Breed True

by Gem Sivad

  Had he struck her a blow, she couldn't have been more stunned—or angry. But, she'd learned over the years of dealing with men to keep her mouth shut and assess the situation before she revealed her thoughts. She repressed all the rage inside and asked,

  "Why?"

  "You haven't bled yet," he told her. At first she didn't know what he meant. Then she flushed at the intimate statement.

  She didn't know what to say. Her menses hadn't resumed, and she'd been glad to be rid of the monthly ordeal. She hadn't had a doctor to consult, but since she wasn't pregnant or sick she hadn't been concerned.

  "What does that have to do with anything?" Julie tried to remain calm and not scream at him. Feeding the babies was the best part of every day.

  "You won't come fresh and catch, as long as they're at the teat. Make up your mind whether they go on cow's milk or you want a wet nurse to feed them. Let me know tonight. This is the last day they nurse from you."

  "I hate you," she gasped before she could stop the words. It was good that he wore his knife sheathed at his thigh and hadn't left it on the table near to her hand. She would have killed him right then if she'd had the weapon close.

  *

  Grady wished he could forget the look of horror and betrayal that Julie had shown him before she grabbed her emotions and hid them away. He swallowed the shame that threatened to make him recant his decision.

  Damn it, I brought the woman here for one reason. I can't be waiting any longer. I bought a year of service. I've already wasted a month.

  At first, he'd told himself, he wanted to take no chances that she already carried another man's seed. He watched her closely at first, expecting her to flirt and carry on with the ranch hands who came to meals.

  After her skirmishes to get a thank you for her cooking, she'd ignored them right back, convincing him that she had no interest in any of them at the table—including him.

  On the morning of her second day there, she'd stepped up to him toe to toe and announced, "You get me these ingredients, and you won't need to buy poorly made bread that is stale by the time you eat it." She'd thrust the list at him, and he'd been so surprised, he'd not even read it before he passed it to Rowdy.

  "Ride into town and bring this stuff back." Rowdy had been scheduled to ride the fences, but no one questioned the change in plan.

  Once the ranch hand was ready to leave, Grady added, "Pick out some cloth."

  Rowdy looked uneasily around. "What kind of cloth?"

  Grady stood pondering, then pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to Rowdy. "Give that to Comfort Quince and tell her my women need clothes. She'll know what's best."

  When Rowdy had returned, he brought a stack of baby nightgowns, picked out by Comfort Quince for the girls, and two dresses, a blue and a pink, for Julie. She'd taken them without a word and retreated into the cold bedroom. Later, cooking for dinner, she'd been wearing the blue dress that fit well enough.

  "Thank you for the dresses and the baby things," she'd told him politely when she set supper on the table. That was the end of their discussion about clothes. But he'd seen her fingering the material and had watched her smile at her reflection in the glass of the windowpane.

  Cooking seemed to make her happy, so he made sure there were plenty of ingredients on hand for her to play with while he and the others were at work. As soon as she received the makings, the cabin was changed, having absorbed the aroma of baked bread and the other enticing scents that mingled with the smell of hot rolls.

  He'd made a lot of progress in getting her to trust him. When she forgot that he shared her space, she'd sing to the babies, and most of the time, when she was setting the bread to rise before going to bed, or when she was fiddling with the knotted rug she'd begun, she hummed. But watching her with her babies gradually erased his fear that he'd tied himself to a round-heeled woman who'd mistreated her young.

  She'd filled the empty silence of his home, with the sounds of contentment and harmony. His increased intimacies had found a passionate woman who tried to hide from his determined seduction. He'd thought he'd begun to make headway there too.

  He admitted to himself that he'd hoped to win her trust so that she'd stay with him to raise their son when the time came. Her words to Hamilton Quince had killed that notion.

  He hadn't lied when he told Julie that he'd found a wet nurse. The Apache woman, Dawn, had lost her own baby on the trek from New Mexico territory with her man. She was at the camp in the hills, and he intended to bring her to the ranch today.

