Kid Calhoun

by Joan Johnston

  Wolf nodded. “I am but one of his fathers. There are many who claim a part of making him.”

  Claire recollected what she had seen of the boy’s dark brown eyes. They were not quite as black as Wolf’s, nor as widely spaced. But certainly the look in them had been the same as Wolf’s—fierce and defiant.

  “Who does He Makes Trouble live with? Who takes care of him?” Claire demanded.

  Wolf shrugged. “He eats where there is extra food. He sleeps in a wickiup at the edge of the village.”

  “You mean no one wants anything to do with the boy himself—only his parts,” Claire accused. Then she realized Wolf had said the boy was like him. “Was it like that for you? Did you grow up all alone like that?”

  “I had a mother.”

  Claire tried to imagine whether that would make a difference, and if so, how much of a difference. She looked at Wolf with new eyes. Had he been an outcast like this child, forced to pull pranks to be noticed at all? Proud and disdainful when the only attention he got was a cry to “Go away and leave us alone!”

  Her heart went out to He Makes Trouble. And to Wolf. Even though they were Apache. Even though these people had stolen her son. It was hard to keep hating all Apaches when they had become individuals. Like Night Crawling. And He Makes Trouble. And Wolf. And her own son, White Eagle.

  “You can undress over there,” Wolf said. “Your clothes will have to be buried later.”

  Claire slipped behind the bushes Wolf had indicated and gratefully pulled off the buckskin clothing. This was no time for false modesty. Claire couldn’t wait to get out of the stinking clothes. The night was dark. It was cloak enough for her.

  Besides, Wolf had said he did not desire her.

  Those were his words, but Claire remembered his body had said otherwise. Still, she did not think the threat was great. He could have had her naked at any time this past week simply by demanding it. He hadn’t. He had left her alone to do the work of a woman. Nor had she been beaten or tortured or even mistreated.

  Claire smiled ruefully. With the way she smelled now, it was unlikely any man would want to be near her—for a few days, at least.

  When she had stripped down she stepped from behind the bushes, slipped into the frigid stream, and ducked her head underwater. When she came up, she could breathe easily again.

  It was so dark that Wolf’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere. “Rub yourself with sand,” he advised. “It will help get rid of the smell.”

  Claire reached down and grabbed a handful of sand and began to rub it gently against her skin.

  “I will be back in a little while.”

  “Wait! Where are you going?” But he was already gone. Claire laughed. She was stark naked in the middle of an Apache Indian village, and the only clothes she had to put on reeked of polecat perfume. She took advantage of Wolf’s absence to clean herself as thoroughly as she could. By the time she was done, her whole body felt raw, sensitized by the cold and the rough sand.

  She began to shiver. She supposed Wolf had gone to find her something to wear. What was taking him so long?

  “You are very beautiful.”

  Claire froze. She had gotten out of the water because the air was warmer, and she stood now pressed up against one of the cottonwoods that lined the stream. Gradually she made out the silhouette of the Apache standing several feet from her. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. It wasn’t the cold. It was …

  Anticipation. Fear. Excitement. The myriad emotions assaulting her senses left Claire feeling breathless. “Did you bring something for me to wear?”

  “Yes. I brought something else as well. Something I think might help.” He took a step toward her.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  He took another step.

  There was nowhere she could go, no way to escape. Claire’s heart pounded. Her stomach did a strange flipflop.

  “Do not be afraid, Little One. I will not hurt you.”

  His words were soothing, his voice a low, mellow sound. But he continued stalking her.

  The moon had risen and Claire could see his eyes glittering in the darkness. He stood in front of her without touching her for a moment. Claire could feel the heat of him. She flinched when he reached out a hand. Instead of his fingertips she felt something cool and smooth against her skin. He began to rub it across her shoulder, past her collarbone and down across her breasts.

  “What is that?” she managed to ask.

  “Sage.”

