Apache Caress

by Georgina Gentry - Panorama of the Old West 08 - Apache Caress

  Gill leaned over slowly and picked the silver thing up, whistled low. “Where in the hell did you get this?”

  “Gill honey, ain’t you listening to me?” Trixie sobbed and wiped her eyes. “I think I’m in trouble–”

  “Well, that ain’t my problem, sister. I haven’t been in town long enough!” He caught her arm, shook her. “Tell me where you got this.”

  “In Otto’s office,” she sobbed. “He gave it to me and he had that red headband, too.”

  “What? Who the hell is Otto?”

  “I been tryin’ to tell you.” Trixie gulped, then quickly filled him in on the details.

  Gill didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stood there, turning the silver thing over and over in his hand.

  “Gill honey, don’t you understand? He’s dead, and by now they’ve probably found him. You was goin’ to take me away, and now it’s real important–”

  “I just can’t quite put the pieces together,” Gill mused as if he hadn’t heard her. “What was the banker doing with this thing!”

  “Who gives a damn?” Trixie had lost her patience. “It ain’t important–”

  “Yes, it is, Trixie.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Tell me how he got it. Believe me, it’s important.”

  She hesitated, baffled by his interest.

  “Look, Trixie, this belongs to the man I’m hunting,” he explained patiently as if dealing with a child. “If I catch the man, I may get a promotion and the brass may overlook the fact that I let him get away in the first place. Besides, there might be a reward . . . especially since he just killed a leading citizen like Otto Tombs.”

  “But he didn’t kill Otto. That was an accident. I told you about him and me strugglin’ and how he fell on the letter opener.... Reward?” Gill’s last words got through to her. A reward meant money.

  “Yes, sweet, a reward.” Gill patted her rear. “Think of money, a lot of money that the bank might put up to catch this killer. Now tell me the whole thing again right quick so I can get over to the bank.”

  “Bank?” Trixie lit a cigarette with shaky hands. “Why do you want to go to the bank? You gonna turn me in?”

  “Blast it all, Trixie, don’t you understand? The Injun sneaked in there and tried to rob the banker. In the struggle before Cholla stabbed him, Toombs managed to pull the headband off him. That’s a distinctive headband. All the Army’s Apache scouts wear them so the soldiers can tell ’em from the hostiles and not shoot one of ours accidentally during a battle.”

  “Oh, now I see. Gill honey, you’re wonderful!” She tried to kiss him, but he brushed her aside.

  “Go back to your place and wait. I got to get to the bank and drop off this silver concho from Cholla’s moccasin. Then I got to make sure the policemen find the things and know what they are. Whatever the reward for that escaped Apache is now, it ought to be double by tomorrow!”

  When Gill returned to Trixie’s room, he was so happy, he was whistling. In fact, he was in such good spirits, he stopped on the way and bought a big bottle of patent medicine for her and a bag of cinnamon drops for himself. That dumb tart had dropped a windfall into his lap.

  “Trixie gal, how would you like to be seen on the arm of Captain Gillen?” He set the bottles on the table, picked her up and whirled her around.

  “What?” she blinked at him.

  “You heard me!” He set her on her feet, plopped down on the sofa, put his boots up on the arm. “I also leaked it to a reporter who showed up. By tomorrow, all the newspapers and the citizens will be outraged over that savage killin’ a leading, upstanding citizen. They’re talking reward. Word has gone out on all the telegraph wires. Cholla is big news.”

  “So now what?” She sat down on the sofa, took his head in her lap.

  It had been a long time since he had been in such a good mood. Gillen reached up and opened Trixie’s robe, stroked her freckled breasts. “So the Army’s assigning me to track him down, no matter where the trail leads. I’ll leave you some money, and you meet me out in Arizona in time for the holidays.”

  “Oh, ain’t that grand!” Trixie lit a cigarette, giggled, then sobered. “But what was the Injun doin’ at the farm?”

