads, and one of them had tucked a single yellow feather into his. The other's braids were wrapped in what looked like animal fur. But it was their faces that startled her the most, for they were painted with bright red streaks.

  "They won't harm you, because you are with me. They're members of a Comanche band called the Honey Eaters."

  "What... what do they want?" She had to strain to speak, because the way they were looking at her was terribly unnerving.

  "There's a wounded child. A boy. Too young to be a warrior, and they didn't know he had followed them until it was too late. They ran into some trouble with renegades, and he was shot in the leg. They're on their way to their medicine man, but the boy is bleeding badly. Can you help him?"

  Jacie did not hesitate. She ran to grab her bag from where it was tied on the pony and followed Luke out of the Cottonwood grove—and stopped short. There were at least twenty more men on horseback, all of them staring at her with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

  "I showed them my wound," Luke said. "I told them how you helped me, so they will let you tend him."

  She saw him then, the small form held in the arms of one of the mounted warriors, blood flowing from the child's leg. She started toward him, but one of the warriors screamed out, and she hesitated. Luke spoke to him, then gave her a gentle push to indicate she should continue.

  Grudgingly, the Indian holding the boy handed him down to Luke, who laid him at Jacie's feet. A piece of doeskin torn from someone's leggings had been wrapped around his leg below the knee. Jacie removed it, did a hasty examination, and was relieved to see the bullet had apparently passed through the calf of the leg and had not hit bone. If she could stop the bleeding, she was confident he would heal.

  Luke followed her directions, starting a fire and bringing water so she could cleanse the wound properly.

  Jacie melted the lump of pine tar, which would be packed into the wound. For a bandage, she tore strips from her blanket, finally able to advise Luke, "Tell them he'll be fine. Their medicine man will know what to do from here on."

  He translated the message, and they took the boy and left with slight nods of gratitude in her direction, giving a sack of fresh deer meat to Luke.

  Luke and Jacie did not talk as they rode onward, each lost in private thought.

  They stopped for the night near a small waterfall, the pool beneath dancing with pink and purple shadows from the setting sun over the rise beyond. Serene and peaceful as it was, Jacie felt a whirlpool of emotion within to see how Luke was ignoring her as he set about to prepare their food.

  They ate in silence, and afterward Luke went beyond some bushes to bed down, and Jacie spread her blanket near the dying fire.

  An unseen hand flung thousands of diamonds to sparkle in the velvet cloak spread overhead. Somewhere a coyote gave a mournful howl. Jacie was no longer frightened by such night sounds, but loneliness was a vise, squeezing tears that stung her eyes as she prayed sleep would come soon to take her away from her miserable ponderings, for she was starting to think maybe Luke was right. Perhaps it would be best for her to go back and leave well enough alone.

  She tried to focus on thoughts of Michael. Her heart had still not told her she loved him, but that no longer seemed important. What preyed upon her now was how she felt a desperate need to get as far away from Luke as possible, and she hoped by dwelling on Michael and the security he had always offered, she could find solace in an otherwise shaky world.

  But it was not working.

  Over and over she relived in her mind how she had felt so drawn to Luke, almost from the moment they met. It was as though they had known each other their whole lives. And their coming from two different worlds had not seemed to matter as they had so eagerly struggled to bond and become one unto the other, in spirit as well as flesh.

  Like the night wind's cooling kiss soothing her heated face, the thought came to her—if tomorrow their time together ended, then what harm would there be in having one last night to remember forever and always?

  Afraid that if she hesitated she would lose her courage, Jacie got up and went to him.

  He was not asleep, she knew. He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring at the curtain of night, deep in reverie.

  She sat down next to him and touched her fingertips to his hard, flat belly and felt him start, but he made no sound.

  And then she voiced the decision she had not realized she had made until that precise moment: "I'm going home, Luke. I'm giving up. I'll always wonder whether I would have found my mother and what the outcome would have been, but I'll just make myself believe that if she is still alive, she's better off not knowing about me."

  "And you go home to marr
y the man who waits for you?" he asked quietly, painfully.

  "He will make me a good husband. I will do all I can to make him a good wife. That's my world. But for tonight"—she drew a deep breath of resolve—"I want to be a part of yours."