  He was in the saddle and heading for the high-range box canyon where trouble waited, before he allowed himself to think about the night before. And then, he wished it an indulgence he'd forgone. His cock swelled and ached mightily, squeezed between his groin and saddle leather.

  He'd looked in on her every night as she lay with the twin girls and slept peacefully.

  The tense look that had made her features appear hard had all but disappeared in the month since she'd arrived.

  But as he'd stood over the bed and listened to all three females breathing softly the night before, she'd turned, as though sensing his presence. The blanket had fallen back, exposing a naked breast, teat filled and leaking milk.

  He hadn't even questioned his motives or want. He'd dropped his clothes on the cold floor and climbed in too.

  His mouth watered, remembering the taste of her. One taste, that's all, he'd told himself. But it hadn't been enough. She'd come awake and blinked up at him, surprised, but not fighting or reluctant.

  Grady shook off the mesmerizing memory and nudged his horse into a lope that sent snow flying and fast diminished the distance between him and trouble.

  I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. As he rode, the rhythm of the horse's gait matched the cadence of the words in his head.

  Did it matter? Granted, he didn't want to wrestle the woman to the bed every night and have his way with her. That thought brought the memory of her heat as it had surrounded him. His cock swelled bigger and harder, and he couldn't shake the need to be in her again.

  She hadn't fought. Hell, she'd even wrapped her legs around him and took him deep.

  He pulled his hat low and tucked in his chin, to ward off the chill wind, but he wasn't cold. An involuntary groan escaped his lips, the sound mingling with the creak of leather and pounding hoofbeats.

  Tonight—he'd have her again tonight. That settled in his mind, he turned to thoughts of the Apache camp he approached.

  He was harboring renegade Indian warriors who were being sought by the U.S.

  government. Meanwhile, he had women and children in the camp, not fighters, but refugees of war.

  Come spring, they had to be gone, before the town of Eclipse and the surrounding ranchers found out, or regardless of shared fear of Alan Michaels, the white citizens would turn on him faster than two heartbeats. It was only the distaste for the Eastern businessman that kept the lynch mob from screaming for his neck right now.

  Some of the old men who waited in the box canyon camp had once raided and killed settlers in this area. Grady would feel bad about that if he didn't know that at the time, the Indians had been protecting their space, the same land the ranchers now called home. The tribal use of broad tracts rather than fenced allotments had been an easy way for settlers to maintain that the land was unclaimed and open to settlement.

  And somehow in this whole tangled mess, Hawks Nest Ranch had become a conduit for one of the sub-tribes of the Apache nation—the Kiowa considered this a place of safe passage as they fled federal reservations and headed for Mexico.

  At first, it had been braves, remnants of decimated tribes. Some had stayed, like Navajo Leonard. Others rested and drifted on, searching for lands to call home.

  Recent appointments of government Indian agents had disrupted the treaties and set even more Indians off their lands. Now, Rowdy reported that there were women and children holed up in Aerie Canyon. Winter was here, evidenced by the snow shifti
ng under his horse's hooves.

  How to deal with the hungry bellies to be filled…

  He let his thoughts spiral back to the woman who'd lain under him last night and accepted his attentions. He'd held back coming, savoring the intense pleasure, but when his release was finally on him, he'd collapsed on top of her, oblivious for moments. Hell, she might be carrying already as fertile as she appeared to be—two babies at once. Every time he looked at the little girls, he was amazed.

  The night before, after his release, he'd slumped on her and come back to himself, with her stroking her hand up and down his back. She hadn't complained of his weight, although he had to be at least twice her size. He'd have liked to stay the night, but the bed was small and already crowded with the three of them.

  He'd move them into the bigger bedroom with him, he decided. She'd sleep with him every night. That way, I can access her and plant my seed regularly until she takes.

  That settled his thoughts, and he turned back to the trail, climbing through scrub pine as he slowed his mount to a careful walk along the slippery path that was quickly filling with snow.

