by Bobbi Smith
Arizona Caress
Bobbi Smith
Copyright © 1989, 2019 by Bobbi Smith. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of The Evan Marshall Agency, 1 Pacio Court, Roseland, NJ 07068-1121, [email protected].
Version 1.0
Published by The Evan Marshall Agency. Originally published by Kensington Publishing Corp., New York.
This work is a novel. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
Cover by The Killion Group
bobbismithbooks.com
This book is dedicated to Donna Julian and her sweetie, Jerry, with love and admiration
HER SECRET REVEALED
"Scared, are you? You damn well should be!" Chance taunted in cold fury. He was sick and tired of listening to insults.
"Let go of me!" Rori choked out with more bravado than she was feeling. Her grandfather had warned her about the viciousness of men, white men in particular.
"Not on your life," he sneered. "I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago. I'm going to give you the bath you deserve."
Chance pinned her to him as he pulled the rawhide thongs from her hair and ran his hand through the plaits, combing the raven tresses into a heavy curtain about her shoulders.
He hadn't expected to see such a change in her. One moment she'd been the obstinate, mutinous boy; now she was a beautiful woman. "My God . . ." Chance muttered as his gaze swept over Rori's upturned features. He studied the wide emerald eyes, sparkling now with unshed tears of humiliation, and he wondered how it was he'd been so blind.
"So you finally found out I'm a girl, so what?" Rori challenged.
Chance eased his grip on her waist as he moved lower with the soap, rubbing it over the rounded swells of her flesh. He noticed that her efforts to escape had ceased. The soap slid unnoticed from his hand as he bent to claim her lips in a kiss that was meant to master, to subjugate, to teach her who was the man—and who was the woman.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Epilogue
Prologue
Arizona Territory, 1856
It was near sundown when Burr Prescott, a bearded, buckskin-clad man of slight stature, reined his mount in and paused at the edge of the clearing a short distance from the small cabin. Camouflaged by the heavy shadows of early evening, he blended perfectly with his surroundings, and at the moment, he was glad of it. Though everything appeared peaceful at the homestead, his instincts were screaming a silent warning.
Almost without thought, the tracker reached down and pulled his rifle from its sheath. Clutching it in readiness, he let his piercing blue-eyed gaze sweep the scene before him. This was his son's home. There should have been some sign of life . . . some sign of Jack, his lovely Pima wife, Atallie, or their three-year-old daughter, Aurora. It was time for the evening meal, but there was no indication that anyone was about. All was quiet . . . too quiet.
Burr missed nothing as he studied the house, the seemingly deserted stable and its empty paddock. It was the last that troubled him most, for he knew Jack took great pride in his stock of horses, and they were nowhere to be seen. A deep-seated worry was born, mingling with the menacing sense of foreboding that was disturbing him.
Burr knew he could hesitate no longer. Years of living in the untamed wilderness had taught him to anticipate the unexpected, so he was alert and ready as he urged his horse forward with only the slightest pressure of his heels.
The fact that nothing happened immediately after he'd showed himself stretched Burr's nerves to the limit. He had hoped his instincts had been wrong and his caution had been for nothing. He had hoped that Jack or Atallie would rush from the house to welcome him, but it didn't happen. The silence of the moment was overwhelming. Only the clip-clop sound of his horse's hooves on the rocky ground broke the unearthly stillness.
Burr was a brave man, not generally given to fear, but the cold knot of dread that was forming in the pit of his gut left him shaking. Something had happened to his son and his family . . . something terrible.
Burr brought his horse to a stop before the cabin as he eyed the door that was standing slightly ajar. Gun still in hand, he dropped soundlessly to the ground and ventured cautiously forward. He had just reached the partially open portal and was about to push it wide when a shot rang out, exploding into the wood just inches from his head. Realizing instantly that the shot had come from within, Burr dove to his right, hit the ground, and rolled away from the house.
"Come on! Just try to come in again, you dirty, murderin' bastards! Next time I won't miss!" came the strangled shout from within that Burr only barely recognized as his son's voice.
Hearing the pain and agony in his tone, Burr scrambled to his feet and rushed forward, calling out, "Jack! Jack boy, it's me, your pa!"
The horror of the scene that greeted him as he burst in to the house would stay with Burr for the rest of his life. The one-room cabin was in a shambles. The furniture was overturned and broken, the lamps were smashed, and all the foodstuffs had been thrown on the floor. He looked about in pained disbelief until he spotted his son, bloodied and battered, sitting propped up against the far wall with little Aurora cowering at this side.
"Jack! Good God, son, what happened?" Burr demanded as he charged forward.
"Pa . . ." Jack's voice was weak now, his earlier fierceness fading rapidly. He tried to say more, but the effort was too costly.
