She turned toward him, her green eyes devoid of expression, of feeling. “What?”
“Never mind. Shall we go?”
She nodded, letting him take her arm as they walked down the hallway toward the stairs. She didn’t want to go out, she didn’t want to see people, but it was too much of an effort to protest.
Jason Orley stared at the couple in open-mouthed astonishment as Jenny and Fallon walked past the desk. Was that the same woman who had arrived in a filthy buckskin dress, her skin as pale as death, just two weeks ago?
His mouth hung open as his gaze moved over her from head to heel. He glanced at Ryder Fallon, thinking what a lucky devil the half-breed was, and the expression in Fallon’s eyes chased every other thought from his mind. There was a thinly veiled warning in the half-breed’s cold blue gaze. Orley tugged at his shirt collar, grown suddenly tight, as he turned his back to the couple and busied himself with sorting the mail.
Fallon took Jenny to the town’s best restaurant, ordered her the finest meal it had to offer and bullied her into eating every bite. He kept her wineglass filled, hoping it would relax her, hoping it would put some color in her cheeks.
After dinner, he insisted on a walk around town.
Jenny walked beside him, her thoughts turned inward. Her son was gone, lost to her as surely as if he had died. But she still had Hank. He was the one constant in her life, and she was suddenly anxious to see him again.
Hank was safe. He wouldn’t make demands on her. He wouldn’t expect anything of her that she couldn’t give. She would never have to feel anything again.
“I want to go home,” she said abruptly. “How soon can we leave?”
Fallon felt a twinge of regret. He was going to miss looking after Jenny once she was safely back in her husband’s arms.
“Whenever you feel up to it.”
“Tomorrow then.”
Fallon nodded. “Tomorrow,” he agreed.
Chapter Seventeen
By noon the following day, the town of Broken Fork lay far behind them. For Ryder, the two weeks they’d spent in the town had been profitable, to say the least. Using the money he’d won at the poker table, he’d purchased a good used saddle for the black, a pair of saddlebags, a new Winchester repeating rifle, plenty of .44/40 ammunition and the Colt riding easily on his hip. In addition, he’d bought ponchos and bedrolls for himself and Jenny. Even after all the necessary purchases, he was almost a thousand dollars ahead.
The sheriff had been waiting at the hotel when they returned from dinner the night before. The lawman had listened intently to Ryder’s side of the story, agreed that it sounded like self-defense and left without saying much, though he was careful to add that he was glad to hear Fallon was leaving town.
Fallon took a deep breath, savoring the fresh sweet scent of the outdoors. It was good to be on the move again, good to be riding across unfenced country, surrounded by prairie and gently rolling hills instead of whitewashed buildings and four-rail corrals.
It was even good to be back in his worn buckskins, brushed clean now of mud and trail dust.
He glanced at the woman riding beside him. Mounted on a sleek piebald mare, Jenny seemed to be lost in thought as she gazed into the distance. She hadn’t said a dozen words since they left town. Thinking of her son, he supposed, or maybe about her husband. He wondered, not for the first time, what kind of man Jenny had married.
“Is it far?” she asked after a long while. “Widow Ridge, I mean?”
Fallon shrugged. “We should be there late tomorrow if the weather holds.” He grinned inwardly, wondering if Red Carlisle was still tending bar at the Double Eagle. “Think you can put up with me for another day?”
Jenny nodded, her stomach churning with apprehension. One more day before she had to face Hank. Would he still look at her with love, or would she see revulsion in his eyes, or worse, pity?
Suddenly, she wished the trip would take longer. She hadn’t seen Hank in four years. Four years! What if he no longer wanted her for his wife? They had only been married a few months when Hank had decided to go west. Four years had passed since she last kissed him goodbye. She was no longer the shy innocent girl he had married. She was a woman now. She had been another man’s wife in every sense of the word, borne his child…
She choked back the tears that were never far from the surface. Would Hank be able to accept her as she was now? And what about the townspeople? Would they accept her or view her as an object of curiosity?
