Spence glanced at his young bride and wondered what the hell had possessed him to marry her. He should have called the Latimer woman’s bluff and just taken the girl. Still, the marriage wasn’t anything to get excited about. They would have it annulled in Alabama. Marriage for him was out of the question.
She sat next to him in the same position she’d adopted for the entire four-hour buggy ride from Carlisle to the depot: shoulders rigid, back ramrod straight and not touching the seat behind her, hands lying relaxed in her lap, eyes meekly downcast. The last was a lie. He’d seen her reaction when she’d realized the Latimer woman intended to accompany them to the justice of the peace and witness their marriage vows. If the girl beside him had a meek bone in her small young body, he’d eat his stethoscope. The fire he’d seen in her eyes had been hot enough to melt rock. What would it be like to turn all that fiery anger into passion of a different kind?
The thought shocked him. Hell, he must be more exhausted than he realized, if he was having licentious thoughts about a girl ten years younger than himself.
The mere reminder of how tired he was made his shoulders slump. He would gladly have paid for a private compartment in a sleeping car, but there were no sleepers on the train from Harrisburg. He had made arrangements, however, for a private compartment when they reached Philadelphia. From there south, they would have a Pullman sleeper—hopefully the same one—for the rest of the way. It would be a long enough trip without having to sit still and upright the entire way. Spence wasn’t a lazy man, but he’d been pushing himself too hard lately. If he didn’t get some decent rest soon, his own body would turn on him, forcing on him consequences beyond his control. It would happen eventually anyway, he thought grimly, but there was no point rushing it. He would make good use of the private compartment.
The girl beside him looked like she needed the rest more than he did. She looked like she was wound tighter than a watch spring.
“You can relax now,” he told her. “No one will try to stop us.”
For a moment she appeared not to have heard. Then, with her head still bowed, eyes still lowered, she asked, “Is it legal?”
He didn’t have to ask what she meant. He tapped the breast of his suit coat, where beneath, in the inside pocket, he carried the signed, witnessed, legal document proclaiming them man and wife. “I’ve got the papers to prove it.”
“Well, it seemed to satisfy Old Prune Face.”
Spence chuckled. He’d wondered if she had a sense of humor, although nothing that had happened since they’d met had been worth smiling over. “Good description. And yes, I think she’s satisfied. No one will come after us.”
When she continued to just sit there, eyes downcast, he offered, “Don’t worry about the marriage, if that’s what’s bothering you. Trust me, I have no intention of—It’s temporary. In name only. We’ll have it annulled as soon as we get you to your father.”
LaRisa eased in another slow breath against the pain in her ribs and back. So, married less than a day, and the white man was already talking about tossing her aside like so much garbage. That she had already determined to be rid of him as soon as they reached Alabama was beside the point. For once in her life, she wanted the choice to be hers. This decision may have been out of her hands, but as the train rocked on into the night, LaRisa vowed to make her own choices from now on. She would think and speak as she pleased, and not be told what to do. For the first time in her life, she would control her own destiny. Somehow.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he said.
Afraid of him? Her? Afraid of a white man? Hah. The comment wasn’t worth the breath it would take to answer him.
She could feel him looking at her. Wherever his eyes rested, her skin prickled, even beneath her ugly, hated brown clothes. The feeling made her uncomfortable. Restless. Almost like when she’d touched his cheek. She wanted to move, turn away, get up and walk around.
No, she didn’t, she thought with a soft exhale. What she really wanted to do was collapse. Sheer, utter fatigue threatened to send her toppling from the seat. Her shoulders ached at being held rigid for hours. Her eyes burned beneath heavy lids that threatened to close against her will. Her empty stomach growled viciously. Only the noise of the train chugging and rocking down the track kept the man next to her from hearing.
If only he’d quit staring at her! She wanted to try leaning back against the seat, to see if it would hurt as badly as she feared it would. She hadn’t dared try it in the buggy, but this seat was softer, the ride considerably smoother. Yet if she couldn’t stand the pain, she didn’t want him as a witness.
“Come on,” he told her. “I said relax.” He dropped his hand heavily against her shoulder.
Pain exploded through her at his touch, sending her shooting out of her seat. The incautious action robbed her of breath and made black spots dance before her eyes. She braced her hands on the back of the seat in front of her to keep from crumpling to the floor.
“Hey.” Spence reached toward her again. “I told you, you don’t have anything to be afraid of. You’re just a child. I’m a grown man. I would never take advantage of you.”
She whirled toward him. “I’m not afraid of you, and I’m not a—” Her words ended in a gasping groan as her vision went dark and her knees gave.
Spence stared in shock as her coppery face turned a pasty shade of gray. Her eyes fluttered upward, then, in a slow, graceful spiral, the girl, his bride, slid toward the floor.
Too stunned to move swiftly, Spence barely caught her before her head struck the wall of the car. He lifted her carefully, laid her across both their seats, and knelt beside her. Her wrist felt fragile beneath his fingers, as though he could snap it in two with little effort. Her pulse was too damn fast, her breathing too rapid and shallow.
