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

by Rice, Patricia

  Her perfectly formed breasts rose and fell with her quickened breathing, and he bent to take a nipple between tongue and teeth and bite gently, inflicting only sweet pain that caused her to gasp out loud and press her fingertips on the base of his neck, urging him on. He began to suckle, gently at first, then taking as much of her into his warm, eager mouth as possible, while one hand slipped down to cup her buttocks and pull her tight against him to feel the hardness of his desire slide between her thighs in promise of ecstasy to come.

  The burning within her loins was a hunger not to be denied, and she thrilled to feel his muscles, his nerves, vivify as she touched him there, glorying in her power to invoke the diamantine state of his manhood. She closed her hand about it, smiled to feel the eager throbs, then moved slowly, gently, ever downward to cup the rest of him, thrilling to hear the soft cry of pleasure escape his lips as he continued to devour her breasts with abandon.

  He could stand the sweet torture no more, but was not ready yet to take them both to the heights of glory, so he rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she was above him, stretched the length of him. Then, hands at her waist, he held her as he bathed her in the warmth of his smile and said, "I don't think our mother would approve of your sneaking into my tepee every night. Like I told you, only experienced girls do that, and I don't think she would like to think of you as having that kind of past."

  "Our mother." Jacie laughed to say the words. "I still can't grasp everything that's happened. Neither can she. At first she thought you just brought me here to find her, and she started talking about how I should go home and marry and settle down, but then I told her I had no intentions of leaving—because of you." She planted a kiss on the tip of his nose.

  His brows rose. "And what did she say to that?"

  "She's happy for us but worries I won't be able to cope with the hardships. She says it was different for her, because she had nothing else."

  "But you do, and she worries you'll miss it. Maybe so do I," he added, searching her face for any sign he might be right.

  She responded earnestly, fervently. "The only thing I would ever miss is you if you left me. But I don't intend to let you out of my sight."

  "Then I guess we're going to have to do something about making sure she doesn't get upset with our spending our nights together. Which means I have to marry you."

  "Have to?" Jacie pretended affront, even though her heart was hammering so hard he could surely hear it. Cocking her head saucily to one side, she teased, "Well, I wouldn't want you to be forced into doing something you don't want to. Maybe I'd better go back to my own bed, and you stay in yours, and we'll just give ourselves time to think about all this."

  "And you talk too much." He gave a mock growl and grabbed her roughly, possessively, to roll her once more beneath him. And when he was on top of her, pinning her down, devouring her with hot, hungry kisses, he paused only long enough to avow, "I am going to marry you because I want to, Jacie, and because I love you."

  He took her then, spreading her thighs to enter her as she yielded, hooking her heels into his buttocks. His mouth was pressed against her neck, and she twined her fingers in his long, dark hair, her gasps in cadence with his rhythmic thrusts.

  They soared together to the moon, to swing upon the stars and orbit the earth in celestial bliss, both awed by the wonder of their ecstasy.

  Afterward they lay together, bodies slick with perspiration. Jacie's head was upon Luke's shoulder, and he wrapped his arms about her possessively. For a long time neither spoke, both yet locked in the splendor of their love. Then Luke told her how they would plan to marry when the hunters returned in a few days, for he wanted all of his people to share in their happiness.

  They talked also about the beloved woman they both called mother, about how happy they were all going to be. Dawn was nearly tingeing the sky when they finally began to succumb to weariness.

  "Later this morning," Luke said sleepily, "I'll show you where to find prairie apples, just outside camp to the west. We'll pick enough so that Mother can make her delicious apple flapjacks."

  "I should go back to my own bed now. She shouldn't wake up and find me gone."

  He pulled her closer. "Stay a little longer. I don't want to let you go..."

  Jacie listened to his even breathing and soon knew he slept. But she was too keyed up to be still. She wanted to tell her mother they were going to marry soon, and she was also anxious to meet the other women in the camp, eager to communicate how she wanted to be friends with them. "So much to do," she whispered to herself as she quickly put on her clothes. And first she wanted to surprise Luke by finding those prairie apples by herself, so that when he awoke, his flapjacks would be ready and waiting for him.

