Claire stared at the Apache, fascinated by his sharp, angular features, the fierceness of his dark eyes.
“She is also called Anabeth,” Wolf said.
“Oh. Anabeth left.”
“When? Where did she go?” Wolf was angry with himself for making such a foolish mistake. This woman’s size alone should have told him of his mistake. She was not nearly so tall as Stalking Deer. Claire Chandler’s head barely reached his chin.
“Anabeth left the house sometime last night. I don’t know where she went.” Claire didn’t volunteer the information that Jake had followed Anabeth.
Abruptly the Apache released her and stalked away, muttering under his breath. He turned back and glared at her. “What am I to do with you?”
“Take me home.”
Wolf laughed at the boldness of her response. He was not unaware of the trouble he had created for himself by stealing the white woman. With that silky golden hair and those golden eyes, she was like a tawny cat, fearless, her claws barely sheathed. Yet he had no desire to make her a slave, especially when he planned to bring Stalking Deer to the village as his wife. But how to return his captive? That was another problem entirely. Still, it could be done. If he chose to do it.
“I could more easily kill you than return you to your people,” he said.
Wolf expected her to cry and plead for mercy. He saw her shudder, but she never said a word. Those catlike golden eyes of hers remained focused on something in the distance. He couldn’t help admiring her courage.
Wolf couldn’t know that Claire had already resigned herself to dying. Her only regret was the sorrow she knew Jake would suffer. She was determined to die bravely. She turned to confront the Apache who stood before her. “I’m not afraid to die. Do what you will.”
At that instant a jackrabbit flashed past her foot. Claire yelped in surprise. A moment later three Apache boys came racing over the hill, bows in hand, in pursuit of the hare. When they saw Wolf and the white woman, they stopped in their tracks.
Wolf cursed under his breath. There was no time to hide the white woman from the three youths who stood gawking at the top of the hill. The appearance of the boys complicated things. Once the tribe knew he had take the woman captive, he would have fewer choices what to do with her.
Wolf’s abilities as a hunter and as a fierce warrior had won him the respect of the tribe over the years. While they might have welcomed him to their campfires now, he was the one who had kept his distance. In the face of the three boys’ curiosity, he almost wished for his former isolation. Almost.
“Wolf! Where have you been? Who is that with you?” one of the boys called as he tumbled headlong down the sheer incline.
Wolf hesitated only an instant before answering, “It is a white woman I have taken captive.” He reached out to put a possessive hand on Claire’s shoulder.
The Apache youths quickly surrounded her, babbling in excitement. Wolf finally stepped in front of the woman to protect her from their stares and said, “Go back to the village and tell them I am coming.”
The boys’ shrieks were unearthly, otherworldly, and Claire shivered with fear. Her eyes were drawn to the last dark-haired boy before he turned and hurried after the others. There was something about him that reminded her of Jeffrey. She turned her eyes away. Jeff was dead. It could only bring her pain to see her son’s features in the face of an Indian boy.
Wolf turned to his captive. “Come. We must go now.”
Claire stood and wrapped the quilt more firmly around her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
Wolf mounted his pony and reached a hand down to pull her up before him. He felt her stiffen when he put his arms around her, but she did not struggle. He wondered grimly what he was going to do with her.
It struck him suddenly that he could trade her to the white man for the woman he wanted. All he had to do was make sure his captive didn’t escape before he could locate Stalking Deer.
Claire was too caught up in what she was seeing to think about escape. She had never seen an Apache dwelling, but she recognized Wolf’s wickiup immediately for what it was. The circular, dome-shaped brush dwelling was several feet taller than a man at the center, and easily as wide as it was tall. It was thatched with bear grass, and there was a cowhide suspended at the entrance on a cross-beam so it could be swung forward or backward.
She knew from the presence of the boys that there must be other Apaches living nearby, but she saw only the single wickiup. “Where is the rest of the village?” she asked.
