Frontier Woman

by Joan Johnston

  Cricket fought against the urge to scream that was building at the back of her throat. She held her breath until she could no longer ignore the pain of her bursting lungs. The air finally came out in a rushing hiss not unlike that of the inflating snakes, easily audible in the tense quiet that had fallen on them all.

  Tall Bear held Creed in his cruel grip, ready to deliver the death blow, yet unable to do so for fear of being killed himself by the diamondbacks, and Cricket was helpless to do anything. She could surely eliminate at least one coiled snake with her Paterson, but the other coiled snake would probably strike when she fired. Not only that, but her movement was likely to alarm the other three diamondbacks, which were closer to her than to Tall Bear and Creed. Cricket came to the same unpleasant conclusion as the two combatants. There was nothing any of them could do except wait the snakes out.

  Both Tall Bear and Wolf had been trained in their Comanche youth to remain motionless for hours, if necessary. Both hoped it would not be necessary now. The heat brought perspiration to both men’s brows, and the trickles of sweat were the more irritating because they couldn’t be attended. Creed became conscious of an itch on his thigh caused by a small stone underneath him and tensed his muscles trying to relieve it. Tall Bear grunted when Creed’s slight movement brought up the head of one of the coiled snakes for a closer look. Creed wondered whether it was safe to blink. He waited as long as he could, and when he did blink, his answer came in the agitated buzz of the rattlers. Tall Bear’s eyes warned him to be careful, and Creed had to fight the ironic smile that threatened to curve his lips.

  Creed had never thought he’d be grateful to a pair of rattlesnakes, but he owed his life to the two on either side of him. He put his mind to work thinking how he could take advantage of the chance they’d given him to save himself, for Creed knew that the moment it was safe to move, Tall Bear’s strike would be as swift and deadly as that of the diamondbacks.

  The strident hell went on and on. While they waited, the light waned. After what seemed like an eternity, the angry buzzing became a monotonous chick-chick—chick-chick— chick-chick, and finally slowed to a chick—chick—chick. And then, at last, ceased to sound at all.

  Cricket could feel the tension building between the two men as first one, and then the other of the snakes uncoiled and began their slow progress toward the rock bed from which they’d been so unceremoniously rousted.

  As the last of the snakes disappeared within a nearby crevice, Creed’s grip, sticky from half-dried blood, tightened on Tall Bear’s wrist, anticipating the Comanche’s death thrust. But the wait had taken its toll on Creed. His muscles were stiff, and he ached from the dozens of cuts on his body. Although his knuckles had stopped bleeding, he’d lost a great deal of blood from the gash in his arm. As the Comanche’s knife descended inexorably toward Creed’s heart, he realized he hadn’t the strength anymore to stop it. Desperate, he resorted to one of the wrestling maneuvers Cricket had employed so effectively against him.

  Creed scissored his legs around Tall Bear and, using a foot for leverage, twisted with all his might, catching the Comanche off guard. Their momentum rolled them over precariously close to the rock ledges into which the diamondbacks had disappeared. The Indian broke free of Creed and scrambled away from the snakes’ den, leaving his enemy at the mercy of the rattlers. Creed came off the ground like a bolt of lightning, throwing himself on the fleeing Comanche, tumbling them both to the ground again.

  Cricket’s heart was in her throat and showed no signs of heading back where it belonged. She hadn’t breathed while the two men skirted the edge of the rattlers’ den, and she only had a chance to gasp before Creed threw himself on Tall Bear’s back. Now the two enemies thrashed on the ground, each angling the other toward the rocks—and the rattlers.

  The end of the battle came so suddenly it startled them all. One second Creed and Tall Bear had struggled upright in a tight clinch. The next Tall Bear tripped and fell away from Creed, knife in hand, arms flailing. As he landed, a section of the rocky ledge broke away, revealing dozens of rattlesnakes. Before the Comanche could move, or even cry out, he was bitten repeatedly by the morass of diamondbacks. The snakes struck quickly, their fangs sinking deep and leaving potent poison. The Comanche’s eyes glazed with pain as the venom paralyzed him. He made a silent plea before his eyes closed that was answered when Creed took Cricket’s Paterson from her limp hand and shot Tall Bear in the heart.