  She slipped out of the tepee and stepped into the rose and peach mist as dawn kissed a new day hello.

  * * *

  Black Serpent's men hung back, but he had taken his horse to the peak of the hill overlooking the camp and then dismounted, crouching to look for any sign of early morning stirrings. All was quiet. The camp-fires had long turned to ashes. It appeared everyone was still sleeping. And the fact that they had not come upon a guard, and that there were only a few horses grazing, told Black Serpent that what he'd dared hope was actually so—the men were out hunting. Howling Wolf, when he had ridden in late the day before, had probably sent any braves remaining to join the others.

  And, oh yes, Black Serpent knew exactly when Howling Wolf had arrived. He'd had his enemy's every move watched on the trail for the past two days. Black Serpent had not, of course, let on to the white men that Howling Wolf and the woman had been sighted. They had no need to know anything till he gave them their orders to attack.

  Now, seeing only Howling Wolf's white stallion, and realizing the other men were out hunting, was luck Black Serpent had not counted on. When they returned, they would find all their women and children dead, with Black Serpent claiming to have happened upon the carnage but not in time to save them, only to avenge their deaths by killing the white men. Howling Wolf would also be dead, unable to tell the truth and soon forgotten, while Black Serpent would be forevermore hailed as a great Comanche warrior.

  Black Serpent would also count many coup, but the best would be in making the white woman wish for a quick death as he took his revenge for how she had tried to poison him. She would die only after slow and painful torture.

  Michael and his men watched from a short distance away.

  "I don't like this," Pete said uneasily. "I don't know anything about Indian villages, but it appears to me there's no braves around in this one. I count maybe forty tepees but only one horse."

  Joe Clyder said, "They're out huntin', getting ready for winter. Ain't nothing down there but women. Children. I don't know about the rest of you, but I didn't bargain to kill women and children."

  "Fact is," Sterne Walters cut in, "as best I recollect, when we left Georgia we didn't bargain to kill nobody."

  "That's right." Ethen Terrell said. "We don't even know your woman is down there, Blake, so how come we're goin' to ride in and gun down innocent people? I don't like the looks of this a'tall. I say we get out of here—and fast."

  Sterne and Clyder mumbled in agreement, but Pete held up a hand for silence as he asked Michael, "What do you want to do? I agree with them, but if you think she's down there..."

  "She's down there."

  His reply was like the crack of a whip, swift, lethal. Following his almost mesmerized gaze, they saw her then, a girl with long, dark hair wearing a dress that looked like anything but Indian garb. She was walking from the camp toward a thicket of bushes at the edge.

  Black Serpent also spotted her and turned to gauge Blake's reaction. Hurrying to where they stood, he said, "We will attack now. She is out of the way. Mount your horses and make ready to shoot and kill them all."

  He was about to signal to his warriors, but Michael reached out and seized his arm. "No," he said through tightly clenched teeth.
"There's no need to kill anybody. We'll ride down and get the girl, and if you and your men want to shoot up the place, do so. But we're getting out of here first."

  Black Serpent's face became a thundercloud of rage. "We made pact," he hissed, Fists clenched. "You agreed to help us kill our enemy, kill Howling Wolf, the one who took your woman."

  Michael drew his gun. "You're the one who took her from the fort. If not for you, she wouldn't be here."

  A shot rang out, and Michael's attention was diverted just long enough for Black Serpent to seize the chance to lunge for the gun. The shot had been fired by Ethan Terrell, who had seen one of the Indians lift a rifle and aim at Michael. Struck between the eyes, the Indian fell to the ground, but the others were raising their weapons, preparing to fire.

  Michael was grappling with Black Serpent, falling to the ground and rolling downward, while his men dove behind rocks for cover as the bullets started flying.

  Jacie had frozen as the first explosion split the stillness, but only for an instant. Turning, she started running back toward the camp to alert Luke and everyone else, when suddenly, right in front of her, two men hit the ground, pummeling each other with their fists as they cursed and grunted mightily.

