Hostage Heart (29 page)

Opening the door a crack, Lark saw that no one was in the carpeted hall and slipped out, running silently down the corridor to the back exit. In moments she found herself at the rear of the hotel in a narrow alley between the hotel and a dry goods store that led to the main street.

Her heart beating hard in her throat, she quickly descended the rickety wooden stairs and, pulling the broad-brimmed hat low over her face, edged out of the alley onto the wooden walkway.

She looked both ways before crossing the busy street, dodging a buckboard going one way and a couple of men on horseback coming the other. She kept her head down, the brim of the hat providing protection against prying eyes.

Nervously she approached the swinging walnut doors of the saloon. She had never before entered such an establishment. The stench of cigar smoke and the noise of men talking loudly assaulted her as she carefully pushed one door aside.

The Glass Slipper Saloon took her breath away. Her mouth dropped open. Inside was a huge, intricately carved mahogany bar, the wood highly polished and glowing a deep red in the light of kerosene lamps suspended from the ceiling. Behind the bar hung a painting of a nude woman lying on a sumptuous velvet couch. Lark swallowed hard and eased inside, hugging the wall.

The bar was packed with miners standing elbow to elbow. The sour smell of sweat permeated the stale air, and the haze of smoke was like a thick fog. Lark began to search for Matt among the patrons. The smell of whiskey stung her sensitive nostrils. How could any man enjoy a place like this? It was awful! Then she spied a woman who was scantily dressed in the most shocking costume she’d ever seen. The woman affected an exaggerated walk, swinging her ample hips beneath the thin material of the purple-and-gold robe she wore. Her red hair clashed with her attire, which revealed a generous portion of her ample breasts. Several times she stopped at different tables filled with men, leaned over, and smiled through painted red lips, deliberately flaunting herself.

Lark held her breath, watching the woman go from table to table, teasing, joking and laughing with the men she seemed to know so well. A couple of them patted her well-rounded rear. How could she allow men to touch her like that? Lark wondered, confounded. Tearing her attention from the soiled dove, she craned her neck, trying to pierce the layer of smoke and haze to find Matt.

Suddenly her breath jammed in her throat. Shanks! She automatically pressed her back against the wall, frozen. He was lounging lazily at the other end of the magnificent bar, swilling down a shot of whiskey. Where was Matt? Had he seen Shanks? Anxiously Lark continued her search, praying that Shanks wouldn’t spot her.

Matt must have already left the saloon. Her heart pounding triple-time, Lark sidled toward the swinging doors, hoping to make her exit as quickly and unobtrusively as possible. Ducking beneath the doors, she scrambled out onto the sidewalk, gasping for breath, and moved down the street. Where was Matt? Had he gone to the next livery? Was he checking out another saloon? She hurried down the sidewalk, deciding to search the liveries first.

An hour later, it was dark except for the kerosene lamplight of the saloons and dance halls, and the streets were almost deserted. There were only a few cowboys on foot or horseback heading for their favorite saloons. Gradually Lark’s footsteps slowed. She’d been to almost every livery in town, but Matt was nowhere to be found. Had Ga’n somehow taken him prisoner? Apprehensive, she rubbed her arms and headed toward the last livery on the northern end of town, all her senses keenly alert. Kentucky had to be here since Shanks was in town.

The Jenkins Livery was cloaked in the shadows of the cactus-strewn hill behind it. The wooden walkway stopped at a mining supply store, and Lark leaped to the dry earth, padding quietly toward the building. Listening carefully, she picked up the soft snort of a horse. She rested her palm over the butt of her bowie knife, needing the security it gave her.

A small kerosene lamp hung outside the door beneath the name of the stable. Gently she removed the lamp and entered the straw-littered aisle, holding the light high. She stopped at each occupied stall. A slight breeze stirred the opened doors of the barn, as she crossed the aisle.

“Kentucky!” The cry was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

The red stallion had been lying down but quickly rose to his feet. He whickered and thrust his head and neck over the door, his ears pricked forward. “Oh, Kentucky!” Lark set the lamp aside and lifted the latch. She threw her arms around the stallion’s neck, pressing her face against his long, sleek neck. “I was so worried about you!” she said, her voice muffled.

The stallion nuzzled her shoulder, standing very still while she hugged him. He whickered again and thrust his velvet nose against her cheek.

