Apache Summer

by Heather Graham

  “Jealous, Miss. Stuart?”

  “Well, how could I be? I have just entered into your life. I couldn’t possibly mean to dissuade you from, er, liaisons you have been nurturing.”

  She heard the clenching of his teeth. The scowl that tightened his handsome features seemed to reach inside her and take her breath away. She felt his hand upon her waist, warm and powerful, and the fingers of his other hand so tightly entwined with hers that the pressure nearly caused pain. She inhaled a clean scent from him that also seemed to speak of the plain, of the rugged vistas, of the horseman, the marksman. Everything rugged, and everything striking.

  He was a real son of a bitch, a small voice warned her. It didn’t matter.

  “Do you always hop so recklessly into the fray, Miss. Stuart?”

  “Whatever do you mean? What fray, Lieutenant?”

  “You’ve barbs on your tongue, ma’am.”

  “Why, Lieutenant! I’m only speaking frankly.”

  “Um. I still say there are barbs there. Perhaps I should discover if I am right …”

  He was swift on his feet, agile and sure. In a moment he had danced her out the door and into the shadows on the porch. He swept her against a supporting pillar, then his mouth descended upon her, lips parted, parting hers. She had wanted this. this very thing. She had teased and goaded him, and now she had him. But the kiss was no casual dance-floor brush. It was a thing so searingly intimate that she lost all hope of breathing, all hope of standing upon her own two feet. His mouth encompassed hers, drawing from her all strength and will. The heat of his mouth filled and infused her, and his tongue swept by all barriers to ravage and invade.

  And she did nothing to stop him, nothing to fight back, nothing to protest even the shocking intimacy of the invasion.

  He kissed her mouth as if he kissed all of her. His 73 tongue touched every little crevice and nuance of her mouth and thrust with a rhythm that entered into her pulse, into her bloodstream. It was far different from anything she had ever experienced before. Anything. It brought tremors to her limbs and a swirling tempest within her belly; it singed her breasts and weakened her knees.

  And worst of all, perhaps, she felt no remorse, no shame. She allowed herself to fall into his arms, to feel his strength support her, the rippling muscles of his chest and thighs. Then his mouth pulled away from hers. She inhaled raggedly and lifted her eyes to meet his. It had been a game; she hadn’t been expecting this, and she was suddenly very afraid that her eyes betrayed the depths of her innocence, of her shock, of the staggering sensations that had taken place within her. His eyes were heavily shadowed, and he didn’t look at all like a man about to laugh with the pleasure of an easy conquest, but rather like one consumed with some blinding fury or emotion. But he didn’t speak. She wanted to reach up and touch the sandy tendrils of his hair, fallen rakishly over his forehead, but she didn’t dare move, she didn’t dare touch him again, for there seemed to be something explosive about him.

  “There she is!”

  The accusing cry seemed to awaken them both. Jamie stepped back, surprised, frowning, looking around.

  A plump woman was coming out on the porch. She was small and seemed exceedingly broad. Her hair was snow white and swept up beneath a little cap, and her dress was old-fashioned, her petticoats as wide as they might have been during the war, her dark fringed stole from an earlier period.

  She wasn’t alone. People were spilling out behind her. “Clara,” Jamie said softly, still frowning.

  “Clara, what on earth is wrong?”

  Clara seemed not to hear him. She pointed a finger at Tess.

  “You!

  You—you harlot! You hussy! You whore!

  Attacked by Indians, and crying out that white men fell upon you! How dare you! You should have been killed! God will smite you down with an arrow for lying! You trash, you white trash!”

  “Clara!” Jamie shouted.

  Tess, stunned by the violence of the attack, stared in silence.

  “Clara, you’re overwrought, but you owe this lady an apology, you can’t know”

  “No!” Clara shrieked.

  “She’s the devil’s spawn!” Tess realized then that the porch was full of people.

  The young soldiers who had been ready to die for her looked as if they’d gladly nail her to the wall.

  “How many of us have lost our dear loved ones to the bloody savages?

