Authors: Madeline Baker
Matt nodded slowly. It was so simple, so damn simple, it
just might work. At any rate, it was certainly worth a try. “See you at
midnight, partner,” he said with a grin.
“Midnight,” Tom Claymore agreed, and hobbled away.
Matt Drago sat up, his eyes darting around the camp. The
fires had all burned down to ashes, the dogs were quiet, the village was asleep
under a dark and cloudless sky.
A quick glance at the sky put the time at just before
midnight. Rising slowly, he ghosted along the edge of the camp, careful not to
step on any sticks or twigs that would betray his presence. A few dogs stirred
as he passed by, but he smelled pretty much the same as the Indians now and
caused no alarm.
When he reached the lodge furthest from the canyon entrance,
he scooped a handful of coals into a bowl, then added a handful of tinder-dry
twigs. When he had a small fire burning brightly, he dumped it against the back
wall of the brush-covered lodge. The wickiup caught fire almost immediately,
and Matt quickly disappeared into the darkness, running for the canyon
entrance. Soon the cry of “Fire!” could be heard above the crackling flames,
and warriors began to pour out of their lodges, wiping the sleep from their
eyes. Women emerged with babes in arms or dragging young children by the hand.
Matt ran soundlessly, keeping close to the canyon wall for
cover. The whole village was awake now.
“Here.”
Tom Claymore’s voice reached Matt out of the darkness, and
Matt turned toward the sound, his eyes searching the night.
“Hurry,” Claymore urged, and Matt swung onto the back of the
horse Claymore was holding for him.
“Let’s go,” Matt said, and they rode toward the narrow gorge
that was the only exit from the canyon.
Behind them, the sky was alight with dancing flames. Two
lodges were burning now, and men were running to the river, filling gourds and
skins with water in an effort to douse the flames.
They were inside the passageway now. Somewhere high on the
canyon rim, Matt knew there were two warriors keeping watch. Hopefully, they
would be watching the fire and not the canyon entrance.
Glancing over his shoulder, Matt saw that Tom Claymore was
close on his heels. They were halfway through the passage when Claymore yelled,
“Go! They’ve seen us!”
Muttering an oath, Matt urged his horse into a gallop.
Simultaneously there was the roar of a gunshot, and then they were thundering
out of the narrow passageway and across the open prairie.
Matt glanced over his shoulder again and saw that Claymore
was still close behind him. There was no way to tell if the Indians were in
pursuit.
As the first faint ribbons of dawn were stretching across
the sky, Matt reined his heavily lathered mount to a halt in a sandy wash.
Dismounting, he walked back to where Tom Claymore sat his horse. The old man’s
face was the color of chalk. His left side was soaked with blood.
“Sonofabitch got me,” Claymore murmured weakly.
“Yeah,” Matt said softly. “Here, let me help you down.”
Matt gently lifted Claymore from his horse and settled him
on the ground with his back against the side of the arroyo.
“You damn fool,” Matt chided softly. “Why didn’t you tell me
you were hit?”
“There’s nothing you could do,” Claymore said
matter-of-factly. “Guess I’ll be meeting up with old Smoke sooner than I
expected.”
“Don’t talk,” Matt said. “Save your strength.”
“I’m ready to go,” Claymore said. “I’ve lived a long life,
done most of the things I wanted to do…”
Tom Claymore’s voice trailed off, and his head fell forward.
Matt knew, even before he checked Claymore’s pulse, that the old man was dead.
Matt sat there for a long moment staring into the distance,
watching the sun climb over the mountains, turning the sky to flame. He had not
known Claymore very long, but he had counted the old man as a friend, and now
he was dead.
Matt shook his head. It never failed to amaze him how
quickly a life could be snuffed out. One minute you were alive, talking,
laughing, dreaming, and the next you were dead, and all your hopes and dreams
died with you.
Using a flat piece of wood, Matt dug a shallow hole in the
soft sand, gently placed the old man in the grave, and covered him with sand
and rocks.
Matt remained in the arroyo until nightfall, letting the
horses rest, sleeping fitfully himself.
At dusk he swung aboard his mount and headed west leading
Claymore’s bay mare. The weather was cold and he cursed, wishing he had thought
to steal a buckskin shirt and a pair of leggings before leaving the canyon. The
clout he wore covered his loins and nothing more, and he rubbed his arms with
his hands in an effort to keep warm.
That night he slept on the ground with only a cover of
leaves to shut out the cold.
