Ace's Wild (17 page)

The sliver of moon didn’t give out much light, but Ace was careful, very careful, not to step on a stick, not to break a branch. The only rustle marking his progress was the rise of the breeze.

He wanted to charge in, find Petunia, snatch her close, keep her safe, apologize, tell her it didn’t matter. But it did. He knew it did. For all her bravado, she was a good woman, and tonight was going to change her life but he would fix it. He was good at fixing things. Card games, claim disputes at the assayer’s office, just subtly working in the background moving things around, playing the odds until they came out right. And he’d make it right for Petunia. He’d do what he had to now to get her out of this mess, and when he got her home, he’d convince her nothing that had happened today mattered. Because it didn’t. Not now. Not to him. Not ever.

Another snore permeated the dark. The wind changed direction, and a sour smell blended with the clean night air. Every boy over the age of ten was familiar with that smell. Hooch. Gil had been carrying hooch on that coach, which might explain the unnatural stillness of the camp.

Ace sent an answering signal back to Luke. He slid his knife between his teeth and pulled out his revolver, waiting for the little hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end, but while every nerve ending was snapping with attention, the warning tingle was absent. There was danger here but not an imminent threat. Normally, he would have just gone with that but ordinarily, Petunia wasn’t in the line of fire. He couldn’t afford a mistake. He crouched down and inched forward. A twig snapped beneath his knee. He swore internally and froze. No one stirred in the camp.

Up ahead there was another snore. This close it was easy to pinpoint the person’s position. Asleep or not, it shouldn’t have been as easy as it was to creep up on the sentry sitting braced against a tree, but it was a cakewalk. Grabbing the man from behind with a hand over his mouth, Ace cut his throat, left to right, so fast the raider didn’t even tense up at the mortal wound. Along with the smell of blood came the sour stench of alcohol. There must have been a lot of hooch on that coach.

Ace gave the signal. One down. From across the way came Luke’s return signal. Two sentries down, six men to go. He eased the body to the ground, knowing the Comanche way, wondering if he’d had a turn on Petunia. The thought made Ace want to kill him all over again with that thought but slower, piece by piece, looking into his eyes while he understood retribution had come. Ace wiped the knife on the man’s pants, put it back between his teeth and crept forward. Drunk or not, six-to-two odds were barely even.

Creeping deeper into the camp, he found a second warrior, a shadow on the ground framing the edge of the fire just beyond what would have been its light, had it been tended. He died as easily as the first. It gave Ace no satisfaction. Across the way he knew Luke was doing the same. He shook his head as the stench of vomit and alcohol and stale sweat surrounded him. There was a time when he would have shaken his head at how low a drink could bring the mighty Comanche, but right now, as he went from bundle to bundle, all he could think of was the hell they must have put Pet through before they’d passed out. And be grateful God had evened up the odds.

He knew Petunia would be toward the back, tossed like so much debris to be used as they saw fit. God, he hated the thought of them with Petunia. She deserved flowers and tender touches and a man who guarded his nature as well as he guarded her. It hadn’t been fucking him.

One of the Comanche rolled over and fumbled to his feet. He stood and swayed, clearly still intoxicated. Ace snarled, drawing his attention. The man spun around, instincts far sharper than his reflexes. Ace didn’t wait for him to find him in the shadows. As the raider reached for his knife, Ace grabbed his wrist, stepping in close, grabbing him by the back of the neck. This close he could see the darker marks of scratches on his face. With another snarl he turned the Indian’s blade and shoved it forward, gutting him on his own knife. The raider’s eyes flew wide, the whites gleaming. A harsh gurgling sound erupted from his throat.

“For Pet, you son of a bitch.”

Ace jerked the knife up, feeling his blood seep through his clothes, knowing he’d killed him. It wasn’t enough. The beast in him growled and writhed. The implications of those scratches stuck in his mind. He wanted to tear the world down. With a silent snarl, he pushed the disemboweled man off the knife.

