Velvet Thunder

by Teresa Howard

  Seated in the corner of the room on a makeshift pallet, Stevie and Ann were bound and gagged. Ann’s eyes widened, giving her the look of a frightened doe in the sights of a hunter.

  Stevie shifted closer to her, trying to reassure her with her presence.

  “As soon as the judge gets back, sweet dear, you and I will be wed,” Eugene taunted Ann from across the room.

  Ann’s back stiffened. Her eyes shouted, “Go to hell!”

  Stevie’s mind raced ahead. The bastards would release them for this forced wedding. That’s when she would make her move. She tried to smile at Ann around her gag. The rough cloth and her bruised and swollen jaw made the effort futile.

  The night they were abducted, Judge Jack had confiscated her derringer. Fortunately, he had not discovered the bowie knife tucked inside her chemise. She couldn’t do much with it, but perhaps she could hold them off until Heath could get there. And he would get there. Isn’t that what heroes did? Rescued the women they loved?

  The thought of Heath brought tears to her eyes. She turned toward the wall, not wanting to worry Ann, not wanting her captors to see her weakness. Men like Eugene and Judge Jack thrived on weakness in others. Probably because they were so weak themselves.

  She and Ann had been a disappointment to them. Though they were totally at the brigands’ mercy, they had managed to hide their fear. It was undoubtedly why they had fared as well as they had. One show of vulnerability, and the men would swoop down on them. Ann had realized that as surely as she.

  Stevie leaned her head against the rough-hewn wood, absently caressing her locket for reassurance. If they could just hold on a little while longer, Heath would find them. She knew he would.

  The men dismounted two blocks east of the warehouse indicated by Leon’s cousin. They could see the building clearly from where they stood. The sun was bright overhead. Nestled between the towering buildings, the group was cast in shadows, unaware of the cool breeze blowing off the Atlantic. Bloodlust raged hotly through their veins.

  Leon’s cousin wiped his sweaty forehead with a grimy fist and addressed the men who towered over him. “It was five days ago, like I told Leon. I saw two scrawny-lookin’ swells. They was bound and gagged, bein’ dragged through that door by a big man with a black patch over one eye and another man, a prissy sort, looked like a mama’s boy to me. One of the prisoners kicked the prissy one in the shin. That’s when her hat fell off and all that blond hair spilled out. The man with the patch cuffed her on the jaw. Knocked her clean out. He threw her over his shoulder and carried her inside.”

  Heath uttered a vile oath.

  “Think the mama’s boy could be Eugene?” Chap asked.

  Rad responded, “Wouldn’t put it past the bastard.”

  Chap turned his attention to Heath. “You’re the marshal, brother. I assume you have a plan.”

  The look in Heath’s eyes as he exchanged a glance with Jay did not bode well for the patched judge or the mama’s boy.

  Judge Jack returned to the warehouse just before noon. Looking over his shoulder, he unlocked the door and slipped inside. Arrogant, he didn’t bother to lock the door.

  It’s about time you got back,” Eugene whined.

  Jack ignored the complaint. “Let’s get this over with. Miss Johns and I have a ship to catch.”

  Stevie kept her face blank as Judge Jack untied her wrists. As soon as her gag dropped, she asked flatly, “Would you do me one favor before this goes any further?”

  He laughed in her face. “What? Let you go?”

  She was not amused. Her voice remained even, almost emotionless. “No. Tell me why you kidnapped me. It’s obvious why the twit over there had to steal Ann. How else would someone like him get a wife? But why did you take me? I would think that with all Heath and I know about you, you would want to stay as far away from me as possible.”

  A strange look came over his face. “Years ago I traveled out west to Comanche country. I was a trader.” He grimaced. “No money in that. It’s hard work. But there was this squaw. As soon as I saw her, I knew I had to have her. One day when she was down at the river, I took her. Unfortunately, her brother found us. I could tell from the look on his face that he would have my scalp on his belt before sundown. So I lit out. Never knew what happened to her until I came to Adobe Wells. Seems her people deserted her and she married a white man. Sandy Johns.”

  Stevie’s face blanched. “You’re not . . .”

  “Your father? No. Fortunately, the timing’s not right.

  “But you’re so much like Swan—except you have more spirit—and I never got my fill of her.”

  “And Jeff?”

  “No. I’m not his father either. Might’ve saved his life if I had been.”

  Bright spots of crimson warmed Stevie’s cheeks. “You killed him?” her voice was a husky whisper.

  “Sims shot him.”

  Enraged, Stevie lunged at him. Just then the door burst off its hinges. Simultaneously, solid bodies came hurtling through the windows. Chap backhanded Eugene, knocking him unconscious. Rad untied Ann and wrapped her in his arms.

  By the time Heath and Jeff got to Judge Jack, Stevie was sitting on the judge’s chest, the point of her knife pressed against his neck. A single drop of blood glistened in the morning light.

  “I’d shove it in,” Jeff hissed.

  Heath wrapped his arms around Stevie’s shoulders and pulled her up against him. “He’s not worth it.” He turned toward Leon and his cousin. “Go for the police.”

