Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  And at the defense table, Blake Renard’s dark complexion turned pale. With his gaze locked on Jessie’s hands spread across her abdomen, he rose slowly from the table, dazed. Stunned. With visible effort, he pulled his gaze to hers. All thoughts of how or why, of right or wrong, of who had used whom, disintegrated. Jesus God Almighty. “Jessie?”

  Jessie swallowed at the shock and pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Blake,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

  Then came the fury. It flooded Blake from head to toe and made his hands shake. “Goddammit, Jessie, why didn’t you tell me?”

  The gavel banged again and again.

  An acquittal, Bernstein assured Blake, was a foregone conclusion.

  “Damn you, Bernstein, why didn’t you warn me she was here, warn me what she—”

  “Because you wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  For the first time since he’d met the wiry little man, Blake saw fire in Bernstein’s eyes.

  “I’ve never lost a case, did you know that? You were bound and determined to destroy my record. Your reaction, as much as her testimony, will get you acquitted. Believe me, there’s not a man on the jury with the intestinal fortitude to look an expectant mother in the eye and call her a liar.”

  Less than an hour later, Bernstein was proved right. Blake sagged against the back of his chair.

  “Congratulations, Captain,” Bernstein said softly with a smile. The court room began to clear. “You’re a free man. As a matter of fact, you’ll really be free in another week, when your commission expires. I assume you won’t be renewing?”

  “You assume correctly.” The decision was easy. Easier than Blake had thought it would be. But he realized just then that his reasons for joining the Army had been wrong from the beginning. He hadn’t fought his way into West Point out of any sense of duty to flag and country. Hadn’t even joined—as some men did—because he didn’t have anything better to do and needed steady pay and a place to sleep.

  Blake had joined for one reason only—Geronimo. And when his chance had come, golden hair and dove gray eyes had lured him away. Hell. It was just as well that the tiny spark of hope that had let him wish his father had come with Lucy and Phillip last month had gone unfulfilled. If the old man ever learned he’d had Geronimo at his mercy and had walked away…

  Blake shuddered at the thought of the laughter and sneers that would have been directed at him. At the rage his father would have let loose. It could still happen, if he ever learned about that night.

  “My congratulations, Captain Renard.”

  Blake looked up, surprised to find the room empty but for him, Bernstein, and the judge. “Thank you, sir.”

  “That’s one fine lady you’ve got there, I hope you know. Most ladies I know wouldn’t have come forward the way she did. I do hope you’re planning to do right by her?”

  Blake swallowed the urge to bellow. Do right by her? “Yes, sir.” By God, if he gave her what she deserved he’d be at that damn defendant’s table again, another murder charge hanging over his head. And this time he’d be guilty.

  “Fine. Fine. Well, good luck to you then.” The judge left out the side door, and Blake turned to Bernstein.

  “Where is she?” he demanded, low and soft.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, Captain, you look just the slightest bit angr—”

  “Where is she?”

  “Outside, I believe.”

  He spotted her instantly. The rain had stopped and the sun shone from between the few clouds that were left. A ray centered on her, blazing against her golden hair, bathing her in a soft glow. As he stalked toward her, his knees shook. He told himself it was from anger.

  She’d come. He still couldn’t believe it. When he’d needed her the most, she’d come. She’d bared her deepest secrets and won his freedom. A baby! He still couldn’t believe it.

  Then a cold chill skittered down his spine. Maybe he’d been too hasty earlier in dismissing what she’d said about using him. Had he not been charged with murder he would never have realized how she had used him that night, to make certain she knew where he was, so he couldn’t interfere. He’d seen the fierce light in her eyes when she’d spoken of protecting her family, of freeing Pace. He had no doubt she would have done—and did—whatever it took to help free her brother.

  Well, she damn sure did her job that night. She’d made sure she knew where he was—all night long. He’d been right there with her, in the heat and darkness, tasting the wine on her lips and feeling the silk of her skin and planting his seed in fertile ground.

