Authors: Madeline Baker
Outside, the rain fell in icy sheets. Thunder rolled across
the darkened skies; lightning split the angry clouds. A gust of wind rattled
the door of the cabin and howled above the roar of the rain.
We’re all alone in the world,
Lacey mused.
Just me
and Matt and the storm
.
She was ready for him when he rose over her, ready to give
him whatever he asked of her if only he would satisfy the fierce desire that
plagued her. She knew a brief moment of fear when he parted her thighs. There
could be no going back now, she thought, and experienced an unexpected wave of
panic.
Matt sensed the change in her, saw the sudden fright in her
eyes. He should stop then and there, he knew. She was a virgin, an innocent
child, and he had no right to touch her. But he needed her. Lord, how he needed
her. And so, knowing it was wrong, he lowered his head and kissed her
fervently, his lips tender yet insistent, and as she kissed him back, he drove
into her, sighing with pleasure as her womanly warmth closed around him.
Lacey hardly noticed the brief stab of pain as he possessed
her. She was lost in the wonder of his kisses, the magic of his touch.
She whispered his name as his life surged within her,
filling her with delicious warmth and a feeling of endless peace…
Later, she was ashamed. She had given herself to a man who
was not her husband, a man who had never even said he loved her. A man who was
an escaped felon. How would she ever face her father again? How would she live
with the shame of what she had done? She had sold her virtue for a few moments
of pleasure in the arms of a stranger.
She didn’t move or say a word, but Matt felt her drawing
away from him. “What’s the matter, Lacey?” he asked, frowning. “Did I hurt
you?”
Wordlessly, she shook her head. He
had
hurt her, she
thought bitterly, but not in the way he meant.
“Lacey…” He reached out a hand to comfort her, and she
batted it away.
“Leave me alone.”
“Lacey, what is it?”
“Just leave me alone!” she repeated vehemently, and burst
into tears, sobbing as though her heart would break.
In spite of her plea to be left alone, Matt gathered Lacey
in his arms and held her tight. For a moment she struggled against him; then,
with a sigh that seemed to come from deep inside of her, she went limp in his
arms.
“Lacey, what’s wrong?” Matt asked tenderly. “You can tell
me.”
“I’m so ashamed.” The words were barely audible, but they
were filled with guilt and remorse.
Matt patted Lacey’s back as one might comfort a hurt child,
his mind and heart accusing him of being the lowest form of scum. Of course she
was ashamed. She was a nice girl, not some cheap tramp. He should never have
touched her. She was young and innocent, unaware of what she was getting into,
easily carried away by the newness of passion, the wonder of discovery. He had
known she would regret the deed as soon as the magic dissolved and reality set
in.
“Lacey,” he said slowly. “I didn’t mean to shame you. I
never meant that.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said in a small voice. And that
was the worst part of it, she thought miserably. It wasn’t his fault. The blame
was entirely hers.
“I could have said no,” Matt replied with a wry grin.
“I practically raped you,” Lacey blurted, and then flushed
crimson from head to heel.
Matt tried not to laugh, but the idea of Lacey taking
advantage of him was so ludicrous he couldn’t help himself.
With a wordless cry, Lacey wriggled out of his arms, more
humiliated than she had ever been. For weeks, she had worried that Matt might
abuse her, and when it finally happened, it was all her fault. She had behaved
like a shameless hussy, and now he had the nerve to laugh at her.
“Lacey, I’m sorry,” Matt apologized. “I wasn’t laughing at
you, honest. You must know I wanted you, too, that nothing would have ever
happened between us otherwise.”
Lacey glared at him, her brown eyes sparkling with tears.
“You’re a beautiful young woman,” Matt said sincerely. “It’s
been hell, trying to keep my hands off you. If anyone’s at fault, it’s me.”
“Do you really think I’m beautiful?”
“Very beautiful,” he said huskily. “And very desirable.”
