Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family)

by Georgina Gentry

  “The Indians must know that, too,” he said softly. “With trains bringing in settlers, fields fenced, and hunters killing off the buffalo, no wonder they’re fighting, determined to save their civilization.”

  She saw the sympathy in the gray eyes. “I thought you hated Indians.”

  “I hate Comanche,” he said, and his eyes turned as cold and hard as gray granite. “Because of what happened to Annie.” He started, as if he’d said something he’d never meant to say, never meant to share with her. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

  She wanted to ask but saw the hostility, the closed expression of his rugged face. Someday she would get inside his shell, get him to open up and share his pain with her. Until then she could only guess at his past, some wall between them. What secrets did he hide? It was a long way to the Lazy M Ranch. She’d know Maverick inside out in the weeks it took to ride there.

  In Wichita, Maverick reined up, shouting at her over the bawling cattle. “I’ve got to get this beef to the railroad pens so they can be shipped east. Then I’ll go over to the Red Garter, have one last drink with the crew.”

  She nodded, shouting back, “That’s fine. I want to go see some of the children from my school, tell them good-bye. When and where shall we meet?”

  He hesitated, reining in his snorting horse. “Cayenne, are you sure you want to do this? With all the Indian trouble, maybe you should rethink—”

  “My stars! Must we cover that ground again? I’m going home, Maverick. Now if you’ve changed your mind, I’ll find some other cowboy to take me.”

  He scowled blackly at her. “You’re still innocent as a Sunday school! You’d pick some hombre who’d get you just far enough out of town to tear your clothes off—”

  “As I recall, that’s just what did happen,” she snapped acidly. “But if you bow out, my future’s no concern of yours, now, is it?”

  “By damn!” he swore. “If I ever met a girl who needed her bottom blistered for being so headsrong—

  “When you get ready to spank me, cowboy, you’d better bring your dinner, because it may take a while!” She smiled back in smug satisfaction.

  He shrugged. “Okay, have it your way. Meet me out in front of the general store.” He glanced up at the sun. “Let’s say about eleven.”

  Cayenne nodded, waved to old Sanchez, and rode away. First she visited some of her favorite little children and told them good-bye. At one of the homes, she took a bath in a tin washtub, put on a clean blue gingham dress, brushed her hair, and dabbed a little vanilla behind each ear before eyeing herself critically in a cracked mirror.

  She wasn’t sure whether she should hate that Yankee sympathizer or love him. But she wanted him to think her pretty, desirable. Otherwise, he might back out on accompanying her on this dangerous trip. Cayenne frowned. There might be even more danger for him at the end of it.

  But she must not think about that, she told her troubled conscience. After all, Papa and the kids were more important to her than that trail boss. Weren’t they?

  She should let her family know she’d gotten the letter and was on her way home. She’d go down to the telegraph office and . . . No, she’d better not do it that way. Cayenne shook her head, remembering the unpleasant little telegrapher gossiping peoples’ business all over Wichita. Besides, it would cost more than a letter and she had so little money.

  She found a piece of paper and pencil stub. How could she word it so as not to arouse suspicion if the mail should fall into the wrong hands? Maybe if she addressed it to her nine-year-old sister, the gunslingers wouldn’t think it was important if they managed to get the mail first. After a moment, she wrote: Dear Lynnie: You’ll be glad to hear I’ve found the man who can help us.

  No, that wouldn’t do. Slade might get curious and open it. It had to sound very innocent.

  She erased part of the sentence and began rewriting. Finally Cayenne paused, her tongue in the corner of her mouth. Had she given enough double meanings so that serious, smart Lynnie would understand big sister was bringing help? Did it sound casual, trivial enough?

  Cayenne hesitated again. If anyone else picked up the mail, opened it, would they think she meant wedding plans? She must not let on she’d gotten a warning letter. What she really should do was contact the army or the Texas Rangers.

  She shook her head. The new governor, Coke, was trying to deal with the Yankee carpetbaggers who’d taken over the state at war’s end. But since she’d been gone, she didn’t know whether he’d been successful or not. And the Yankees had disbanded the Rangers, feeling. the Texans were a threat to their regime.