  A baby.

  He stopped before her and ignored the big man next to her. He’d deal with Travis Colton later.

  She kept her gaze lowered. If she was trying to look repentant, she failed.

  “Look at me,” Blake demanded.

  “I don’t like your tone, Renard,” her father said with a low growl.

  Blake ignored him. Jessie still refused to look up. Fury bubbled through his veins. “And you claim I used you? Damn you. You weren’t going to tell me, were you? You carry my child and you weren’t going to tell me.”

  At the raw anger in his voice, Jessie flinched. Her gaze involuntarily flew to his. Anger wasn’t the only thing she saw there. She saw pain, and betrayal. And that made her angry. What right did he have to—

  “Renard,” her father said, “I’m warning you.”

  “No, Daddy. He’s right.” She stuck out her chin. “I wasn’t going to tell him.”

  “Why?”

  Jessie swallowed and looked away. “Does it matter?”

  “Does it matter!” Rage nearly choked him. “You hate me so much you were willing to let my son be born a bastard?”

  “I never said I hated you.”

  “You didn’t have to. You made it plain enough. But by damn, I don’t care, do you hear me? My son—”

  “It might be a girl, you know.”

  Jesus. They’d made a child. Together. He and Jessie. And she was going to quibble over whether it might be a boy or girl? “What difference does it make?” he cried.

  Jessie blanched. How could he just dismiss their child that way? She’d been right not to tell him about the baby. She wouldn’t have her child anywhere near such an unfeeling monster! “Well. Now I know how you feel, don’t I? And you wonder why I didn’t tell you.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  Travis watched the smoldering in his daughter’s eyes. The first real heat he’d ever seen there. And it was more than just defense of her child. Dani had been right. There was fire between these two.

  “It means—”

  “That’s enough, both of you,” Travis said. “You can fight later.”

  Blake nodded. “You’re right. Hell, at least now I know what that visit from you a couple of months ago was all about.”

  “Exactly. And right now we’ve got some more business to take care of. I’d say it was past time the two of you paid a visit to the chaplain.”

  “Daddy! No!” Jessie cried, horrified.

  Blake gasped her arm. “Daddy, yes,” he hissed. “My child will not grow up without a father. You’re going to marry me, like you should have months ago.”

  “What’s this?” Travis demanded.

  “You expect me to marry a man who can ride away from me without a backward glance? Without so much as a nod good-bye?”

  “No, goddammit, I expect you to marry me.”

  Travis interrupted. “I expect you to marry each other, and I expect you to do it right now.”

  “Fine with me,” Blake shot back.

  “Wouldn’t matter much to me if it was or not.” Travis herded a shocked Jessie and enraged Blake toward the waiting chaplain, with whom he’d already made arrangements.

  The ceremony, such as it was, was brief and stark, with two angry people biting out words between their teeth. Words like love and honor and cherish. Then, abruptly, it was done. They were marri
ed.

  It happened so fast, Jessie was dazed. It couldn’t be real. That wasn’t a wedding. This was not how a marriage was supposed to begin. Not with an angry bride and groom and a fuming father wearing a six-gun. She assumed it was the look in their eyes, hers and Blake’s, that had the good chaplain skipping the part about kissing the bride.

  Then, too, he would know from the size of her girth that they’d already done considerably more than kiss. Her cheeks burned.

  “You say you’ve got a week left in the Army?” Travis asked Blake as they stepped out into the sunlight from the dim interior of the chapel.

  “That’s right.” Blake was still reeling. He was married. And going to be a father.

  “Fine. We’ll see you then.”

  It took Blake a minute to realize Travis Colton was leading Jessie toward a waiting buggy. But only a minute, then he was after them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Our ranch is the Triple C. Ask anyone in Tucson for directions. We’re a two-hour ride from town.”

  Blake narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me, but didn’t you just give her to me?”

