“Dani?” She’d been keeping her head lowered, and he reached a finger to her chin, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were dark and glazed with pain. “What’s wrong? Where do you hurt?”
“I…I’m all right,” she said, lowering her gaze.
Travis glanced once more to the damp circles on her dress.
He’d seen them before, when her breasts were full and it was time to feed the twins.
Good God, he thought. She’d been away from Pace and Serena all day. She hadn’t nursed them since early this morning.
“You’re too full, aren’t you?” he asked, raising his gaze to hers.
She nodded mutely in response.
“And it hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”
Again she nodded. Then she took a slow, deep breath and insisted on cleaning his wounds.
“But you’re in worse shape than I am,” he argued.
“Maybe, but nothing can be done about my problem, unless you happen to have the twins tucked away in your saddlebags.”
Relenting, Travis pulled off his torn, blood-stained shirt and let Dani clean his few cuts and gashes with a piece of her petticoat dampened from the canteen. She kept dabbing at his wounds, even as her own tears of pain splashed down her cheeks.
“That’s enough, Dani.” He stood away from her and spread out the blankets Jason had left, then led Dani to them and sat her down, pushing her back against his saddle. “Now we’ll take care of you.”
He tore a fresh strip from her petticoat, wet it from the canteen as Dani had done earlier, then proceeded to gently wash her face, then her wrists. After unbuttoning her dress and lowering the straps of her chemise, he bathed her neck and breasts. He felt her tense when he reached those painfully swollen mounds.
Daniella laid her head back on the saddle, closed her eyes against the pain, and tried to will herself to relax. The cool cloth did help, a little. Her eyes flew open in surprise when she felt his warm lips sipping on her overflowing milk. Then his mouth enveloped the nipple and he began to suckle. She moaned at the fresh flow of pain.
Travis raised his lips and searched her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts, but it’s the only way. I can’t leave you like this.” He lowered his mouth again and she laid her head back down.
He meant to drain the warm, bitter-sweet liquid from her breasts with his own mouth to ease her pain.
His suckling both hurt and relieved. She felt the pressure begin to ease, and eventually the breast he nursed became visibly smaller than its mate. He moved his lips to the other nipple, and as that pressure, too, began to ease, the feel and sight of his warm mouth against her skin sent desire stirring in the pit of her stomach. He must have felt the same, for the smaller the second breast became, the larger and harder the bulge of his manhood grew as he pressed against her thigh.
When his lips finally traveled from her nipple to her mouth, Daniella and Travis were both trembling with want and need.
“Better?” he murmured against her lips.
“Mmm,” she moaned as his mouth took hers in a tender kiss. Her arms slid around his neck and she buried her hands in the curls at the back of his head. “Yes,” she whispered with a smile. “But now I think you have something swollen that needs relief.”
He groaned and laughed, and the rest of their clothes disappeared as if by magic. His gaze swept her body and nearly scorched her with its intensity. A chill wind swept through the clearing, but neither noticed as he pressed his hot body against the length of her. He spread kisses from her head to her toes, from her white streak of hair to the soles of her feet, while her hands roamed over him with increasing frenzy. He kissed away her lingering fears, kissed away the touch of her abductor, leaving a burning trail of flame as he went. They touched, stroked, frantic at having lost an entire day of each other, desperate to forget they had nearly lost so much more.
Travis cupped his hand on the center of her being, and his fingers slid inside, finding her hot, wet, and ready for him.
With a deep groan, he settled between her open thighs and thrust into the depths of her velvet softness, claiming every part of her for his own.
Only recently had he found her, and today he’d nearly lost her. Frantically, desperately, he thrust into her again and again, and she met him with a fierceness of her own. They came together, cried out together in release that was sweet, yet violent, as raw emotions seared them, binding them together in a tie that could never be broken.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Travis leaned back against the mound of pillows propped up behind him on the bed and watched as Dani slowly pulled the brush through her hair. His thoughts ran over the events of the past few days.
Their trip home from the hills had been exhausting for Dani. When they arrived she’d been so relieved to find Lucinda recovering, and equally relieved that the twins were hungry.
Jason had picked up the mail in Tucson, and there was a letter from Tom Jeffords. That there was mail to pick up at all meant Jeffords had been at least somewhat successful in his talk with Cochise. The post office said mail was a regular thing again these days.
But the news was even better than that. It seemed Cochise took an instant liking to Jeffords, even giving his new friend an Apache name—Taglito-Redbeard. Dani and Travis were both gratified to learn that their instincts to trust Jeffords had been right. The man’s friendship with Cochise could conceivably someday help bring about peace between the Apaches and the Americans.
And somewhere up in the hills—Travis hadn’t asked Jason for specifics—there were two fresh graves where Billy Joe Crane and Carmen Martinez rested, side by side.
“What are you thinking?” Travis asked his wife as he took the brush from her fingers and finished the task of smoothing her hair himself. He buried his face in the silken tresses and breathed in the fragrance he loved so well.
“Just that I love you very much,” she answered softly.
