ChasetheLightning (20 page)

Glaring at Relámpago, she gained her feet.

“Forget it!” she said when the stallion rubbed his forehead
against her arm. “Scratch your own ears.”

Trey was still asleep when she limped her way back into the
lodge. Relámpago trailed at her heels like an overgrown puppy. She wasn’t sure,
but she thought the stallion was having a good laugh at her expense.

“Go on,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hands.
“Go on, you traitor, get out of here.”

With a snort and a shake of his head, the stallion trotted
back to the herd.

Amanda scowled after him, then ducked into the lodge.
“Ungrateful beast,” she muttered.

“I hope you’re not talking about me,” Trey muttered
sleepily.

“What? Oh, no.” She closed the door flap.

“Well, what ungrateful beast are you talking about?”

“That horse of yours! I tried to…oh, never mind.”

He started to sit up and thought better of it. “What about
my horse?”

She sucked in a deep breath, debating whether to tell him
what she had done. Or tried to do.

“I asked you a question.” He was fully awake now.

“Oh, all right. If you must know, I tried to leave the
canyon, but that horse of yours refused to leave.”

Trey lifted one brow. “What do you mean?”

She crossed the floor and sat down on a blanket. “I mean, he
wouldn’t leave. He went right up to the entrance, and then he just stopped and
refused to go any further. You’ve certainly trained him well.”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“So, it was Relámpago’s idea?” she asked, somewhat
sarcastically.

“I don’t know. ‘Pago is a medicine horse. You have any
questions, I reckon you’ll have to ask my grandfather.”

“How long are we going to stay here?”

“Until I’m ready to leave.”

“Oh, you are the most impossible man I’ve ever known.”

His hand captured hers, his thumb making lazy circles over
the back of her hand. “And you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

“Stop that.” She tried to jerk her hand away, but he refused
to let her go.

“Why?”

Her gaze slid away from his. It wasn’t fair, the maddening
effect he had on her senses. His thumb continued to make circles on the back of
her hand, his touch sending shivers of sensual delight down her spine. She must
have been crazy to even think of leaving when everything she wanted was right
here.

“Amanda?”

“What?” She met his gaze reluctantly.

He gave a little tug on her hand. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“Come here.”

She let him pull her closer, didn’t resist as his mouth
captured hers. A flutter of excitement unfurled in her belly. Heat flowed
through her veins as his tongue explored her lower lip.

Moaning softly, she stretched out beside him. Needing to be
closer, she pressed against him, her body molding to his, her hand sliding up
and down his chest, reveling in the warmth of his skin, the way his body felt
next to her own.

He slid his arm around her, a groan that was half pleasure
and half pain rising in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” She started to draw back, but his arm tightened
around her.

“Don’t go,” he said, his voice thick.

“But I’m hurting you.”

“Not as much as your leaving will hurt.”

His words sent waves of pleasure rolling through her.
“Well,” she said, nibbling on his lower lip, “I can stand it if you can.”

He grinned at her, then captured her lips with his once
more. Ignoring the pain, he turned on his side and drew her up against him,
felt the heat of her breasts against his chest. She fit him perfectly, he
thought, soft and pliant, all woman from head to heel. He ran his hand down her
shoulder, skimmed over the swell of her breast, dipped at the curve of her
waist, slid over her hip, down her thigh and up again.

She moaned with pleasure, fanning the embers of his desire.
“We’d better stop.”

“Yeah.” She was right. He was in no condition to carry this
through to the end but damn, he wanted her. Wanted her like he had never wanted
anything, any woman, in his whole life.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked.

“Some water.”

“All right.” She lingered a moment, hating to leave the
warmth of his arms; then, with a sigh of resignation, she sat up and reached
for the waterskin.

* * * * *

The next few days passed slowly. Peacefully. Trey spent most
of his time sleeping, or sitting in the sun while his body healed itself.
Yellow Calf Woman brought them food morning and evening; Walker on the Wind
stopped by at least once each day to see how Trey was doing.