  She’d done the best she could do. With a little prayer for luck, she put it in an envelope, addressing it to her sister in care of the general store where the Lazy M picked up its mail. Cayenne paused before she wrote the name of the tiny town, beaming proudly. Up until Papa’s heroic deed eight months ago, it had been a nameless community of gentle, religious folk. But the settlers were as proud of Papa as Cayenne had been. Underneath Billing’s General Store, she wrote the town and state: McBride, Texas.

  She mailed the letter at the small post office and rode over to the general store. The unpleasant little telegraph operator came by, heading to his post.

  “Good day, Miss Cayenne.” He tipped his green eyeshade at her and she nodded politely as he passed, wishing she could like Wilbur. Nobody in town seemed to think much of the scrawny, humpbacked little man. She decided it was because of Wilbur’s habit of never looking you in the eye when he talked to you. And he did have the most annoying habit of gossiping about all the messages that came through his hands. Probably it made him feel important.

  Judging by the hot June sun, it must be at least eleven. Over across the bridge at the Red Garter’s hitching post, more than a dozen Triple D horses stood dozing. The big gray was one of them. Strawberry whinnied in greeting to the stallion.

  Cayenne smiled to herself. Even the dainty mare had an eye for a good-looking male.

  She waited. And waited. And waited. The sun overhead told her it must be at least high noon. Mr. Winston came out of his store. “Is something the matter, Miss McBride?”

  She tried not to seem as hot and furious as she felt. “Do you happen to have a watch, sir?”

  He nodded, pulling out a big pocket watch. “12:15,” he announced importantly. “I’m going home for dinner.”

  Now just what was keeping that cowboy? 12:15. She watched the old storekeeper amble down the sidewalk, listened to the laughter and singing echoing from the Red Garter. Well, she’d just have to go in and get him!

  Upstairs in Molly’s room, Maverick leaned back in the tin washtub. He sighed with pleasure at the girl in the scarlet dress. “Thanks, Molly, for loaning me your bathtub. I was filthy and the hotel is full up—”

  “Think nothin’ of it, handsome,” she smirked at him as she poured liquor from the decanter on the dresser. “Bourbon and branch, right?”

  He nodded agreeably, soaping his muscular chest. “I could use some more hot water.”

  “I told the maid when she came to bring your clean clothes.” Molly came over, handed him the drink. “She’ll be right up with more water.” The whore looked down at him. “And after you get out of that tub, maybe you got time for me.”

  He laughed easily. “Sorry, no can do. Got to meet someone. What time is it, anyway?”

  “Oh, early yet,” she said, coming over to the tub. “Can I wash your back?”

  He nodded and she knelt behind him. “I think I let time get away from me downstairs. You know how it is when men get to drinkin’ and gamblin’.”

  “I know how it is.” He heard her pick up a washcloth and he sighed with pleasure as she scrubbed his back. “Damn! You got the best-lookin’ body of any man I ever met, Maverick. How long we known each other, anyway?”

  He sighed, sipping the whiskey and enjoying the feel of her scrubbing his sore muscles. “Hell, I don’t know, Molly. Who remembers something like that?”

  �
��I remember,” she said almost wistfully. “Maybe because it meant something to me. It was just ten years ago this coming September at a birthday party for the old Don on the patio of the Triple D ranch house. It was just before the big Indian Outbreak.”

  Maverick laughed gently. “I was just a half-grown boy. I don’t remember you. ..”

  “I was one of Miss Fancy’s girls then, you know, in San Antone, and everyone in the county was invited. I remember thinking then someday when you was a grown man, women would be loco over you. Never dreamed it’d be me.”

  He felt suddenly sorry for her, even though he couldn’t love her. He handed her his empty glass. “Aw, Molly, you don’t mean that. All you want is fun, a good time. You wouldn’t leave this life just to scrub clothes, raise kids.”

  “I do like a good time,” she admitted. She put the glass down and rubbed the soapy rag across his shoulders. “That’s why I ran off with a worthless tinhorn named Slade when I was only fifteen. He had a partner I would have given it all up for just like I’d give it up for you now, handsome.”