  “I did. And you can come and get her when you’re ready. She’ll be at the ranch.”

  “My wife stays with me.”

  “No,” Travis said coldly. “She doesn’t.”

  They were crowding her, each pulling on an arm. Jessie shoved at two hard chests with all her might. Both men stumbled back in surprise. With her own chest heaving, she glared at them. “She is not a bone or a piece of meat for you two dogs to fight over.”

  Blake glared back at her. “You’re my wife. You’re not going home with him.”

  “She is,” Travis said just as hotly. He took a deep breath. “Look Renard, it’s nothing against you. Our family has managed to…anger, shall we say, some pretty powerful people in the past few months. One powerful man in particular. And you’re right in the thick of it, because you helped Pace last fall. You’re going to be busy for the next week. I don’t want Jessie left alone in some hotel room. The man in question has a long reach.”

  “Who?” Blake demanded. “Who did you manage to piss off?”

  “I’ll thank you to watch your language around my daughter.”

  Blake snorted and glanced briefly at the fire blazing in Jessie’s eyes. “You’ve obviously never been around my wife when she’s angry. Who?” he repeated, turning back to Travis.

  “I’d rather not—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Daddy, just tell him it was Cleveland and get it over with.”

  “Cleveland?” Blake raised a brow. “As in, Grover?”

  Travis nodded stiffly. “The same.”

  It made sense, Blake thought. With Cleveland’s hatred for Apaches, and Pace being mixed up in the middle of all that business with Geronimo, the unauthorized promises Miles made to the renegades. Then there was Blake’s part. Jessie would be in double jeopardy now.

  He gave Travis a sharp nod. “That’s a problem I can take care of.”

  “How?”

  “Just give me an extra week, and I’ll handle it. You take care of her.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me to take care of my own daughter.”

  “Would you two please stop it?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The civilian clothes felt strange. Almost as strange as the thought—when Blake remembered—that he was now a civilian, a husband, and soon to be a father. God, help me.

  Blake ran his hand down the lapel of his long-roll cutaway suit jacket. No brass buttons to polish. Stranger, still, were the scratchy collar and cuffs and the gent’s walking shoes that pinched his toes. Give him a good pair of Western work boots any day.

  The rest of the new civilian clothes he’d bought the day he left the Army were more suited to life as he planned to live it. Heavy denim Levi-Strauss pants; chambray and flannel shirts; a black pair of Mr. Justin’s boots; a Texas hat. But he’d bought the one suit and single pair of fancy shoes for a purpose, and he planned to see it through.

  Purpose or no, the clothes still felt strange. So did the back room at the end of the long, little-known corridor in the White House where Blake now found himself. He’d been there once before and hadn’t enjoyed the experience. He didn’t like it any better this time. Neither did he like having to come here in the middle of the night.

  This part of the house hadn’t yet been lit with gas, nor that new electricity. The two lone candles stuck in wall scones, one at this end of the long, echoing hall, the other at the opposite end, were specifically designed to make a man uneasy during the traditional wait.

  Blake wasn’t uneasy. He was only impatient. He knew making him wait out in the dim hall was just part of the plan. As was making him wait three days to get this far. Part of the game of power the man beyond the door thrived on.

  Dammit, I don’t have time for this.

  But then, Cleveland had his games to play. And Blake had changed a few of the rules. He was about to change a few more.

  Finally the door opened and a nattily dressed aide stepped out. “You may go in now, sir.”

  Blake neither nodded nor spoke. In this dark hall, no names were used, and damn few courtesies exchanged.

  No windows marked this room. From outside, no one would know it existed. A lone oil lamp behind the desk—so a visitor’s face was highlighted—shed the only light. Another game. The deliberately clandestine atmosphere had seemed odd the first time. Now it was only laughable.

  “So, you came.” The tall-backed chair behind the desk swiveled and President Grover Cleveland faced Blake. “I didn’t think you had the nerve.”

