Apache Caress

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

  That certainly isn’t true, Sierra thought, but she sensed this older woman had a great sense of self-importance. Why else would she wear such an elegant velvet riding outfit and have two fine pistols stuck in her waistband? “I’d be happy to accompany you, Miss Starr.”

  “It’s Mrs. Starr,” Belle said frostily

  Slim snickered. “Belle’s been married so many times, she keeps a preacher on call. How many times is it, Belle, four?”

  The woman fixed him with a withering gaze, and then her quirt snapped suddenly. The short whip caught Slim across the face.

  “God damn, Belle, I was only jokin’!” Slim snarled, and the other men in the party looked away uneasily.

  “Slim,” Belle said coldly, “when Jim and my son get back from Fort Smith, I think we need to have us a little talk. My latchkey is always out to hard cases, but I think you’ve done wore your welcome out.”

  “I didn’t mean no harm, Belle.” Slim rubbed the red weal on his face. “I’m much obliged for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Then you ought to remember that Hanging Judge Parker over at Fort Smith would dearly love to know where to find you.”

  “I said I begged yore pardon, Belle,” Slim grumbled. “You want I should get down and crawl on my belly like a damned dog?”

  Sierra began to feel uneasy. She had evidently been forgotten during this quibbling. “Mrs. Starr, if you’d take me someplace where I can get a message to the Army or the law, they’re looking for me.”

  “They’re looking for me, too,” Belle smiled a little proudly. “Only the fact that I help Judge Parker run down an hombre now and then here in the Nations keeps him off my back.” She turned to one of the other men. “Joe, get the lady a horse.”

  The unshaven hombre brought around one of the fine pair of unsaddled palominos he’d been leading, and Sierra managed to get up on the beast. It wore a Running B brand on its hip. B for Belle, she thought as she looked over the glowering men and decided to ride up next to the woman. When she glanced at Slim, he ran his tongue along his lips in an almost obscene manner. He mouthed the words at her, Just wait!

  Sierra shuddered. She might not be any safer riding with this rowdy-looking bunch than she had been with Cholla, but if she could get a message to the authorities, she’d be out of here in a day or two.

  Belle looked over at her as they rode along. “What happened to the big Indian Slim says was on that train with you?”

  “He kidnapped me to use as a hostage,” Sierra said, “but when Pete and Slim tried to rape me, he got Pete.”

  “Sounds like quite a man,” Belle said as they rode along. “I like Indian bucks; been married to two of them.”

  Sierra frowned. “I think he was just trying to hang on to me in case he needed a human shield if he tangled with a posse.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He turned tail and ran like a rabbit when you rode up,” Sierra snapped. She was a little surprised to find that Cholla’s desertion annoyed her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Slim watching her. Had she gotten out of the frying pan and into the fire?

  They rode to Belle’s cabin on the bend of the South Canadian River, to the east of where Sierra and Cholla had jumped off the train. Sierra got the feeling that Belle might be little more than a den mother to every two-bit outlaw in the Indian Nations. Once she was cleaned up and wearing one of Belle’s old dresses, though, the woman acted annoyed because at supper the men watched Sierra and ignored her.

  When they finished eating, they went into the parlor and Belle sat down at the piano. “Do you play?”

  “No, but I’d love to hear you,” Sierra said politely.

  Belle immediately preened a little, both delighted and relieved that she had found something at which she could best the younger woman. “I was good enough. I played at theaters some, and I always dreamed of being on the stage. I was hoping my daughter, Pearl, would follow in my footsteps, but she doesn’t seem to have much talent in that direction.”

  “Oh, I’d be pleased to meet Pearl–and the rest of your family, too.”

  Belle stiffened. “Jim and my son, Eddie, are gone on business, and Pearl ... well, Pearl’s gone to visit her aunt in Missouri.”

  Slim snickered, and Belle fixed him with a black look. “Is there something terribly funny, Slim?”

  He coughed, got up, and poured himself a whiskey. “No, ma’am.”

  “I think,” Belle said icily, “tomorrow you’d better ride on, Slim.”

