The Peacemaker (19 page)

She wanted him
, but unlike Tess, Indy's wanting came from her heart as well as from her body.

He wanted her too. God how he wanted her.
But did his wanting come from his heart or was it just a reaction of his body?

It had been a very long time since he had made love to a woman. He couldn't help but wonder if he had taken advantage of the opportunities that had been presented to him, if he would be in this situation now—standing in front of Independence Taylor's window like a lovesick boy.

"Damn" he swore softly. He sure as hell hadn't felt this way about Tess and he had never fancied himself in love with her.

Then a new thought occurred to him. He wondered if Indy had talked to her father after he had left. And if she had, was she all right? She hadn't been all right the last time she and her father had talked. He was probably worrying over nothing, he thought, but just for the hell of it, he decided to walk around the side of the building and see if the bedrooms were dark as well. If they were, he'd leave.

A dim light still burned in Indy's room, but he didn't see any movement. He walked several paces to the left, then the right, looking into the room from every possible angle.

Nothing.

He started to walk away, then stopped and turned around. He couldn't leave now until he knew she was all right, he told himself, feeling better for having come up with a valid reason for becoming a Peeping Tom.

Like a thief he stole up close to the window and looked inside. The lamp beside Indy's bed had been turned down low but not so low he couldn't see her. She lay on her side, turned away from the window. She had kicked the quilt off and it was on the floor at the foot of her bed. Her thin nightdress gently hugged her womanly curves, sloping into the valley of her waist and rising up over her hips. The hem stopped just an inch or so below her sweetly rounded bottom and from there down he could see the bare backs of her shapely legs.

Suddenly she turned over, dragging one of her pillows with her and holding it close to her body, like she had held him. His breath caught in his throat and he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. The fire that had flamed earlier and had been banked by the attack ignited now and centralized in his groin, causing him to grow painfully hard.

Again, he started to turn away, but at the last second he saw her throw her leg over the bottom of the pillow and he couldn't have turned away now if the whole Apache nation had started shooting arrows at him. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he felt like a randy youth who had never experienced a woman.

It was bewildering, aggravating and damned irritating.

He considered climbing into her window and just as quickly rejected the notion. It wasn't the threat of her father catching him that stopped him, it was the look of fear that he remembered seeing in her eyes after he had killed Chie.

She was afraid of him. Of what he was—a white man, who had lived with the Apaches for so long that he had become like them—savage.

Whatever he felt for Independence Taylor— love or lust—it didn't matter. He was what he was. He couldn't change himself.

He did turn around then, and slowly walked away, damning his body for having a will of its own and making each step pure torture.

Turning the corner to go back down Officers' Row, Jim unexpectedly ran into Prudence Stallard.

"Why, if it isn't Major Garrity. Where are you going in such a hurry?" She stretched her neck to look around behind him. "Or should I say, where are you coming from in such a hurry?"

"Just making sure everything is ready for tomorrow morning." He leaned his weight to the right, hoping to relieve some of the pressure off his groin. "Isn't it a little late for you to be out?" he asked, turning the questions back to her.

"I was just on my way home. Maybe you'd care to walk with me? It's just across the parade ground."

He hesitated, then thought better of it. Maybe a walk was just what he needed to get his mind off Independence Taylor and her damn pillow! "Lead the way."

Prudence slipped her arm around his and crowded up beside him. "Whatever you say, Major."

The laundresses' quarters were similar to the enlisted men's except considerably smaller. They were some twenty feet away from the door when Prudence stopped and turned to him.

"I don't have to go in. It's not as if there's anybody waiting for me." Jim stared down at her, one eyebrow lifted. He was by no means deaf to her implied invitation or blind to her striking beauty. "I know a place close by where we could go and . . . talk."

What the hell!
he thought. No one was waiting for him either. He'd be seven kinds of a fool to deny himself
this
opportunity, with a woman so warm and willing.

"I don't feel much like talking," he said in a low, rusty voice.

