The warrior behind Tyree laughed softly. “You are smart, for a white man. Drop your gunbelt, too.”
“Six horses,” Tyree muttered disgustedly. “I must be getting light in the head.”
The Indian behind Tyree came around to face him, and Tyree swore under his breath as he recognized the broad, ugly face of Many Eagles, one of the lesser chiefs of the Mescalero Apache.
“Is this any way to treat a brother?” Tyree demanded angrily.
Many Eagles snorted derisively. “I have no white brothers,” he said disdainfully. “Only enemies. Dead enemies.”
“You have one white brother,” Tyree retorted boldly. “I saved your life seven summers ago, in Palo Duro Canyon. And yours, too, Standing Buffalo.”
A quick smile spread over the face of the naked brave. “Tyree! I did not recognize you without your face hair.”
“I recognize you, Standing Buffalo,” Tyree replied. “Even without your clout.”
The naked warrior laughed heartily, and the four warriors holding Rachel grinned as they exchanged ribald comments in soft, guttural Apache.
“Go now, Tyree,” Many Eagles said gruffly. “I give you back the life you once gave me.”
“Not without my woman,” Tyree said firmly. “Or my weapons.”
“It is well-known among the Apache that you have no woman,” Many Eagles countered. “She lies dead and buried along the Gila, proof of the white man’s treachery.”
“She has been long dead,” Tyree answered tonelessly, surprised that her memory still had the power to cause him pain. “I have taken another woman.”
“I do not believe you.” It was evident, from the tone of the chief’s voice and the look in his eye, that he wanted Rachel for himself.
“She is my woman,” Tyree said again. “Ask her if you do not believe me.”
Many Eagles shook his head. “Words prove nothing. She fights like a mare not yet broke to the saddle. If you are truly her man, she will let you mount her without complaint.”
Tyree glared at the Indian. “It is not our way to lie together for the amusement of others.”
“You will do it,” Many Eagles insisted, “or I will keep her for my own once my warriors have tired of her.”
Tyree scowled blackly, his eyes intent on the face of the Apache chief. Was the Indian serious, or merely bluffing? Would Many Eagles truly take Rachel, or was he playing games to see how far Tyree would go? There was no way to be certain, and Tyree wasn’t prepared to call the Indian’s bluff, not when Rachel’s future was at stake.
He gazed at Rachel. He could not blame Many Eagles for coveting her. Even now, begrimed with dust and sweat, her eyes swollen with tears, she was a sight to take a man’s breath away.
With an effort, Tyree drew his gaze from Rachel’s heaving breasts and long, shapely legs. “Hear my words, Many Eagles,” Tyree growled. “I will do as you say, but I tell you now, if our paths cross again, I will cut out your heart and feed it to the coyotes!”
Without waiting for the warrior’s reply, Tyree strode toward Rachel. Reaching down, he took the gag from her mouth, gestured for the Indians holding her to move aside.
Freed of the restraining grasp of the warriors, Rachel sat up, her eyes intent on Tyree’s face as she drew her skirt over her legs.
“What’s going on?” she queried tremulously. “What are they going to do to us?”
“That depends on you,” Tyree said, hunkering down on his heels beside her.
His teeth flashed in a wry grin, confusing her still more. “On me? I don’t understand.”
“Well, it’s like this,” Tyree explained. “I told Many Eagles over there, that you’re my woman. He’s an old friend of mine, but he doesn’t believe me. He wants proof.”
“Proof?” Rachel echoed, puzzled. “What kind of proof?”
Tyree’s dark amber eyes flickered over Rachel’s comely form, causing a slow flush to spread from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes as she read the answer to her question in Tyree’s gaze.
“No, never,” she whispered, vigorously shaking her head. “I’d rather die!”
“Suit yourself,” Tyree replied with a shrug. “Only dyin’ ain’t in the cards, at least not for you.” His voice went suddenly hard and flat. He did not like the idea any more than she did, but it was the only way for both of them to survive, and the sooner he could make her understand that, the better. “You’d better face facts, honey. You’ve only got two choices, me or them.”