  "Oh, my God!" Her hands flew to her mouth at the recognition first of Black Serpent, then Michael, but there was no time to wonder over the why of it, because Michael had suddenly landed a blow to Black Serpent's chin that knocked him unconscious. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed her hand and took her with him as he too lunged for cover behind a rock. He had dropped his gun during the scuffle, and they were helpless as the others rapidly exchanged gunfire.

  "Michael—how..." Jacie stared at him in shock, but then he pulled her against him to shield her, pressing her head beneath his chin and holding her tight.

  All around were the zinging sounds of the gunfire, the stench of sulphur, and from beyond, the screams of the women and the cries of the children as they awoke in terror to the bedlam.

  "Stay still," Michael ordered as she struggled against him. "My men are good shots. I see those Indian bastards dropping like flies." He spoke more to himself than to her, preoccupied with the hell exploding around them. He winced to see Joe Clyder hit, knew he was dead before he hit the ground as blood spurted from his eyes and nose. But the Indians were falling faster, as he saw Pete take three with successive shots.

  It seemed to be ending. Michael dared think that it was. Still holding Jacie—tighter than he realized, for one hand had gone about her throat—as he got slowly to his feet, taking her with him. She was struggling to breathe.

  "Let her go."

  Michael froze. A man was coming toward him, and he had a gun. His hair was long and wild about his face, which was a mask of rage. His nostrils flared, the nerves in his jaw twitching as his lips curled back ominously.

  "I said let her go, damn you," Luke repeated, the clicking of the gun's hammer an ominous sound in the stillness.

  Above, Pete had seen what was taking place but could not fire, because Michael and the woman were in the way. "Move, Blake. Now," he screamed.

  Michael did so, still holding Jacie, but he leapt in the direction of Black Serpent, who had only pretended to be unconscious and had managed to get his hands on Michael's gun, which he now held beneath him, waiting for the right moment to fire.

  And he thought it was upon him—but that was in the precise instant that Michael fell to the ground beside him, hitting his arm to knock his aim off. The bullet went wild, but Luke was quick to react, firing his gun to hit Black Serpent in the forehead, killing him.

  But before Luke could move to shelter, Michael's hand shot out to grab Black Serpent's and point the gun in his direction. Squeezing the dying Indian's finger, which was still curved about the trigger, Michael fired the weapon, and Luke went down.

  The scream was ripped from Jacie's throat, and with strength she never knew she possessed, she tore herself from Michael's grasp to propel herself to her feet and run to where Luke lay, not moving. She was oblivious to Michael's frantic shouts amidst the cries and shouts of his men as they scrambled down the hill toward her.

  "No, God, no." Jacie dropped to her knees beside Luke. Blood poured from the wound in his neck. She dared not try to lift him but bent to place her trembling hands on his face and pat gently, rocking to and fro as she whispered in anguish, "Please, God. Don't let him die. Please..."

  Michael came to stand behind her uncertainly, ignoring Pete's anxious voice at his ear telling him, "They're all dead, so's Clyder, and we got to get the hell out of here, and fast. We don't see any men in the camp, but somebody will go for them. Hell, they might even be close enough to have heard the shootin'. Let's ride." He squeezed Michael's arm, hard.

  Michael was jolted by Jacie's reaction. The dead Indian was her captor, yet she seemed to be slipping into shock from grief, and he did not know what that meant, was not sure he wanted to know. He attempted to draw her away. "We have to go now. Come along. It's over."

  "Don't touch me!" She whipped her head about to scorch him with a reproachful glare, then swayed with relief to see her mother running from the camp and called to her frantically, "Hurry, Luke's been shot. He's bleeding bad."

  "Jacie, we'll all be killed if we don't get out of here right now," Michael yelled fiercely.

