by Bobbi Smith
"Yes, sir." Philip started away, shocked and worried. "We'll be riding out as soon as I can get the men ready."
Hancock merely nodded. His cold expression did not change.
Philip immediately went looking for O'Toole. "Sergeant, we've got orders to ride."
O'Toole brightened. He was eager to talk to Brand and find out what happened. "I can be ready in less than half an hour."
"It's not what you think. You'll need supplies."
At his tone, the sergeant cast him a curious glance. "What's wrong?"
"Some time last night Brand broke out of jail. Colonel Hancock wants us to take some scouts with us and find the posse that's riding out with Sheriff Warren. We're to help them find Brand and bring him in."
"But why did he run?" O'Toole was baffled.
"Ask him when you find him. All it does is make him look guilty as hell," Philip said angrily. "I guess he must have done it after all."
"I can't believe that. Brand's no killer."
"Whatever the case, we've been given our orders, so get ready to move out. I don't know how long it will take. He won't make it easy for us, that's for sure."
O'Toole was miserable. He had raised Brand from a boy. He knew him better than anyone, and he knew that he was not a murderer. He did not want to hunt down a friendespecially not Brand. "I'll get the scouts," he said reluctantly. "Well be ready whenever you are."
It was late afternoon and the horses were near exhaustion, yet Brand kept urging them on. They couldn't stop yet. Ominous clouds were gathering to the north and west. A gully-washer would help them by erasing much of their trail, but it could also prove dangerous and deadly in these mountains. They would have to be in a high, protected spot to stay out of harm's way if the rains came, as he sensed they would.
Thunder was rumbling around them and black clouds were roiling above when Brand finally found a place for them to camp. It was high among the rocks, making it virtually impossible for anyone to reach them from below without being seen. There was just enough of an overhang to offer shelter from the rain that was to come, and he knew there was little time before the storm broke.
"We'll camp here. I'll take care of the horses," he announced as he reined in and quickly dismounted.
"I'll get the rest." She climbed down slowly, every inch of her body aching, but she wasn't about to say a word of complaint. She wanted to keep Brand alive. She hurried to stow their belongings beneath the overhang.
Lightning flashed nearby, and the boom of thunder that followed sent a shiver down her spine. Usually, she liked thunderstorms, but she'd never been out in one in the middle of the desert before.
"I thought it didn't rain in the desert!" she called to Brand.
"It doesn'tvery often," he told her as he rushed to unsaddle their mounts and made sure they would be safe during the storm.
Another crack of lightning sent Sheri under the overhang. She had the rifle, the saddlebags, and their bedrolls, so there was nothing left to do but get comfortable. The downpour erupted before Brand had finished.
"It broke faster than I thought it would," he said when he finally came to join her. He was soaked from the storm and his shirt was drenched and clinging to him. He immediately stripped it off.
Sheri watched as he tugged off the shirt. He was hard and tanned, and as she watched the play of muscles across his back, she couldn't help remembering how it had felt to touch him. She shivered at the memory.
"Are you cold?" Brand saw her tremble as he looked over at her. He was aware of everything about her. It seemed he had been ever since he'd seen her on the stage that day in town. He had tried to fight the attraction. He hadn't wanted to care for her, but she had stolen into his thoughts, and then into his heart. And now into his soul.
"No . . ." she answered softly.
She lifted her gaze to his just as lightning split the sky and thunder crashed around them, and it seemed an omen to her. From their first encounter, he had created a storm of emotions within her that she had been struggling to deal with ever since. She had not known for certain that she loved him until he'd come to her in town, but now, as she gazed at him in the dimness of their hideaway, she knew that she couldn't bear to be without him. Though they would have to fight for their love, she would withstand any battle to be with him. She would never regret saving him from a possible hanging in town, and if ultimately she had to answer for what she'd done in breaking him out, she would do so gladly.
Brand saw the depth of emotion mirrored in her gaze. He did not know how he had come to be fortunate enough to have Sheri in his life, but he was not going to deny himself the joy of loving her any longer.
He reached out for her, and she went to him without hesitation. The fear that had driven them eased, and they found the haven they'd sought in each other's arms. The weariness they'd felt disappeared as his mouth settled over hers in a possessive claim. She clung to him, melting against him, needing the strength of him, needing to be closer. . . .
Her encouragement was all the invitation he needed. He drew back to undress her, his touch almost worshipful as he helped her strip away her clothes. Then he drew her to him, his hands upon her, sculpting the silken curves that so enticed him.
Around them the storm raged. Lightning rent the sky and thunder shook the land, but no force of nature was more powerful than their need for each other. Brand wanted Sheri more than he'd ever wanted any woman. She had saved his life twice, and now he knew she was saving his soul. Without her, his life had been barren and meaningless. With her, he had hope, and dreams, and love.
He moved away only long enough to shed the rest of his own clothing and then returned to her. She opened to him, wanting him near. There was no time to waste. They needed one another now, quickly. The desperation to be one overwhelmed them. Passion drove them together. Their bodies melded in a torrid embrace.
