Love Forevermore (22 page)

“Where is she?” Schofield demanded. He grabbed the iron bars in his hands, his knuckles showing white with the strain.

“At the Apache stronghold,” Shad answered tersely. “In the Dragoons.”

“The Dragoon Mountains?” Mike exclaimed. “Alone?”

“Yes.”

Mike’s face went white with fury. The Dragoon Mountains were a wild and deserted place, uninhabited except for snakes and mountain lions and an occasional renegade.

And Loralee was there alone. Dear God! She must be frightened half out of her mind by now.

“You sonofabitch,” Mike growled. He reached through the bars, his hands clawing for Zuniga’s throat. “I’ll kill you for this, you bastard.”

With an effort, Shad managed to avoid Schofield’s flailing arms. “You are wasting time,” he said urgently. “She has been alone too long already.”

Without another word, Schofield turned on his heel and stalked out of the jailhouse. Outside, he stepped into the saddle and rode out of town at a gallop. He pushed his horse as hard as he dared, his mind oblivious to everything but the need to find Loralee.
She has been alone too long already
, Zuniga had said. How long was too long? A day? A week? It had taken Mike a day to reach Bisbee, and the better part of another to reach the Dragoons, so she had been alone at least two days. Fear and anger warred in his heart. Two days alone in the mountains. Damn!

It was nearing dusk when he reached the old Apache stronghold. The short hairs prickled along the back of his neck as his horse picked its way along the narrow twisting pathway that led to Cochise’s favorite hideout. In the old days, no white men except Tom Jeffords and Howard had set foot on this ground and lived to tell the tale.

Mike had never been superstitious, never been one to believe in ghosts and goblins, but he would not have been surprised to see one here. There was something eerie about the stillness of the stronghold. Long shadows danced on the faces of the rocks as the last rays of the sun faded and disappeared. A cool wind sprang up, stirring dust devils in his path. His horse spooked and shied as an owl took wing from a nearby tree.

He found Loralee asleep inside a rough-hewn wickiup, her head pillowed on her arms. Her cheeks were stained with tears; there were dark shadows under her eyes, hollows in her cheeks.

“Loralee.” He whispered her name, not wanting to frighten her, and when she didn’t respond, he shook her arm gently. “Loralee.”

She came awake at his touch, a smile lighting her face. But it wasn’t Shad bending over her. It was Mike.

She knew a moment of sweet relief. Shad was still alive. No one else could have told Mike where to find her.

The concern in her husband’s eyes touched Loralee’s heart and she murmured, “Oh, Mike, I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my whole life.”

Mike scooped her into his arms as she began to cry.
My God
, he thought,
I’ll kill Shad Zuniga for this if it’s the last thing I ever do.

Mike studied Loralee while she wept. What had Zuniga done to her? Her beautiful blonde hair was in braids, tied off at the ends with bits of ribbon. Her skin, once so fair, was a deep golden brown. Her hands, once unblemished, looked rough and red. There was a large blister on one delicate palm. Her clothing, though clean, was no better than what the squaws on the reservation wore.
White squaw
. The words crept into his mind, ugly and demeaning.

Loralee wept until she had no tears left, releasing all the fear and tension that had been her constant companions for the last two days. She had been fighting the urge to panic all that day, telling herself over and over again that Shad would come back for her. He would not leave her there alone. Soon, he would come to her. Soon. The day had passed slowly. She had tried to keep busy, but her panic had mounted with each passing hour, and when the sun had begun to set, marking her second night alone in the mountains, she had admitted to herself that he was not coming. She began to cry then, great wracking sobs that tore at her throat and shook her whole body, cried until exhaustion overcame her and she fell asleep. Mike had been the last person she had expected to find her.

Mike! He would know where Zuniga was. Raising her head, she looked into his eyes. “Shad,” she whispered. “Where is he?”

“In jail,” Mike replied caustically. “Where he belongs.”

“Jail!” Loralee exclaimed. “Oh, no!”

The anguish in her voice tore at Schofield’s heart. “He was caught stealing some livestock. He’s in jail in Bisbee, awaiting trial.”

Livestock, Loralee thought guiltily.
He was stealing it for me, so I could have eggs and fresh milk. Oh, Shad, what have I done?

“What will happen to him?”

Schofield shrugged. “Who knows? I hope they hang him.”

Loralee’s stricken gaze filled Mike with anger. Damn Zuniga! It was obvious Loralee still loved him, despite everything he had put her through.