  It was nearly as strong a scent as the other smell that had soaked into her skin, but much more pleasant. Claire put her hand on Wolf’s to stop the motion that was causing such disturbing sensations.

  Wolf dropped the sage in his hands and took more from a pouch he wore at his belt. He crushed the leaves in his powerful hands, then divided the pungent greenery into two handfuls.

  He began again at her shoulders, pressing hard enough to force the sage to release its scent onto her skin. From her shoulders his hands turned inward, down over her breasts. When he reached her belly his hands slid in opposite directions, each seeking a hip bone, and then turned downward just to the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs.

  Claire held her breath. She thought he held his, too.

  Instead of going any lower, Wolf’s palms slid around to her flanks and finally to her buttocks. His arms completely surrounded her now, and Claire had never experienced the sort of tension she was feeling now.

  She was aware of Wolf’s every move. His body was taut. A muscle in his jaw jerked. Though the night was cool, a thin sheen of moisture caused the moonlight to reflect off his skin. His dark eyes were hooded, his nostrils flared.

  Claire recognized the slow, careful movements of an animal that has cornered its prey and must decide when to make the leap that will result in the ultimate conclusion of the hunt.

  Claire had to take a breath or die. It was an appalling thing to admit, but she was as aroused as the man standing before her. The awful thing was, she was certain his intention when he had begun to apply the sage to her body had not been to seduce her. That had been the result all the same.

  She saw the moment when he acknowledged the truth of the situation. She let the air sough out of her lungs, then reached out and placed her fingertips on his chest to stop him. Or so she thought.

  The warmth of his flesh, the softness of skin over corded sinew and muscle drew her, so that her hand moved across his chest in much the same slow caress as his had. She skimmed across a male nipple that tightened to a hard bud, and then down over a washboard belly that involuntarily jerked at her touch.

  Claire trembled at the wave of need that washed over her, threatening to buckle her knees. She didn’t know what magic web he had woven, didn’t understand how she could desire a man who had kidnapped her, and who held her captive.

  But she did.

  She did not try to understand what was happening. She did not fight it. If the Apache wanted her, she was his. All that remained to be seen was whether he would accept the gift she offered him.

  “Wolf?”

  She felt him shudder under her hand. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his breathing harsh. Whatever fire burned in her had not left him unscathed.

  He dragged the sage up her back, pulling their bodies close together. The feel of his smooth, hot flesh against her breasts was a sensation so exquisite as to be almost unbearable.

  “Wolf?”

  Abruptly he stepped back from her, chest heaving, body taut. He whirled and stalked a few paces away, then returned with buckskins that he threw at her. “Put these on.”

  Claire felt a myriad of emotions at Wolf’s rejection of her. Humiliation. Anger. Relief. Regret. Then anger again. Had Wolf been playing some subtle game with her? One look at the pulse throbbing in his temple, at the tautness in shoulders and thighs, convinced her that he had shared in the madness that had overtaken her.

  Claire stepped into the fringed skirt and tied the thongs at her waist, then pulled the
shirt over her head and laced it up in front. She could tell even in the dark that the buckskins were exquisitely made. Her fingertips lingered on the intricate workmanship of the porcupine quill decoration.

  She could feel his eyes on her, caressing her, even as her hands smoothed the soft skins over her body.

  Wolf muttered something she couldn’t understand. “What did you say?”

  For a moment she thought he wouldn’t tell her. He repeated the Apache words slowly. “What does it mean?” she asked.

  “It is your first lesson,” he said. “One should not wish for what one cannot have.”

  He turned and walked away, leaving her standing there.

  It took a moment for Claire to realize the import of what Wolf had said. She quickly saw the flaw in it. There was no one stopping Wolf from taking what he wanted. Except himself.

  Where are you, Jake? she wondered. Do you know yet that I’m gone from home? Are you searching for me? Find me soon. Please, find me soon!

  14

  Jake was searching for a woman, but it wasn’t Claire. Anabeth had slipped away in the dark, and it took him nearly half an hour to find her, even though he was riding and she was on foot. When he caught up to Anabeth, Jake slipped out of the saddle and walked beside her, leading his horse.

