Apache Flame (20 page)

“
Ai
,” Spirit Walking agreed.

Fights the Wind looked over his shoulder at Mitch. “Where is
the cave?” he asked.

“Not far,” Mitch said.

With a nod, Fights the Wind heeled his horse forward. The
warriors spread out behind him, riding single file.

Mitch and Red Clements brought up the rear.

They had only gone a few yards when a dozen Comanche
warriors came boiling out of a fold in the ground, their war cries shattering
the stillness.

The Comanche war cries were punctuated with the rising war cries
of the Apache as Fights the Wind kicked his horse into a gallop. The other
warriors chased after him.

Mitch and Red Clements hung back. There was a certain raw
beauty in the fighting, Mitch thought as he watched the battle rage, a kind of
barbaric symmetry as the warriors came together. Dust filled the air,
punctuated with war cries and the sound of a club striking flesh. Mitch drew
his Colt as a Comanche warrior came thundering toward him. The warrior plucked
an arrow from the quiver slung over his back, nocked an arrow to the bowstring.
He fired as the warrior drew back the bowstring, and the warrior toppled from
the back of his horse.

Mitch looked over at Clements. “Let’s go,” he said. “The
cave’s that way.”

“I’m right behind ya,” Clements said.

Mitch urged his horse into a gallop, skirting the edge of
the battle. The Indians could fight it out, he thought, his only concern now
was for Alisha.

They were nearing the cave when they came upon two warriors
grappling in the dirt, both struggling for possession of the knife between
them. Mitch recognized Fights the Wind. The Apache had been badly wounded.
Blood poured from a deep gash in his right shoulder, weakening him. He grunted
as the Comanche jerked the knife from his hand. Knowing death was near, Fights
the Wind stared up into his enemy’s face, his expression defiant as he began to
sing his death song.

A look of astonishment spread over Fights the Wind’s face as
blood suddenly spurted from the Comanche’s chest and he toppled face down in
the dirt.

“Nice shot,” Clements remarked.

“Thanks.” Mitch slid from the back of his horse and knelt
beside Fights the Wind. Removing his kerchief from his neck, he quickly wrapped
it around the wound in the warrior’s arm.

Fights the Wind looked away as Mitch tied off the ends of
his kerchief. It was not the Apache way to offer thanks to any but the Great
Spirit. To do so was considered weak. The only expression on the warrior’s face
was one of shame that a white man had saved his life.

“Red, look after him, will you?”

“Sure.”

Swinging into the saddle, Mitch put his heels to his mount’s
flanks, his only thought to find Alisha.

“Please, God,” he prayed. “Please let her be all right.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Alisha stood up at the sound of hoofbeats. Snatching up the
gun Mitch had left for her, she went to stand beside the entrance of the cave,
the sound of her heartbeat pounding loudly in her ears.

Please, she thought, please let it be Mitch.

She held her breath as the hoofbeats slowed. There was a
moment of silence. The sound of footsteps.

“Alisha? It’s me.”

The brush was dragged away from the mouth of the cave and
she hurled herself into his arms.

“I guess you missed me,” he said wryly, and wrapped his arms
around her.

He was here, at last. She held him tight, her face buried
against his shoulder. Relief washed through her. It filled her heart, clogged
her throat, and blurred her vision.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Mitch whispered. “Everything’s all right.”

She held him tighter, assuring herself that he was there,
really there. She had thought of him day and night, reliving every day, every
moment she could remember. And now he was here, holding her tight, and it was
as if the five years they had been apart had never existed. She loved him, had
always loved him. Nothing had changed that.

“How’s Elk Chaser?” Mitch asked.

“I think he’s better.” She sniffed back her tears. “He
sleeps a lot.”

“Well, sleep’s good for him,” Mitch said.

He glanced toward the entrance of the cave as he heard the
sound of riders approaching. Taking Alisha by the hand, he led her to the
shadows in the back of the cave. Drawing his gun, he put her behind him, and
waited.

“Hey, Mitch, you in there?”