  Sierra caught the tension as the other men exchanged glances. She was only glad the older woman didn’t have her quirt at hand. The way Belle was glaring at Slim, the gunfighter would have had more red welts across his face.

  Belle began to play the piano. She played “Buffalo Gals;” “Listen to the Mocking Bird,” and that Civil War favorite, “Lorena.”

  Sierra was so tired, she could hardly sit up, but she applauded politely as did the men. Whatever else Belle Starr was, she was a talented performer. She wasn’t all that pretty, though. She looked every day of her forty years, and her face was hard, the face of a woman who had survived the Civil War and a lot of personal adversity.

  Slim caught Sierra’s arm. “Hey, sweet thing, how about a dance?”

  She tried to protest, but Slim swept her into his arms, holding her tightly as he danced her across the plank floor. His body rubbed against hers, and the lust in his eyes was unmistakable. Sierra complained about a hurt ankle, pulled away from him, went back to the piano.

  Belle played a couple more songs, then looked bored and stood up, frowned at Sierra. “You can have Pearl’s room at the end of the hall.”

  “Thank you,” Sierra said, “and tomorrow you’ll try to get a message to Fort Smith, or maybe give me an escort there?”

  “We’ll see,” Belle answered with a shrug. Sierra realized immediately that she was expected to keep her mouth shut and let Belle make the decisions. Certainly the older, plain-faced woman did not seem to like other women. Maybe she saw them all as enemies, especially younger, prettier ones.

  Sierra said her good nights and retired, making sure she locked her door behind her. Had she fallen into a nest of outlaws and robbers? She might not be a bit better off than when she’d been a captive of the Apache.

  Cholla. His face came to her mind, and she finally faced the fact that she was annoyed with him, no, angry with him for deserting her the minute the group had ridden up. By now he was probably headed southwest, Sierra already forgotten in his all-consuming passion to return to his own land. She just hoped he didn’t take another hostage along the way.

  What was she to do now that she was rid of him? She thought about it as she got ready for bed. When she got to Fort Smith, she might go back to St. Louis. Why? She didn’t know anyone there who would help her.

  It occurred to her that Robert had relatives in Austin, although she had never met them. She had written a note to Robert’s mother at his death, but had never gotten an answer. Her husband had said his mother had disinherited him. Perhaps grief might have softened his mother’s heart, and Sierra would be welcomed into the family fold. She hadn’t realized how much she missed Zanna and Grandfather and how alone she was. Any family was better than none at all.

  Sierra got into bed and blew out the lamp, wondering where Belle’s daughter was? Slim’s snicker hinted of scandal. Well, it was hardly Sierra’s business. She lay back on the pillow with a sigh, and dropped off to sleep.

  Cholla watched from the brush as Sierra climbed up on the palomino and rode away, bareback, with the older woman and the men. He had to fight an urge to run after them, stop her. But he stayed put. Armed with only a butcher knife, he could hardly take on half a dozen outlaws. He had recognized Slim when the group first rode out of the trees.

  Sierra should have obeyed when he’d told her to run, but the stubborn girl wouldn’t listen. Cholla wasn’t close enough to hear the conversation, but the riders’ expressions told him Sierra might have
gotten herself into more trouble than she realized.

  That wasn’t his problem anymore. He turned toward the southwest and started walking. Within hours, Sierra might have a posse or the soldiers looking for him, so he intended to get out of the Territory as fast as he could. If she ended up being the entertainment for a bunch of white outlaws, that wasn’t his concern. But his steps slowed after a few hundred yards.

  Sierra wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him. On the other hand, it was all she deserved for being Robert Forester’s woman. He hoped those hombres enjoyed her as much as he had. Then he remembered her in his arms, writhing under him as her own passion built, and rage swept over him at thinking the white men might make use of her beautiful body. Sierra belonged to him.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, undecided. Finally, cursing himself for a fool, Cholla set off after the group. Keeping out of sight and checking hoof marks, he followed the riders to a big cabin on the bend of the river. It was nestled in a grove of trees.

