Apache Fire (4 page)

“There is a knife in my moccasin.”

Angie fought the thought of his leaving, of her never seeing him again, as she drew the small knife from its sheath and lifted it to his hand.

“No. It is for you. But first you will gift me with a small curl of your hair.”

His eyes held hers with a steady gaze full of unspoken things. All the words that filled his heart would remain there. Time did not allow them. But he would not go without taking a part of her with him.

The long moments stretched into a tension that sent heat flooding Angie. She moved to do as he asked, biting her lower lip not to ask the hundred questions that hungered for answers. He had not cursed her, or condemned her for the accident of Tim's birth or the death of her child. And when she handed over the curl she had sliced from her hair and saw that he tucked it inside his shirt, she felt the first of the healing she had sought begin.

“Don't let them catch you, Niko. I'll pray for your safety.”

“And I will call upon my spirits to protect you always.”

She begged with her gaze to know if she would see him again.

He longed to tell her he would come back for her.

There had been no shame to see her after he had been beaten, as he had feared.

Niko said nothing more. He urged his horse away from her and did not look back. To see her again was to court the need to keep her with him.

He was a true renegade now. Branded as such by the army. Never would he walk in freedom upon the lands of his fathers.

But he would come back. This he swore.

For burning into his back were the eyes of a woman who looked upon him as a man, and only a man. A woman who wore sorrow in her eyes. His people knew the loss of one child could be replaced with another of joy. There was love in the heart of this Anglo woman.

Yes, he would be back. Well and strong once more, ready to ease the hunger in his loins. For there was hunger within the woman, and it called strongly to him as the distance widened.

Yes, he would return.

Angie should have expected it. Major Sumner refused to see her, refused to listen to Mary. The private brought word that it was an army matter now, regardless of what had caused it, and that being the case, nothing she said mattered.

Mary made no promises that she would try to talk to the major. Angry and disappointed, Angie began to look for her brother. She couldn't put off dealing with Grant any longer.

She walked across the parade ground to the sutler's, but Grant wasn't among the men inside. Angie was puzzled by the way they suddenly grew silent and watched her. A feeling of revulsion overcame her as she left the post's store. She dismissed it outside, as twilight fell, thinking they had already heard what had happened from the returning soldiers.

And likely blamed her.

Angie held her head high. She refused to accept all the blame for what had happened. The past had taught her that she couldn't change the way people thought, or alter their beliefs. She was too exhausted to try.

The livery offered the best chance to find Grant, and it was there that she headed. She wasn't sure what attracted her attention across the open ground to the commandant's office, but as she looked, Eric stepped outside. He'd know where Grant was.

“Eric!” She called him again, then walked rapidly, once more repeating his name when he didn't acknowledge her. Angie lifted her skirt and petticoats and began to run to intercept him. “Eric, please, wait for me!”

She ignored the attention she was drawing from men who stopped and stared, determined to find out why Eric refused to answer her.

“Corporal Linley, a moment, if you please.” She planted herself in front of him, demanding his attention.

“Mrs. Wallace,” he answered in a curt voice.

He couldn't meet her searching gaze, and despite the fading light, Angie knew that Grant had told him about Tim. It was just as well. After his behavior today, she wanted nothing to do with his narrowminded cruelty.

“I only want to know where my brother is, Corporal.”

“After the major chewed him out for instigating an incident that brought the loss of—”

“Someone was killed?”

“Private Hennisee was injured when the prisoner escaped. Thanks to you, Mrs. Wallace. As for your brother, he's long gone from here. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to see how the soldier is getting on.”

He brushed past her, and Angie let him go. She closed her eyes against the disgust she felt sure was in his.

Once she had defended herself, trying to protect her innocent child against a rigid social code. Her defense went unheeded by one and all. People condemned her for loving the man Tim had been and in so doing condemned her child to die.

Lingering was no longer a choice. She'd have to find a way back to the ranch on her own. There was only one who would help her—Mary Ten Horses.