“Yeah, Red.”

Moments later, Clements entered the cave. Seeing Alisha, he
removed his hat. “Howdy, little lady. Never thought I’d see you this side of
the Pearly Gates.”

Alisha smiled at him. “I’m glad to see you’re all right,
too.”

“The fighting over?” Mitch asked.

“Over and done,” Clements replied. “I always heard them
‘Paches fought like the devil hisself. They kilt all the Comanch, only lost one
warrior. ‘Nother couple are wounded. Nothin’ serious.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Mitch said. “‘Lisha, pick up
whatever you want to take along. Red, can you look after the horses? I’ll take
care of Elk Chaser.”

Minutes later, they were outside. Mitch had suggested a
travois for Elk Chaser, but the old warrior had insisted he could ride, and now
he sat astride one of the Comanche ponies, his face an impassive mask.

The warriors had gathered around him, speaking in low tones.
The dead Apache had been wrapped in a blanket and placed over the back of his
mount. Red Clements held the reins to Elk Chaser’s wounded horse.

Mitch lifted Alisha onto Sophie’s back. “Are you sure you’re
all right?” he asked.

Alisha nodded. “I’m fine.”

His gaze moved over her. Her shirtwaist, once white, was a
dingy gray. Her hair fell in a tangled mass over her shoulders and down her
back, there were dark smudges under her eyes from lack of sleep. He had never
seen a prettier sight in his whole life.

A short time later, they were riding back the way they had
come.

Death hung heavy over the scene of the battlefield. The
Comanche dead lay sprawled where they had fallen. Several vultures had gathered
around the bodies. They looked up as the riders approached. One of the birds,
heavy laden with entrails, flapped its great black wings and took to the air.

“Alisha, don’t look,” Mitch warned, but it was too late.

Her face went white as she choked back the bile in her
throat.

He offered her a drink from the waterskin looped around his
saddle horn, but she shook her head and looked away.

Mitch glanced at the battlefield. It was a grim sight, the
scavenger birds fighting over the bodies, the stench of blood and death
hovering in the air.

They made a wide berth around the field of carnage. The
Apache abhorred death. As soon as they reached the
rancheria
, the dead
warrior would be buried quickly in a remote cave or crevice of rocks, along
with all his possessions. According to custom, his name would never be
mentioned again. Those who assisted in the burial would purify themselves in
sagebrush smoke.

But he could not think of death now. He reined his mount
closer to Sophie, reached out and touched Alisha’s arm.

She turned and their gazes met and held, and he knew that as
soon as they reached the rancheria, they were going to have to have a long
talk.

* * * * *

They camped that night near a shallow stream sheltered
within a stand of young trees. Elk Chaser immediately rolled into his blankets
and went to sleep. A short time later, Red Clements sought his own bedroll.

Alisha sat close to Mitch, comforted by his nearness. She
wasn’t afraid of anything as long as he was there, beside her. As far back as
she could remember, he had been her strength, her courage. He had dried her
tears, made her laugh when she thought she would never laugh again, helped her
learn to swim, to ride a horse, to explore the woods in the dark, to see the
world as he saw it.

What would he say when she told him that they had a son? A
dozen times that night she had started to tell him, but somehow the time had
never seemed right.

Earlier, she had taken Red Clements aside to ask him if he
had seen any children in the village that looked like they might have white
blood.

He had looked at her curiously, but, to his credit, he
hadn’t asked any questions. “Sorry,” he’d said with a shrug of apology. “I
didn’t get a chance to look around much. But if he’s there, I reckon you can
find him.”

If he’s there.
That was the big question. A lot could
have happened in the last five years. She shied away from the possibility that
her son might be dead. Life was always hardest on the very young and the very
old.

“What is it, ‘Lisha?” Mitch asked. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing.”

“‘Lisha, come on, I know you better than that. Something’s
troubling you. Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that.”

She blew out a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths
of her soul. Maybe she should just get it over with and tell him now. What
difference would it make? It was never going to get any easier.

