Nan Ryan (33 page)

His insensitivity was still plaguing her when, riding across the vast Verde Valley around four that afternoon, Lew had said, “I’m so sleepy I’m about to fall out of the saddle. Suppose I could trust you for half an hour while I nap?”

Hot and tired, Mollie asked, “Is there water nearby?”

Lew pointed. “I’m certain that stand of trees means water. Want a bath?”

“I’ll only bathe if you’re asleep.”

He grinned. “And I’ll only sleep if you’re bathing.”

So he did.

And she did.

Or at least that had been her intention. While he had stretched out under a shade-giving evergreen and immediately fallen to dozing, Mollie had sauntered around a gentle curve of the stream and came upon a small sun-warmed clearing. Smiling, she hurried down to the inviting water. At the stream’s edge, she sighed and eagerly peeled off her hot shirt. Then just as quickly she lifted her soiled chemise over her head.

Her hands were at the waistband of her buckskins when a twig snapped close by. She swallowed nervously and cast a curious glance over her shoulder. She saw nothing, but was sure Lew was spying on her.

Not turning around, she said angrily, “You get out of here this minute, bounty hunter!”

A horse snorted then, and Mollie felt the hair rise on her nape. When she stooped to grab her clothes, an Indian brought his big moccasin down on top of them. Mollie gasped and looked up into a fierce coppery face.

That’s when she had started screaming. The rest was a blur. She was surrounded by at least a dozen mounted braves while the one who had put his foot on her clothes calmly stalked her. As the giant savage bore steadily down on her, Mollie saw, from the corner of her eye, Lew running swiftly toward them.

She had never been as glad to see anybody in her life. Then, when to her shocked surprise, Lew had smiled and spoke to the menacing redskin, she had known in an instant that she was safe.

Now, the danger past, Mollie was already starting to chafe at the bit. She wanted out of Lew’s encircling arms. She didn’t appreciate the intimate way he held her. Didn’t like the feel of his broad chest pressing against her back. Was incensed by the constant contact of his hard thighs against her bottom.

She wasn’t certain what Lew had told the Apaches about her, but she had the distinct impression that they looked on her as the squaw of “Singing Boy.”

Hoping Lew would soon bid them good day and the Indians would ride away, Mollie’s head snapped around when Lew told her, “The chief and his braves want us to spend the night with them. I told them we’d be most honored.”

As irritated as she was, Mollie wasn’t foolish enough to put up a fuss. She merely nodded and smiled. And as night fell, she found herself seated before a campfire over which freshly killed elk roasted on a spit. When the meat was cooked, Chief Red Sunset drew from his breechcloth a sharp hunting knife, sliced off a large hunk of the roasted elk, and placed it on Mollie’s tin plate. The chief stood waiting. Mollie looked to Lew.

“He wants you to taste it, see if it suits,” Lew prompted.

Mollie took a bite of the succulent roasted meat, chewed, and then nodded appreciatively. She hadn’t tasted anything that good since they’d left Prescott. Looking directly at the expectant chief, she asked Lew to tell him the meat was delicious. Chief Red Sunset’s face broke into a grin, and his black eyes crinkled with pleasure.

Much laughing and whiskey-drinking accompanied the meal. Mollie noticed that Lew turned up the bottle almost as often as his Apache friends. Setting her plate aside, she yawned sleepily and asked Lew if she could go on to bed.

“Sure,” he said, turning to the chief, who was speaking. Mollie could tell by the expression on the chief’s coppery face that he was saying something about her. Smiling easily, Lew told her, “Chief Red Sunset wishes to see Sunshine Hair’s birthmark again.”

“Chief Red Sunset can go to blazes!” Mollie snapped, starting to rise.

“You’ll go to blazes if you don’t behave,” warned Lew, pulling her to him.

He turned her so that her back was to the chief and lifted her shirttail while Mollie fumed. Again she felt those blunt, callused fingers on her flesh and wanted to shout her objections. But Lew’s level gaze, holding hers, made her think better of it. She sighed with relief when finally the chief withdrew his exploring hand. Lew immediately drew her to her feet and ushered her to the edge of the firelight, where their blankets were stored.

