Apache Summer

by Heather Graham

“For the love of God!” he snapped, rolling with her to retain his hold without bringing bodily injury to her or losing a hunk of flesh himself. She freed one wrist from his grasp and began tearing at him again. Their momentum was taking them closer and closer to the rear of the wagon, and then suddenly they were outside it, plunging down to the dirt together.

  She shrieked, and he realized then that she was fighting to free herself from his hold rather than fighting to harm him. But he wasn’t about to let her go. She was too unpredictable.

  Their limbs entangled, and her petticoats rode around them. He could feel the slender length of her legs, warm and alive, scantily clad in pantalets, against his own.

  She reached up to strike him again, and he caught her hand with a serious fury as his patience snapped.

  “Enough!”

  He drew her hands high over her head and straddled her hips, pinning her down at last. Her hair lay spread out over the dirt in a majestic fan while the Texas sand smudged her beautiful features. She gasped desperately for breath, her breasts rising and falling with her effort. She was down, subdued at last. He released her wrists, remaining straddled upon her, careful to maintain his own weight. “It’s all right” — he tried to tell her, but to no avail. She tried to twist, lashing out, clawing for his face.

  She caught his chin and drew blood.

  “Woman, no morel” he shouted. His hand raised high and with determination, and he caught himself fight before he could slap her in return. He saw her eyes close tightly in expectation of the blow, but it did not fall. He held her tight, trying to check his temper, staring at her hard. Then he caught her arms and dragged them high above her head, leaning close and hard against her. His anger faded at. last as he saw her eyes go damp with tears she fought to control.

  She was hysterical, he realized, and yet she had really come at him with an attempt to kill.

  She shuddered and gasped, and a trembling rippled through the entire length of her body. Still, he could not trust her to release her.

  “We’re the damned cavalry!” he repeated.

  “Listen to me! No one is going to hurt you. The Indians are gone. We’re the cavalry. We want to help you. You do speak English, don’t you?”

  “Yes!” she snapped furiously, and the trembling ceased. “Yes, yes, I understand you!” Her eyes beheld him, then glazed over again.

  “Bastard!” she hissed to him, “Murdering, despicable bastard.”

  “Murdering bastard? I’m trying to help you.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  Startled by her words, Jamie fell silent. Her eyes remained locked with his, the tears she would not shed highlighting the deep blue color. Her hair fell in tangled streams around them both, like a pool of sunlight just before twilight fell. Watching her, he nearly forgot why he straddled her.

  She didn’t believe him. He had come to rescue her from the Comanche, and she didn’t believe him.

  “Listen, now, lady, I am with the cavalry—these men, all of us, we’re with the United States Cavalry” — “Your uniform doesn’t mean anything!”

  “Lady, you are crazy!” That was it, she had lost her mind. She had watched the savage attack and she had retreated into some fantasy world of fear.

  “You’re all right now, or you will be if you quit trying to hurt me.”

  “Hurt you! Oh!”

  “The Indians are gone” — “There never were any Indians!”

  “No Indians?”

  “They dressed like Indians, but they weren’t Indians. And you were probably in on it! The law is corrupt, why not the cavalry?”

  “Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m Lieutenant Slater out of Fort Vickers, and we’ve just stumbled upon your present difficulty.”

  She blinked, and her gaze went guarded. He still held her locked beneath him. His men were coming near, alerted by the commotion.

  She gazed around her, past his head, and it seemed that she slowly realized that they really were a cavalry company.

  Everyone was staring at her with silence, with sympathy. She looked at Jamie, and a slow flush spread into her features. They were now both painfully aware of the way their bodies came together. Her legs and hips burned against his, bare beneath the thin cotton shield of her pantalets.

  She wore no corset, he knew that very well, and her breasts seemed to swell, as if with realization of their intimate contact against his chest. She touched her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, and even that seemed an intimate gesture. She squirmed beneath him, but he wasn’t about to give her any quarter. He had tried to be as gentle as possible and he was bleeding as if he had been gouged by a mountain cat because of it. A drop of blood from his chin fell upon her bodice even as he thought that he should show her some mercy.

