The Mavericks (2 page)

Zeke was glad they'd finally decided it was time to settle down and stop wandering from place to place. They planned to raise quality horses to sell to wealthy ranchers who—

A rifle shot broke the silence.

Zeke jerked his rifle from its scabbard, dug his heels into his mount's sides, and shouted, “Watch the horses!” to Dusky Lady as he galloped past. He and Hawk had expected that someone would try to steal their horses. Blooded mares were worth a small fortune in Arizona. He found Hawk crouched behind a clump of cholla cactus and bailed out of the saddle to join him.

“Who is it? Where are they?”

“They're women,” Hawk said, “and they're camped on a sandbar on the other side of the bend in the creek.” Zeke stood, trying without success to see through a tangle of blossoming paloverde.

“Women! What the hell are they doing out here, and why are they shooting at you?”

“
They
didn't. Just one mighty pretty black woman. The rest of them were hiding under the wagon.”

“What did you say to them?”

“I didn't get a chance. She took one look at me and opened fire.”

Zeke laughed. “I told you to stop wearing that damned feather. You look like some white man playing at being an Indian.” Despite Zeke's constant ridicule—and complaints—Hawk liked to wear a single feather as a headdress.

“I'm not a white man.”

“You're not a Comanche, either.” It was an old argument. “Let me talk to her. Maybe she won't shoot at me.”

When he was around Hawk, Zeke found it easy to forget he was an ex-slave. But whenever he met a stranger, he was certain to be reminded of the color of his skin.

“I'll go back to the horses and let the
lady's man
take over,” Hawk said.

That was another bone of contention. Zeke refused to have anything more to do with women than buying drinks or buying sex. As a boy he'd been a slave to a woman who'd abused him. More than twenty-five years later, he still hadn't forgiven her sex.

Returning his rifle to its scabbard, Zeke dismounted. “Take my horse,” he said to Hawk. “Give me about five minutes, then ride in.”

“You think they're gonna let a big, ugly black man walk right into their camp?”

“I don't plan on asking,” Zeke replied.

“Watch out. That woman knows how to use a rifle.”

Holding his hands well away from his sides and dragging his feet to make as much noise as possible, Zeke started toward the bend in the creek that flowed into the San Pedro River. The shallow streambed would normally have been dry this time of year, but Arizona was green this spring. He just needed to get these women moving so he and Hawk could go on their way before anybody with an itching to own fine horseflesh figured out where they were.

Zeke pushed his way through a thicket of tamarisk. A nonnative plant that probably came to Mexico in hay from Spain, the bushes grew in dense thickets. Several stalks branched out from the base of the plant and towered over his head. Dense growth and thousands of tiny leaves made it impossible to see where he was going. Pushing limbs aside as he walked, he felt like he was moving blindly toward an unknown reception. The moment he pushed aside the last branch and stepped into the shade of an ancient and twisted cottonwood, a woman's voice rang out.

“Hold it right there.”

“We're not here to cause trouble.” Zeke didn't stop, but he did slow down. “We just want to move our horses past you, and we'll be on our way.”

“How do I know you're telling the truth?”

He couldn't see the speaker. Her voice seemed to be coming from an area choked with mesquite.

“If you'll wait a few minutes, my partner will bring the horses up.”

“Is that Indian your partner?”

“He's only half Indian.”

“I don't trust him.”

“If you'll hitch up your wagon and move on, you won't have to trust him.”

Moving closer to the stream, Zeke rounded the mesquite thicket and came face to face with the most beautiful black woman he'd ever seen. Even as his brain registered that she couldn't be more than half black, his body registered its instantaneous response to a vision that would have caused a more worldweary man than Zeke to be rendered breathless.

“We can't move on,” she said. “A wheel came off our wagon.”

Zeke fought to force his brain to focus on what she was saying. He was too old to allow a beautiful woman to befuddle his wits. He was also well acquainted with what such beautiful women wanted from a man, and he knew he didn't have it. Yet this woman had the kind of beauty that could cause even the most sensible male to betray himself.