Amanda was sitting outside a week later when a sudden
commotion caught her attention. Rising, she peered inside the wickiup. Trey was
asleep. Closing the door flap so no one would disturb him, she followed several
other women toward the cause of the commotion.

Five mounted warriors sat their horses in the midst of the
crowd. Amanda glanced at them, wondering what all the excitement was about. And
then she saw him. The bounty hunter, Langley. He was lying on the ground, his
hands tied behind his back. There was a rope around his neck. Judging from his
torn clothing and the scrapes on his skin, she guessed he had been dragged for
some distance.

The Apaches pointed at him, their voices filled with
derision. A couple of young boys pelted him with rocks. An elderly woman struck
him across the back with her walking stick.

Langley suffered their abuse in silence, his face impassive,
his eyes shuttered and cold. Until he looked up and saw her staring at him.
Recognition flickered in his eyes.

She watched as he was dragged away and bound to a post, and
then, feeling sick to her stomach, she hurried back to Trey’s lodge. She had
read books, seen movies. She knew what Indians did to captives. They burned
them alive, or covered them with honey and let the ants eat them.

Trey was awake when she entered the wickiup. He frowned when
he saw the look on her face. “What is it, sweetheart? You look like you’re
going to be sick.”

“He’s here…they’ve captured him…”

“Who’s here?”

“That bounty hunter.”

“Langley?”

She nodded, her arms crossed over her stomach, her face
pale. “What will they do with him?”

He knew then what was bothering her, why she looked so
stricken. The cruelty of the Apache was well-known. Pity was a trait unknown to
the warriors of his people. Fighting was in their blood. They had fought with
other tribes for generations. They had suffered much at the hands of the
Spanish and then the whites. Little wonder they had learned to repay treachery
with treachery, cruelty with cruelty. Loyal to their own, they considered all
others to be their enemy. Wrongs against their own were quickly avenged.

“Trey?”

Gaining his feet, he closed the distance between them and
took her into his arms. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Or you don’t want to tell me?”

“I reckon they’ll kill him.”

“They can’t!” She clutched his arms. “You know they can’t.
What about Rob? If they kill Langley…”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want anything to keep old Rob from being
born now, would we?”

She gazed up at him, her eyes filled with silent
condemnation.

Trey swore a short pithy oath. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He found Langley curled into tight ball in an effort to
protect his face and belly from the rocks and sticks being thrown at him by a
handful of boys.

Trey chased the kids away, then squatted on his heels beside
the bounty hunter. “You lookin’ for me?”

Langley sat up slowly, his eyes narrowed. “Long Walker.” He
spat the name through clenched teeth.

“I should think you’d be glad to see me,” Trey remarked.
“After all, I’m the only friend you’ve got here.”

Langley glared at him.

Trey ran a hand over his jaw, enjoying the other man’s
discomfort.

“What are they gonna do to me?”

Trey shrugged. “What do you think?”

“I reckon you’ll be right in there with ‘em.”

“I have to admit, I’d sleep a lot easier knowing you
wouldn’t be coming after me anymore.”

“If I don’t get you, some other lawman will.”

“Hollinger killed my old man. Whatever happens to him is no
more than he’s got coming.”

“The law doesn’t see it that way.”

“The law? What do you care about the law? You’re nothing but
a leech, living on blood money.”

“And you’re nothing but a dirty…”

“I wouldn’t say anything else if I were you,” Trey
interjected, his voice hard. “Might make me change my mind about getting you
out of here.”

“Why would you help me?”

“That’s none of your business. But if I can get you out of
this, I want your word that you won’t come after me again.”

Langley stared at him.

“Well? Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah,” Langley replied sullenly. “We’ve got a deal.”

Amanda was waiting for him when he returned to the wickiup,
her expression worried. “Where have you been?”

“Talking to Langley.”

“Is he all right?”

“For the time being.”

“What will happen to him?”

“It’s up to whoever captured him, I reckon.”