“We have many enemies,” Wolf said. “Our homes are hidden among the hills.” He pointed to a spot where the landscape rose slightly. “Beyond that rise my mother lives.” One by one he pointed out several wickiups that were concealed by the terrain. “Many of the wickiups cannot be seen from here.”
It soon became apparent that the three boys had spread the word of Wolf’s return. As Wolf and Claire dismounted before his wickiup, Claire found herself the object of a dozen pairs of eyes.
“Go inside,” Wolf ordered.
Claire was glad to escape their curious stares and shoved aside the rawhide opening in order to step inside. On one side of the dwelling she saw a grass bed. There were several baskets and shallow coiled trays. Hanging from the wall she saw a horsetail hair rope and a pitch-covered woven basket, which she assumed could carry water. On the dirt floor, near the fire at the center of the wickiup, she found several gourd cups and wooden dishes and a fire drill for starting the fire.
“All the comforts of home,” she murmured.
Outside she heard her captor’s voice raised in the guttural Apache sounds she found so foreign. A moment later he entered the wickiup. The space that had seemed large, suddenly shrank.
Claire clutched the quilt to her bosom as she met the Indian’s fierce gaze. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked breathlessly.
“I have told them you will be my slave.”
I won t!
The Apache’s lip curled derisively. “I would rather not share you with the others. But if you would rather …” He started to leave the wickiup.
“Wait!” Claire laid a hand on his forearm to stop him. “I would rather stay with you.” Better the devil she knew … than the devil she didn’t.
He took the pitch-covered container from the wall and held it out to her. “Go back to the stream we crossed and fetch some water for us.”
Claire had trouble holding onto the container and the quilt both, and the quilt fell to the ground. She flushed a fiery red as she stood before the Apache in no more than the simple chambray nightgown she had worn to bed.
Wolf felt a surprising hunger as he stared at the white woman. The tie at the neck of her garment had come undone and revealed a broad expanse of pale skin. He should not have found her attractive. But he did. He marveled at the smoothness of her skin, its whiteness. And he found himself desiring to touch the rounded flesh that showed at the opening to her gown. Her breasts were large and full and would have overflowed his hands.
He watched a flush of embarrassment dance upward from her throat to her cheeks, tinting them a rosy pink. Her skin would be warm where the blood heated it. He reached out a hand to touch her, but she shrank from him.
“Be still! I only wish to touch you.”
“I don’t wish to be touched.”
The woman raised her chin and boldly met his gaze. He saw her fear—and her determination to overcome it. He dared her to deny him as he reached out a hand and brushed it against her cheek. Her body quivered and the color faded from her face as quickly as it had come. But she did not flinch. Instead, she took a deliberate step backward, out of his reach.
Her defiance both infuriated and amused him. She could not escape him. She was totally in his power. Did she not realize the truth of it?
“Come here to me,” he commanded.
“No.”
“It will be the worse for you if you do not come,” he warned.
It was then he dis
covered that she was not only courageous, but shrewd. He discovered why she had taken that step backward when he saw her hand streak out to grasp a knife that hung in a sheath on the wall. He barely had time to catch her wrist as the knife slashed toward his breast. The sharpened tip left a streak of red down his chest as it seared his skin.
His arms encircled her as he struggled to wrench the knife from her fisted hand. He howled when her teeth sank into his thumb.
Wolf’s instincts took over, and he treated her as he would any enemy. His justice was swift and sure. Within moments she was lying on her back under him and the knife was at her throat.
“Kill me!” she hissed. “Do it! I would rather die than be a slave to an animal like you! I hate you and all your kind! You killed my son!”
There were tears in her eyes, but she fought him like a wildcat. Her body bucked under his, creating a desire that had not previously been a part of his plans for her. As his body tightened, he used his knees to spread her legs apart and pressed himself against her.
Suddenly she stilled. Her eyes went wide with terror. Her mouth fell open gasping air. Her whole body lay as tense as a taut rope beneath him.
