Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  When the two men rose and left her side, she looked up at Blake with grim determination.

  “What?” he asked.

  “They suggested I get Pace out of here tonight. That if I don’t, he’ll be killed.”

  “Sounds like good advice to me.”

  She met his gaze for a long moment, then nodded.

  As three men lifted Pace onto a stretcher, Daniella gave orders to her daughters. “Jessie, go get the horses and pack mules. Serena, find us a wagon. As soon as the doctor looks him over we’re taking Pace out of here, but he won’t be able to ride. The two of you find someone who’ll trade us a wagon and team for our horses and mules. Bring the wagon to the infirmary.”

  Daniella followed the men carrying Pace. Blake turned to find Jessie holstering her pistol and glaring pure hatred at General Stanley. “If my brother doesn’t recover, there will be no place safe for you to hide. I will personally come back and kill you.”

  As she spun away from Stanley, Blake caught her gaze. The hatred in her eyes didn’t lessen one iota.

  “Jessie?” he called softly.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. Her mouth flattened. Then she walked away.

  Guess that answers that question, Blake thought. Something in the region of his heart cracked open and bled pain.

  The crowd dispersed. Before leaving, General Stanley stopped before Blake. “You’ll pay for your interference, Captain.”

  Blake offered him a predatory grin. “Just following orders from my commanding officer, General.”

  “Bullshit.” Stanley clenched his fists at his sides. “We both know damn good and well what those orders really meant. You were supposed to see to it Colton’s family didn’t get anywhere near him. You were especially assigned to make certain that half-breed made it all the way to prison and stayed there. That’s what Miles meant by ’taken care of,’ and you know it.”

  Over the noise of the wind and thunder, Blake hadn’t heard anyone approach. But he couldn’t miss the strangled feminine cry from directly behind him. He whirled. Jessie. With pain and betrayal etched in stark lines across her face.

  With another cry, she turned and ran off into the darkness.

  At his shoulder, General Stanley chuckled.

  With dry, burning eyes, Jessie stumbled down the length of the quadrangle and out through the gate. Too much had happened. Her insides felt cold. Her ability to feel anything but that coldness seemed dead.

  She’d thought she had suffered the ultimate betrayal earlier in the day when she’d learned Blake had lied to her about leaving. But this…this was…devastating. That he had purposely set out to keep her away from Pace…

  She clearly remembered each and every time Blake had tried to talk her, then her mother and sister, into going home. No wonder!

  Damn him.

  I swear, Jessie, the name Pace Colton appears nowhere on my orders.

  Maybe not, but the name Fire Seeker had, and Blake had known since Mexico that Pace and Fire Seeker were one and the same.

  Damn the lying bastard!

  If it hadn’t been for his delaying tactics, for his taking her mind off what she’d come here to do, Pace might have been freed days ago. Instead…Instead, she’d played right into Blake’s hands.

  Oh, how he must have laughed at the naive little virgin she’d been. Every time he’d touched her she had lost all sense of who and what she was. And she hadn’t even cared, as long as he kept touching her, kissing her. Last night…God help her. Last night she had let all those wild emotions overcome whatever good sense she had left. She’d begged Blake to make love with her. Begged him.

  In the lonely, wind-tossed woods beyond the fort, she let the tears come. Tears for Pace, for the look on her mother’s face, for Serena’s pain. And tears for herself, for believing in a man, for loving him, when all the while he was plotting against her family.

  She screamed into the wind. “Damn you to hell, Blake Renard!”

  Why? Why would he do such a thing?

  Orders. Those damnable military edicts that men followed blindly. Miles was to blame. Miles and his hatred for the Coltons in general and Pace, it seemed, in particular. Jessie wondered what Pace had done to Miles to generate such zealous hatred.

  Yet as Jessie’s mind began to function through the pain, she remembered the look that had crossed Blake’s face whenever he’d mentioned Geronimo. That look had been absent when he discussed Pace, even before he learned Pace was her brother.

  Could it be…?