  Wat’s gun still hung from her hand. He reached down and took it from her and threw it away as far as he could. She was his prisoner again.

  “You’re crazy, you know that, Kid?”

  Anabeth glowered at the persistent man who had tracked her down. “You mean because I couldn’t kill an unarmed man? I lost my nerve.”

  “You’re just not a cold-blooded killer, Kid. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Jake put an absolutely brotherly hand on her shoulder—and was immediately aware of the softness of the flesh beneath his fingertips.

  His touch might be brotherly, but his feelings, unfortunately, were not. But there wasn’t time to think about anything right now except putting miles between them and the outlaws Jake was sure would follow them.

  “Rankin and those other two are going to catch up to us pretty soon. If that valley of yours is as well hidden as you say it is, I’d suggest we head in that direction.”

  “I prefer to go alone.”

  Jake’s voice hardened. “That isn’t a choice. There’s the small matter of Sam’s gold to be resolved.”

  Anabeth flashed a look at him. The distant sound of hoofbeats interrupted what she would have said to him.

  Jake threw himself onto the buckskin and held out a hand to Anabeth. “Come on, Kid. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Anabeth reached out and took his hand, and he pulled her up behind him.

  “Hold on tight. We’ll have to make a run for it.”

  Anabeth grasped Jake around the waist and held on for dear life as the buckskin bolted into a gallop. They ran for several miles, then slowed to a trot, then ran again, always in the direction of the valley. The outlaws stayed on their trail through the night.

  Anabeth considered pulling Jake’s gun from his holster and demanding her freedom. What stopped her was the unsettling realization that if she left him in this dry land without a horse or weapon he would either die of thirst or be killed by the outlaws chasing them. So she rode through the night with him, torn by the knowledge that her feelings for the Ranger had caused her to put his welfare before her own.

  Forced together as they were on horseback, Anabeth was aware of Jake in ways she would rather not have been. His belly, where she had her hands clasped, was hard with muscle. She laid her cheek against his back and felt the flex and shift of sinew and bone.

  Their constant closeness caused a strange tension deep in her belly, one that grew worse as the hours passed. Her breasts felt full and tight, and only by pressing against Jake could she ease the curious ache in them.

  Jake finally stopped toward dawn, after a night when he thought he would burst with needing the woman who rubbed herself against him. He threw his leg over the horse’s neck to dismount, then reached up to help the Kid get down. He should have held her at arm’s distance, but instead he slid her down the entire length of him.

  Which turned out to be a big mistake.

  Startled, she looked down at him, at the blatant evidence of his arousal, and then met his gaze with wide blue eyes that seemed both too innocent and too aware.

  “You should think twice, Kid, before you look at a man like that,” he said in a ragged voice.

  “Do you feel it too?”

  “Feel what?”

  “Sort of an ache. Here.” She reached down to place her palm over her womb.

  Jake half-laughed, half-groaned. “I’ve got a fire in me ready to burn you up, Kid.”

  A small gasp escaped Anabeth when Jake took her hand and placed it on the hard length that signaled his desire.

  “Does it ache? Like I do?” she asked.

  Jake couldn’t imagine the kind of innocence that could ask such a question. But he couldn’t resist it either. “Would you like me to make the ache go away?”

  “Can you?”

  A harsh laugh escaped Jake. “Ask me again when we’re not running for our lives, Kid.” He knew it was a mistake, but he couldn’t let her go without touching her once. He laid a hand on her belly and watched her eyes drift closed as he slid his fingers down toward the cleft between her legs.

  Jake felt his pulse leap when she spread her legs to make room for him. She reached out to grasp his forearms to keep her balance as she arched her whole body into his hand.

  The soft, murmurous sound she made as his palm rubbed against her caused a corresponding tightness in his groin. He slid his hands across her belly and around to cup her buttocks, then pulled her tight against him.