Dawn found him riding westward again, mounted on Claymore’s
horse.
* * * * *
The entire village turned out for the wedding. Lacey stood
beside Sky Runner, clad in a doeskin dress that had been worked and bleached
until it was as soft and white as velvet. Her hair hung loose around her
shoulders, adorned with beads and shells. Soft moccasins hugged her feet.
Sky Runner wore a white doeskin shirt heavily fringed along
the arms and back, a pair of white buckskin pants, also fringed along the outer
seams, and white moccasins. A single white eagle feather was tied into his long
black hair. He looked quite handsome for an Indian and a savage, Lacey mused,
and felt her cheeks burn when he smiled at her. Soon she would be his wife.
Even now his dark eyes were telling her that he found her desirable, that she
would soon be his.
The medicine man spoke to them, the foreign words sounding
harsh in Lacey’s ears. Then, taking Lacey’s hand in his, the medicine man made
a small incision in her right palm. A similar cut was made in Sky Runner’s
right hand, and then the medicine man pressed their palms together.
A soft cry rippled through the crowd as their blood mingled,
and then the ceremony was over. Sky Runner took Lacey’s arm, gently yet
possessively, and led her to where their horses stood waiting. With care, he
lifted Lacey onto Cinder’s back. Then, swinging effortlessly aboard his own
pony, he led the way out of the village.
Lacey’s heart was beating wildly as she followed Sky Runner
toward the honeymoon lodge he had prepared for them. The sun was shining
brightly overhead, but the weather was cold, though not so cold as the fear in
Lacey’s heart. Birds were singing in the treetops. A deer darted across her
path.
For a moment Lacey thought of trying to run away, but she
knew she would never be able to outrun Sky Runner. There was no place to go, no
place to hide. Endless miles of open prairie surrounded them.
Despair sat heavily upon her shoulders. This could not be
happening, she thought frantically. It had to be a dream. Soon she would awaken
to find herself in Matt’s arms and he would laugh all her fears away.
But it was not a dream. Some thirty minutes later she was
standing outside a small brush-covered lodge while Sky Runner tethered their
horses to a tree. Soon, too soon, she would belong to this man who was a
stranger to her.
Matt Drago sat up, awakened by the sound of horses
approaching the lodge in which he had spent the night. He had traveled hard for
three days, stopping late last night in what seemed to be an abandoned lodge,
although it was stocked with food and blankets. Now, as he heard the sound of
hoofbeats and heard the soft murmur of a man’s voice, he realized he had stumbled
into an Apache honeymoon lodge, and that the newlyweds had arrived.
Cursing softly, he padded noiselessly to the front of the
wickiup, pressing back against the wall near the doorway. His only hope of
escape was to surprise the groom, grab whatever weapon the Indian had, and run
like hell.
The lodge flap swung open and a woman stepped into the dusky
lodge. A warrior followed her. Had the man crossed to the far side of the
lodge, Matt might have been able to slip out before his presence was
discovered, but the warrior stopped just inside the entrance, his eyes riveted
on the woman who was his wife.
Matt’s breath caught in his throat as the woman slowly
turned around to face her husband. Lacey! For a moment he could not move, could
only stand there, watching as the warrior stepped forward and reached for
Lacey, pulling her into his arms, murmuring to her as he held her close.
Lacey began to struggle as Sky Runner’s arms slipped around
her waist, and then she screamed as a dark shape materialized out of the
shadows. Sky Runner stared at her for a moment, baffled by her reaction, then,
realizing she was staring at something behind him, he whirled around.
It was then that Matt grabbed for the knife sheathed on the
Indian’s belt. Grabbed for it, and missed.
Sky Runner pulled the knife free of the beaded buckskin
sheath, his black eyes glittering savagely as he advanced toward the white man
who had dared to defile the lodge he had built for his bride.
Keeping his eyes on the Indian’s face, Matt backed out of
the wickiup. Outside, he cast about for a weapon and found none, and then there
was no more time to worry about a weapon, for the Indian was there, his swarthy
countenance fierce to behold, his lips drawn back in a feral snarl. The two men
circled each other warily, then Sky Runner lunged forward, his knife searching
for Matt’s heart. Pivoting on his heel, Matt darted out of harm’s way. Again
and again, Sky Runner attacked, and each time Matt managed to avoid the deadly
blade.