  “Lieutenant, let me” — “What’s your name?”

  “If you would just” — “What’s your name?”

  Her eyes flashed with a silver-blue annoyance as she realized that he was going to hold her until he chose to let her go.

  “Tess,” she snapped.

  “It’s Tess.”

  “Tess what?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Tess Stuart.”

  “Where were you going and where were you headed f~om?”

  “Wiltshire. We were bringing some cattle and a printing press. We were heading home from a small town called Dunedin, nearly a ghost town now.

  That’s why we bought the printing press. They didn’t need it anymore.”

  “You said we. Who were you riding with?”

  “My” — She hesitated just a moment, her lashes rising and falling swiftly.

  Tears burned behind her eyelids. She must know that everyone was dead.

  She wasn’t going to shed those tears. Not in front of him. “My uncle and I. We were heading home to Wiltshire.”

  He eased himself up a little. He saw her swallow as his thighs tightened against her hip, then she lifted her chin, determined to ignore him, determined to be as cool as if they were discussing the matter over tea in a handsome parlor.

  She had inestimable courage. No matter how she was beaten, she would never surrender but would fight it out until the very end. It was there in her eyes. All the silver-blue fire a man could imagine. She was either a complete fool or one of the most extraordinary women he had ever met.

  Despite her warm honey spill of hair, her large, luminous eyes and her perfect fragile features, she had a spine of steel.

  Courage could kill out here in the West. That, he told himself, was why he held to her so tightly. She needed to learn that she could be beaten.

  “You’re lucky as hell that the Indians didn’t see you, you know,” he told her hoarsely.

  She lifted her chin.

  “I told you—they weren’t Indians.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Von Heusen’s men.”

  “And who the hell is yon Heusen?” He was startled when he heard a curious rumble in someone’s throat behind him.

  Still holding her, he whirled around. He looked at the faces of the young men in his company.

  “Well? Does someone want to answer me?”

  It was Jon Red Feather who drawled out a reply. “Richard von Heusen.

  Calls himself a rancher sometimes, an entrepreneur at others. You never heard of him, Lieutenant?”

  “No, I never heard of him.”

  “You spend all your time on Indian affairs, Lieutenant,” Jon said.

  “You’ve been missing out on the shape of things down here.”

  It was true, Jamie thought. He hadn’t wanted to know a lot about the ranchers. He didn’t want to se~ the carpetbaggers, or talk to them.

  “You’re telling me a guy named von Heusen did this?” he said to Jon.

  Jon shrugged.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “I can tell you that he owns a hell of a lot of Texas,” Monaban said softly.

  “It’s a good thing it’s a b
ig state, else he might own a good half of it.”

  Jamie looked curiously at the girl. Tess. Her eyes were upon him as she watched him in silence, scathingly. Then she hissed with all the venom of a snake.

  “He’s a carpet- bag get Yank. You ever heard tell about the carpetbaggers down here? They’re vultures. They came down upon a defeated and struggling South, and they just kicked the hell out of us. Bought up land the Southern boys couldn’t pay their taxes on ‘cause the Union didn’t want any Confederate currency. Well, Lieutenant, von Heusen bought up Wiltshire.”

  “You’re trying to tell me that a Yankee named von Heusen came out here and shot your wagon train full of arrows?

  In broad daylight, just like that?”

  ” No, not just like that,” she retorted.

  “And I doubt that he came out here himself. He had his men all greased down and painted up like Comanche, just in case someone didn’t die.”

  “So you did see Comanche attack the wagon.”

  “No. That’s not what I’m telling you at all. I’m no fool, Lieutenant.

  I was born and bred out here and I know a Comanche when I see one. And I know a fraud when I see it, too.”

