Blaze (14 page)

There was a sickening silence. It was what unnerved her most—the unassailable self-esteem. "My father will kill you," she whispered finally, her hands shaking on the tightly held fabric.

"Not likely… if he fancies you alive. You've been promised a spectacularly close view of my rifle barrel should anyone get too near me." The ominous glint suddenly became hard as flint. "Now, put that shirt on, dammit, you conniving, avaricious little bitch, or I'll fuck you right where you're standing. Naked females have a predictable effect on me. Of course," said Hazard with a mockery of a smile, "that's what you came up here for, wasn't it? I wouldn't care to disoblige Buhl Mining's concept of business ethics. Just what were your orders— three times? four? How much was my claim supposed to be worth?"

Blaze hurriedly slipped the shirt on and fumblingly buttoned it under the dark, contemptuous eyes raking her. When she finished and was covered now to midthigh, Hazard said, suddenly impatient with trivial argument, "As long as you're staying we can haggle over the numbers later. Right now, we might as well lay down the rules. I spend most of my time outside…"

Blaze's face was unflinching. "I'll run away."

"Perhaps you didn't notice," Hazard remarked impassively, "there's a lock on the door. If you're going to be troublesome, I'll lock you in."

"You wouldn't," she curtly snapped, still dumbfounded at the idea of captivity.

He exhaled slowly and silently counted to ten. "I would and I will, if you insist on running away."

"I can't imagine how you can possibly make me stay," Blaze disdainfully retorted, her whims having ordered the world to her perfection for nineteen years.

A cold, impersonal gaze assessed her briefly. "Then your imagination is uncommonly poor. I know a score of ways to make you stay, Miss Braddock, and several of them aren't pleasant. I won't go into detail. It would upset your digestion."

"You'd abuse a lady?" she breathed in astonishment.

"My apologies, of course," said Hazard with ironic politeness, "but I don't remember inviting you. Under the circumstances, it's up to you how you're treated. I expect my orders to be obeyed, that's all."

"You are a damned petty tyrant." Each word was lapidary and brittle with cold.

"No," he said, forbearingly, with a quiet sigh, "only a man trying to mind his own business. I think petty and tyrant more aptly apply to Buhl Mining, with their small nastinesses and autocratic iniquities. But we can argue economics some other time. All my evenings are free. Now," he went on in an uninflected, flat tone, "I'll expect you to make the meals, wash the clothes, and keep this cabin in some kind of minimum order."

"Are you mad? I'm no servant!" A lifetime of privileged wealth rang through her words.

"If you don't," and his voice sharpened for a moment beyond its level deliberate tone, "I'll make you infinitely sorry. If you're going to be here underfoot, you'll have to make yourself useful"—icy black eyes stared back at the pale, affronted beauty—"in all the usual ways…"

Blaze stiffened, avoided the innuendo, and said mutinously, "I can't cook; I don't know how to wash or clean. All I know how to do is offer sherry or cognac and keep the conversation moving."

"Ah, well," Hazard said affably, "at least we'll be pleasantly drunk until you acquire the knack of domestic skills. I'm sure you'll manage eventually. In the meantime, it might be wise to have a case of cognac sent up."

She glared at the arrogant man. "Do you really intend to keep me here?"

Jon Hazard Black inclined his head.

"For how long?" she harshly asked.

"However long it takes to convince that bloody mining company I'm serious about not selling," said Hazard flatly.

Hard and fast as a richochet, she viciously shouted, "I hate you, you despicable savage. Everything they say about Indians is true. You have no honor, no decency." Frustrated already in her captivity, never weak or yielding, Blaze allowed her temper full rein. "You're cruel— barbaric. I wish they'd kill every—"

He listened, rage flaring into his eyes, for an acid five seconds before he was on top of her, his fingers biting into her shoulders like steel talons. "You can despise me all you please," he gritted out bitterly, "but I won't have you sullying my people with your ignorant epithets. There's more honor and decency in my small tribe than in the entire United States. And their values and beliefs are upheld daily at the risk of their lives. You yellow eyes only wreck and cheapen everything you touch." His breathing was harsh, his dark eyes brutally cold, soulless, his sickened understanding showing. "Now, you spoiled pampered bitch, listen to me and listen well," he went on curtly, quick-voiced and restless with repressed rage. "You'll do as you're told, when you're told. And if I hear another scornful word against my people," his voice suddenly cooled to its familiar irony, "I'll whip that luscious bottom of yours so you won't be able to sit for a week, or worse."

For a moment, she stood, her clear-eyed, angry gaze on Hazard's impervious stare. Furious as she was, Blaze, tight-lipped, decided not to test his ultimatum with its implication of violence more frightening than the threat. She was certain he meant it. The challenge died in her eyes.

"Very smart, pet," said Hazard, smoothly filling the pause. "You're learning fast."

"It's not as though I have any other goddamned choice," she acidly capitulated.

"A Mexican standoff."

"Meaning?"

"We both get off alive for the moment," he said mildly, reaching out to lightly pat her cheek. When she flinched, he only smiled. "Do you think," he blandly queried, "killing for personal principle ranks higher in virtue than killing for profit?" He shrugged fastidiously. "No doubt we'll find out soon enough. An edifying experience awaits us, Miss Braddock, don't you think?"

"You are a killer," she said softly. "They were right."

For a second, the line of anger between his heavy brows showed, then it was gone, control restored. He spoke quietly then, as he did in extreme anger. "At the moment," Hazard affirmed grimly, "I'm predominantly concerned with living rather than dying."

