Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  “Burned alive,” he whispered.

  “Delaney?” Faith tightened her hold on his thigh and felt the incredible heat seep through the cloth of his pants to her palm.

  “You know, don’t you, duchess?” he asked, his voice deep and gritty.

  “What?” She searched his face. There was a slight flush on his high cheekbones, and his eyes were narrowed, watching her so intently she couldn’t look away.

  “That’s how it’ll be with us.”

  Faith passed over her instant thought to deny it. Her lips seemed to swell even as he watched, and once more her breathing changed. She couldn’t seem to drag enough air into her lungs. “Yes,” she finally answered him. “That’s how it will be. Burning. Dying and coming alive at once.” She slid her hand down his leg and stepped back.

  “But no promises.”

  Faith couldn’t answer him. She closed her eyes and knew he urged Mirage off at a walk. She wanted to be alone, shaken by what just happened. Her father called out, and she turned to see him talking with the dismounting soldiers. Resentment flared inside her. She wanted them gone. She wanted to be with Delaney. But ingrained obedience made her paste a smile of welcome on her lips and move back to where they all stood.

  Delaney pulled up, spinning Mirage on her hocks. He glanced back to see Faith walking toward the soldiers. He wanted her so badly, his insides knotted. Since the night Seanilzay told him about his mother’s death, he had felt as if his strength of will had been undermined, for he couldn’t hold the need for her at bay. He wanted her beneath him, with him inside her, riding her gently until she was all heat and softness, wild and needing, with her fingers clawing his back, like the desire clawing his gut.

  He stopped his thoughts, aching now, and knowing that he would go on aching until he made love to her. Love? Where had that come from? He didn’t want a permanent tangle with his calico duchess. He wanted that body moving like a willow, all grace and sway, that had soldiers scrambling to remove hats, crowding around to meet her.

  She turned just then, and Delaney knew she saw him. Before he gave himself a chance to think, he rode back. A man had to be a fool from hell to leave her alone with men who outnumbered white women in the territory better than ten to one.

  Delaney wasn’t smiling to see the young private place his hands on Faith’s shoulders to face her northeast. He stopped short of where they stood, listening to their talk, ready to step in.

  “That’s right, Miss Becket. The only battle fought in the territory was right there at Picacho Peak when two—or was it three?—well, they were detachments from Calloway’s Cavalry troop that engaged the Confederate rear guard. ’Course, the name’s kind of stupid, since picacho means ‘peak.’ ”

  “Peak Peak? How charming, Private Shellby.” Faith slipped out from beneath his hands.

  “Didn’t you folks make camp near the water hole there? The sweetest-tasting water’s—”

  “I’m sure it is,” Faith agreed, smiling as she turned and saw Delaney. She closed the short distance between them with the private dogging her heels. “This is Private Orrin Shellby. Mr. Delaney Carmichael.”

  The hand the private was about to extend was whipped back. Delaney had never moved his from his side.

  Faith, bewildered, looked to Delaney for an explanation, but he merely shook his head.

  “Mr. Becket didn’t say you were with them, Carmichael.”

  “Maybe he didn’t think it’s important,” Delaney answered.

  Faith disliked the tone and the looks of the man that came up behind them with her father. She tried not to stare at the dull red scar that began where his left eyebrow should have been and continued up into his hair.

  “It’s important to me, Carmichael. Major Ross is looking for you. He sent word out over the trail weeks ago.”

  Delaney didn’t answer him.

  Faith saw that her father was listening to every word and making his own judgments. She did not like the sudden gleam in his eyes.

  “Well, are you going to answer me, Carmichael?”

  “Don’t see a need to, Krome.”

  “That’s Sergeant Krome to the likes of you.”

  Delaney glanced at the bright new stripes and back up to the sergeant’s face. His lip curled and his eyes were hostile. “So you got them back.”

  “Damn … beg your pardon, ma’am. Sure I did. Your lies weren’t good enough to keep them off me.”