It was all the encouragement she needed. She led him to the next set of buildings, which was still partly under construction as was much of Bowie. "They're using this for a storeroom right now," she told him, "but later it will be a cavalry barracks." She opened the door. "The beds and bedding were shipped in last week." She made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

It took a moment for Jim's eyes to adjust to the black interior but once they did he almost laughed. He could count at least twenty iron beds. The mattresses were piled on the floor as were pillows and standard-issue woolen Army blankets. Jim stepped inside while Prudence stayed at the door. He heard the door close behind him.

"Cozy, don't you think?" She came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. He felt her body's tension, its heat.

"Very cozy," Jim replied nonchalantly. If there was one thing he had learned in his six years with the Apaches, it was never to reveal himself to a stranger. Prudence Stallard, though a very desirable female, was a stranger—a very appealing one to be sure but a stranger nevertheless.

Slowly, carefully, almost as if she were blind, she felt her way around him until she stood before him. At the same time her arms lifted and went around his neck, she pushed the length of her body against his. Jim heard her sharp intake of breath at the moment of contact.

"Well well!" She reared her head back to look up at him. "And I was beginning to think you didn't like me." Boldly, without warning, she moved her hand down between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around the hard source of her surprise.

Instinctively, he arched his head back, closed his eyes, and pushed himself into her hand. This was what he wanted, what he needed.
God, how he needed
. He started to reach his hand down to show her the movement, but quickly realized she didn't need any instruction; Prudence Stallard knew exactly what to do to please a man.

"I was right, you know," she whispered, straining toward his ear.

"About what?" He could hardly talk.

"I told that stuffy old Independence Taylor that there was something very different about you, something that set you apart from the others." She giggled. "And now I know what it is."

He reached down and grabbed her hand, stopping her motion. "You discussed me with her?" he asked.

She seemed surprised by his question. "You know how women talk, Jim."

His demeanor changed suddenly. He took a deep breath and backed up a step. "No, I don't. Why don't you tell me."

"I thought you said you didn't feel like talking."

"I've changed my mind."

"Well, there really isn't much to say other than she said you terrify her."

"And you? Do I terrify you too?"

"Do I look frightened?" She made a move toward him, but he stopped her with his hands.

"No, but you should be. I might hurt you. I've lived with the Apaches so long that I've forgotten how to act like a civilized man. Good night, Prudence."

It was the fresh clean smell of a new day that awoke Indy from her restless nightmarish sleep. She opened her eyes slowly. Her bedroom window faced east, affording her an unobstructed view of the slopes of the Chiricahua Mountains, which even in the midst of summer were green with a variety of shrubs and cacti.

Each morning since her arrival, she had awakened in time to watch the sun come up and paint the blue sky with streaks of pink and coral. As long as she lived she would remember the glorious Arizona sunrises.

This morning, however, dark rain-swollen storm clouds hid the sun. They heaved and churned like the bubbles in the slumgullion that the company cook had the audacity to call stew.

It was appropriate that the weather was so gloomy, Indy thought, sighing. It reflected her mood. It wasn't the thought of going home in defeat that saddened her, for she knew now that it could never have been any other way in spite of her efforts. Her father thrived on blaming her and hating her and would never allow anyone to take that away from him even though he may have been wrong.

It was the thought of Major Jim Garrity that saddened her, the thought that once she left Bowie, she would likely never see him again, yet she knew with certainty that her mind, her heart, and her body would never allow her to forget him, that they would, in fact, find ways to constantly remind her of him. Torturous ways, no doubt.

She squeezed her pillow, burying her face into its feathered softness but found no comfort. She could see herself back in St. Louis, a moderately wealthy spinster living by herself with nothing to do, no one to love, and no one to love her. She would grow old with her memories of the handsome Major Garrity, the dark and dangerous Shatto. One man. One love.

Out in the parlor she heard the front door open and close and guessed her father was on his way to breakfast. In a short while the bugler would call the camp to assembly for roll call. Almost every morning since plans had been announced to train the troops, one less name answered the call.