  The cave was deep and hidden in the shadows and crevices of the sheer cliff face.

  There was nothing in the canyon to give away the truth. He urged his horse up the shale path, icy now but still navigable. Before he reached the top, a shadow loomed before him, and the Apache husband of Dawn materialized.

  "We are ready." That was all the man said, but he left no room for dissent. If the woman was going to the ranch, so was her man. It would do no good to argue, so without stopping, Grady turned around, and joined by the two others, retraced his journey.

  It occurred to him later that the Indian hadn't wanted him to enter the cave. Maybe that was good. He didn't want to count heads. The ones he already knew about had him worrying night and day.

  By the time he got back, the storm that had been threatening had set in for a hard blow. Snow whipped around the three riders and collected until the horses had to wade through four-foot drifts the last stretch to the ranch.

  Grady slid off his mount, his legs so cold that his feet felt like they might splinter when he hit the ground. Bent almost double against the press of the wind, he stomped down the snow in front of the barn door and pulled on it till it opened. The Indian woman and her man rode through, leaving him to pull the door closed.

  It was black as pitch inside when he led his horse through the doors, but he could hear the man murmuring words of assurance to his woman. Grady felt like an eavesdropper and fumbled to find a lantern to light. "Light of Morning," the Chiricahua man spoke her name as it was in the Apache language. "You will come back to me now."

  Light flickered into life, and the man stood holding the woman in his arms. Grady didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

  "Gotta get these horses put up, then we'll go inside," he said gruffly.

  Stepping from the man's arms, the woman turned to tend her mount. Her face was devoid of emotion as she stripped the blanket and followed him to the rope cross-tie, strung across the barn.

  The Indian followed her with his eyes, and Grady had no trouble reading his face. It was a picture of worry. He led his horse to tie up beside hers.

  Grady told them both, "Come on into the house with me. You can meet"—he hesitated for a moment and then finished—"my woman and my babies."

  The words resounded in his head after he spoke— my woman, my babies. And then swiftly the truth echoed in his head. Claim one, claim them all.

  The air was thick with tension, and Grady looked to the couple. She remained still and the Chiricahua male silent, but Grady had no doubt that a war of words was going on.

  Any peace that had reigned in the barn, as a haven after the storm, was ended. Grady headed out the door, carrying the lantern. "Follow me, and keep close," he ordered.

  The woman put her hand on his back and the her husband put his hand on hers, forming a chain as they forged toward the cabin through snowdrifts that now came up to Grady's knees in the open spaces.

  When the small woman stumbled, floundering in thigh-deep muck, the Chiricahua warrior swept her into his arms and grunted in clear English. "Go, I have her."

  The door swept open before they reached the ranch house, and Julie stood, lantern in hand, lighting the way inside. Whatever her feelings were about the wet nurse, she seemed glad that he'd made it back. It gave him an unexpectedly warm feeling to have her standing there waiting for him.

  He stepped aside and let the other man, who was carrying his wife, through the door first. The cabin smelled like stew, and Grady looked around hopefully.

  "Let's get you out of these wet clothes," Julie handed the woman a towel and a blanket and ignored both of the men, so Grady knew she wasn't talking to him. He was just glad she hadn't found a weapon to use on him while he was gone.

  Instead, she treated the woman civilly and bustled around the cabin like she had fine guests calling. The twins woke up and began to fuss, and Grady suddenly had four females to deal with, and the thought left him wondering uncomfortably if he'd bitten off more than he could chew. Girls and women had been no part of his life, and suddenly they outnumbered him in his home.

  But then he remembered the night before and decided he could learn a woman's ways, at least, Julie's ways.

  Chapter Twelve

  Julie was sick at heart. She'd spent the first hours after Grady Hawks left pacing the length of the cabin. At one point, she had even resolved to gather up the twins and walk off of Hawks Nest land. Listening to the wind whistle around the corner of the house, she was glad that she hadn't been so foolish.

