Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  Unsure of herself at first, she’d reached for him timidly. But when her fingers came in contact with his warm brown skin, they developed a mind of their own. She traced the length of his spine to where it disappeared beneath the blanket draped over his hips, then each long scar that crossed his back. When she reach for his shoulders and began to massage them he moaned. Long before she’d worked the stiffness from his muscles, he was asleep. Her sleep had been slow in coming.

  Just thinking about how she’d touched him last night made her fingers tingle.

  And that wasn’t the only strange sensation she was aware of. The hair on the nape of her neck had been standing up for the past hour. She felt like someone was staring a hole through the back of her head. When she couldn’t stand it any more, she darted a quick glance over her shoulder.

  It was that same girl again. Angela had seen her around camp before, and each time she ran into her, the Apache girl had glared at her in obvious hatred.

  Angela sighed and turned back around. It was just another one of Matt’s would-be harem. There were at least a half-dozen girls around camp who hadn’t been the least bit happy when Angela had married Matt. The others had apparently given up hope and turned their attentions elsewhere. But this one still sent her nasty looks.

  There was a full-fledged argument going on among the Chiricahua now, and Tom had given up trying to translate for Angela.

  “Tom,” she whispered. “Who’s that girl behind me who keeps staring daggers at me?”

  Tom glanced casually around, then grimaced. “That’s Alope, Tahnito’s sister. I’d imagine you’re not at the top of her list of favorite people since you married the man she’s been after for years.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Just ignore her. She’ll get over it. I understand Tahnito, as head of his family, has received several marriage offers for her lately. She’ll pick a husband soon and forget all about you and Matt.”

  Angela wasn’t so certain. If she’d been in love with Matt for years, would she be able to forget him just because he married someone else? She ran her gaze over Matt, seated several yards away from her. Her eyes searched out every inch of him. Sitting cross-legged like he was, wearing nothing but breechcloth and moccasins, his bare, muscular thighs gleamed in the afternoon sun. If he were standing, she knew she would see a firm buttocks, lean hips and waist, and a sculptured, muscular chest. His profile was chiseled and strong. Her fingers tingled again at the thought of his bare back.

  No, she thought, if she were in love with him, she would never be able to forget him.

  When she raised her gaze to his face, she blushed to find him watching her, a knowing little grin on his lips.

  Later that night, during the feasting, Matt explained to General Howard why some of the Chiricahua were being difficult about the treaty.

  “It’s that business at Camp Grant last year, General.”

  “Heard about that,” Howard said. “The whole country heard about it. Nasty business. Can’t say as I blame them too much for being on edge.”

  “I don’t know what you heard, but did you know the men were away hunting when those hundred and forty men from Tucson attacked?”

  “Away, you say?”

  Matt nodded. Grimly, he recalled the tragic, barbaric massacre. “All together, one hundred forty-four Aravaipa Apaches were killed that morning. Did you ever hear how many of them were men?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t believe I did.”

  “Two.”

  “Two?” Howard cried, outrage plain on his face.

  “One old man, and one twelve-year-old boy. All the rest killed were women and children. That doesn’t include the twenty-seven children who were captured and sold into slavery in Mexico. And those killed weren’t just shot. Many of them were tortured.”

  Angela shivered in the silence that followed. How could people, red or white, be so cruel? Even during the War Between the States, as far as she knew, nothing that terrible had happened.

  “If these people are reluctant to trust you, General,” Matt said, “it’s not necessarily personal. You can’t blame them for being bitter. The Aravaipas had been encamped and farming at Camp Grant for months, with no trouble. The news that William Oury and his group of vigilantes got off scot-free for the massacre has never sat too well, either. And they probably know that Lieutenant Whitman, who stood up for Eskiminzin and the Aravaipas, was court-martialed earlier this year. They don’t believe it was a coincidence.”

  “I heard Whitman was acquitted of whatever he was charged with,” Captain Sladen said.