  “Heath,” Stevie cried, burying her face in his chest.

  Jay bound and gagged the judge, then stood to his feet.

  At his side, Jeff said, “Don’t I even get a hello?”

  Stevie stiffened in Heath’s embrace. He dropped a kiss to the top of her head and swiveled her toward her brother.

  She gasped, cried, and threw herself against Jeff with such force that he almost lost his footing. “Whoa, don’t be so rowdy.” He patted her abdomen.

  She reddened. “You know?”

  “That I’m to be an uncle?”

  She nodded. Eyes hard, he raised them to Heath. Stevie clamped her hand over her mouth and turned around. “You know?”

  A smile lit his face. “That I’m to be a father?”

  The mist glistening in Heath’s eyes was her undoing. Choking a sob, she stumbled into his embrace. He lifted her chin with a tanned finger. “Stephanie Johns, will you marry me?”

  “You’re damn right she will,” Jeff said harshly.

  Heath shot his future brother-in-law a hot glare. “I would hear it from her.” His voice gentled. “Will you, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  The ensuing kiss was long and filled with promise. With one arm around Stevie’s shoulders, Heath stretched his hand out to Jeff. “Satisfied?”

  Jeff saw the unadulterated joy on his sister’s face. He shook Heath’s hand firmly. And his voice was gruff when he said, “You’re damn right I am.”

  Six months later Heath received a telegram.

  It read:

  HEATH. STOP. I FOUND RACHEL. STOP. WILL INFORM YOU OF FURTHER PROGRESS. STOP. JAY HAMPTON, U.S. MARSHAL.

  Epilogue

  Ten years later

  Hungrily, Heath reached for Stevie. “Alone at last.” Clutching a child’s pale pink frock in her hand, she leaned against her husband. “I swear and declare that daughter of yours will be the death of me.”

  There was no doubt in Heath’s mind which of their children she meant. His lips twitched. “What’s she done this time?”

  “She absolutely refuses to wear a dress.”

  He pulled her closer against him. “Now, I wonder who she gets that from.”

  As always, her heartrate accelerated at the nearness of her husband. At forty-five, Harrington Heath Turner still had more than a few women panting after him, especially his wife.

  For the past ten years he had run Turner Incorporated expertly, wheeling and dealing on
Wall Street. She had half expected him to get a little soft around the middle, sitting behind a desk in his plush Manhattan office. But not her husband. No sir. If possible, he was even harder and more muscled now than the day she married him.

  He took the garment from her and dropped it at their feet. “Why does she have to wear a dress anyway, sugar? It’s just a family get together.”

  They were leaving Manhattan on the noon train, their ultimate destination, Adobe Wells. It would be the first family reunion they had attended in two years. And being the doting mother that she was, Stevie wanted her children to make a good impression. And that meant the boys impeccably turned out like their father and the girls clothed in feminine attire.

  Even she wore nothing but women’s clothes now, ever since the day she married Heath. Absently running her hands down the elegant traveling suit she had donned earlier, she regarded her bemused husband. “You know you’ve spoiled her rotten.”

  He took her hands and cradled them against his chest. Dipping his head, he nipped at her bottom lip.

  “Don’t think you can distract me by getting me all hot and bothered.”

  He rubbed against her suggestively.

  “Well, maybe you can.” She smiled seductively, causing the breath to catch in his throat. She was thrilled to her toes when his eyes darkened with desire. “Two can play this game, husband,” she whispered against his lips.

  “I’m not playin’, wife,” he growled, and kissed her deeply.

  “Oh, yuck. Is that all you two ever do?” the hellion in question wanted to know.

  Heath held Stevie even tighter as he smiled at Heather, their nine-year-old daughter, standing just inside the door to their suite. “Would be if I had my way, puddin’.”

  “Yuck,” Heather declared again.

  “One of these days you’ll meet someone wonderful like your daddy and you’ll want to attract his attention.” Stevie bent to pick up Heather’s frock. She gasped when Heath pinched her fanny—hidden from Heather’s view, of course.

  “If it means dressing like a girl, forget it.” Heather crossed her arms across her chest.

  Stevie looked to Heath for moral support. He just grinned and shrugged. There was no help coming from that corner. “I give up.”

  Summer ran into the room, resembling a lightly bronzed porcelain doll. While Heather looked the ruffian in jeans and a flannel shirt, Summer was an angelic vision in a mint-green pinafore. No two children could be any different. But they were both incredibly beautiful.

  Winter entered next, towering at his sisters’ backs. His voice was very deep. “What’s this, Dad? A family meeting?”

  Stevie smiled with pride. Her first child was a handsome lad, almost seventeen now. His Comanche ancestry was evident in his dusky complexion. His hair was neat, as shiny and black as a raven’s wing, not unlike his adoptive father’s. He was dressed like a true Turner gentleman and he carried himself with a sense of self-pride, just like Heath.

  Close on his heels, Winter’s shadows—as Heath and Stevie called their six-year-old twin boys—followed. “What’s going on?” they asked in unison. The twins often spoke in unison.

