Apache Caress (9 page)

Then he seemed to come to his senses. He let go of her and sat up. He looked as surprised and unnerved as Sierra felt.

“We’ve got to get going,” he said, and reached down to untie her ankles.

His big hands felt warm on her bare flesh, and they seemed to linger on her ankles. She lay looking up at him, waiting for him to roll over on her and finish, but instead he got up. She watched him walk over, begin to put on his shirt.

Robert had been right. She wasn’t desirable or knowledgeable enough to charm even a savage. And she had been worried about Cholla being so wild with passion that he would rape her. She felt a little chagrined, as well as relieved, at his lack of interest. Still she would have to keep trying. If she couldn’t charm him into caring for her, sometime soon, he might just cut her throat and throw her in a weed patch, and no one would ever know what had happened to her.

Without another word, Sierra got up, went into the bushes to relieve herself, washed up in the creek, and fixed breakfast.

As he ate the Apache stared at her thoughtfully. She wished she knew what he was thinking.

“What happens now?” she asked as she finished her coffee.

He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

She asked again, and he started as if he hadn’t been listening. “What? Oh, the trip.”

Sierra was puzzled. “Yes, we’re on the run, remember? The Army is looking for you, probably dead or alive.”

He raised one eyebrow at her. “You could use that reward, I’ll wager. That would help a poor widow a lot, wouldn’t it?”

She didn’t know what answer he expected, so she said nothing. Tonight, she thought, if I’m lucky enough to get through today alive, I’ll try again to charm him.

Cholla finished his food, leaned against a tree, obviously deep in thought. Finally he said, “I think the Army will expect me to try to return the way I came ... if they finally figure out I managed to get across the Mississippi.”

“How did you come?” She got up, began to collect the dishes, kicked dirt over the fire.

“The train from Bowie Station ran east to Albuquerque, then north along the mountains. When we reached what Gillen said was Colorado, we turned and went due east across Kansas.” The Apache looked sad, thoughtful. “Once that was all buffalo country; now everywhere I looked across those flat plains there were farmhouses.”

Cholla rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “If the Army expects me to try to follow those same tracks or hide on one of those Kansas trains, I’ll do something else.”

“Like what?” Sierra took the pins from her hair, began to brush it. She felt him watching her.

“I think I’ll do what the Army doesn’t expect, which is turn south now and go through the hills, maybe catch a freight train through eastern Indian Territory.”

“What about the wagon and the mule?” Maybe he was going to say he was giving them to her, and she could turn around and go back.

“I haven’t decided,” he said, running his tongue over his lip. “But then, I don’t know if there’s a train through the Indian Nations yet.”

Sierra didn’t ask any more questions. At least he had made it clear he wasn’t releasing her today, but he hadn’t said “we” when talking about catching the train. She packed up their things. Before the sun was above the eastern horizon, they were headed across Missouri toward the Ozarks.

Days passed. He never touched her again. Sometimes he scouted the terrain, sometimes he rode on the seat next to her. They fell into a kind of routine, and she stopped asking when he was going to release her. She would either have to kill him when she got the chance or escape. Sierra bided her time.

She tried to look ahead and mind her driving, but his arm and body brushed against her occasionally, warm and strong. It made her think of his hands on her shoulders, his lips trailing across hers. In her mind, she saw those callused, dark hands pulling away the fabric of her dress so they could cup her white breasts.

Nervously, she glanced over at the strong hands resting on his knees and imagined them on her own knees, gradually pushing her skirt up as his fingers worked their way along her creamy thighs, spread her, and pulled her toward him....

The thought sent shivers down her back. He was going to do it sooner or later, when he was sure he was safe from hot pursuit. If she looked up suddenly, Sierra sometimes caught him watching her, and she wondered whether he was planning her rape . . . or her murder?

As days passed, they moved along seldom traveled roads, stopping only a few minutes at a time to rest. She lost track of time or distance. They were almost out of coffee and most of the other supplies she had packed, but she hadn’t found a way to get her hands on a weapon or to escape.

It was late afternoon, they had traveled what seemed to Sierra a long way.

Cholla looked up at the sun. “We’ll travel until dusk and then stop for the night. Maybe I can snare us a couple of rabbits.”

“If we cross a creek, we might try catching a few fish,” Sierra suggested, pushing a wisp of hair back into her bun.

A frown crossed his rugged face. “Apaches don’t eat fish or anything else that lives in water.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time among the whites,” Sierra said with a shrug, “you could learn. Fried catfish and hush puppies are really good, and I’ve got some cornmeal.”

“We’ll see.” He stared at her.