There were no answers to her questions, only a constant stream of doubts and fears that continued to plague Jenny as they rode westward. What if Hank rejected her? What if he laughed at her for thinking she could just waltz back into his life after four long years? What if he had left Widow Ridge? How would she ever find him?
Plagued by these and a hundred other worrisome thoughts, she didn’t notice the troubled expression on Fallon’s face as he scanned the darkening land for a place to bed down for the night.
Scattered Indian sign made him cautious, and he chose a secluded campsite well away from the shallow waterhole located within a circle of cottonwoods. He insisted on a cold camp, and Jenny, caught in the web of her own thoughts, didn’t think to question his decision.
Dinner was a silent meal save for the lonely lament of a coyote as it serenaded the moon, and the throaty croak of a bullfrog.
There was a quiet rustle of wings as a questing owl flew by in search of prey. Jenny shivered apprehensively, suddenly overcome by the haunting darkness. The Apache believed that good people went to the underworld when they died, but the souls of bad people went into owls. The hoot of an owl often signaled that someone was about to die.
“Cold?” Fallon asked.
“No.” She glanced at the darkness that flanked them on all sides. “I wish we could have a fire though.”
“Too risky.” He didn’t mention the Indian sign he’d seen earlier in the day.
“Do you ever think about death?”
“No. I reckon it will find me soon enough. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around her body, chilled by her fears, by the loneliness that wouldn’t let her go. “Kayitah saw a vision of the hereafter once. It was…strange. He said he passed a mulberry tree that was growing out of a cave in the ground. He said there was a guard at the entrance to the cave, but when he showed no fear, the guard let him pass. He said he went deep into the earth until he came to a narrow passage that gradually grew light even though there was no sun.
“After a while he came to a passageway guarded by two huge serpents. They hissed at him but let him pass when they saw he wasn’t afraid. As the passage grew wider, he saw two mountain lions, and later on he saw two grizzly bears, but he spoke to them and they let him pass.
“And then he reached a valley where there were a lot of Indians and lots of game. He said he saw his parents there, and a brother who had died. He said he was sorry when he woke up.”
“Are you afraid of dying, Jenny?”
“I’m afraid of being alone.”
“You’re not alone. I’ll have you home soon.”
Jenny nodded, missing the easy camaraderie they had once shared. He’d been her best friend, her only friend. How could he have let Kayitah take her son?
She gazed at his profile, silhouetted in the bright light of the full moon, and felt a peculiar catch in her stomach as she remembered the day by the river when he had held her in his arms. She wished she could curl up in those arms now, wished she could put her head in his lap and go to sleep. Why had be betrayed her? Why had he been so quick to let Kayitah take her son? She hadn’t even had a chance to give her child a name, and now she’d never see him again.
“Jenny.”
As if reading her thoughts, Fallon held out his arms, inviting her inside.
Jenny shook her head, though she wanted, needed, to be held.
“I didn’t have any other choice, Jenny,” he said, his anger under tigh
t control. “Would you rather be dead now? Kayitah wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you, and your death wouldn’t have accomplished anything.”
“You saved your life too, Mr. Fallon,” she reminded him, her voice thick with contempt.
“Damn right.”
“How could you?” she sobbed. “How could you?”
Fallon swore under his breath as he pulled Jenny into his arms, holding her tight as she flailed against him, covering her mouth with his hand when she began to scream that she hated him, that she would never forgive him.
He rocked her back and forth as a father might rock a distraught child, whispering to her that he was sorry for what had happened, telling her, truthfully, that he would do the same thing again to spare her life.
Gradually, Jenny’s sobs ceased and she relaxed in his arms. For all that she hated him, he was as solid as the distant mountains, as dependable as the sunrise.
As she grew quiet in his arms, Fallon became aware of the softness of her skin, the silk-like texture of her hair, the warmth of her breasts against his chest. He felt his blood heat at her nearness, felt the sharp talons of desire uncurl within him as she slowly drew back and met his gaze.
