Apache Summer

by Heather Graham

  “My accent?” he repeated.

  “Well, you don’t sound like a Texan or an Indian.”

  “I’m not a Texan, ~xeept by choice for the moment. I was born in the Black Hills. And my father was still alive when I went to England. My mother convinced him that a half breed needed every advantage. My mother knew that the Indian’s day was dying. That the buffalo were being 93 slaughtered.

  That the white men were going to push west, and push us west, until we were pushed fight into the sea or given deser/land as our reservations. Our prisons.”

  He spoke hard words, but he spoke them softly.

  “You don’t seem very bitter,” Tess commented.

  “Bitter? I’m not. Bitterness is a wasted emotion. I ride with Jamie now because I choose to be with him. Some time this year, I’ll go back to my father’s people. And if the whim takes me, I’ll go visit my grandfather in London. I enjoy the theater and opera there, and Grandfather is a hardy old cuss. I think he’s actually damned pleased when people stare at his Indian grandson. Actually, I wear formal clothing rather well.” He grinned ruefully, but then his grin faded as he studied her.

  “I love the west, too. I love horses, and the feel of a good one racing beneath me. I love my tribe, and I love this harsh, dry land. And I’ve stayed with Jamie because he knows people. He’s spent most of his life fighting, but he still knows people. He goes to war with men, but he never attacks children.”

  He gazed at her curiously, looking her up and’ down, studying her.

  “Jamie believes you. He’s come into Indian villages and seen what certain white men are capable of leaving behind. There are many men in the cavalry who think that an infant Indian is still an Indian, and that it will grow to put an arrow in someone’s back. There was a lieutenant who liked to order his soldiers to shoot the women, then bash the infants’ heads together to save bullets.”

  “God, how awful.”

  “Jamie knows about things like that. God knows, he saw enough of it during the war.”

  “There was nothing like that during the war” — “Jamie came from the Kansas and Missouri border.

  There was all kinds of stuff like that.”

  “Yes, but the war’s over now,” Dolly interrupted mat- ter-of-factly.

  “We need to put it behind us. Bless us and save us! It’s been five years!

  And Mr. Grant is president now” — “Mr. Grant could use some help out here in the west,” Jon said dryly.

  He smiled again at Tess.

  “Ever been to London?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ve n~ver be~n out of Texas.”

  “Now that is a great loss. A girl like you ought to s~ the world.” Jamie was heading toward them.

  “Miss. Stuart, you ar~ welcome to travel with me at any time, in fact, I’d consider it quite an honor.”

  Jamie was scowling. Tess lowered her lashes, knowing that Jon had said the words strictly for Jamie’s benefit.

  Jamie’s great roan stallion was prancing around.

  “We seem to be clear for quite a while ahead. Jon, want to ride again? I’ll take over the reins for a while.”

  “Sure thing.” Jon pulled in on the reins. He started to hop down while Jamie dismounted from his horse. Tess looked at Jamie.

  “I do appreciate your concern, but I’ve scarcely taken the reins myself” — “Miss. Stuart, I’ll drive the wagon for a while now. After all, we wouldn’t want to ruin the hands of a newspaper woman.”

  Dolly slapped her on the knee.

  “You let him drivel” she said, then she yawned.

  “I think I’ll ride in back for a while.”

  She smiled at Tess like a self-satisfied cat and crawled into the back of the wagon. Tess watched her stretch out on Uncle Joe’s bunk. Jamie climbed up beside her and took the reins. Jon had untied his pinto from the back of the wagon.

  “I’ll ride on ahead,” he said.

  Jamie nodded. Tess was left alone beside Jamie, very aware of the heat of his thigh despite the heat of the day.

  They rode in silence, and the silence se~med to stretch on and on.

  Finally Jamie drawled out, “You made it on time this morning. Did you manage to have a good night’s sleep?”

  “Yes, I did,” she lied pleasantly. She turned to him with her eyes innocently wide.

  “What about you, Lieutenant?

  Did you manage to have any sleep at all?” He studied her eyes, then smiled slowly.

  “Yes, I slept.”