Lark released her hold and turned, petting his nose. “You rascal, I was worried to death about you. Are you all right?” She began a thorough inspection of him, carefully checking each of his long, slender legs, then patted him affectionately. “You’ve lost some weight, but you’re fine. Oh, I’ve missed you!”

“You were a fool to follow us.”

Gasping, Lark spun around, her eyes widening. Ga’n stood just outside the door, scowling at her. His long face was hard and uncompromising, his eyes black as midnight, his darkly clothed form blending into the gloom. He wore two bandoliers of ammunition across his chest.

“Ga’n!” Lark pressed her back against the stallion. Kentucky snorted, his ears flicking restively.

“Get out of here, Lark Who Sings. Your life is worthless if that
pindah
Shanks returns before you can escape.”

Gathering her wits, Lark eased away from the stallion. “You broke your word to me!” she said fiercely.

He scowled. “How? I’ve sworn never to harm you.”

“You tried to kidnap me! And now you’ve stolen my horse!”

Ga’n shrugged, his eyes warming with amusement. “Have I
harmed
you?”

Lark caught the emphasis. A growl rose in her throat. “I see! Your oath was to cause me no bodily harm, is that it? Kidnapping and horse stealing do not violate your pledge!”

“Now you understand. That is the promise I gave to Voice of Thunder. And I will carry out that sacred trust until my last breath.”

“Stealing other people’s property isn’t right, Ga’n,” Lark sputtered furiously.

“I stole fire spirits from your father and he didn’t mind.” The hard line of his mouth softened just enough to show a hint of a smile. “As I recall, you did my bidding and got the bottles for me.”

Lark marched out to the center of the aisle. “I was only five years old then. And I felt sorry for you because you were in such pain from your wound. How could I know it was wrong to take my father’s whiskey and give it to you?”

Ga’n relaxed slightly, his eyes glittering. “That is why I swore allegiance to you, Lark Who Sings. You trusted without question. You felt my pain and tended me, as did your fine mother. Remember how you sang to me? Songs your mother taught you that would make me heal faster.”

She swallowed some of her anger. “Yes, I remember.”

“I’ve never forgotten your kindness. You could have gone out and played with the other children, but you didn’t. You stayed with me.”

Scowling, Lark muttered, “Because I knew you were lonely and grieving for the loss of your family.”

“The fire spirits kept away their ghosts,” he said sadly, scowling once again. “The
pindahs
are good for one thing only—their bottled fire spirits. When I drink them, no memories can haunt me.”

“Ga’n,” Lark pleaded softly, “you’ve killed so many innocent people.”

His eyes flashed with instant hatred.
“Pindahs
pay me green skins so that I can drink and forget. Do I care if they direct me to scalp a greaser or another
pindah?
It makes no difference to me. Even if they send me to raid my own kind, it does not bother me. Not after the women of Goyathlay’s rancheria cold-bloodedly killed my sister.” He snorted and made a violent gesture. “The
pindah
who killed my war partner will be next!”

Lark stared up into Ga’n’s tense, sweaty features. “You murdered that man’s family!”

“I was paid to do it.”

Breathing hard, Lark tried to keep her voice steady. “My father always said one reaped what one sowed, Ga’n. Matt Kincaid has pledged the rest of his life to finding and killing you.”

A twisted smile crossed the Apache’s face. “Let him try. He means nothing to me. He’s only one more
pindah
.”

Lark could no longer control her fury. “I saved his life after you almost killed him, Ga’n. That’s right, he was at my ranch.”

With a curse, Ga’n stalked over to her. “You lied to me, then!”

“You stole my horse, and I didn’t lie to you. I found him after you’d left. Even if he had been there, I wouldn’t have let you finish him off—
pindah
or not!”

Ga’n balled his right fist slowly into a knot. “So you’ve become a
pindah?
” he spat at her.

Lark held her ground. “I’ve always carried the blood of Apache and
pindah
in me, Ga’n. I love Matt Kincaid! And I’ll do anything to keep him alive.” She lifted her chin, holding his glare, her knees trembling with fear. Ga’n had changed so much from the man she remembered of long ago. “He will be my husband one day, Ga’n. I’ve waited all my life for the warrior who could hold my heart.”

With a snort, Ga’n turned and paced the aisle in front of her. “Your mother married a
pindah
. Why shouldn’t you?”

