Authors: Madeline Baker
Creed sat huddled near a small fire. He’d spent thirteen hours in the saddle, and his bruised ribs ached like the very devil.
He grimaced as he lifted a cautious hand to his face. The swelling in his left eye was almost gone. His fingertip traced the edges of the gash on his left cheek and he swore softly, knowing there would be a jagged scar when the cut healed. As if he didn’t have enough scars, he mused ruefully, and then shrugged. Another scar was the least of his problems.
He stared into the dancing flames and thought about Jassy, always and forever Jassy. It had been almost a week since the Indians had abducted her. He wondered how she was getting along, how the Indians were treating her…
Creed swore softly, the thought of Jassy being manhandled by the warrior who had taken her tying his stomach in knots.
Iyokipi, Ate…
Please, Father, let her be alive. Please, Father, don’t let them hurt her. Please, please, please…
He ran a hand through his hair. With luck, he would catch up with the Crow sometime tomorrow. And then what, he mused.
He had no weapons, nothing to bargain with. And yet he couldn’t just leave her there. He’d got her into this mess, and, by damn, he’d get her out!
He just wished he knew how.
* * * * *
Jassy was returning from the river when she heard the commotion. Curious, she walked toward the center of camp, wondering what was causing such a ruckus in the middle of the afternoon.
Standing on tiptoe, she peered over the shoulder of the warrior in front of her. For a moment, she could only stare, unable to believe her eyes.
“Creed.” His name whispered past her lips. He was alive.
Relief and joy erupted within her, and as quickly disappeared. He was alive, but for how long?
She glanced at the faces of the Indians around her. The women looked at Creed with hatred, but there was curiosity and admiration in the eyes of the men.
And then Creed’s gaze met hers and for a moment she forgot everything but the fact that he was alive, that he was there.
He gave her a reassuring wink, and then he turned his attention to the warrior who was speaking to him in sign language.
She had no idea what they were saying, but after several minutes, Creed dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to a young boy.
A moment later, Chah-ee-chopes led her into his lodge and closed the door flap. “White man says he is husband. Is true?”
Jassy nodded vigorously. “Yes.”
Chah-ee-chopes grunted softly.
Oo-je-e-en-he-ha sat up, her dark eyes narrowed as she fired off a burst of rapid Crow. Chah-ee-chopes silenced the old woman with a wave of his hand, and then he fixed Jassy with a long assessing glance.
“You, here, wait,” he said, and then he left the lodge.
Jassy paced back and forth for several minutes, wondering what was happening outside. Finally, unable to stand the suspense, she peered out the door flap.
It looked as if every Indian in the village had assembled in the middle of the camp. She could hear voices raised, not in anger, but in anticipation, reminding her of the noisy excitement that had preceded horse races or fisticuffs back in Harrison.
Curious, she left the lodge, ignoring Oo-je-e-en-he-ha’s obvious admonition to stay inside.
No one paid her any mind as she took a place in the back row of onlookers. She knew immediately what was happening. Chah-ee-chopes, stripped down to only a clout and moccasins, a knife in his hand, stood to her left. Creed, wearing only his trousers, stood across from the Crow warrior. His face and body still showed the effects of the beating he had received. Faint bruises could be seen on his chest; his left eye, though no longer swollen, was still discolored.
She saw him flinch as he accepted a knife from an aged warrior in the crowd, and she wondered how he was going to fight when he was still hurting.
Creed and Chah-ee-chopes stared at each other for an endless, silent moment, and Jassy knew with terrible certainty that they were fighting over her.
They circled each other warily, like two wolves on the scent of blood. Creed was taller, broader, heavier. At any other time, he would have won hands down. But now he moved stiffly, one arm curved protectively around his rib cage.
The knowledge that his opponent was not up to full fighting strength made Chah-ee-chopes reckless. With a cry, he lunged forward, his knife eager for blood, but he had badly underestimated his adversary and his blade found only empty air as Creed sidestepped at the last moment, his knife making a wide slashing arc that sliced into Chah-ee-chopes right shoulder.
