Savage Thunder

by Johanna Lindsey

  For an imprudent impulse, however, it went from bad to worse, as she found out when she reached Colt. Billy had moved off to accord them a measure of privacy, but it didn’t matter. Looking up at Colt, she knew without a doubt she had made a serious mistake. Although he usually kept his emotions so well hidden you never knew what he was thinking, those emotions were crystal clear right now, and they were anything but placid. She even took a step back, his look was so hostile.

  Jocelyn stiffened her resolve, or tried to. So she shouldn’t have approached him this soon. It was done. She was there. And although she hadn’t the faintest notion of what she had intended to say, perhaps something would come to her that might at least take the edge off his obvious anger.

  “Would you get down…please?” she asked. “I want to talk to you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “No…you don’t, Duchess.”

  She wasn’t sure of his meaning, whether he simply refused to hear what she had to say or whether he was warning her that she wouldn’t care to hear what he had to say in return. Likely the latter, which was why she didn’t try to detain him again when he turned about and rode off.

  She turned away herself to find all of her people suddenly busy in some unnecessary activity or conversation, which told her plainly that until that moment they had been avidly watching her and Colt. It didn’t embarrass her this time, though. Instead her temper flared up, especially when she noticed Miss Dryden’s rather smug expression. The woman couldn’t have heard Colt’s refusal to speak with her, but his disrespect and animosity were unmistakable. Jocelyn could almost read Maura’s thoughts: that no man would ever treat her so shabbily.

  “I—ah, didn’t realize he was one of your guards.”

  That Miles Dryden was there to assist her into her coach did not pacify Jocelyn’s now simmering emotions in the least. Nor did she need a reminder of yesterday’s foolishness.

  But not for the world would she let anyone know how easily Colt could upset her, so she managed a smile, no matter that her lips felt like they would crack, they were so stiff. “He’s not. He’s our guide.”

  “A gunfighter for a guide?”

  Miles seemed determined to provide an outlet for her temper, but she didn’t want a substitute. Colt deserved every bit of it himself.

  “His versatility makes him an excellent guide, Mr. Dryden, despite his lack of manners and wretched disposition. But if it bothers you to have such a man leading you through the wilderness—”

  “Not at all,” he quickly assured her.

  “Then I will see you later in the day, sir.”

  She stepped into her coach to wait impatiently for Vanessa to join her. If Miles had thought he would be sharing her coach, she had just disabused him of that notion. Even if she had intended to give up her privacy, which she hadn’t, she would have just changed her mind. Under no circumstances could she spend this day in idle conversation with virtual strangers. She would go mad if she tried.

  Vanessa sensed her mood and wisely kept quiet once they were on their way. But the silence merely allowed Jocelyn’s awakened ire to feed upon itself. Where she had previously been understanding of Colt’s feelings, she now resented his resentment. She wasn’t sorry for what had happened between them. She wasn’t about to apologize for having wanted him. True, he had resisted her at every turn, but had she held a gun on him and forced him into her bed? No, she certainly had not. So he had no business being angry with her, and she intended to tell him so at the very next opportunity.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Every instinct had warned Colt to stay away from camp that night. Already acquainted with the duchess’s stubborn streak, he had little doubt that, having decided on a confrontation, she wouldn’t be satisfied until she had it. But he wasn’t ready, not by a long shot. The conclusions he had drawn about her might have enraged him enough to send him out looking for trouble, but to have those conclusions confirmed was going to be ten times worse. And if mere suspicions could ride him this hard, what would the truth do to him?

  Of course, if he was wrong about her, that would be an entirely different problem, in some ways an even bigger one. It was what had made him take what she offered, despite the fact that he’d sworn never to touch a white woman again. And it would happen again—if he was wrong about her. If it did, he was afraid that he could very easily end up wanting to make her his permanently, when he knew damn well that wasn’t possible.