His words warmed her right down to her toes, taking some of
the sting from her shame.
Matt patted the floor beside him. “Come here.”
Lacey’s heart fluttered wildly as she returned to his side.
Sinking down beside him, she rested her head against his shoulder.
Matt let out a long breath. The tears shining in Lacey’s
eyes pricked his conscious. He had never deflowered a virgin before and he felt
guilty as hell.
“Listen, Lacey, I…as soon as we reach a town, we’ll get
married.” The words were out before he quite realized what he’d said.
Lacey looked at him, blinking in disbelief. “We will?”
“I promise.”
“Do you
want
to get married?”
Her question caught him off guard. In truth, he didn’t want
to get married. His only experience with marriage had been in watching his
father and Leticia, and he had seen nothing in their relationship to recommend
it. Saul Drago had been a terrible husband and a failure as a father. Leticia
had performed the duties of a wife and mother, but she had never expressed joy
or happiness in either role. Matt had never witnessed a happy marriage, and
after his fiasco with Claire Duprey, he had decided he would never marry at all.
But now, looking down into Lacey Montana’s tear-stained
face, remembering how sweet she had been, the idea of marriage didn’t seem so
distasteful.
“Yes,” he said, surprising them both. “I want to get
married.”
Lacey’s smile was radiant. “I love you, Matt,” she murmured
shyly, and wondered when it had happened. She had tried not to like him,
frequently reminding herself that he was a convict, but she had nursed him and
lived with him, and somehow, in spite of herself, she had grown to love him.
“Lacey.” He drew her close, his heart swelling with an
emotion he had never felt for anyone, not even Claire. Perhaps it was love, he
mused, perhaps not. But whatever it was, he planned to hang onto it.
The rain stopped that afternoon. Reluctantly, they left the shack.
Lacey looked back once, wanting to memorize every line of the drab little cabin
where Matt had shown her what it was like to be a woman. She smiled faintly as
she gazed at the sagging roof and crooked door, the rough plank walls. Somehow
the place didn’t look as ugly as before.
“Where are we going?” Lacey asked as they rode away from the
shack. Her stomach rumbled hungrily. They’d had little to eat in the cabin due
to a lack of dry wood for a fire.
“Camp Verde’s not far from here,” Matt replied, thinking out
loud. “We can pick up some supplies there. Could be they’ll have news of the
Apache.”
Lacey nodded. She had almost forgotten about her father,
lost as she was in the glow of Matt’s lovemaking, but now she was suddenly more
worried about him than ever. She had heard dreadful stories of men who had been
tortured and abused by the Indians, tales of such cruelty and savagery that she
had refused to believe they were true. Surely even a people as godless and
fearless as the Apache were rumored to be could not be as barbaric as she had
been told.
With a shake of her head, she put such thoughts from her. It
was too beautiful a day to contemplate cruelty and ugliness. Better to assume
that her father was alive and well until she knew otherwise.
She gigged her horse up beside Matt and smiled prettily when
he glanced over at her. The mere touch of his eyes on her face made her heart
sing, and Lacey thought that, except for not knowing where her father was, she
had never been happier in her life. The sky was a warm, vibrant blue, the
distant trees were emerald green and fresh-washed from the rain, the sun
overhead was the color of butter. Cinder’s steps were lively, and Lacey had to
hold the mare on a tight rein to keep her at a walk. Oh, but it was good to be
alive!
The day flew by, and now, lying snug in her blankets beside
their banked campfire, Lacey could not sleep. Her emotions were in turmoil and
she tossed and turned restlessly. All she could think of was Matt and how much
she yearned to be in his arms again. Her whole body longed for his touch, her
lips ached for his kiss, yet she could not bring herself to call him even
though she could see him sitting cross-legged beside the fire. He was staring
out across the plains, a cigarette clamped between his teeth, a brooding
expression on his face. His profile stood out in vivid detail, bronzed by the
embers of the fire, and she thought again how handsome he was. Desire was a new
emotion, one she did not quite know how to handle. She knew it was wrong of her
to want Matt, knew she should not allow him to make love to her again until
after they were legally wed. But she wanted him so much, and she wanted him
now. If only she had the nerve to call him; but then, what could she possibly
say?