  The kittenish sound she made as his hardness pressed against her softness tore a corresponding groan from his throat. “Kid, you’re going to get us both killed.”

  “Is this dangerous?” she asked.

  “Only because it means we’re not putting distance between us and the outlaws on our trail. We have to stop, Kid.”

  “But it feels good,” Anabeth protested. Her hands slid up Jake’s arms all the way to his shoulders, then found their way into the hair at his nape.

  Jake shuddered at his body’s powerful reaction to her touch. He looked down into blue eyes that were dark with desire and lips he found impossible to resist.

  “Kid.”

  Anabeth’s whole body quivered with anticipation as Jake lowered his head. His lips were wet and warm. She felt bereft when he started to lift his head, but a moment later he was back for more. This time he kissed only her upper lip, and then the lower one. Finally his tongue ran along the seam between them, and when she gasped with the pleasure of it, slipped inside.

  Anabeth had never imagined the joining of mouths and tongues that allowed for Jake to taste her, and for her to taste him in return. His tongue slid in and out of her mouth, teasing her, taunting, leaving her wanting more. His hands held their hips together and Anabeth met his gentle thrusts as she reacted to the urgent need of her body to be closer than she was.

  The attack came without warning.

  Strong arms tore Jake away from Anabeth and latched around his throat. Jake tripped his attacker and the two of them fell to the ground, each grappling for a stranglehold on the other. The two men grunted with the effort of attacking one another and choked on the dust they churned up between them.

  In the gray predawn light it took Anabeth a moment to realize who was fighting with Jake. “Wolf! Oh no, Wolf! Stop!”

  Oblivious to her presence, the two men were locked in a fight to the death. Fists pummeled. Fingers gouged. Heads knocked. When the knife appeared in Wolf’s hand, Anabeth knew she had to do something to keep them from killing each other.

  When the shots sounded over their heads, both men froze, then looked up at the woman who held Jake’s rifle pointed at them. “Get up, both of you,” she ordered in an icy voice.

 
The two men disentangled themselves and stood, legs spread, shoulders squared, facing each other on balanced feet, ready to resume the battle when this lesser threat had been disposed of.

  “Why are you with this man?” Wolf demanded in the Apache tongue. “You are mine!”

  Anabeth bristled. She answered in the same tongue. “I do not belong to you! Or to him! He saved me from those who wished to kill me.”

  “So you let him take you in his arms?” he raged.

  There was nothing Anabeth could do to stop the revealing flush that pinkened her cheeks. Nor was there anything she could say that would satisfy Wolf, as angry as he was. So she remained silent.

  “You will come with me,” Wolf ordered in English.

  When he reached for her. Jake’s arm clamped down on his wrist.

  “Don’t touch her.”

  “She belongs to me,” Wolf said through clenched teeth. “I will return the woman called Claire to you.”

  Jake’s heart stopped. “What? You have Claire?”

  Wolf sneered and jerked his arm free. “I left her sleeping in my wickiup. You may have her in exchange for Stalking Deer.”

  A muscle jerked in Jake’s jaw as he ground his teeth. The choice the Apache had given him was no choice at all.

  “How did you get Jake’s sister?” Anabeth demanded. “What is she doing in your village?”

  “I came to the white man’s house to get you—and took her by mistake,” he said.

  “You would have taken me against my will?” Anabeth was incredulous.

  “You do not belong with the white man. You are mine,” Wolf said, as though that explained everything. As far as he was concerned, it did.

  “What if I don’t want to belong to you?” she asked. “What if I would rather be with him?” Anabeth nodded her head toward Jake.

  “Then I will kill him. And take you with me,” Wolf said.

  “She’s not going anywhere she doesn’t want to go,” Jake said.

  Wolf turned fierce eyes on the white man. “Then you will never see your sister again.”

  “You touch my sister, and if it takes me the rest of my life I’ll hunt you down,” Jake said. “I want Claire back. Unharmed.”