Arizona Caress: She Feels The Heat Of His Hot Embrace

by Bobbi Smith

  "There were no white men who could help you?" Lone Hawk asked tersely.

  "It was white men who did this to him," she answered just as brusquely.

  He met her eyes and, seeing the concern there, gave a quick nod. "We will do what we can for him. He is known to us and is a good man."

  "Thank you, Father. I will ride out and tell them of your generosity."

  As Lone Hawk watched her gallop away, he wondered how long she would stay and if he would miss her as much the next time she left.

  Nilakla was torn as she hurried back to tell the others that they were welcome in the village. She had deliberately gone to the camp alone because she had needed time to herself so she could think. Whenever Douglas was around, she had little peace of mind.

  Her emotions were in an upheaval, and she was trying to make some sense out of her feelings. Her heart was telling her that she should stay with Douglas until the bitter end when he left for Boston, but her mind was telling her to return to the home of her father. She would be safe there. She would have her child and be happy.

  Even as she thought it, though, Nilakla knew the last was a lie. She would never find happiness without Douglas. He was her happiness. He was her life.

  Caught in a dilemna that would mean heartbreak either way, she wasn't sure what to do. He had told her that he loved her, but what good was a vow of love when he planned to leave her as quickly as he could? Love only thrived if it was shared and nurtured. As much as she wanted to believe that he cared, she dismissed the hope that there had been any truth to his words.

  Nilakla caught sight of him then and her breath caught in her throat. He was so tall in the saddle and so devastatingly handsome that all she wanted to do was be in his embrace forever. Her heart aching in anticipation of their coming separation, Nilakla wondered how she was ever going to be able to be parted from him.

  "Chance . . ." Doug had been giving his future serious thought during the journey, and he knew it was time to tell his brother what he was going to do.

  "What is it, Doug?" Chance asked as they dropped back slightly behind Rori.

  "I've come to a decision . . ."

  "What kind of decision?"

  He looked his older brother squarely in the eye. "I'm not going back to Boston with you."

  "You're not? Why?" Chance was surprised and more than a little confused by this news. "I thought your whole purpose in coming out here was to strike it rich on your own and then go back home to show everybody that you'd made it. Why have you changed your mind now that you've accomplished what you set out to do?"

  Suddenly, Doug found that the need to be rich and to impress the good people of Boston didn't matter to him anymore. All he cared about was Nilakla and making a life with her and their child. Doug gave him a wry smile. "But I didn't make it all on my own. I had Nilakla. It took nearly losing her to make me realize how much I love her, Chance. What I feel for her is worth more than gold. I could go back to Boston and live like a king on the fortune I've found, but I know now that I'd be miserable without her. Money means nothing if you don't have love . . ."

  "Have you told her yet?"

  "No," he replied, and at Chance's puzzled look, he quickly explained what had happened between them earlier.

  "What are you going to do about it?"

  Douglas flashed him a roguish smile. "Have you ever known me not to get the woman I wanted?"

  Chance chuckled to himself as he thought of Doug's days as an eligible bachelor in Boston and his many exploits with the women there. "No."

  "I don't intend to lose her, Chance. I love Nilakla, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with her." He broke off as he saw Nilakla coming their way, and he put his heels to his mount to catch up with Rori so he could hear her news.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Pima village was alive with activity as they drew near, but as soon as the dogs became aware of their approach, all that changed. Charging forth from the encampment, they barked a raucous warning to all who would listen. Young children who'd been laughing and running among the tipis stopped their play to watch the strangers' progress into the village. The women who'd been tending to the cooking and other chores stopped all work to stare in open curiosity and concern. The warriors and old men who'd been sitting in the shade resting all got up to see what the excitement was about. White men did not often come to their camp, and they were wary as they watched them move past. When they recognized Nilakla and saw them stop before Chief Lone Hawk's lodge, their concern eased. If their chief accepted these strangers into their midst, then they had nothing to fear.

  "Father, we thank you for your welcome," Nilakla said as they drew up before Lone Hawk.