With a cry of rage, Chah-ee-chopes whirled around and lashed out, his blade missing Creed by inches.
Heart pounding with fear, Jassy watched as they circled each other, coming together again and again, with Chah-ee-chopes always on the attack. It was only a matter of time, Jassy thought hopelessly. Creed was tiring fast. All Chah-ee-chopes had to do was wear him down until his reflexes slowed, then close in for the kill. And yet, in spite of everything, Creed had managed to avoid the warrior’s knife while he, himself, had drawn blood three times.
From the corner of his eye, Creed saw Jassy in the crowd, her eyes wide, her face drained of color. Seeing her filled him with a renewed sense of urgency. Taking a deep breath, he faced Chah-ee-chopes, and waited.
The next time the warrior lunged at him, Creed let him come, and then, at the last possible moment, he stepped aside and brought his fist down on the back of the warrior’s neck. Chah-ee-chopes hit the ground hard.
Ignoring the throbbing ache in his side, Creed straddled the Crow. Grabbing a handful of the warrior’s hair, he jerked his head back and placed his knife at the man’s throat.
Jassy held her breath, waiting to see whether Chah-ee-chopes would die or yield. The seconds ticked by, each one seeming longer than the last as everyone waited for Chah-ee-chopes decision.
Slowly, the tension drained out of the warrior’s body. Reluctantly, but resolutely, he dropped his knife.
Creed loosed a long sigh as he stood up. Tossing his own weapon aside, he wrapped one arm around his middle, and then he made his way toward Jassy.
The Indians made no move to stop him.
“Creed.”
“It’s all right, Jassy,” he murmured as he drew her into his arms. “Everything’s gonna be all right.”
She gazed up at him, her heart beating fast. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered, and burst into tears.
The sound of someone clearing his throat drew Creed’s attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a tall warrior standing behind him.
“You, come this way.”
Wrapping one arm around Jassy’s shoulders, Creed followed the warrior toward a small lodge located near the outskirts of the village.
“You will stay here,” the warrior said. “My woman will bring you food and clothing.”
“My thanks,” Creed said, and taking Jassy by the hand, he entered the lodge.
“What are they going to do to us?” Jassy asked.
“Nothing.”
His gaze moved over her, noting the doeskin dress, the moccasins, the bit of red ribbon tied at the end of her braids. Her cheeks were tanned, her eyes luminous with tears. He felt a peculiar catch in his heart when he saw she was still wearing his grandmother’s beaded choker.
Murmuring a silent prayer of thanks that she was alive and well, he held out his arms.
“Come here, Jassy.”
She flew into his arms and hugged him tight, her face pressed to his chest, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob.
“It’s all right, honey,” he murmured soothingly. “Don’t cry. Everything’s all right.”
Lord, he thought, but she felt good in his arms.
“Did they hurt you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Did he…he didn’t…are you sure you’re all right?”
Jassy sniffed. “I’m fine. Oh, Creed, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” She drew back so she could see his face. “I thought they’d killed you.”
“Not quite. ”A long shuddering sigh rippled through him. “I think I need to sit down.”
She watched him anxiously as he carefully lowered himself to the ground, and then she dropped down beside him.
“How did you find me?”
“Followed your trail, of course.” He lifted one dark brow. “You didn’t think I’d leave you here, did you?”
“I thought you were dead.”
Creed grunted. “No, just tired. So damn tired.”
“Sleep then,” she urged softly.
She didn’t have to tell him twice. Pillowing his head on her lap, one arm snugged possessively around her waist, Creed Maddigan closed his eyes. And slept.
Jassy gazed down at him, unable to believe she wasn’t dreaming, that he was really there, alive and well.
An Indian woman arrived a short time later, bringing bowls of venison stew and dried meat, as well as a change of clothing and moccasins for Creed. She also brought a waterskin, two wooden cups, and two spoons made of buffalo horn.
Jassy smiled her thanks, and the woman left the lodge.