  The sudden tension frightened Faith, and she stepped between them. “Since you and your men are going to share a meal with us, Sergeant, I would appreciate some help.”

  Krome glared at Delaney a moment more before he turned to her. “And we in turn appreciate the offer. Since our supply mules were stolen, we’ve had nothing but jerky.”

  “Stolen?” Robert asked, grabbing the sergeant’s arm.

  “Thieving Apache crept up on us while we were sleeping and ran them off. Can’t trust the savages,” he stated in a harsh voice, shooting an accusing look at Delaney.

  “Funny, that’s what the Apache say about you, Krome.”

  “Delaney, if you’re still in a surly mood, maybe you’d best take yourself off,” Becket warned. “Sergeant, about that thieving Apache—”

  “Papa, you’ve been standing on that leg too long. You had best come sit down while I get food ready.” Faith ignored her father’s glaring look and took hold of his arm. “Private Shellby, would you be so kind as to help us?”

  “Now, Faith—”

  “You know I’m right. You’ll be aching the rest of the day being bounced on that wagon seat.” She pulled on his arm, forcing him to hobble along with her. Faith was sure he had been about to tell the sergeant about Seanilzay. She didn’t know if he had been the one to steal their mules or not, nor did she care; some instinct said she was doing the right thing.

  “Heard you quit the railroad, Carmichael,” Krome said as soon as they were alone.

  “You heard right.” Delaney watched Faith for a few seconds and thought about what she had done. He was sure that the mules had ended up with Seanilzay. But how could she? There was no other reason that he could figure to explain what she did. And he owed her for it.

  He started toward the wagon and found that Krome was following.

  “You know, Carmichael, you could still be working for the army.”

  Delaney kept walking, ignoring him.

  “Ross wants you back. Things are stirring up again. A man like you can name his price.”

  That stopped Delaney cold. He turned to look at Krome. His eyes were hard, cold, and filled with warning that more than matched his voice. “Working? Is that what they teach you sixteen-dollar-a-month boys to call lying?”

  “No. You know that’s not true.”

  “It’s lying,” Delaney taunted, shifting his stance.

  “I’m not going to fight you, Carmichael. You know what the army policy is toward Indians. Keep the settlers and miners safe at all costs. People want this territory to grow so we can become a state with rights. The Indians won’t stop their raiding and stealing and the murders. Even you won’t deny that, not to my face, and still call yourself honest.”

  “I know the damn policy,” Delaney grated, clenching his teeth. At his sides his hands fisted. “Wipe out the warriors, right? And it doesn’t matter if the man is unarmed. Kill him anyway ’cause you need his land. You were—”

  “You can’t hold a grudge this long!”

  “You were there that day. You stood by, Sergeant Krome,” he stressed with scorn in every word, “and you watched the three soldiers under your command beat a man to death with their rifles. You did nothing when they gutted his wife ’cause she tried to stop them, and you sure as hell didn’t lift a finger or say one word while they raped his two daughters.”

  “No! I wasn’t there!”

  Delaney opened his hands only to clench them tight. He ignored the troopers crowding around them.

  “Ca
rmichael, you can’t hold that against me. I don’t make policy.”

  “Maybe not,” Delaney conceded, drawing deep breaths and releasing them, trying to hang on to his control when all he wanted was to feel the soft fleshy face before him break open from his fist. “But you take your pleasure in carrying it out, don’t you?”

  Krome wiped the sweat beading on his lips and chin. He was breathing too hard and making the mistake of letting Delaney goad him into a fight. He couldn’t afford to lose face with his men, and it was too late to order them to back away.

  “The only reason you keep the grudge alive is that you wanted a taste of that Injun gal your—”

  “Don’t finish it. They’ll be your last words, you bastard.” Delaney watched his eyes. He knew when Krome moved his hand toward his holstered gun. The troopers shifted back, widening the circle, and overhead a lone hawk circled over them. “Go on, do it, Krome. And while you’re thinking about it, remember that she was fifteen. Her sister not yet twelve. She died in my arms not more than an hour after you and your men left them.”

