Deborah Camp (17 page)

He hopped off Bob and tied the horse to the hitching post in front of the house. As he climbed the porch steps, the front door opened and Harriet Mott stepped out. She wore a sheer white dress and was barefoot. Blade could see the silhouette of her legs and hips through the thin material. Her nipples poked at the bodice. He focused his attention on her wan face. She smiled and curled a strand of her mousy brown hair around her forefinger.

“How-do, there, Blade Lonewolf,” she said, twisting from side to side as if she were itchy all over. “What brings you here in the middle of the day?”

“Is the judge around?”

“Why don’t you come inside for a glass of mint tea? I got some raisin cookies, too.” She regarded him through her lashes. “You look parched.”

“Is the judge in there?” Blade repeated, blatantly ignoring her offer. What he didn’t need was the judge thinking he was nosing around Harriet. “I have to talk to him.”

“Don’t you want to talk to me first?” She giggled, displaying discolored teeth. “I bet you’d have more fun talking to me.” Her gaze slipped down and came to rest on the juncture of his legs. “ ’Course, we don’t have to
talk
.”

“I’ll go look around for him.” He started to turn away.

“He’s out behind the privy. They’re digging a new hole,” Harriet said, her voice no longer honeyed. “I guess you’ve got all you can handle with that red-haired wife of yours, huh? She polishes your sword regular, does she?”

Blade sent her a cold, calculating look. “She
knows how to please a man and
she’s
a lady.” His aim was true. Harriet stumbled backward, her expression vicious. He left her staring after him and went around to the back of the house and beyond a stand of young trees.

Five or six men were working behind the outhouse with shovels in hand. The judge sat nearby in his savanna chair, an umbrella shading him from the sun. Sensing Blade’s approach, he leaned forward to see past a tree. When he recognized Blade, he waved him over.

“What brings you here in the middle of a workday, Lonewolf? Got a problem, I guess.”

“Not really. I wanted to talk to you about Adam.”

Judge Mott crossed one leg over the other. His gray pants were immaculate and knife-pleated. His boiled white shirt was loose with big sleeves. He wore no tie, but sported a straw hat that he had cocked at an angle.

“Don’t know anybody by that name.”

Blade tamped down his impatience. “The boy. I came to you about him.”

“Rusty, you mean? Has he done something I should know about?”

“No. I was wondering why he’s not in school yet.”

“Were you, now?” Judge Mott ran a fingertip over his narrow black mustache. “And how is that any of your business, Lonewolf?”

“You don’t want my wife interfering, is that right?”

“That’s right.” His black eyes slid sideways to find Blade. “I’m Rusty’s boss now.”

“If you don’t want her around here, then it would be best if you placed him in school. Otherwise,
she’ll be coming over here to change your mind, or she’ll try to school him herself.”

Mott chuckled and slapped one knee. “Lonewolf, will you listen to yourself? Can’t you control your own wife, man? You tell her to keep her butt at home or she’ll be sorry. That’s how it’s done, Lonewolf. Don’t let her dictate to you. Be a man!”

Blade didn’t give him time to blink. In a mere handful of seconds, he had uprooted the umbrella and tossed it aside, giving himself easy access to the judge. Taking the older man by the shirtfront, Blade twisted the cloth until it tightened around Mott’s neck and brought him up out of the chair to face Blade, man to man.

“Now, Judge, I didn’t want to fight you over this. It’s not important enough, but when you question my manhood …”

Lloyd Mott’s eyes narrowed to slits of smoking rage, but he didn’t struggle or speak.

“Place the boy in school, or I’ll come by every morning and take him there myself. His sister says he’s bright and should get some more learning, and I agree.” Blade could feel Mott’s workers staring at him, waiting to see what unfolded and whose side they would have to take. He released the judge slowly and stepped away from him. “The towns-people respect you, Judge Mott. They’d think it peculiar if you didn’t send that boy to school.”

“He needs to farm.”

“Then put him in school half a day like the other farmers do with their older boys. At crop-picking time, they close the school for a month so the children can help with the harvest.”

The judge’s removal from the chair had unbalanced his hat. He set it at its correct angle again and smoothed out wrinkles from the front of his
shirt. “And if I let Rusty go to school half a day, you’ll keep his meddling sister away from here?”