“Trey!”

“We’ll just have to wait and play it by ear, see what
happens next.”

“When will we know?”

He glanced toward the doorway of the wickiup. Drumming could
be heard from outside. “I’d say any time now. Come on.”

A festive mood hung over the camp. Langley was bound to a
post, his hands secured over his head. Several young warriors paraded back and
forth in front of him, taunting him, while a handful of women poked him with
sticks, drawing blood with every hit.

Langley endured their abuse stoically, his eyes blazing
defiance.

“Stay here,” Trey said. He didn’t wait for a reply, but left
her standing on the edge of the crowd.

The warriors fell back as Trey approached. They murmured
among themselves as he withdrew his knife from the sheath on his belt, their
murmurs of approval turning to protest as he cut Langley free.

Elk Runner strode forward, his dark eyes angry. “What are
you doing? The white man is mine.”

“I claim him,” Trey replied, “by right of blood.”

“What do you mean?”

“We are blood brothers.” It was the truth, and a lie, Trey
mused. He had shed Langley’s blood; Langley had shed his. “I will give you a
horse in exchange for his life.”

Elk Runner considered Trey’s offer. Then, apparently deciding
a good horse was worth more than the captured
pinda-lick-o-ye
, he nodded
his agreement. Gesturing for the other warriors to follow him, he left the
area. The rest of the crowd drifted after them.

“Come on,” Trey said gruffly. “Let’s get you cleaned up. My
people will expect me to take care of you now.”

“I don’t like this any better than you do,” Langley
retorted.

“I guess it’s a good thing you won’t be staying long then,
isn’t it?”

It was left to Amanda to tend Langley’s wounds. Besides the
one in his shoulder, inflicted by Trey, he had numerous cuts, bruises and
abrasions from head to foot. She couldn’t help staring at him as she worked.
His resemblance to Rob, or, more correctly, Rob’s resemblance to him was
remarkable. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought they were the
same man.

Langley frowned under her scrutiny. “Something wrong?”

“No. It’s just that you look like someone I know.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded. “An old boyfriend of mine.”

“Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, he was a fool to let
you go.”

She smiled at the compliment as she treated the last of his
injuries. “There, that does it.”

“Obliged, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome. Would you like something to eat?”

“Yes, ma’am, I surely would.” He glanced over at Trey, who
was sitting near the fire pit. “I don’t reckon that buck will give me back my
horse or my weapons.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Trey answered.

“How am I supposed to get back to civilization?”

“That’s not my problem, is it?”

Amanda shook her head. For a couple of grown men, they
sounded like two schoolboys.

Langley shrugged. “Reckon I’ll just stay here, being your
blood brother and all. I hope that won’t inconvenience you too much, ma’am.”

“I know when I’m licked,” Trey muttered sourly. “I’ll get
you a horse.”

* * * * *

It was Walker on the Wind who provided a horse for Langley
the following day, as well as a shirt to replace the one that had been ruined
when he was captured. Amanda fixed him some food for the trail.

“I’m obliged to ya for what you’ve done,” Langley said.

“I’m counting on you to keep your word,” Trey replied.

Langley nodded. Taking up the reins to his horse, he pulled
himself onto the animal’s back. How am I supposed to make it out of here
without a gun?”

“My people won’t bother you. They think we’re blood brothers.”

“Yeah, well, your people aren’t the only Injuns running
around out here.”

Trey loosed a sigh of exasperation. “You’re lucky to get out
of here with a whole skin. From now on, you’re on your own.”

“I’m obliged to ya,” Langley said. “Ride easy.”

“Yeah,” Trey replied. “You, too.”

The next several days passed peacefully. Amanda stayed close
to Trey, watching the activity in the village, picking up a word here and
there.
Shima
meant mother,
shinale
meant grandfather,
shiwoye
meant grandmother,
ma’ye
was the word for coyote,
chaa
meant
beaver,
shikeshi
meant follow me,
ch’ide
was the word for
blanket,
gahee
meant coffee,
nada
was corn.