  Either way, it was better not to know the truth just yet, at least not until he was certain he could control his reaction to it. Yet knowing that, and also that the redhead would push it as she always did, he still rode into camp that night.

  And that was her fault too, for allowing a stranger into their midst at this particular time, when Colt happened to be so pissed off he hadn’t been paying attention to any newcomers arriving in town after they had. Even with the precautions he had taken, it wasn’t inconceivable that her enemy could have caught up to them in the two days they had wasted in Silver City. With the way danger followed that woman around like a homeless pup, the stranger could, in fact, be one of the Englishman’s men. Even if it wasn’t at all likely, the merest chance was enough to cause Colt worry. For all his protestations that he wasn’t going to protect her, he couldn’t bear it if something happened and he wasn’t there to prevent it because he was afraid to have a confrontation with the woman.

  But when the confrontation came, it came from an unexpected quarter.

  As late as it was when Colt rode in, more than half the camp was still up, and it was just his luck that the duchess was one of them. He could feel her eyes follow him as he made his way to Billy’s campfire after bedding his horse down with the others. She sat before another fire with a group of her men, her maid—and the stranger.

  Billy, who had left that group when he noticed Colt by the horses, handed him the tin plate of food he regularly kept warmed near the fire. Colt had stopped complaining that it was always the fare served up by the duchess’s cook. Half the time he was too tired to know what he was eating.

  “Didn’t think you were going to bed down with us tonight.”

  With a glance at all the other fires still occupied, Colt replied. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s got a hankering for sleep.”

  Billy shrugged. “The new fellow was spinning some pretty gruesome tales. He probably spooked some of them.” Remembering those stories, and that Colt wouldn’t find them entertaining, Billy quickly added, “Did you see the blonde this morning? She’s his sister.”

  Colt ignored the question, his eyes stopping on the stranger. The duchess sat next to him, too close to him.

  “Who is that guy anyway?”

  “Name’s Dryden, Miles Dryden.”

  Colt’s brow knitted in thought. “He remind you of anyone, kid?”

  “Can’t say that he does. Why?”

  “Seems like I’ve seen him before somewhere.”

  “Maybe when you went east with Jessie and Chase? He claims to be from there.”

  Colt shook his head slowly. “No, I’ve seen him more recent than that. You sure you don’t recognize him?”

  “Are you sure you do?”

  Colt stared hard at the man once more before glancing away. “Yes. It’ll come to me in a while.” And then, looking pointedly at Billy, “What tales was he telling?”

  Billy flushed with the question, having thought he’d neatly avoided it. “Just stories.”

  “Give,” was all Colt said.

  “He’s an Easterner, Colt,” Billy said defensively. “You know how a little Indian attack wouldn’t faze a Westerner, but a greenhorn will make it into a big deal every time.”

  “He was attacked?”

  “Him and his sister.”

  “It took all night to tell it?”

  Billy grinned, now that it looked like Colt hadn’t taken offense at the subject as he thought he would. “You know how it is. A fellow comes into
town and mentions he nearly got scalped, and every other person who’s had a similar experience or even heard of one has got to tell him all about it. Dryden heard enough tales to fill a book while he was in Silver City.”

  “Then he was there before we arrived?”

  “Several months. Why?”

  “Just wondered.”

  Colt’s mind was put to rest on one score. Dryden wasn’t working for Longnose. It still didn’t mean he liked the idea of the duchess inviting strangers to join her party. She ought to know better.

  Several bites of food later, Colt asked, “What the hell is this stuff I’m eating?”

  Billy chuckled. “One of Philippe’s specialties. Good, ain’t it?”

  “You can’t taste the meat for the sauce.” Colt tossed the plate aside in disgust. “And what’s his problem?”

  Billy turned to see who had drawn Colt’s attention now. Parker Grahame was staring right back, and none too amiably.

  “He—ah—you could say he’s been a mite put out since that night you took care of those two would-be thieves who tried to rob the duchess.”

  “Was I supposed to let them rob her?”