She was suddenly aware of the heat of his body where it touched hers. Her heart beat unsteadily a moment, then righted itself. He was looking at her as if he had made a final decision. In a couple of hours, it would be dark. Sierra knew she had to decide whether it would really help her cause to seduce this man and whether she could stand to let a savage touch her. She who had always been afraid to take chances would be facing the biggest risk of her life.

The next couple of hours passed all too soon. Sierra was so nervous, her hands trembled as Cholla ordered a halt to the day’s travel. They found a grove of trees with a spring, and the Indian set a snare out in the woods while Sierra made camp.

In less than an hour, he handed her a fat rabbit. “I told you I was a good hunter.”

“It looks tasty after all that bacon.” Sierra smiled at him without meaning to, and then suddenly felt self-conscious. She had cornmeal, so she made some fried corn bread although there was no butter to go on it. She even found some late poke greens growing near the creek and boiled a pot of them.

Cholla accepted a plate with a murmur of appreciation.

She started to tell him that since she was a prisoner she had no choice but to please him, then remembered and only nodded. “After the first frost, persimmons will be ripe. They make good pies and–” She stopped in midsentence. She expected to be out of this mess or dead by the time of the first frost.

He didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t finished what she was saying, but ate greedily. Robert had always picked around in his food, complaining about her cooking.

They were almost into the edges of the hills off to the the southwest. Maybe this was the night to try to escape. She would wait until he was asleep. The Apache began to tie her wrists and ankles. She complained, showed him the marks the ropes had left. “That hurt, tying me so tight.”

“One thing I try not to do is hurt women . . . unlike some of the white men I’ve known.” His tone was ironic, sarcastic, but she wasn’t sure to what he referred.

Sierra waited until he was asleep and then began to struggle with her bonds. In a few minutes, she had worked her way out of the ropes. But she was afraid to move. Cholla seemed to have the hearing of a wild animal, coming awake at every sound. But tonight he slept heavily, as if exhausted.

Holding her breath, Sierra slipped away into the darkness. There is no moon tonight, she thought with relief. Maybe, just maybe, she had some chance of escaping. Hills stretched out ahead of her.
The Ozarks?
Surely somewhere up ahead, she’d stumble onto a cabin where someone would send for help, notify the Army, or send out a posse.

She was at least deep in the woods now and, with relief, she ran. She didn’t even want to think about what he might do to her if he caught her. Her breath came faster, made her throat hurt as she hurried. He wasn’t going to catch her; no, she’d hide in the brush if she didn’t find help by daylight. Surely he wouldn’t look for her if he realized she’d been gone for hours. He’d be afraid she might already have notified the authorities, so he’d hurry on, intent on saving his own neck. Of course he might take another hostage somewhere down the line. For a second, she almost felt guilty about that.

Then she shook her head stubbornly and kept running. An overhanging limb slapped her in the face. She rubbed her stinging cheek. No, he wouldn’t take any more hostages because she would reach the Army or the law and he’d be captured, put where he belonged. Just where did he belong? On that prison train, of course, headed to the damp swamps of Florida. Now that she was almost safe, she could almost feel sorry for Cholla and the other Apaches who were being taken away from their beloved Arizona.

Was she mad? Feel sorry for those bloodthirsty savages who had murdered her husband? She must be too exhausted to think straight! Sierra tripped over a tree root and fell, lay there gasping for air. Suppose he was right behind her? In a panic, she stumbled to her feet.

Think, Sierra, she chided herself. Don’t panic, think! You keep crashing through the brush like a terrified deer and he’ll surely hear you.

She forced herself to gather her wits about her, look around in the darkness. The leaves beneath her feet formed a soft cushion. The trees created a shelter above her. Somewhere a night bird called. She was on the edge of the hills. Where could she find help? Suppose by morning she was still wandering around in the woods and Cholla recaptured her? He would be angry, maybe as angry as Robert had been sometimes when he had come home drunk. She shuddered at the thought of Cholla doing to her what her husband had done.

You must be taught submission, dear wife, you must please me.
He would slap her until she tasted her own blood.
A
good wife is supposed to be obedient. Now lie down on your back and please me.

Merciful heavens, suppose the Apache finally decided to use her as Robert had when he’d been angry? The image gave wings to her feet and desperation to her search. Somewhere nearby there had to be people who would help her. Sierra took a deep breath. Was that smoke she smelled? For a moment, she was glad. Smoke meant a stove somewhere. She was saved!

She stopped suddenly. Suppose she had gotten confused and had run in a circle? If she headed toward the scent would she find herself right back by Cholla’s campfire? No. She shook her head, took a deep whiff. This was an unusual smell, a mixture of smoke and something cooking. It was a scent she didn’t quite recognize, but she was sure it wasn’t just a regular campfire.