Three more feet he could make out the darker shadow of another body. Too big to be Petunia. He took a step; as he did his foot brushed something hard. Feeling with his foot, he found a short stake and a length of rope. There was only one thing the Comanche would tie up. Pet.

Carefully, ever so carefully, Ace reached for the man’s face noticing even as he did that this shadow was different. A quick study revealed he was curled on his side. Adjusting his stance, Ace slipped his hand over the man’s mouth and slit his throat with the same efficiency as before, cutting him off midsnore. Blood spurted over his hands. A gasp snapped his gaze up. Even in the pale light he could make out the soft shine of Petunia’s eyes looking back at him from under the raider’s corpse.

She was alive.

Thank you, God.

Signaling to Luke that he’d found her, Ace dragged the body of the dead Comanche aside. He reached for Pet’s shoulder. Instead, he found her naked armpit, then her ribs, then her torso. No material blocked his touch but thanks to him, she was covered in the Indian’s blood. The bastard had been sleeping wrapped around her. He put a bloody hand over her mouth and softly intoned, “Shhh.”

He prayed like hell she recognized his voice. Slowly he removed his hand. She didn’t scream. That was something. He skimmed his hands quickly over her body, checking for any obvious broken bones. When he got to her hips she started fighting. Again he put his hand over her mouth. Tapping her cheek with his finger, he brought her gaze back to him. He doubted she could see his face backlit as he was by the only source of light, but he knew she would see the shake of his head.

Sliding his free hand up her arm, he found the ropes pinning her to the ground. He cut the left and the right, repeating the procedure on the ones binding her feet. Against his hand her head jerked. Damn, he couldn’t even afford to let her cry. He leaned down until he covered her body, feeling her tense, blocking her blows, whispering in her ear, “Quiet, Pet.”

She only fought harder, and damn the woman was strong. He pinned her legs with his knees and her arms with his elbows, keeping his hand over her mouth and leaning in again, he breathed the words in her ear. “Unless you want another go with these Comanche, you’ll hold still.”

Fear did what his presence couldn’t. Pet went stiff as a board. Her chest rose and fell in rapid pants beneath his. Her breath hit his palm in soft, silent protests he couldn’t let her voice. Not yet. Above his hand, her eyes accused. Below, her body protested.

“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound until I tell you. Understood?”

It took a second, and she stopped breathing all together first, but then she nodded.

Still keeping his whisper as light as the creeping moonlight he asked, “Can you do that if I let you go?”

The nod didn’t come immediately.

“I need to cover Luke.”

He didn’t know if she was nodding “yes” she couldn’t stay still without him, or that she understood what he was saying. He stroked his thumb across her cheek.

“They won’t ever touch you again, I promise. Even if I step away, know that. They’ll never touch you again.”

He could feel her fear fighting with that relief. She needed something to hold on to. He gave it to her.

“I’m not asking you, Pet, I’m telling you. I’m giving you an order and for once in your goddamn life, you’re going to follow it.” He gave her a little shake. “Because I’m the one giving it. You’re going to lie there as still as a mouse as if you’re still tied. You’re not going to move, you’re not going to cry out. You’re just going to lie there and wait for me to come back.”

She shook her head. Grabbing her chin, he stopped the denial.

“I
will
come back. That’s what you believe in and hold on to, all right?”

He took his hand from her mouth, kissed her briefly, delicately, mindful of the injuries he couldn’t see, just a short touch of his lips to hers that he needed. “You’re mine, Pet, and you’re safe.”

With that, he got up, not looking back. Leaving her with the expectation that she’d obey, hoping like hell she would.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A
CE
SLIPPED
THROUGH
the dark, rage pulsing in his blood, the need for revenge a coppery taste on his tongue. They’d touched her, hurt her. He was going to enjoy making them pay.

He found another Comanche passed out on the ground and turned him over. The warrior’s eyes snapped opened, a faint glimmer of white in the dark of the night. Surprise muddled in his gaze longer than it should for a seasoned warrior. Ace pressed his knife against his throat and waited until through the befuddlement came knowledge.