Wolf kept the weight of his hips pressed firmly against her. But he did not move. The danger was as clear to him, as he saw it was to her. It would not take much provocation for him to take what he now desired.
Wolf was confounded by his body’s reaction to her. He had no wish to have this woman under him. It was Stalking Deer he desired. Only his body said otherwise.
“Do not move,” he said in a quiet voice. “Not a muscle, not a hair.”
He saw her swallow, saw the pulse at her throat throbbing heavily where the tip of his knife lay.
“I will have obedience from my slave,” he said. “And you will be my slave!”
She opened her mouth to speak but hesitated when the tip of his knife pierced the skin at her throat.
“You will do as you are told. You will not argue. And whatever I wish done for me, you will do. Do you understand me?”
Her response was a mere hiss of air. “Yessss.”
“Put your hands around my neck,” he ordered.
He lifted his body to free her hands, which were pinned between them, and waited to see if she would obey him. Slowly, as though they were leaden, her hands reached up to circle his neck.
He took the knife from her throat and laid it down beside them, easily within her reach. He watched her eyes glance longingly toward the weapon. He threaded his free hand into her golden hair to feel its silky softness. Then he took hold of a handful of it and lifted her face up toward his.
Their lips were a breath apart when she made her grab for the knife. He instantly flattened her beneath him.
Wolf heard her sob of frustration as he easily wrestled the weapon from her and threw it to the edge of the wickiup beyond her reach. “I admire your spirit, my brave little one. But you must also learn obedience.”
“I’ll never obey you! I’ll fight you until my dying day!”
“Which may be sooner than you would like, Little One, if you are not careful.” He grinned ruefully. “Come, it is time for us to begin again.”
Abruptly he released her and stood up. He reached out a hand to help her up. She ignored it, scrambling to her feet on her own.
“I am called Wolf,” he said. “And I will call you—”
“My name is Claire.”
“I will call you Little One,” he finished. “There is no need for you to fight me, Little One. I do not want you for my woman. There is another I desire for that purpose. But you will be my slave while you are here.
“Someday perhaps I will trade you for Stalking Deer. Until then, you will cook and haul water and take care of my belongings. We will do well together, Little One, no matter what you might think now.”
“I’ll run away! I won’t stay here and be your slave!”
“Do you even know which direction your home lies?” He saw the panic-stricken look in her eyes. “When the time is right, when I find Stalking Deer, I will find a way to return you to the place from which I took you.”
“Take me home now.”
His lips thinned. “I cannot.”
“Will not,” she muttered.
At that moment a small, wizened Apache woman pushed aside the hide opening of the wickiup. She spoke to Wolf in the Apache tongue. “Welcome home, my son. Who is this woman you have brought to your wickiup?”
“My captive,” Wolf said. “You will teach her what she must know to serve me.”
“A white woman is no damn good,” the old Apache woman said. “They cannot work very hard. You are wasting your time to try and teach her the Apache ways.”
Wolf flushed. “It is not for you to question what I do.”
The old woman rubbed her chin. “You have always been different. It is what comes of having so many fathers, I suppose. An elbow from this one. A nose from that one. The eyes of yet another.”
“You talk too much, old woman.”
“And took too many men to my blankets, eh, my son? But all of them lusty from the looks of you,” she said, cackling with glee. “It took many men to sire such a special one as you, eh?”
Claire cowered at the fierce look on Wolf’s face. What had the old woman said to him?
Abruptly Wolf turned to her and said, “This woman is called Night Crawling. She will take you to the stream for water and teach you what it is needful to know.”
“How will I talk to her? I don’t understand your language.”
Wolf’s grin was feral. “She will speak in gestures you will understand.”
“You can’t mean for me to go with her now!”
“But I do,” Wolf said. He took the blanket from her and held the hide opening of the wickiup aside.