She started running toward the scent, her heart beating harder. She didn’t even care about the reward. The people she was about to meet could have the money, all she wanted was to get on with her life. Even facing an uncertain future in St. Louis with no money paled beside what she had been through. Maybe she wasn’t such a gutless, conforming little mouse after all.

She topped a rise, and faintly, through the brush, she saw a distant fire and three men seated around it, leaning on their rifles.

Hunters.
Oh, wonderful! She had found a party of armed hunters who would go back with her and capture that Apache. Her captor was about to become a prisoner. Sierra smiled with relief as she ran into the clearing. She could hardly wait to see the look on that big Apache’s face when she came back accompanied by three armed men.

Well into the clearing, she came to an abrupt halt. What was that they were boiling?

The three whirled, bringing rifles to their shoulders even as Sierra stared in slow comprehension at the big boiler, the maze of copper tubing. Oh, Lord! It was too late to run away. Even as she began to back off, she knew she was in worse trouble now than before. She had stumbled onto an illegal still!

Sierra stared at the three rough, unshaven men. They whirled around, rifles at the ready.

“Zeke, who the hell is it?”

“Hell, Willie, it’s a woman!”

“Gal, who are you and what’re you doin’ here?”

Sierra ran her tongue over dry lips as the men advanced on her. Three backwoods men. Zeke’s teeth looked as snaggled as a broken picket fence, Willie’s face was half-hidden by a tangled, dirty beard, and the last man seemed as big as a mountain and twice as dangerous.

“Hello.” She tried to force herself to smile. She wouldn’t be able to outrun them in the dark on terrain familiar to them but not to her. I ... I’m lost and looking for help. There’s a reward–”

“What’d you say about a reward, gal?”

“You hear her, Tiny? She must be goin’ to report us to the law.”

“No, I’m lost and I saw your fire.” Her voice sounded so trembly in her own ears, she wondered if they heard her. “If you’ll call the sheriff–”

Merciful heavens, that was the wrong thing to say. All three faces darkened. “I mean, the law is looking for me.”

The bearded one gestured with his rifle. “And for us, too, gal. Now you come over here by the fire where we can see you, you hear?”

Should she obey? Those guns looked big as cannons. Old-fashioned, cap-and-ball guns, she noted. “If one of you would take me into the nearest town or would carry a message to a telegraph station–”

“You come over here, and well talk about it some more.” The snaggled-toothed one gestured with his rifle again. “Ain’t that right, boys?”

“Yep, Zeke, that’s sure ‘nuff right.” The bearded one combed his filthy tangle with a grimy hand. “Are you comin’, gal, or do we have to come get you?”

Sierra made a split-second decision. The gleam in their eyes warned her that she wouldn’t be any safer with them than she had been with the Apache. And there were three of them. She whirled and took off, running back the way she had come.

“Get her, Zeke!”

“Shall I shoot?”

“Nah, if there’s anyone with her, they’ll hear the shots! Cut her off!”

There was nothing to do but run blindly through the woods, hearing the three fanning out around her. Sierra collided with a tree, fell, got up, and ran on. A bramble bush caught the fabric of her dress, and when she pulled free, part of the bodice tore, too, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was escaping. She was in more trouble now than she had been in dealing with just the Apache.

It seemed a giant fist had grasped her chest and was squeezing it. Winded, exhausted, but too terrified to stop running, she stumbled on–and ran right into the arms of the bearded one.

Sierra screamed long and loud, not caring anymore who heard her. Maybe if the Apache came, there would be a fight and she could get away while the moonshiners dealt with the savage.

“Shut up, gal!” A dirty hand was clamped over her mouth and she was dragged back along the path toward their camp.

“You get her, Willie?”

“Sure did!”

Sierra fought, but she wasn’t strong enough to break free. He smelled of rancid grease and moonshine whiskey. The stench of him sickened her as she struggled, gasping for air.

She tried to get her mouth free so she could explain why she was there, tell them about the reward, but Willie kept his hand clamped over her mouth as he dragged her back into the clearing.

Tiny said, “Bring her over by the fire so’s we can get a look at her.”

Sierra stopped struggling as he dragged her into the light from the blaze, but he didn’t take his dirty hand off her mouth.

“Whooee, look at her!” Zeke whistled through his snaggled teeth.

She looked down, saw that her torn dress revealed one of her breasts. The three stared at her naked flesh.

“Wal, now we got her, what’ll we do?” Willie asked.