  Oh, good God. Blake hadn’t cared one way or the other about Pace! He’d used his orders as an excuse to come after Geronimo.

  Halfway to the horses, Jessie turned back toward the fort. Blake was going to kill Geronimo! She ran.

  Blake went to the infirmary. Pace Colton was still unconscious, his heart rate was way too fast, and the burns on his wrists and ankles were bad. But he was breathing.

  The doctor treated the burns, and the cuts on Pace’s face, and told Daniella that Pace might recover.

  Blake knew by the look on her face that her son would not be left to the tender mercies of the U.S. Army, not even until sunrise. Blake couldn’t say he blamed her.

  He slipped back outside through the troopers who’d gathered to talk in excited tones about what had happened, and lost himself in the shadows at the edge of the quadrangle. Down the path, those on guard duty couldn’t seem to disperse and go back to their stations. They, too, clustered together around the split tree to rehash the events.

  None of them had ever see a man get fried by lightning before, after all. It was something to talk about.

  Blake had no trouble avoiding detection as he made his way down the back side of the row of tents until he stood behind the one belonging to Geronimo.

  It was time.

  Considering the events of the night so far, Blake expected to feel…something. Anything. He’d lost—thrown away—any chance he might have had with Jessie. He’d watched a man he’d tried to help get struck by lightning. He’d thwarted and angered a superior officer. Now he was finally going to carry out his own plans, sanctioned by secret orders slipped to him in a darkened back room of the White House. He should feel something.

  Instead, he felt nothing. Not excitement or fear or adrenaline. Not regret, except that he hadn’t helped Pace Colton sooner. He would have trouble forgiving himself for that for some time to come. He couldn’t even bring himself to revive the pain at losing Jessie. He remembered it, but could no longer feel it. Couldn’t afford to feel it.

  Then, from somewhere deep inside him came a sense of calm acceptance. His whole life had been aimed at this one moment. The next time his father asked, “You killed that murdering red bastard yet?” Blake would be able to give the right answer. For once, his father would look at him with something other than scorn and disgust.

  A lantern burned inside the tent, casting a dark silhouette against the glowing walls. That meant Blake’s silhouette, too, would be visible to anyone who looked. So be it.

  He slid the knife from the sheath at his waist. It was time to return it. To the hilt.

  With one flash of the long blade, the heavy canvass split open, and Blake was inside. Standing face to face with a surprised Geronimo.

  The look of surprise faded slowly. Eyeing the scar on Blake’s cheek and the knife in Blake’s hand, the old warrior nodded. In Spanish he said, “So, you have finally come.”

  Blake narrowed his eyes, more at the Apache’s words than at the glare of light inside the tent. “You’ve been expecting me?”

  “Sí, I have known you would one day come.”

  Do it, Blake urged himself. Don’t talk, don’t let him fool you. He’s a murderer. Do it!

  But he didn’t. The knife slipped against the sweat forming in his palm. He shifted his grip and looked into the face of the man he’d come to kill. Dark, fearless eyes stared back at him.

  “Do you know why I’ve come?” Blake asked in Spanish.

  “You have co
me to kill me.”

  “Sí. I have come to kill you.” Blake raised the knife. “Do you remember this?”

  Geronimo glanced at the knife, then reached out and drew a finger down the scar on Blake’s cheek. “I remember a young boy with courage.” He let his arm drop to his side and studied Blake’s eyes. “You will not kill me.”

  You killed that murdering red bastard yet?

  Blake tensed. “Won’t I?”

  “No. You want to. I see it in your eyes. But I also see what you see. An old man too tired to fight any longer. I have surrendered to your star chief. I have no weapons. I am alone. To kill me now would be the act of a coward. You are not like others who wear the blue coat. You are not a coward.”

  “You murdered my mother.”

  Geronimo raised his chin. “I cannot say whether I did or not. We have been at war. I have killed. Do you think I have done it for amusement? No. I have killed for my freedom, for the freedom of my people. Now I go to prison for fighting to be free of the white man. If that is not enough for you, then kill me if you must. If you can.”