  “You had your damn revenge!” Krome shouted, dropping his hand away from his gun. “You got my stripes and two months’ pay. What the hell else did you want?”

  Delaney’s knife was suddenly in his hand. “I could skin you alive, Krome. Two months’ pay to the girl who sits and rocks all day, and you think it was enough?” He watched the sweat pouring out of Krome to soak his blue uniform coated with red dust. Not one of the troopers moved to help him or stop Delaney. But even as Delaney stopped himself from using his knife, Faith broke through the crowd.

  She had seen violence in Delaney’s eyes before, she heard again the promise of it in his voice, yet she felt no fear of him, only for him. There was no doubt that what Delaney said was true. The darting, frantic look of the sergeant’s eyes confirmed it.

  The mood of the soldiers shifted abruptly. Faith’s sweeping gaze saw the excitement flushing their faces, and the eager look in their eyes, anticipating a fight. She faced Delaney.

  “The children heard it all.”

  He ignored the appeal in her voice. “Stay out of this, Faith.”

  She shrugged off a trooper’s hand on her arm without looking at him. “Delaney, please—”

  “If it happened to Pris, would you ask me to back off?”

  For a long moment she held his eyes and saw for herself the torment dividing him. Slowly she shook her head and without another word pushed her way free and kept walking.

  But Krome had watched, too. He knew the threat was over before Delaney slid his knife back into the sheath at his side. Bravado filled his gloating voice. “You’re no damn better than the savages, Carmichael.”

  Delaney smiled but not with his eyes; they were cold enough to chill the sun. “You remember that, Krome. You remember that when you throw your saddle down at night, and you make sure to tell that to Ross.”

  “I’ll tell him. And you watch yourself, too. Plenty of us have long memories, Carmichael. Bark from the same tree skins out the same,” he taunted in turn, hitching up his belt.

  Rage burned for the slur against his father. Delaney knew fighting Krome wouldn’t solve a damn thing.

  “For those of you who don’t know, Carmichael’s father was convicted of—”

  Delaney’s fist sent Krome’s head snapping back. Blood spurted from his split lip. He crouched, fists raised, more than ready to take him on.

  Rubbing his knuckles, Delaney spat in the dirt at Krome’s feet. With rigid control he turned his back on him. Each of the soldiers directly blocking his way averted their eyes from his piercing gaze. Slowly then they opened a path for him.

  Joey stood just beyond the circle. “Del?” he asked in a quavering voice, lifting his face and holding out his hand.

  “I’m right here, scout.” He took hold of Joey’s hand and led him back to finish greasing the wagon axles.

  Behind them, troopers found something that needed their immediate attention, leaving Krome standing beneath the sun alone.

  The circling hawk flew off toward the mountains.

  Faith finished frying up bacon and hurried to set biscuit dough in the hot grease to bake. She wanted the soldiers gone. Her father was of a different mind.

  He seemed pleased to have the sergeant sit beside him. They didn’t mention Delaney or what happened, but Faith was trying to listen to their conversation and distract Pris at the same time. Giving her sister a small piece of dough to play with, Faith groaned when she saw Private Shellby approach.

  She refused his offer to help her, but he persisted in remaining and talking to her.

  “I wanted to apologize for what happened, Miss Becket. Sergeant Krome is a good officer, but he hates Indians and any man who sides with them. He has good reason, you must understand,” he explained earnestly. “That scar of his comes from almost being scalped. Our troop doesn’t ride with an Apache scout when he leads. Now, losing our supplies means we return to Fort Lowell. Will you be planning on stopping in Tucson for a while?”

  “Oh, yes,” Pris answered before Faith could. “Delaney promised us we could.”

  “Then I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you there, Miss Becket.”

  “You’re riding south?” Faith didn’t look at him, but she glanced at her father. The feeling he had discovered their direction swept over her. She would bet anything that he would ask the sergeant if the patrol would escort them part of the way.