  The chief nodded. "Burr is a friend. Take him there." He indicated the tipi nearest his. "I will send Rain Cloud to you."

  Rori was the first to dismount when they reached the other lodge and she ran immediately to Burr's side. He showed no sign of improvement. His face was still deathly pale, and his breathing was shallow and labored. Chance and Doug quickly came to her aid, untying the bonds that had held him immobile during the trek. They lifted him as gently as they could and carried him inside.

  Rori started to follow them, but Nilakla stopped her, taking her by the arm. "Give them a minute to get him settled," she advised.

  "But I want to be with him," Rori argued stubbornly, fearful that Burr might die if she wasn't right there by his side to give him the strength to go on.

  "You will be," she promised. "Just give them time to make him comfortable."

  Rori understood what she meant, and she lingered there by the horses, waiting for Chance and Doug to emerge.

  As Chance and Doug were laying him down upon the mat that served as a bed in the lodge, Burr gave a low groan.

  "Burr . . ." Chance leaned over him anxiously, hoping to see some sign that he was coming around. "Burr, it's Chance . . ."

  As if from a great distance, Burr could hear the other man's voice calling to him. A part of him wanted to surface from the blackness that engulfed him, but another part of him fought it, knowing that with renewed awareness would also come excruciating pain.

  "Fight, Burr!" Chance insisted. "Think of Rori. Don't give up!"

  Rori . . . Agony washed through Burr as full consciousness returned, and a moan escaped him. The pain . . . God! The pain!

  Rain Cloud, the short, heavyset medicine man of the tribe, entered the lodge. "Lone Hawk tells me there is a man here who has been shot."

  "Yes . . . please, we need your help." Doug quickly moved away from Burr's side to give the medicine man access.

  Rain Cloud said no more, but went to the old tracker and dropped down beside him opposite Chance. He went straight to work, cutting away what was left of Burr's shirt and removing the makeshift bandage Rori and Chance had fashioned in the desert to help control the bleeding. One look at the lethal wound told him there was no point in doing more. The white man would not live much longer.

  Burr had come fully back to consciousness now. He glanced weakly around for Rori, but did not see her in the tipi. Ignoring the medicine man's ministrations, he focused on Chance where he knelt beside him. "Chance . . . " he rasped. "I need to see Rori right now . . . get her for me . . . "

  "I'll get her for you in a minute, Burr, just let the medicine man see what he can do for you," Chance told him.

  Rain Cloud lifted his sad, dark-eyed gaze to meet Chance's, and he slowly shook his head negatively. The old man's condition was completely hopeless.

  Chance stiffened as he realized that his worst fears were confirmed. He knew he should send for Rori at once. Burr was dying.

  "Don't horse around with me, boy!" Burr managed with as much force as he could muster. "I don't have much time."

  "Burr . . . I . . . "

  "Listen to me, boy," he said hoarsely as he waved away the medicine man's efforts and reached out to grab Chance's arm with a strength born of desperation.

  Chance fell silent as he listened
respectfully. Burr eyed him judgingly, knowing he was his only hope. He prayed silently, fervently, that he was doing the right thing.

  "I'm leaving you the one thing in my life that means anything to me," Burr told him in a husky tone. At Chance's confused look, he went on. "You've got to take care of Rori for me. As much as she acts tough, she can still be hurt and hurt bad. I'm begging you, boy, the world's a hard place, and Rori doesn't have anyone to stand beside her now."

  Chance was stunned by his request. Take care of Rori for him? Rori hated him. Still, he knew there was nothing else he could do. The old man was dying and needed the reassurance of knowing that she would be safe.

  "I'll do whatever is best for her, Burr. I promise," he replied.

  "I can't ask for any more than that." The fierce light that had shone in Burr's eyes faded as he heard him agree. The effort had cost him much, and a sudden, wearying weakness overwhelmed him. He let his hand fall away, and he closed his eyes. "I need to see Rori . . ."

  Chance thought he was dying then, and he turned to Doug and in a low, intense voice ordered, "Get her, Doug. Now!"