  He knew what she meant, and he wanted it too. He sat up and gently drew her dress over her head, and she helped him to render her naked, their eyes locked in feverish anticipation all the while.

  He stripped off the army pants, then drew her down beside him.

  Slowly he ran his hands up and down her body, and she murmured with a shy kind of pleasure. How easy it would have been for him to fall upon her like the cougar upon a rabbit, to devour her and feed his great hunger. But Luke held back, wanting to savor each morsel of her body, to delight in every touch, every caress.

  Her fingers began to play across his chest, her touch inflaming him, and when her hand traveled lower, to gently caress and stroke his hardness, it was only by mustering every shred of self-control he possessed that he was able to keep from entering her then and there.

  Jacie could feel how he wanted her, could feel her own desire quickening within her. He began to suckle at her breasts, cupping her bottom and pulling her to and fro gently, sliding himself between her thighs, and suddenly she could stand no more. She caught him by surprise, reaching to take him in her hand and guide him into her softness.

  Luke was pleasantly stunned, and he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, so she could straddle and gently ride him. He allowed her to set her own pace, rocking with her, his hips grinding against the ground beneath.

  She arched her back and caught her hair with her hands, flinging it to whip about her face in the playful breeze, moaning deliciously as every nerve in her body screamed with joy.

  He held her by her waist as he thrust in and out, and when he began to feel the tiny shudders within her, he knew she was ready.

  Rolling her onto her back, he braced himself with his hands on the ground, arms straight, while he rocked against her, for he wanted to see her face in the moonlight as he took them both to divine fulfillment.

  And when it was over, when they lay with arms about each other, her head on his shoulder, Luke pressed his lips lovingly against her forehead, then reverently whispered, "Tonight, if only for a little while, heaven traded places with the earth..."

  Chapter 22

  Everyone's patience was wearing thin, and Michael's men were growing more restless with each passing day. It had been nearly a week since three Indians had quietly appeared to lead them on an arduous two-day trek north. Finally, beside a swiftly flowing creek, they were told with grunts and gestures that they were to camp there until their leader came.

  "How much longer?" Pete grumbled as they drank the last of the coffee. "We're almost out of everythin'. One more day of beans, and then we starve, unless we want to start eatin' lizards or whatever it is those bastards up there survive on. Damn, it gets on my nerves, the way they're always watchin'." He cast an angry glance at the Indian perched on a rock above them.

  "Simmer down," Michael said, tossing down the rest of his coffee. He was tired of waiting, too, but thoughts of finding Jacie and getting her out of this madness kept him going.

  Joe Clyder, sitting beside Pete, nudged him with an elbow, and Pete spoke for all of them. "Blake, we been talkin', and we've decided we should forget all this and go home. Despite the money—and God knows, it's a hell of a lot to turn down—we're gettin' more and more leery of gettin' in the middle of an Indian war. There's only five of us, remember."

  "I can count," Michael snapped. "I also remember we had a deal."

  "Yeah, but we don't like all this waitin'. It's gettin' on our nerves. I don't like it."

  "Then go," Michael waved a hand. "Take the men and go. I'm sick of your whining, anyway."

  Joe started to get up, but Pete motioned him to stay where he was, asking Michael, "What about you? You're comin' with us, aren't you?"

  "Not without Jacie."

  "But that's suicide. Those damn Indians will be so furious when we take off they'll shoot you for the hell of it. What good is one man to them anyway? You've got to go with us. You'll die if you stay."

  Michael shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Without Jacie, I don't have a life, anyway."

  The others murmured among themselves, but Pete exclaimed, "Hell, no woman is worth dyin' for. Damn it, she left you for another man. She—"

  Michael lunged for him, grabbing him by the throat and knocking him backward to the ground. "I won't listen to that kind of talk, you hear? Now go on and get out of here. I don't need you. I don't need any of you cowards." He got to his feet, feeling how fast his heart was pounding with his rage.

  The Indians, watching from above, looked at each other and wondered why the white men were fighting.

  "You'll get your money," Michael said. "My banker in Atlanta will pay you. But there will be no bonus. Just what we agreed on in the beginning. Now go." He stalked away, head bent, shoulders slumped, hands stuffed in his pockets.

  "He's crazy," Sterne Walters declared. "If he wants to die, I say let him. I'm ready to get out of here right now."