At the edge of his vision Spence saw the man three rows back lean forward and stare at him. Spence glared until the man blushed and looked away. A quick glance told him the other passengers had apparently not noticed LaRisa’s fainting.
She came around seconds later with a groan and tried to sit up. Spence pushed her back down. “Stay put.” He studied her eyes, the paleness of her skin, the stiffness of her face and shoulders. “You want to tell me what brought that on?”
LaRisa’s head was still spinning and her vision was fuzzy. She didn’t want to tell him anything, and realized she didn’t have to. The knowledge steadied her and gave her a heady feeling of power she had never before experienced. She let her eyes slide shut. “You’re the doctor, white man. You tell me.”
“Feeling better, are we?”
Her eyes opened to narrow slits. “If this is an example of your bedside manner, it’s a wonder you have any patients left.”
Spence let the remark go by. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Her gaze darted away, guiltily, he thought. That puzzled him. If she’d skipped a meal or two, what was there to feel guilty about? “Answer me.”
“This morning,” she mumbled.
If that were true, Spence thought, then there was definitely something else wrong. Two missed meals wouldn’t account for a fainting spell, not in a healthy nineteen-year-old.
Something the Latimer woman said when he’d first met LaRisa that afternoon came to mind. Something about admirers. Had Chee’s daughter been playing fast and loose with men, and was she now paying the price? The early stages of pregnancy could often result in fainting. So could a tightly laced corset, but eyeing her now, he knew she wasn’t wearing one.
“I don’t buy it,” he told her. “Granted, I should have fed you before we boarded the train, but there wasn’t time. You missed lunch and dinner. That’s not enough to make you faint unless there’s something else wrong. Talk to me. What did you eat for breakfast?”
“You’re overreacting,” she said. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“Were you able to keep your breakfast down?”
Her eyes flew open. “What’s that supposed to mea
n? Of course I kept my breakfast down.”
“What did you eat?” he demanded.
“A slice of bread,” she fired back, dark eyes flashing.
“And?”
Her chest heaved on a gusty sigh, making her breasts press upward against the loose, brown blouse. Making Spence aware for the first time that she actually had breasts. Rather nicely shaped—What the hell does that matter? She’s still just a kid, and you’re old enough to keep your mind on business. She’s a kid, and right now, a patient. Even if he didn’t want a patient. And his wife, even though he could never have a wife. “What else did you have besides a slice of bread?”
From between clenched teeth, she muttered, “A glass of water.”
Spence frowned. “Why?”
“Because I was thirsty.”
Patience, he warned himself. From what he’d seen in the last few moments, this kid could teach stubborn to a mule. “I meant,” he said slowly, “why did you have nothing more than bread and water? When’s the last time you had a real meal?”
With a fierce grimace, she avoided his hands and pushed herself into a sitting position, then rearranged her skirt with slow, deliberate movements. Still pale, her face and shoulders still taut.
She was in pain. Spence mentally kicked himself. If he hadn’t been so damn busy patting himself on the back for getting her out of Carlisle, he would have noticed it hours ago. “LaRisa?”
Stubborn pride would not allow LaRisa to answer him. The truth was too humiliating. She thrust out her chin and met his gaze briefly. “You took me to wife, Dr. Colton, not to raise.”
Spence swore beneath his breath and pushed himself to his feet to resume his seat next to her. She was sitting forward again, not touching the back of the seat, her shoulders and back rigid once more. Adding up everything that had just happened, he wondered if there was more to her jumping to her feet a moment ago than simply her dislike of his touch. Now that he was paying attention, he realized that she seemed to be in pain whenever she moved.
He decided to try a different approach to get his answers. “Chee never mentioned how stubborn you are. But then, you two have been separated so long, he might not know it himself.”
The mention of her father brought a yearning to LaRisa’s heart so strong that for a moment she feared she might faint again. She was starved for more than just food. She was starved for news of him. The Army only let them write to each other every couple of months, and even then, their letters were read by strangers before being sent. “Do you know my father well?”
Spence slouched down in his seat and stretched out his legs. With his fingers laced across his stomach, he was the picture of indolent relaxation. But his eyes missed nothing.
“I met him a time or two when I was growing up, but I didn’t really get to know him until ‘89, when the tribe was moved to Alabama. He would expect me to take care of you, LaRisa,” he told her softly, his voice smooth and deep. “When’s the last time you ate a meal?”
LaRisa sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing can be done about it unless there happens to be food somewhere on this train.”
“Unfortunately the midnight run from Harrisburg to Philadelphia doesn’t carry a dining car. I promise we’ll get something to eat the minute we hit Philadelphia. When, LaRisa?”
“You’re probably tired, traveling all this way in one day. You won’t offend me if you take a nap.”
“You’re offending me by not answering my question.”
“Persistent, aren’t you?” she muttered.
“Yes.” His voice, his eyes, his entire manner indicated he intended to keep asking until she gave in. “When are you going to answer me?”
LaRisa sighed. What was the point in resisting? It meant nothing. Her pride meant nothing. Not to a man like him. “Saturday.”
Spence rearranged his long legs in the scant space provided. “You’re going to answer me next Saturday?”
“I’m answering you now, and the answer is Saturday. Last Saturday.”
He unlaced his fingers and slowly straightened in his seat, his brows lowered in a frown. “This is Wednesday. Thursday, actually.”
She wished he would quit looking at her. For eyes that held little to no emotion, his gaze seemed to strip her bare, right down to her secrets. She raised her chin and lowered her gaze. “I know how to read a white man’s calendar, doctor. I know what day of the week it is.”
In growing amazement and confusion, Spence leaned toward her. “Are you saying that you’ve eaten nothing but bread and water for four days?”
She didn’t so much as blink, just kept staring down at her hands—hands no longer relaxed and limp, but balled into fists and buried within the folds of her skirt.
“Why?” he demanded, incredulous.
“Why?” She raised her gaze slowly to his. Her eyes spat fire. Her voice snapped. “If I knew the answer—if I knew why whites hated Indians—I would share that secret with my people and we would be living free, as we should, in our homeland.”
“Don’t give me that crap,” he snapped back. “Most whites don’t hate Indians. Most whites have never even seen an Indian. Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a chip on your shoulder, girl?”
Her eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Spoken like a white man.”
“I am white.”
“And I am not.”
“Are you going to tell me why you haven’t eaten?”
“Because I wasn’t allowed to eat! Are you satisfied? She thought she could bend me to her will by holding out the promise of food, the way she would train a useless dog!”
With a muttered curse, Spence closed his eyes and dropped his head against the back of the seat. He swallowed twice to keep from bellowing in rage. He’d been ready to accuse her of being pregnant with some man’s bastard, when the reason for her fainting had been near starvation. When he trusted his voice to sound halfway calm, he asked, “Prune Face?”
When she didn’t answer, he opened his eyes, expecting to see her slumped against the seat now that she’d given in and vented her spleen. But no, not this stubborn girl.
Then again…“What’s the matter with your back?”
She stiffened. “Nothing.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why you haven’t leaned back against anything all day, not even in the office this afternoon. Out with it, LaRisa. I’m a doctor.” It wasn’t much of a lie. He used to be a doctor. Still had his license, his experience, his black bag. He just didn’t have the heart any longer. She didn’t need to know that. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll be obliged to find out for myself as soon as we move into our private compartment when we reach Philadelphia.”
Startled, she jerked her head toward him. “What private compartment?”
“The one I booked for us when we boarded this train.”
“Why would you do that?”
Ah, so she wasn’t so calm and sure of herself as she’d like him to think. “Sleep, girl. So we can get some sleep. Altogether, it’ll take us four days to get to Mount Vernon. I don’t plan to spend it all sitting up in a damn coach car. Now, what’s wrong with your back?”
With a definite challenge in her eyes, she told him. “Abrasions, welts, contusions, and at least two cracked ribs. And before you ask, I’m five feet two inches tall, my weight is one hundred five pounds, my health is generally excellent, as is my eyesight. My digestive tract and other internal parts work just fine, and I still have all my own teeth. Is there anything else you’d like to know, doctor?”
Spence scarcely heard past the first sentence. “You have what?” he bellowed.
“My hearing, by the way, is excellent. In fact, I’m sure everyone in the car heard you.”
Spence glanced up and found the three passengers who were still awake, staring at him. He stared them down, then glared at LaRisa. She was deliberately baiting him. Even knowing that, he was tempted to grab her and shake her. Surely somewhere in this mess there was something to laugh about. Maybe in about fifty years he�
��d be able to see it. Right now he just wanted to murder someone. “What,” he asked carefully, “happened to your back?”
Her lids lowered to half-mast again, cutting off his view of that defiant fire. “It doesn’t matter,” came her quiet reply.
“Doesn’t matter?” he roared. “The hell—”
“It’s done. It can’t be undone. Leave me alone, white man.”
He would have argued further, wanted to, needed to, somehow, to purge the rage filling him. Abrasions, welts, contusions, and cracked ribs? It sounded like someone had beaten her! Either that, or she’d fallen down one hell of a flight of stairs. He’d seen her move; there wasn’t a clumsy bone in her body. He wanted answers, dammit. He’d also like to know where she’d picked up words like abrasions and contusions.
His answers would have to wait. The way she held herself so carefully spoke of pain. The grayish cast still beneath her coppery skin practically shouted her utter exhaustion. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes. She was so delicate, she looked like a harsh word would break her. Funny, but he hadn’t seen that until now.
With no privacy available, he couldn’t examine her back and determine for himself the extent of her injuries. When they changed trains in Philadelphia, they would have all the privacy they needed. Until then, the least he could do for the poor kid was make her comfortable so she could rest.
“Stay put,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”
LaRisa would have slumped in relief at his departure, but the change in posture wouldn’t be worth the discomfort. The arrogant, insensitive…louse. White man. Harassing her, demanding answers that were none of his business, tearing her secrets from her, prying into her soul, learning her shame. Stripping her of what little pride she had.
But never would she let him know how his sometimes casual, sometimes cutting questions left her bleeding inside. Never.
Apache-Colton Series Page 151