  Rori had been waiting anxiously outside the tipi with Nilakla ever since Chance and Doug had carried Burr in. When Rain Cloud had entered, she'd tried to follow, but again Nilakla had restrained her. Each moment that passed added to her terrible sense of panic.

  Feeling her friend's sympathetic gaze upon her, Rori moved off a little ways to be alone. Big Jake trailed after her and lay down at her feet as she stared off across the sun-drenched landscape. Rori thought of how much she loved Burr and how empty her life would be if anything happened to him. Burr was the only parent she'd ever known, the only person who'd ever loved her. The thought of losing him, of losing the one solid thing in her life, left her frantic.

  Dear God, she prayed fervidly but silently, please let my grampa be all right. Grampa's a good man, he doesn't deserve to die like this . . . I promise I'll be good, I'll do anything, if you'll just let him get better. Please make him well. He's never hurt anybody in his whole life. Don't let him die, please don't let him die . . .

  The agony of her fear gripped her soul. Burr was her whole world. He meant everything to her. If he died . . . As unbidden thoughts of trying to go on without him seared her, tears burned her eyes and coursed hotly down her cheeks in a testimony to her wretchedness. Grampa has to make it, he just has to!

  "Rori . . ." Nilakla's call drew her from the depths of her torment.

  Rori looked back quickly and saw Doug, standing near the lodge with Nilakla, beckoning for her to come. She raced to him, her heart in her throat. "Grampa . . . is he . . .?" She looked worriedly from the tipi to Doug and back again.

  "No . . ." was all Doug had time to say before she rushed past him inside with Big Jake on her heels.

  Burr had heard the sound of her voice and called her name, "Rori . . ."

  She was there, then, at his side, taking up his big hand in hers. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his weathered cheek, unaware of Rain Cloud backing slowly from the tipi. Chance stood in paralyzed silence as he watched her.

  "Grampa!" Rori cried. "Thank God! I was praying so hard and . . ." She was so taken by the fact that he was conscious at last that she didn't realize he was mortally wounded. Her spirits soared, her prayers had been answered! Everything was going to be all right!

  "Rori, girl . . ." Burr's gaze was fevered as he turned to her, cherishing the sight of her, loving her more than she could ever know. "I love you, child."

  His eyes met hers, and in them she could read all the pain and torture he was suffering. She was shocked by how terribly weak he looked and how frail. He suddenly seemed old, his vitality drained, his lifeblood having poured from him.

  "Oh, Grampa, I love you, too," she whispered in a strained voice.

  "Listen to me, Rori . . ."

  "Yes, Grampa . . . anything!" Rori told him, stricken.

  "I tried to do the best I could by you, girl, but I wonder if I did you right . . ." Burr was thinking about her, so innocent and unworldly, and worrying about what would happen to her when he was gone. He thought of Chance and trusted that he would care for her.

  "Of course you did," she choked. "We've always been fine, Grampa. We've always been happy."

  "You're wrong, child. I should have raised you to be a lady. I should have taught you what you need to know to survive . . ."

  "You did teach me everything I need to know," Rori defended staunchly, oblivious to his meaning. "I can track and ride and hunt and shoot . . ."

  "Ah, Rori, there are so many things I should have done, so many thing left undone . . ." His eyes misted as he thought of his long-dead son and daughter-in-law. He deeply regretted that he'd never been able to find their killers. A wracking, violent fit of coughing seized him and left him strengthless in its aftermath.

  Rori saw how weak he was getting and grew desperate to encourage him to hang on. She knew that he'd never stopped trying to find her parents' murderers through the years, and she hoped that telling him of their deaths would help, even if the vengeance hadn't come at his own hand.

  "Grampa, those men who took Nilakla and me . . . they're dead."

  "Good," he rasped, glad that they'd been dealt with harshly.

  "They deserved killin', too . . ." Rori was fierce as she told him about the outlaws. "They were the same ones you been lookin' for all these years. The same ones who murdered my mother and father," she finished.

  Burr's eyes brightened with an inner glow as they bored into her own. "How could it be after all this time? How do you know?"