  Joe Clyder and Ethan Terrell muttered their agreement, but Pete was staring after Michael, thinking how he had to love that woman a hell of a lot. "I'm not so sure I can desert him."

  Sterne cried, “What the hell are you sayin'?"

  "I don't think I realized till now just how determined he is. And we came this far. It wouldn't be right to walk out on him now. Besides, we're talkin' about a lot of money. I'm not sure I want to walk out on that either."

  "But we might die," Ethan was quick to remind.

  Pete shook his head. "I don't think so. We're good shots. All of us."

  "But we don't know how many Indians are comin'," Ethan argued. "Besides, we talked about it last night, and we all agreed on turnin' back."

  "Yeah, but I thought he'd go, too. He won't stand a chance without us. That and the money makes me think we ought to stay."

  "Pete's got a point," Sterne chimed in. "Maybe we ought to hang around another day. If somethin' doesn't happen by then, he'll probably be ready to give up."

  "And if he isn't, we'll hog-tie him and make him go with us. Agreed?" Pete glanced around for confirmation.

  But Joe Clyder was not listening, and his face had gone pale as he suddenly realized there were no longer just three Indians standing on the rock staring down at them. Now he counted an even dozen, faces painted with streaks of red and yellow. "Looks like the waitin' is over," he said thinly.

  The others followed his gaze, each man feeling a tingling up and down his spine. But when one of the Indians, a big man wearing a headdress adorned with buffalo horns, started toward them, they went to stand with Michael, hands close to their holsters in readiness for trouble.

  "I think it's their leader," Pete whispered.

  Black Serpent looked them over cryptically. Their eyes reflected fear, which was only natural since they did not know what to expect, but he also noted courage as they stood in readiness to draw the fine weapons they carried and defend themselves to the death. "I am Black Serpent," he said, pressing his fist against his broad, bare chest. "Leader of my people. Which of you claims the white woman held captive by my enemy?"

  "That would be me." Michael looked him straight in the eye, unflinching. "And I've got a question I want answered before we go any further. Why are you asking our help in rescuing her when you're the bastards who took her in the first place?"

  Black Serpent was not impressed by his show of nerve and challenged his self-control by gloating, "That is true. And if not for my enemy—Howling Wolf—who has taken the white man's name of Luke," he added with a sneer of scorn, "she would be my woman now. I would be the one she would pleasure each night. Not Howling Wolf."

  Michael knew he was goading him, trying to see how far he could go. He replied coolly, calmly, "Then it would be you I would be hunting down to kill."

  Black Serpent th
rew his head back and laughed. "So. You want revenge. That is good. You will make a fine warrior when we raid the village of my enemy."

  "How do we know you aren't using us to get her back for yourself?"

  Black Serpent snorted. "You think I taste the leavings of Howling Wolf? I do not want her now. What I want is for Howling Wolf's blood to flow into the ground. I want him and his followers to die in disgrace by the hands and guns of white men. Then I will have honor. Peace. You will have your woman. This I promise."

  Michael looked at Pete, and Pete looked at the others, who all indicated they would keep their bargain. "Then we will ride with you," he said.

  "We start at dawn. It will take us several days to get there." Black Serpent held up his fist and bit back a grin of triumph. Soon the sky would be filled with the language of the smoke, telling the tale of how he, Black Serpent, had avenged the death of the son of Great Bear and the other Comanche by slaughtering the white men who had dared attack them. And there would be only one survivor, the white woman, whom Black Serpent would take for his slave. Many coup would be counted, and his name would forever more be spoken with reverence and awe. Most of all, he would not be condemned by other Comanche for killing his own kind.

  "Wait a minute."

  All eyes were on Pete.

  "You want us to kill them all?" he asked. "Are we talkin' about women? Children?"

  Black Serpent's eyes narrowed. "Women will kill if given the chance. They will run from their tepees and cut you with a knife. Their children will grow into warriors and kill you when they can. They must die. All of them."

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Pete stared after him as he scratched his beard thoughtfully. "I can't stomach the idea of slaughterin' women and children. I think once we find the woman we should high-tail it out of there and not do any unnecessary killing." He looked at Michael.

  Michael assured him that he agreed, which satisfied everybody. What he did not say, however, was that there were two killings he considered quite necessary, and he intended to carry them out himself.