  You, Lydia, the Pawnee took your only daughter! Charlie, the Comanche cost you your arm, and Jimmie, your boy Jim went down in that fight with the Apache. Heathens, bloody heathens, all of them! And now she’s lying about what happened to her little wagon train.

  She won’t let the men go after the real culprits, she wants a war with the white men! She wants us all at one another’s throats so the bloody savages can move right in. She”—” No!” Tess shouted furiously.

  “You don’t understand, you weren’t there, and don’t you dare” — “She ought to be tarred and leathered and thrown right out of here naked as a jay. Then she can run to her Indian buddies.”

  There was a startled moment of silence. Tess felt certain they were all about to step forward and tear her into little shreds.

  “Yes, yes” — Clara began wildly. But she was interrupted.

  The sound of a clinking spur struck loudly and discordantly upon the floor as Jamie stepped firmly between Tess and Clara.

  “That’s enough!” Jamie stated flatly.

  “Clara, I don’t know what got you going tonight, but you’ve no right to judge this girl, none at all. You owe her an apology, and I damned well mean it.” He paused. Tess realized that he was looking across the crowd.

  Looking straight at Eliza. And there was something about her eyes that told all, even if she tried to stare at Jamie with a look of pure innocence.

  She had stirred up the people. Jamie had left her on the dance floor, and dear Miss. Eliza had made the rounds, talking to those most vulnerable.

  “But what if it is true, Lieutenant? What if Miss. Stuart was seeing things?

  Then the Comanche or some other tribe is on the warpath, and if so, we’ve got to start fighting back!” “I’ll find out,” Jamie said.

  “I promise you, I’ll find out.” There was a gasp from the crowd. The sound had come from Eliza, Tess realized. Her plan had backfired. Tess wasn’t sure what victory she felt. Whatever move Jamie made, he made because he had been forced into it, a gentleman caught by circumstance into defending a lady’s honor.

  “I’m going to escort Miss. Stuart to her home, and I’ll look into things there. And I will find out the truth.”

  By then Jon Red Feather had come to stand next to his friend. It was a casual but defensive gesture. They were shoulder to shoulder. If any fighting had erupted, the handsome half-breed would have been ready. But maybe he had come for more than that. He edged forward, taking Clara’s hands.

  “Give Jamie time,” he told her.

  The little woman looked up at Jon.

  “Oh, Jon! I didn’t mean you.”

  “I know,” he said, grinning.

  “I’m only half savage and heathen and barbarian.”

  She flushed brilliantly.

  “Jon …”

  “It’s all right, Clara. Heaven help us, if the Sioux Nation went to war now, I’m not at all sure where I would be at times.” He raised his voice.

  “Every single one of you has, at one time or another, seen some savage injustice done to the Indians!. You’ve been with commanders who think nothing of the murder of women and infants! How in hell can you possibly doubt this story!”

  There were murmurs, then the crowd began to clear. Clara started to cry softly.

  “I’ll take her home,” Jon told Jamie.

  Jamie nodded. He and Tess watched as Jon escorted her through the alehouse.

  “Well, damn it, it’s just exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  He was a far different man from the one who had kissed her wit
h such staggering heat. She stiffened, wishing she could wash the taste of his lips from her own, trying to wipe the taste away with the back of her hand.

  “What I wanted!

  No! I never wanted to be called’ any of those things, Lieutenant, and I certainly never wanted to see an old woman in pain, nor did I ever particularly want to be threatened with being tarred and feathered!”

  “You wanted me to go to war with your von Heusen.”

  “All right, yes! I wanted someone else to stand up against him.”

  She was backed against the pillar still. Her hands slipped behind her to reach for it for support. He turned on her, coming closer, leaning his hands upon the beam and bringing his face very close to hers. She was trapped by his arms, by the prison of his body.

  “And now,” he said softly, “it’s my battle.”

  “You’re the damned cavalry, aren’t you? You spent time enough telling me that the day that you dragged me into the dirt!”

  “I dragged you into the dirt! Why, you little hellion! You’re the one who came after me like a bat out of hell!”