  “Suvate. It is finished,” Creed said.

  Before the booming echo of the shot had stopped resounding, Creed and Cricket had left the place. They found their horses and mounted them, riding in the direction Long Quiet had gone. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing they could say. It was a horrible death.

  When they caught up with Long Quiet and heard what he’d discovered about Bay’s whereabouts, Cricket wished the cruel Comanche alive again so he could endure that hellish demise once more.

  “He sold her.”

  “When? How? To whom?” Creed questioned Long Quiet. “We followed Tall Bear the whole time. There was never a chance—”

  “She was on the shod horse. Remember when the tracks disappeared? A chief of one of the northern bands was returning to Comanchería with a herd of Spanish horses he’d stolen on a raid into Mexico. He took one look at Bay and had to have her. He offered every horse he had for the Woman with Violet Eyes.”

  “Every horse?”

  Tight-lipped, Long Quiet nodded.

  Creed’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes. He’d seen the tracks from the unshod ponies, but ignored them, thinking them mustangs. If only he’d . . . Regrets weren’t going to help now. If the Comanche chief had been willing to pay an entire herd of horses to possess Bay, he probably wasn’t going to give her up without a fight. However, having spent so much, he was likely to treat his expensive property with care. It was a pretty safe guess Bay wouldn’t suffer the deforming cruelties so commonly inflicted on white captives.

  Cricket was stunned. She’d been sure that once Tall Bear was dead, they’d soon have Bay safe and sound. The news Long Quiet had brought meant their journey had to begin all over again. “Do you know where to find her?” she asked Long Quiet.

  “I know where to look. There are many chiefs to the north, but only one will have such a woman. I’ll find her.”

  “And bring her back?”

  Long Quiet pursed his lips at Cricket’s anxious question.

  He wouldn’t lie to her. “It’s possible that by the time I find her, she won’t want to come back.”

  Cricket gasped.

  “The Comanche I questioned said the chief who bought Bay was a powerful warrior with many scalps.”

  “And very rich,” Creed added, “if he could afford to give so many horses for one woman.”

  “Your sister may be a Comanche woman for many suns and moons before—”

  Cricket cut Long Quiet off impatiently. “You have to bring her back. If you don’t promise to do that I’ll—”

  “We can’t go after Bay,” Creed interrupted. “We’d be caught and killed before we got another hundred miles into Comanchería , and Long Quiet will be headed even farther north than that. We tried, Cricket. We did the best we could. We have to trust Long Quiet to do the rest. It’s unfair to ask promises from him that he may not be able to keep.”

  Tears gathered in Cricket’s eyes. “But Bay—”

  “Will probably be cherished by the Comanche who bought and paid for her. You have to believe that, Cricket.”

  “What will Rip say if we come home without her?”

  “He’ll have to understand . . . and accept what can’t be changed,” Creed said with finality.

  “We can’t just leave her out there.” Cricket gestured toward the wilderness the Republic of Texas had claimed, but had not conquered. “She’s so gentle, so fragile. She’ll never survive.”

  Cricket looked quickly at Creed, trying to read his expression. Had it also occurred to Creed th
at this ordeal might kill Bay? Was that why he didn’t want her to go after her sister, because she wouldn’t find her alive?

  Creed quickly disavowed Cricket of that notion. “Bay’s stronger than you think, Brava. She’ll likely have that Comanche chief eating out of her hand in no time.” His words didn’t lighten Cricket’s burden of worry, so Creed kneed his horse closer to her so he could take her hand in his. “We have to trust Long Quiet, Brava. If Bay can be found, he’ll find her. If she can be brought back to us, he’ll bring her back.”

  Cricket squeezed Creed’s hand and then turned to the half-breed. She took a deep breath and said, “When you find Bay, and I know you will, tell her we love her and want her home. Then you do whatever will make her happy . . . whether it means leaving her where she is, or bringing her back to Three Oaks . . . or something in between.”