The giant, Tiny, grinned, staring down at her. “With tits like those? I got me a good idea about what to do!”

“What if’n there’s someone with her?” Willie asked.

“Like who?” Zeke spat tobacco juice through his gapped teeth. “Revenooers don’t usually send women in to find a still.”

Sierra tried to get her mouth free to tell them she hadn’t been sent by the law, but the dirty hand stayed clamped over her lips.

“She must not have a man with her.”

“Why’d you say that?” Willie scratched himself, holding her with one arm. She shuddered, wondered if he had lice.

“If you was a man with a woman like this ’un, would you let her go prowling around at night or would you have her spread out under you?” Zeke asked.

All three laughed.

“You’re right,” Tiny said. “She must be a runaway.”

“Runnin’ from what?” Willie demanded.

“Who cares? It just means that maybe nobody we know is gonna report her missin’.”

Willie put his grimy face up close to Sierra’s. “Does that mean we kin keep her?”

Zeke shrugged. “Reckon so. I got a woman at home and so do you, but we could use a spare; keep her out here near the still.”

The big one snorted with laughter. “Then we kin share and share alike, right? Startin’ right now!”

Determined she was not going to be raped by these three, Sierra bit down hard on the hand across her mouth.

Willie swore and slapped her. “Damned little bitch! Teeth as sharp as a fox!”

Stunned, Sierra tasted blood, but she tried to take in everything around her as she was dragged over by the fire and tossed down on a pile of leaves.

“Who gets her first?” Tiny said.

“I should because I caught her?” Tangled Beard argued.

“But I saw her first when she came out of the woods,” Zeke said.

“Did not. I heard the footstep and turned around.”

Maybe she could slip away while they argued. Sierra tried to sit up, but immediately, the men grabbed her. “Oh, no you don’t gal.”

Even as she struggled, Tiny and Willie pushed her back down, spread-eagled her.

Zeke said, “Let’s see what we’re gettin’, boys.” He reached down and ripped the top of her bodice away, revealing her breasts in the firelight.

“Let go of me!” She had thought she was afraid when the Indian grabbed her, but that was nothing compared to what she feared from these brutes. Sierra struggled anew, even though she was powerless against the three.

Zeke took an audible breath. “It does things to a man–don’t it?–to see her half-naked, her skin all white as new cream. Hold her, boys!”

“Don’t you touch me! I’ll scream!” Her heart pounded so hard, she was certain they would see it under her breast.

“Gal”–Zeke laughed - “I intend to do more than just touch you.” He unbuttoned his pants.

“Hurry up, Zeke,” Tiny spat tobacco juice to one side, “I want a turn and then we’ll hold her for Willie.”

Sierra struggled, but she realized it was only exciting these three animals. If she screamed, was there anyone to hear her?

But even as she considered the possibility, Zeke ripped away her drawers and her petticoat, stuffed the petticoat in her mouth.

She couldn’t take her terrified gaze off his unbuttoned pants.

“Gal, you like what you see?” He threw back his head and guffawed.

“Git on with it,” Tiny urged. “I’m hurtin’ for my chance at her.”

“No sooner said than done.” Zeke grinned, leaning over her. Sierra began to struggle again as he came closer. Abruptly, she heard a clap of thunder. Zeke’s mouth opened, and he grabbed for his chest. Warm, scarlet blood spurted from between his fingers and splashed across her bare thighs as he toppled sideways.

Tiny and Willie let go of her, cursing, and scrambled for their guns. “Where’d that shot come from? You see anybody?”

In the confusion, Sierra pushed the dead man away, stumbled to her feet, bolted for the edge of the clearing. Willie ran after her, grabbed her. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere, gal. You’re the cause of this! You–” He made a strange, choking noise.

“Willie, what’s the matter?” Tiny demanded. “Willie?”

The bearded man stared down at Sierra, his eyes wide with surprised horror, then he toppled over like a falling tree, a butcher knife in his back. His falling body took Sierra to the ground.

She saw the blur as the bronzed form loomed up out of the shadows. Tiny managed to get off one shot, which went wild as the blur charged him.

Cholla
. Cholla had found her. She must get away from both of them. Even as the two men meshed and fought, Sierra pushed Willie’s body away, tried to stand up. Uncertainly, she watched them battle hand-to-hand like two giant stags or buffalo bulls fighting for a female’s favors. If Tiny won, she’d be raped and possibly killed. Would she be any better off if the savage was the victor?

A rifle
. If she could get one of the guns, she might kill both men and escape. Even as she thought it, Cholla twisted Tiny’s arm and the big man screamed in pain. As Cholla stepped back, Tiny staggered off into the woods, his arm hanging uselessly. Cholla acted as if he might run after the big backwoodsman, instead, he turned back toward her.

