Under Apache Skies

by Madeline Baker

  Marty blushed under her mother’s knowing look. “Good morning, Mama.”

  Nettie grinned. “Ridge came down a few minutes ago, wearing that same silly smile.”

  “I think I’m going to like being married,” Marty remarked. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she carried it to the table and sat down. “Isn’t it a lovely day?”

  “Lovely,” Nettie agreed dryly. “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished!”

  “Well, you just sit there and relax a minute and I’ll whip up some scrambled eggs and bacon.”

  “Thanks, Mama. Has Ridge had breakfast?”

  “He grabbed a cup of coffee and a couple of biscuits.”

  “Oh. He said something about going out to check on the north pasture. I think I’ll ride out and see if I can find him after I eat.”

  A short time later, Marty saddled her favorite horse and headed for the north pasture. It was a pretty piece of land watered by a narrow, winding stream. Tall trees provided shade. There was a line shack up on a ridge. Marty grinned inwardly. It was vacant this time of year, a perfect place for them to be alone.

  With a laugh, she urged her horse into a gallop. Marriage had certainly turned her into a shameless hussy, she thought. All she could think of was the past night in her husband’s arms and how eager she was to be there again. What a tender lover he had been, so patient and gentle with her, letting her explore every inch of his muscular body until she knew it as well as she knew her own, arousing her until she was ready to receive him. They had made love all night long, and it wasn’t enough. She wanted him again, wanted to experience the unbelievable pleasure of his body melding with hers.

  She had almost reached her destination when she felt something slam into her shoulder. A moment later she heard the sharp crack of a rifle.

  Her first thought was that someone was hunting on her property. Then she looked at her shoulder and saw the blood soaking her shirt. Pain lanced through her arm as she stared at the blood.

  She’d been shot! It was her last thought before she rumbled from her horse into oblivion.

  Ridge drew his horse to a halt, one hand automatically reaching for his gun, as the rolling sound of gunfire split the peaceful afternoon air.

  Reining his horse around, he rode in the direction of the gunshot. It was probably nothing, he told himself. One of the hands shooting at a snake or a mountain lion, or maybe putting an injured cow out of its misery. But deep inside, he knew something bad had happened.

  Emerging from a stand of timber, he saw Marty’s horse grazing a few yards away, its nose buried in a patch of grass. Alarm skittered down Ridge’s back as he glanced around, searching for Martha. And then he saw her. She was lying facedown, one arm flung out.

  He was off his horse and running toward her before the animal came to a halt. Kneeling, he turned her over, swearing a vile oath when he saw the blood that stained her shirt. He ran his hands over her, relieved that there were no other wounds save for a rather large lump on the back of her head. But she was alive. Thank God the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital, though it had plowed a deep furrow in her shoulder.

  Gently, he stroked her cheek. She moaned softly but didn’t open her eyes. Cursing softly, he removed his handkerchief, folded it in half and then in half again, then slid it inside her shirt, pressing it over the wound.

  Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to his horse and placed her in the saddle. She slumped forward and he swung up behind her. Wrapping his right arm around her waist, he picked up the reins and headed toward home. Her horse trailed after them.

  Who had shot her, and why? The question pounded in his brain. Was it an accident? Or had the man who killed Seamus struck again?

  When he reached the house, he hollered for Nettie.

  He saw her peering out the kitchen window, and then she was running down the stairs, her eyes wide with fear.

  “She’s alive,” Ridge said.

  “Thank the Lord.” Reaching up, Nettie held her daughter while Ridge slid over the stallion’s rump.

  After tossing the horse’s reins over the hitching post, he lifted Marty from the saddle and swiftly carried her into the house and up the stairs to their bedroom.

  Nettie hurried in after him and drew back the covers.

  Gently, Ridge placed Marty on the mattress.

  “We’ll need some hot water,” Nettie said. “You’ll find some clean cloths in the kitchen cupboard. There’s some carbolic acid there, too. Hurry!”

  With a nod, Ridge left the room.

  “Martha, oh, Martha,” Nettie murmured. “Who did this terrible thing?” Fighting back tears, she pulled off Martha’s boots and socks, then eased her Levi’s over her hips and down her legs. Next, she removed Martha’s shirt and camisole, then drew a blanket up to her waist, her gaze riveted on the bloody kerchief that covered the wound in her daughter’s shoulder.

  Ridge returned a short time later carrying a bowl of hot water and the other items Nettie had asked for.

  Ridge prowled the room while Nettie washed and treated the wound, then bandaged it with a length of clean linen.

  “She’ll be all right,” Nettie said.

  Ridge nodded. “Sure she will.”

  Marty stirred, a whisper stealing past her lips. “Ridge? I want Ridge.”

  He was at her side in an instant. “I’m here,” he said, taking her hand. “Everything’s all right.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open. “What happened?” She glanced around the room. “Why am I in bed?” She stared at him and then her eyes widened. “Someone shot me!”

  “Shh, just take it easy. You’re gonna be fine.”

  “I’ll go down and make her a cup of tea,” Nettie said. “It will help her relax.”

  Nodding, Ridge sat down on the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

  “My shoulder hurts. And my head.”

  Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her brow. “Damn, girl, you gave me quite a scare. What were you doing out there, anyway?”

  “Looking for you, of course.”

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No. I just wanted to see you.” She shrugged, then winced as the movement sent a sliver of pain lancing through her shoulder.

  Ridge stroked her cheek. “Missing me, were you?”

  She nodded. “There’s a line shack up there. I thought we could—”

  “Here we go,” Nettie said, hurrying into the room. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

  Ridge helped Marty sit up a little. Nettie held the cup for Marty, who took a drink, then gasped, her eyes wide.

  “What is that?”

  “Tea,” Nettie replied, “with a wee bit of whiskey. Come, drink it. It will do you good.”

  When the cup was empty, Ridge tucked Marty under the covers.

  “Stay with me,” she murmured.

  “I will.”

  She reached for his hand. Her eyelids fluttered down, and she was asleep.

  Nettie smoothed a lock of hair from her daughter’s brow, then looked at Ridge. “Who do you think did this?”

  “My money’s on the same man who killed your husband.”

  “Marty thinks it was Victor.”

  “1 know. I’m inclined to agree with her.”

  Nettie took a deep breath. “Then we’d better find out.”

  Thirty minutes later, Ridge left the house. Swinging into the saddle, he turned the stallion toward the north pasture, riding hard until he came to the place where he’d found Marty.

  Dismounting, he searched the ground in ever-widening circles until he found what he was looking for—a set of hoofprints cut into the earth. The same irregular track he’d seen near the body of Seamus Flynn. There were no footprints.

  Stepping into the saddle, he followed the prints to the edge of Claunch’s spread.

  Reining his horse to a halt, Ridge leaned forward, his forearms crossed on the saddlehorn, his eyes narrowed as he got his first glimpse of Victor Claunch’s domain.r />
  The house was large, three stories high, sparkling in the afternoon sun with a new coat of white paint. The door was dark green, there were matching shutters at the windows. A big red barn stood to the right of the house; there were several corrals filled with horses, another filled with yearling calves.

  There was no sign of Claunch.

  Ridge sat there for an hour, watching. He considered confronting Claunch but knew it would be futile. The fact that the tracks ended here didn’t prove that Claunch was the killer, but it made him look guilty as hell.

  Ridge grunted softly. If Claunch wasn’t the killer, then someone sure wanted it to look that way.

  Dismounting, Ridge tied his horse to a tree out of sight of the house, and then, using all the skills his grandfather had taught him, he made his way to the barn. He stood at the back door a moment, listening. Deciding the barn was empty, he opened the door and slipped inside.

  He paused just inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. The smells of hay, horse, leather, and manure filled the air. Moving quietly, he followed the irregular track to the second-to-last stall. It wasn’t the horse Claunch usually rode, but the fact that it was in the man’s barn was damning enough.

  With a grunt of satisfaction, Ridge retraced his steps to the back of the barn and went out the back door.

  Skirting the edge of the yard, he made his way back to his horse. Swinging into the saddle, he turned the stallion toward home, all the while contemplating his next move. His first instinct was to confront Claunch and then kill the bastard. But he was wanted in too many places already. He couldn’t afford to run afoul of the law now, not here. He had too much to lose. His best bet was to talk to the sheriff and let him handle it.

  Ridge snorted softly. Bruckner seemed like a decent guy, but Ridge didn’t have much faith in his ability as a lawman.

  When he reached the ranch, Ridge left his horse at the barn, then hurried up to the house.

  Nettie looked up from the sofa, where she was doing some mending, when he entered the room.

  “How is she?” Ridge asked.

  “Sleeping. Did you find anything?”

  “I found some tracks near where she was shot. They led straight to Claunch’s place.”

  Nettie stared at him, then shook her head. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured, and then her eyes widened. “I think you’re right. I remember the look on his face yesterday when I gave Marty the deed to the ranch. What do we do now?”

  “Go to the sheriff, I reckon.”

  “Do you think we have enough proof?”

  “No.”

  Looking thoughtful, Nettie set her mending aside. “Martha told me Seamus’ watch was missing when she found him. Whoever killed Seamus most likely took the watch I gave him the day we got married. If Victor killed Seamus, he must have the watch.”

  “I don’t know. He’d be a damn fool to keep it.”

  “Maybe, but if he wasn’t going to keep it, why take it?”

  Ridge nodded. “True enough.”

  “So all we have to do is find the watch.”

  “How do you propose to do that? Just waltz in and look around?”

  “No, but I’ll bet I could get him to invite me to dinner. Or I could go calling when I’m sure he’s not home and then wait for him inside. Yes, I think that’s a better idea.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “The man shot my daughter and killed my husband,” Nettie exclaimed, her voice rising. “I’m not going to let him get away with that! Are you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Good. Victor told me yesterday that he had some business to take care of at the bank tomorrow afternoon. I’ll go over for a visit, and when his housekeeper tells me he isn’t home, I’ll tell her I’m going to wait.”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “I’m going, and that’s that.”

  “You know, your daughter’s a lot like you,” Ridge muttered.