“They won’t hang him,” Mike muttered, unable to endure the pain in her eyes. “He’ll probably have to spend a few months in jail. Likely do some time on a road gang.” Mike laughed shortly. “It’ll be good for him to do an honest day’s work for a change.” He felt his anger rising at the look of sorrow on her face. “Dammit, Loralee, how can you worry about the bastard after the way he’s treated you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Hell, look at you. Living like a squaw, probably doing all the work while that lazy bastard sat on his butt, too proud to lift a hand to help out. And you expecting a baby in just a few weeks. And then to go off and leave you here alone… I could kill him with my bare hands! I will kill him if I ever get the chance. Come on, I’m getting you out of here. Now.”

He refused to let her take anything with her other than the clothes on her back. He tossed everything else into a pile in the center of the lodge and then set fire to the lodge, relishing the flames that quickly consumed the crude brush-covered hut and its contents.

A lump rose in Loralee’s throat as she watched the wickiup burn. She had been happy there, truly happy. She and Shad had lain in each other’s arms inside that wickiup, planning for the future. And now it was gone.

She did not protest when Mike placed her on his horse and swung up behind her. She was suddenly filled with apathy. It was over, all over.

Her spirits lifted as they made their way down out of the stronghold. They would have to stop at Bisbee for the night, and she would see Shad. One way or another, she would see him.

With a sigh of relief, she settled back against Mike and closed her eyes. Soon she would see Shad again.

It was late when they reached Bisbee. Mike drew rein in front of the hotel and helped Loralee to the ground. Inside the hotel, he signed for a room, then took Loralee by the hand and led her up the stairs. He ordered dinner while she bathed, washed up while she ate.

An hour later, Loralee slipped into bed, feeling full and refreshed. Tomorrow she would see Shad. With that thought in mind, she closed her eyes, but opened them abruptly as Mike slid into bed beside her.

“Mike! What are you doing?”

“Going to bed,” he answered, frowning at her.

“Oh.” Loralee swallowed the words of protest that rose in her throat. He was her husband, after all, and he had every right to share her bed. It was strange, she mused, but she had almost forgotten that she was legally married to Mike. In the last few months, she had started to think of Shad as her husband.

Loralee felt her insides grow tense as Mike took her in his arms and gently kissed the side of her neck.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered huskily.

“Have you?” She tried to keep her voice light, but she could not keep a note of panic from rising to the surface. Mike had promised he would never touch her unless she asked him to. Had he forgotten?

“Relax, Loralee,” he murmured. “I just want to hold you. Nothing more.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. But sleep would not come. She was all too conscious of Mike’s body pressed against her own, of his desire for her.

Mike held Loralee all through the night, his emotions in turmoil. He had promised not to touch Loralee until she was ready, but what if she was never ready? He had not expected his self-imposed restraint to last forever. He wanted her. Despite all his promises to leave her alone, she was still legally his wife. Perhaps he had been too nice, too understanding. Perhaps it was time to remind her who was the head of the house. He had given her his name and a home, was willing to give his name to the bastard she was carrying. Perhaps it was time she did a little giving, showed a little appreciation.

Mike let out a long sigh filled with frustration. He had been so certain he could put Loralee out of his life, but now, with her here, in his arms, he knew he had to have her at any cost. No matter that she was carrying another man’s child. No matter that she didn’t love him. She was his again, and he would not let her go.

Loralee stared at Mike, completely baffled by his anger.

“What do you mean, I can’t see him?” Loralee demanded, her own anger rising to the surface. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I am telling you,” Mike said firmly. “You’re never to see him again. Is that clear?”

“Mike, what’s come over you?”

“I’ve finally come to my senses, that’s what’s come over me,” Mike replied curtly. “You’re my wife, and you’re not running over to the jail to see that renegade. Not now. Not ever.”

“You can’t stop me!”

“Can’t I?”

Loralee gazed at her husband, a baffled expression on her face. She had never seen Mike like this, angry and determined. He had always been so quiet and easy-going, so willing to do whatever she wished if it would make her happy. Why had he changed?

“Get dressed, Loralee. We’ve got some shopping to do. You can’t go back to the fort looking like a damned squaw.”

“Mike, please—”

“No.” He closed the distance between them and took Loralee in his arms, his mouth closing over hers in a hungry kiss that demanded a response.

“Mike, stop.” Loralee twisted out of his arms, confused and angry and a little afraid. “You promised!” she cried. “You said our marriage would be in name only unless I wanted it otherwise.”

Mike nodded, his blue eyes growing dark with anger. “And you promised to be my wife. You broke that promise when you ran away with Zuniga. Did he make love to you, Loralee? Did you tell him no?”

“Mike, stop.”

“I’ve been a fool,” Mike said bitterly. “But no more. You’re my wife, and when that baby is born, I intend to make you my wife in every sense of the word.”

