Under Apache Skies

by Madeline Baker

  She waited a few minutes and then tiptoed to the door and looked out. Seeing no one, she ran up the stairs. If Seamus’ watch was here, it would most likely be in Victor’s room.

  Walking softly, she opened one door after another until she came to the master bedroom. Heart pounding, palms damp, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Moving quickly, she looked through the drawers in the dresser and the small drawer in the bedside table. Going to the armoire, she opened the doors and searched inside, checking the pockets of his coats, his pants. Nothing.

  Frowning, she looked around the room. Where could it be?

  She whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat, when the door opened.

  “Nettie Mae,” boomed a deep voice. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Victor! You startled me.”

  “Mrs. Knox told me you were here.” He glanced around the room, noting the armoire’s open doors. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She forced a shaky smile. “I was just…just curious about your house, and…well, since it might be my house one day, I…” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  His gaze held hers for stretched seconds. And then he held out his hand. “Shall we go? I asked Mrs. Knox to fix us some lemonade.”

  Keeping her smile firmly in place, Nettie took his hand and let him lead her down the stairs into the parlor.

  “Please sit down.” He indicated the sofa, then sat down beside her.

  A plate of sandwiches, a pitcher, and two glasses sat on an engraved silver tray on the low table in front of the sofa. Victor poured a glass of lemonade and handed it to her. “Sandwich?”

  “No, thank you.” She wondered if he’d noticed the slight trembling in her hand.

  “So.” He leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the sofa. His gaze was intent upon her face, like that of a cat getting ready to pounce on an unwary mouse. “Can I hope you’re here to accept my proposal?”

  Stalling for time, she sipped her lemonade. She had to get out of here soon, before Ridge came after her.

  “Nettie?” He took the glass from her hand and set it aside, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard, his lips bruising hers. “I want you,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve wasted half my life wanting you.” His arms tightened around her until she could hardly breathe. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

  He kissed her again. She slid her hands between them, trying to push him away, and in doing so, she felt something small and hard and round in his vest pocket. A watch?

  Abruptly, he released her. Eyes narrowed, his lips a cold thin line, he reached into his pocket. “Is this what you were looking for?”

  She stared at the watch dangling from his hand. “So it was you.”

  At her words, a change came over him. His eyes grew hard, merciless; his mouth twisted in a cruel smile.

  “How could you? Seamus was your friend. And Martha…” Nettie shook her head, unable to comprehend such evil.

  “It would have been so much easier if you had just kept the ranch and married me.”

  “Why?” Rising, she began to pace the floor. “Why do you want the ranch? Yours is twice the size of ours, three times the size of any other spread in these parts.”

  “Because it should have been mine,” he said brusquely. “Just as you should have been mine.”

  She stopped pacing. “So you killed him? Why, after so many years?”

  “Water,” he said succinctly. “You have more than you need, and I’ve never had enough.”

  “Seamus would have shared with you, if you had asked.”

  “I don’t go begging of any man. He was supposed to be my friend. He knew my circumstances. He should have offered it.”

  She shook her head. “So you killed him because you were too proud to ask for a favor?”

  He nodded. “And now I’m afraid I may have to kill you as well.”

  His words struck her like shards of ice. Feeling suddenly dizzy, she took a step backward, one hand pressed to her heart. She told herself to keep calm. He couldn’t kill her, not now, not here, in his own house. She glanced out the window, wondering how much time had passed. There was no sign of Ridge.

  Victor followed her gaze then looked back at her, his expression thoughtful.

  “Expecting someone?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Uh-huh.” Putting the watch back in his pocket, he took her by the arm and pushed her down on the sofa. “Have a sandwich.”

  She stared at him. Surely he didn’t expect her to eat at a time like this!

  Picking up a sandwich, he thrust it into her hand. “Eat.”

  She took a small bite, afraid to swallow for fear it would come right back up. Forcing it down, she glanced out the window again.

  Victor pulled his gun from the holster and checked the loads. “I suppose Longtree is out there somewhere,” he remarked. “Killing him will be a pleasure.”

  Moving to the front window, he closed the curtains, then took a place beside the front door, his gun hand dangling at his side.

  Nettie sat there, hardly daring to breathe. Thirty minutes had surely passed by now. Where was Ridge?

  A faint movement caught her eye. She turned her head toward the door that led down the hall toward the kitchen in time to see Ridge duck out of sight. She looked back at Victor. He was still standing beside the front door, looking out.

  She glanced back at the hallway. Ridge appeared in the doorway, his gun drawn. Nettie didn’t know what tipped Victor off, but he suddenly whirled around, his gun coming up.

  Two gunshots echoed off the walls, one coming hard on the heels of the other.

  Screaming, Nettie dropped to the floor, her hands covering her ears, the stink of gunpowder stinging her nostrils.

  There was a moment of utter stillness, followed by a heavy thud. She glanced to her left, horrified to see Victor lying there, his gaze on her face. He reached toward her, his hand falling short.

  “I…loved you.” He whispered the words with his last breath.

  Tears stung her eyes as she pulled herself to her feet.