  By Usen, why did he bother? She didn’t want to go with him, and he could find a new hostage down the line if he needed one. Dragging a captive along only slowed him down and complicated things. Of course, I didn’t come just for Sierra, he thought as darkness came on and he crept to the cabin window to look in. He would just check to make sure they were all occupied, then he’d steal a horse and maybe some supplies from this nest of white outlaws, and be on his way. He heard music. White man’s music.

  They were all gathered around a piano, and the older woman played. Cholla took a long look at Sierra. Washed and combed and in a clean outfit, she was breathtakingly beautiful. From outside the window, he watched Slim look at her, lust in his pale, ice blue eyes, then sweep her into a dance.

  Sierra held herself rigid as if she weren’t enjoying herself at all, but Slim only held her tighter, rubbing his body against hers.

  It serves the little chit right, Cholla thought, but he was annoyed with the man nonetheless. Sierra was Cholla’s captive, and he’d begun to think of her as his personal possession. He didn’t like to see Slim rubbing his chest up against her breasts. Maybe if I take her away with me, the older woman will shrug off the whole incident and forget about it, he told himself. After all why should she help a younger, prettier woman when her expressions reveal she is jealous of Sierra?

  The older woman stopped playing. They were going to bed now. Cholla watched them leave. The men went out the back door to a bunkhouse. When he looked around, both women had disappeared into a hall. What should he do?

  Good sense told him to wait until everyone was asleep, climb through the window and steal some of the guns in the rack over the stone fireplace, take some food from the kitchen, grab a horse, and be on his way southwest. Horse stealing could get a man hanged faster than murder in the West, Cholla remembered. But the group had some good mounts. He recalled the pair of palominos one of them had been leading, unusual coloring and top quality.

  It was cold outside, frost gradually settling on the dead grass and making it crunch beneath his moccasins. The lights went out in all the buildings. Cholla crept around to the wing where the hall led, tried to decide which window was Sierra’s. There was really no way to tell.

  He chose one, pushed the window up slowly, climbed over the sill. A woman’s form lay under the blankets, barely visible in the shadows, dark hair spread loose over the pillow. He tiptoed over, leaned closer. With no moon, it was as dark as the inside of a cave in there. He leaned over clapped a hand over the woman’s mouth and held onto her as she came awake, struggling. “It’s okay,” he assured her softly. “It’s me. I came back for you.”

  Immediately, the woman stopped struggling and relaxed. Cholla heaved a sigh of relief. Was she happy he was there, or was it a trick? When he removed his hand, was she going to scream and bring everyone running?

  Without taking his hand from her mouth, he lay down on the bed beside her. She reached out to pull him close, stroke his chest, run her hand down his thighs. The implications were obvious. She wanted him; was glad to see him. Maybe the little fool had realized she was in deep trouble here with all these hombres eyeing her–a fawn in a coyote’s den.

  He slipped his fingers off her mouth as he covered it with his own, her tongue went between his lips, her hand reached to unbutton his shirt.

  Her skin didn’t feel as satiny smooth as before. Nor did her breasts seem as large as he remembered, and they sagged a little in his hand. A horrible thought crossed his mind. Cholla pulled back and took a good look at the woman who was already reaching to unbutton his pants.

  “Don’t stop, you big brown stud,” she whispered. “If this is a dream, I’m enjoying it.”

  He was in that older woman’s bed. What was he to do now? She had her hands all over him, was trying to kiss him again. If he told her he’d come for Sierra, she was going to be very insulted.

  Knowing he must stall for time, Cholla whispered, “I liked what I saw back at the river, decided to follow you.”

  “Jim won’t be back for several days. Maybe you could stay and become part of this bunch.”

  “What would Jim say?”

  “Who the hell cares? He’s not much older than my son; not a man like you. You seem to be all man.” She ran her hands over his big body.

  But all Cholla could think of was Sierra. He couldn’t make love to this woman, yet he didn’t dare insult her by refusing. What would he do if she yelled for her gunmen? No matter, his body didn’t want anyone but Sierra. Cholla pulled away from her.

  “What’s the matter, Injun?” She tried to kiss him, but he turned his head.