  Maverick laughed. “Sorry, Molly. I got other plans and I’m runnin’ late, got to hurry. Scrub a little to the left. Ah . . . that’s it.”

  Downstairs, Cayenne marched through the swinging doors of the Red Garter. Immediately, the music stopped in mid-note. All the cowboys hushed talking, the painted women quit laughing. The crowd stared at her.

  She looked around the saloon. No Maverick. “All right! Where is he?”

  The bald bartender groaned. “Oh, no, not again! Look, miss, I just got that buffalo hunter, Buck, on his feet and back out with his partners late last night, and now you come in here again ready to get another fight started.”

  Old Sanchez fumbled with his hat. Dios! Senorita, you don’t belong in a place like this! Go back outside and wait. I’ll find him and send him out.”

  “No, I’ve waited for that Yankee-lovin’ saddle bum long enough! ” She was furious, hands on hips. “Now just where is he?”

  Nobody answered but she saw their eyes turn toward the stairway. She was speechless with anger, hurt, and shock. After making love with her, Maverick was upstairs with that dark-haired girl? That pretty older one with the fancy pearl combs?

  “Never mind!” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ll just go up and get him myself! ” Before anyone could move to stop her, she marched toward the stairs, red hair bouncing on her neck.

  “Miss, you can’t go up there!” The bartender twisted his hands in his grimy apron. “It ain’t a fit place for a lady! You can’t go up there!”

  “You just watch me!” And she marched up the stairs, glancing back to see the horrified expressions of the openmouthed men below.

  Upstairs, she wasn’t sure which door. Then she heard that pretty dark-haired whore laugh somewhere down the hall.

  A black girl brushed past her carrying a bucket of steaming water.

  Cayenne grabbed her arm. “Where’s that cowboy called Maverick?”

  The girl hesitated, obviously as shocked as the cowboys to see a lady on the second floor. She gestured. “He’s in Miss Molly’s room takin’ a bath, dat’s whare he be. But you can’t go in there, Missus!”

  “Just watch me ! ” Cayenne said again. “That water for his bath? ”

  The girl only nodded dumbly, and Cayenne took the bucket away from her, marched to the door the maid had indicated, and rapped sharply.

  “Bring it on in, LuLu,” said a woman’s voice.

  Cayenne swung the door wide. There he sat in a tub of sudsy water, the pretty brunette scrubbing his back. “Well!” Cayenne said. “No wonder you couldn’t meet me!”

  The two stared at her in openmouthed horror.

  Maverick half rose from the tub. “What the hell you doin’ here? This is no place for a lady!”

  “But it is a place for a two-timing cowboy! I don’t suppose you were expecting me,” Cayenne snapped, “but I thought I’d help your friend there with your bath!” Before either of them could make another move, she marched across the room and threw the bucket of warm water all over the two of them.

  They both shouted in surprise and Molly gestured wildly. “My new red dress! She’s ruined my dress! Why, I ought to wipe up the floor with you, you little-! ”

  “I hope you’ve got some help,” Cayenne smiled a little too sweetly, setting the pail down. “Because, honey, you’re gonna need it!”

  Maverick scrambled out of the tub, dripping across the floor as he grabbed for a towel to wrap around his lean body. “Cayenne’s right, Molly, I’d think twice about layin’ into her if I was you. Texas gals are tough—”

  “So are gals from Missouri!” Molly faced Cayenne in the wet scarlet dress, looking like a slightly bedraggled and enraged Rhode Island red hen.

  Maverick pushed between them. “Here! Here! Stop this! Now let’s try to talk this out sensibly. ..”

  Cayenne glared at him with eyes as cold as green emeralds. “You’re fired!” she snapped. “I’ll go to Texas by myself ! ”

  “Texas?” Molly wailed. “Handsome, you was going to Texas with her after I loaned you my bathtub? You was cleaning up for her?”

  Cayenne pulled out of Maverick’s grasp and confronted her. “Honey, you can have him! If I ever see him again, that’s one day too soon!”