  Billy grinned. “I think he objects to you being the one to rescue her, when that’s his job. You have been making a habit of it, after all, which doesn’t reflect too well on him.”

  “And that’s enough to get him killed?”

  Billy tensed. “What are you talking about?”

  “The man’s making up his mind to come over here, and not to pass the time.”

  “Christ! Well, don’t kill him, for God’s sake! He’s more or less spokesman for all of them, being their captain, and they’re kind of fed up with the disrespect you keep showing their lady. I know you do it on purpose, but she doesn’t, and they don’t either. I think this morning was just one time too many for nothing to be said about it.”

  “Exactly right, Mr. Ewing,” Parker said from behind him.

  Billy didn’t turn to look at the Englishman again. He stared at Colt, dreading his reaction. Considering that he’d been in a foul disposition ever since they’d joined up with the duchess, he couldn’t hope for now to be any different. And you just didn’t push Colt when he was in such a mood.

  Colt leaned back against his saddle in a negligent manner, not at all concerned that the man was standing there bristling. “You got something to say, Grahame, spit it out.”

  “Your brother has already said it. If you can’t behave with a modicum of civility—”

  “You’ll do what?” Colt cut in with a near sneer. “Call me out?”

  “Dammit, Colt!” Billy put in, but too late.

  Parker was already stepping around him to get to Colt, so enraged he didn’t stop to think, simply hauled Colt to his feet by the front of his shirt. That Colt let him do it, and did nothing to block the fist that was drawn back to clobber him, didn’t seem peculiar to Parker because he still wasn’t thinking, merely reacting. But years of breeding broke through at the last moment to make him hesitate, if only for a second.

  Unfortunately for Parker, in that second their gazes locked and his confidence was nearly shattered. He had the horrible feeling he was looking death in the eye. He’d never backed down from a fight in his life, never had to, never lost one. But he had somehow forgotten just whom he was dealing with here, that the man was in a class all by himself, a man damned close to the savages whom Dryden had been telling them tales of all evening, a man who would know ways of killing that Grahame had never even dreamed of. And he had challenged him?

  “Sir Parker, release him at once!”

  The voice of authority, reason, and his salvation. Parker obeyed with great relief.

  Colt’s reaction was just the opposite. “Shit!” He glared at the duchess, standing not far from them. “The man has a genuine grievance to pick with me. Who in the hell asked you to interfere, woman?”

  Even if she wasn’t rendered momentarily speechless by his verbal attack, Jocelyn had no chance to answer. The scales were tipped for Parker, who saw red again with this latest insolence and let his fist fly.

  The blow caught Colt on the side of his face but only slightly turned his head. That it had come when he wasn’t looking, however, had everyone who was watching holding his breath, waiting for Colt’s reaction. Parker in particular felt rather sick, never having taken a man unawares before. So he was most surprised when Colt turned back to him, slowly, and grinning.

  “It took you long enough, English,” he said just before his backhanded blow knocked Parker to the ground.

  Billy caught Colt’s gun and knife, both tossed to him, then simply got out of the way. Jocelyn had to step back also when one charge took both men crashing through the fire, scattering sparks everywhere.

  “Come away, my dear,” Vanessa said quietly at her side. “You can’t stop it now, and shouldn’t want to.”

  “Shouldn’t want to? But they’re—”

  “Behaving atrociously, I know, but your Thunder obviously needs to inflict violence on someone. Better Sir Parker than you. Now come away.”

  Jocelyn bit her lip, remembering Colt’s hostility that morning, watching his savagery now. Despite what Vanessa said, she didn’t think he would hurt her, no matter how angry he got. And she was still angry herself. She was not some vaporous ninny to hide from a man’s displeasure.

  “I’m staying, Vana,” she said determinedly. “I won’t try to stop them, but when they’re finished I’ll have my say.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Colt felt wonderful. He hurt like hell, but inside he was in control again, his emotions spent, his anger leashed, manageable. He could probably even confront the duchess now and get it over with, or so he thought until he saw her standing there watching him.