  He didn’t elaborate and Tess was infuriated. She wanted some kind of an answer on this subject, and he was determined not to give her one.

  “You seem to have been having a darned nice morning,” he commented.

  “Have I?”

  “I’ve known Jon Red Feather a long time now. I’ve never known him to talk so much.”

  “He’s charming.”

  Jamie grunted. He flashed her a quick gaze and gave his attention to the road once again.

  “And I’m not?”

  “No. You’re impudent, insolent and a royal pain, Lieutenant Slater.”

  “Oh, is that so? Then why were you so anxious for my company?”

  She inhaled sharply, staring at him.

  “Because you can shoot,” she said flatly.

  “Why, thank you, Miss. Stuart! Thank you kindly. And you threw yourself right into my arms the other morning, half naked and all, just because I shoot.”

  “Right. Wrong! I was not half naked” — “You felt as if you were.”

  “Lieutenant, you are a scurvy, low-down, no-good rodent-”

  “But a no-good rodent who can shoot, right?”

  “Precisely, Lieutenant,” she said with a touch of silk. He nodded, looking ahead.

  “You are awfully determined to stay in Wiltshire, Miss. Stuart.

  Couldn’t you run a newspaper somewhere else?”

  “I could. But I wouldn’t own the good cattle land that Joe” — She paused.

  “Well, it’s all mine now.”

  “Is your life worth the land?”

  “You don’t understand. It’s not just the land. Somebody needs to stand against this man.”

  “You do want it desperately.”

  He was watching her curiously, the hint of a curve to his lips. She frowned, wondering what he was up to.

  “Yes. I do want it desperately. He killed Joe. He might not have ridden with the men, but he killed Joe. And I’m going to bring him down.”

  “With the help of a scurvy rodent who can shoot.”

  “With whatever help I can get. And you do believe me about the attack, I know you do.”

  He shrugged.

  “Maybe. I’ve still got my reservations, but I do intend to go into Wiltshire with you.”

  “And that’s all?” she asked, horrified.

  He smiled.

  “Just what, Miss. Stuart, do you want out of me? Spell it out. We might need to come to a few terms here.”

  “But, but” — she sputtered.

  “But you said you’d find out the truth!

  You told Clara”—” I told Clara I’d find out the truth. I didn’t tell her that I’d go to war on your behalf.”

  “Bastard!” Tess spat out the epithet.

  “Calm down, Miss. Stuart! Such language from a very proper and genteel young Southern woman! I told you, say what you want, and we’ll take it from there.”

  “What I want? Well, I … I want you to stay! Then when he sends his guns, I’ll have my guns!”

  “Jon Red Feather and I against a horde of hired gunmen. Mm. I should stand tall and let this man pump me full of bullets for the benefit of having you call me a scurvy rodent?”

  Tess caught her breath and tried to control her temper. She lowered her lashes and counted to ten, then kept going to twenty, then started all over again because he was laughing at her.

  She moved suddenly, and he must have thought that she meant to strike him because he
cast an imprisoning 97 arm around her. She stiffened in his hold.

  “Lieutenant, this is completely unnecessary.”

  “Is it? I can’t help but feel cautious around you, Miss. Stuart.”

  She swore softly.

  He laughed.

  “Go ahead! Laugh!” she said angrily.

  “And just run like a cur with its tail between its legs-when we get to Wiltshire.”

  “A cur? I thought I was a rodent.”

  “I can’t find words for what you are, Lieutenant.”

  “Pity,” he drawled. His eyes were on her, smoke and fire.

  His arm was warm and strong around her. The heat of the sun bore down on them, and she felt as if it touched her and brought a liquid rush throughout her. She could not draw her eyes from his, nor could she dispel the sudden, brilliant memory of his lips upon hers.

  “We could bargain, Miss. Stuart.”

  “Bargain?”

  “Yes. If I’m going to die, I’d like it to be for a little more than a smile.”

  She stared at him. She felt a heat like that of the sun suffuse throughout her body, bringing a rampant beat to her heart, a flood of burning red to her cheeks and a tremor deep inside her. He could only mean one thing, she was certain. If he was going to stay, he wanted her. She should have been outraged. She should have been able to say that he could be damned, that her honor was worth far more than her life.