“You shouldn’t have touched her.” He drew his knife across his throat quick and clean, cleaner than he wanted. Blood sprayed. There was a gurgle of sound, and then it was over.

He moved on, wanting there to be a next one, but there wasn’t. All he found was Luke standing over another body leaving Ace standing there with the scent of blood clinging to him and no place to go with the rage consuming him.

“That the last?”

“Yup.” Luke wiped his knife on the dead man’s shirt and sheathed it. “How is she?”

Haunted, scared and broken. A far cry from the bold-as-brass woman who’d called him chicken shit just the other day. “About as good as you’d expect.”

“They rape her?”

Probably. “I don’t know.”

“Shit.” Luke sighed. “Sometimes it doesn’t pay for you to play God.”

Ace looked up, startled.

“We been riding together for more years than I could count, Ace. You don’t think I don’t know when you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face?”

“I put her on that stage to protect her.”

“Never thought I’d say this,” Luke said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, “but I’m beginning to think you don’t know shit about women in general.” Grabbing up a canteen and blanket from one of the bedrolls, he handed it to Ace. “You might want to clean up before you go back to her.”

“Why?”

“You go to her with your face like that, she’s liable to start screaming.”

Ace touched his fingers to his face. They came away wet.

“You’re covered in blood.”

Dousing the blanket in water, Ace scrubbed hard and fast. “Better?”

“A little.”

It was as good as it was going to get.

Luke tossed him another blanket. It reeked of horse and smoke. The man was ever resourceful.

Petunia lay right where he’d left her. She hadn’t moved. As he’d ordered. That in itself told Ace the level of damage that’d been done. The woman he’d known would have been scrambling for some weapon, escape, something. She wouldn’t have just lain there like a broken doll, body quiet, eyes screaming. He knelt beside her and drew the back of his fingers down her cheek. Her skin felt wonderful against his. Soft. Warm. Alive.

“You ready to go home, Pet?” he asked, draping the blanket over her.

Her eyes darted around as if looking for enemies to be springing out of nowhere.

“There’s no one here that’s going to hurt you. Just Luke and I, and you already know you’ve got both of us wrapped around your little finger.”

Slipping his hand down her cheek on the next pass, he opened his hand, curling his fingers around the nape of her neck. “Are you hurt anywhere serious?”

She shook her head. He didn’t believe her.

“Any of your bones broken? Any bad bruises?” Luke asked.

Her gaze didn’t leave his. Her dry lips worked, struggling for words. She shook her head again, the “No” an aborted attempt.

Ace forced a smile. “Then I’m going to lift you up but if anything hurts you let me know. Fast.”

He just didn’t like the way she was lying there. Sometimes a body in shock wasn’t aware of how much damage had been done. He pulled her up gently, supporting her with his hand, slipping the second around her shoulders as he got her a bit off the ground. Drawing her up and over, she leaned against his chest, her face tucked into the hollow of his neck as if it belonged there. She smelled of dirt, sweat and the faintest scent of perfume. She shuddered and let out a sigh.

Stroking her hair, he whispered, “You gave me quite a scare, woman.”

She nodded then took another shuddering breath. Her fingers crept up his vest digging in at the shoulder, asking permission.

He kissed the top of her head. “Put your arms around my neck, please.”

Luke made a rough sound in his throat. Petunia’s arms slowly encircled his neck. There came another broken breath. She was trying not to cry, he realized. He stopped immediately.

“Are you hurting?”

Another shake of her head. Slipping his hands under her knees and his arm all the way around back, he lifted her up into his lap and just held her for a minute. As long as she was alive, he could make it up to her.

There was another sound from the vicinity of his chest. He looked down. Her hair brushed his cheek, tickling his nose. He didn’t move it aside. “What’d you say?”

The sound came again, raspy on her dry lips. This time he could make out the words. “Thank you.”

Son of a bitch! She was thanking him. He looked up to find Luke looking down. The other man just shook his head.