Loralee shook her head, too stunned to speak. She should have expected something like this, she thought dully. Mike was a man, after all. She had been a fool to think she could live with him and not fulfill her obligation as a wife. He wasn’t a saint, and he loved her. It was only natural that he want to hold her and kiss her and make love to her. Truth be told, she was surprised he had held out this long. Oh, but he had promised! What was she going to do?

“Get dressed,” Mike said curtly. “I have to be back at the fort tomorrow night.”

Loralee stared, unseeing, at the road ahead. Her thoughts were bleak, close to despair. Shad was in jail, would be a prisoner for months, perhaps years. And Mike was sitting beside her, a grim expression on his face. How quickly her life had turned upside down.

They had gone shopping the day before and Loralee was respectably attired in a blue traveling suit and matching bonnet. White kid shoes covered her feet, white gloves protected her hands, a lacy parasol blocked the sun. She looked every inch a lady. No one, seeing her now, would suspect that she had spent the past few months living in a brush-covered wickiup.

Mike had been most generous, and a small valise held several other dresses, all cut to allow for her expanded girth. She had not really been in the mood to shop, but Mike had insisted she buy whatever caught her fancy. She was an officer’s wife now, and it was important to look the part.

Despite her lack of enthusiasm over returning to the fort, Loralee had been pleased by the prospect of new clothes. It had been so long since she had worn anything but a man’s shirt and calico skirts. The new traveling suit complemented her hair and eyes, but she took little joy in her reflection. What difference did it make how she looked if Shad couldn’t see her?

Shad. They had passed the jail on their way out of town, and her heart had ached at the thought of Zuniga locked away behind iron bars. She had gazed longingly at the jail, was inside, separated from her by little more than six feet of dusty ground. She was tempted to leap from the buggy and fly across the street and up the three short stairs to the jail…sorely tempted, and only Mike’s hand on her arm stopped her. Now, sitting beside Mike, the town far behind, her thoughts were full of Zuniga. He was in jail, and it was all her fault.

Chapter Twenty-One

Zuniga stopped his endless pacing to stare at the heavy oak door that separated the cell-block from the jail office. There was a small square window in the door that offered a tiny glimpse of blue sky. The handcuffs on his wrists rattled infuriatingly as he took hold of the bars of his cell. Impotent anger at being imprisoned gnawed at his vitals, and he gripped the bars until his knuckles were white. He had to get out of here, and soon, before he went crazy. Day after day, hour after hour, he paced the narrow cell, his frustration building until he thought he would scream with the need to be free. The air in the cellblock was stale, the view never changed: four gray walls and iron bars. He yearned for the sight of trees and hills, for the warmth of the sun on his face.

He thought constantly of Loralee. No doubt she was back at the fort with Schofield now. The thought of her being with another man was worse torture than being in jail. She had said Schofield had not touched her, but how much longer would that last? The man was flesh and blood, not a plaster saint. No man could be with Loralee day and night, day after day, without wanting her. Loralee and Schofield. The thought drove him wild.

But there was nothing he could do about it. He had been subjected to a brief trial, found guilty, and sentenced to six months at hard labor as soon as his ribs healed.

Six months in chains. He would surely go mad. He had never realized how much he loved the wild life, the mountains and hills that he had wandered as a boy, the freedom he had enjoyed. The sameness of each day in jail, the lack of activity or exercise, the physical restrictions placed on him by handcuffs and iron bars were wearing on his nerves. He was jumpy, irritable, eager for a fight.

And then there was the food. The marshal, a man filled with prejudice against Mexicans and Indians, served him the same menu every day: runny eggs and half-cooked bacon for breakfast, thin soup and brown bread for lunch, and beans and tortillas for dinner. Zuniga skipped breakfast, ate the bread for lunch, and wolfed down dinner, which was the only decent meal of the day.

He had spent just over four weeks in the jail cell when he was hustled out of the building and into the back of a slat-sided wagon. Shackles were placed on his feet, and the cuffs on his hands were secured to an iron ring in the side of the wagon. He took a deep breath as the wagon lurched forward. At last, he was outside again.

As the miles rolled by, he realized they were heading for the reservation. How Schofield would laugh, Zuniga mused bitterly, to see him in chains.

When they arrived at the reservation, Zuniga was locked in the stockade with a dozen other Indians who were being punished for a wide variety of crimes. The other prisoners were sullen-faced, querulous, and dirty. They eyed Zuniga warily until they recognized him, and then they laughed ruefully. So, the one remaining rebel had been caught at last.