“What kind of choice is that?”
“Not much, I reckon. But if you refuse me, Many Eagles is gonna kill me for lyin’ to him. And when his bucks are through with you, you’ll probably wish you were dead, too.”
“No,” Rachel whimpered plaintively. “No, no, no.”
“Well, like I said, it’s up to you.”
“But I hardly know you,” Rachel wailed inanely, and Tyree chuckled.
“You don’t know them, either,” he reminded her with a rueful grin. “But you will. Intimately.”
It was like a nightmare, Rachel thought in despair. Worse than a nightmare. And whether she was ravaged by six leering savages or one cool-eyed gunslinger didn’t really matter. The results would be the same. Her reputation would be ruined, her virginity gone.
“Will they let us go, after?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Tyree answered honestly. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
“But I’ve never… I mean, I’m still—”
Tyree swore irritably. “You tryin’ to tell me you’re still a virgin?”
It sounded like a sin, the way he said it.
“Well, you won’t be much longer,” Tyree drawled matter-of-factly, and a faint hint of amusement danced in his amber eyes as he stood up and unbuckled his belt.
“This can’t be happening,” Rachel thought numbly. But it was. As though hypnotized, she watched Tyree undress. His hands were big and brown and they moved purposefully and without haste as he removed his pants. He didn’t wear longjohns like most men and she gasped aloud as he stood partially naked before her, his skin as dark as the skin of the leering Apaches.
“Lie down,” Tyree said curtly.
Sucking in a deep breath, Rachel did as bidden. The dirt was hard beneath her, the sky above a brilliant blue. She stared at the setting sun, trying to separate her mind from what was happening to her body.
Tyree threw Many Eagles a venomous glance, then, feeling like some sort of damned sideshow freak, he lifted Rachel’s skirt and removed her pantalets. Muttering an oath, he lowered himself over her, acutely aware of six pairs of ebony eyes watching his every move.
Rachel’s body jerked and went rigid as Tyree’s bare legs touched her own. With a small cry, she closed her eyes, her hands tightly clenched at her sides.
“Relax,” Tyree whispered.
“I can’t,” Rachel retorted. “I’m too scared.”
“Yeah. Well, this is going to hurt you a hell of a lot more than it does me, but whatever you do, don’t fight me. This has got to look like just another roll in the hay between old married folks.”
Rachel’s eyes snapped open, anger and indignation blazing in their depths. “Must you be so crude?”
“Sorry, honey,” Tyree said lightly. “Now, put your arms around me like a loving little wife and let’s get this stupid charade over with.”
Reluctantly, Rachel placed her arms around Tyree’s neck. His dark hair was soft against her hands, the muscles in the back of his neck taut with anger and desire as he drew her close.
She was frightened, more frightened than she had ever been in her life. Of the Indians. Of Tyree. He was stroking her arms lightly, kissing her eyes, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. Every instinct urged her to fight him, to preserve her chastity, but her fear of the Indians was stronger than her desire to remain chaste and she closed her eyes again, praying it would soon be over.
Tyree felt his desire rise swift and hot as he caressed Rachel’s arms.
She was sweet, so sweet, and he had wanted to make love to her for so long. But not like this.
He heard the Indians ride away as he kissed Rachel, felt the tension drain from his body as his lips slid over Rachel’s closed eyelids. So, Many Eagles had been bluffing after all. Reluctantly, he drew away from Rachel. Letting her go was the hardest thing he had ever done, and he regretted it immediately. But violating virgins was something he’d never done, and he didn’t intend to start now.
Rachel’s eyes flew open as Tyree took his mouth from hers. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“They’ve gone.”
She glanced around, her eyes wide with fear, her body shaking visibly. She was so scared, and so cold. She looked at Tyree. He was so brave. And his arms looked so strong and warm. Without conscious thought, she reached out for him, needing to be held. He had come to her rescue. He would protect her, shelter her from harm. In the face of fear and danger, he was all that was solid and familiar.
Tyree let out a long sigh as Rachel’s arms slid around his neck. She was shivering violently and he held her close, his arms wrapped around her, his lips moving in her hair as he whispered words of comfort.