Jenny’s breath caught in her throat as she looked up and saw the hunger in Fallon’s eyes. Once, she would have welcomed that look. Once, she had dreamed of having him make love to her. But no more.
She seemed incapable of movement as he slowly leaned toward her, unable to think of anything but the growing desire in his midnight-blue eyes, of the taut muscles in the arms that imprisoned her. She took a deep, frightened breath and her nostrils filled with the scent of leather and sweat and tobacco.
She was alone with him, completely at his mercy, but the thought didn’t frighten her nearly as much as it should have.
“Jenny…”
Her heart was beating wildly, like that of a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf, as his head lowered toward hers. Her eyes remained open as his mouth covered hers. The warmth of his kiss spread through her like liquid fire, igniting a sudden desperate need deep within her.
For one brief, gloriously breathtaking moment, she surrendered to the pleasure of his touch, returning his kiss with all the ardor she had denied Kayitah, with the passion that Hank would never claim. Fallon’s flesh was warm and firm beneath her fingertips, and she marveled at the sleek muscles that bunched beneath her hand.
And then, with a muffled cry, she twisted out of his embrace, her dark-green eyes ablaze with hatred. “Don’t ever touch me again!”
A muscle twitched in Fallon’s jaw as he drew back. “You wanted it as much as I did,” he said, his voice cruel.
She felt her cheeks flame at his accusation, hating herself because it was true, hating him for knowing it.
“I despise you,” she said, her voice hissing like water thrown over hot coals.
“I know.”
Rising to his feet, he grabbed his hat and rifle and walked into the darkness, leaving her alone with her anger and her tears.
Chapter Eighteen
Jenny’s gaze darted from side to side as she rode down the main street of the town that was to be her home.
Widow Ridge appeared to be a thriving Western community, inhabited by saint and sinner alike as evidenced by the two whitewashed churches at either end of town and the five saloons sandwiched between.
Riding down the dusty road, Jenny noted a smithy, a livery barn, several restaurants. She saw a Chinese laundry, a newspaper office, a barber shop, two banks, a large false-fronted hotel and a dozen other small shops.
A large sign midway down the street on the left-hand side proclaimed in bold black letters.
BRAEDON’S GENERAL STORE
& SALOON
Jenny gazed at the store in awe as she reined her horse to a halt at the hitch rack. It was an impressive building, two stories high, with a lot of fancy lattice work and bright-green shutters at the windows. A narrow veranda, painted the same shade of bright green, skirted the second floor.
Dismounting, Fallon tossed the black’s reins over the hitching post, then turned to help Jenny from her horse.
“Smile, honey,” he admonished with a lopsided grin. “I’m sure the Christians weren’t half so pale when they went out to meet the lions.”
“I’ll bet they weren’t as scared either,” Jenny retorted.
Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and walked up the steps to the boardwalk. At last, after four long years, she was going to see Hank.
She heard the soft fall of Fallon’s footsteps behind her as she approached the door. Inexplicably, knowing he was there made her feel better.
When she was just inside the entrance, Jenny’s courage deserted her and she ducked out of sight behind a rack of ladies’ ready-to-wear dresses. There was nothing to be afraid of, she reminded herself. This was Hank’s store, and she was his wife, and…
Her hand went to her throat as the man standing behind the counter turned around. It was Hank, looking just as tall and handsome and blond as the day they’d married.
She was here, she thought, really here, in Widow Ridge. It wasn’t a dream. Never again would she wake up in an Apache lodge. Never again would she have to listen to Alope’s endless complaints or surrender to Kayitah’s touch.
Fallon stood behind Jenny, studying the layout of the store. Shelves and counters lined the walls and crowded the floor, stocked to overflowing with bolts of cotton, gingham, chambray and muslin, harnesses, canteens, saddlebags, horse blankets, guns and ammunition, candy, soap, sacks of sugar and flour, salt and seed. A row of red flannel underwear added a splash of color along the back wall.
A shelf behind the counter held a variety of patent medicines—Dr. John Bull’s Worm Destroyer, Ayer’s Cathartic Pills, Dr. Kilmer’s Female Remedy and Blood Purifier, Dr. Rose’s Obesity Powders.