Zuniga spent a sleepless night; at first light, he was rousted from the stockade and taken to the stables to muck out the stalls.

Anger was a tight fist in his gut as he shoveled horse manure into a wheel barrow. He had been working about twenty minutes when Mike Schofield entered the barn. Zuniga had just stepped out of one of the stalls and the two men glared at each other as they came face to face.

Zuniga was keenly aware of the chains on his hands and feet, of the sweat dripping down his face and back, of the manure clinging to his moccasins. Humiliation washed over him, but he held his head high, his expression remaining impassive.

Mike grinned broadly. So, Zuniga had been sent home to serve his time. He wouldn’t be so arrogant after this. The boys and young men wouldn’t look on him with such high regard after they’d seen him in chains.

Schofield glanced at the private who had been ordered to keep an eye on Zuniga. “Parker, you’re dismissed. I’ll keep an eye on the redskin.”

“Yessir,” Parker replied. Executing a salute, the private left the barn, glad to be relieved from such a boring detail.

“Get to work, Injun,” Mike ordered curtly.

Rage boiled up inside Zuniga. For a moment, he thought of refusing. Instead, he shrugged and stepped into the next stall. It was foolish to provoke the enemy when he had the upper hand. It would have been easy to smash Schofield in the face with the shovel and make a run for it, but there was no place to go. The gates were closed, his hands and feet were shackled, and he had no weapon. In addition, there were soldiers everywhere.

It took two hours to clean the stalls, and when that was done, Schofield ordered Zuniga to curry his horse. Tight-lipped, Shad did as he was bid.

Schofield found a dozen other chores for Zuniga to do before returning him to the stockade.

Mike was in good spirits when he got home that night. It had been immensely satisfying, ordering Zuniga about, knowing how humiliating it was for the Apache to obey. Yes, he mused, the next six months were going to be interesting indeed.

The following day just after dawn, the Indian prisoners were herded outside the fort and put to work clearing the dry brush from the hills behind the back wall of the fort. It was hard, dusty work. The Apaches cursed under their breath. It was bad enough to be in chains, but to do woman’s work was humiliation of the worst kind.

Zuniga was halfheartedly hacking down a fire-ravaged tree when he heard a snicker behind him. Turning, he saw Mike Schofield grinning impudently at him from the back of a raw-boned bay gelding.

Zuniga’s hands tightened on the ax handle. It was humiliating, having your enemy see you in chains laboring under the hot sun, while he laughed in your face.

With lazy grace, Schofield lifted the crop in his hand and brought it down across Zuniga’s chest. “Get to work, redskin,” he said with a sneer. “I won’t put up with any malingering while I’m on duty.”

Anger flashed in Zuniga’s eyes as he hefted the ax. It would be so easy to bury the heavy blade in Schofield’s chest. So easy.

As if reading his mind, Schofield moved his hand to the gun bolstered on his side, his fingers curling around the smooth walnut butt. “Go ahead,” he challenged. “I’d love an excuse to cut you down.”

Zuniga’s mouth turned down in a wry grin. “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I am not ready to die. Not until I have seen my son.”

“You’ll never see him,” Schofield vowed. His hand closed over the butt of his gun. “I’ll kill you first.”

“Perhaps.” It was on the tip of Zuniga’s tongue to ask about Loralee. Was she well? Was she happy? But he knew that Schofield would not tell him, and he could not humble himself enough to beg for an answer.

“Get to work,” Schofield demanded, and turned away.

Zuniga stared after the lieutenant for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he attacked the tree, unleashing all his pent-up fury as he destroyed what had once been a living thing, wishing all the while that it was Mike Schofield falling beneath the blade.

Loralee smiled stiffly at the ladies standing outside the sutler’s store. She knew they talked about her constantly, gossiping about her unexplained absence, and the fact that she had been married only five and a half months and appeared to be due any day.

The ladies smiled and nodded, but their smiles did not reach their eyes, and as soon as she passed by, she could hear them whispering. Damn them, she thought angrily. Damn them all! They were strangers to her, wives who had come West to be with their husbands while she had been away. She did not know their names, but they knew hers. Indeed, they knew hers. She was certain they had nothing good to say, nothing at all.

She fought back the tears threatening to fall. She had never been so miserable in her life. Mike was a stranger. Whatever affection he had once had for her seemed to have withered and died when they reached the fort. He treated her well enough, but his eyes were guarded when he looked at her, and his attitude was one of contempt. And yet he still desired her. She could see it in his eyes sometimes, when she caught him staring at her.

When she got home, she put the few items she had purchased in the cupboard, then wandered through the house. Mike had forbidden her to leave the fort, but she needed to get away, to be in the open for a while.