Drunk with sleep and body-sore, she cautiously left her bed, put on her wrapper, and went into the parlor. From the parlor window she had a clear view of the parade ground. It was a sea of mud.

Beneath the flagpole, beside the cannon, lay Chie and his two braves. Indy pressed trembling lips together. For the rest of her life she would remember the way that brave had looked at her when he was dying, and the surprised expression on Chie's face as Shatto's knife plunged between his ribs. He had thought himself invincible.

"Rider comin' in," Sergeant Moseley called out in a stentorian voice that carried in the thin early morning air.

Indy's breath caught in her throat at the sight of Shatto. He almost looked exactly as he had that first time she had seen him riding up alongside the ambulance: tall, lean, and proud. He wore that same tan breechclout, knee-high leggings, headband, and cartridge belt that she remembered. And now, in addition, he wore a brown buckskin vest, open in front.

Her legs went suddenly weak and she quickly pulled out a chair and sat down. It was that same peculiar feeling of being turned inside out that she had experienced last night and it was just as bewildering now as it had been then.

Leaving the mess, Colonel Taylor, followed by the men of G Troop, First Cavalry, and Troop D, Thirty-second Infantry, assembled on the parade ground.

Jim dismounted near the hospital. No sooner had his feet hit the ground than an orderly appeared to take his horse off to the corral.

"Give him some grain," Jim said, stroking the horse's withers. "And rub him down good. We've had a hard morning's ride." Long before sunrise, he had ridden out into the mountains to be alone with his thoughts, all of which directly or indirectly concerned Independence Taylor.

From the first day he'd met her, his life hadn't been the same. It wasn't her fault he couldn't stop thinking about her, he admitted. Until last night, when he had kissed her and she had kissed him back, she had given him no outward sign that she desired him. But he had known—right from the beginning. He had seen it in her eyes. If she had any idea how her eyes translated her thoughts and emotions, she'd hide them beneath a veil.

The short time he had spent with Prudence had been poisoned by thoughts of Indy. Prudence could have alleviated his body's agony had he not gone lame when she mentioned Indy's name. Exactly what that meant, he wasn't sure, but he sure as hell didn't like the implication.

Was he in love with her? He couldn't deny the passion he'd felt—also right from the beginning, and since then, thoughts of making love to her had caused him many a restless night. It impressed him too that he had become troubled by her relationship with her father because of the constant upset it caused her. Then, last evening, he had damn near gone crazy worrying that he'd be killed and wouldn't be able to protect her from Chie. And when it was over, and he had held her in his arms, it had hurt him to know that she feared him.

The depth of his emotions had been something of an unexpected surprise. He had never felt emotionally attached to any woman, not even Tess.

He had yet to resolve anything when he realized the hour and had to race back to make it in time for roll call. Meanwhile, he had decided that the best thing he could do was stay away from Independence Taylor. She would be the better for it and so would he.

Jim handed over the reins and started walking toward the colonel who stood by the flagpole, looking down at the three dead Apaches. He was acutely aware of the curious looks his clothing, or rather the lack of it, was receiving, especially from the colonel, who overtly scowled his disapproval. They'd all damn well better get used to it, he thought, irked. He sure as hell wasn't going to play Indian in a goddamn wool uniform. Not for anybody!

"Are these corpses lying here your idea of a joke, Major? Because if they are, I want you to know that I'm not amused." The colonel raised a gauntleted hand and waved Sergeant Moseley over. "Have these bodies taken away and buried immediately."

Jim had been watching him closely and consequently his reaction was delayed. "No," he said emphatically. "They'll stay where they are until I give the order to remove them." He would have said more in protest, but he needed to evaluate what he was seeing before it got away from him. The problem with the colonel's pose hadn't been his posture, Jim realized now, but from want of common hand gestures when he spoke. Yet, when he wore his gauntlets, as he was now, he made frequent and expressive gestures.