Fallon whistled under his breath, impressed by the abundance and variety of goods on display. Several customers, mostly well-dressed women, moved through the store browsing, while others thumbed through mail order catalogs from back East. A couple of men were hunkered over a barrel, discussing the merits of Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters.
Hank Braedon was sitting on a gold mine, Fallon mused. He was pleased by the thought that Jenny’s husband would be able to take good care of her, and irritated by the twinge of jealousy that stabbed at his heart as he imagined Jenny spending her husband’s money, living in his house, lying in his arms…
He closed the door to that line of thinking as he gazed down at Jenny. She was staring at the man behind the counter, and from the rapt look in her eyes, he knew they’d found Hank Braedon.
Jenny’s husband was the kind of man every mother hoped her daughter would marry. He was lean and fit, outrageously handsome, ambitious, young, with a kind of boyish charm most women found irresistible. He had thick blond hair that curled down over his collar, a wide forehead, a nose that had never been broken. When he smiled, he displayed teeth that were white and even and perfect. But it was his eyes that first drew attention. They were a clear bright blue, forthright and honest.
Fallon took an immediate dislike to the man.
One by one, the customers made their purchases and bade Hank Braedon a pleasant good night, until only Jenny and Fallon remained in the store, still out of sight behind the rack of ladies’ ready-to-wear dresses.
Hank Braedon sighed as the last patron left the building. Discarding his white work apron and protective black sleeves, he plucked his coat from the rack behind the counter and stepped into the main aisle.
He was reaching for his hat when Jenny stepped out of her hiding place.
“May I help you, miss?” Hank asked politely.
“I hope so,” Jenny replied tremulously. “How are you, Hank?”
Braedon’s face was a study in disbelief as he murmured, “Jenny? Jenny, is it really you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe it.” He took a step toward her, then stopped, his brow furrow
ed in confusion. “The stage…the Army said you’d been killed by Apaches. I…oh Jenny!” he breathed, and swept her into his arms.
From his place behind the dress rack, Fallon watched Braedon’s face, saw the love and happiness in the man’s expression, the hint of tears in his eyes.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about, Jen,” Hank murmured, releasing her. “Let’s go home.”
“Home.” Jenny sighed. “Oh Hank, you have no idea how good that sounds.” She smiled up at him as he took her arm and they started toward the door.
Jenny came to an abrupt halt when she saw Fallon standing beside the dress rack.
Hank frowned at the tall, dark stranger, his gaze lingering for a moment on the gun at the man’s hip.
“May I help you?”
“Hank, this is Ryder Fallon,” Jenny said. “He’s the one responsible for getting me away from the Indians. Ryder, this is my husband, Henry Braedon.”
The two men shook hands briefly.
“I’m deeply indebted to you, Mr. Fallon,” Hank said sincerely. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for what you’ve done.”
“It isn’t necessary,” Ryder replied curtly.
“If there’s ever anything I can do for you,” Hank went on, “please let me know.”
Fallon nodded, his gaze intent on Jenny’s face. He hated to leave her like this, but perhaps it was for the best. She had made it perfectly clear that she would never forgive him for what he’d done.
“Perhaps we’ll see you around town,” Hank remarked.
“Perhaps,” Ryder mused. He nodded at Jenny, then turned on his heel and left the store.
Jenny stared after Ryder, her thoughts turbulent. He had been her friend, a shoulder to cry on, a bulwark against the loneliness she’d known in the Apache camp. And then he had given her son to Kayitah, and though she knew she would never, ever forgive him for that, she knew that she would miss him, that he would forever hold a place in the deep recesses of her heart.
Feeling confused, she turned toward her husband. He was smiling at her, his deep-blue eyes filled with happiness, and Jenny smiled back at him. For four years, her goal, her dream, had been to escape from the Indians and return to her husband. And now she was here, with Hank, where she belonged. They had been happy before; they would be happy again.
Apache Runaway Page 14