Only in My Arms (31 page)

Compassion touched Mary's eyes and she ignored the press of his fingers over hers. "The Apache?"

"Yes, Apache. But not what you think. Not the Chiricahua. A band of the Southern Tonto attacked the train before we reached Phoenix. My mother and Molly were killed outright, but they used hot pitch on my father to torture him, stripping his skin away in front of me."

Mary blanched. She could not close her eyes for fear the vision would become all too clear. Instead she concentrated on Ryder's face and began to understand what he masked with his expression of determined calm. How could she say she did not want to hear more when he had lived through it?

"I was abducted by the group along with two other boys a little older than me. One of them, Henry Parker, died shortly afterward when he couldn't keep up with the band. The Tonto killed him rather than abandon him to the elements." When he heard Mary suck in her breath, he added, "To them it was a kindness."

It was on the tip of her tongue to protest that Henry had been only a child, but who knew that better than Ryder, by his own account an even younger child?

"I spent less than a week at the camp before it was raided by a band of Chiricahua. I saw my chance to escape and I took it. I made certain the Chiricahua got the horses and the other small treasures the Tonto had taken from the wagon train, and I ran after them as they left camp. They ignored me at first, but I wouldn't turn back so they couldn't."

"They admired your courage."

Ryder shook his head. "I wasn't courageous. I was running from the people who had murdered my mother and sister and had tortured my father. Hatred and fear kept me running after the Chiricahua raiders, and when that wasn't enough revenge kept me going."

"It always takes courage to leave," Mary said gently. "Some people can't face the fear of the unknown; yet it's exactly what you did. No wonder the Chiricahua wanted you." Her hand slipped from his and she stroked his forearm. "What happened to the other boy?"

"Tommy O'Neil. I never saw him again. I assume he was assimilated into the tribe in the same manner I was taken into the Chiricahua fold."

"It's hard to know who adopted whom."

Ryder's small smile reflected a more pleasant memory. "Naiche and I have often had the same discussion."

An opening in Mary's blanket appeared as she adjusted her position. She didn't seem to notice the split along her thigh, but Ryder did. His eyes skimmed the length of her white leg from hip to ankle. She had the softest skin just behind her knee. He wondered what she would do if he turned her over and kissed her there, if he let his mouth trail up the back of her thigh, if he filled his palms with her lovely little bottom.

"How did you get to West Point?" she asked. "Or was that your uncle's doing?" Mary imagined Senator Wilson Stillwell fit into the equation in some fashion. "He must be your mother's brother. Did he—"

Ryder shut her mouth with a kiss. His lips covered hers from corner to corner, teasing a response from her.

Mary was breathless when he drew back, her eyes radiant. "I won't always let you get away with that."

"But for now?" He was hopeful.

"For now it was an inspired idea."

As Ryder bent over her again he fleetingly wondered what had ever called Mary to the Church. Then her arms came around him and she turned into him, opening her chrysalis and enfolding him in her butterfly wings.

There was less time for exploring now. They both knew what they wanted. Mary's skin was sensitive to the slightest brush of his fingers. Her nipples stood erect when his mouth only hovered above her breasts. When he kissed the backs of her knees she thought she would shatter.

Her touch was no less powerful on him. Ryder felt her mouth draw on the skin of his shoulder, and then she nipped it with her teeth. She didn't merely mirror the things that had been done to her, she found her own ways to please him. She liked to run her hand along his narrow hip, liked the heat of his skin beneath her palm and the way he drew in his breath when she strayed close to his arousal.

Ryder was more conscious of Mary's tenderness than she was. Desire made her insistent, and when he would have been gentle, she was greedy. She helped him this time, guiding his entry and lifting her hips to accommodate his thrust.

She whispered his name and he could not refuse her.

As Mary abandoned herself to pleasure, Ryder let her set the pace. He watched her savor each subtle sensation, closing her eyes and sipping the air delicately as if too much would overwhelm her. Her body was warm and pliant, a supple wand beneath him.

They moved as one, joined, hands clasped. His dark hair slipped forward and shielded his face from the light. His profile was dark, predatory, and yet his touch was adoring. He held himself back as she rode the crest of her climax alone and then he came into her, filling her deeply with his pleasure and his seed.

Ryder lay back, replete. It was Mary who turned toward him. She stretched out, her bent knee resting against his thigh, her arm curved under her for support. The air in the chamber never changed from its standard seventy degrees, but it felt cooler now on their sweat-slick bodies. Mary drew up a single blanket to cover them both.

"Are you going to sleep?" she asked, watching him close his eyes.

"Mm."

"I thought the Apache were admired for their stamina."

Ryder raised one brow.

"I heard stories at Fort Union," she told him. "About the scouts."

He still didn't look at her. "Is that right?" he asked dryly.

Mary ran her knuckle along Ryder's jawline. There was a hint of stubble there. In the morning he would have to set out his razor and shaving cup, a reminder that he was not a smooth-faced Apache at all but a professor's son from Ohio. "They say a warrior can cover fifty miles in a single day and is so swift he can outrun a horse. A man like that could probably stay awake a little longer."

Now one of Ryder's eyes opened and he gave her a wary look. "There's stamina and then there's stamina." He closed his eye and settled back, his features relaxing as though the conversation had ended.

Mary opened her mouth to say something and then thought better of it. She watched him a while longer, studying his face in unguarded repose. Finally she placed her head in the crook of his shoulder and an arm across his chest. She slept deeply.

* * *

Leaving his drink unattended on the mantel, Jay Mac paced the floor in front of the fireplace. Low flames made logs crackle there, keeping the chilly night air at bay. His hands were thrust in the pockets of his jacket, and his head was bent. "I can't believe there's not some sign of them."