  Iris dropped to her knees on the other side of Luke, panic boiling. She had no idea who the men were or why they were here, had recognized Black Serpent and assumed he and his warriors had all been killed. She did not care about them, nor was she concerned with the white man who was tugging at Jacie. All of her attention was focused on Luke, who was losing a lot of blood. As best she could tell on hasty examination, the bullet had gone completely through the side of his throat. If she could get him back to her tepee and treat him, stop the bleeding, there was a good chance he would live, but she dared not say so, fearing the men hovering around would finish him off then and there.

  "Can you help him? Can you save him?" Jacie begged.

  Michael saw Pete and the others were already on their horses, waiting with his, impatient to go. He knew they were getting ready to leave without him. He grabbed at Jacie and gave her a rough tug. "I said, let's go, damn it."

  "And I said I'm not leaving him, Michael," she wrestled against him as he tried to pull her away.

  Amidst the horror surrounding, it suddenly dawned on Iris who he was—the man who had asked Jacie to marry him. Iris also knew that after traveling so far to track her down, he wasn't about to go back without her. She knew time was of the essence. If she did not start ministering to Luke at once, he was going to die, but she could do nothing while the men remained. If they knew Luke still lived, they would doubtless finish him off. She knew she had but one chance to help him, and God forgive her if it was wrong, but she had to take it.

  Scrambling to her feet, Iris stepped around Luke to tear Jacie from Michael's feverishly clutching hands and hold her close and whisper the lie that might save Luke. "He's dead. And there is nothing here for you any longer. Go with this man who has come so far to claim you, Jacie. He loves you. He'll take care of you. Forget this happened. Forget me. Please. You have to do it. The warriors will be coming. I sent one of the older boys on Luke's horse to find them. They'll kill Michael and his men if they are still here. Don't let anyone else die. Go. Now." She gave her a gentle shove.

  Jacie shook her head and flung herself against her mother. She was having difficulty thinking amidst the choking grief. Luke was dead. Her life, her love, was over. But she still had her mother. "I won't leave without you!" she cried. "Come with us. I'll take care of you."

  "No." Iris pressed a finger against Jacie's lips to silence her plea. "This is my world. I will never leave it. Go back to your own and never look back."

  Jacie felt a daze descending over her. Michael was drawing her away from her mother's arms, and Jacie allowed him to do so, for the expression on her mother's face told her it was no use to argue.

  It was o
ver.

  "Blake, come on," Pete yelled from where he sat on his horse, holding Michael's by the reins.

  Michael took Jacie and ran with her to his horse, lifting her up and then swinging up in front of her. She waved one last time at Iris, who stood beside Luke's body. "Dear God," she whispered brokenly to herself, "to find her after all these years and then leave her, it's not right. It's just not right." She crammed her fist against her mouth to keep from screaming.

  Michael was hell-bent on getting out of there. Later, he would want to hear everything, like why she was so damn stricken over the Indian's death, but for the moment, there wasn't time, except that he could not resist asking as he set the horse into a gallop, "Who are you talking about, Jacie?"

  And her next words nearly jolted him right out of the saddle.

  "My mother," she said quietly, painfully. "I'm talking about my mother."

  Chapter 26

  Michael managed to convince himself that Jacie had, for the time being, gone daft. That was also what he told his men. She had been through so much the past months—it was enough to make anyone go crazy. The thing to do was to leave her alone, except to urge her to take food and water, and get her home as quickly as possible. Then there would be time for talking. For now, she could only withdraw and dwell on the horror she had endured, and when she was ready, she would put it all behind her.

  But despite his pretense of confidence, Michael was an inner cauldron of turmoil. The image of Jacie's grief and hysteria over the dead Indian was burned in his mind. What had she been thinking? The man was a barbarian. He had taken her from another of his kind, yes, but that made him no less evil, for he had held her against her will.. hadn't he?

  He could easily see that Jacie had not been relieved over being rescued. In fact, he'd had to force her to leave.

  And who was that squaw who had come running, whom Jacie had clung to in tears? In her delusion, Jacie had apparently thought she was her mother, which only reinforced his assumption that she had temporarily lost her mind.