Lacey let out a sigh of frustration. She didn’t know much
about men. Perhaps Matt didn’t want her again so soon. Better to say nothing
than ask for his loving and be refused.
Matt Drago took a deep drag on his cigarette, then exhaled a
cloud of blue-gray smoke. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lacey
tossing restlessly in her blankets. He was restless, too, he mused, restless
and wanting. He had thought that once he had possessed Lacey, the desire that
had plagued him would be satisfied; instead, it had only made it worse. All
day, he had thought of little else. Several times he had been tempted to drag
her off her horse and tumble her in the grass, but he knew she would be shocked
and repulsed by anything so crude. Shocked and ashamed. Hadn’t she made it
perfectly clear last night that she had been horrified by what they had done?
Damn! If only he dared take her in his arms and make love to
her again. If only she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Rising, he walked
around their camp, his eyes constantly straying toward Lacey’s inert form. He
was about to head for his own blankets when her gaze met his. For a long
moment, their eyes met and held across the dying embers of the fire, and Matt
felt all his senses come screaming to life as the current between them crackled
like lightning in a summer storm.
As though hypnotized, he walked toward her, drawn by the
veiled hunger in her luminous brown eyes. Kneeling, he threw back the blankets
and drew Lacey into his arms. She came without protest, her head falling back
over his arm, her lips slightly parted, her eyes naked with desire.
And still he hesitated, not wanting to bruise her tender
feelings toward him.
“Lacey?” The wanting, the hunger he felt for her, was there
in his voice.
She nodded, hoping Matt would know what she wanted even
though she could not say the words.
“Oh, Lacey,” he breathed, and his mouth slanted over hers.
He kissed her with all the longing in his heart, his blood turning to fire as
she returned his kiss with a fervor that surprised and pleased him.
“Am I awful, Matt?” she whispered tremulously. “Awful to
want you so?”
“No.”
“I can’t help the way I feel. I…” She turned away, unable to
tell him how her body cried out for his touch.
“I can wait, Lacey,” Matt said in a ragged voice. “We’ll be
at Verde in a couple of days. The chaplain can marry us then.” He let out a
shaky breath. “I can wait,” he repeated wryly. “It won’t be easy, but I can
wait.”
“I don’t want to wait, Matt,” she admitted, her words softer
than the gentle breeze soughing through the trees.
“I love you, Lacey,” Matt murmured hoarsely. “Lord, but I
love you.”
And as he kissed her once more, she had no reason to doubt
it.
Chapter Six
They reached Camp Verde on a dismal Saturday afternoon. The
post, established in 1864, was located on the west bank of the Rio Verde some
thirty-five miles east of Prescott, Arizona. The camp had been built to provide
protection for the Prescott mining district.
On this day, a handful of new recruits were drilling on the
parade ground while, some distance away, a Negro sergeant was riding a wildly
bucking mustang in a small corral. The rider was being cheered on by a
half-dozen soldiers in sweat-stained Army blue.
A tall, lanky man wearing the gold bars of a lieutenant
approached Matt and Lacey as they dismounted.
“May I help you?” the soldier asked.
He eyed Matt somewhat warily, Lacey thought, and wondered
why.
“We’re looking for a place to spend the night,” Matt
replied, slapping the dust from his hat. He smiled fondly at Lacey. “And we’re
looking for a preacher.”
Lieutenant Wilson Charles McKay’s glance shifted from Matt
to Lacey, and he felt his breath catch in his throat as he took a good look at
the young woman standing beside the stranger. She was a decidedly pretty woman,
McKay realized, and he had not seen a pretty woman in a long time. Not a decent
one, anyway.