Thirty minutes later she was driving out of the fort in a light buggy. The private who had harnessed the horse for her had been reluctant to do so, but he lacked the guts to argue with Lieutenant Schofield’s wife.

Loralee sighed as the fort faded into the distance behind her. It felt good to be alone, away from walls and prying eyes and whispering tongues, away from Mike. He professed to love her, but she knew he would never forgive her for running away with Zuniga and liking it.

She drove for an hour, enjoying the open country, the clear sky, the cacti that were in bloom. She thought of her child soon to be born, but refused to think about Shad. It was too painful to think of him, too painful to picture him languishing away in prison, locked behind cold iron bars.

As she approached the fort again, she saw the road gang laboring on the side of the hill, hacking away the dry brush. She felt a twinge of sympathy for the prisoners. They were all Indians. Most were doing time on the road gang for being drunk and disorderly, or for stealing. It was hot, dusty work, and as she drew nearer, she could see that the men were sweating profusely. Forcing the Indians to work on the road gang on the reservation was supposed to deter the other Indians from breaking the law, but she doubted it was effective. Certainly there was never a lack of men on the road gang.

She was about to rein the horse around and head for the front gate when she saw him. His shirt was off and his muscles bunched and relaxed with each swing of the scythe in his hands. A strip of red cloth kept the sweat from his eyes. Tears burned her eyes when she saw the shackles on his hands and feet.

For a moment, she could only stare at Zuniga, her eyes feasting on the sight of him even as she wondered how long he had been back on the reservation. Mike had never said a word. She gazed at Zuniga longingly, wishing she had the nerve to go to him. Almost, she reined the horse closer. And then she heard Mike’s voice, cruel and taunting as he mocked Zuniga, belittling him because he was in chains.

Loralee cringed as she heard her husband make several derogatory remarks about Shad’s honor, about how there was no pride in shackles or iron bars.

Loralee watched Zuniga’s face. He seemed not to hear the relentless barbs, but she knew each taunt cut deep. How could Mike be so cruel?

She could not bear to watch any more. With a muffled cry, she started to turn the horse back the way she had come. At that moment she heard Mike remark that no doubt Shad’s son would be proud to learn his father had once labored on a road gang with a bunch of two-bit thieves and drunkards.

It was the wrong thing to say.

With a wordless cry, Zuniga lunged forward, the scythe held in his hands like a club.

Loralee watched in horror as Shad struck Mike across the side of the head with the scythe’s solid wood handle. Mike fell to the ground, blood oozing from his left temple. The other guard sprinted toward Mike. Drawing his service revolver as he ran, he fired a shot in Zuniga’s direction, and missed. As the trooper took aim for a second shot, Zuniga grabbed Mike’s sidearm from the holster and fired at the soldier bearing down on him. The bullet hit the man full in the chest, killing him instantly.

For a moment, Zuniga stood staring down at Mike Schofield. The man was still breathing. A cruel smile twisted Shad’s lips as he raised the gun and thumbed back the hammer. He had killed one man already. What harm was there in killing two? They could only hang him once.

“Shad, don’t!”

His head jerked up at the sound of her voice and he whirled around to see Loralee driving toward him.

“Don’t!” she cried again, drawing the buggy to a halt beside him. “Please, don’t.”

With a curt nod, Zuniga shoved the pistol into the waistband of his pants, then dug the keys out of Mike’s pocket before vaulting into the buggy beside Loralee. Taking the reins from her hands, he urged the horse up into the hills behind the fort.

The other prisoners stood staring after Zuniga and the woman, too stunned by the sudden violence to move. Then, realizing there was no one left to stop them, the Apaches melted into the scrub brush.

Loralee clutched the side of the buggy as it jolted over the rough, unbroken ground. There was no trail, and the wheels bounced over rocks and cactus, rocking wildly from side to side.

Once, glancing over her shoulder, she saw Mike lying on the ground far below. Was he dead? The other man had been killed instantly. She wondered if the shooting would be considered self-defense.

She looked at Shad. His face was taut, his mouth set in a grim line as he urged the horse to go faster.

“Shad, where are we going?”

“I do not know,” he replied. He lashed the horse mercilessly. It would not take long for Schofield to regain consciousness and summon help. For a moment, he regretted not killing the man, and then he shrugged. It made no difference. He had drawn the blood of his enemy and that was coup enough. For now.

He slid a glance at Loralee. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and frightened, but he knew the fear she felt was for him and not for herself. She was a fine and brave woman, he reflected, worthy to be the mother of an Apache. She would have made him a fine wife in the old days, a fine wife, indeed.