“You looked so serious just then.”
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “I seriously love you.”
Travis laughed easily and pulled her back into his arms. “And I seriously love you, too. Did you know I’ve loved you from our first meeting?”
“I don’t believe you.” She looked at him with suspicion, remembering their first meeting vividly.
“Well, it’s true. When you walked into the dining room that morning I knew you were someone special. Your eyes…I wanted to drown myself in your eyes. But when you took off your hat, that’s when I knew I loved you.” He kissed the streak in her hair, then her eyes, her nose, and finally her soft, pliant lips. “The Chiricahua call you Woman of Magic, and they’re right. You cast a spell on me that day.”
She smiled up at him with eyes full of love. “I loved you long before then.”
“How could you? We hadn’t even met.”
“You hadn’t met me, but I had already met you. You forget, I saw you get this.” She traced a finger over the scar on his cheek and followed her finger with her lips. “Oh, Travis, is the trouble over? Can we live a normal life now?”
“Yes, love, the trouble’s over. We can raise our children here on this ranch and tell the rest of the world to go away.” He pushed back the thought of the country tearing itself apart in war—a war between the North and South, and even closer to home, a war between the Apaches and whites. Now was not the time to remember those things. Not for them. Now was the time for a little peace, some hope for the future, and a whole lot of love.
Daniella was fully aware of what he left unsaid, but she, too, pushed it to the back of her mind. She took Travis’s face in her hands and gazed softly into the depths of his dark eyes. “Whatever comes our way, we can handle it, as long as we’re together. I love you, Travis.”
“Yes, together,” he whispered. His lips touched hers. “Always together.” His mouth captured hers in a fierce, demanding kiss. “God, how I love you, Dani.”
“Show me,” she whispered against his lips.
And he showed her.
THE END
Author’s Note
In researching southeastern Arizona of the 1860’s, I ran across a dismaying number of conflicting reports. Many sources described incidents as happening in the same way, with the same people involved, but on entirely different dates; sometimes even in different years. The dates, locations, and people involved in the incidents I have used were confirmed by more than one source.
Cochise’s war against the white man stemmed from an event which took place on February 2, 1861. He accepted an invitation from Second Lt. George N. Bascom to come to Apache Pass and talk. Cochise took several people, including women and children, with him and entered the officer’s tent, which bore a white flag of truce. He was promptly arrested and slapped in irons.
He was accused of steeling cattle and kidnapping a young boy from the ranch of Mr. John Ward. Cochise flatly denied the charges, but offered to find the boy and arrange for his release. Bascom refused the offer.
Cochise escaped by cutting a hole in the back of the tent. (The soldiers had failed to take his knife.) The people with him, one of whom was his brother, did not escape. Cochise took three white men hostage and offered to exchange them for Bascom’s Apache prisoners. Again, Bascom refused. Cochise tortured the white men to death. Bascom hung Cochise’s brother and two nephews.
This incident was the spark that set Cochise on an eleven-year rampage. (Sources agree that Cochise probably would have gone to war eventually anyway, due to the everincreasing white population.) History has exonerated Cochise of the crime of which he was accused that day in February, 1861. (It was February 2, 3, 4, or 10, depending on which source you read. If you read enough different sources, you can also place this event in 1862 or 1860.)
The kidnapped boy escaped from his captors, the Pinalero Apaches, in February, 1862. In a few years, he became known as Mickey Free, one of the best scouts and fiercest manhunters the U. S. Army ever employed.
If you plan to read up on this period and location, keep in mind that the area (then officially part of the Territory of New Mexico) was sparsely populated and totally ungoverned, except for the occasional military presence. Eyewitness accounts, and later historical writings, do not always, or even often, agree on much. Many times you will be left to decide for yourself just what did happen, where, when, and to whom.
Many of the people in this story lived and breathed in the time and place I have described. Among them are Cochise, Dee-O-Det, Mon-ache (Mangas Coloradas), Golthlay (Geronimo), Nana (Nanay), Tahza, Naiche (Natchez), Lt. Lord, Pete Kitchen, and Tom Jeffords. Their physical descriptions are, for the most part, accurate; their personalities are based on research, and my imagination.
It is my understanding that the old time Apaches did not call out the names of those departed, except in emergency, for fear of angering the spirit by calling it away from some pleasant pastime in the Spirit World. I hope that, since I am not an Apache, those in the Spirit World will not hear my voice. If I am wrong, and have offended anyone by using the real names of those long-ago leaders, I sincerely apologize. I meant no harm, no disrespect. I meant only to show that these people had names of their own, in their own language. The white man took away everything else. Let us at least leave them their own names.
I have also attempted, to a small degree, to indicate that the Chiricahua, like all Native Americans, spoke (and some still speak) their own language. The words and phrases I have used are from the Chiricahua dialect. Until recent years, it was never a written language, and even now, spelling varies, according to each source. With the help of Leland Michael Darrow, Tribal Historian of the Fort Sill Apaches (the Chiricahua who remained in Oklahoma after their release in 1924 from prisoner-of-war status) I have used the Fort Sill Apache tribal spellings for the Chiricahua words in this book. Mr. Darrow generously gave of his time and talents to ensure my accuracy. Thank you, Michael.