The lieutenant’s gaze moved back to Matt. The man was
dangerous, McKay thought. There was a hint of wildness in the deep blue eyes, a
wariness in his stance that belied his easy manner.
“I expect the post chaplain will be able to oblige you,” the
lieutenant said. “You’ll have to check with Captain Slater about spending the
night.” McKay gestured toward a building on his left. “The captain’s office is
in there, first door on the left. You can’t miss it.” Saluting, the lieutenant
pivoted on his heel and walked away.
Taking Lacey by the hand, Matt set out for the captain’s
office.
Captain Tom Slater was sitting at his desk, idly thumbing
through a worn copy of the
Police Gazette
. It was a lazy kind of day, he
mused, and wondered absently what Margaret had prepared for dinner, and if
Sergeant Carlisle had returned from Prescott. He grinned as a rousing cheer
went up from the corral, signaling that Sergeant Leroy had topped another
broomtail.
Slater laid the magazine aside as a young man and woman
entered his office.
“Can I help you?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter
in his chair. His deep-set gray eyes took in every detail of the couple
standing before him. The man was tall and dark. The fact that he was part
Indian did not go unnoticed by the captain, who had spent fifteen years in
Apache country. The girl was fair and easy on the eyes. Both looked as though
they’d been traveling a hard road for a long time.
A muscle twitched in Matt’s jaw as he met the officer’s
inquiring gaze. “We need a place to spend the night.”
Slater’s eyes narrowed. There was no ring on the girl’s
hand. “You married?”
“Not yet,” Matt replied easily. “We were hoping the post
chaplain could help us out.”
Slater nodded thoughtfully, wondering if the girl had run
away from home to marry a man her parents didn’t approve of. And with good
reason. Slater had come to respect the Apache, but he didn’t trust half-breeds,
and he hated to see a girl as pretty and young as this one get mixed up with a
man who would only cause her unhappiness. But it wasn’t his problem.
The captain smiled. “Good excuse for a party,” he said
congenially. “I don’t believe I caught your name?”
“Dunbar,” Matt said, extending his hand. “Matthew Dunbar.
And this is Lacey Montana.”
Slater shook Matt’s hand, but his eyes were on Lacey. He had
not missed the look of confusion on her face when Dunbar introduced himself.
“I imagine you’d like to freshen up, Miss Montana,” the
captain remarked. “Why don’t you go along to my quarters? Last house past the
infirmary. You can’t miss it. It’s the only house with flowers in the yard. My
missus would be pleased to have your company.”
Lacey glanced at Matt, her expression apprehensive.
“Go along, Lacey,” Matt said, giving her a reassuring smile.
“I’ll be along soon.”
“All right. Thank you, Captain,” Lacey said politely. She
gave Matt’s hand a squeeze and left the room.
Outside, she walked slowly toward the captain’s house,
feeling rather like a lost lamb as she made her way down the dusty road.
Several men turned to stare at her as she passed by. One whistled under his
breath. Another saluted her. They all smiled.
The last house was small, white, and bordered with a variety
of carefully tended flowers and shrubs. Somewhat hesitantly, Lacey approached
the house and knocked on the door. Whatever was she going to say?
Lacey’s knock was answered by a slim woman in her
mid-forties. She had dark blonde hair worn in a tight knot at the nape of her
neck, clear blue eyes, and skin that was tanned a deep brown from years of
living under the Arizona sun.
“Yes?” the woman said in a well-modulated voice. “Can I help
you?”
“I… Captain Slater said I should come here to freshen up.”
Margaret Slater nodded as though strangers appeared at her
door every day. “Of course, my dear. Won’t you come in?” She stepped back so
Lacey could enter the house. “I’m Margaret Slater,” she said, holding out a
well-manicured hand.
“Lacey Montana,” Lacey replied, taking the woman’s hand.