She glanced at the Indians who were gathered around the
fire, recounting the battle. “Can we go someplace where we can be alone?”

“Sure, darlin’.”

Mitch told one of the warriors that they were going for a
walk. Then, taking her by the hand, he led her into the shadows away from the
light of the fire.

Moonlight filtered through the slender oaks and willows that
grew along the stream. A faint breeze teased the leaves of the trees; the water
whispered secrets to the rocks as it tumbled and swirled along its way.
Overhead, the stars came alive in the sky, winking at the moon.

Alisha walked beside Mitch, acutely aware of his hand
holding hers. It felt so right to be with him. She had loved him more than half
of her life. Her happiest times, and her saddest, had been spent with him. He
had fathered her child…

Her mind raced as she tried to find just the right words to
tell him that he was a father.

Mitch gave a little tug on her hand, and she realized he had
stopped walking.

“I don’t think we should go any further,” he said.

He was right, of course. There was no telling what dangers
lay ahead in the darkness.

Slowly, he drew her into his arms. His hold was light,
giving her the opportunity to pull away.

“‘Lisha?”

She leaned into him, her answer in her upturned face.

His kiss was gentle, tinged with uncertainty, yet hot and
eager, filled with years of unfulfilled desire.

Her hands slid up his back to lock around his neck as she
pressed herself against him. Her body had no memory of the five years they had
been apart. It molded to his as it always had, eagerly, willingly, female to
male, perfectly matched and mated. She had been made for this man, and no
other. She had believed it five years ago; she believed it now.

He slid his tongue over her lower lip, and heat exploded
deep in the core of her being, spreading through her limbs like wildfire,
leaving her breathless and limp and wanting more, so much more.

“Mitchy…”

“I’m sorry.” He let her go and drew back, his breathing as
ragged as her own. “What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

She took a deep breath and the words, held in for so long,
came out in a rush. “We have a son.”

He looked at her as though she were speaking a foreign
language. “What?”

She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but the words
had been said and there was no way to call them back. “A son, Mitch. We have a
son.”

“Where is he? Why the hell didn’t you ever tell me this
before?”

“I didn’t know.”

A low sound of disbelief rose in his throat.

“It’s true. I mean, I knew I had a baby, but my father told
me it was stillborn. I never saw him, the baby. Never. All these years I
thought he was dead, and then, just before my father passed away, he told me he
had lied, that the baby was still alive.”

Mitch shook his head. “You had a baby and you never told
me?”

“I thought you’d left me, that you didn’t want me. I
thought…”

“Go on,” he said brusquely. “What did you think?”

She clasped her hands tightly. “I thought you had lied to me
about loving me. You never wrote. You never came back.” She looked up at him,
eyes wide with defiance. “Why didn’t you come back?”

“Because I thought you were married to Smithfield! I told
you that.”

“Let’s not argue, Mitchy, please.”

He swore a vile oath. It was a good thing her old man was
already dead, he thought bitterly, cause right now he could easily kill the man
with his bare hands.

He took a deep, calming breath. “So where is he now, the
baby?” He laughed bitterly. “Hell, I guess he’s not a baby anymore. So, where
is he? Our…our son?” As soon as he asked the question, he knew the answer.
“That’s why you had Clements bring you here. You think our son might be with my
mother’s people.”

“I don’t know, but it seemed like a good place to start. All
I know is that a friend of my father’s gave the baby to a mountain man who said
he was going to leave the baby with the Indians at Apache Pass.”

Well, that explained what she was doing out here. Mitch
closed his eyes for a moment, putting his anger behind him, and then he drew
Alisha into his arms again and tucked her head under his chin.

“I’m sorry, ‘Lisha. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I
would have been there if I’d known, I swear it.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I know.”

“I’ll never leave you again. Never. I swear it.”

“Mitchy. My Mitchy.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. She
didn’t want to cry. She had already shed enough tears to last a lifetime, but
it was no use. The tears came, unbidden, as the ice around her heart melted, as
all the old hurts dissolved, like dew beneath the morning sun.