Mary had her own room attached to the commandant's quarters. It was here that she led Angie, arguing with her to stay the night. Angie refused, asking only for the use of her buckboard to get home. Reluctantly Mary agreed, even coming with her to harness the mules.

“I'll bring them back tomorrow,” Angie promised as she slapped the long reins against the tired mules' backs.

“I will see you before the sun greets the day,” Mary muttered.

Angie couldn't get the mules to move beyond a plodding walk. Her mind was filled with the events of the day, and she was glad her thoughts were taken up with them, for it held fear away to travel alone in the dark.

Grant's ranch was a good two hours' ride from the fort, but it seemed more like five. She startled at every night noise, giving in to the worry that began to plague her that Mary was right, that she should have waited until morning.

But all too soon the lights of the house shone, a most welcome beacon, and even the mules, scenting water and food, picked up their pace.

When she guided the buckboard into the yard and set the pole brake, Angie thought it strange that no one answered her call. Anxious now, she hurried to climb down, ripping her hem when it caught on the rough board.

“Grant! Kathleen!” The door remained closed. Angie looked around the yard, but there was no unseen terror in the shadows. She had to force herself to go to the door.

“Kathleen. It's me, Angie.”

She heard the scrape of a chair inside. So someone was there, someone had heard her. She waited impatiently for the bolt to be lifted, shivering as the mountain coolness made its presence felt.

It was her sister-in-law who finally opened the door, her body blocking the way. “Angie, I tried to talk to him, but he refused to listen to me. Grant wants you gone. He made—”

“Gone? What are you saying?”

“Your brother said you shamed him in front of the soldiers. That you were with one of those savages, and even defended him after he attacked Grant.”

“Grant was wrong. I only told the truth.”

Kathleen shot a look over her shoulder, but didn't move from her place. “Your things are packed and in the barn. He wanted me to leave them out here, but I couldn't do that.”

“Stand aside, Kathleen. Let me talk to my brother.” But Angie found that her frail-looking sister-in-law was strong enough to stop her.

“He doesn't want to talk to you, doesn't want to see you, either. He just wants you gone.”

“And where does he expect me to go?” Anger sharpened Angie's voice, and she welcomed its heat, to warm her against the night's cold, and an even more chilling dread that filled her.

“I liked you, Angie. I never blamed you for what happened. I grieved for the loss of your child with you. But Grant is my husband, the father of my children. I can't go against him.”

There was a feeling of disbelief inside Angie. This could not be happening to her. She was to start a new life, she was to heal the pain of the past. Now Grant was throwing her out because she spoke up against an injustice? It didn't make sense, none of the day made sense.

Kathleen leaned closer. “I put together some food and a blanket for you. I wish it could be different, but you know he's a hard man when his mind's made up.”

“Yes, I know. And thank you, Kathleen. I'll go now.”

“Where will you go?”

But Angie didn't answer her as she led the mules toward the barn to get her belongings. How could she answer, when she didn't know?

Angie didn't discover until morning how vicious her brother could be.

She had driven the buckboard a little ways off the trail and, beneath the shelter of sapling oaks, made a pillow of one of her carpetbags, wrapping herself in the blanket Kathleen had provided. This was one morning when she did not watch the rise of the sun. But the hard bed and her turbulent thoughts had made the little sleep she had a weary battle.

The small parcel that her sister-in-law had left her contained the bread and cheese that broke her fast. Later, Angie never recalled why she reached for her other bag. It was the one she had never unpacked, the one holding her watercolors and charcoal, the sketches she had made of Amy, and of Tim, all the precious memories she had left of her past.

Grant had destroyed them. The papers were ripped apart.

Everything was crushed and broken. Angie wept for its loss, then walked out to the land and scattered what remained. She never looked back as she drove the mules toward the trail.

It was nearly six weeks before Niko learned what had happened to her. He was part of one of the small raiding parties that crossed into Sonora, where unguarded herds were. The stock was driven to Janos, where the animals were exchanged for needed clothing and food, which was then loaded onto Indianowned horses and packed back to the reservation through the Dragoon Mountains. Rarely was there any risk.