She grew accustomed to bathing in the stream in the Apache
way. She felt nervous and exposed the first time she did it, but Trey’s
grandmother stood nearby to reassure her. Yellow Calf Woman had offered her a
chunk of soap that Trey later told her was made from yucca, but Amanda had her
own soap. She handed it to Trey’s grandmother, who sniffed it, and smiled. From
then on, the two of them shared the lavender-scented soap until it was gone.

His grandparents were frequent visitors. Amanda quickly grew
fond of them both, especially Walker on the Wind. He was a wonderful
storyteller, and she listened avidly as he talked of Trey’s childhood days with
the Apache, a sure sign that she was falling in love, she thought, since women
were always eager to know everything there was to know about the men they
loved.

Why did she love him? That was the question uppermost in her
mind as they sat outside a week later. She studied him surreptitiously. He was
handsome, yes, but there was more to it than that. He made her feel safe,
alive, important. Of course, the fact that his kisses made her go weak in the
knees probably had something to do with it, too. That, and his smile, and the
way he made her forget her own name when he looked at her. He had occupied most
of her thoughts by day and her dreams by night since the first day she had seen
him. Maybe it was nothing more than a simple case of lust…

“Amanda?”

His voice scattered her thoughts and she looked up to find
him watching her. His left eye was still swollen but was no longer black.
Instead, it was a rather garish shade of purple tinged with puke green.

“What?”

“Do you feel like going for a walk?” he asked. “I’m almighty
sick of just sitting.”

“Sure, if you feel up to it.”

“Let’s go.”

They walked away from the camp toward the river. She had
lost track of the days, but she’d been gone long enough that Rob would be
missing her by now, wondering why she hadn’t returned his calls. Earl Hennessy
would be wondering why she hadn’t come to work, why she hadn’t called in. Her
parents would be wondering why they hadn’t heard from her. But there was
nothing she could do about any of that now. Or about those horrible men who had
come looking for Rob. Had they found him? Was he okay? She didn't want anything
to happen to Rob, even though she wasn’t sure how she felt about him any more.
She felt bad about leaving Earl Hennessy in the lurch, but that was really the
least of her worries. As for her parents, there was no way to assure them that
she was all right. Even if she could find a phone, assuming they had been
invented, she was pretty sure she couldn’t call home. She grinned at the very
idea, thinking that a call from 1869 to 2001 would really be long distance.

She drew in a deep breath, held it, then let it out in a
long sigh. In some ways, being in the past wasn’t as bad as she had feared it
would be; in other ways, it was worse. The one constant was Trey. You had to
hand it to Western men, she thought with a wry grin. They were made of strong
stuff. At least Trey was. Considering all he had been through in the last
couple of weeks, he seemed to have remarkable powers of recovery.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Trey remarked.

“I’m sorry. Are you feeling all right? Do you need to rest?”

“I’m fine. This is a pretty place though. Let’s sit awhile.”

“Okay.”

Amanda sat down on the grass, and he sat beside her. It was
quiet here, away from the camp. Peaceful. He stared at the river, watching the
water swirl and eddy around the rocks. There had been precious little peace in
his life. And now he had a price on his head. Langley might be out of the
picture, but there were plenty of other bounty hunters who’d be on the look-out
for him. He cursed Hollinger, cursed himself for not killing the man when he’d
had the opportunity. Why hadn’t he pulled the trigger? He’d probably never get
another chance, not now. But he’d never been a cold-blooded killer. Much as the
man deserved killing, it looked like someone else would have to do it.

“Trey?”

He glanced over at Amanda to find her watching him, a look
of concern in her eyes. She had beautiful eyes. They were a deep dark green,
open and honest. Eyes a man could trust. Eyes a man could get lost in.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I’m fine.” He reached for her without conscious
thought, reached for her because she was warm and soft, because her eyes were
filled with concern, because, heaven help him, he needed her in a way he’d
never needed another living soul.