Watching him, Rennie placed a hand over her husband's forearm. It was both a supportive and cautionary gesture. Jay Mac had been saying words to the same effect for over an hour, as if changing the inflection or rearranging the sentence would bring about the reply he wanted. Her father did not mean to be accusing, but Rennie could understand that, after so many repetitions, Jarret might begin to hear it that way. Her husband had been a skilled bounty hunter, tracking down criminals in the Colorado Rockies and east of the Mississippi. He was good at what he did, but it had been eight years since he had earned his living that way. Ryder McKay was challenging Jarret's skills in a manner no wanted man had. No one Jarret had ever hunted understood so well how to hide a trail or mislead the trackers. The trail had been cold more than two weeks, with no hint that it might turn hot again. To make things even more difficult, the territory was unfamiliar to Jarret. He understood the landscape of the Rockies. The mountains and mesas of southeastern Arizona could have easily been the hills and valleys of the moon.

"By all reports, including my own, he's very good at what he does," Jarret said. "Ryder McKay is not a regular Army scout. He's been used for years for special, sensitive assignments. The other scouts say that if he doesn't want to be found, he won't be, and their words are being borne out. This is coming from men who take great pride in being able to track anyone or anything." He added with a touch of sarcasm, "They weren't recruited by the Army because they're stupid."

Moira set her teacup on the table. Her voice, like everyone else's, was hushed. Fort Union's quarters were not so private as they appeared. Voices raised in arguments or excitement could be overheard in the corridor beyond or in the adjoining rooms. Jay Mac and Moira had not reported their abduction to the Army search party that found them. They'd told Lieutenant Davis Rivers and, later, General Gardner that they had wandered away from the main line in search of a better route through the foothills and had lost their way. They had been chastised for their foolishness, and Jay Mac had had to bear it in silence, making his stiff apologies sound sincere.

"What about that one scout... that Tonto person?" Moira asked Jarret. "I've heard there's no love lost between him and Mr. McKay."

"You mean Rosario," Rennie said. "Yes, I've heard the same thing. I really don't understand it, but it seems the Apache are not so easily categorized as one nation. The Tonto are part of the Western Apache, and they've no particular liking for the Chiricahua." She looked to her father. "Perhaps if you were to hire him, offer a reward above what you've already promised for Mary's return, he would cover the ground again."

Jay Mac paused in his pacing as he considered Rennie's suggestion. "General Gardner just might release him to me," he said, thinking aloud. He glanced at Jarret. "I'd like it better if you accompanied him. Mary would be less frightened if you were there when she's found."

"You're putting a lot of faith in Rosario," Jarret said. "I don't particularly trust him. I think his interest lies more in bringing down Ryder McKay than in returning Mary safely. Remember, most of the people here believe Mary helped McKay escape. For that alone, Rosario may not care what happens to her."

Rennie took up her sister's cause. "Mary had nothing to do with the escape."

"I didn't say she did," Jarret responded. "Only that—"

Moira's hands curved around her teacup. She looked across the table at Rennie and Jarret, and then stole a glance at her husband. She could tell he was thinking the same as she. "Don't be too quick to defend your sister," she said quietly. The words were even more painful to say aloud than they had been to think. "You didn't see her with him today."

"That ridiculous ceremony," Jay Mac muttered.

Moira ignored her husband's comment. "I don't think she would have returned with us if she had been given the chance."

Rennie's eyes flew to her father's. He was not objecting to what Moira was saying. That alone was telling. "You mean she wanted to stay with him? How can that be?"

"Oh, she didn't want to be parted from us," Moira said. "At least not so soon. It was clear that she was surprised to see us and that being separated was an agony for her, but your father and I had opportunity to see her before she saw us." Moira's green eyes were awash with tears. She steadied herself to go on. "And she was... radiant."

Jay Mac's eyes closed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. In his mind's eye he could see his Mary Francis clearly, shimmering in her beaded dress, the colors of the sunset glancing off her hair. Ryder had not captured her hand at that point. She had held his of her own accord.

"Papa?" Rennie asked. "Is this right? Do you think Mary's with him because she wants to be?"

Jay Mac came to stand behind Moira. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "I don't know anymore," he said heavily. "It makes it all the more imperative that we find her first. General Gardner's reduced the size of the search parties, but he hasn't given up. Sooner or later McKay's luck will run out. I think one of us should be there when that happens."

In unison Jay Mac, Moira, and Rennie looked to Jarret Sullivan.

* * *

Mary eased herself into the icy spring. The cold raised goose flesh on her arms, and she sucked in her breath. There was really never any getting used to it. She quickly soaped her hair, working up a lather, then rinsed. Droplets of water were flung in an arc around her as she shook her head.

"You're like a puppy."

Mary's head snapped up and her eyes opened. Ryder was looming above her on the stone edge of the spring. He was perfectly, splendidly naked. The smile on his face was a trifle indulgent and a lot more wicked.

"I had a puppy once, you know." He hunkered on the lip of the well. "We left Copper behind in Cincinnati."

"Copper?" she asked on a thread of sound. Really, that wicked smile did strange things to her stomach. "An Irish Setter?"

"A bulldog," he said matter-of-factly. "Molly named him." He was grinning openly now, laughing at her. He raised his hands, half in surrender, half for protection as Mary showered him with water. "I didn't say you reminded me of
that
puppy!"

Mary wasn't placated. She scooped another handful of water into her cupped hands and let it fly.

There was nothing for it but that Ryder should join her in the spring. He jumped in, sending a geyser of water into the air. When he surfaced, Mary was pressed to one edge of the spring hiding her face behind her hands and laughing helplessly. Pinning her to the edge, Ryder placed an arm on either side of her. He bent his head so his forehead touched hers and growled lowly at the back of his throat.