And still Creed slept. She covered him with a robe, then smoothed the hair from his brow. She frowned at the half-healed cut on his cheek. It would leave a nasty scar, she thought sadly, but a hundred scars couldn’t change the way she felt about him. He was the bravest, most wonderful, man she had ever known.
And she was going to be his wife.
She held on to that thought as she watched him sleep, trying to imagine what it would be like to be married to this man, to lie in his arms after they made love, to bear his children, to grow old at his side.
Missus Creed Maddigan.
“Missus Jassy Maddigan.” She smiled as she whispered the name aloud.
She was still smiling when she fell asleep.
Creed woke slowly, aware of being warm for the first time in days. A familiar scent tickled his nostrils. A lock of silken hair lay across his chest. An arm spanned his waist; a long slender leg was pressed close to his.
Jassy. His body’s response to her nearness was immediate and unmistakable. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, content to stay as he was, to bask in her warmth, to imagine what it would be like to wake beside her each morning of his life.
He shook the thought from his mind. He’d been a fool to think he could settle down, and an even bigger fool to think he could just walk away from his past. Trouble seemed to dog his every step. Until Jassy came along, he hadn’t cared. But now…he shuddered to think what could have happened to her.
“
Pilamaye, Ate
,” he whispered softly. Thank you, Father. For letting me find her, for keeping her safe.
Jassy stirred beside him but didn’t awake, and Creed opened his eyes. How beautiful she was! Her skin was soft and smooth and lightly tanned. The wealth of her hair was like molten flame, spilling over her shoulder and across his chest.
Unable to help himself, he caressed the curve of her cheek with his knuckles. Soft, so soft. Creed bit back a curse. What kind of life could she have with him? He was a half-breed. A hired gun. An escaped convict. Lord knew she deserved more out of life than he’d ever be able to give her. Even if he somehow managed to clear his name, he would still be a half-breed, a man straddling two worlds, at home in neither.
Creed stared up at the small patch of sky visible through the lodge’s smoke hole. Jassy deserved the kind of life a decent man could offer, and he intended to see she got it.
He glanced down to find Jassy gazing up at him, a smile curving her lips.
“You are here,” she murmured. “I was afraid I’d dreamed you, that I’d wake up and you’d be gone.”
“No.”
She reached for his hand and held it to her heart. “I missed you.”
Creed nodded. “I missed you, too.”
“Will they let us go?”
“Yeah.” He smiled down at her. “I wasn’t just fighting for you, you know, but for our freedom, as well. We’ll leave this morning.”
Jassy expression was dubious. “Do you feel up to riding?”
“Not really, but I want to get you out of here.”
“We can stay another day or two if you want. I don’t mind.”
“I mind. I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“Who? Chah-ee-chopes?”
Creed snorted. “Who else?”
“He’s been very kind.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Creed, it’s not like that.”
“Like hell. I saw the way he looked at you.” Creed stared at Jassy, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Maybe you want to stay here. With him.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I’m sorry.” Creed ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly as the movement put pressure on his bruised ribs.
“I think we should wait,” Jassy said.
“And I think we should go. And that’s the end of it.”
* * * * *
It was just after noon when they rode out of the village.
To show there were no hard feelings, Chah-ee-chopes had provided them with a couple of
parfleches
of food, a waterskin, and a rifle. He had offered Creed a pair of buckskin leggings, a loose-fitting shirt, and a pair of moccasins, which Creed had accepted with a terse word of thanks.
Prior to saying goodbye, Chah-ee-chopes had given Jassy a pretty little bay mare, apparently as a going-away present of some kind, or perhaps a token of his esteem. Creed hadn’t missed the possessive way the warrior had looked at Jassy when he handed her the mare’s reins, or the way his hands had lingered at Jassy’s waist when he lifted her onto the bay mare’s back. Nor had Creed missed the scorching glance of jealous hatred that Chah-ee-chopes had sent in his direction.
Gritting his teeth, Creed had swung up on the back of his horse. They weren’t getting out of the village any too soon, he had mused ruefully.