In that moment, she forgot that she hated him, forgot everything but the security of his arms and the consoling warmth of his body pressed to her own. She lifted her head, her lips seeking his. He hesitated for a moment, and then he was kissing her, his mouth moving over hers slowly, languorously, his tongue darting out to savor her lower lip. It was a wondrously heady sensation, and totally unexpected. She tried to remind herself that he was an outlaw, but even that didn’t seem to matter, not now with his mouth on hers and her blood turning to fire. Tyree caressed her and she responded in kind, her hands slipping under his shirt to roam over his broad back and shoulders, reveling in the feel of his scarred flesh beneath her fingertips.
All her fears fled as Tyree made love to her, answering a need she had not known she possessed. She had been cold and afraid; now she was warm and alive, every nerve end tingling, every inch of her skin attuned to his touch.
Tyree tried to hold back, tried to resist, but her lips were so sweet, her arms so welcoming. He vowed each kiss would be the last. Just this one, and he would let her go before it was too late, before he could never let her go. Just one more…
His tongue slid into her mouth, kindling new fires between them. Rachel groaned with pleasure, her arms drawing Tyree closer, her body pressing against his. Not realizing how she was affecting him, she knew only that she wanted to be closer. Her tongue caressed his, then slid shyly into his mouth, and it was too late to turn back.
His yellow eyes were ablaze with desire when he thrust into her. Rachel uttered a little cry of pleasure and pain as his body melded with her own, making her forget everything but the wonder of his touch as wave after wave of ecstasy flooded her being, filling her with delight, until she lay sated and spent in his arms.
Later, she lay silent and ashamed beside him, racked with guilt. What had she done? Always, in the back of her mind, she had imagined it would be Clint who would initiate her in the ways of love. They would be married, of course, sheltered within the cozy darkness of their own little house. She would be shy, hesitant, and yet eager to explore the intimate secrets shared by a man and a woman. Clint would be strong and tender, pleased with her inexperience, proud that she had saved herself for her husband…
She shook her head and the idyllic images faded. She had ruined all that now, ruined any chance she might have had for a life with a decent man. How could she have given herself to Tyree? How could she have let him make love to her out in the open like some kind of primitive savage? Shame flooded her cheeks with color. She was ruined now, soiled. Moments before, the loss of her virginity had seemed a small price to pay for the security and pleasure of Tyree’s touch. Now, as harsh reality set in, she realized the cost. No respectable man would want her now. Damaged goods, they would say, and turn away in disgust.
Abruptly, she burst into tears. Tyree drew a long breath and blew it out slowly. He had wanted to make love to Rachel ever since the day he had first seen her bending over him, her vibrant blue eyes filled with concern, and he was a man who generally got what he wanted, one way or another. Nonetheless, he was aware of a sudden wave of remorse for what he had done. No matter that she had practically asked for it, no matter that she had been scared and in need of comfort. Rachel Halloran was a nice girl, much too nice for the likes of a drifting gunhawk like Logan Tyree. He had not bedded a decent woman since he left the lodges of the Mescalero. He had taken his pleasure in cheap cribs and cantinas, slaking his carnal desires with whores who didn’t need sweet words and gentle wooing to satisfy a man’s hunger. Rachel was not a harlot to be used and forgotten, no street girl to be paid a few dollars and cast aside.
He slid a glance in her direction, wanting to apologize, to say something that would ease the pain in her heart, but words would not come. If only she had not put her arms around him. If only she had not kissed him back. He might have been able to let her go but for that. And yet, he should have held back anyway. Difficult as it would have been, he should have stopped.
Cursing softly, he stood up and pulled on his pants. The Indians had taken Rachel’s mare, he noted with a shake of his head. But better the horse than the woman.
Rachel sat up as her tears subsided. Reaching for her pantalets, she drew them on, then stood up, drawing her skirts down over her thighs, brushing the dust from her dress. The sun had gone down and the darkening sky was stained with brilliant slashes of crimson, like the faint smears of blood that stained her thighs.