  Blake met the warrior’s gaze. Something flickered in the backs of those black eyes. Not defiance, not fear. Something more like…acceptance.

  Blake felt a tingle of premonition wash down his spine. Something was holding him back, keeping him from plunging the blade deep into this murderer’s chest. He tried to lunge, but couldn’t seem to move.

  His whole life he’d planned this moment, anticipating the satisfaction of ending this man’s life. The satisfaction of finally earning Lucien’s respect. Maybe even a little love from the old bastard.

  Yet now he knew. He couldn’t do it. He saw what Geronimo wanted him to see. A tired old man. Blake knew the image was a lie, but it was there, and he couldn’t ignore it.

  Suddenly he knew that if he killed Geronimo now, struck down an unarmed man in the dead of night, he would be no better than the bastard before him.

  The urge to kill was still strong. It ran hot in Blake’s veins. He was prepared to give up everything to avenge his mother’s death. Jessie, his aunt and uncle, his career in the Army, his freedom. His life, if need be.

  Yet he couldn’t.

  He hefted the knife again. “I vowed to return this to you one day.” Swearing at his own foolishness, Blake flung the knife blade down into the dirt at Geronimo’s feet. “Take it. It is yours.”

  With an empty feeling in his gut, as though he’d lived his entire life for nothing, Blake turned away and left through the hole in the back of the tent.

  A small uniformed figure with long golden hair barrelled into him. Blake swore and reached out to steady her.

  Gasping at the impact, Jessie reared back from his touch. In the glow from the tent, his face was harsh and bitter. She stiffened. “What have you done?” she cried. “Dear God, you didn’t…”

  Blake read her thoughts, her fears, in her eyes. Somehow she’d figured out what he’d come to do. No big surprise there. He swore.

  She darted past him to the hole in the tent.

  Blake turned and walked away. He’d lost her, given her up, for the revenge he couldn’t even take.

  A moment later she caught up with him. “I thought…”

  He stopped and turned toward her, his jaw bunching against the need to bellow with rage. At himself, at the world.

  Jessie stared into his dark eyes. Her own eyes widened. “You really did try to kill him, didn’t you? What’s the matter, Captain?” she demanded. “One old Indian too much to handle?”

  “Shit.” Blake turned his back and walked on.

  Jessie kept after him like a terrier on a rat. “You used us, me and Pace. Used your orders from Miles to get to Geronimo, didn’t you? I hope they court-martial you, you no good, lying…”

  Blake was almost amused that she couldn’t seem to think of a name bad enough to call him. He wasn’t having any such trouble coming up with names for himself.

  “Do you hear me? I hope they court martial you,” she cried.

  “Trust me, the chances for that just rose about a hundred percent because I didn’t kill the bastard.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Blake swore again and lengthened his stride. “Nothing. I thought you were getting the horses.”

  “I’ll get the horses when I’m damn good and ready. You answer me, Blake Renard. What did you mean about a court martial?”

  He stopped and turned on her. “If you want your brother to still be alive this time tomorrow, get your goddamn horses and get them now.”

  Jessie tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “What are you going to do, try to kill him, too?”

  “Shit.”

  Jessie glared her hatred at the man she’d once thought she loved. The man who just last night had held her and kissed her and made such sweet promises with his body.

  Lies. It had all been lies.

  She whirled and headed for the gate. She would get the damn horses, all right. She would find a wagon and transfer their supplies and carry Pace away from this vile place and this vile man, and Jessie would never, never, permit Blake Renard to cross her mind again.

  When she brought the horses inside, Serena had a wagon waiting at the infirmary. Before Jessie had even dismounted, Blake started unloading the pack mules.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  He hefted a bag of grain into one side of the open bed of the wagon; the other side was layered in hay. “I’m helping you get your brother out of here.

  When he turned back to the mule, Jessie planted herself in his path. She had to struggle to keep from shrieking when she said, “We don’t need your help.”

  Blake stepped around her and lifted a sack of flour. “Too damn bad, honey, ’cause you’ve got it.”