  It was there again, that feeling of something entirely combustible between them, of static charging the air, of 77 lightning on a still night. She had to fight back, and quickly and hard, or she would lose everything.

  “I was frightened out of my wits,” she retorted, “not that you probably weren’t worthy of everything I did!”

  “Oh? Is that a fact? And have you taken to judging me, Miss. Stuart?”

  “Why the hell not? You’re determined to judge me.” They were silent for a moment, and in that moment, they both heard a throat being cleared. Jamie swung around again. Sergeant Monahan was standing there, red-faced.

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant.”

  “What is it, Monahah?”

  “The, uh, the colonel wants to see you.”

  “Right after I escort Miss. Stuart to her house.”

  “Er, pardon me, sir, but no, sir. The colonel says that I’m to escort her and that you’re to see him immediately. About this business of your going to Wiltshire.” Jamie frowned, started to protest, then sighed. He cast Tess a warning glare, although she wasn’t at all sure of what the warning was about.

  She was still trembling, she realized, still holding hard to the pillar.

  Jamie bowed to her.

  “Good night, Miss. Stuart. We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

  He walked away with long, angry strides. Tess looked at Monaham Monahan was watching Jamie go.

  “Well, that might be one heck of a confrontation,” he muttered. “Why?” Tess asked.

  “what? Oh?” Monahan flushed, as if he had just realized she was there.

  “Why, nothing, miss …”

  “Monahah!”

  “Well, the colonel may try to stop him from going.”

  “What do you mean, might try? The colonel outranks him, doesn’t he? Or am I missing something?”

  “No, no, but Jamie is up for reenlistment.

  Technically, he could have walked away from the cavalry a month ago.

  Paperwork gets slow out here sometimes.”

  “But why would the colonel want to stop him from going?”

  “Oh, the colonel probably wouldn’t. Not by himself, that ” Monahah, you are near to frustrating me to tears! What are you talking about?”

  Now Monahah was a brilliant red. He stuttered, then started again.

  “Miss. Eliza is the one who might mind.”

  “Eliza Worthingham.”

  “Monahah!”

  “Oh, you don’t know! Why, miss, Eliza is Colonel Worthingham’s daughter.”

  “Oh!” Tess cried, startled.

  “Tarnation, I didn’t mean to upset you none. Don’t you worry. The lieutenant ain’t nobody’s fool, and he ain’t about to have his life run by a skirt, even if Miss. Eliza is a pretty piece of fluff. Ah, hell, not that you’re not every bit as pretty—prettier!—but you see my point? He ain’t ever gonna have his mind made up by a woman. Not any woman.

  Oh, dear, this ain’t getting’ no better, not one wit! Come on, Miss. Stuart, let me do one duty fight and get you home for the night!”

  “Ah, yes, thank you, I think that I am quite ready to retire,” Tess told him, He walked her through the now empty alehouse and she thought of how disastrously the evening had ended. Then she found that her fingers were fluttering to her lips and that she couldn’t forget the way Jamie had kissed her.

  She would never forget the way he had kissed her. Not if she never-saw him again, not if she lived to be a hundred and two.

  He wouldn’t ever let himself be run by a woman. That was what Monahah had said. But if he came with her, he would feel he had been trapped into doing it. He had been forced to say he would come with her to calm down Clara.

  But if he stayed. Then it might be worse, because if he stayed after he had stated he would go, it would be because he had been ordered to stay—because of Eliza.

  He’s torn between the two of us, Tess thought. And which one of us will win?

  They had come to the Casey house. Monahah opened her door and lit a lantern for her, then looked around the small building.

  “Seems clear,” he said.

  “Why, Lieutenant, this is a cavalry outpost! What would I be afraid of here?” “Never can be too careful,” Monahah said cheerfully. “We learn that out here, ma’am.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do,” she said softly.

  “Well, thank you. I do feel quite safe now.”

  He told her good-night and left. Tess sat down on the foot of the bed and slipped off her black leather dance slippers.