  “Good point, Trixie.” Gill stroked Trixie’s breasts absently while he considered. “If Cholla was on Forester’s place, do you suppose he went there lookin’ for revenge?” The next thought that occurred to him made him sit bolt upright. “Or is there a chance that in that arroyo at the last minute, Robert told that damned scout something he didn’t tell me? Could that lying Robert have known where the money was buried on that farm all along?”

  “Then why did he ask to be transferred to Arizona?” Trixie trailed blue smoke from her nostrils, like a lazy dragon.

  Gill thought about it a minute. “Makes sense. But he got a couple of letters from his wife he never bothered to answer. He just tore them up. Maybe she told him in a letter, trying to get him to come back to her.”

  Trixie giggled. “Fat chance! She was the shy and mousy type.”

  What type was Mrs. Robert Forester? Gill had never met her. He searched his memory for an image of the woman they were discussing. In his mind’s eye, he saw the photo thrown carelessly in Robert’s top drawer in their quarters at Fort Bowie. A man who was in love with a woman carried her photo on his person.

  For a long moment, Gill stroked Trixie’s freckled breasts as he wondered what had happened to the photo. No doubt Sergeant Mooney had gathered it up along with the rest of Robert’s personal things and had returned it to his widow along with the medals and letters of commendation.

  In his mind, Gillen saw the photo again: the ebony hair in a prim bun, the dark eyes, the exotic look of the Hungarian face. “I’ll be goddamned!” he sat up with a groan.

  “What’s the matter, Gill honey?”

  “No wonder that girl looked so familiar to me.”

  “What girl?”

  “The girl driving the wagon toward the bridge. I didn’t realize who she was but I should have since I had seen the photo.” He stood up.

  “Gill, would you please talk sense!” She rose, reached for her bottle of medicine, took a big swig.

  Gill swore and paced the floor. “Blast it all! Escaped right under our noses, I’ll wager! Who would suspect a widow in a little wagon? From what Robert said of her, she ain’t the type to get mixed up with a wild stud like that one; no, he must be holding her captive. Yeah, that’s it; he’s using her for a hostage . . . or for revenge.”

  “What the hell you talkin’ about, Gill?”

  “And while we look on this side of the river, they’ve crossed and he’s maybe killed her by now; drove that wagon off in the Mississippi. That bastard is probably already on a train across Kansas, laughing his fool head off at how stupid we are!”

  Gill ran for the door and took off down the stairs.

  Cholla came awake suddenly in the early dawn. Although the morning air was chill, his shirt was soaked with sweat. He still dreamed of that fateful July day. He wondered if the other survivors had nightmares too? But it had been Cholla who had made the other four agree to remain silent about the events. Considering what had happened, there was nothing else he could have done. Tom, old traditional Army man that he was, was the only one who had hesitated about going along, but the scout had made the sergeant see the sense of it.

  Cholla looked around. For a split second, he wasn’t sure where he was or why. A woman lay curled against the warmth of his chest. For a second, he blinked at the sleeping, dark-haired white girl whose hands were tied behind her back, and then everything that had happened in the last several days came back to him. Reality was as horrible as his nightmare had been. It was both ironic and insane that Cholla was using Robert Forester’s widow as a hostage. Cholla was living on borrowed time, he knew that. The girl was right, he had no chance of betting back to the wild, desolate country that he loved. And yet he must try. Freedom meant more to him than life itself.

 
Revenge. At least he would have his revenge. No wonder she had tried to keep him out of that trunk so he wouldn’t find the photo. What would be the perfect vengeance? To kill her? No, that was too simple.

  Delzhinne. The beautiful Apache girl who had meant more to Cholla than life itself had been raped and then shot between the eyes. Tom had found her and had taken his friend out to the spot where she lay. Yes, he should pay Robert Forester back in his own coin. Cholla frowned. He had no stomach for killing women. He smiled to himself, thinking he knew of an even better revenge. He considered it only just that he put his baby in the lieutenant’s woman.