“See you shortly,” he said and left her.

Mollie watched him walk back to the fire, take the proffered whiskey bottle, and turn it up to his lips. By the time she had lain down and pulled her red-and-blue blanket up over her shoulders, music had begun. One of the braves, who was half-Mexican, half-Apache, had a battered guitar. He strummed it with talented fingers and after shouts and pleas from the Indians, a lone voice began to sing along. A deep, unmistakable voice.

It quickly became evident why the Apaches called Lew “Singing Boy.” His rich, pleasing baritone carried on the thin night air as he sang in romantic Spanish. Mollie lay awake listening, her heart fluttering crazily. She turned onto her side, rested her face in her hands, and stared across the distance at Lew. He sat cross-legged staring into the fire as he sang, a dreamy, trance-like expression on his handsome face.

A tightness suddenly pressed down on Mollie’s chest, and she wondered who he was thinking of as he sang of true love and endless desire. Of the Spanish girl who had died? Was he still heartbroken over her death? So heartbroken he would never love again?

Blinking, Mollie realized that tears were stinging her eyes. She felt more lonely than she’d felt since her papa died. This handsome man had come into her life as if he had stepped out of her sweetest dreams, and from that first moment she had been his for the taking. What a hopeless fool she had been. What a hopeless fool she still was.

Fool. Fool. Fool
.

She repeated the word over and over before finally falling asleep. Later she came wide awake when Lew lifted the blanket and crawled in next to her.

“How dare you! What are you doing?” she hissed, raising up onto her elbows.

“I assured the chief we share a hot blanket,” said Lew, chuckling, as he pulled her back down.

“I don’t give a damn what you told—”

“You’d better,” he cut her off, slurring his words a little, “unless you’d like to share his blanket.”

Mollie turned over to look at him. “I have no intention of sharing anybody’s blanket, and you can just get up this minute!”

She pushed on his bare chest.

Lew caught her hands. “Listen to me. The chief and his braves believe that you are
my
woman. I told them you are. Because you are mine, they haven’t touched you. Need I say more?”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

“Believe anything you like, but you’re sleeping here with me, under this blanket, in my arms, all night long. Savvy?”

For a long uncertain moment Mollie stared into Lew’s flashing eyes. Then quietly she turned over, showing her back to him. “I don’t like this one bit, bounty hunter.”

“Too bad, outlaw.”

She was silent for a moment, then asked, “Would the chief actually rape me if he didn’t think that you and I—”

“The chief first. Then all his braves.”

Mollie shuddered involuntarily and she didn’t attempt to pull away when Lew’s arms tightened around her and he drew her back against him. She whispered, “Surely they won’t harm me if—”

Lew laughed drunkenly. “Harm Singing Boy’s woman? Never.” He sighed heavily. “The chief wants you, though. He’s fascinated with your light hair and your birthmark. Said he’d never had a squaw with a
mariposa
birthmark. Asked me what it’s like.” Again Lew laughed. “That birthmark sure gets you in trouble. If not for it, I wouldn’t have—”

“Hatton,” Mollie interrupted angrily.

“Hmm?”

“Kiss my butterfly!”

“I’d like to, honey,” he slurred, his breath warm on the back of her neck, “I sure would.”

“Oh!”

Mollie awakened with a start early the next morning. Her eyes opened to see Chief Red Sunset’s broad ugly face. He was squatted there above them, totally silent, grinning down at her. Her heart thumping beneath her ribs, Mollie anxiously snuggled back against the slumbering Lew.

“Lew,” she said softly, “wake up. Lew.”

Lew slowly roused. “Hmm?” he murmured, pressing his face into her hair. “Time to get up already?”

“Enjuh?”
said the Apache chief, and Lew’s eyes came open.
“Enjuh?”
the chief said again, speaking to Lew, but looking at Mollie.

Lew grinned and hugged Mollie tightly. “
Sí. Enjuh. Muy enjuh.”

That seemed to please the chief because he threw back his head and laughed heartily, then rose and walked away repeating,
“Enjuh. Muy enjuh.”