Lacey watched the two men, her heart pounding like a wild
thing. Sky Runner’s fury made him fearless, and only Matt’s agility and
surefootedness saved him from being cut to ribbons. Minutes passed, and she
wondered how much longer the fight could last. How much longer could Matt stay
out of reach of Sky Runner’s knife?
With a harsh cry, the Apache caught Matt in a bear hug, the
knife in his hand glancing off Matt’s rib cage. With a grunt of pain, Matt
drove his knee into Sky Runner’s groin, and when the Indian stepped back,
doubled up with pain, Matt drove his fist into the warrior’s jaw. Sky Runner
stumbled backward, his dark eyes glazed with pain, and before he could recover,
Matt hit him again. Sky Runner dropped like a pole-axed ox.
Matt jerked the knife from the Indian’s hand, then took a
step backward, his free hand pressed against his side.
“Lacey,” he panted. “Find something to tie him up with.”
Lacey quickly did as bidden. In moments the unconscious
warrior was bound hand and foot.
“Let’s go,” Matt said.
“Your side—”
“It’s just a scratch. Come on, let’s get the hell out of
here.”
“Wait,” Lacey said. “We’ll need food and blankets. There’s
plenty inside the lodge.”
“Hurry.”
And hurry she did. Finding a
parfleche
, she quickly
filled it with food and a handful of eating utensils. Remembering that Matt was
clad in nothing but a breechclout, she took one of Sky Runner’s shirts and
stuffed it into the bag as well. Grabbing two furry sleeping robes, she
hastened outside.
Matt helped her onto Cinder’s back, then handed her the
supplies while he swung aboard Sky Runner’s calico pony. His own horse, badly
winded, was tethered in a copse of trees a short distance away.
“Let’s go,” Matt said, and, urging his horse into a lope, he
headed south.
They rode all that day and into the night. Matt winced as
the chill air closed around him, making the cut across his rib cage throb
dully. But there was no time to rest now. They had to put as much distance as
possible between themselves and the Indians. Sky Runner would have freed
himself and returned to the village by now. No doubt the Indians were already
in pursuit.
Matt frowned. There was a sleepy little town not too far
away. It wasn’t much, but it was too big for the Indians to mess with. If they
could reach it by morning, they would be out of danger.
At midnight Matt drew his horse to a halt.
“What’s the matter?” Lacey asked.
“The horses need to rest,” Matt replied. His eyes searched
Lacey’s face. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Leaning from the saddle, Matt put his arm around Lacey’s
waist and kissed her cheek. “I missed you,” he murmured. “Lord, how I missed
you.”
“I missed you,” Lacey said. She reached out and caressed his
arm, her eyes filling with love. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Lacey…”
She smiled at him, knowing what he was thinking. Hadn’t she
been thinking the same thing ever since she first saw him?
“Do we have time?” she asked.
“No, dammit. Come on, let’s ride.”
Chapter Nine
It was a small town consisting of a ramshackle one-story
hotel, a disreputable-looking cantina, a mercantile store, a good-sized livery
stable, and a whitewashed Catholic church that boasted a large wooden cross and
an ornate stained-glass window. Lacey thought the church looked out of place in
such a dumpy little town. There were a few adobe houses strung out behind the
church.
Matt reined his horse to a halt at the stable but did not
dismount. There were only a few people on the town’s dusty main street, an old
man nodding in the late afternoon sun, a plump Mexican woman hanging a load of
wash over a dilapidated picket fence, a boy currying a slat-sided gray gelding
in front of the stable.
“What is it?” Lacey asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just so damn tired of being broke and on the
run.”
“We’ll manage.”
“Yeah.” Matt swung out of the saddle and helped Lacey
dismount. “Come on, let’s see what we can get for your saddle.”
The man at the livery stable gave them a fair price for
Lacey’s saddle, and after leaving their horses at the barn, Matt and Lacey
walked to the hotel to see about a room. Matt signed the register as Mr. and
Mrs. Darbison, and Lacey laughed softly. When they had shared a hotel room the
last time, they had not been married but Matt had used his real name. Now they
were legally wed, and he had signed the hotel register with an alias.
They had no baggage other than what was in their saddlebags,
and Lacey did not miss the speculative look the hotel manager sent in their
direction as they started down the hall. Their room was drab and dreary. The
faded wallpaper had once been pretty, but was now peeling off the wall. The bed
sagged in the middle; the mirror on the wall was cracked and yellow, the
four-drawer oak dresser badly scarred.
Matt caught Lacey’s look of dismay and shrugged. “It won’t
be forever,” he said. “Just until we can get a few dollars together.”