  “You’re saying a group of white men came out here and did this to theft own kind?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant, how wonderfully perceptive of you. Why, you must have studied at West Point! That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Her lashes flicked again.

  “Von Heusen masterminded this whole thing. You need to arrest him, Lieutenant. Arrest him for murder.” “You said yourself, yon Heusen himself probably wasn’t even here.”

  Her eyes widened, her fury seemed to deepen, but she kept her voice low and controlled.

  “You’re not going to arrest him?”

  “I’m not a sheriff to begin with, Miss. Stuart. And if I were, I’d have to have some kind of proof.”

  “I’m your proof!”

  “It would be your word against his!”

  “He wanted our land!”

  “Lots of men try to buy land. It doesn’t make them murderers I ‘ She looked as if she wanted to scream, or at least gouge out another pound of his flesh.

  “You’re a fool!”

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” he retorted.

  She gritted her teeth. Tears stung her eyes again.

  “Get the hell off me.”

  He realized he was still lying against her, still holding her down.

  She wasn’t trying to kill him anymore. She just looked as if she wanted to escape him, the touch of him, the sight of him.

  “I can’t go bringing in a man for something without some kind of proof!” he told her furiously.

  “And not at the word of a half-crazed girl.”

  “Oh!” She raked out at him again. He caught her hand, then he rose to his feet, dragging her up with him. His jaw twisted hard against the loathing he saw in her eyes. “Lady” — “Lieutenant!” Charlie called to him, walking around from the field of corpses.

  “Shall I start a burial detail?”

  She was staring past Charlie, staring at the white-haired man who had been hit by the arrow then shot through the heart.

  “Oh, God!” she gasped. She stumbled forward, trying to reach the corpse.

  The blood fled from her face, and her beautiful features became as ashen as the smoke-charred sky. She paused suddenly, unable to go any farther.

  “Oh, no, oh, God. Uncle Joe,” she whispered, reaching out a hand.

  She did not take another step. Even as she reached out, she was falling.

  Her lashes fluttered over her beautiful eyes, and she began to sink toward the ground. Instinctively, Jamie rushed forward. He caught her as she fell, sweeping her into his arms. She was as cold as death itself, and remained every bit as pale as he stared down at her.

  There was silence all around him. His men looked on. “Charlie, yes!

  For God’s sake, yes! Get a damned burial detail going, and get it going quickly!” The men turned around, hustling into action.

  And Jamie stared at the girl, wondering just what in hell he was going to do with her. He needed to set her down, to let her lie somewhere. She was a slight burden, weighing practically nothing, or so it seemed.

  Yet she was a burden. A definite burden.

  He hurried toward her wagon, maneuvered up to the floor of it and laid her on the bed. He meant to turn around and leave her and call for the company surgeon, but for some reason he paused and found himself smoothing out her sun and-honey hair and brushing her cheek with his knuckles. He felt a sensation down his back and looked up quickly.

  Jon Red Feather was just below him, looking into the wagon.

  “She’s still out cold.”

  I’ll call Captain Peters. He doesn’t have much hope, but he’s still checking to see if there is any breath remaining in any of the bodies.”

  “Maybe she’s better off being out for a while anyway,” Jamie said softly.

  “Yeah, maybe.” Jon hesitated.

  “What are we going to do with her?”

  “Take her back to the fort. Then someone can escort her on home.”

  Jon nodded. He smiled suddenly.

  “Someone, fight?”

  “Yeah, that’s fight. Someone.”

  “She’s your responsibility,” Jon said.

  “Your burden— she fell into your arms.”

  “What? She’s a burden I’ve just set down, Jon.” Jon shook his head.

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think so at all. I think that you’ve taken something upon yourself, Jamie, and I don’t think that you can ever really let it go.”

  Jamie arched a brow.

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t believe you, Jon, and I don’t believe her. This yon Heusen may be a carpetbagging monster, but I don’t believe he can be guilty of this.”