"Easy, boy . . ." Burr murmured as he knelt beside him and quickly examined his wounds. One fast look at the gunshot wound in his chest told him all he needed to know. His son was dying, and there was nothing he could do for him. "Let me get you up on the bed."
"No, Pa . . . there's no time," he told him desperately.
"What do you mean?"
"They might come back . . ."
"Who?"
"There were three of them. They said they hated Indians and anybody who loved them. They . . . Don't let them come back, Pa," Jack gasped in fear.
"They won't be back, son. I'm here and I'll take care of you now." Burr tried to comfort him.
"Atallie and I sent Aurora to hide so she'd be safe, and then we tried to fight them off . . . . I managed to shoot one of them, before they got me. I winged him in the head, but I don't know
what happened after that . . . I must have passed out . . . " he mourned in abject misery.
"Atallie . . ." Burr realized then that he hadn't seen her yet. "Where is she?"
"There, Pa . . . " Jack said brokenly. Keeping one arm wrapped protectively around his small, frightened daughter, he gestured across the cabin.
Burr looked up and in that moment saw the full horror of the devastation the attackers had wreaked. There, lying dead on the floor, her body partially hidden from view by the overturned furniture, was the beautiful, vibrant Atallie. He could tell at a glance the terrible things that had been done to her, and his stomach churned. Her death had not been quick or easy.
"Come on, Jack," Burr urged as he looked away from the grisly scene, "let me see if I can get the bullet out. . . ."
"No, Pa, it's no use . . ." he whispered huskily, the last of his strength failing him. "I know . . ."
"You know nothin'!" Burr argued, trying to fire his spirit.
"Pa . . ." There was desperation in his tone as he sought to gain his father's promise. "Pa, take Aurora . . ."
"Jack, you're gonna be fine, and you'll be able to take care of her yourself." Tears stung the trapper's eyes, but he fought them back. This couldn't be happening! This beaten, dying man couldn't be his fine, strong, handsome son. Jack had been his life, and now . . .
"Pa, promise me . . . please promise me!" Jack's green eyes glowed fervently for a moment as they met his father's. He grabbed Burr's forearm with a strength born of desperation.
"Of course I'll take her, son," Burr managed with difficulty, "but . . ."
"Good . . ." The light that had shone so brilliantly in Jack's gaze faded to dullness as his grip suddenly slackened, and he let go of his father's arm. He had accomplished what he'd hoped and prayed he would be able to do. He had hung on long enough to see that Aurora would be safe. Now he could stop fighting to hold on to his life and welcome the pain-free darkness. He could surrender to it, accept it, embrace it. He could be with Atallie . . . his love.
"Jack, Aurora will be fine," Burr was saying in an attempt to assure him that everything would be all right. He reached for his granddaughter, who was crying softly as she huddled close to her father. "She's . . . "
As he lifted the raven-haired child up, he saw Jack's arm drop lifelessly away from her. Searing pain tore through him as he realized it was over. His son was dead! Atallie was dead!
What kind of monstrous white man could have done this?! In a rage against the heavens, Burr vowed silently that he would have his vengeance. Somehow, someway, he would find the men who had killed them, and he would personally see them dead by the most terrible means possible.
"Grandpa?" The dreadful expression on her grandfather's face sent a shaft of fear through Aurora, and when he didn't respond to her immediately, she began to cry harder. She was too young to really comprehend all that had happened, but she could sense it was something terrible.
Her frightened tears touched Burr as nothing else could have. The vicious hatred that had filled him shattered as he gazed down at the tiny, tear-streaked face. Her forest-green eyes so like her father's were wide and questioning. Desolate, he clasped her to him, holding her tightly to his heart as he stroked the silken tumble of her ebony hair. He would never forget his need for vengeance, but he would also never forget that Aurora had been entrusted to him.
As Burr enfolded her in his warm, secure embrace, Aurora sighed raggedly and quieted immediately. In the way of innocents, she instinctively knew that her grampa would take care of everything.
Chapter One
Boston, 1871
Chance Broderick stood at the window in the parlor of his family's Boston home, his stance relaxed, his back to his mother as she related her tale of woe. Agatha Broderick, who was seated on the loveseat behind him in the sumptuous sitting room, paused in what she was saying and glowered at her oldest offspring in annoyance. Society matron that she was, she was not accustomed to being ignored in such a manner, not even by Chance, who, since his father's death ten years prior, had been head of the family. True, he was twenty-eight and had been his own man for some time now, but that did not excuse his behavior.
"Chancellor Broderick!" Her tone was full of censure.
Recognizing that imperious command from his childhood, Chance faced his mother. Leaning negligently against the window frame, he crossed his arms across the broad width of his chest and met her brown-eyed gaze across the room. A small smile played about his firm, chiseled lips, but he knew better than to give in to the urge to grin. It would never do when dealing with his mother.