Blade nodded.

The judge smiled with forced congeniality. “Why not, then? It’ll set a good example for other gentlemen farmers who might think to remove their older boys from the school. We must support the school, mustn’t we? I suppose the youngest one is already attending.”

“She started this week.”

Judge Mott motioned for the workers to continue. “No one is talking to you,” he said crossly. “Get on with it! I want that hole dug and the outhouse moved over it before sundown, you hear? If the job’s not finished, y’all can finish it by moonlight.” He glanced toward the umbrella, which lay in the grass. “Lonewolf, before you leave, plant that umbrella again—right where it was before.” Then he sat in the savanna chair and waited to be obeyed.

Blade smiled ruefully and picked up the umbrella. He stabbed it into the ground, barely missing the man’s foot, and felt satisfied when Mott flinched.

“There you go, Judge,” he rasped. “I sure wouldn’t want your lily-white skin to blister or turn brown. Hell, somebody might mistake you for a breed or a darkie!”

The judge’s eyes were black, fathomless, chilling. “Good day, Lonewolf.”

Blade smirked at the older man and stared him down, making him look away first. Then he set off at an unhurried pace.

“Get on back to your side of the fence while you can still claim it,” the judge called after him—now that his back was turned.

Blade’s gut twisted. He kept going, hating the judge for holding that threat over him like a hangman with his hand on the trapdoor lever. Someday … someday the judge would have to harvest the poisoned crop he now sowed, Blade thought, but that didn’t ease his ire. He clenched his jaw so tightly that he had a pounding headache by the time he reached home.

Hearing the rhythmic scrape of metal across metal, Elise followed the sound behind the barn, where she found Blade. He held a whetstone between his knees and passed a shovel’s blade across it again and again, sharpening the instrument.

“Blade?”

He looked up and his eyes narrowed. “Something wrong?”

She smiled. “No. I just wanted to talk. We haven’t talked since your cousins arrived.”

“We talk all the time.”

“Not alone.”

He propped the shovel against the side of the barn. “What do you have to say to me that you can’t say in front of others?”

Dropping the whetstone to the ground at his feet, he removed his hat and passed a shirtsleeve across his forehead. Elise propped a shoulder against the barn and shook her head. He looked far too appealing with his shirt hanging open, unbuttoned, exposing his muscled torso. “I have nothing to hide, Blade. I only wanted to talk to you, and to thank you. Adam is in school now. I guess you spoke to the judge.”

He nodded. “You’ve seen your brother?”

“Yes, I saw him this morning. He was very curious
about you. He asked me all kinds of questions.”

“Such as?” Blade picked up a rake and ran the pad of his thumb over one of the tines.

“Such as, have you taken any scalps?”

His gaze flashed to hers. “Your brother thinks I’m dangerous, is that it? He’s worried about your welfare.”

“No. You’re the first Indian he’s ever met and he doesn’t know what to make of you.”

Blade leaned the rake back against the barn. “You can tell him that I have never taken a scalp. Your people are the ones who started that story. Apaches don’t believe in such savage acts.”

“They don’t?” she asked, amazed.

“They don’t,” he repeated more sternly. “The Apache have never been interested in war.”

“Everything I’ve ever heard about the Apache paints them as violent people. Why, look at Geronimo!”

“Geronimo wanted to live free and not be forced onto a reservation. I would fight for that. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, of course, but the stories one hears—”

“All one-sided, I’m sure. I was a boy while the wars raged. I saw my relatives ride off—both men and women—and come back dead or half dead. Sometimes they never returned. We did not make war. We were forced to fight.”

“But the Apaches have such a fierce reputation!”

“Because we would not lie down like dogs and be whipped!” His voice had risen and he dropped his head for a moment to gather his self-control. When he looked up again, the angry flush was gone from his face. “I knew the Apache as good people. When they had to fight, they were fearsome
warriors, but being warriors wasn’t their highest purpose in life.”

She reached out and touched the markings on his chest, surprising him. He reared back a little, his eyes widening. His skin felt as if a fire ran underneath it. She traced a pale, straight line across the center of his chest, her fingertips delving into the strands of slick hairs there. She was surprised at her own boldness, but glad for it. The feel of his skin—so hot, so satiny—made her weak-kneed.