  Shellby seemed to be of the same mind. “We could ride along with you. If you’re afraid that there will be trouble between Sergeant Krome and Carmichael—”

  “Do you know if what Delaney accused him of is true?” Faith gave up all pretense of stirring the pot of beans and looked at him.

  The private found his scuffed red-dusted boots easier on his eye than the militant glare in Faith’s.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, don’t. Pris, go find Keith for me and tell Delaney and Joey that it’s time to eat.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you angry, Miss Becket.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I heard talk when I arrived at the fort about what happened. But it was just talk. I do know that Carmichael’s father was convicted of fixing the weigh scales for the beef he sold to the army and the agents for the reservation Indians. He sold cattle that were sickly to them, too. He died a few weeks after he went to Yuma Prison.”

  Faith waited, silent, but hoping he would tell her more.

  “There are some who don’t believe that Ian Carmichael ever did a dishonest act in his life.”

  “And where were these men when he went to trial, Private Shellby?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Feeling that he was telling her the truth as he knew it, Faith smiled and offered him the first biscuit along with a plate of beans and bacon. Within moments the other soldiers crowded her.

  “Oh, ma’am, that sure does smell good,” one remarked.

  “My gut’s sure been letting me know it’s empty all this while,” another said.

  One trooper, older than the rest, ate so fast that he was back just as Faith made up plates for her father and the sergeant. Keith took them over to the two men.

  “More?” she asked.

  “I could scoff iron filings an’ horseshoe nails an’ thank you kindly, ma’am, for a second helping.”

  “You’re all welcome to what’s left,” she told him, after making up plates for Delaney and Joey. Not seeing them, she carried the plates around the wagons.

  Delaney sat with his back against a wheel, holding Joey on his lap.

  “I thought you two would like to eat here.”

  “Go away, Faith,” Joey said, sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  “Smells real good, scout,” Delaney said, shifting as Joey turned his face toward his shoulder. He cupped the boy’s head with one hand, rubbing, and looked up at Faith.

  “Why don’t you leave the pla
tes. Joey’s not ready to eat now.”

  Faith set them down on the ground, then came to kneel at Delaney’s side. She covered his hand with her own, so that they both stroked Joey’s head. She knew he had been crying, but her questioning look merely had Delaney shake his head.

  “Can you tell me what’s wrong, Joey?” she asked softly, a warm feeling expanding inside to see him nestled in Delaney’s arms. Whatever demons had plagued Delaney and kept him away from her brother, she knew they were gone.

  “Make her go away, Del.”

  “Wouldn’t be fair, scout. Your sister cares about you, or she wouldn’t be asking what’s wrong. But it’s your decision if you want to tell her.”

  More sniffles followed. Faith glanced down at Delaney’s skinned knuckles. She moved her hand to cover his.

  “It was all true, wasn’t it, Delaney?” Faith asked.

  “Yeah.” He leaned his head back against the spoke of the wheel, closing his eyes. “Her name was She Who Sings, and now she is silent.”

  “I guess there is more injustice done to the Indians than we know.”

  He shrugged and opened his eyes, staring straight ahead. “When I was a boy, I saw Cochise rope a man and drag him over rocks and cactus behind his horse. I’ve heard what the Apache and other tribes have done to whites, and I’ve come on a few places where the Apache left little to be buried. I know most white men don’t try to understand their way of life or their beliefs.”

  “But what you’re telling me proves that these Indians are cruel and vicious.”

  “Not cruel, Faith. They’re hard and no more vicious than the whites. They have a lot of reason to hate and none to be tolerant of men who have lied and cheated them.”

  “Are they without compassion?” she asked, sitting down to resume stroking Joey’s head.

  “Most don’t know what compassion is. They’ve never been given any. It’s hard to explain. They don’t understand why the white man plunders the earth for gold and silver. They are taught to live with the earth, not to destroy it.”

  “Can’t there be compromise, Delaney? If you know them, can’t you try to speak out for them?”