Any mistakes are mine, not his.
And then there’s the dress. The ceremonial beaded buckskin in which Daniella was married. I have been privileged to wear such a dress myself. The dress in the book, lent to Daniella by Cochise’s wives, was patterned after a Chiricahua ceremonial dress lent to me in 1989 by Mildred Cleghorn, Chairman of the Fort Sill Apache Tribe from 1976 to 1995. The real dress (Mrs. Cleghorn’s personal wedding dress) was not made by one of Cochise’s wives, but the top half was made by his granddaughter, Dorothy Naiche Kawaykla, more than 50 years ago. The skirt was made by Mr. Talbot Gooday, Sr.
I am in awe of the talent, skill, and time these two people invested in such a beautiful garment. And I am humbled and honored to have been allowed to wear it. I felt like a queen. Thank you, Mildred, from the bottom of my heart.
A few months after the almost spiritual experience of wearing Chiricahua ceremonial clothing, I was privileged to attend the ceremony inducting Cochise into the National Hall of Fame for Famous American Indians on August 6, 1989, in Anadarko, Oklahoma. After the unveiling of the bronze bust of Cochise, the attendees were treated to Apache songs, a war dance, and a social dance. I can still feel the beat of Apache drums in my veins.
As for the members of the Colton family and their friends, they are entirely fictitious, except in my heart and mind. To me, they are very real. I hope they are to you, too.
Before long, Matt Colton will grow to manhood on the Triple C. Among the hordes of people streaming from the East looking for a new life will be a young woman named Angela. As a promise is extracted from her, the fate of an entire nation will rest on her slender shoulders. Angela and Matt will—
Ah, but that’s another story. Someday soon, on some dark, lonely night, perhaps you and I will share a cozy campfire, and I will tell you of Angela’s promise—a promise of love and passion, of loyalty and courage. An APACHE PROMISE.
Sincerely,
Janis Reams Hudson
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Copyright
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
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www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © 1992 by Janis Reams Hudson
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email [email protected]
First Diversion Books edition October 2014
ISBN: 978-1-62681-457-8
For Billie Jean Val Bracht
so she wouldn’t beat me up.
Miss you, Billie Jean
Land of Promise
Westward they came
by the hundreds,
by the thousands,
leaving the old,
seeking the new.
Some rode,
some walked;
all hoped
to find something
or perhaps
lose something.
So, westward they came
by the hundreds,
by the thousands,
heading toward dreams
or leaving a nightmare.
Hero and coward,
man, woman and child,
they came
to start over,
begin a new life
in a new land.
A land of promise.
Prologue
October 12, 1866
Cochise’s Stronghold
Dragoon Mountains, Arizona Territory
Everything was ready. The place was perfect. Tahnito had located it earlier in the week. For what he had in mind, his timing had to be precise. He glanced over at Little Bear, his enemy, and concealed a grin behind his thin lips. The blood in his veins sang of victory. This was it. Now!
; Tahnito tripped convincingly and stumbled against Little Bear. Both boys tumbled from the steep hillside onto a wide rock shelf. On his way down, Tahnito shifted a small rock with his foot, then rolled quickly away. The rock was the only brace holding a large boulder in place. With its removal, the boulder slipped, then rolled. Dust clouds and flying chips of rock flew through the air. The grating crunch of rock against rock echoed along the hills.
Little Bear tried to scramble out of the path of the boulder, but Tahnito was quicker and blocked the way, making good his own escape.
The big round boulder dropped a final six feet, crashing onto the shelf where the boys had landed. The shelf held, but the boulder cracked and broke into dozens of large chunks and small fragments, showering the shelf and the boys with its jagged remnants.
When the air cleared, Tahnito brushed the dust from his face and glanced around for his companion. A pile of rubble shifted; a dusty, gray hand appeared from beneath the debris. While Tahnito watched, more pieces of broken boulder moved and tumbled as Little Bear struggled to rise.
Little Bear levered himself on cut elbows, coughing and spitting dust and chips of rock from his mouth. Dirt and rubble sprinkled around him as he shook his head. He felt cuts and bruises in a dozen or more places, but no sound left his lips, not even a moan, for an Apache does not cry out his pain.
The crunch of feet on gravel drew his gaze to Tahnito, who came to stand over him. Little Bear looked up and saw that his companion had somehow escaped without a scratch. It was no wonder, the way Tahnito had put his foot in Little Bear’s back to scramble for cover. Little Bear shook his head in disgust.
He tried to get up, but discovered his foot was trapped beneath the largest chunk of boulder. When he attempted to pull himself out, the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life shot up his leg. Broken, jagged pieces of bone ground against each other in his ankle. His head felt light and the world momentarily went black, but again, he did not cry out.
Apache-Colton Series Page 41