“Would you deny me the man I love?” she whispered harshly, halting Ga’n’s pacing. “You’ve sworn never to hurt me, Ga’n. Matt killed Alchise in self-defense when you tried to kidnap me. If you try to avenge his death by taking Matt from me, you will kill me, too.”

“No!” he roared, whirling around and grabbing her shoulders.

His fingers sunk deeply into her flesh and he shook her hard. “You dare to plead for his life?” he rasped, inches from her face.

His breath was hot against her, but Lark held his burning gaze. Her fear turned to rage, and then became her strength. “Yes, I dare! My father saved your life. Now you can save the life of someone I love.” She felt his grip easing and her voice dropped into an anguished tone. “Is there no honor left in you, Ga’n? Will you destroy my future as well as your own? Will you murder me as you have so many others? The path of blood must haunt you. Can you not find it within you to leave Matt alive?”

Ga’n was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling sharply. Abruptly he released Lark. “I have
no
honor left in me!”

“Yes, you do,” she insisted. “I know you do, Ga’n.”

“No!” he said harshly. “Nothing bothers me anymore! I feel nothing!”

Lark reached out and gently touched his tense arm. “You feel,” she whispered in an aching voice. “I saw your eyes change and your voice grow strong with emotion earlier when we talked of your stay at our ranch so long ago.”

With a curse, he stepped back, as if scalded by Lark’s hand. “You are blinded by love of that
pindah!
You saw nothing in my eyes or voice, Lark Who Sings. Nothing!”

She stood trembling before the Apache warrior. Ga’n was suffering greatly from his terrifying past, but she could not seem to help him. Woodenly she picked up the stallion’s lead rope.

“This is
my
horse, Ga’n. And I intend to return him to the ranch.”

“I will not harm you, but I will not let you take the horse either.”

Lark tensed at the guttural warning in Ga’n’s voice. She had to take the stallion out of the livery now, or Matt might find them. “I’m leaving,” she said, and went back into the stall, placing the lead on the horse.

“No!” Ga’n’s mouth thinned as he jerked open the stall door. “Get out! You fool, if Shanks finds you here, he’ll gladly take your life.”

Lark kept several feet between them, her hand resting tensely on her knife. “I am Apache. I will do whatever is necessary to take what belongs to me.”

At that instant, Lark saw the barn door suddenly swing open. Shanks! His gun was drawn, his eyes narrowed as he leaped inside. Before she could scream, Ga’n had heard the intruder and turned, stepping directly into the path of the aimed gun.

Shanks squeezed the trigger, and the gun roared. He saw a man drop. And the other? Shanks dived for the floor and rolled behind another stall door. “Whoever’s in there, drop yore gun and move out into the aisle,” he shouted.

Lark gave a small cry as the stall door swung wide, leaving her standing in full view for Shanks to see. “D-don’t shoot! I’m not armed!” she pleaded.

Cursing, Shanks was on his feet in an instant. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Then who was the
hombre
with Lark? Kincaid, maybe? Cocking the trigger on the Colt, he yelled, “Who else is with ya? Git out of there, Lark!”

She shuddered, watching as blood spread across Ga’n’s chest. “N-no.”

“Come out with yore hands up. Now!”

She walked out into the middle of the aisle, her hands raised. Shanks melted out of the dark shadows of the barn. “You killed Ga’n,” she cried.

“What?” He stepped cautiously forward. First he checked the stud’s stall, then he squinted over to where Ga’n lay unmoving. Well, one Injun was either dead or close to it, that’s all. Cameron wouldn’t be very upset. “Looks like I’ll deliver that stud to McCray by myself.” He leaned down. The Apache’s eyes were closed, and Shanks couldn’t detect any breath coming out of him. He stood and turned to Lark. “My only problem now is you,” he said. “If I let ya go, you’ll go to the law.” A slow smile spread across his glistening features. “Yore comin’ with me, breed. I’ll truss ya up and ya can ride with me. Once we get out of town, I’ll take my pleasure with ya and then kill ya. I’ll dump ya somewhere on the desert. Once they find ya, there won’t be no evidence of who killed ya.” He grinned wider, watching her blanch. “Maybe I’ll scalp ya, just to make it look like yore own kind did it to ya.” He snickered, pleased with the plan.

Shanks glanced back at the Apache. There was a bullet hole through his upper chest. “I didn’t like the red-skinned bastard anyway,” he said, walking toward Lark.