  “I ... I, nothing. I can’t–”

  A scream suddenly echoed down the hall.

  “All right, where is she?” Cholla’s feet hit the floor.

  The woman sat straight up in bed. “Who? That girl–”

  But Cholla was already out the door and running down the hall toward the sound.

  Sierra had awakened suddenly as a hand clamped down on her mouth. She came up out of bed fighting, bit down hard on the hand.

  The man swore and struck her, but she managed to scream once before he got his hand back over her mouth, muffling her cries. “Damn you, sweet thing, shut up!” he whispered tersely as he wrestled her back down on the bed. “Now just lay still and you won’t get hurt!”

  Slim. How had he managed to get into her room? Had anyone heard her cry for help? She was dizzy from the blow and had the warm, coppery taste of blood in her mouth as they struggled in the dark. In the background, she heard a big body crash against her locked door, the splintering of wood. Then the door was flung open and she saw the silhouette of a man. Heavens, there were two of them.

  The man who’d broken in lunged, swearing as he grabbed Slim and slammed him against the wall, so hard a picture came crashing down amid the tinkle of glass.

  “Cholla!” She’d never thought she would be so glad to see anyone. He didn’t answer but fought Slim, crashing into the furniture. All she could do was watch from the bed.

  A light came down the hall. “What’s going on? Stop it! You hear? Stop it?”

  But the two men continued to fight as Belle came into the bedroom carrying a coal-oil lamp, followed by the rest of the men, half-dressed and yawning.

  Cholla slammed Slim up against the wall and looked around at Sierra, then toward the open window as if trying to decide whether the two of them could get out quickly enough. Slim slid down the wall and lay slumped on the floor.

  Belle held her lamp high, and the glow took in the wrecked room, the bloody combatants. “What happened here?”

  “I woke up with Slim trying to get in bed with me,” Sierra gasped. It dawned on her suddenly that though the window was open, Cholla hadn’t come from that direction. He had come through the hall door, and his shirt and pants were unbuttoned.

  Belle set the lamp on the table and glared at all of them. “Slim, I thought I told you to leave her alone”

  The man stu
mbled to his feet, wiping blood off his mouth. “Now, Belle, it isn’t as if that sweet thing hasn’t been givin’ that Injun all he wants. She could favor a white man with a little bit of that honey.”

  Belle brought her other hand up slowly. It held the quirt. “This ain’t about the girl, Slim. It’s about disobeying me. Any man rides with me, he does what I say!”

  Slim backed away, shaking his head. “You damned old, used-up bitch! You ain’t gonna whip me no more! By God, you ain’t gonna whip me like I was a bad colt!”

  Belle stepped forward quickly, brought her arm back. Slim threw his hands up to protect his face, but she brought the lash down hard. It sang through the air, slashed him across the neck and shoulders, and he cried out in pain. “You old, dried-out whore, someday somebody’ll kill you!”

  The quirt cracked, catching Slim across the face. “Somebody may,” Belle shouted, “you sorry sonovabitch, but it won’t be a yeller dog like you! Now crawl outa here the same way you got in!” She hit him again. “Crawl! You hear me?” She struck him again and again. Slim went to his knees, trying to protect himself from the sharp sting of the lash. He scrambled to the window, dove through it.

  “That’ll larn him,” Belle said with satisfaction as she slapped the quirt against her leg.

  Sierra realized suddenly that she had been holding her breath. She let it out sharply. She also realized that the rest of the men, including Cholla, were now staring at her, that her nightdress was torn. Even Belle must have realized it. She frowned and gestured. “All right, the show’s over! Everybody get back to bed.”

  The sleepy crowd of men faded away, leaving the three of them standing there. Without a word, Cholla strode to the window, looked out, then closed it. “This lock is broken.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Belle seemed to have forgotten Sierra was in the room. She picked up the lamp, smiled coquettishly at Cholla. “We can go back to bed now and finish what we were just starting.”

  Cholla went over, took her hand, kissed the fingers. “I’d like that, but I’m afraid Slim might come back, so I suppose I’ll have to say no this time. Maybe another time.”