She flinched as Tyree laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t touch me,” she said. “Don’t you ever touch me again.”
Tyree cocked an eyebrow at her, surprised by the venom in her voice.
“You cad!” she hissed. “I never want to see you again.”
“Now just a damn minute,” Tyree growled angrily. “You wanted it as much as I did.”
“That’s a lie!” Rachel cried, her cheeks flooding with color. “It was all your fault. You knew I’d never had a man before. You took advantage of me.”
Tyree swore under his breath. “I took advantage of you? I think you might have that just a little bit backwards.”
“I do not!” She stamped her foot, hating him because he was right and she was wrong. But she simply couldn’t admit she had wanted him. It was so much easier to blame him than admit the truth.
“Like hell. You were hotter than a July firecracker and now you’re too damn gutless to admit it.”
“I hate you.” She spoke the words through clenched teeth, meaning them. And then all the anger went out of her as she thought of going home again, of facing the people she knew and loved.
Lowering her eyes, she said, “Promise me you won’t tell my father about this. Not my father, or anyone else.”
“You mean Wesley, I guess,” Tyree muttered irritably.
“I mean anyone!” Rachel snapped crossly. But she did mean Clint. What would he think of her if he found out what she had done, and with whom? Would he still look at her as if she were the sweetest, most wonderful girl in the world, or would he turn from her in disgust, his mild blue eyes filling with revulsion?
As if reading her thoughts, Tyree muttered, “No one’s ever gonna know what happened here today, so quit worrying about it.”
“I’ll know,” Rachel replied quietly. Indeed, it was something she would never forget.
John Halloran was waiting for them on the front porch, a worried expression on his weathered face.
“Everything all right?” he asked anxiously. His eyes sought Tyree’s. “Where’s Rachel’s mare?”
“Your daughter had a little run-in with the Apache,” Tyree answered, stepping down and lifting Rachel from the saddle. “They took her horse.”
“Apaches!” Halloran exclaimed. “Rachel, are you all right?”
Rachel moved away from Tyree, her eyes not meeting her fat
her’s. “I’m fine, Pa,” she said flatly. “Just fine.”
Halloran’s glance skittered back and forth between his daughter’s wan face and Tyree’s grim expression. There was something they weren’t telling him, something they were both holding back, but what? He watched Rachel as she slowly climbed the steps and disappeared into the house.
“Are you sure she’s all right, Tyree?” Halloran asked dubiously. “She looks…upset.”
“She’s got a right to be upset. She had a bad scare, but she’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
“You’re a handy man to have around,” Halloran remarked, somewhat relieved by Tyree’s assurance that Rachel was unhurt. “Think you could stay on for a few more days, just to make sure we’ve had our last run-in with the Slash W bunch?”
“Sure,” Tyree said, though he knew Rachel would be less than pleased to have him underfoot. “I’ve got no place to go, and no one waiting for me when I get there.”
Chapter Three
With Walsh’s death, life on the Lazy H soon returned to normal. Cahill and two of the cowhands rode out into the hills to round up what strays they could find, leaving the remaining two men to mend the fences Walsh’s men had torn down and patch up the outbuildings that had fallen into disrepair.
Three days later, Cahill and his men returned with better than sixty head of cattle. These were driven into the holding pens behind the barn and for the next couple of days, the stench of scorched cowhide and the bawling of unhappy cattle filled the air as calves long overdue for branding were cut out of the herd and marked with the Halloran brand.
From his place on the front porch, Tyree took it all in, marveling that Halloran’s hired hands would work so hard for so little pay. Why, he had made more money in two weeks killing rustlers down in the Panhandle than these men would make in a year of range work. And he had made it with far less effort, Tyree mused as he watched a bowlegged cowboy throw a bawling calf to the ground while a second wrangler laid a hot iron against the animal’s flank.
Off in the distance, Joe Cahill and a freckle-faced cowboy were perched on the top rail of a fence, taking a break while they watched Candido try to break a flashy gray stallion to the saddle. From the way the men were hollering and carrying on, Tyree figured the bronc was winning.
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