  Ridge stood in the doorway. A dark stain spread over the front of his shirt just above his waist.

  Grimacing, he slid his gun into the holster. “It’s over.”

  Nettie took a deep breath, then, gathering her wits about her, she went into the kitchen to find a cloth to bind his wound. She was startled to find Mrs. Knox sitting in a kitchen chair, her hands and feet bound, a gag in her mouth. Moving quickly, Nettie untied the woman.

  “We need some bandages right quick,” she said. Grabbing a towel, she hurried back to Ridge. Lifting his shirt, she pressed the folded towel over the wound to stanch the flow of blood.

  Moments later, three men ran into the house, their guns drawn. “What the hell’s going on here?” one of them asked. “We heard a shot and…” His voice trailed off when he saw Claunch sprawled on the floor. “Is he dead?”

  “Damn right,” Ridge said.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story,” Nettie said. “I suggest you go into town and get the sheriff.” She glanced at the blood soaking the towel and Ridge’s shirt. “And a doctor.”

  “Tell them to meet us at the ranch,” Ridge said.

  “You ain’t going nowhere,” the man said, his gun leveled at Ridge’s chest.

  Ridge fixed the man with a hard look. “Are you gonna try to stop me?”

  The man took a step back. “No,” he said, holstering his Colt. “No, I’m not.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to wait here?” Nettie asked anxiously. “You’re losing a lot of blood.”

  “I’m sure,” Ridge said. “Let’s go home.”

  Marty sat up, grimacing as the movement sent a twinge through her side.

  “What are you doing?” Dani asked.
/>   “I’m getting up.”

  “The doctor said—”

  “I don’t care what he said. I feel all right, just a little sore. Besides, something’s going on.” She slid her feet over the edge of the bed. “Something’s wrong. I just know it.”

  Rising, Dani reached to steady Marty as she gained her feet. “Are you sure you should be doing this?”

  “Stop fussing over me.”

  Feeling a little lightheaded, Marty left her bedroom and, step by slow step, made her way down the stairs.

  “Do you know where Ridge is?” Marty asked.

  “No. I thought he was out with the hands. You know, learning the lay of the land or chasing cows, or whatever it is they do out there.”

  “Dani—”

  “Seriously, I don’t know where he is. Are you sure you’re all right? Should I go look for him?”

  “No.” Marty sat down on the sofa.

  Dani pulled a quilt from the back of a chair and covered Marty with it, then stood there, one finger tapping her lower lip. “I’m going to go look for him,” she said. “Don’t move.”

  Sitting back on the sofa, Marty stared out the window, wondering where her mother had gone. An errand, Nettie had said. What kind of errand? And why had her voice sounded so odd when she told them she loved them, almost as if she was saying goodbye?

  Overcome with a sudden sense of foreboding, she wrapped her arms around her waist. Something was wrong; she was sure of it. And even as the thought crossed her mind, the front door opened.

  “Dani! Dani, where are you?” Nettie yelled.

  “She went looking for Ridge,” Marty called. “What’s wr…” She didn’t finish asking. She knew what was wrong. Unmindful of the sharp stab of pain in her shoulder, she leaped off the sofa and ran to the front door.

  Nettie stood just inside the door, her arm wrapped around Ridge’s waist. An ugly red smear stained the right side of his shirt.

  “What happened?” Marty hurried toward Ridge, needing to touch him.

  “I’ll be all right,” he assured her. “Just let me sit down.”

  Marty looked at her mother as they followed Ridge into the parlor. He sank down in a corner of the sofa and closed his eyes.

  “Where were you?” Marty asked. “What happened?”

  “We went to see Victor.”

  “You did what?”

  “It was my idea.” Nettie glanced at Ridge. “He didn’t want me to go.”

  Opening his eyes, Ridge looked at Marty. “You and your mother have a lot in common,” he said with a wry grin, then closed his eyes again. “Neither one of you has enough sense to stay home where you belong.”

  “Go on,” Marty said.

  “Victor had your father’s watch. He’s the one who shot you. He shot Ridge, too.”

  “Where’s Victor now?”

  “He’s dead,” Ridge answered.

  “Did you…?”

  “Yeah.”

  Marty blew out a breath. “Mama, shouldn’t we get a doctor?”

  “He should be on his way. I told one of Victor’s men to notify the sheriff and send the doctor out here.” She glanced at Ridge, who seemed to be sleeping, and lowered her voice. “The bullet’s still in his side. I put some water on to heat. I could use a cup of tea, and the doctor will probably want some hot water.”

  Marty nodded absently, her attention on her husband. He looked pale beneath his tan. How much blood had he lost? How much could a man lose and still live?

  Wishing the doctor would hurry, she began to pace the floor. Hearing Dani’s footsteps on the porch, Marty went to head Dani off before she went into the parlor. Ridge was asleep, and right now, that was the best thing for him.

  Dani listened in amazement as Nettie related what had happened at the Claunch place, unable to believe that her mother, always so quiet and demure, had had the nerve to search Victor’s house.

  “Ridge is the one who saved the day,” Nettie said. “I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t insisted on going with me. Let me tell you, I was never so glad to see anybody in my life.”