Night Crawling pinched Claire’s arm.
“Ouch!”
“She is telling you it is time to go,” Wolf said.
“I get the message,” Claire muttered, glaring at Wolf.
When Claire stepped out of the wickiup she found herself facing most of the tribe, who had gathered to ogle Wolf’s captive.
She backed up a step and found she had run into Wolf. Somehow, the Indian she had found so fearful was now her refuge among the savages. “Wolf?”
“They will not harm you, Little One. They are only curious.”
Claire squared her shoulders and stared back into the sea of Apache faces. Eventually, they became individual men and women and children. It was the children whose faces she returned to. One dark-haired boy in particular. One with green eyes.
“Oh my God,” Claire whispered. She grasped Wolf’s arm, her nails digging into his skin.
“What is it, Little One? What is wrong?”
“That boy. The one with the green eyes …”
“He is called White Eagle.”
Claire shook her head. “No. His name is Jeffrey. That’s my son!”
11
Jake had felt a murderous rage when he found Anabeth gone from Claire’s house. It wasn’t until several hours later, when he had calmed down, that he realized it was fear for her safety that had provoked his anger. It soon became apparent that his concern for the bare-faced brat was misplaced. As Jake followed her trail he quickly discovered that Anabeth Calhoun could take damned good care of herself.
In fact, Jake wasn’t sure when he had ever trailed so skillful an adversary. The Kid left no signs of her passing that would have been seen by the average cowhand. But Jake had spent a lifetime tracking down outlaws. He had two other advantages that made it possible to stay on the Kid’s trail. First, he knew she was heading for Santa Fe to find Wat Rankin. And second, Dog had come along.
If it hadn’t been for Dog’s nose, Jake would have missed the shortcut the Kid took up over the mountains. The narrow path was obviously intended for mountain goats. Jake had several times held his breath when one stirrup brushed rock while the other hung out over a steep cliff. That was when he realized An
abeth Calhoun also had nerves of steel.
Jake felt a grudging respect for the willful brat that made it all the more satisfying when he finally caught up to her just before dawn. He had to admire the camp she had set up. Whoever had taught the Kid had taught her well. A bed of loose stones would warn her of any approach on three sides and a sheer rock wall rose up behind her. It was nigh impossible for him to reach her without making enough noise to wake her up.
Nigh impossible. But not totally impossible. Jake was determined to teach Anabeth Calhoun a lesson. He had to lower himself by rope over the sheer rock wall to do it. The stamina required, not to mention the danger involved and the pain to his wounded leg, left him tense and irritable when he finally touched ground beside her. But the satisfaction when he clamped a strong hand around her narrow female wrist was worth every second of the effort.
Anabeth was jerked awake—and out of her bedroll—by a towering hunk of furious male. She reached instinctively for her gun, only to have it torn out of her hand. Her free wrist was caught in a powerful grasp and yanked up behind her back, pulling her flush against a muscular male frame.
“Don’t waste your time struggling, Kid,” a familiar voice snarled. “It won’t do you any good.”
“Jake? Jake!”
“That’s right, it’s me, Kid,” Jake said with a feral smile. “Now stand still and listen.”
Anabeth struggled harder. When she tried to bite Jake his elbow came up reflexively and slammed her in the jaw. She yelped in pain.
“Dammit, Kid. Look what you made me do!” Jake hadn’t meant to hit her, but how else was he supposed to keep her from biting the bejesus out of him? “Settle down,” he snapped.
Anabeth had to concede she wasn’t going to escape from this giant of a man when he had such a good hold on her. He was too big and too strong. She would have to bide her time and wait for the right moment to make her escape. But escape she would! How humiliating to be caught sleeping like a baby!
“All right,” she said sullenly. “I’m not going to fight you anymore. You can let me go now.”
Jake laughed harshly. “Let you go? Hell, Kid, I just caught you! This time I’m taking no chances you’ll get away.”
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