She leaned into him, unresisting, her lips parting as his
mouth slanted over hers. He felt a twinge in his side as he drew her up against
him, but letting her go would have hurt more.

He kissed her deeply, drank from her lips like a man dying
of thirst. And she was kissing him in return, holding nothing back. They
stretched out on the grass, bodies pressed intimately together. He was lost in
her nearness, mesmerized by her touch. She moaned with pleasure as he caressed
her, her quick response adding fuel to the flame that burned between them.

Her mouth was warm and softly yielding, sweeter than
anything he had ever known. He tasted desire on her lips, a fiery yearning that
matched his own. He kissed her until they were both breathless and then,
reluctantly, he drew away. As much as he wanted her, as much as he needed her,
anything more between them would have to wait until his ribs healed up.

She looked at him, her green eyes cloudy with desire, her
fingers kneading his biceps. “Trey…”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and husky.

“It’s okay.” Sitting up, she took a deep breath, ran a hand
through her hair. It was just as well that they’d stopped. As tempting as he
was, she didn’t belong here, couldn’t stay here. Letting him make love to her
would be a huge mistake. She wanted to go home, and she wanted to take her
whole heart with her, although she was afraid that was already impossible.

He sat up, quietly cussing the pain in his side.

“It is pretty here,” Amanda remarked after a while.

“Yeah.”

“What was your mother like?”

“She was a gentle woman, soft spoken, patient. She drew
people to her without even trying. I got jealous, sometimes, of the attention
she gave to the other kids in the village. They swarmed around her. She would
have liked more children. She got pregnant when I was five or six, but she lost
the baby.” He shrugged. “She never got pregnant again.”

“How did she meet your father?”

“I’m not sure. She never talked about it. From the little I
overheard when I was growing up, I gathered they met at a summer rendezvous. I
think she must have run off with him.”

“Did you ever ask your father?”

“No.” He turned to face her, his gaze meeting hers. “What do
you think of my people?”

“I like them, especially your grandfather. I wish I could
talk to the other women.”

“Do you know any Spanish? Most of my people can speak it,
some fluently.”

“I understand a little. That seems odd, their speaking
Spanish. I always thought the Apaches and the Mexicans hated each other.”

“They do,” he said curtly. “That’s why we’ve learned their
language. The Mexicans pay a hefty bounty for Apache scalps. It was to our
advantage to learn the language of our enemies.”

“They pay for scalps? That’s awful!”

“One hundred dollars for the scalp of warrior, fifty for a
woman or a child.”

“How do they know if the scalp belonged to a man or a
woman?”

“They don’t.”

She stared at him, her horror clearly reflected in her eyes.

“Back in the old days, white scalpers got two hundred
dollars for every scalp they brought in, and two hundred and fifty for a live
warrior. Of course, it was safer to bring in a scalp than a warrior. The bounty
hunters sometimes passed off Mexican scalps as Indian.”

“That’s awful. I always thought it was the Indians who took
scalps.”

Trey shook his head. “My people do not take scalps. Apaches
avoid the dead. They do not take souvenirs. We bury our dead as soon as
possible, and the names of the dead are never spoken again, lest their spirits
be called back to earth. When someone dies, his wickiup is burned, as is
everything he owned. Those who burn his belongings also burn the clothing they
were wearing at the time, and then they purify themselves in sagebrush smoke.”
Trey looked at her and grunted softly. “I suppose our customs seem strange to
you.”

“Well, a little. It must be difficult for you, living in
both worlds.”

He picked up a rock and tossed it into the river.
“Sometimes.”

“You called the Apaches ‘your’ people. Do you consider
yourself more Apache than white? I mean, aren’t you as much one as the other?”

“No. To the whites, if you have a drop of Indian blood,
you’re Indian. The Apache have accepted me as one of their own because I’m
Apache here.” He put his hand over his heart. “The whites have never accepted
me. To them, I’m a half-breed. And that’s the nicest thing they’ve ever called
me.”