And now it was dark. He had insisted on traveling until well after nightfall, in spite of Jassy’s suggestion that they make an early camp.
He grimaced as he overheard her muttering something about “stupid, stubborn men” under her breath, but he wanted to put as many miles between themselves and the Crow as possible, and if it meant aggravating his already sore ribs, then that was just too damn bad; he had seen the way Chah-ee-chopes had looked at Jassy, and he hadn’t liked it one damn bit.
Though he refused to admit it, he was exhausted by the time he agreed to make camp. The beating he had taken, the long ride to the Crow camp, the fight with Chah-ee-chopes, had all taken their toll on his endurance. His ribs ached like the very devil and all he wanted to do was lay down and close his eyes.
He grunted softly as he slid from the back of his horse.
And suddenly Jassy was there beside him, her arm slipping around his waist, her brow furrowed with concern.
“I’ll take care of everything,” she offered. “Don’t move.”
She was as good as her word. She found a smooth stretch of ground and spread a blanket for him to lie on, unsaddled and hobbled the horses, built a small fire.
When that was done, she knelt beside him. Removing the wide strip of cloth she used as a belt, she soaked it in water and carefully bathed his face and neck. She helped him out of his shirt, then bound his ribs with the cloth.
“Does that help?” she asked as she tucked the end in place.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“You rest now,” she said with a smile. “I’ll fix us something to eat.”
Creed nodded, but his battered body needed rest more than food, and he was asleep within minutes.
* * * * *
Stretched out beside Creed, Jassy stared up at the stars.
He’d been asleep for hours. She had eaten dinner, washed her hands and face and neck, run her fingers through the tangles of her hair.
Turning on her side, she studied his face. It still amazed her that he had survived the brutal beating, that he had traveled across miles of barren ground to find her. Like a mythical hero in one of her father’s books, Creed had risked his life on her behalf, rescuing her from the clutches of the black knight…
With a sigh, she combed a lock of hair from his forehead.
Even bruised and battered, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.
Handsome and brave, she thought, and because she had to say the words or die, she whispered that she loved him.
* * * * *
Creed felt better after a good night’s sleep. He woke a couple of hours after dawn, aware of Jassy lying beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Last night, she had whispered that she loved him. The memory of those three words, fervently and sincerely spoken, had kept him awake long after Jassy had fallen asleep.
She loved him. And he loved her. But was that enough?
How could he ask her to share his life when he had no life? He was a bounty hunter with a price on his head. Hardly the type of man for a woman to pin her hopes on.
He swore softly as he became increasingly aware of her body pressed against his. He loved her, loved everything about her, and that was why he was going to let her go.
Carefully, he eased away from her, then made his way to the shallow stream that cut across the prairie some fifteen yards away from their camp.
It was a pretty spot, sheltered by slender cottonwoods and shrubs. The stream was wide and shallow, with a slow current and a sandy bottom.
He removed the cloth that bound his ribs, shucked off his pants and moccasins and rolled everything together. Tossing the bundle onto a flat-topped boulder, he plunged into the deepest part of the stream, gasping as the cold water swirled around him. He sat on his haunches, his eyes closed, while the water flowed past him. He would take Jassy to Frisco, find her sister, get his money back, get Jassy settled somewhere, and then get out of her life before it was too late, before she wrapped herself so firmly around his heart that he would never be able to let her go.
Abruptly, he stood up, shaking the water out of his hair.
It wouldn’t be easy to let her go, but he’d done difficult things before, and, somehow, he would get through this, too.
The sound of muffled footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and he swore softly as he realized he’d left the rifle back at camp. He whirled around, then dropped to his knees. “Dammit, girl, what are you doing creeping up on me like that?”
Jassy shrugged, her eyes wide as she took in the broad expanse of Creed’s bare chest. Water droplets clung to his copper-hued skin, twinkling like diamond dust in the early morning sunlight. His hair fell over his shoulders, as sleek and black as a raven’s wing.