Brand's hands were never still as he traced paths of fire over her creamy flesh, cupping her hips, holding her to him as he sought the depths of her love. Sheri clasped him to her, holding him to her heart as she moved in that most sensual rhythm. She explored his body with intimate caresses that a short time before would have left her blushing. But no more. She wanted to please Brand, to make him want her as she wanted him. Being with him was heaven. She could imagine no greater ecstasy than to love and be loved by him.
They strained together, each seeking to give to the other that most perfect pleasure. And then it was upon them, that crest of ecstasy that swept them into desire's delight. Sheri surrendered to the glory of Brand's domination even as she conquered him. They soared to the heights together, hearts as one.
In the aftermath, there was no need to speak. Their bodies had spoken for them with devotion and joy. Brand sought her lips for a tender kiss, and they lay quietly, limbs entwined, in rapturous union.
Beyond their shelter, the rain continued. The lightning had ended, but thunder still echoed from afar.
Sheri rested against him, her head nestled against his shoulder. She could hear the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath her, and it gave her the strength she needed to keep going. As long as she was with Brand, she knew nothing could ruin her happiness.
She had often written of love. Certainly, she had taken care of bringing Buck and the schoolmarm together, but that had all been fiction. She had never dreamed that loving a real man could be so wonderful or so frightening. She had almost lost Brand twice now, and knowing that there was a posse chasing them even as they lay together terrified her. He had to stay safe. Now that she had finally found him, she couldn't bear to think of her life without him.
Sheri started to tell him of her love, then hesitated, unsure as to his reaction. He might reject her. After a moment's consideration, though, she knew it didn't matter. She had to be honest. She had to tell him the truth of how she felt.
''I love you, Brand," she finally whispered.
Her softly spoken words fell upon his lonely soul like water on arid ground. His arms
tightened around her, but he could not speak the words he knew she longed to hear.
Sheri rose on one elbow to gaze down at him. She studied his features, lovingly memorizing the strong lines of his face. It hurt that he did not profess to love her, but she had known it might happen. Loving him as she did, she would just take what he could give her, and hope that some day . . . some day he would be able to tell her he loved her, too. Gently, she bent to him and pressed her lips to his.
His arms came up around her and drew her down to him as he deepened the exchange. "You are one special woman," he said quietly.
She just smiled. "No, I'm just a woman in love for the first time in her life."
He kissed her, a soft, gentle exploration.
"What are we going to do?" she asked when they had ended the kiss, and she was curled up beside him.
He gave a low chuckle as his hands swept over her in an arousing caress. "I can think of quite a few things."
"Mmmm . . ."
It was some time later that they lay together, sated. The glory of their lovemaking had once again left them breathless with wonder.
Outside, the rain was slowing, its soft rhythm a seductive background to their loving.
"The rain's stopping. They'll be coming after us now, won't they?" she asked, stirring in his embrace. Night had fallen, but her fears for the days to come were still very real.
"They'll try," was all he answered. Then he turned quiet again, lost in thought.
"What can we do? I told the sheriff the truth, but he didn't believe me. We've got to find out who killed Hale and let the authorities know. I've been trying to figure out who it could have been, but I'm not having any luck. It could have been someone in town who'd just been passing through, but if that's the case, then we'll never know who the killer was."
When Brand spoke, his voice was steely. "I know who did it. I just can't prove it."
"You do?" She sat up in shock to stare down at him. "Who did it? How do you know?"
"It was Hancock," he said flatly.
"The colonel?" She gasped in horror. "Why would he kill Hale?"
"For the same reason I wanted to kill him, and one more . . ."
"I don't understand."
"Hancock had just walked into the saloon when Hale made his remark about Becky and you. I'm sure the colonel heard every word the man said."
"So he would have been furious about him insulting his daughter . . ." She looked at Brand in astonishment as understanding dawned.
"Yes, and he hates me enough that if he thought he could frame me for murder and get away with it, he'd do it."
"You really think he hates you that much?"
Brand's gaze caught and held hers. "When he came in to see me at the jail, he told me in so many words that he'd seen me going to you that night. His exact words were 'I wonder what Becky would think of you now, locked up like an animal after spending the night with another white woman. Last night was interesting. I saw a lot of things. But today is most satisfying'."
Sheri gasped at the revelation. "What else did he see?"
"What else did he do, is the real question. I've got a good idea, but I can't prove anything while I'm out here."
"Maybe Maureen and Charles will be able to find something out. They told me they'd go out to the fort and talk to O'Toole if they learned anything that could help. I knew he was the one person who would be on your side no matter what."
Brand nodded, his expression serious as he considered what they could do to prove his innocence. "Until we can offer them proof of my innocence, we'll just have to lie low and keep an eye out for trouble."
Sheri knew she had to change the subject before her worries took over completely. "I like the 'lie low' part of that," she said huskily as she curled up in his arms again. "As long as I've got you to lie low with."
His kiss was her answer.
It took O'Toole, Philip, and the three scouts who accompanied them the rest of the day to find the posse. Sheriff Warren was surprised by their offer of help, but quickly accepted. He knew that there weren't any better trackers than the ones from the fort.