  Except that. There was something that washed over the outrage ‘like the deep, rich waves of the ocean. It was the same thing that caused the pulse to beat ever more fervently in the column of her throat, the thing that held her speechless. He watched her, that wry smile twisted so tauntingly into his features. He was horrid. He was awful.

  He was exciting, sensual, masculine. The scent of him beguiled her, just as his arms beckoned and just as his kiss evoked feelings inside that she would never be able to forget.

  She couldn’t just stare at him. She moistened her lips and swallowed quickly, vowing that she would never let him know just how deeply he did affect her. “Did you bargain with Miss. Eliza, Lieutenant?”

  “Is she still on your mind?”

  “Is she on yours?”

  He cast back his head and laughed.

  “The situation is not at all amusing, Lieutenant.”

  “Oh, but it is, Miss. Stuart, it’s very rich. As you might have noticed, I didn’t really need to bargain with Miss. Worthingham.

  If that’s what you were inferring. And yet, I didn’t happen to mention yet what our bargain should be. Alas, I could see it in those huge, innocent, violet eyes! He wants to sully my honor, this cavalry man. For the price of a pair of spitting Colts! Her heart beats, and she wonders-my cause! This is my cause! Shouldn’t I lay down my honor and my pride, and give all to this wretched rodent-all for my cause?”

  “Someone should shoot you,” Tess warned him. “Well, you’re trying to make me into a target, aren’t you?

  Ah, but then maybe, just maybe, I could die with the exquisite Miss. Stuart’s kiss still damp upon my lips.”

  She squirmed. She did intend to slap him. “Whoa, Miss. Stuart!” He laughed, and his arm wound even tighter against her. They were sitting like newlyweds, she thought disgustedly. She was halfway atop his lap and she could barely move.

  “Lieutenant, you’re squashing me!”

  “I’m trying to save my jaw, Miss. Stuart! Now calm down. You are desperate, aren’t you?” His eyes looked into hers, and a hard note crept into his voice.

  “You would do anything—anything at all that I asked. How very intriguing.”

  “Jamie Slater” — “Jamie!”

  A sharp call from Jon caught their attention. Jamie’s arm fell from around her shoulder, and he leaned forward, reining in. Jon was riding hard toward them. “What is it?” “Company,” Jon said.

  “Comanche?”

  “Yep.”

  “How many?”

  “Fifty at least. They’re covering the hill over the next dune.”

  “Is it a war party?”

  “They’re out in feathers and paint, but I think it’s a show. I’m pretty sure it’s Running River.”

  Tess watched as Jamie climbed from the wagon. She wondered if she should be frightened, and she wondered with greater exasperation if he should be walking away from her without a thought. He disappeared behind the wagon, then reappeared on his roan.

  “Let’s go see Running River,” he told Jon. “Wait a minute” — Tess began.

  “You wanted to drive the wagon,” Jamie called.

  “Pick up the reins.

  Drive.”

  Then he turned, and he and Jon raced forward. Swearing beneath her breath, Tess picked up the reins and called to the mules. They started plodding along.

  Dolly crawled into the seat, puffing.

  “Comanche! Never did trust ‘em.”

  The mules pulled the wagon over the dune. Tess felt as if her heart stopped, as if it caught in her throat.

  The Comanche seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.

  Bare-chested, in buckskin pants, with various types of feathers banded around their heads, they sat as still as ghosts. Many carried spears and shields, others wore quivers at their backs and held their bows proudly.

  Not one moved.

  They just sat on their horses, looking down at the small party that approached.

  Tess wondered dismally if she was about to become the victim of a real Indian. Her heart thundered, and she dropped the reins. Jon and Jamie had pulled in before them, and they sat on their horses on the dune, watching the Comanche.

  The sky seemed afire with the morning light. Earth and horizon seemed to stretch together in shades of dusty coral and crimson and gold. The quiet was eerie; not even the wind whispered in the sagebrush.

