Apache Flame (19 page)

White Robe repeated Mitch’s question in Apache for the
benefit of those who didn’t understand English.

Fights the Wind understood all too well. He stepped forward.
“We will not follow you, white man!” he declared in English. “Two of our best
men are dead because of your foolishness, and our brother is badly wounded.
Perhaps, he, too, has gone to join his ancestors.”

Several of the men nearby nodded in agreement.

“The white woman is nothing to us,” Fights the Wind went on,
emboldened by the support of those around him. “If you wish to risk your life
by going back for your woman, so be it. But we will not go with you. We will
not follow a white man.”

Mitch swore softly, angered by Fights the Wind’s harsh
words. Still, he could not blame the man for feeling as he did. Mitch had only
been in the village a few weeks. He was not a warrior. He was not a proven
leader. Still, he had expected more support.

White Robe marched into the center of the crowd. “I do not
believe what I am hearing!” she exclaimed. “My husband is in need of help, and
you,” she gestured at the warriors gathered nearby, “you who call yourself men
would turn your back on him because he went to help my son? My son is Apache. He
is my seed. His woman was captured by our enemies, and he went to her aid.
Would any of you do less? Would any of you refuse to help a brother in need? I
am ashamed of all of you this day. You are not men! You are not warriors! You
are scared children.” She held out her hand. “You, Yellow Raven, give me a
weapon. I will go with my son.”

Yellow Raven took a step backward, and White Robe lowered
her arm.

Red Clements poked his head out of the wickiup. “Hell,” he
said as he stepped outside. “I’ll side ya iffen these men ain’t got the stomach
fer it.”

White Robe looked around, her scorn-filled gaze resting
briefly on the face of each of the warriors. “It is a sad day for our people
when only a woman and a wounded white man are willing to ride to the aid of one
who is in need.”

A tall warrior known as Spirit Walking stepped forward. “I
will go.”

Another man reluctantly joined the first. “I will go.”

“And I.”

“I, too, will go,” said a third. He gestured at Mitch. “But
I will not follow this man. He is not a war leader.” The warrior’s gaze rested
on Spirit Walking. “Spirit Walking has proven himself in battle. I will follow
him.”

Nods and murmurs of assent rippled through the crowd.

Mitch felt a surge of hope. He didn’t care who led the
damned party as long as they got going, and soon. He was acutely aware of every
passing moment, afraid that he would get back to Alisha too late, that the
Comanches would have found her, killed her and Elk Chaser both. He had an image
of riding back and finding Alisha lying dead in the cave, her body cold and
lifeless.

White Robe smiled as she went to stand beside Mitch. “I will
prepare food for your journey.”

“Hurry!” He was overcome by a sense of urgency, a horrible
fear that he might already be too late. He never should have left her, would
never be able to live with the guilt if anything happened to her.

“You will need a fresh mount,” White Robe remarked.

“I’d appreciate the loan of a horse myself,” Clements said.

“Forget it,” Mitch said. “You can hardly walk.”

“Maybeso, but we ain’t walkin’.” He held up a hand,
silencing any further argument from Mitch. “I can ride and I can shoot, and I
got me a score to settle with them damn Comanch, ya know.”

“Yeah,” Mitch said, “I reckon you do, at that.”

White Robe smiled at Clements. “I shall be pleased to lend
you a horse,” she said. Turning, she called Rides the Buffalo to her. “Go
quickly and catch up two of your father’s best horses.”

With a nod, Rides the Buffalo ran off toward the horse herd.

The warriors who had agreed to go with Mitch hurried off to
their lodges to gather their belongings and collect their horses and weapons.

In less than an hour, they were ready, eleven warriors,
mostly young men eager for battle, one wounded old trader, and Mitch.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Red said. Gritting his teeth, he hauled
himself onto the back of a sturdy buckskin gelding and rode toward the
warriors.

“I’ll bring Elk Chaser back to you,
shi ma,
” Mitch
said. “I promise.”

White Robe drew Rides the Buffalo to her side. “I know you
will.”