  “Thank God you’re both alive,” Dani said fervently.

  “Amen,” Marty murmured.

  Leaving Nettie and Dani in the kitchen to fix dinner, Marty helped Ridge up the stairs to bed. She pulled back the covers, and he sat on the edge of the bed while she pulled off his boots and socks, unbuckled his gun belt, removed his trousers and his shirt.

  With a low groan, he lowered himself to the mattress and closed his eyes.

  “Here.” She placed his hand on the bloody towel. “Keep some pressure on that. Can I get you anything?”

  “Some whiskey if you’ve got it.”

  “All right.” She drew the sheet over him and left the room. She came back with a bottle of rye that her father had kept in his desk. She poured a shot, then held the glass to Ridge’s lips. He downed it in one swallow.

  “More.”

  She frowned at him. “Are you sure? That’s pretty strong.”

  “So’s the ache in my side.”

  Wordlessly, she poured another shot.

  He was feeling no pain when the doctor arrived thirty minutes later.

  Marty hovered nearby as the doctor drew back the sheet and removed the towel covering the wound. She held the bowl while the doctor washed the ragged, angry-looking hole, stood by with several clean cloths while he probed for the slug.

  Marty swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

  Seeing her face, Ridge caught her hand in his. “Hey, you’re not gonna be sick, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  He grinned crookedly, then swore, his hand crushing hers as the doctor dug deeper into the wound. Blood oozed from the nasty hole in his side.

  Marty looked away. He might have been killed trying to protect her mother. The thought made her angry even as it made her love him all the more.

  “Ah! Here it is,” the doctor said. He held it up for Marty to see, then dropped the small chunk of lead into a pan. “Wet a couple of those cloths, will you?”

  Marty did as she was asked, grateful to have something to do.

  A short time later, the wound was cleaned and bandaged.

  The doctor closed his black bag with a snap, then looked at Marty. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, too, Miss Martha?”

  She nodded, and then, feeling like a child who had disobeyed the rules, she crawled into bed beside Ridge.

  “That’s better,” the doctor said. He looked from one to the other. “See if you two can stay out of trouble for a while.”

  Picking up his bag, he left the room.

  Ridge looked at Marty, a twinkle in his eye. “Not much of a honeymoon, is it?” he asked, his words slightly slurred. “I always wanted to get you into bed, but damn, not like this.”

  Sheriff Bruckner showed up at the ranch the next day. He listened to what Ridge had to say, then took Nettie into another room and listened to her version of the shooting.

  “It sounds like self-defense to me, Longtree,” Bruckner said, “but I’m not the judge or the jury. I’m afraid I’ll have to take you in.”

  Marty stared at Ridge, her eyes wide. Would he go peacefully? Or would he run again? She could tell nothing of what he was thinking from his expression, which remained impassive.

  “Longtree?”

  “Can’t he stay here?” Marty asked. “He’s hurt.”

  “‘Fraid not.” Bruckner’s hand moved to his gun butt. “Get dressed, Longtree.”

  Ridge drew Marty close and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, honey.”

  She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Bruckner and Nettie left the room so Ridge could dress.

  Marty hovered around him, touching him, her eyes caressing him. He’d hang if they found him guilty. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

  “Maybe you should make a run for it,” she said. “Hide out for a while. I’ll meet you somewhere.”

  Ridge shook his head. “I
’m through running.”

  He drew her into his arms and held her gently, mindful of her injured shoulder. “I love you, Martha Jean. Don’t ever forget that,” he said, and then he kissed her, long and deep.

  She was crying when he opened the door.

  Bruckner was waiting in the hallway. He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and thrust them at Ridge. “Put these on.”

  “You don’t need ‘em,” Ridge said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Bruckner studied him a moment, then nodded.

  Marty slipped her arm around Ridge’s waist and hugged him tight. “I love you!”

  “I know.” He brushed a kiss across the top of her head. And then he was gone.

  Ridge was having second thoughts as he stepped inside the iron-barred cell. It would have been easy to overpower Bruckner and make a run for it. Ridge was surprised the man had lived this long. He was far too trusting to be a lawman. Then again, Chimney Creek was a pretty quiet town.

  He flinched when Bruckner shut and locked the cell door behind him. Sitting on the edge of the cot in the corner, he stared at the floor, wondering if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. He had been locked up only once before, and he’d sworn it would never happen again. But that had been before Martha. She was more important to him than anything in his life, even his freedom.

  Glancing at the walls and the bars, he was filled with a sudden restlessness. Gaining his feet, he began to pace the narrow confines of his prison like a caged tiger, the tension in him growing with each passing minute.

  Joe Alexander came to visit him, nosing around for a story. “I’ve got a couple of flyers in my office,” he remarked, studying Ridge’s face. “They look a lot like you.”

  “Is that right?”

  Alexander nodded. “No name on either one. Good descriptions, though. Long black hair. Blue eyes. Some Indian blood. About your height and weight.”

  Ridge grunted. “You going anywhere with this?”

  “Just wondered if there was anything you wanted to tell me.”

  “Not a thing.”