As Agatha studied her dark-haired son, she wasn't sure whether to laugh or rage. For all that Chance was presenting the appearance of complete obedience to her order, she knew better. Chance was just like his indomitable father in more than just his good-looks—his classically handsome features and beautiful dark eyes—Chance was subservient to no one. Still, she took advantage of the fact that she'd finally managed to capture his undivided attention. Agatha turned the full force of her disapproving glare upon him as she began again.
"I will not allow you to dismiss this so lightly!" She dictated. "I assure you this is serious! It might even be a matter of life and death—your brother's!!"
"I hardly think that Doug's in any real danger, Mother. You know how he is," Chance answered easily. Some things would never change, he realized with dry humor. Ever since he could remember, his brother, Douglas, made it a practice to get into trouble, and it was always up to Chance to get him out of it. Even now that Doug was twenty-three, the pattern seemed not to have altered one bit.
"But, Chance, you've been away for months. You haven't even read his last letter," his mother insisted, distressed by his continued disregard of what she'd told him. Her tone was less demanding and more beseeching. It was difficult for her to plead for anything, but her concern for her youngest child was very real.
"And just what was in Doug's last letter that's upset you so?" Chance asked as he let gaze drift out the window to the view of the city and harbor beyond. He loved the sea. In fact, he had just returned that morning from an eight-month voyage captaining one of Broderick Shipping's best clippers, but there was something about being home this time that felt right to him. When he'd ridden up to the house an hour earlier, Chance had been convinced that he never wanted to ship out again.
"I'll get it for you. It's on the desk in the study . . . " Agatha was just getting to her feet to retrieve the all-important letter when the sound of voices in the front hall interrupted them.
"Bailey! I just heard that Chance is back! Is he here?"
"Yes, Mr. Chancellor has only just arrived and is in the parlor with his mother, Miss Sutcliffe, but I . . . " Bailey, the elderly, gray-haired servant who'd been with the Brodericks for better than forty years, had been about to detain her until he could make the proper announcement of her unexpected visit, but the bold, young Bethany Sutcliffe was not about to be denied.
"I know the way. Thank you, Bailey." The blond-haired beauty brushed right past the astonished butler and into the parlor. She had been on her way to go shopping when she caught sight of Chance's ship in the harbor. Excitement had coursed through her. He was back! At last! She'd immediately ordered her driver to bring her directly to the Broderick estate. She had wanted Chance and his money for as long as she could remember, and she was determined one way or the other to get him to the altar now that he had finally returned from his trip.
Chance and Agatha both looked up in irritation as Bethany swept into the room unannounced, and Chance stifled a groan of exasperation. Leave it to Bethany to be the first one to find out he was home.
"Chance, darling." Bethany's blue-eyed gaze was hungry upon him as she crossed the room. "It's so wonderful to see you. I'm so glad you're home!"
As he watched her coming toward him Chance had the feeling that she was a hungry predator on the prowl and that he was her prey. Not that he minded altogether, for Bethany was a gorgeous
woman with her lush, shapely figure, golden hair, and perfect features. There had been several times in the past when they'd enjoyed each other to the fullest. It was just that he knew her for what she was, and he was not in the mood to play games with her at the moment.
"Bethany, it's good to see you, too," Chance greeted her warmly.
"Hello, Mrs. Broderick." Bethany spoke to the other woman, but did not take her eyes off Chance. She'd missed him while he was gone, and she wanted him now with a burning passion. She had been with other men during the months he'd been away, but they all faded into obscurity now that he was back. All Bethany wanted to do was to drag Chance off to her bed and make wild love to him. Instead, because of Agatha's presence, she had to restrain herself.
"It's nice of you to drop by," Agatha responded politely, although she was slightly annoyed by the interruption. She had to tell Chance about Douglas!
"I'm sorry for arriving so unexpectedly." Bethany kept her expression suitably contrite as she faked her apology for her brazen behavior. "But once I knew that Chance was back, I just had to come by and say hello."
"You're always welcome here, my dear," Agatha assured her graciously. "You know that." The Sutcliffe family was well established in town, and she had no objection to a match between Chance and Bethany, should things turn out that way.
"Has your mother told you about the ball tonight?" Bethany asked, eager that he should attend the party at the Richardsons'. She already had an escort for the evening, but she knew it would be a simple matter to get rid of him and attach herself to Chance.
"I'm afraid I haven't had the opportunity yet," Agatha answered, aggravated. Though she had been planning to attend the fashionable soirée before Chance had arrived, now all she cared about was convincing him to go to Douglas's aid.
"You are going, aren't you?" Bethany cornered her.
"I had planned on it," she confessed, "but . . ."
"Then everything's perfect! I'm sure everyone will be thrilled when they find out Chance is back," she gushed with pseudo-sweetness. Excited that things were working out so well. Mentally, she rubbed her hands together as she imagined what a success the night would be. The new gown she'd had made just for the ball made her look her absolute best.