“I know, but—”
“But we never had a real honeymoon and you were hoping for
something a little nicer,” Matt said, finishing her thought.
Lacey’s cheeks turned pink. “Yes,” she admitted shyly.
“Does it really matter where we are?”
Her heart beat a quick tattoo as his eyes lingered on her
face. “Oh, Matt,” she murmured. “Stop asking silly questions and kiss me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling broadly, and took her in his
arms, his mouth closing over hers in a hungry kiss that left them both
breathless.
Lacey swayed against Matt, her arms twining around his neck,
her lips parting as he kissed her again. The thrust of his tongue turned her
blood to fire, and she clung to him, loving the warmth of his body against her
own, the way he moaned her name as his hands moved feverishly over the length
of her body. She had almost forgotten the magic of his touch, and how her knees
went weak while her whole being seemed to come to life.
Matt kissed Lacey again and again, seemingly unable to get
his fill. It had been so long since he had held her close, so long since he had
been able to hold her and love her. Slowly, his mouth never leaving hers, he
began to undress her, his hands sliding sensuously over her bared flesh.
Touching her, kissing her, knowing she was his, filled him with such longing he
could scarcely contain it.
Murmuring her name, he lifted her into his arms and carried
her to bed, his blood singing with delight as Lacey began to undress him.
Passion made her bold and she stripped away his shirt and clout, her fingers
brazenly exploring each inch of bronze, hard-muscled flesh. Soft sounds of
sympathy emerged from her throat as she kissed his scars, and he was moved with
a deep tenderness for her gentle concern.
And now they lay side by side, gazing into each other’s
eyes. Matt knew he had never seen such love reflected in anyone’s eyes before
and he felt a peculiar lump in his throat as he gently stroked the curve of
Lacey’s cheek. She was so sweet, so lovely, and she was his. He could not get
over the wonder of it, could hardly believe that she loved him, that she
trusted him.
With a wordless cry, he buried his face in the red-gold mass
of her hair, his hands caressing her breasts and belly and thighs, the soft
roundness of her hips and buttocks, the smooth expanse of her back. Lacey
moaned softly as his hands and lips swiftly aroused her, overcome by a wondrous
sense of belonging and wonder. She closed her eyes as Matt’s body became a part
of her, and it no longer mattered where they were, only that they were together
as they were meant to be together.
Her fingers kneaded his broad back and shoulders as he moved
within her, the rhythmic strokes flooding her with waves of pleasure. She
arched her hips upward, wanting to be closer, to absorb him into herself so
that they might always be one.
She gasped his name as his life spilled into her, filling
her, satisfying her, not just physically but emotionally as well. They didn’t
move for a long time after, content to lie in each other’s arms, reluctant for
the moment to end. Gradually their breathing returned to normal and the sweat
cooled on their skin.
Matt touched Lacey’s cheek, his eyes warm and tender.
“Someday I’ll clothe you in silks and satins and build you a house that will make
the rest of the world green with envy,” he promised solemnly.
“If the world knew what we had, they’d be green with envy
now,” Lacey murmured, her fingers tracing the outline of Matt’s rough-hewn jaw.
“Pea green,” Matt said, grinning.
Lacey grinned back at him. “Of course, I wouldn’t object to
silk dresses and a big house.”
“Witch,” Matt teased, and began tickling her unmercifully.
Lacey shrieked, her hands vainly trying to push him away,
but she was no match for his strength and he tickled her until she was
breathless, and then he kissed her, his midnight blue eyes filled with love and
tenderness, his lips soft and warm against hers, his breath like the sweet
summer wind against her ear as he murmured her name.
In moments they were entwined in each other’s arms again,
their bodies seeking the sweet fulfillment only the other could give. Caught up
in the wonder of Matt’s touch, all thought of silk dresses and fine houses
evaporated like the morning dew and Lacey knew she would be content to spend
the rest of her life in that dingy little room so long as Matt was there beside
her.
The days that followed were peaceful ones. The town, though
small, was surrounded by several large ranches, and it was the ranch families
and cowboys that kept the town alive.
Matt got a job dealing poker at the cantina, and Lacey
adjusted her hours to his. They slept during the early part of the day, ate
dinner at the hotel, strolled through the town in the afternoon, or spent the
time making love in their room until it was time for Matt to go to work.