  “He was,” Matt confirmed. “But now he’s up on new charges again. And we all know it’s because he was responsible for bringing Oury and his men to trial, for what little good that did.”

  Tom Jeffords stood up next to Angela, yawning and stretching his arms over his head “That’s enough serious talk for now,” he declared. He turned and raised his voice in Apache.

  Shanta translated for Angela, Howard, and Sladen, telling them that Taglito was explaining the white man’s custom of proposing a toast.

  “Good idea,” said Howard. “What is he toasting?”

  “He proposes a toast to the newlyweds, Matt and Angela.”

  Angela blushed fiercely and wished the ground would open up and swallow her. She was greatly disappointed when it didn’t.

  Someone handed her a gourd of tiswin, the Apaches’ homemade brew. She glanced up to see Chee grinning at her.

  “If you think I’m going to drink anything you’ve been within ten feet of, you’re crazy!” she hissed at him.

  Matt smirked, Shanta looked puzzled, and Chee burst out laughing.

  “I swear, Angela,” Chee said. “It’s just plain tiswin, nothing more. It’s the same thing everyone else is drinking. After the bloody nose I got last time, I wouldn’t dare try to put something in your drink.”

  “Angela,” Matt whispered. “You have to drink it. Everyone is watching. If you don’t, they’ll all be offended. It’s safe, I promise.”

  “I’m supposed to believe you?”

  But in the end, she drank with the others. She wished instantly that she hadn’t. It was the most horrible tasting stuff she’d ever drank in her life! It tasted like pure yeast, with something added—paste, maybe—to make it as thick as day-old oatmeal.

  Tom started talking again.

  “Now he says you’re going to show them another American custom” Shanta translated. “Something Apaches don’t do, at least not past the age of ten.” The scout grinned broadly, his eyes centered on Angela.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” she said.

  Matt laughed as he stood and pulled Angela to her feet. “It’s nothing too drastic. All you have to do is kiss me.”

  “What?! In front of all these people? You’ve got to be kidding!” Her hands came up to cover her burning cheeks.

  “They want to learn about Americans. What better way than for us to show them a kiss? Make it good, Angel. Your country is counting on you.”

  Matt’s arms wrapped around her and his lips closed over hers. Even with all those people around, Angela felt herself answering him as her arms crept up around his neck.

  “Atta boy, Colton!” Tom shouted.

  Then others joined in the shouting, and soon catcalls, whistles and war whoops echoed all around them. Matt and Angela broke apart in laughter. Her face was so hot she knew she’d never been so red in her life. She swore that if she didn’t die of embarrassment, she’d strangle Tom Jeffords.

  The only reason Alope even attempted to keep her passage quiet was she was too filled with rage to be bothered with answering questions about why she was traipsing through the rocks and brush so late at night. Never had she felt such anger.

  Even Bear Killer’s ceremonial joining with that pale-haired white girl hadn’t made her this angry. What did Alope care for some white girl? Bear Killer would soon grow bored with a wife so ignorant she couldn’t construct a wickiu
p, couldn’t even cook.

  And when he grew bored, he would turn to Alope, a woman who knew what a man wanted, what a man needed.

  It had upset her to hear Chee say that Bear Killer would follow his white upbringing and take only one wife. Somewhere in her heart she knew Chee spoke the truth.

  Alope clutched her new basket and it’s nearly-finished lid to her chest and grimaced at the thought of her earlier failed attempt to rid Bear Killer of this wife of his. But even that bungled effort had not been performed out of anger. No, it had simply been the most practical thing to do at the time.

  But tonight at the campfire, Alope had seen the look on Bear Killer’s face as he’d gazed at the girl with the strange-colored eyes. She’d seen that look before on other men—that look that came straight from a man’s heart and promised a lifetime of love.

  That was what she could not abide. That he should marry the girl was one thing. He had been forced into it by Tahnito and his stupid, drunken friends. But that Bear Killer should actually care for the girl! It was not to be tolerated!