  Without waiting for an invitation to sit, Blake took a chair before the desk. “It’s not a social call.”

  “I hadn’t assumed it was. I understand congratulations are in order.”

  The hint of malice in the tone sent Blake’s nerves humming. He said nothing. He had his suspicions about why a special prosecutor had been sent from Washington to Fort Sam. How General Stanley had ended up on the jury. Those suspicions had just been confirmed.

  “On your acquittal,” Cleveland explained. “On the Geronimo matter, be glad, Renard, that I was otherwise occupied, or I’d have had you shot for desertion, for dereliction of duty, for flagrantly disobeying a direct order.”

  Blake smiled grimly. “Begging your pardon, sir, but, no, you wouldn’t. Because then you would have been forced to reveal just what that order was. And we both know you can’t afford to do that.”

  Rage sat harsh on the president’s face. “What do you want, Renard?”

  “I want you to leave the Coltons alone.”

  Cleveland’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, yes. I had heard you married the youngest whelp of that hell-bitch with the streak in her hair.”

  The rush of defensiveness Blake felt for Daniella Colton surprised him. He felt it for Jessie, of course, but that was natural. “I’ll assume your job has you under a great deal of stress, and not take that slur against my family personally. But I came to tell you to back off.”

  “Or what?”

  Blake merely looked at him, without speaking.

  The president gave a harsh laugh, then shook his head. “You and the Coltons deserve each other, Renard. If I could have handpicked a punishment for your failure to carry out your orders, it would be a life sentence with those heathen Coltons out in that hideous territory. I laugh just thinking about it. An Apache hater like you, with Apache in-laws. Get out of here, Renard. I know a good bargain when I hear one. For your silence, I’ll leave the Coltons alone.”

  “And you’ll tell Nelson Miles to do the same?”

  The wry smile vanished. “Don’t push me, Captain.”

  “I’m not a captain anymore. And I will push. I’ll keep pushing until I get what I want.”

  Cleveland glared at him a long moment, then let out a tired sigh. “All right. Just tell me one thing, Renard. You had every opportunity to carry out your secret orders. Why didn’t you? Why d
id you let that red bastard live?”

  For that, Blake had no answer. He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a coward at heart.”

  The miles sped past the train window at a fast clip, but not fast enough for Blake. As he sat rocking in his seat he urged the locomotive on. He’d told Travis and Jessie he needed an extra week. That week had passed by the time he left Washington. Then he’d taken extra time and gone to New Orleans, because it had suddenly occurred to him that with a new wife, a child on the way, and no more pay from the Army, he was going to need money.

  Wade had told him the ranch in Arizona was in good shape, but Blake knew better than to trust Wade’s word on anything. The place was surely rundown. That meant repairs, which meant he needed cash. Blake had gone to New Orleans and withdrawn funds from the trust account set up for him before his birth by his mother’s father.

  Then, anxious though he was to get to Jessie, he had to stop in Deming to get his horses. The Arabian stud and four Arabian mares would be the foundation of his ranch. Crossbred with sturdy Western stock horses, they would produce offspring unsurpassed in the Southwest. The proof was in the fillies and colts Phillip had been raising the past few years.

  Blake had purchased his stud and mares while at West Point from a horse farm in West Virginia. The previous owner had died, and his widow, anxious to return to her family in Boston, had sold the horses for a fraction of their worth.

  Blake and Phillip had then worked out a deal. Phillip would board and care for the animals in exchange for stud service. The colts and fillies that stud had thrown since then were nothing short of magnificent.

  While at the ranch, Blake would also say good-bye to Phillip and Lucy. He had wired them immediately after his trial, but he owed them more than an impersonal telegram. So he had stopped and spent one night with them. Wade, thank God, hadn’t been there.

  “Oh, you know how that boy loves to travel,” Lucy had said with innocent brightness.

  They hadn’t known quite what to think about Blake’s sudden marriage. They worried that Jessie wasn’t good enough for “their boy.”