Mollie immediately threw off Lew’s arms and sat up. “What does
enjuh
mean?”

Lew yawned and unselfconsciously rubbed his bare chest. “Good.”

Puzzled, Mollie stared down at him. “Good? You told him something was good? What?” She waited for an answer, noticing the gold chain winking on his neck, wishing that the memento it supported hadn’t fallen down over his shoulder so she could see what it was.

“You,” said Lew.

Mollie blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

“The chief wanted to know if you were good last night. I assured him that you were.”

“Good Lord, he doesn’t think we … he actually believes that you and I … with all of them right over there and … that is the most … the most …”

“Uncivilized?”

“Exactly!”

Smiling, Lew sat up. “They’re savages, remember.”

“And you are too, Lew Hatton.”

“No, outlaw, I’m not. If I were,” his gaze swung to her face, “then I would know if you really are
enjuh.”

Mollie flushed hotly and shot to her feet. Lew rose beside her and said, “You’ve played it smart so far. Don’t ruin it now. They’ll be leaving within the hour.”

Exactly one hour later Mollie and Lew stood in the rapidly heating sun saying good-bye to the smiling Chief Red Sunset while his mounted braves waited patiently. The chief’s affection for Lew was evident, and although she couldn’t understand what he said, she nodded, smiled, and thanked him for everything.

The chief bobbed his head happily and pointed from Lew to Mollie and back again and, his black eyes sparkling as though he knew a secret, he said,
“Solo un idioma, el idioma del amor.”

Mollie looked at Lew and could have sworn he flushed beneath his tan. Clasping the chief’s outstretched hand, he shook his head and said,
“Sí. Sí.”

The tall chief backed away, still gesturing and beaming while Lew put an arm around Mollie and both waved until the Apaches, mounted on their mustangs, had thundered out of sight.

“What was that the chief said about understanding the language?” Mollie asked, turning to Lew.

“He said that for you and me there is … ,” he paused, his lids lowering, his voice dropping, “…
solo un idioma, el idioma del amor.”

“What does it mean?”

“‘Only one language, the language of love.’”

“Ride into town and fan out. Drink in the
saloons. Buy whiskey for the patrons. Visit the brothels. Question the girls. Don’t come back until you can tell me if she’s in Maya.”

The big, bearded man drew a long black cigar from his shirt pocket, stuck it into his mouth, and waited until one of his minions anxiously lighted it. Then he said, “If she is no longer there, find out where she went. And with whom.”

The half dozen Mexican bandits nodded eagerly, impatient to get to their task. One, the mean-eyed man with the droopy mustache who, due to his fondness for knife fighting was called Cuchillo, looked at their leader and said,
“Sí, jefe
. You wish Cuchillo to bring you a woman to help pass the time till you find your
chica?”

The Texas Kid thoughtfully puffed on his cigar. His gaze slowly swept the nightlit city of Maya below. “No. I will save myself for her. In a matter of hours she’ll be in my arms.” An evil grin stretched his thin lips when he added, “My beloved deserves all my passion.”

“Sí. Sí
.” Cuchillo said and laughed heartily. Then: “Tell us again,
jefe
, exactly what we are to do when we find her.”

“You do nothing. Nothing. You watch her every move. Follow her. Find out where she is living and then wait until you are sure she is in bed sound asleep.”

“And then?” Cuchillo twirled the end of his mustache.

“Come tell me. I’ll go after her.” The Kid took the cigar from his mouth. A string of spittle momentarily linked it to his lips. “I know how to persuade my fiery little sweetheart to hand over the gold and come with me.” His gray eyes became demonic. “Now go!”

The riders galloped down the rocky plateau toward Maya. The Kid, staying behind, watched until they were swallowed up in the darkness of the hot August night. He then unsaddled his dun-colored stallion, pulled a bottle from his saddlebags, and made himself comfortable.

While he waited, he drank of the whiskey and daydreamed of the passion-filled nights ahead with his golden-haired spitfire. It would take a while to break her properly, but it would be worth the trouble. He smiled, took another long pull from the bottle, and shuddered with anticipation. In just a few short hours she would be in his arms.