  Long Quiet didn’t speak right away. Cricket’s words had pleased him, because they showed that she’d recognized the possibility Bay would never belong to the white world again. He’d find the chief who’d taken Bay and he’d bargain for her. If he was not successful . . . there were ways and ways to take a woman from a man. But he was ahead of himself. First he must find the Woman with Violet Eyes.

  He said only, “I will do as you ask.” Then he turned his pony and rode away.

  Chapter 27

  DO YOU THINK I’LL EVER SEE BAY AGAIN?”

  “Yes, I do.” When Cricket rewarded Creed’s positive response with a grateful smile, he turned her into his embrace. He wrapped the blanket more snugly around her and hugged her more tightly to him, thanking all the spirits he knew— and having lived among the Comanches, that was quite a few—that he hadn’t lost her to his enemy. They were lying together near the pond in Creed’s secret glade, where the bluebonnets had bloomed earlier in the spring. Now the purplish-blue flowers were gone, replaced by summer blossoms whose fragrance perfumed the night air.

  They’d ridden as hard away from Comanchería as they’d ridden into it, arriving at Lion’s Dare so late they’d chosen to sleep in the glade rather than wake Tom and Amy. Now the dawn of a new day had come, and Creed blessed the privacy that gave them a chance to say things that had remained unsaid for far too long.

  Creed ran the bandage-wrapped knuckles of his hand down Cricket’s baby-soft cheek. “It’s time to talk, Brava.”

  Cricket turned her face into Creed’s palm, which opened to receive it, and angled her chin up so she could meet his tawny gold eyes. “I love you, Creed. What more is there to say?”

  Creed grinned. “You do have a way with words.” He kissed her, intending only to taste the full red mouth that had tantalized him since he’d woken. But Cricket’s tongue reached out to slip between his teeth, and the banked fires of desire quickly raged out of control. It was Creed who, with the last vestiges of his sanity, pulled his eager mouth from Cricket’s to rasp, “I mean it, Brava. We have to talk.”

  Cricket giggled, reaching a hand down below Creed’s waist and tracing the length of the hard bulge she found there. “I thought we were talking. I understood perfectly everything you just said.”

  Creed grabbed Cricket’s hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss her palm. She immediately replaced the hand Creed had removed with her other hand, again stroking him. He grabbed that hand as well.

  “All right, Brava,” Creed said through gritted teeth. “Since you’re in a hurry, I’ll make this fast. I love you. I think I always have, since the first time you threw me on my . . . since the first time we met. I meant my wedding vows when I said them, but if you’d like, I’ll say them again.”

  Creed paused long enough for Cricket to answer.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said.

  He kissed her quickly to acknowledge her trust in him, then pulled himself back lest he forget the rest of what he had to say. “I want us to build a life together here in Texas. I want our children to grow as this great land grows. I want . . .”

  Cricket’s dazzling smile brought a lump of emotion to Creed’s throat that cut him off.

  “I want the same things, Creed,” she whispered. “I want you. . . .”

  “Brava, I—”

  “Jaaaaaaarreeett! Are you in there?”

  Creed closed his eyes and ruefully shook his head. They’d left their horses at the entrance to his “secret” bower, and Tom had obviously found them.

  “Cricket and I are in here, Tom. We’ll be out in a minute,” Creed shouted back. “We’ll finish this later,” Creed said to Cricket. He let his hands roam one last, lingering time over Cricket’s breasts and belly, groaning as he gave her a quick, hard kiss. Then he stood, pulling her up after him. He embraced her again, dipping his nose into the silky hair at her nape. His lips found her salty skin, and his tongue slipped out to savor it. When Cricket trembled and moaned, he ground his hardened shaft against her, giving them both a teasing taste of what awaited them. “I’ll never make it until tonight.”

  Cricket arched into Creed, her softness cradled by his hardness, her breasts peaked against his chest, her fingers threaded through his hair, her mouth a breath away. “I’ll meet you here after supper,” she promised with a sultry smile, “and we can finish our . . . conversation.” She tore herself from Creed’s arms and, grabbing the blanket that had shielded them from the morning dew, fled toward the narrow opening that led from their private paradise.