To pass the time, Lacey bought some material and patterns,
needles and thread, and made several shirts for Matt and a couple of dresses
for herself. When she grew weary of sewing, she read a battered copy of
David
Copperfield,
which she had found on the closet shelf.
The hours when Matt was home were the sweetest of all. Their
love seemed to grow deeper and stronger with each passing day, and Lacey often
marveled at the way her life had turned out. Who would have thought that she
would find love in the arms of a man convicted of murder? Of course, she no
longer believed Matt was guilty of such a thing. Now that she knew him, she
realized he could never have killed Billy Henderson, or anyone else, in cold
blood. Drunk or sober, Matt Drago was not that kind of man.
Gradually they bought a few things. For Matt, a new .44 Colt
and a holster, a black Stetson, a sheepskin jacket, new boots, a pair of Levis.
For Lacey, a new coat, undergarments, shoes and stockings, a frilly straw hat.
They got her saddle out of hock.
The winter was cold and wet. It was snowing the night Lacey
asked about their chances of finding her father, come spring.
Matt let out a long sigh. Finding Lacey’s father would
likely take a miracle now. “Listen, Lacey…”
She had been darning a pair of Matt’s socks. Now she laid
them aside, her eyes searching his.
“What is it?” she asked tremulously. “Don’t you think we’ll
be able to find him? You said the Apaches would probably return to that same
general area in the spring.”
“I know, but don’t get your hopes up too high. Even if he’s
still alive, he could have been traded to another tribe. Hell, just don’t get
your hopes up too high, honey. This is a hard country, and the Apache are
unpredictable at best. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Lacey nodded. Matt was right, of course, but she couldn’t
stop hoping. Hope was all she had left. She remembered how her father had
always been able to make her laugh, how hard he had tried to make her happy,
the rag doll he had bought her when she was eight. He couldn’t be dead.
“Lacey.” Matt took her in his arms and held her tight. For
her sake, he hoped they could find her father, but he didn’t think they had
much of a chance.
Lacey remained in Matt’s arms for a long time, not thinking,
content just to be held, to feel the strength of his arms around her, to know
that he loved her, that she wasn’t alone.
That night after Matt left for work, Lacey stretched out on
the bed and let her mind wander into the past. Her first memory was of her
father teaching her to ride a little dapple gray pony named Cupcake. She
recalled how proud her father had been because she hadn’t been afraid. She had
been happy as a child, secure in the love of her parents, certain that only
good things awaited her in the future.
She had been twelve when her mother died. Her father had not
been able to accept her death. He had gotten drunk on the day of the funeral
and stayed that way for two weeks, never leaving his bedroom, eating little,
saying nothing. And drinking, always drinking. When he sobered up, he sold
their house, the only home Lacey had ever known, and they had embarked on a
journey that was, for Lacey, a nightmare most of the time. Her father had
numerous jobs in the next five years, and he lost them all because he couldn’t
leave the booze alone. Lacey had been ashamed of the way they had lived, of the
way people looked at her, their eyes filled with pity because her mother was
dead and her father was a drunk.
And then they had arrived in Arizona and her father got a
job as cook at the Double L Ranch, and it seemed like all their troubles were
finally behind them. She had been so certain her father would stay sober this
time. She had hoped and prayed and dreamed… The tears came then and she cried
herself to sleep, weeping for her father’s wasted life, for the unhappiness
they had shared, for the mother who had died too soon.
She felt a little better the next day. Rising early, she
slipped out of bed without waking Matt, dressed, and walked down the dusty
street to the church at the south end of town. The interior of the church was
cool and dim. A large wooden cross loomed behind the altar. A statue of the
Virgin Mary stood in one corner, a statue of St. Francis of Assisi at the far
end of the chapel.
As she did every Sunday, Lacey knelt at the back pew and
offered a silent prayer for her father, beseeching the Lord to keep him safe,
to bless him with health and strength, to enable Matt to find the trail in the
spring.
It was peaceful in the church. Later, Father Gonzalez would
hold Mass for the townspeople, but for now she was alone. She sat for a long
time, gazing at the wooden cross, and as she studied the rough timber, she
thought about the Man who had died such a dreadful death, and as she did so, a
wonderful sense of peace filled her heart. Everything would be all right. She
was smiling when she left the church. Everything would be all right.
It was a beautiful day, cold and clear. The sky was a hard
brilliant blue. The trees were barren, the distant hills clothed in shades of
brown and gray. Wrapping her arms around her body, she began to walk a little
faster, eager to return to the hotel and Matt’s loving arms.