“I came down to wash,” she said, unable to keep her gaze from straying downward. The rolling water covered him from the waist down, blurring what lay beneath.
She felt the blood rush to her face, but she couldn’t seem to stop staring. She’d seen naked men before. Considering what her mother and sister did for a living, it had been inevitable.
But she had never been in love with any of those men. Never wanted them to hold her, to touch her.
She had never wanted to touch any man the way she wanted to touch Creed Maddigan. Just looking at him made her want to slide her hands over his hard-muscled chest, to trace the outline of his jaw with her fingertips, to soothe the half-healed scar on his cheek, to run her fingers through the heavy thickness of his hair. She yearned to caress the thick muscles in his arms, to explore the curly black hair sprinkled across his chest. To feel his hard body pressed against her own.
“Jassy.” Creed’s voice sounded strange, as if he were in pain.
“What?”
Her hair was like a living flame in the sunlight. Her cheeks were a becoming shade of pink. Her brown eyes were wide. And curious. Like Pandora’s before she lifted the lid. Like Eve’s, when she first saw Adam.
Creed swore under his breath. Her every thought was mirrored in the depths of her eyes, magnifying his desire, until the need within grew painful. Immersing one’s self in cold water had long been touted as the best way for a man to cool his lust, but in this case it was like trying to put out a raging forest fire with a cup of water. It just wasn’t working.
“Dammit, girl, you’d best stop looking at me like that.”
She met his gaze then, a saucy grin curving the corners of her mouth as she fisted her hands on her hips. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked a trifle disconcerted. It gave her a sudden sense of power.
“Like what?” she asked innocently.
“Like a hungry kitten contemplating a bowl of fresh cream.”
She took a slow step forward. “And if I don’t?”
“I won’t be responsible for what happens,” he growled. “Now, go on, git!”
She shook her head as she walked closer to the water, her hips swaying provocatively. “Aren’t you getting cold in there?”
Cold, he thought. Hell, he was surprised the water wasn’t boiling.
She lifted a hand to the ties that fastened her dress. “Shall I join you?”
The sound that emerged from his throat was a strangled gasp, like that of a man going down for the third time.
“Jassy, for the love of heaven,” he pleaded, “go back to camp.”
“Why, Creed? Why can’t I stay here?”
“You know damn well why.”
She grinned, and then she laughed. Why hadn’t her mother ever told her how delightfully exciting it was to charm a man, to flirt, to tease? She felt a kind of power she had never felt before, a sense of daring, of exhilaration.
Creed glared at her, his eyes narrowed. “I’m gonna count to five,” he said, clipping off each word, “and then I’m coming out. One…”
She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.
“Two.”
He wouldn’t do it, she thought confidently. He was only bluffing.
“Three.”
Her confidence begin to wane. ”Creed…”
“Four.”
Fire blazed in his black eyes. A muscle ticked in his cheek. Slowly, he began to rise out of the water.
For a moment, Jassy stared at him, the image of sleek black hair and smooth skin glistening like wet bronze imprinting themselves on her mind. Tiny rivers of water cascaded down his broad chest, arrowing down, down…
With a startled cry, she turned on her heel and raced back to camp.
The sound of arrogant masculine laughter rumbled behind her. She knew, in that instant, that he had been bluffing.
For a moment, she was tempted to turn right around and go back, to prove that she wouldn’t be made sport of, but then she remembered the fire blazing in the depths of his black eyes, the tension that had been evident in every taut line and muscle of his body.
Perhaps, in this instance, prudence had been the wisest course of action.
But it galled her just the same.
Creed swore under his breath as he watched Jassy’s headlong flight back to camp. How was he going to keep his hands off her on the long journey to San Francisco? He wanted her as he had never wanted a woman in his entire life, wanted to bury himself deep within her sweetness. But that wasn’t all. He wanted her heart and her soul. He wanted her smiles and her laughter. He wanted to comfort her when she cried, to share her heartaches and her joys. He wanted her face to be the first he saw in the morning, the image he carried into sleep at night.