“Trust me, my Pet, it was my pleasure.”

Ace made a rough sound in his throat at the endearment, then, “We’d better be going.”

They traveled back in silence to the horses. Halfway there, the back of his shoulders were burning, and his thighs were shaking.

Luke looked back. “I can take her for a bit.”

Pet’s fingers tightened around his neck, his arms tightened back. He’d almost fucking lost her. “Not yet.”

By the time they reached the camp, Ace’s breath was soughing in and out of his lungs and he had to sit down. Luke reached the horses first. They nickered a soft greeting. He came back with a blanket and a bundle.

“What’s that?” Ace asked.

“I picked up some of her clothes that were strewn around while we were back at the stagecoach.”

He unrolled the blanket to reveal shirt, skirt, camisole and shoes. All matching.

Ace just shook his head.

Luke smiled. “Bet you won’t begrudge my preference for the necessity of a good wardrobe in the future, huh?”

“Never again.”

Petunia would feel better in her own things.

“I’ll go water the horses while you get her settled.”

“Don’t take too long. That canyon had the look of a permanent stopping-off point.”

“I noticed.”

Luke led the horses away. As Ace peeled off the blanket, he touched his lips to Pet’s hair. “It’s going to be all right. I promise you.”

She didn’t say a word. He didn’t suppose she had to.

* * *

P
ETUNIA
WANTED
TO
stay in her cloud forever. That soft, fluffy place where sound was muted, sensation was blurred and time drifted. Just like the white clouds in a summer sky. There was peace in the cloud. She didn’t have to face anything in the cloud. The cloud was her haven. And while, on some levels, she knew things were happening outside it, they didn’t really touch her. Not the voices. Not the hands. Nothing. She just drifted.

She was aware of a soft murmur of new voices, the jostling of being moved. Hands undressing her caused a hiccup in her peace. She started to fight, but then she heard
his
voice again. Ace had a wonderful voice, deep and melodic. Commanding. He’d told her she was safe, and as long as she could hear his voice, she was. She cuddled into the next words, not even sure what they were, just listening to his deep drawl, letting it soothe her. Ace always felt soul-deep good.

She whispered, “Thank you.” Or she thought she did. There was a breathy little sound, a vibration in her throat.

“Why is she moaning?”

“I imagine because the bed feels good.” Hester’s voice was an unwelcome intrusion, too brusque and too matter-of-fact when she wanted that masculine touch of safety.

“Do you think she really hears us?”

“Yes, she can hear us,” Hester said.

“Then why isn’t she talking? The woman talks nonstop. She could talk a fly off a pile of shit given the inclination.”

That was not a flattering analogy and not even entirely accurate. She didn’t talk all the time.

“I imagine because she doesn’t want to think.”

Yes. Hester understood.

“Maybe she won’t remember.”

There was a sensation on her forehead. Comforting, awkward but comforting, as if the person wasn’t sure quite what to do, and she could understand that. Clouds were a delicate business. One had to be careful. She liked that he was careful. She liked a lot about Ace. She focused on his smile, the way his lips stretched back revealing those even teeth and the chip in the left canine. It was an imperfection, just a slight one; not much but she liked it. It gave him a sense of vulnerability. She liked the thought of him being vulnerable to her.

“When is she gonna wake up?”

“When she’s ready.”

“When will that be?”

Hester snorted. “You said yourself, she’s a stubborn woman. Might not be for a spell.”

“I don’t like this. She should be up.”

“And screaming?” Hester asked. “And ranting and raving? Leave her alone, Ace. She’ll deal with what happened when she’s ready.”

“I don’t want her screaming.”

The covers lifted up over her shoulder.

Petunia was glad he didn’t want her screaming because she had no intention of screaming ever, of giving in, of breaking. She was a strong woman, and no one moment would define her unless she chose the moment. The thought, just saying that, opened a crack in her defenses. Memories crept through like fingers of a nightmare tickling her consciousness, tugging at her cloud, darkening her moment. She turned away, closing that door, pushing it back. This was her cloud, and she didn’t want it dirty.