  "They were talkin' about it while we were with 'em. They were talkin' about how they killed a squaw and her white man years ago, and how they were gonna enjoy hurtin' us, too. It was them, Grampa, and Chance and Doug killed 'em. I just wish I'd been the one to pull the trigger."

  "They're dead . . ." Burr repeated dazedly. He had carried the burden of Jack's and Atallie's deaths all these years. He had felt frustrated and helpless over his inability to find their murderers. "It's good, Rori. It's good."

  It seemed to Burr that a great weight had been lifted from him, easing the fiery agony that tortured him in both body and soul. The tranquility of inner peace embraced Burr, and he no longer fought against it. He embraced it with all his fading might, seeking rest, seeking contentment, seeking serenity.

  Rori saw the urgency fade from him. She felt his life force paling, and she knew. Tears flooded her vision, and she bit her lip to keep from crying. Burr knew her too well, though, and he let his gaze meet hers directly.

  "Don't cry, child. Be strong. Death's just another part of living . . ."

  "But Grampa . . ."

  "I love you, Rori . . ." Burr told her in a pained whisper as his awareness of his surroundings faded. The anchor of Rori's loving devotion tried to bind him, but his spirit drifted away. His thoughts raced through the years, conjuring visions of ships and seas, of deserts and mountains, of loved ones and his most cherished Rori, until he slipped silently through the gates of life, escaping the torment of his fallen body to grasp the glory of the tranquility beyond.

  "Grampa . . .?" It took Rori a moment to understand that the end had come, that he'd met his peace. She clung to his hand, refusing to release it, refusing to admit that he had gone from her.

  Hadn't she promised God she'd be good? Hadn't she vowed to do whatever He wanted her to do, if only He would let Burr live? Rori lifted her tear-ravaged face toward the heavens, cursing the fates that had taken her grampa from her. She couldn't comprehend how a man as good as Burr could be taken away.

  Rori's despair was complete. She could see no rhyme or reason to life. She could see no point in it. There was only pain and sorrow. She was forlorn, grief-stricken, lost in the depths of her own private anguish. Rori barely realized that she was crying until, as if from a distance, she heard herself sobbing. Don't cry, child, be strong . . . echoed faintly through her mind. Rori clutched Burr's hand in both of hers, pressin
g it to her bosom. She rocked back and forth, unknowing and unable to hear even her own sounds of grief.

  "Grampa . . . Grampa, don't go . . . don't leave me. I love you, Grampa," she moaned.

  Chance could feel her pain tear at him. He felt the hot sting of tears in his own eyes, and he ached to comfort her somehow. If only he could hold her . . . take some of her pain as his own . . . ease her misery . . .

  The agony was too much for Rori, the misery too brutally real, the unending torture of it too savage. She couldn't bear it. Loving and losing someone hurt, and she never wanted to hurt like this again.

  She sought oblivion. If she couldn't feel anything, then nothing could hurt her. Rori dragged herself away from the pain, refusing to think about it, damming it up inside her, protecting herself from its cutting edge. A numbness of heart and soul began to seep into her, and she welcomed it with open arms.

  Big Jake sensed her distress and moved close to her. He lay down beside her and rested his big head on her thigh as he gave a low whine.

  "Jakie . . . we're alone now," she told him in a strangled voice. "It's just you and me, Jake . . . It's just you and me." Rori leaned down to bury her face against the softness of his fur.

  Nilakla had heard Rori plaintively cry out her grampa's name and sensed that the end had come. She entered the tipi to find Burr lying motionless in death and Rori there at his side, hugging Big Jake.

  "He's dead, Nilakla . . ." Chance said in what seemed like a calm voice, never taking his gaze from Rori.

  The pain that had been etched into Burr's face while he'd still been alive had been erased by death. He looked quiet, as if he was sleeping, and Chance hoped Rori could see it that way one day . . . that he was just sleeping.

  "I'm sorry, Rori. So sorry . . ." Nilakla went to her and drew her up into her arms. She comforted Rori much as she would have a child, stroking her hair and hugging her close.

  Chance watched helplessly, wanting to be the one who said words of comfort, wanting to be the one who shared his strength with her.