  Creed followed more slowly, giving his body a chance to recover from its heightened state of arousal. She was a minx, all right, Creed thought with a grin. And like a child offered candy for dessert, he knew he’d spend the rest of the day looking forward to the moment supper was done.

  “What’s inside that tangle of weeds?” Tom questioned when they both stood before him.

  Cricket and Creed exchanged surreptitious glances before Creed said, “Nothing much. Just a safe place to sleep. We got here late last night. We didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “You should have come to the house,” Tom chided. “Amy and I would have . . .” Tom paused when Creed cocked a brow at the mention of Amy’s name.

  The awkwardness of their last meeting rose to both men’s minds. It was Tom who now bridged the gap that had risen between the two brothers. “Amy’s fine. Come,” he said, grabbing the reins of their horses and leaving no choice except for them to follow him. “Come to the house and see for yourselves.”

  Tom called out to Amy as they neared the house. By the time Cricket and Creed reached the porch she was waiting there for them. Tom hadn’t lied. Before them stood the same smiling, vivacious woman who’d first greeted Cricket what seemed like ages ago.

  “It’s so good to see you, Cricket, Jarrett,” Amy said as she hugged each of them in turn. “How was Galveston? Did you like sailing on the high seas? What was New Orleans like? I want to hear all about it.”

  Amy’s effervescence was catching, and soon they were all laughing and talking. Their mood sobered when Cricket told how Sloan had lost the father of her child when the Rangers attacked the Mexican rebels’ camp.

  “Does Sloan plan to keep the baby?” Amy asked.

  “Of course! Why wouldn’t she? Rip’s already planning how he’ll spoil his first grandchild,” Cricket said with a grin. The grin disappeared, however, as she went on to describe the Comanche attack that had followed, how Three Oaks had burned to the ground, how Beaufort LeFevre and his daughter had been wounded and Rogue killed.

  At that point Creed interrupted Cricket to say, “I think maybe my trip to New Orleans was wasted. I doubt whether Beaufort LeFevre will be in much of a mood to discuss trade agreements with President Lamar after everything that’s happened to him and Angelique. Lamar will be disappointed about that, but perhaps it’ll turn out for the best. If LeFevre makes enough critical remarks to Washington congressmen about the savages in Texas, Lamar won’t have to worry about anyone pressing the annexation issue for a while.”

  “Is the rest of your family safe, Cricket?” Amy questioned.

&nbs
p; Cricket hesitated only a moment before she related the story of Bay’s disappearance. Creed picked up the tale at their close brush with the nest of rattlesnakes that had proved the end of his enemy, Tall Bear. He finished with an account of their meeting with Long Quiet and the halfbreed’s promise to continue the search for Bay north into Comanchería.

  Amy’s face had gone white at the news of Bay’s fate, but Tom’s arm went around her shoulder to support her, and Cricket quickly changed the subject to relate her more outrageous adventures on the Austin, including the fact that she and Creed had finally been married in a ceremony led by both a preacher and a ship’s captain.

  “Not leaving any room for error, are you, brother?” Tom said, slapping Creed on the back.

  “None at all,” Creed replied, his arm encircling Cricket’s waist possessively.

  Cricket basked in the glow of Creed’s love for a moment before she quipped teasingly, “Actually, Beaufort LeFevre was never ordained as a minister, and the Austin wasn’t at sea, so the commodore’s authority—”

  Creed’s mouth covered Cricket’s, his tongue driving deep inside to lay claim to her in God’s eyes, and the eyes of anyone else who damn well cared to look. Cricket returned the kiss with all the ferver she felt for the man she planned to spend a lifetime loving.

  In the silence caused by Creed’s stunning kiss, Amy realized how long they’d all been standing. When the couple finally broke apart she said, “I feel awful having kept you standing on the threshold like this, but it’s so beautiful out here this morning I hate to go inside. Why don’t you sit here on the porch, and I’ll bring some coffee out for all of us.”