The hand stroked across her forehead again, cupped her cheek as natural as the next breath she took.

“What did Doc say?”

She knew it was Ace’s thumb that stroked her lips and slid along them, bringing back the memory of his kiss. Oh, my, that man’s kiss. It made her a stranger to herself. A wild, wanton, entirely happy stranger. She wanted to melt into him, give to him, be for him, just from the touch of his lips. Her breath caught but not in a bad way.

“That she’d be fine so there’s plenty of time for you to get yourself cleaned up,” Hester said.

“I’m staying,” Ace said.

Yes, stay with your thumb on my lips and your kiss in my memory. Stay.

“She’s going to need you when she wakes. A woman of Petunia’s courage and determination won’t hide long. When she does, she’s going to need her friends, but right now you’re just in the way.”

“I could use a bath,” he admitted.

“And then some.”

“Shit.” Ace’s hand left her; the bed rocked. His presence left her, and she was alone on her cloud holding tight to its fragile softness while the nightmare fingers pried at its edges.

“Come back when you’re clean and rested. Not a minute before. A shadow of a man won’t do her any good.”

No, she didn’t need any more shadows.

“I’ll be back,” Ace said.

Pet clung to that. There was more talk. She didn’t care. Ace was coming back. It would be all right. He’d promised.

* * *

A
KNOCK
AT
the door jostled her cloud.

“You needed me, Hester?”

Petunia recognized Luke’s voice. The fingers pried the crack open a little wider as she was fighting them back.

“I need you to help me get her into the tub.”

“But she’s dressed. You want to put her in the tub dressed?”

“Her clothes need washing anyway, and she’s not ready to part with them just yet.”

Petunia fought the hands that lifted her, fought the nightmare reaching in, struggled as she was lowered down, no, not down.

Soothing heat wrapped around her. Stinging at first, but then soothing her aches. The crack in her safe place sealed shut as pleasure enveloped her. She moaned.

“Shit, am I hurting her?”

“I’m thinking for the first time in a couple days, she’s feeling good.”

“You sure?”

There was a snort. “When you soak in that tub in the bathhouse, how much pain do
you
feel?”

“I guess she’s not hurting.”

“Of course, I imagine you have some sweet young thing running her hands over you...”

Luke’s hands left her. “That’s quite the imagination you’ve got there, Hester.”

“I know men.”

There was a pause.

“You don’t know me, but you might want to start.”

“Why? You are who you are, and I am who I am, and there’s never a time those two can meet.”

“I don’t know where you get your notions from, Hester.” The floorboards creaked. “But you’ve got the wrong end of the cat.”

“I don’t even like cats.”

He snorted. “So you keep telling me.”

There was a click as the door shut and another snort from Hester. “Like I’m fool enough to take that man serious.”

More water poured into the tub. The warmth spread out around her. Petunia sank into it. She drifted in the tub the way one drifted on the cloud, buoyed by the water.

“Lean back, honey.”

A hand behind her neck tilted her head back. Water poured in a gentle stream over her hair, once, twice, many times. It felt so good, like summer rain on a brutally hot day. She focused on the sensation, and the rip in the seam mended again but the stitches were there. Big, awkward and weak but at least they were there.

“I can imagine what happened to you, honey, and it’s happened to many women before.”

She wished Hester would just pour the water and not talk.

“It’s a shameful thing but it’s not your shame. The shame is on the men, but I don’t imagine you’re thinking that right now. But down the road you remember, all right?”

The scent of rosemary wrapped around her as Hester’s fingers massaged her hair.

“Those boys went to town, didn’t they?”

She didn’t know what she meant. More water poured over her head. A cloth wiped at her face.

“We’ll get this all off you, and you’ll feel better.”

She felt better already.

“You’re lucky you have the man you do. Not many men would have gone after you. Not many men could have brought you back, but Ace did.”