"You expect to die?" She was incredulous. "Over this claim?"

"I've learned to expect the worst when dealing with the white man's notion of civilized land development, and I've rarely been disappointed."

"Buhl's different," Blaze said in reproof, having, since childhood, participated in her father's business affairs and never, to her knowledge, known of a killing.

"As far as you're concerned, you may think so. I, however, do not," he replied with simplicity. Hazard was sensibly paranoid about the white man's treachery and put little stock in a virginal young woman's idealism. "In any event," he went on evenly, "I intend to prove more troublesome than anticipated. I don't want to sell."

"You're a fool, then," she retorted with some of her old defiance.

"Think what you will. I'm past the age where I have to prove myself to anyone. I have my own reasons," he said with the same weary courtesy, "for wanting to stay alive and keep my claim. So I'll fight for it, however necessary."

"Even if it means more killing?" Blaze pressed, never long in fear of anyone. And suddenly, he didn't seem so dangerous. Only tired.

Hazard took a long, soft breath and then expelled it. "Don't be naive, Miss Braddock," he said with cold, exhausted irony, "about Buhl's record on brutalization. They kill or I kill, and the loser gets a free pass to an-other life. The winner, of course, travels through this uncertain world a very rich man." His eyes were remote suddenly, and he moved away from her to the small window near the door, his profile rimmed against the brilliant sky. It was true. Only one winner was allowed, and on his worst days, he had terrible visions of defeat, convulsive and limitless, the land inundated by crushing tides of westward progress. Stretching lithely, he placed both long-shafted hands above the window and stared out at the scene below, empty now of the group of frock-coated men. His eyes were dark and lightless, his face strained with a private and difficult torment.

Hazard had no illusions about the ruthlessness of Buhl Mining Company and its officials. He'd seen them come in and take the land they wanted one way or another, without principle or pity. He'd seen them grappling for power, seen the desire in the men without ideals, to annihilate opponents rather than simply depose them. He knew, as well, they'd be aided by many of the territorial officials who were, more often than not, men of flexible conscience and limited concepts of social responsibility. But he knew how to fight as ruthlessly as they did and knew victory was as abruptly possible as defeat. He needed the claim which promised to be rich; he needed it for his people. As heir to his father's chieftainship, it was his responsibility to see to the clan; it had been ingrained in him in all the years of his training, his sacred duty to his clan, and he adhered to this trust now that his father was dead.

Since the Treaty of Laramie in 1851, unsigned by any ABSAROKEE,6 but signed by forty chiefs of the Northern Plains, the beginning of the end of the old ways was signaled. His father had known it, understood that passively waiting for their territories to be taken piece by piece was as foolish as waging war against Washington. That was why Hazard had gone East to school, out of respect for his father's visionary dream for his people. He was to acquire the practical knowledge of the white man's world, so his clan could adapt to the inevitable changes in their way of life. And when his father died, he'd come home to take his place, to serve his people unto the essential finality of death if need be. Pride drove him in his special kind of commitment and necessity and an isolated dedication.

His tribe must have gold to buy guns, supplies, migrate if necessary to land still secure from the white man's greed. He was sending the gold back by messenger, keeping very little for himself, and if he was right, he had a very good chance on claims 1014-15 to mine the future security of his clan. He had great respect for the power of the spirits and the efficacy of great medicine and prayer, but when it came to winning against the encroachment of the white man, Hazard preferred relying on the power of persuasion in a million or so dollars of gold. He stood very still, staring self-critically into the afternoon sunlight, prosaically sure gold would win in the end, over yellow eye's promises.

So. He meant to keep this claim, risking all for duty and compassion, while his own good sense of preservation suggested that Miss Braddock was perfect insurance for him to keep what Buhl so badly wanted. And, not to be forgotten, there was the lady's very responsive nature in bed. Very soon, they should get to know each other— better.

All in all, the next few months should be interesting, Hazard told himself, shaking off his fatigue. If they lived. Bdc'dak' K'o'mbdwiky [While I live, I carry on], he fatalistically mused and turned back to his new and very beautiful companion.

WHEN the evening star appeared in the sky, after a quiet if heated discussion, Hazard tied Blaze to him in two places, at waist and wrist, then lay down on the narrow bed and, exhausted, slept through the night for the first time in five days.

Lying very still, Blaze listened to Hazard's even breathing, until the slow, easy rhythm seemed part of her own respiration, until the warmth of the large man pressed close to her stole into her senses with an inexplicable rush of pleasure she could neither control nor deny. Cautiously she turned her head a millimeter in his direction, waited, then, observing no change in the deep, resonant breathing, slowly eased her glance around until he was fully within her gaze.

It came over her suddenly, as it always did—his unbearable beauty, the magnificence muted now in sleep to mere splendor. She watched him while the fading pastels of twilight disappeared into the void of night. Watched the play of light over the stark cheekbones, visually traced the perfect symmetry of finely chiseled nose. His sculptured mouth was prominently sensual—no austerity there, she noted. No, definitely not austere. And only with effort did she restrain herself from outlining that sensuous mouth with her fingertips. Even his brows were like delicate winged creatures, dark silky creatures that whispered to be touched. Blaze clenched her fingers tightly against the overpowering urge. And when his thick lashes fluttered suddenly, she caught her breath, fearful the sharp black eyes might open and find her own gaze transfixed. But he only sighed lightly, his fingers unconsciously tightening on the braided rawhide coiled around his hand.