“Well, from the look of you, I’d say you’d like to bathe
first and get acquainted later,” Margaret Slater remarked with an amiable
smile. “As it happens, I was just warming some water for myself.”
“I can wait,” Lacey said quickly.
“No need. The tub’s in the kitchen, and the water should be
hot by now.”
“No, really,” Lacey said. “I don’t want to put you out.”
Margaret Slater laughed softly. “No offense, child,” she
said kindly, “but I think you need a bath worse than I do.”
Lacey laughed self-consciously. She did need a bath, and, in
truth, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more.
“The kitchen is that way,” Margaret Slater said, pointing
toward a closed door. “Towels are on the table. You go on in and have a nice
soak. I have a robe that should fit you when you’re done if you’d like to wash out
your clothes as well.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Slater. That’s very kind.”
The water was indeed hot, and Lacey poured it carefully into
the zinc tub, undressed, and stepped in. The hot water felt wonderful, and she
sank down in the tub and closed her eyes, letting the heat penetrate her body,
soothing saddle-weary muscles. After several minutes, she began to wash, first
herself, then her hair, and then her dusty trail garb.
A half-hour later she was seated in the Slaters’ parlor,
wrapped in a blue terrycloth robe, sipping tea from a delicate china cup.
“I can’t imagine what could be keeping Matt,” Lacey said.
Margaret Slater laughed softly. “I imagine Tom is pumping
him for information,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “Tom likes to
know everything that’s going on in his territory. Have you come far?”
“Yes.”
“What brings you to Camp Verde? We don’t get many visitors.”
“We’re looking for a preacher,” Lacey answered, blushing
prettily.
“A wedding!” Margaret said in delight. “How splendid.”
Lacey nodded, liking the woman more and more.
“Would you do me a favor?” Margaret asked, leaning forward.
“Would you wear my wedding dress?”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Lacey protested, overwhelmed by the offer.
“It’s a beautiful gown, all lace and antique satin. I had
hoped my own daughter might wear it someday, but Tom and I never had any
children.”
“I’d be proud to wear it,” Lacey said, touched by the older
woman’s generosity. “Thank you.”
“Good. When’s the wedding to take place?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Would this evening be too soon? It’s been so long since we
had a party.”
“I’ll have to ask Matt,” Lacey said uncertainly.
“Of course. Oh, here they come now.”
The Slaters made Matt and Lacey feel very much at home.
Margaret Slater served them a dinner fit for a king, and the four of them
chatted like old friends. Matt agreed that the wedding should take place that
evening, and the captain sent his striker to take care of the details.
Two hours later, Lacey was standing beside Captain Slater at
the rear of the post chapel clad in Margaret Slater’s wedding gown. It was
indeed a beautiful dress. The neck was round and trimmed with yards and yards
of delicate ivory lace. The sleeves were long, tapering to a point at Lacey’s
wrists. The bodice fit Lacey as though it had been made for her. The skirt,
long and full, fell in graceful folds to the floor.
Standing at the altar beside the chaplain, Matt gazed at
Lacey in awe, certain he had never seen anyone or anything more beautiful than
the woman who was about to become his wife.
At a signal from the chaplain, the organist began to play
the
Wedding March
, and Lacey came down the narrow aisle on Captain
Slater’s arm.
Lacey could not take her eyes from Matt’s face as the
chaplain spoke the solemn words that made them man and wife. Matt was wearing a
pair of black trousers and a dark blue shirt he had borrowed from one of the
soldiers, and she thought, dreamily, that he was surely the most handsome man
she had ever known. The dark blue shirt complemented his swarthy skin and black
hair, and made his eyes glow a brilliant blue.
And then Matt was lifting her veil, taking her in his arms
to bestow his first husbandly kiss. Lacey closed her eyes as his mouth closed
over hers. His kiss, soft and gentle as a butterfly dancing on a rose petal,
filled her with a warm inner glow.