  Alope’s fury did not cool as she climbed higher into the dark rocks, nor did it cool when she found a spot to sit and lean back against a boulder. It raged so fiercely that she stayed awake all night planning ways to dispose of her white rival.

  By the time the sun was up she’d not arrived at any workable plan. Angry with herself now, in addition to life in general, she picked up the unfinished lid to her basket and concentrated on weaving the grasses into her own particular style. But her mind kept returning to Bear Killer and the problem of his wife, and she lost track of what she was doing. The finished lid fell into the basket. She’d made it too small.

  With a muffled oath, she jerked the offending lid out and threw the basket against the rock at her feet. If it had been a clay pot, she would have felt better, for it would have shattered into a satisfying thousand pieces. But the basket, as if purposely adding to her frustration, merely bounced once, then rolled a few feet down the path, where it came to rest on its side in a tangle of brush.

  Alope took a deep breath and started over on the lid, dreaming of various methods of torture for Bear Killer’s bride.

  Finally satisfied with her finished lid, Alope got to her feet and noticed the lateness of the morning. She would have to think of something to tell her mother about where she’d been all night.

  When she approached the brush down the path, she picked up a small rock and threw it at the basket to scare off any snakes that might be lurking. She picked up the basket, then paused. A slow smile curved her lips.

  With a soft chuckle, she bent and carefully placed the basket back at the edge of the brush in a spot that would get several hours of sun.

  Yes. That would do nicely.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Everywhere Angela went the next day she was met with grins from the men and giggles from the women. They all remembered last night’s public kiss. Even Alope had given up her hateful glaring, but Angela wondered at the new expression the girl wore. It was a look of smug superiority, as if to say, “I know something you don’t know.”

  Angela puzzled over Alope’s attitude, but finally shrugged away her uneasiness. The girl was just jealous, that was all. She was only trying to worry Angela, and Angela determined not to let it bother her.

  Angela spent the entire day either blushing or trying to hide from everyone. Matt laughed at her embarrassment. He laughed when others grinned and giggled; he laughed when Angela blushed; he laughed when she tried to hide. And when she remembered the taste of his lips and the feel of his arms, he must have read her mind, for he laughed then, too.

  By the second day, most people seemed to have forgotten all about that kiss, and Angela was able to walk around camp again without the desire to crawl into a hole.

  In the late afternoon, Angela and Matt returned to their wickiup. Out of the corner of her eye Angela caught a glimpse of Alope standing nearby, an unmistakable look of triumph on the girl’s face. Angela stopped and stared at her. What in the world was that look supposed to mean? The girl was as unpredictable as the wind.

  Matt followed Angela’s gaze and cursed under his breath. Alope had been following him around for days, trying to catch him alone. He’d made damn sure she was not successful.

  Alope was a beautiful girl and had been his friend for years. But if her brother ever caught her alone with Matt, Tahnito would kill her. Didn’t the little fool know that?

  Angela had the strongest urge to play the child and stick her tongue out at Alope, but instead, she managed to smile politely and enter the wickiup.

  When she knelt before the remains of the fire and saw another new basket, she sighed. “Oh, Matt, I wish you’d tell them to stop.”

  Matt raised a brow in question.

  “The women, Matt. Huera, Nod-ah-Sti, Cochise’s wives. They’re always sneaking new things in here while we’re out. I know they’re trying to be helpful and nice, and make me feel welcome, but…I already do less than my share of the work, and, well, these gifts are just too much.”

  Matt looked around at all the baskets, gourds, and various utensils. He’d never really thought about where they came from before. They were simply things that belonged inside a wickiup. Now he realized that Angela surely had no idea how to weave a basket, and even if she did, she couldn’t possibly have made so many in the time she’d been here. His heart warmed toward Huera and the others for their thoughtfulness.

  He smiled at Angela. “You’re right, of course. They are just trying to help.”

  “I know, and I’m grateful. But Matt, another basket? And this one is so finely made, with a fitted lid.”