Their efforts paid off for a while, leading them toward the mountains they dreaded. Brand knew the Superstitions better than just about any man alive, and following him there would be hellish. Their luck turned from bad to worse when the storm broke, and they knew it would be a long day the next day trying to find any trace of the fugitives' trail after the gully-washer.
O'Toole was soggy, but actually half-smiling as he waited for the rain to end. Philip came to sit with him in the small shelter he'd erected for himself.
"You look too happy, O'Toole," the lieutenant complained. He was wet, tired, and irritated.
"Sorry."
"For some reason I don't believe you."
"We're going to have one helluva time picking up his trail in the morning."
"And that pleases you?"
"I'd hate to see an innocent man hang, lieutenant."
Philip was quiet for a long while, thinking about Sheri and her involvement in this. "So would I, but everything points to his guilt."
"Brand didn't do it." There was no room for doubt in his statement.
"What about Sheri? I can't understand why she got herself involved in this."
"Maybe she believed he was innocent, too."
The two shared a look, then sat in companionable silence, waiting for the rain to end and morning to come.
It was a dreary dawn, but there were clearer skies to the west. They were up and saddled and ready to ride, but theirs was a difficult job that morning. All traces of the tracks had been wiped out by the storm, and they were forced to guess at Brand's direction. They knew it was going to be a long day.
Maureen and Charles had arrived at the fort late the day before, only to find that O'Toole and Lieutenant Long had already gone. They'd tried to meet with the colonel, but he had sent word that he was too busy to see them that day. They managed to get rooms for the night and were eagerly awaiting the opportunity to speak with him that morning.
Maureen was standing outside waiting for Charles to join her, when she caught sight of Cecelia Whitmore and several of the other women she'd met at the parties. She decided to talk with them and see if they'd heard anything about Brand or Sheri.
"Why, Maureen, we didn't know you would be coming back to our fort," Cecelia greeted her.
"I didn't either, but so much has happened in the last few days that Charles and I though we should make some inquiries."
"We just heard the news about Brand's escape. This is terrible . . . A vicious killer on the loose . . ." Dora clearly meant every word.
"Brand is innocent, and Charles and I are here to help prove it."
"Innocent? A half-breed?" Dora scoffed. "How can you even think that?"
"Because I know he is. Sheri told me he was."
"Ah . . . your cousin . . ." The ladies exchanged a knowing look. "She's the one who broke him out, isn't she? Does she realize what the penalty is for jailbreak?"
"Do you realize an innocent man might have been hanged the other night by a lynch mob?" Maureen demanded.
"Well, the colonel's never trusted Brand, and I'm sure with good reason."
"His daughter trusted him," Maureen countered.
"And she's dead, as you well know," Dora remarked tightly. "Colonel Hancock has every reason to believe the worst of Brand. Why, it was his fault Becky was killed!"
"Dora!" This time it was Cecelia who was outraged. "How can you say such mean things?"
"You don't want to hear the truth? Really, Cecelia, sometimes you are so sheltered. If the half-breed had never married her, Becky would be alive and well today."
"Don't you think Brand knows that?" Maureen defended him. "Don't you think he's lived with that pain every day since she was murdered in the attack? He loved her and she loved him."
"My dear, you are romanticizing everything, just like your cousin," Dora scoffed. "Although I don't know this for
certain, I would say the girl probably married him just to spite her father."
"She loved him, Dora," Cecelia corrected sternly. She had known and cared for Becky, and she remembered how desperately the young girl had agonized before deciding to go through with her marriage to Brand over her father's objections. "She knew her father would be upset, but she loved Brand more than life itself."
"And a lot of good it did her," the other woman sneered. "Now he's dragged Sheri into his life, and mark my words, she'd going to end up dead just like Becky, in spite of all her good intentions of saving him. She should have just let the mob have him and been done with it. He's no good, I tell you. Just ask Colonel Hancock if you don't believe me."
"Dora, I knew you didn't like Indians, but I never had any idea you hated them this much," Cecelia said, amazed.
"After what we've seen out here? They're worse than animals. Animals only kill to eat. These Apache seem to kill for the pure enjoyment of it. I've heard the men talk about the torture and murder. I know what goes on out there."
Maureen was furious and barely held on to her temper. "If you will excuse me, I have to go find Charles."
"Of course, my dear," Cecelia said kindly. "Let us know if you hear anything."
Maureen only smiled faintly at her as she quickly moved away. They would be the last people she would tell anything to. She hoped Charles had an appointment with Colonel Hancock. She wanted some answers and she wanted them now.
Chapter Eighteen
Brand, the Half-Breed Scout, or Trail of the Renegade
Meanwhile, Back at the Fort . . .
Rachel lay in the bed in the hospital, her fever raging. Mercy stayed with her, pressing cool cloths to her forehead in a desperate attempt to bring her temperature down.
Rachel opened her eyes to look at Mercy. "Brand . . . How is he? Have they found him yet?"
"No. They haven't come back yet, but they will. Clark will find him. Everything will be all right," Mercy reassured her.