Later there was a party in the officers’ mess to celebrate.
The Army cook had baked a small cake, and there was champagne and sandwiches
for anyone who cared to drop by and wish the newlyweds well.
Lacey was surprised to discover that her new husband was a
wonderful dancer. He twirled her around the dance floor until she was
breathless. He was light on his feet for a man so big, and he knew the steps to
every number the post band played.
“Wherever did you learn to dance so well?” Lacey asked
curiously.
“Back home,” Matt answered, smiling down at her. “Before the
war.”
Lacey pouted prettily. “I forgot you were from the South. I
heard they were always having fancy balls and cotillions. I suppose you danced
with every belle in the county.”
“At least once,” Matt said gravely. “And the old maids, as
well.”
“Cad.”
“Angel.”
Lacey laughed softly, her heart bubbling with happiness.
They were in the midst of a waltz when Matt saw the
captain’s orderly enter the room and take the captain aside. The two men spoke
for several minutes, with the captain occasionally glancing in Matt’s
direction, and then the orderly left the room, his face grave.
A warning bell rang in Matt’s mind, and he was about to lead
Lacey off the dance floor when Captain Slater tapped him on the shoulder.
“Mind if I cut in?” the captain asked.
Matt hesitated only a moment. “Of course not,” he said. He
nodded to Lacey and headed for the refreshment table. Immediately two armed
troopers fell into step beside him.
“The captain would like to see you in his office,” the
trooper on Matt’s left said.
“Right now,” added the trooper on Matt’s right. He jabbed
his service revolver into Matt’s ribs. “Understand?”
“Perfectly,” Matt answered. He offered no resistance as the
two men escorted him out of the building and into the captain’s office.
Moments later Tom Slater entered the room and closed the
door behind him.
“Where’s Lacey?” Matt asked curtly.
“Margaret took her home. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”
Matt nodded warily, his eyes never leaving the captain’s
face.
“Search him,” Slater ordered, and one of the troopers
quickly ran his hands over Matt’s back and down his legs.
“He’s clean,” the young man said confidently.
Slater nodded. He regarded Matt for a long time, his deep
gray eyes thoughtful. “Drago, right?” he mused aloud. “We got a flyer on you
two, three days ago. Seems the boys over at the Yuma Pen have been searching
high and low for you.”
Matt nodded. Outwardly he appeared calm, unconcerned, but
inwardly he was cussing himself for being seven kinds of a fool. He should have
known the law would have posters out on him, but he wasn’t used to thinking
like a criminal. Dammit, he
wasn’t
a criminal.
“I thought your face looked familiar,” Slater went on
cheerfully, “so I had my orderly check the wanteds, and sure enough, you were
there.”
Matt nodded again. The captain sounded mighty pleased with
himself.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” Slater remarked.
“You might have waited until tomorrow morning to arrest me,”
Matt said dryly.
“Sorry about that,” Slater said sarcastically. “I guess your
honeymoon will just have to wait.”
“Yeah, indefinitely,” Matt muttered. “Shit.”
Tom Slater felt a brief moment of regret. It was a shame the
kid had to miss out on his honeymoon. Almost, he was tempted to let the
newlyweds spend the night together. But then he squared his shoulders. The man
was a criminal, convicted of murder. He didn’t deserve a honeymoon, or anything
else but a rope. He was damn lucky they didn’t hang him here and now.
Slater’s gaze lifted to the two troopers standing behind
Matt. “Kellog, escort Mr. Drago to the guardhouse. Stewart, you go tell Polaski
to wire Yuma. Tell them we’ve got their missing con, and they can pick him up
at their convenience.”
“Polaski’s in bed, sir,” Stewart said.
“Wake him up.”
“Yessir!”
At a prod from Kellog’s weapon, Matt stepped outside and
walked across the dusty ground toward the guardhouse. It was a small brick
building between the infirmary and the laundry. A burly corporal stood guard.