  “Thank you.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” he retorted.

  Nettie laughed. “Maybe not, but I’m taking it as such. We’d better not say anything about this to Martha. I don’t want her worrying.”

  “Right.” No sense in worrying Martha Jean, he agreed. He was already worrying enough for both of them.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Marty fretted constantly at being forced to stay in bed. Her mother had sent Smitty after the doctor. After examining the wound and the lump on the back of her head, the doctor advised her to spend the next few days taking it easy. Nettie and Ridge interpreted this as “staying in bed”.

  “But I feel fine,” she argued, but to no avail.

  Dani came to keep her company the next day. As always, Dani looked as if she had just stepped out of a bandbox. She wore a pretty pink gingham dress. Her hair was pulled back and tied with a matching ribbon. She made the day brighter just by entering the room, Marty thought. No wonder everyone loved her.

  In no time at all, Dani was sitting on the edge of the bed, and the two of them were comparing notes on husbands and married life. Both agreed that the intimate side of marriage was far more wonderful and exciting than they had ever dreamed or expected.

  Just before noon, Nettie poked her head into the room. “You girls doing all right?”

  “Fine,” Dani said.

  “You don’t mind staying a little longer, do you, Danielle?” Nettie asked. “I have an errand to run.”

  “I don’t mind. Take your time.”

  “Good.” Nettie started to go and then, on impulse, she kissed each of her daughters on the cheek. Just in case. “I love you both,” she said, her voice thick, and then left the room.

  Marty and Dani exchanged looks.

  “What was that all about?” Marty asked.

  Dani shrugged. “Maybe she’s just trying to make up for lost time.”

  Ridge was waiting for Nettie at the barn.

  She looked at the two saddled horses and then looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

  “You didn’t think I was gonna let you ride over there alone, did you?” he asked.

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Good.” He helped her mount her horse, adjusted the stirrups, and handed her the reins. “You do know how to ride, don’t you?”

  “Of course, but it’s been a while.”

  “We’ll take it slow then,” he said, and stepping into the saddle, he rode out of the yard.

  She tried to concentrate on the beauty of the countryside, the clear blue sky, the cattle they passed, the birds flitting from tree to tree, but to no avail. Her heart was pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer by the time they reached the outskirts of Victor’s ranch. She folded her hands on the pommel to still their trembling and hoped Ridge wouldn’t notice. She should have known better. The man didn’t miss a trick.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “We can always just turn around and go back.”

  “No.” She squared her shoulders. “It’s got to stop now. He might not miss the next time.”

  “It’ll be a lot easier and quicker if I just call him out.”

  “Ridge, no!” she cried in horror. “What if he’s innocent?”

  “One more dead man on my conscience isn’t going to make a hell of a lot of difference.”

  “So, it’s true, what Joe Alexander told me.”

  “I don’t know. What did he tell you?”

  “He said you’re wanted for murder in Dodge and Abilene.”

  Ridge nodded.

  “Does Martha know?”

  “You don’t think I’d marry a woman without telling her about my past, do you?”

  “No, I guess not. Is it true, what Joe said?”

  “Partly. It was self-defense both times.”

  “So they let you go?”

  “No, ma’am. I lit out just as fast as I could.”

  “But why?”

  He grinned. It was the same question Martha Jean had asked, and he gave
Nettie the same answer. “Because I’m Apache and they weren’t.”

  She started to say she couldn’t believe that would make a difference, that surely he would have gotten a fair trial, but she knew he was right. No Apache ever got a fair trial, at least not in this part of the country.

  “You still determined to do this?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “All right. I’ll wait for you here. If you’re not out of the house in thirty minutes, I’m coming in after you.”

  With a nod, Nettie urged her horse into a trot.

  Ridge leaned forward, his arms resting on the saddle horn. From his vantage point, he could see the front of the house and part of the left side. He watched Nettie dismount and tie her horse to the hitching post. She smoothed her skirts, ran a hand over her hair, then climbed the stairs and knocked on the front door.

  It was opened a moment later by a rotund woman wearing a white apron over a gray dress.

  “Hello,” Nettie said. “Is Victor home?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Nettie said with a smile. “I’ll just come in and wait.”

  The housekeeper regarded her a moment; then, with a shrug, she stepped aside. “Come on in.”

  Nettie took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she murmured, and stepped across the threshold. She shivered as the door closed behind her.

  The housekeeper led the way into the parlor. “You can wait in here, if you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can I bring you something?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Well, then, I’ll get back to my washing.”

  “Of course.” Smiling at the woman, Nettie sat down on the sofa and picked up the newspaper lying on the table.

  The housekeeper watched her a moment and then left the room.

  Nettie put the newspaper down and glanced at her surroundings. The furniture was heavy and dark; the walls were papered in a dark green stripes. Several rifles hung above the fireplace. Aside from the sofa on which she sat, there were two comfortable-looking chairs, and a rocker. There was a low table in front of the sofa. Expensive rugs covered the floor. A painting hung on one wall, depicting a herd of wild horses running from a storm. There was a long table beneath the window. It held a sparkling crystal decanter and several glasses, a pipe rack, and a stack of magazines.