  Back came the irritation, first because she had managed to approach him without his hearing her. He could blame that on the slight ringing in his ears from one of Grahame’s punches. He shook his head, but the ringing persisted. He glanced around then to see if anyone else whom he didn’t know about had followed him, but she was the only one there. And that was why his irritation increased. She just never learned, this woman. He’d avoided her, he’d warned her off. How much clearer could he get? But it was no more than he could expect with her stubborn streak, so it shouldn’t irritate him. It still did.

  “What’re you looking at?”

  Jocelyn let out a sigh, hearing Colt’s surly tone. To think she had actually been concerned when he had stumbled out of camp. Sir Parker had been rendered unconscious, and Vanessa, who was seeing to him, had assured her he would be all right. But Colt still had been on his feet at the end of the fight and had left before anyone could attend to his cuts and abrasions.

  He had doused his head in the water hole they had camped next to, and had just finished drying his face with his bandanna when he’d noticed her. Whoever had last toted water from the hole that evening had left a torch behind, stuck in the ground. From that light, she could see the swelling of his left cheek, the cut over his eye still trickling blood down his temple. His clothes were filthy, his pants ripped at the knees. His other injuries were likely hidden, since Sir Parker had concentrated most of his blows to the body. There would be many, however, for the fight had lasted a good fifteen minutes.

  “You look terrible. Does it hurt?”

  “Does a dog piss?”

  Her back stiffened. “I’d appreciate a civil answer, thank you.”

  “Then go talk to someone else. Here you take your chances.”

  “I could have sworn you would have had your nasty temper worked off after your exercise this evening.”

  “Me too,” he sneered. “Just goes to show how wrong a dumb Indian can be.”

  “Don’t do that,” Jocelyn said angrily.

  “What?”

  “Belittle yourself like that. You may not be educated in the normal way, Colt Thunder, but you aren’t stupid, and we both know it.”

  “That’s debatable, hon
ey. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  She drew in her breath sharply. “Meaning what? That you shouldn’t be?”

  “Damned right!”

  “Then leave! No one’s stopping you.”

  “Aren’t you?” In two long strides he reached her and gripped her arms to shake her. “Aren’t you?” he repeated in a furious hiss.

  “If I am…I’m glad,” she said, already regretting that she had offered him an out in the heat of the moment, but relieved that he hadn’t jumped on it. “You are needed, after all.”

  Colt turned away from her, defeated by a single word. Every time she said it, it did crazy things to him inside. Mostly it inflamed his lust, even though he knew full well her use of the word wasn’t meant to be provocative. Christ, how he wished it were.

  “It takes integrity and honor to keep faith with something you find so disagreeable,” she said quietly behind him.

  “What is this?” he demanded sharply, glancing over his shoulder with a black scowl. “Soothe the savage beast with a bone of flattery?”

  Jocelyn gritted her teeth. “No,” she said, wanting to shout it, but afraid now that if she let her temper loose, it would be the excuse he needed to quit. “I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry you don’t like the job…but not sorry enough to release you from it.”

  He turned around slowly. “To hell with the job,” he said almost conversationally. “That’s not the problem and you know it. You’re the problem, you and that unexpected little bonus you bestowed on me without warning.”

  Jocelyn tried to look away at that point, sensing what was coming. Colt brought her gaze back to his with a hard grip on her chin.

  “Don’t mistake me, Duchess. I’m honored.” The sudden sarcasm in his tone said otherwise. “But why don’t you clear up the mystery, anyway? Why me?”

  She knew exactly what he was asking, but denied it. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  That answer got her another hard shake and a shouted “Why me?”

  “I—I wanted you. It’s that simple.”

  “Wrong. A virgin can want every man who comes sniffing, but she won’t do anything about it without a ring on her finger, or love clouding her judgment. Now, since neither of those reasons applies to you, let’s hear the real one.”