  Livid, Jessie marched into the infirmary. If Blake wanted to help, let him do all the damn lifting and toting. The bastard.

  Inside the infirmary her steps slowed. Pace lay stretched out on a cot, his wrists wrapped in clean white bandages, his face pale as death. Her mother sat beside him holding his hand, smoothing the hair off his forehead with a tender, trembling touch.

  It was then Jessie noticed other burns on Pace’s forehead. More were visible on his chest where his shirt lay open. Small burns, all of them, but dozens, spread in an odd, fern-like pattern over his skin.

  Jessie’s heart paused. “Mama?”

  Daniella turned, her eyes filled with grief. “He’s still unconscious.”

  But he was alive. Jessie felt her heart start beating again.

  Serena joined them, and Daniella turned questioning eyes on her. With her tormented gaze locked on her twin, Serena turned her head slowly from side to side. “I can’t hear him. I can’t reach him.”

  Suddenly Daniella’s eyes blazed. “I won’t lose him. I won’t let him go. Is the wagon ready?”

  “Yes,” Blake answered from the doorway.

  General Stanley stepped forward from the far corner. “He’s still a prisoner of war. You’re not taking him anywhere.”

  To Jessie, Blake looked exhausted. “You’ve seen my orders, sir,” he said.

  “Your orders don’t give you the authority to remove the prisoner,” Stanley bit out.

  Jessie worked her way around the room until she stood at the general’s back. With cool deliberation, she drew her pistol and pressed the barrel against his spine. The sound the hammer made when she cocked it echoed in the quiet room.

  A combination of worry and pride filled Daniella’s eyes.

  Blake held his breath. Who would have thought prim and proper Miss Jessie Colton would pull a gun on an Army general. Twice in one night. He couldn’t help but admire her spunk.

  While the general was otherwise occupied, Gatewood and Wratten helped Blake carry Pace out to the bed he’d made for him in the wagon.

  From inside the infirmary, Stanley’s voice rumbled. “You won’t get away with this, Mrs. Colton. We’ll come after you.”

  Daniell
a smiled grimly. “You do that, General. You just do that. I can see the headlines in the newspapers now. ’Army Attacks Helpless Mother as She Defends Her Innocent Son.’“

  Stanley’s face flushed. “Madam, you are about as helpless as a rattle snake.”

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  Blake stepped to the doorway. “Ladies, it’s time to go.”

  “I’ll have you court martialed for this, Renard.”

  Blake didn’t doubt it for a minute. He gave a sharp nod. “You’ll probably have to stand in line, General.”

  Blake ushered the women out and up onto the wagon. Daniella and Jessie took the seat. Serena climbed in back with Pace.

  With the wind whipping her hair across her face, Jessie watched Blake disappear into the darkness. As furious and hurt as she was, she was confused by the impulse to call him back. Or go with him.

  What would he do now? Where was he going?

  It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let it matter. She would never see him again.

  The wagon lurched forward, and in a moment they were out of the fort and into the night. Daniella’s competent hands guided the skittish team through San Antonio on a roundabout route to lead them out of town in the opposite direction from what General Stanley would expect.

  At every corner, Jessie looked over her shoulder. She told herself it was to check on Pace and Serena in the wagon bed. If her eyes strayed to the street behind them, if her heart searched for a tall, dark silhouette on horseback…

  No. She wasn’t looking for Blake. He had abandoned them to their own fate, and that was just fine with her. They didn’t need him. Were better off without him. Couldn’t trust him.

  He caught up with them at the edge of town. The feeling of relief that swept her at the sight of him did nothing for her peace of mind.

  Then she thought to wonder why he’d come. Had he changed his mind, suddenly coming to regret helping them get away? Had General Stanley ordered him to bring Pace back?

  No! She wouldn’t allow him to interfere!

  With shaking hands, she pulled her revolver and aimed the barrel at his chest. “What are you doing here?”

  “Jessie,” Daniella scolded. “Put that away.”