But Geronimo had brought back a boy from Mexico, and word quickly spread. Niko was there when Tom Jeffords came to get the boy to return him to his family. As ever, Red Beard was welcomed in Geronimo's camp.

Only once did his voice rise in anger over the boy being taken and the continuation of the raids. “I've denied the raids to Howard, and the general is beginning to question my word. I've written to the commissioner, too, and denied the raids to the press and public. I can't do my job as agent and get fair treatment for all the
Inde'
if you will not stop the raids.”

“My people are hungry.
Friendship
is an empty word.” Geronimo was short, as were many of the Apache. His hair, parted in the middle, hung down to his shoulders. His small, black eyes were set close to the bridge of his nose, and his mouth was a thin, angry slash against his coppery skin.

“If Geronimo has closed his heart to hear me, then I can say no more. I still wish you good. I have always been a friend of the people.”

Jeffords rose and motioned the young Mexican boy to his side.

“I believe you. There are too few of your kind.”

Niko heard Geronimo's last words, but he waited near the horses for Jeffords.

“Red Beard, I would have words with you.”

“Niko? I might have known you'd be here. When I heard what happened—”

“It is past.”

“The hell it is. Grant Cowan put a price on your head. Said you raped his sister.”

“
Inde'
no rape.” Fury simmered, dangerously close to exploding. Niko looked away, swiftly regaining control. “Does the woman claim this rape?”

“Angie Wallace left her brother's house, or some say he threw her out that same night. She stayed with Mary Ten Horses for a few days at the post. They came to see me at San Simon. You heard that we moved the agency there?”

“I heard.” Within him there was a need to hear more of what had happened to
her
. He had to wait for Jeffords to tell it his own way.

“Cochise is ill. This business with the raids has got to cease. I've got the commissioner on my back, the army demanding to be turned loose, and now this stealing of a boy to smooth over.” He could barely make out Niko's face in the wavering light spilling from the fires.

“I know your honor, Niko. You would never have touched a white woman. She's a strange one, all right. I wouldn't have given her permission at all, but there was something about her that just wouldn't let me refuse.”

“What was this thing you did?”

“I let her have the old agency house at Sulphur Springs.”

“She is there, on Chiricahua land?”

“She's safe enough, if you're worried. Mary drives out every few days to see her. There's been no trouble with your band over her staying there. But you'd better keep away. I can't guarantee—”

Niko spun away from him. She was there. All this time he had worried, waiting for word of her, and she was living at Sulphur Springs. Why had no one told him?

He walked off, ignoring Jeffords's calls, his hand pressed to his medicine bag, where a button and a curl of hair were all he had of her.

He had a promise to keep.

Niko left at first light. No one attempted to stop him, for such was not the way in this renegade band. He traveled light, knowing he could live off the land as he made his way to the Mule Pass Mountains. In the heat of the day, he sought shelter and rested, but the moment his shadow was faint upon the earth, he was moving northeast again.

From the Mule Pass he headed for the Dragoons, where Cochise's stronghold lay to the northwest, but he would not endanger them with a visit until he had spoken to his brethren.

Steady rains fell, for the summer had been an unusually wet one. He was at home here, in this mountainous land with the mescal, the piñon and the oak trees. There was little of the big game left, and the spoils from the raids of the year before, stowed in caves and caches, were long gone.

How did the woman live? Who hunted for her? Who shared her fire?

The questions were a goad to spur him on, despite the danger to himself.

In natural stone bowls, he quenched his thirst with the sweet rainwater and wondered why he had kept himself from the young widows who had escaped into Mexico to know freedom with Geronimo. The answer was there, in the clear reflection of the water, for he saw not himself, but a woman who caught the long rays of the sun within her hair.

She had accepted a man, and borne him a child. Niko had respected her time of grief. As the seasons were marked by the gathering of food for the body, so, too, did time allow for other needs to flourish.

His body had healed. It was time, then, for him to know her as a man knows his woman.