  Yet there was an old Apache taboo against rape. He must seduce Forester’s woman, make her want him enough to surrender to him. Then when her belly swelled with his child, he would dump her off at some white fort to live disgraced by the brown baby sucking at her breast. Maybe he would even try to take her to Austin, to Forester’s haughty mother, and leave her there. If the Foresters were as important and rich as the lieutenant boasted, the disgrace would be complete.

  Gently, Cholla brushed Sierra’s hair away from her face. “Are you awake?”

  Sierra woke with a start, looked up into her captor’s dark eyes. There was no mistaking the desire she saw reflected there. For a moment, she almost pulled away. Then it occurred to her that as long as she exhibited fear and distrust of him, he would never let down his guard. To escape–or kill him–Sierra needed to be trusted so he no longer guarded her closely, tied her at night. For her purposes, she was going to have to make him want her even more. She would have to seduce him.

  She hesitated only a moment. How different could it be with him from what it had been with Robert? If she closed her eyes . . .

  Taking a deep breath for courage, she opened her lips slightly, looking up at him. He paused as if unsure whether she was offering them to him, and then he bent his head and brushed his lips across hers.

  Robert had never kissed her that tenderly. The Apache’s gentleness surprised her. After all, she lay bound and helpless, he could use her body for his needs as hurriedly and roughly as Robert had done.

  She willed herself not to pull away as warm lips caressed hers and hands went to her shoulders, drawing her up to his mouth. His tongue felt like a flame as it flickered across her lips, and when she opened them, it slipped inside.

  She felt an unaccustomed warmth stirring deep in her. Robert had never aroused her so. But then Robert’s kisses had been quick; with him, everything about the act had been rushed as if he couldn’t wait to finish with her. In contrast, Cholla kissed her so leisurely it seemed he planned to spend hours doing nothing else. Sierra suddenly felt guilty. Her husband had only been dead a few weeks, yet here she was letting one of the tribe that had killed him put dark hands on her. The end justifies the means, she told herself. She would have to endure this until she could kill him or escape.

  His arms went around her, and she felt him fumbling with the ropes that bound her. “I like a woman to hold me when I make love to her,” he whispered.

  Her arms were cramped, but when he freed them, she dutifully slipped them around his neck, in awe of the powerful, corded muscles there. At any moment, he would untie her ankles, rip away her lace drawers, and ram into her, coming in a quick, hot rush as her husband had always done.

  But the Indian made no move to untie her legs. They lay there in the gray dawn on the blanket, with him stroking and kissing her.

  I must not know the proper things to do, Sierra thought. Robert had always said she was lousy in bed when he’d taunted her with his whore. When Sierra had responded that all she knew was what her husband had taught her since he’d been her only man, he had slapped her.

  She must make this savage desire her enough to let down his guard. How else could she kill him or escape?

  Shyly, Sierra slipped her tongue between his lips, probing deeply as she clung to him, pulling his bare chest to her. Even though the cloth of her prim dress was between them, she rubbed her nipples up against him. She felt his sharp intake of breath, and for a long moment, he kissed her with abandon, his hands on her shoulders, drawing her to him.

  Then he seemed to come to his senses. He let go of her and sat up. He looked as surprised and unnerved as Sierra felt.

  “We’ve got to get going,” he said, and reached down to untie her ankles.

  His big hands felt warm on her bare flesh, and they seemed to linger on her ankles. She lay looking up at him, waiting for him to roll over on her and finish, but instead he got up. She watched him walk over, begin to put on his shirt.

  Robert had been right. She wasn’t desirable or knowledgeable enough to charm even a savage. And she had been worried about Cholla being so wild with passion that he would rape her. She felt a little chagrined, as well as relieved, at his lack of interest. Still she would have to keep trying. If she couldn’t charm him into caring for her, sometime soon, he might just cut her throat and throw her in a weed patch, and no one would ever know what had happened to her.

  Without another word, Sierra got up, went into the bushes to relieve herself, washed up in the creek, and fixed breakfast.

  As he ate the Apache stared at her thoughtfully. She wished she knew what he was thinking.

  “What happens now?” she asked as she finished her coffee.