  Then she paused, feeling as if something in the place wasn’t quite fight.

  She stood up and looked around. She hadn’t had much brought in from the wagon, but one trunk was shifted away from the wall when she was certain she had left it against the wall. Her brush, which she had set on the small vanity, had fallen to the floor.

  She picked up the brush and set it on the vanity. Then she walked over to the trunk and opened it.

  It wasn’t in wild disarray, but she knew someone had been into it.

  She always folded her clothing meticulously and kept it in defined piles, her flatiron on the bottom of the chest, her heavy skirts next to it, her light blouses and lingerie on top. Things had been moved.

  She sat again. Maybe Monahah was fight. You never could be too careful.

  There was no one in the little house now, but there had been. Who?

  Eliza. Tess was certain of it. She smiled.

  “Eliza,” she whispered softly.

  “I’ve been dealing with the likes of yon Heusen. Fighting you is going to be easy.”

  She finished undressing, slipped on the borrowed nightgown and crawled beneath the covers. Her eyes wouldn’t close, though. She was ready to deal with Eliza. But what if she had already lost the battle?

  There was no way she could know until morning. It was a horrible night. She pt feeling Jamie’s kiss upon her lips again and again. And no matter how she fought it, she k~pt imagining that kiss falling against her throat, her palm. and Other places.

  She slept very late. D~pite the bugles and the commotion of a company heading out for a day’s scouting, when Tess finally slept, she did so deeply and well. It was nearly noon when she imagined she heard a sharp rapping on the door. She ignored it. Then she shot up as the door burst open and heavy footsteps fell within the house.

  The covers fell away. Her hair was tousled and falling around her shoulders, her gown dislodged from one shoulder and draping precariously low over her breast. Startled and disoriented, she gasped when she saw Jamie Slater in full uniform, his plumed hat low over his eyes, his legs apart and his gloved hands on his hips as he stared at her.

  “You,” she muttered.

  He swept his hat from his head, bowing very low.

  “Yes, do excuse me, Miss. Stuart. I wanted to let you know that we would be leaving at the break of d
awn tomorrow. I realize, of course, that dawn might be difficult for you, sinee you are still abed this midday, but I do intend to leave promptly. Are we understood?”

  “Tomorrow! You’re still—you’re still taking me?” His eyes narrowed sharply.

  “I said I was. Why wouldn’t I be doing so?”

  “No—uh, no reason.” She allowed her lashes to fall, shading her eyes.

  “I was just worried that maybe … that maybe you hadn’t meant what you said.”

  He was silent for a s~ond.

  “Miss. Stuart,” he said softly, “I always mean what I say.”

  “I was just worried that you didn’t really want to go” — “Oh, for God’s sake! I’m going. We’re going. Tomorrow.

  That is, if you get up on time.”

  She smiled, then forgot her animosity toward him, and just about everything else for that matter. She threw back the covers and leaped from the bed and raced toward him, casting herself into his arms. His hands came around her as he held her uptight, his arms wrapping around her. “Thank you!” she said earnestly. Then she realized what she had done and how she was standing.

  And that them wasn’t much of anything between them. She could feel the pressure of her breasts against the hardness of his body, and she knew that the thin cotton gown wasn’t hiding anything of herself.

  She backed away, swallowing fiercely.

  “Thank you,” she repeated.

  “I really do appreciate it. Very much. I don’t suppose that you could ever understand, but I do.” The gown was falling off her shoulder again. She tried to retrieve it. Then she realized that she was standing in the morning sunlight and that every curve and twist of her form, and even the shadows of her body, would be completely evident to him.

  And her body was warming, and she was certain that her breasts were swelling, and she was breathing far too quickly, and he could probably see the pounding of her heart.

  “Sincerely, thank you.” And she was still muttering. A broad grin stretched across his features. She plunged quickly into the bed beneath the covers.

  “Miss. Stuart?”

  “‘yes?”

  “Do me a favor once we’re under way, will you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Please don’t chatter away endlessly like that, huh?” “I never chatter!” she said indignantly.