“Don’t worry,” Mitch said. He gave her a smile and a wink,
then went to join the other warriors, who were riding for the trail out of the
stronghold.

Mitch was surprised to see Fights the Wind in the group. He
wondered briefly if the surly warrior was there to help, or to put an arrow in
his back when no one was looking. He knew the man only by name, yet there was
no mistaking the warrior’s animosity. His eyes burned with hatred and distrust.

They rode out of the valley single file, silent as the hot
wind blowing over the face of the desert. Thirteen men. Mitch hoped it wasn’t a
bad omen.

* * * * *

Alisha wrapped her arms around her knees and stared toward
the entrance of the cave. She had lost track of the time. Funny, how the hours
seemed to race by when you were having a good time, and how slowly the minutes
crawled by when you were lonely and scared or enduring something painful.

She glanced over at Elk Chaser. He seemed to be resting
comfortably. She had sponged him with cool water several times, made sure he
had plenty to drink, kept him covered so he didn’t catch a chill.

Afraid to think of what the future might hold, of what might
happen if Mitch didn’t make it back, she closed her eyes, searching her mind
for a pleasant memory. She smiled as the present slipped away, swallowed up in
the rosy golden glow of the past, of the first time Mitch had made love to her…

She ran through the foliage that grew alongside the river, a
wide smile curving her lips. She didn’t dare turn around.

“Go on, run!” Mitch called. “But it won’t do you any good!”

She didn’t answer, just kept running, her heart pounding.

“Push me in the river, will you?” he growled.

She laughed, remembering the surprised look on his face, his
arms wind-milling as he tried to keep his balance, the huge splash as he hit
the water.

She had laughed as he slowly gained his feet, then shrieked
as he lunged toward her, only to slip and fall again.

“You’ll be sorry when I catch you!” he hollered, and she had
turned and bolted for the woods.

She knew she couldn’t outrun him, knew he would catch her.
And suddenly what had started out as a joke turned ominous somehow, and it was
no longer a game. He would catch her!

Fear added wings to her feet and she flew over the ground,
afraid without knowing why. But she was no match for him, could never hope to
outrun him.

She shrieked as his hand closed over her shoulder, halting
her wild flight.

She struggled and lost her balance and they both fell,
rolling over and over in the soft springy grass. And then he was lying on top
of her, his hands pinning her shoulders to the ground, his chest heaving, his
dark eyes hot as he stared down at her.

She looked up at him, breathless. Afraid, without knowing
why.

Long moments stretched between them. Drops of water fell
from his wet hair and bare chest and dripped onto her cheeks and breasts. Her
skirts grew damp where he straddled her legs. She was aware of the strength of
his hands on her shoulders. He held her lightly, yet she was powerless to
escape.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Don’t ever be sorry with me, ‘Lisha,” he
said quietly.

And he lowered his head and kissed her.

He had kissed her before, but never like this. Perhaps it
was the thrill of the chase and the fact that he had caught her. Whatever it
was, this kiss was like no other, filled with a different kind of passion than
ever before. Without taking his mouth from hers, he slid to the ground beside
her, his arms wrapping around her, molding her body to his.

He was hungry for her, dying for her, couldn’t get enough of
her. His mouth was warm yet firm, and she opened for him willingly, not fully
realizing how it affected him until she felt the tremor in his arms, heard the
sudden change in his breathing. His tongue caressed her lower lip, then slipped
into her mouth. A flame of desire sprang to life deep in the core of her being.
His tongue was hot and slick, and she pressed herself against him, her whole
body tingling with desire, aching for more, so much more.

“‘Lisha…” His voice was rough, yet tender. “‘Lisha, do you
know what you’re doing to me?” Swearing softly, he rolled away from her and sat
up.

She stared at his back a moment, then sat up, wanting to
touch him, wanting him to kiss her again. “Tell me,” she whispered, but she did
know. They had spent many an hour in each other’s arms, but he had never done
more than kiss her. She knew he wanted her as a man wanted a woman, but he had
always held himself in check, and she knew it was because he loved her, because
he didn’t want to hurt her. It had only made her love him more.