  He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

  She asked again, and he started as if he hadn’t been listening. “What? Oh, the trip.”

  Sierra was puzzled. “Yes, we’re on the run, remember? The Army is looking for you, probably dead or alive.”

  He raised one eyebrow at her. “You could use that reward, I’ll wager. That would help a poor widow a lot, wouldn’t it?”

  She didn’t know what answer he expected, so she said nothing. Tonight, she thought, if I’m lucky enough to get through today alive, I’ll try again to charm him.

  Cholla finished his food, leaned against a tree, obviously deep in thought. Finally he said, “I think the Army will expect me to try to return the way I came ... if they finally figure out I managed to get across the Mississippi.”

  “How did you come?” She got up, began to collect the dishes, kicked dirt over the fire.

  “The train from Bowie Station ran east to Albuquerque, then north along the mountains. When we reached what Gillen said was Colorado, we turned and went due east across Kansas.” The Apache looked sad, thoughtful. “Once that was all buffalo country; now everywhere I looked across those flat plains there were farmhouses.”

  Cholla rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “If the Army expects me to try to follow those same tracks or hide on one of those Kansas trains, I’ll do something else.”

  “Like what?” Sierra took the pins from her hair, began to brush it. She felt him watching her.

  “I think I’ll do what the Army doesn’t expect, which is turn south now and go through the hills, maybe catch a freight train through eastern Indian Territory.”

  “What about the wagon and the mule?” Maybe he was going to say he was giving them to her, and she could turn around and go back.

  “I haven’t decided,” he said, running his tongue over his lip. “But then, I don’t know if there’s a train through the Indian Nations yet.”

  Sierra didn’t ask any more questions. At least he had made it clear he wasn’t releasing her today, but he hadn’t said “we” when talking about catching the train. She packed up their things. Before the sun was above the eastern horizon, they were headed across Missouri toward the Ozarks.

  Days passed. He never touched her again. Sometimes he scouted the terrain, sometimes he rode on the seat next to her. They fell into a kind of routine, and she stopped asking when he was going to release her. She would either have to kill him when she got the chance or escape. Sierra bided her time.

  She tried to look ahead and mind her driving, but his arm and body brushed against her occasionally, warm and strong. It made her think of his hands on her shoulders, his lips tra
iling across hers. In her mind, she saw those callused, dark hands pulling away the fabric of her dress so they could cup her white breasts.

  Nervously, she glanced over at the strong hands resting on his knees and imagined them on her own knees, gradually pushing her skirt up as his fingers worked their way along her creamy thighs, spread her, and pulled her toward him....

  The thought sent shivers down her back. He was going to do it sooner or later, when he was sure he was safe from hot pursuit. If she looked up suddenly, Sierra sometimes caught him watching her, and she wondered whether he was planning her rape . . . or her murder?

  As days passed, they moved along seldom traveled roads, stopping only a few minutes at a time to rest. She lost track of time or distance. They were almost out of coffee and most of the other supplies she had packed, but she hadn’t found a way to get her hands on a weapon or to escape.

  It was late afternoon, they had traveled what seemed to Sierra a long way.

  Cholla looked up at the sun. “We’ll travel until dusk and then stop for the night. Maybe I can snare us a couple of rabbits.”

  “If we cross a creek, we might try catching a few fish,” Sierra suggested, pushing a wisp of hair back into her bun.

  A frown crossed his rugged face. “Apaches don’t eat fish or anything else that lives in water.”

  “You’ve spent a lot of time among the whites,” Sierra said with a shrug, “you could learn. Fried catfish and hush puppies are really good, and I’ve got some cornmeal.”

  “We’ll see.” He stared at her.

  She was suddenly aware of the heat of his body where it touched hers. Her heart beat unsteadily a moment, then righted itself. He was looking at her as if he had made a final decision. In a couple of hours, it would be dark. Sierra knew she had to decide whether it would really help her cause to seduce this man and whether she could stand to let a savage touch her. She who had always been afraid to take chances would be facing the biggest risk of her life.