  Then Jamie lifted his hand in some kind of greeting. A loud, shrieking cry sounded from atop the hill.

  And then the Comanche were coming.

  Tess screamed as the Indians started toward them in a blazing cloud of dust, their whoops and cries loud. No one could ride like a Comanche. The men lay braced against their ponies’ necks, they swung beneath them, they righted themselves again. They came closer and closer. Their cries sounded ever louder.

  Ever more deadly.

  “My God, we’re going to be butchered!” Tess breathed. “No, no, I don’t think so,” Dolly told her calmly.

  Astonished, Tess stared at the woman.

  “Well, it’s Running River. He and Jamie are blood brothers.”

  “Blood brothers,” Tess repeated.

  “Yes. The Comanche are warlike, of course. But not this tribe.

  Running River has been peaceful since Jamie came out here. He always deals with the lieutenant, and though there have been Comanche attacks, they’ve never been perpetrated by Gray Lake Comanche.”

  Tess was still unconvinced. There had never been a Comanche attack on Wiltshire—in fact some Comanche even came to town for work now and then—but she had heard about the things that could happen, and watching the extraordinary horsemen bear down upon them did nothing to ease her spirit.

  “My God …” she breathed, sitting very still. The riders were circling the wagon, shaking their spears and bows in the air. Now that they were closer, she could see that their faces and chests were painted in brilliant colors.

  She didn’t move, although she didn’t know if it was courage or pure terror that kept her still. She e0uld see Jon and Jamie, still mounted, as they watched the thundering horses and their riders. Neither reached for a weapon.

  It would be suicide, she thought. They were drastically outnumbered.

  The Indians raced by them. The whoops and the cries were suddenly stilled, and there was silence. Only the dust remained to settle.

  The Comanche were motionless again, surrounding the wagon and Jamie and Jon.

  As Tess watched, Jamie lifted his hand again. One of the Indians, his ink-black hair falling down the length of
his naked back, wearing a band with a single dark feather, urged his mount closer. He walked his horse straight over to Jamie. Then he reached out his hand, and Jamie clasped it.

  The Indian began to speak. Tess didn’t recognize a word, but Jamie and Jon paid rapt attention.

  Then Jamie responded in the Indian’s own tongue, easily, effortlessly.

  Jon spoke, too, then the Comanche again.

  “See,” Dolly whispered.

  “It was a show. It was a performance. There never was any danger.”

  Tess exhaled silently. One question had been answered for her. She’d seen something like this before, but there had been differences. She’d seen the riders—but with saddled horses, in wigs and feathers and paint. They hadn’t ridden like these Comanche. And they hadn’t let out the terrible eries.

  They had been absolutely mute, carrying out their silent executions.

  But she had a right to be afraid of this show. “What’s going on?” she asked Dolly.

  “How should I know, dear? I don’t speak that heathen gibberishl” Tess stiffened, realizing that Jamie was gesturing to her. The Indian he was talking to urged his pony toward her, followed closely by Jamie. Reining to a halt in front of her, the Comanche stared at her. He started to speak.

  Tess swallowed.

  He was lean, wiry, menacing in his paint, and yet when he spoke he smiled, and his teeth were good and strong, and the smile gave some strange appeal to his face. Tess smiled in return.

  “What did he say?” she asked Jamie, between bet teeth.

  “He said that he did not kill your uncle.”

  “Tell him I know that.”

  Jamie spoke, then the chief broke into a barrage of words again.

  Lost, Tess kept nodding and smiling.

  “What did he say now?”

  “Oh. Well, I told him we were traveling to Wiltshire, and that I was going to try to prove that the white man had been guilty. If you made it worth my while, that is. The chief is suggesting that you make it worth my while. He thinks that you should bargain with me.”

  “Oh!” Tess gasped furiously. As she frowned, the Comanche chief frowned, too.

  “Oh, my, my!” Dolly murmured beneath her breath. “Smile, Tess!” Jamie suggested casually.

  She smiled. She locked her teeth, and she smiled. The chief spoke again, quietly.

  “What did he say?” Tess demanded.