“I'll take a look,” Zeke said, forcing himself to remember that this woman was an obstacle to his and Hawk's goal—getting their horses safely to their ranch. “Maybe Hawk and I can fix it.”

For a moment she looked as though she wasn't going to let him pass. “Our camp is just ahead,” she said before turning to lead the way.

Though she looked like the kind of woman who'd never been more than twenty feet from a mirror, she walked across the rock-strewn ground with a confident gait. Her tan skirt hugged her hips suggestively before flaring out to accommodate her stride. Though the sleeves of her blouse reached her wrists and the collar brushed her chin, any attempt at modesty was
foiled by the way it fitted snugly across her breasts and tapered down to her slim waist.

“My name's Zeke Maxwell.” Zeke had to get his mind off her body. “What's yours?”

“You won't be here long enough to need it.”

“Maybe not, but it's common courtesy to introduce yourself, especially if someone offers to give you a helping hand.” He could understand her not trusting him, but her rudeness was something else.

“It's Josie.” Her tone didn't invite any comment.

The women had made camp on a sandy bank only a short distance away. It was shielded from view by another thicket of tamarisk and mature cottonwoods. The wheel had apparently come off when they pulled the wagon out of the creek. The vehicle listed at a crazy angle, the wheel leaning against its side. Three women occupied various positions near a small fire. A tall blond woman stood, feet well apart, as though ready to face any danger. The second woman, a brunette with hair halfway down her back, looked up momentarily before returning her attention to something she was cooking over the fire. The third, another brunette, lay on a blanket close to the fire. She propped herself up on her elbows when Zeke approached.

“Who's the blonde with the attitude?” Zeke asked.

“Suzette.”

“How about the one cooking?”

“Anna.”

“Why is the other woman covered with a blanket?”

“Laurie's been having chills for the last two days.”

Going over to the wagon, Zeke saw immediately
what was wrong. “You lost the linchpin. Didn't any of you see it when it dropped?”

“What's a linchpin?” Suzette asked.

In the twenty-three years since the end of the war, Zeke had met hundreds of men and women coming West. Why didn't they realize they had to learn to do things for themselves? At the very least, they could learn something about the equipment and animals on which their lives depended. “It's the piece of wood that goes through the end of the axle to hold the wheel on. It looks like this,” he said, pointing to the linchpin on the front wheel.

“It just looks like a piece of wood,” Anna said. “Why would we notice it?”

Zeke wondered why women who knew so little thought they could start out on a journey like this by themselves. Either they were fools or they were running from something. Or someone.

“Can you fix it?” Josie asked.

Zeke turned to Suzette. “With Hawk's help, I can get the wheel on in less than a minute. It may take a little longer to find a suitable piece of wood to form the linchpin.”

“There's wood all over the riverbanks,” Suzette pointed out.

“Cottonwood is soft. Mesquite is better, but I'd prefer something hard like oak or hickory.”

“You won't find that around here,” Josie said.

“I'll probably have to cut a piece out of the wagon.”

Suzette and Josie looked at each other, their doubt apparent.

“Don't worry. I won't hurt your wagon. I'll go get Hawk. We'll be back in a few minutes.”

“Do you trust him?” Suzette asked.

Josie didn't answer right away, because she wasn't sure she knew the answer. She hadn't hesitated to shoot when she saw the Indian. She wasn't stupid enough to think all Indians were trying to kill her, but this was southeastern Arizona where the Apache had been at war until four years ago. Yet, it wasn't the Indian that concerned her. It was Zeke. Josie was used to men being attracted to her. In fact, she depended on it. She was a dancer and singer. If men weren't attracted to her, she didn't make money. What confused her was her attraction to Zeke. She was never attracted to men, not even handsome men. What was it about Zeke, a down-at-the-heels cowpoke, that could possibly hold her attention, much less her interest?

“I don't trust anybody,” Josie said. “I intend to make sure those men leave as soon as they fix the wagon wheel.”

“I think we ought to invite them to supper,” Anna said.