  And with that, she spun on her heel, marching out of the room and down the stairs. The men didn’t meet her glare as she stormed out of the Red Garter like the Texans taking San Jacinto!

  As she marched over to her horse, Maverick leaned out of the upstairs window. “By damn, baby, you can’t cross Texas alone! Wait ’til I get my clothes. . . .”

  “You just watch me!” she snapped in a fury, swinging up in the saddle. It was hard to straddle the mare with a dress on but she didn’t care if her legs did show. She’d meant to get a sidesaddle or change into boy’s pants before they started their journey. She felt too angry to care as she urged the startled mare into a lope, leaving Wichita behind. She had a little compass in her saddlebags, which would be of some help, and she had a rifle and some food. But most of the gear would be on a packhorse Maverick would have brought along.

  She headed southwest at a walk, and the farther she got from town, the more she regretted her peppery temper.

  “My stars! He deserved more than just a sloshing,” she said aloud to quiet her fears, her doubts. But that didn’t alter the facts that now she was out here on these endless plains all alone with nothing but the wind and dozens of dead, reeking buffalo carcasses around her.

  Buck. That big buffalo hunter was out here some place, too, she thought with sudden alarm. But of course the southern plains were endless. The chance she’d cross his trail was small. Still . . .

  She reined up. Maybe she should go back to town, try to hire someone else to help her get through hostile territory. Cayenne bit her lip, wiping at the perspiration on her freckled face as the midday sun beat down on her. Somehow she didn’t have any confidence in any other hombre but that damned half-breed. He was all man, supremely confident in his ability to handle anything he came up against.

  The hot wind smelled like dry dust, like the drought that had shriveled the Southern Plains for months now. A drop of perspiration ran down her breast and she blotted it with the blue gingham of her dress, remembering Maverick’s mouth hot and moist on her nipples. She thought of him with both longing and regret. The strange, tortured cowboy had been her very first man and she would never, never forget him. But to him she’d been only another conquest.

  Strawberry craned her head around and whinnied. Frightened, Cayenne turned in her saddle to look behind her. Way off toward Wichita, small dots moved on the horizon. Who could it be? That filthy buffalo hunter? An Indian? Strawberry nickered again as the rider came on fast, leading a loaded packhorse behind him.

  Cayenne felt a surge of both fury and relief. The expert way he rode, the size of the man, and the big gray stallion identified him long before the man galloped close enough
for her to recognize his dark face. Maverick Durango.

  “By damn, if it isn’t the little horse thief,” he sneered as he galloped up beside her.

  She blinked. “Horse thief?”

  Maverick nodded toward the brand on Strawberry’s rump. “I believe that is a Triple D mark, isn’t it?”

  Cayenne gasped. Horse stealing was a hanging offense anywhere in the West. “You’re bluffin’!”

  He grinned slowly. “Am I?”

  Chapter Five

  She watched the big half-breed, her emotions a mixture of relief and anger. He looked so stern, so forbidding riding that stallion that reminded her of a ghost, a spectre. She just kept riding.

  Then she remembered him sitting in the soapy water, that whore with the long black hair running her hands familiarly over his broad back. How dare he follow her? Cayenne slapped the mare with the reins, loping off to the southwest.

  “Cayenne! ” He took in after her, the big gray slowly gaining on her. “Cayenne!” .

  She didn’t look at him even when she heard him overtake her.

  “By damn, baby, look at me when I talk to you!”

  She lifted her head high and kept riding.

  He rode along beside her. “I believe when you set a course for yourself, you’re as stubborn as a snapping turtle ! ”

  “Then you should remember,” she answered coldly without looking over at him. “It’s an old Texas legend that snapping turtles don’t let go ’til they hear it thunder.”

  “I ought to paddle your butt!” he said.

  “Don’t be crude,” she said, chin high, not looking at him. She couldn’t remember ever being this angry before. “You loaned me this horse, remember? Go back to Wichita! I’ll find someone else along the way to ride with me!”

  “What you’ll find is some war party, some gang of filthy buffalo hunters, Reb! Either one would keep you as a playpretty—”