  Heath regarded his brood and grinned like a self-satisfied fool. They were a good-looking bunch of kids even if they were his. “I was just telling your mother that our family isn’t large enough. We get lonesome with only the five of you to keep us company.”

  Blushing, Stevie regarded her husband as if he had turnips growing out his ears. Winter, old enough to get his dad’s meaning, chuckled.

  In case there was any question, Heath’s next remark confirmed Winter’s suspicions. “Who thinks it’s time your mother had another baby? Raise your hands.”

  “Heath!” Stevie was stunned. Six hands—including the wide one of the husband she was going to strangle at her first opportunity—shot into the air.

  “That settles it. Nine months from today your mother will present us with a new baby.”

  “Or two,” the twins speculated in tandem.

  “Boy or girl?” Summer wanted to know.

  Heath spread his arms expansively. “Maybe both.”

  Stevie stifled a groan.

  Heath gave Winter a man-to-man wink. “Son, I have something to discuss with your mother. Would you see to your brothers and sisters for a bit?”

  Winter blushed as furiously as Stevie had earlier. Nodding, he ushered his siblings out and closed the door firmly behind him.

  A wise man, Heath didn’t give Stevie an opportunity to speak. He sealed her lips with his own. By the time they came up for air, she had forgotten why she was so outraged.

  Nodding toward Heather’s pink frock, she asked, “What about the dress?”

  He purposefully misunderstood. With deft fingers he attacked the pearl buttons of her bodice. “Just hold on, sugar. I’ll have you out of it in a second.”

  She tried to hide her smile. “This really isn’t necessary, you know.”

  Moving his lower body against her, he whispered, “Honey, I find it very necessary. Besides, I really do want another baby.”

  She smiled up into his face. “But, darling, I’m already pregnant.”

  Whooping like a Comanche on the warpath, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. “Then this time we’ll do it just for pure pleasure.”

  The solitary figure high atop Mustang Mesa drew Heath by invisible cords.

  Stevie stood looking out on the land that had belonged to the Comanche for as long as anyone could remember, the land that belonged to them no more. She closed her eyes and allowed the spirit of her ancestors to wash over her. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks. They’d been there for only a week, yet it still seemed like home. And though they lived in the East, and followed the path of the white man, she had infused pride of their Indian heritage in her children.

  Winter, Summer, Heather, and the twins were accepted by most of their white acquaintances. Those who didn’t, the men, women, and children who disdained the Indian blood flowing through their veins, found themselves being pitied by the Turners. Heath and Stevie’s family believed that one day all races would live together peacefully, in full acceptance, if not appreciation of their varied ancestry. Until that day, they took pride in all that they were, Indian and white.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” a deep, familiar voice spoke from behind her.

  She turned and smiled shakily at her husband.

  Instinctively, he closed the distance between them and wrapped her in his arms. He dropped a kiss on the tracks of her tears. “Please don’t cry, sugar.”

  She shook her head and leaned heavily against his strong, warm body.

  A band tightened around his chest. “I have to go back to New York tomorrow, but you and the children could stay and visit with your father for a while.”

  Her head fell back on her shoulders. “Are you getting tired of me?” Her voice was thick, betraying emotions that she allowed no one but Heath to see.

  He tapped her nose. “I won’t dignify that with an answer, wife.” Raising his eyes to the horizon, he could only imagine what she must be feeling. “I know how much this all means to you. If you want to stay home awhile, I’m a big enough man to understand.”

  She stepped back, too close to the edge for Heath’s peace of mind. He grabbed her and pulled her against him again. They stood like that for a long time, embraced, rocking gently as the late afternoon breeze flowed over them.

  “Heath,” she said finally.

  “Hmmm?”

  “I love this land. I love my mother’s people. I miss Pa and Jeff. But this isn’t my home. Where you are is home.”

  A strangled sound came from deep inside his chest; a knot formed in his throat. Gazing down into ebony eyes filled with tears and love, he whispered roughly, “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

  “I think I do. And it fills my heart until I can barely catch my breath.”

  “Ah, sweetheart, let me help.” He dropped his he
ad and kissed her ravenously, thrillingly, stealing her life’s breath and returning it to her, sweetly mingled with his own.

  Afterword

  Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished.

  The very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Even the little children who live here and rejoice here for a brief season love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits.

  And when the last redmen shall have perished and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the white man, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe and when your children’s children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highways or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone.

  —Chief Seattle

  Suvate

  A Note From the Author

  This book is set slightly earlier than the glory days of such colorful historical characters as John Chisum, Alexander McSween, J. H. Tunstall, Pat Garrett, and Billy the Kid. These larger-than-life men did live and wage their own private wars in New Mexico, however. I appreciate your indulgence in my manipulation of the timeline, for I couldn’t resist using them in Velvet Thunder.

  About the Author

  Like her heroine, Teresa Howard boasts a proud Native American heritage, having both Cherokee and Creek Indian ancestors. She is also a descendant of Cynthia Ann Parker, the white mother of the last free Comanche war chief, Quannah Parker.

  Teresa lives in north Georgia with her husband, George. Her hobbies include reading, watching old movies, adding to her hat collection, and spending time with her family in their cabin in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains.