Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  He wondered why, at twenty-two, she wasn’t married. She would love as fiercely as she could hate. Why hadn’t she led some man a merry chase and caught him with those startlingly green eyes, that smooth, pale skin, fiery red hair, and a body with more curves than a mountain switchback?

  Surely somewhere out there was a man worthy of Joanna, but Pace honestly couldn’t imagine him. No tame banker or store clerk would do—she would run right over him and be bored to tears. No politician—she wouldn’t tolerate deceit or shady dealings. A doctor? No, that didn’t seem right. A lawyer? No, too close to a politician.

  A rancher. That’s who she needed. A rancher, a successful one. Someone tough and independent who could provide for her and give her all the things she was used to, the things she deserved. After all, she’d grown up on the Triple C. Ranching was in her blood.

  As he dozed again, he thought of the ranchers he knew and frowned. They marched through his mind one by one, and one by one, he rejected them. Too old. Too young. Too many kids from his first marriage and not likely to want more. Too fat. Too damn mean. Drank too much.

  Hell, he admitted to himself, there wasn’t a man alive good enough for Joanna.

  Joanna woke slowly, this time without the panic she’d experienced the last time. She knew exactly where she was. The fire on the cave floor was dying, but there was enough light that, although she could not see the ceiling of the cave, she could see the horse nearby, dozing on three legs. And she could see Pace stretched out on the other side of the fire, using his saddle for a pillow.

  She cringed at his having to sleep on the cold ground while she snuggled, if not comfortably, at least more comfortably than he, in the only bedroll. At least the sand was better than hard ground. Sand had some give to it.

  Even asleep, Pace radiated power and strength. She’d always thought of him as strong. Part of that had been a young girl’s hero-worship of her much older uncle, but she was no longer a young girl. She saw him now with a woman’s eyes, and he was still a strong, powerful man.

  He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes, nor did Joanna detect any change in the rhythm of his breathing, yet somehow she knew he’d suddenly awakened. It was as if she could feel it somewhere inside her. The peculiar feeling shook her.

  Was this what he and Serena experienced when they communicated with each other without words? Joanna had been exposed to their “gift” all her life, so she had never really considered how rare it was, or how it might feel to know exactly what someone else was thinking, or have him know your own thoughts and feelings.

  The latter had her mentally scrambling backward. If she could feel that he was awake, could he feel inside her? The thought was unsettling.

  A moment later Pace sat up and brushed sand from his shoulder, then looked over to find her awake. “I’m going outside to have a look. We’ll need to leave soon.”

  Pace hated the thought of forcing her back onto the horse for another tortuous ride, but they couldn’t afford to stay in the cave long enough to let her heal and regain her strength. Had he been alone, he wouldn’t have stayed this long. Alone, he could have traveled faster and put more distance between himself and Juerta. He could have doubled back and cut north or south, losing himself for days or weeks until Juerta gave up.

  Could have, but alone, wouldn’t have. Alone, Pace would have turned and carried the fight to Juerta.

  With Jo along, he couldn’t do that. He needed to get her home, or at least out of Mexico and to a town. The safest way to travel without being seen was at night. It was almost time.

  While he was gone, Joanna used one of the last remaining grass torches to light her way to the pool. The water was not as icy cold as she’d feared, but its chill still took her breath away as she washed the best she could while holding the torch in one hand.

  She was hesitant to put it out. Even with it lit, there was nothing but solid blackness around her. The rock walls fifteen feet on either side widened and disappeared into the dark. The opposite side of the pool was not visible at all. As the torch flickered low, she shivered. When it finally burned out, she rushed to finish as the solid blackness enveloped her.

  It was a relief to turn back toward the fire, no matter its meagerness.

  Her side still hurt, especially if she moved wrong. Her thighs and backside ached with each step, as did her feet, even on the cool sand. But her head no longer throbbed. She could have used at least another week of solid sleep, but she would survive.

  She grimaced, wishing heartily that she could wash her clothes. She debated, but decided against washing them now and wearing them wet. Desert nights could be downright cold. If she caught a chill and got really sick, it would slow them down. And she wanted to be home. She would simply have to wear the filthy blood-stained skirt and blouse.

  When she reached to brush the loose hair from her eyes, she realized what a mess her hair must be. She might not be able to have clean clothes, but she could do something about her hair. She was surprised to find the narrow ribbon still holding her braid intact. Pulling it loose, she quickly unbraided her long, thick hair. Maybe Pace had a comb.

  She found one in his saddlebag and set to work. She was still fighting the snarls and tangles when Pace returned.

  For one impossibly long moment, all Pace could do was stare at that glorious, fiery halo of hair as it caressed her back, her shoulders, her breasts.

  She’s Matt’s daughter. As far as you’re concerned, she doesn’t have breasts.

  But she did. Hidden now by her hair and beneath that, her blouse and camisole, they had once been revealed to him, taunting him with their creamy whiteness, their dark centers rising to tempting peaks in the cool air. Before that, during the ride to the cave, he’d felt them pressed against his back.

  “It’s time,” he said curtly. “How’s your side?”

  Joanna couldn’t raise her right arm without pulling painfully on the wound, and even without moving, it hurt. But she wanted to go home, and Pace was obviously irritated about something. “It’s better.”

  By the time she finished rebraiding her hair, the horse was saddled and ready. Pace had slung the saddlebags and one blanket over the horse’s neck, just in front of the saddle horn. The bedroll, all but the one blanket, was now a neat pad, albeit not a plush one, for Joanna to sit on immediately behind the saddle.

  With her stolen gunbelt draped over her shoulder, holster on her left hip, butt-out so she could reach across her body and grab it with her right hand, Joanna held the last torch high. Pace quickly and efficiently buried all evidence of their presence, including the remains of the fire. Then he took the torch from her and led the way back through the tunnel.

  Rather than ride and have to hunch over the saddle to avoid low spots in the ceiling, Joanna walked beside Pace. Long before they reached the mouth, he rubbed the torch out on the ground. She understood instantly. At night, any light from inside the cave would be visible for perhaps miles, signaling their presence like a beacon.

  But understanding didn’t ease the feeling of suffocation as the impenetrable darkness closed in on her. She gritted her teeth against the need to call out to Pace.

  Then, soundlessly, out of the darkness, his hand touched her arm. He slid his fingers down and entwined them with hers with a reassuring squeeze. The tight constriction in her chest eased.

  When they rounded the last bend in the tunnel, Joanna saw that it wasn’t full dark yet, but dusk. Darkness would follow quickly; there was no prolonged twilight as she’d heard about farther north.

  Ever cautious, Pace handed her the buckskin’s reins and motioned for her to wait while he stepped out of the cave and checked one final time to make sure no one was near.

  The horse tugged on the reins, eager to be free of the cave. Joanna held him firmly and stroked his muzzle to keep him quiet. She shuddered at the thought of how far a snort or whinny from inside the cave would travel across the desert at dusk.

  Pace was back in a few minutes and led th
em out of the cave.

  Aside from the darkness, Joanna hadn’t realized how confining the cave had felt until she stepped out into the open. A heavy weight seemed to lift from her chest as she looked up and saw a huge, darkening sky that went on forever. Space. Freedom. Even the air, dry and cooling, but warmer than in the cave, seemed easier to breathe. She took a deep cleansing breath and relished it.

  “If I lift you to the saddle,” Pace said, “I’ll hurt your side.”

  Joanna drew her attention from the big sky and wide open spaces to the problem of mounting. It was going to hurt no matter how she went about it. “Just give me a boost.” With her hands gripping the saddle, she raised her left foot to the stirrup.

  Pace hesitated. He still couldn’t put his hands on her waist without aggravating the wound. That meant he was going to have to put his hands on a much softer part of her anatomy. If he hadn’t been contemplating her change from girl into woman, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it. And he shouldn’t be thinking anything of it now, he told himself firmly. This was just Jo, for crying out loud, and she needed a boost.

  He reached, then drew his hands back. The heavy fabric of her green skirt draped her hips, outlining their shape, tempting a man to touch, to feel. To stare at her ankles and calves showing beneath the raised hem. If he put his hands on her…

  “Here,” he said curtly, “stand back.”

  When she lowered her foot and stepped back, Pace swung into the saddle and held his hand down to her. “Put your foot on my boot and I’ll pull you up.”

  She did, and he did, and Joanna swung up behind Pace to sit astride on the flattened bedroll behind the saddle. Pace might be lean, but he was still a large man, and a saddle was built for a single person.

  Joanna’s inner thighs scream in protest as she straddled the horse’s broad back. Her wound hurt twice as badly at having been stretched and jostled, but she clamped her lips tight and swallowed her groan.

  Pace could feel her pain. Not the way he’d felt Serena’s in the past, not every specific hurt. This was different. Not so much physical as mental.

  No, not even that. It wasn’t his mind that spoke of her pain, it was something else inside of him, something new that had never spoken to him before, not in this manner. He felt her pain with his emotions, rather than his body.

  And he didn’t like it.

  He liked it even less when her slender hands came to rest at the sides of his waist and sent an unwanted shiver of heated pleasure down his spine.

  He urged the horse from the sheltered mouth of the cave. At the head of the trail leading off the bluff and down into the valley, Pace drew the buckskin to a halt and studied the land. Darkness was falling fast. In the valley itself, it was night, but he’d already taken its measure. A deep ravine twisted and angled up the length. Not knowing where Juerta was, Pace knew the safest way to travel was along the bottom of the ravine. There was grass on the valley floor, dry and brittle. It would flatten with every step the horse took, leaving a trail a blind two-year-old could follow.

  He pulled the binoculars from his saddlebags. Raising the glasses to his eyes, he studied left and right along the eastern bluff on which they stood. Less than a mile north, he spotted men and horses surrounding a campsite overlooking the valley, and hissed a curse between his teeth. “Juerta.”

  Joanna’s fingers dug into his sides. “You see him?”

  “Does he have a fresh gash down his left cheek?”

  “Yes.” There was both satisfaction and revulsion in her voice.

  Pace felt his blood chill. “Did you give it to him?”

  “With relish.”

  His hands clenched around the binoculars. Salt. While the bastard was spitted like a rabbit and roasting over the fire, praying for death, the coyotes Pace planned to feed the carcass to might appreciate a little salt.

  “Is it him?” Jo asked, her voice hushed and slightly quivering.

  “Him, and…ten others. He’s split his men.” With the glasses, Pace scanned the southern end of the valley’s eastern rim, hoping like hell the other half of Juerta’s men hadn’t crossed the valley yet. He saw no sign of the rest of the two dozen men who had been chasing Jo.

  “Damn, I didn’t want to take that trail down the bluff in full dark, but we can’t chance being spotted. We’ll have to wait for full dark. I’d sure as hell like to know where the rest of those bastards got off to.”

  He eased the horse back into the deepest shadows and handed Joanna the blanket he’d left out of the bedroll. “Drape this around your shoulders. In the dark, that white blouse will shine like a beacon.”

  Full dark came in less than half an hour, but Pace waited another thirty minutes for good measure. They really couldn’t afford the time, but they couldn’t afford to be spotted, either. Nor could they afford to be heard, but the ravine they would travel was strewn with rocks. While he waited for the deep darkness to settle in, Pace dismounted and cut squares off the blanket and used rawhide thongs to tie them over the horse’s hooves. Once more he mounted and urged the buckskin out to the head of the trail leading down the steep side of the bluff.

  The second camp was easy to spot now. A campfire glowed a half mile south of Pace and Joanna’s position. The night air stilled, and harsh male laughter echoed across the valley from Juerta’s men in that second camp.

  “Hang on,” he told Jo quietly as he nudged the buckskin down the trail. “And keep your blouse covered.”

  Gravel, displaced by the buckskin’s hooves, rattled and rolled down the incline, sounding to Pace’s ears as though it were a locomotive barrelling through the night. There was no way to take the descent quietly. He could only hope the two groups of men were making too much noise themselves to hear them skid down toward the valley floor.

  The night was so clear, and a brilliant half moon was rising. If Juerta’s men didn’t hear them, they should at least be able to spot the cloud of dust rising from their wake. Pace silently swore all the way to the bottom of the trail.

  There he drew up and listened. If men were scrambling for their horses to come after him and Jo, he would hear them. All he heard was the night, and an occasional burst of laughter from the group to the south.

  He didn’t like it. Juerta hadn’t gained a reputation as The Butcher by being blind and deaf.

  Pace twisted toward Jo so he could keep his voice low enough to carry only to her and no farther. “The ravine isn’t deep enough for cover if I’m in the saddle. I’m too tall. I’m going to get down and lead the horse. I want you to scoot up into the saddle.”

  He swung his right leg over the horse’s ears and slid quietly to the ground. He stooped, and when Jo had moved up into the saddle, he handed her a handful of pebbles. “We can’t afford to make a sound, so if you need me, if you see or hear anything, toss one of these at me. They’re small enough that the sound won’t carry far. If shooting starts, I’ll toss you the reins. Don’t worry about being quiet then, just ride like hell. Head north and east, and you’ll—”

  “No!” she hissed sharply, leaning down toward him. “I won’t ride off and leave—”

  He took her chin in one hand and pressed his thumb over her lips, shutting off her protest. “Yes. It’s the best way. The only way. I’ll catch up with you later.” He pulled his rifle from the saddle scabbard, then stepped back. “Now keep quiet.”

  A sick feeling rolled through Joanna’s stomach. He couldn’t possibly believe she would be able to ride off and leave him alone and afoot to face two dozen men. The mere idea of what would happen to him turned her blood to ice.

  Never, she vowed silently. If trouble came, she would stand at his side and face it with him. After all, it was her trouble, not his. It was she whom Juerta was after. Joanna would not see Pace killed because of her. She would never be able to live with herself if anything happened to him.

  As Pace took the reins and led out on foot up the ravine, Joanna’s nerves stretched taut. The horse was quiet, and Pace made no so
und at all—had she not known he was there she would have sworn she was alone with the horse.

  Each tiny sound, each muffled thud of hoof on ground, each tiny pebble dislodged, sounded as loud as gunfire to Jo’s ears. Any minute she expected to turn and see Juerta and his men come thundering across the moonlit valley in pursuit.

  Yet each time she looked over her shoulder, there was nothing but emptiness. The two campfires on the eastern bluff grew smaller with every step the horse took.

  The urge to gouge her heels into the horse’s flanks was strong. At this rate it would take all night to reach the head of the valley. In the morning when Juerta’s small army mounted up, they would be able to catch them in barely an hour.

  Joanna forced a calming breath. If it was humanly possible, Pace would not let Juerta catch them. And if it was not…

  Chapter Six

  The moon was halfway across the sky before they reached the head of the valley, where Pace exchanged his moccasins for boots. Joanna slid back onto the flattened bedroll and Pace remounted. His presence in the saddle before her eased the tightness in her muscles. His warmth, too, was welcome, for even with the blanket, she was cold. It was easy to lean against him and absorb his heat and strength.

  The night was long and wearing. Despite having slept that afternoon, Joanna was exhausted by the time they scrambled into the hills at the north end of the valley. With every step the horse took, she leaned more heavily against Pace’s broad muscled back.

  Adding to her exhaustion was the knowledge that the valley was the easy part of the ride. Moonlight revealed rugged foothills ahead, mostly bare rock and deep shadows.

  She didn’t question Pace’s ability to guide them safely through the coming rugged terrain. Pace could do anything.

  Neither of them had spoken for hours, but as she sat leaning against him, lulled by the rhythm of the horse’s movements, she felt Pace’s long hair tickle her cheek. The thought of hair and Pace together brought a question to her lips, one she couldn’t believe hadn’t occurred to her earlier. “What happened to your hair?”