He groaned low in his throat. “You must know how I feel.” He
swore again. “I want you so damn bad, it hurts. Hurts like you can’t believe.”

She stared up at him. “It hurts?”

“You have no idea.”

“I don’t want you to hurt, Mitchy,” she whispered.

Turning, he pressed his forehead against hers, his whole
body trembling, and in that moment she loved him more than ever before, loved
him desperately, completely.

“Mitchy.”

He drew back and looked into her eyes.

“I love you, Mitchy.” It was the first time she had said it
aloud.

“‘Lisha…”

He kissed her then, ever so tenderly, ever so gently.

“I hurt, too,” she said. “Can you make it go away?”

“I can,” he said, his voice ragged. “I want to. But I’m
afraid you’ll hate me for it after.”

“Why would I hate you?”

He laughed softly. “Because you’re a good girl, Alisha
Faraday. And you deserve someone a hell of a lot better than I am.”

“No.” She cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. “I could
never hate you. Never…” Her hand slid down his neck, along his shoulder, over
the rigid muscle in his arm. He sucked in a breath as her fingers drifted over
his chest, slowly, slowly, moving down, down, to cover that part of him that
made him a man.

He groaned and caught her to him, crushing her against him
as his mouth covered hers. Slowly, he lowered her to the ground, his body
covering hers, its heat flowing into her, filling her, arousing her, until she
writhed beneath him, filled with an urgency that was frightening and exciting.

His breath fanned her cheek, hot as the passion rising
between them. She slid her hands under his shirt, reveling in the touch of his
bare skin beneath her hands. She gasped when she felt his hands on her breasts
and he smiled down at her, his dark eyes hot and filled with love.

“Fair’s fair,” he said.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, as his hands moved over
her, teaching her what pleasure was, arousing her until she thought she might
die of it. He kissed her out of her clothing, then shed his trousers, and she
knew she had never seen anything more beautiful in her whole life than Mitchy
lying beside her. His hands were big and brown against her pale skin, magical
hands that worshipped and adored her and made her feel beautiful, desirable.

He rose over her, his long black hair brushing the tops of her
breasts, and she saw her own uncertainty and fear mirrored in the smoky depths
of his eyes. “‘Lisha…”

He was giving her a chance to change her mind, but there was
no going back, not now. She wanted him desperately, knew she would wither and
die without him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him to her,
and with that kiss of surrender, there was no turning back…

The cry of a wolf startled her out of her reverie and she
realized she was crying, crying for the beauty of the love they had shared, for
the years they had lost, for a magical time that could never be recaptured. She
cried for her mother, who had died too soon, and for her father, and for the
child she had never seen, cried for the boy Mitch had been and the man he had
become, cried all the tears she had held inside.

“Woman?”

She dashed the tears from her eyes at the sound of Elk
Chaser’s voice. “Yes, I’m here.” Gaining her feet, she went to kneel beside
him. “Do you need something?”

“No one should grieve alone,” he said, and reaching up, he
took her hand in his. “Do not be afraid. He will come back.”

She couldn’t see his face in the darkness of the cave, but
the assurance in his voice soothed her fears, chased away her regrets.

With a sigh, she rested her back against the wall of the
cave and then, her hand still in his, she closed her eyes and slept.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mitch had always heard the Apache were the best horsemen in
the whole Southwest. He’d been told by an old mountain man that a white man
would ride a horse until it dropped, and then an Apache would come along, get
on the same horse and ride it another ten miles.

Now, he believed it. Hard as the ride was, Red Clements
never complained. The old man was made of wang leather and iron, Mitch mused.

He had thought he made good time returning to the
rancheria
,
but it was nothing compared to the pace set by the warriors on the ride back to
the cave.

It was late morning the following day when they reached the
area near the cave. Though all looked peaceful, a prickling along the back of
his neck had Mitch feeling uneasy. Apparently sensing his apprehension, his
mount turned skittish.

The warriors also picked up on it.

“It is too quiet,” Fights the Wind remarked. He reined his
horse to a halt and drew an arrow from the quiver slung over his back.