A rifle lay on the ground between them. Sierra measured the distance to it with her eyes. Could she reach it?

Cholla was already striding over to pick it up. “He may be back,” the Apache said, “and he’ll bring others.”

At that, her composure broke. It was too much to think about Tiny and his companions coming back to spread-eagle her, paw her, rape her. Sierra tried to hold the tears back, and failed. She ought to run, but she was exhausted, half-naked and she knew she had no chance of escaping from this man.

As if he was prolonging her anxiety over what he was going to do to her, Cholla walked over, pulled the butcher knife out of Willie’s back, and wiped the blade on the man’s filthy beard. Then he stuck the weapon in the waistband of his pants, picked up his rifle, looked at her.

Sierra buried her face in her hands and wept. She was too tired to resist or run away.

“Dark Eyes, are you all right?”

“What do you care?” she raged at him suddenly, finding a defiance in her soul she had not even known was there. “You got me into this spot.”

“No, you got yourself into this spot,” he said calmly, coming over to her. “You should have stayed with me.” He looked at the two dead men. “The dirty bastards. Did they hurt you?”

“No. You interrupted them.”

He reached down and she flinched, too weary to fight him anymore.

His hand cupped her small face. “Sierra, let me help you–”

“Don’t touch me!” She tried to struggle to her feet, and he lifted her, swung her up in his arms. All she could do was weep in humiliating defeat against his shoulder as he held her.

“Sierra, we’ve got to get out of here,” he murmured. “He’ll probably return with some of his friends or maybe even go for the law.”

The law she’d be glad to see, but she didn’t want to end up raped by Tiny and his bunch. She hung onto Cholla’s neck as he bent and gathered up the guns with one hand before swiftly moving through the woods, back to their camp.

When he stood her on her feet by the fire, she realized she was half-naked and smeared with blood. Her bare breasts brushed his rippling chest, and she stepped back. The way he looked at her, his deep breathing, the hard bulge of his pants told her what he must be thinking.

She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at him. “I thought we had to hurry?”

“We do.” He ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip very slowly, as if imagining it on her nipple. “Otherwise ...” His voice broke off and squared his shoulders, turned to kick dirt over the fire. “We’ll go as far as we can in the darkness and just hope Tiny thinks better of returning. Because of the still, he might be afraid to go for the law. We’ll travel as fast and as far as we can before the mule tires out.” He gestured. “Get in the wagon.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking alongside so the mule won’t tire.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and glared at her, began to load up the wagon.

Sierra didn’t want to admit how weary she was, but it was hard to put one foot in front of the other as they left the clearing and headed deeper into the hills. He hadn’t given her time to change, so she stumbled along in the ragged and bloody dress, her breasts half-visible. When she looked up, she caught him staring at her.

Tired as she was, she began to lag behind.

“Sierra, if you think I won’t notice if you fall behind and then try to bolt into the brush, think again.”

She wasn’t about to admit that she was too weary to keep up. She gritted her teeth and walked a little faster. She’d show this savage. It occurred to her that if she really became too tired to keep up, he might cut her throat and leave her on the trail. After all, he’d just killed two people without a moment’s hesitation, why would he hesitate to kill her if she crossed him?

Finally, she just couldn’t take another step, not on sore, blistered feet. She stumbled and fell to the ground.

“Sierra!” He strode over, lifted her up in his arms, looked down into her eyes.

She felt the heat of his skin against her bare breast, felt his heart beating strongly against her nipple.

“Damn you!” he muttered. “Damn you for being who you are!”

She didn’t know what had angered him so, decided it was that she couldn’t keep up. “Let me try again,” she whispered. “I ... maybe I can make it a few more miles.”

“For a girl who tells me she never takes any chances, you’re a stubborn little chit.” He easily carried her toward the wagon, the sinewy muscles under his dark skin rippling. She looked down at her breast pressed against his bare chest and knew she should pull away, but she was too tired. With Tiny and other men possibly coming after them, she was at least safe from the Apache’s advances for a while.

He reached up to settle her in the wagon, then went to walk alongside the mule. Sierra watched his back, the muscles rippling under the thin cotton shirt as he walked. His hips were small, and she wondered suddenly if they were as hard as the muscles of his chest. Then she remembered the heat of him against her breast.

Why am I thinking these thoughts? Because I have been expecting to be raped from the very first?
No it was something more; something about the heat of his skin against hers, the strength of him. She had felt almost safe in his big arms as he had carried her back to camp after rescuing her from the three backwoodsmen.