“Did this hurt?” Elise asked, giving in to her curiosity about him.

He gave her a crooked grin. “I smoked loco weed and drank whiskey before my elders commenced these markings. I don’t remember much about it.”

“Did you ever go to war with them?” She dropped her hand, scolding herself for being so wanton. What must he think of her?

“I left the Apache only days after the ceremony that declared me a man, a warrior. My father died and my mother took me away.”

“How did your father die?”

“He was killed during a Papago raid. My mother saw them kill my father and take his scalp.”

Elise gasped and placed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

“It brought back all the bad memories of when her family was slaughtered. She grew afraid of all Indians, even the Apache. But she wasn’t happy in the white man’s world either. She was never happy again.”

“Your poor mother.” Elise sagged back against the barn wall. “She must have been glad she at least had you.”

“But I left her, too.” His smile was strangely sad
and tugged at Elise’s heart. “She wanted me to leave, though. She knew I would find peace here on this land.”

“And have you?” Elise glanced in the direction of town. “Crossroads certainly hasn’t thrown out the welcome mat. I was shopping today for material at Keizer’s Dry Goods store with Mary. The Keizers called her a redskin and told her to leave or they’d shoot her!”

Blade’s jaw firmed. “What happened?”

“I gave them a piece of my mind and refused to spend one cent in their old store.”

He folded his arms and regarded her, a grin lurking at the corners of his mouth. “And just where are you going to buy material for Penny’s school clothes if not at Keizer’s?”

“I stopped by Dixie’s boardinghouse. She gave me some old bed linens. I’ll make Penny’s clothing out of those.”

“You’ll what?” He frowned and straightened, towering over her, throwing his shadow over her. “I won’t have that child going to school dressed in old pillowcases.”

“You won’t be able to tell they were linens. Dixie is going to dye them pretty colors. I can use some dress patterns she has on hand. Dixie is quite talented at such things, you know. She’ll help me.” Elise mirrored his frown. “You don’t think I should have traded with the Keizers, do you? Not after they insulted your cousin!”

He pointed a finger at her. “I think you had better curb your temper and your tongue, or you will find yourself in more battles than Geromino.”

She lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I would rather wear rags than buy dress material from the Keizers.”

He shook his head, but smiled. “I’m sure Mary appreciated your show of spirit. Now, I should get back to work.”

“Wait.” She snagged him by the arm. “Please. I—I have something for you.”

He lifted a brow. “You do?”

She pulled a new pair of leather gloves from her apron pocket. “Since I didn’t have to spend money on material, I bought these for you from a traveling merchant. I was posting a letter to a friend of mine back in Baltimore, and he was hawking his wares outside the telegraph office.” She held out the gloves, urging him to take her offering. “I remembered how yours were coming apart at the seams.”

“Gloves.”

“Work gloves,” she amended. “The merchant assured me they are of the finest quality and should last for years.”

He took them from her and turned them over for a careful examination. Finally, he put his long-fingered hands into them. When he lifted his eyes to hers again, his had warmed with appreciation.

“Much obliged. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Well, of course I’d think of you! You’re my husband.” She admired the gloves hugging his hands. “You work so hard and I … well, I …” She felt his intent examination of her features, and her skin heated as if a flame danced across her face, her neck—everywhere his gaze touched. He nudged her chin upward with his thumb until her eyes met his. He lowered his head to brush her lips with his. His breath singed her tender skin. Elise stood on tiptoe, offering her mouth, herself. With a strangled groan, he caught her shoulders and his mouth came down hard on hers.

Somehow her hands found his bare skin. Her fingers
moved over the bulging muscles of his chest, skimmed his nipples, discovered the tautness of his stomach. His teeth bumped against hers and then his tongue slipped inside, stroking and mating with hers. He tasted sweeter than sin. Elise clung to him, hoping the kiss would never end.

“Cousin! Blade? You got those tools sharpened yet?”

Dimly, Elise heard James and the tread of moccasins on soft earth. Blade cursed under his breath and leaned back from Elise. He grimaced with regret.