  “You’re just going to have to find out, aren’t you?”

  “That’s not my job, Jon.”

  “That’s not going to matter, is it?

  “Cause you see, if the girl is right, then she’s in danger. You’re going to have out the truth—or you’ll be signing her death warrant.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Jon.”

  “No, it’s not. You really can’t let her go.”

  “The hell I can’t.”

  “Oh?” Jon arched a raven-dark brow.

  “Is that so?” He inclined his head toward Jamie.

  “Your fingers are still all tied up in her hair, Lieutenant. All tied up.

  Silken webs maybe, but seems to me that you’re all tied up.”

  Jamie gazed at his hand. His fingers were still hovering over her hair. It was truly the color of honey just kissed by the sun. Much deeper than blond.

  Too touched by light to be brunette.

  Golden red.

  He pulled his hand away and turned toward Jori with a denial. But Jon, smiling serenely, had already turned away.

  “Doe Peters should be free by now,” he said quietly, then he was gone.

  Jamie stared at the girl. Silken webs. He clenched down hard on his jaw because Jori was right about one thing. Someone would have to discover the truth about her accusations. He didn’t believe them. He couldn’t believe them.

  And yet. If they were true, to leave her alone in the town of Wiltshire might very well be to sign her death warrant.

  He swore softly and leaped from the wagon. His leg still hurt from where she had kicked him, and his chin still ached. He could feel it bleeding. Damn her. She was as quick as a sidewinder, as ornery as a mean bear. He could still remember her fury. He paused, for he could remember more. The alluring fullness of her breast beneath his fingers, the softness of her hair, the warmth of her legs entangled with his. He clenched his fists at his sides and unclenched them, knowing Jon was right, that he was going to have to somehow stick beside her until he could find the truth. She was a hostile little witch. And he already wanted her. Craved her. Ached to touch her, feel more of her.


  He swore softly, determined to behave like an officer and a Southern gentleman and solve this dilemma with no more thought for his unwilling companion.

  Then he heard her. weeping, crying very, very softly as if she were muffling the sound in her pillow. She had come back to consciousness, and it seemed to be a bitter awakening. She cried and cried. He felt her agony, felt it rip and tear into him, and it was terrible. The horror of, it reached inside him and touched his heart as it had not been touched in years.

  He had thought his emotions were stripped away by war.

  The girl’s wrenching sobs brought them back. He started to turn, to go to her. He stopped himself.

  No. She would not want him.

  He stiffened his shoulders and walked on.

  Chapter Two

  By dusk, all the graves had been dug. By the light of lanterns and camp fires, Reverend Thorne Dryer of Company B read services over the graves.

  Tess Stuart stood near the reverend’. Her eyes were dry now, and she was silent. Something about her very quietness touched Jamie deeply; she was small, but so very straight, her shoulders square, her lustrous hair hidden beneath a black hat and sweeping V ‘ll, her fornl encompassed in a handsome black dress with gray pearl buttons on the sleeves and at the throat. Dust to dust, earth to earth, ashes to ashes. The reverend called on God to claim His own, to show mercy upon their souls, to give solace to those who remained behind.

  Tess stepped forward to drop a single flower on her cle’s grave. She was still silent, and not a tear marred the perfect and tragic beauty of her face.

  Then she swung around and headed for her wagon. Jamie didn’t mean to follow her, he just discovered that he was doing so. She sensed him just before she reached the wagon and swung around.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Lieutenant, miss. Lieutenant Slater.” “Whatever,” she said coolly.

  “What do you want?”

  Hostile! he thought. More hostile than any full tribe of Indians he had come across. She made him itch to set a hard hand against her behind, but she had experienced great pain today. He was a fool to have followed her.

  He should let her be. He didn’t want her as a burden, and she didn’t want him as her protector. If she needed a protector. “Miss. Stuart, I just came by to offer my condolences. To see if you were all right, if you might need anything for the night.”