  At suppertime, she set the kettle of stew on the table and cut the loaves of bread that still steamed from the oven. The men filed in and sat at the table, but her husband was not with them.

  As usual, they ate silently and ignored her. "Where is Mr. Hawks?" She directed her question to Rowdy, because he was a white man and seemed more approachable. It was the man called Dan Two-Horse who answered.

  "He rode out this morning." She knew that. She'd seen Grady Hawks swing into the saddle and ride from the ranch yard.

  "Where did he ride?" Her tenacity surprised her. "That's a blizzard out there. Is he out in this?"

  Upset as she was with him, she still felt like these men should be hunting Grady, not filling their stomachs with her stew.

  Rowdy mopped his plate with the slab of fresh bread, stuffed it in his mouth, and spoke around it. "Figure he'll be in soon. I'll head out and look for him if he's not back by the end of supper."

  That was what she'd been hoping for. She had rehearsed her speech to Grady Hawks all day. Now she had no one to deliver her words to, not to mention that he was out in a bad storm, and instead of retaining her anger, she'd begun to worry about him.

  The three men at supper, Navajo, Dan, and Rowdy, saddled up and rode into the blizzard when Grady wasn't back. The girls had fussed all day, she didn't know why, and between the storm, their on-and-off-again crying, and Grady's continued absence, her nerves were on edge.

  When three riders came back into the stable yard, they were too far away for her to discern who they were. Because there were three, she assumed it was the Hawks Nest riders and not her husband. When the figures started for the house, she was ready at the door, waiting to throw it open and light the way.

  Julie was relieved to see Grady Hawks alive, although he looked frozen to the core.

  He stood dripping by the front door, seeming stunned by her rapid assumption of authority.

  Julie brushed by the other man and led the unresisting woman to the fire to sit on a chair she'd moved there. The Indian woman's husband quickly knelt before her and unlaced the knee-high soft leather boots.

  Julie warmed a blanket on both sides, handed it to the woman's husband, and then warmed another which she carried to Grady Hawks and wrapped around his shoulders after he shrugged out of his coat. He shivered, and she returned to the stove where stew simmered
.

  She'd put on a fresh pot of coffee as soon as she'd seen the three horses, and so she poured three cups—two for the couple in front of the fire and one for her husband.

  After he'd left in the morning and she'd slammed all the pans in the kitchen at least twice, she'd sat holding the babies, crying. When they began to howl with her, she calmed and quieted.

  It was a hard truth to face, but she was where she had bargained to be. Grady Hawks wanted a son. He needed to deed his land to his child. As plain as the house was, she understood his need to save it and the land of his father, to pass on to an heir. Am I any better? I made this deal to get something worth having for my girls.

  This was a home that provided safety and comfort for Emma and Amy. On her own, she had been unable to afford either for her daughters. Once that truth was accepted, her needs, wants, and desires meant nothing.

  All day she'd paced and worried and planned. She couldn't leave, and in all honesty, she didn't want to. After four years of terrible conditions, frightening situations, and criminal companions, Hawks Nest was an answer to prayers unsent.

  That Grady Hawks intended to assert his rights and use her body from now on seemed of little consequence in the grand scheme of things. If she stayed for a year, baby or not, her daughters would own valuable land. When she weighed that against the offer of escape that Comfort Quince tendered, she resolved to make the best of this situation.

  The Quince woman would still be in Eclipse at the end of the year, and if Julie needed to accept the offer, it would still be there too.

  Of course, a pesky thought found its way through all of the others. As the wife of a rancher, Julie already had more status than a gambler's wife or a single woman with children. It mattered not at all to her that her husband was part Indian. Kiowa, half-breed, or white—having any property-owning man to protect her and her girls was an unexpected opportunity.

  She knew what awaited her once she left the haven of this ranch if she didn't fulfill her contract—no money, no home for the girls, and no decent life to offer them. Besides, from the story that the Quince rancher had carried to them, Alan Michaels still lingered in Eclipse.