“I want them gone before dark,” Josie said.

Josie didn't like being attracted to Zeke. It made her feel vulnerable. That feeling brought back painful memories she'd sworn to forget. She would never allow herself to feel vulnerable again. Never.

“I agree with Anna,” Laurie said.

“And what are you going to do when he tries to crawl into your bed?” Josie demanded.

“He won't be interested in me, not with you and Suzette around.”

“Thanks,” Josie snapped, “but I don't want him in my bed.”

“He won't try. He's not that kind of man.”

“You don't know anything about him,” Josie fired back. But her anger lacked conviction because she felt the same thing. Entertaining men was her business; being able to judge character was a skill she'd acquired through experience. Zeke's physical attraction to her was strong, but he was the kind of man who would never allow his desires to overpower his will. Despite herself, that self-restraint intrigued Josie. What kind of man could deny his physical need when his body shook from the force of it?

The kind of man who would feel comfortable in the desert, who would know all about linchpins, and who wouldn't be intimidated by her rifle. She looked around and shivered with disgust. She hated the heat, the bugs, the dirt, the effort it took to wrest a living from the hostile earth of the desert. Why would anyone want to live here? The land was covered with plants that offered little shade and came equipped with thorns that were sometimes poisonous as well as painful. She dug her foot in the sand and kicked a smooth pebble into the riverbed. The flow of crystal-clear water was so meager it filled only a few feet of the thirty-foot-wide riverbed. Grass, the ever-present willow, and some small yellow flowers Josie couldn't identify had sprouted in the dry portions of the riverbed. Despite the clusters of flowers, she didn't like the desert.

“I intend to keep my eye on him every minute,” Josie said.

“Me, too,” Suzette added.

“You'd better keep your eye on the other one,” Laurie cautioned. “I don't trust Indians.”

“He's a half-breed,” Josie pointed out.

Laurie remained unconvinced. “That's even worse. He doesn't belong on either side.”

Having a white father who'd married his former slave, Josie knew how that felt. The sound of hooves against rocks caused the women to turn. Josie felt a shiver go through her when Zeke appeared astride an Appaloosa gelding. She didn't know a lot about horses, but she knew all about men who looked magnificent in the saddle. She couldn't deny that watching him ride toward her stirred something deep inside, but she had learned long ago to throttle any such attraction. Married or not, men wanted only one thing from a woman.

And that was the one thing Josie was determined no man would ever get from her.

Excitement began to build inside Suzette when she saw one mare after another follow Zeke around the bend in the stream. Bay, dun, sorrel, and one with the distinctive markings of an Appaloosa followed in the footsteps of their leader. “You didn't tell me they had horses,” she exclaimed. “That first mare looks ready to foal. I wish I could be there when she does.”

“If you want a horse, you can buy one when we get to Tombstone,” Josie said.

Suzette knew Josie didn't understand her attachment to animals. Josie had grown up on a farm and hated anything to do with animals, but Suzette's young years had been spent in very different circumstances. The stepdaughter of a wealthy man, she'd been allowed to have virtually any pet she wanted—cats, dogs, and rabbits—but she'd been especially fond of
her horses. She'd been devoted to a Morgan mare she was given on her sixth birthday. But everything had changed abruptly for her and her sister after their mother's death. Since then she'd never had the opportunity to do more than adopt a stray cat or feed and care for an injured dog.

“I can't afford a horse. Besides, it's not practical.” Maybe the men would let her watch the horses while they put the wheel back on the wagon.

“Don't go wandering off looking at those horses while they're here,” Josie said.

Suzette counted nine horses, all mares, before the second man appeared. Having grown up in the East and having heard numerous stories of the barbarous cruelty of Indians, Suzette tensed when she saw the single feather hanging down the back of the man's neck. He didn't look like the Indians she'd seen in Colorado. His skin was dark and his hair as black as a raven's wing, but his features were finely chiseled rather than rounded and blunt. Even though he was seated in the saddle, she could tell he was as tall and powerfully built as the black man.