  Matt looked at the basket as Angela reached for it, and something nagged at the back of his mind.

  “And there’s something in it, too. It’s heavy,” Angela said as she picked it up then set it back down.

  Matt watched her reach for the lid, and it seemed as if she moved in slow motion. A dozen images crossed his mind as she began to lift the cover. He remembered watching young girls learning how to make their own baskets. Each girl, as she gained experience, brought her own unique design to the craft, and only a few made lids of this type.

  He remembered finding Angela laying in a pool of her own blood, with a small moccasin print nearby.

  A sharp tingling started at the base of his spine and raced upward. Something was wrong. What? Who? He mentally went over each face in camp, each pair of eyes that had looked at Angela with anything other than curiosity or friendship.

  As Angela lifted the lid, he suddenly remembered where he’d seen that particular basket design before. Then everything happened at once. He heard what sounded like a cicada, but the noise came from the basket. His instincts told him, though, that it was not a cicada. In that instant he knew without a doubt what was in that basket, and his blood ran cold.

  With one hand, he reached for the knife at his waist. With the other, he thrust Angela roughly aside. At the same time, the harmless sounding buzz came from the basket again, louder this time. The name of the basket maker burst in Matt’s brain.

  Alope!

  Angela fell on her side with a cry of alarm just as a dark blur followed by a silver flash swept past her hip. It was a full moment before her mind acknowledged what her eyes saw. There on the ground next to her writhed a small but vicious looking two-foot long rattlesnake, its head pinned to the ground by Matt’s knife.

  Angela’s mouth worked in a silent scream; her lungs labored to draw breath. Her eyes bulged, but remained glued to the thrashing, dying form of the snake. Her ears heard nothing but the terrifying sound of the small rattle as it gave a last defiant buzz before falling silent. The sound lingered in her ears, blocking out everything else.

  She began to tremble violently, and then Matt was there, holding her, soothing her with his strength, kissing her face.

  “You’re all right, Angel. You’re all right. It’s dead; it can’t hurt you.”

  Tears of
relief stung her eyes, then rolled down her cheeks. She buried her face against Matt’s shoulder as the sobs shook her, for she understood what this all meant. Someone had tried to kill her. Again!

  Much later, when her tears had dried and her trembling had almost stopped, Angela watched, mesmerized, while Matt finished severing the snake’s head and stuffed it back into the basket, along with the body. It was strange, she thought, but that body was pretty, beautiful even, with its double row of matched splotches running down it’s back.

  “I saw a rattlesnake once in New Mexico,” she said. “But it didn’t look like that; it was much bigger.”

  “This is a twin-spotted rattlesnake,” Matt explained, trying to keep his voice calm. He was so filled with rage at Angela’s brush with death—her second since coming here—that all he wanted to do was put his hands around Alope’s throat and squeeze until her treacherous eyes popped. “This one’s full grown, I’d say. His kind doesn’t get very large.”

  Angela hunched her shoulders against another shudder. “Who could hate me so much?”

  He replaced the lid on the basket, hiding the snake from her sight, then took her in his arms again. “Don’t worry, Angel, nothing like this will happen again. I know who it is now, and I can stop it.”

  “You know? How can you? Who is it?”

  “I recognize that basket,” he said. “It’s Alope’s.”

  Angela jerked upright and sucked air in through her clenched teeth. “Of course!” But what could be done about her? These people had no marshal or sheriff, as far as she knew. “What do we do now?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said grimly. “I have a little something in mind. When we get through with her, she’ll be so afraid of you she won’t get within a dozen yards of you again.”

  He explained his plan, and Angela swallowed heavily. Her part wasn’t going to be easy. “I don’t understand what good it will do,” she said, hoping he’d come up with another idea.

  “It’ll work—trust me. Alope is terrified of snakes. In fact, I can’t imagine how she got this one in the basket in the first place, but it doesn’t matter. She’s even afraid to talk about snakes, much less what I have in mind. Can you do it?”