Savage Thunder (7 page)

B
illy had had his fun. He wasn’t grinning as he stepped out onto the boarded walkway in front of the Oriental, waiting for Colt to back out of the swinging doors and step quickly to the side before relaxing his gun hand. Now he felt kind of sick to his stomach. Colt Thunder here? He didn’t even begin to hope it was a coincidence.

“Where’s your horse?” Colt asked curtly.

Billy grimaced, noticing the big-boned Appaloosa down the street in front of yet another saloon. “I walked from Noble’s Hotel, where I’m staying.”

“Come on, then.”

They were almost the same height, but Billy felt like he was tripping over his own legs trying to keep up with Colt as the taller man took off down the boardwalk. “I didn’t think she’d send you after me, Colt, I swear I didn’t.”

“You thought she’d hunt you down herself?”

“Of course not! I knew she’d write Jessie, and I guess I figured she’d ask Chase to find me. She always depended on him for help.”

“That was before he married Jessie. But he probably would’ve been elected if he was home at the time, only he wasn’t. And it wasn’t your mother sent
me, it was Jessie. She had the dumb idea I’d have no problem tracking you.”

“I’m sorry,” Billy said lamely.

“Wait until I decide whether or not to beat the shit out of you, kid, before you’re sorry.”

Billy flinched. He wished he had seen Colt’s expression when he said that, but the man was still walking several paces ahead and hadn’t looked back to speak. He had little doubt he was serious, though. Which way he decided on the matter would depend on just how angry he was. But come to think of it, seeing his expression wouldn’t have told Billy the answer to that. You just couldn’t tell with Colt, not with his ability to conceal his emotions when he chose to.

The past years had been one surprise after another for Billy. He had been raised in Chicago by his mother, Rachel, and his stepfather, though he didn’t know Jonathon Ewing was only his stepfather. He didn’t know he had a sister either, until Jessie’s father died and Rachel went to Wyoming to be her guardian. He had been only nine at the time, and meeting someone like Jessie had been an impressionable experience. Her father had raised her like a boy, and she was running the ranch he had left her as well as any man could. She wore britches, toted a gun, and knew everything there was to know about raising cattle. Billy had worshiped her and was delighted when he learned she wasn’t just his half sister, but his true sister, that Thomas Blair was his father, too.

But Rachel returned to Chicago, taking Billy with her, and it wasn’t until a couple of years later that Billy got to visit the Rocky Valley Ranch again. In
fact, he was there the day Colt first showed up, though he was called White Thunder then.

Billy had heard of him, of course. The Cheyenne brave had been Jessie’s closest friend for many years, though he had never been to her ranch before. But Billy didn’t know who he was at first, and after hearing about all the trouble the Sioux and the Cheyenne were causing at that time, seeing an Indian ride in as bold as you please was frightening, to say the least, especially when he was so obviously not one of the tame variety.

Half naked, with hair that flowed midway down his back, no, there was nothing tame about White Thunder—until you saw him with Jessie and heard him speak English. And not a clear and precise English, as you would suppose an Indian would be taught, but a Western drawl that was an exact copy of Jessie’s own speech, which wasn’t that surprising after all, since he had learned English from her.

Billy, at eleven, had been fascinated by Thunder just as much as he had been by Jessie. He hadn’t gotten to stay to watch his transformation into a “white man,” so he had barely recognized him when Colt came east with Jessie and Chase for Rachel’s wedding to Chase’s father, Carlos Silvela, less than a year later. But there was still something about him that had kept Billy from being able to relax completely in his company, even though he was open and approachable then. And Billy didn’t think that would ever change, especially since Colt was no longer easygoing, and hadn’t been since that trouble he had back in ’78 when he nearly died.

That was when Billy found out that Colt wasn’t just Jessie’s best friend, but her half brother, and Billy’s too; that Thomas Blair had fathered them all. Unfortunately, it didn’t make him feel he could get close to Colt, not the way Jessie was, anyway. Brother or not, Colt could scare him worse than ten Billy Clantons, without even trying.

As if Colt had read his mind, he asked, “Who was your hot-tempered little friend?” Billy answered without thinking and found himself pressed up against the wall of the saddle shop they were passing, Colt’s fists locked in his shirtfront. “You leave your sense back East, kid? I heard enough about that bunch before I was even halfway through the territory, enough to know they’re to be avoided.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Billy said defensively. “At least not until it was too late.” He was unable to meet Colt’s piercing stare when he added, “I sort of hired on, thinking I’d be doing ranch work.”

“You dumb sh—”

“For God’s sake, Colt, I didn’t know what I was getting into! I was running short of money.”

“All you had to do was wire home.”

“If I did that I would have to
go
home, and I doubt my mother is ready to see my side of things.”

“Whether she is or isn’t—shit, never mind.” He let Billy down, glancing back at the Oriental, but no one else had exited the place since they had. He continued on to collect his horse, tossing back over his shoulder, “Did you quit?”

“I tried, but you said yourself young Clanton’s hot-
tempered. He didn’t exactly want to take no for an answer.”

“All right, forget it. If anyone wants to object to you leaving town, they can take it up with me. We’ll check you out of the Noble, and…”

Colt’s thoughts took flight when he spotted a teal-blue coach coming down the street in their direction, surrounded by a dozen mounted, armed riders. It was followed by another coach, not quite as large, and then still another. Bringing up the rear were three large wagons piled high with baggage and supplies, and being led alongside them, four of the most magnificent Thoroughbred horses to ever show up west of the Mississippi.

“Christ, what in the hell…?”

Colt only vaguely heard Billy’s question. It had to be the same question running through everyone else’s mind too, except his. All along the street folks had stopped to gawk, or were coming out of stores for a better look or leaning out of windows. What had to be half the children in town were running along beside the cavalcade, as if it were a circus come to town and they didn’t want to miss a moment of the excitement.

“I thought she’d have arrived long before now,” Colt said absently, his eye on that lead coach.

Billy looked sideways at him, as if he had said the moon was green. “You know these people?”

Colt recalled himself and stepped off the boardwalk to untether his horse, turning his back on the street—and her. “I met up with the ladies in that lead coach across the San Pedro. They’d gotten separated from
the rest and their coach turned over, so they needed some assistance.”

Billy didn’t miss how Colt was deliberately ignoring the spectacle in the street. “Across the river, huh? What were you doing that far west of here?”

“I’ll follow a river anytime, rather than the roads. You meet up with less undesirables that way.”

Billy grimaced, the point taken. “So who are they?”

“The ladies are English. I didn’t meet their escort, but from the looks of them, they’re all foreigners.”

“I’ll say,” Billy remarked.

He was staring at one of the wagon drivers decked out in a flowing white robe, and wearing some kind of large kerchief over his head instead of a hat. The twelve-man guard was also dressed strangely in that they all wore identical red coats with short capes attached, navy blue pants with a black satin band down the outer seam, and tall hats of a military bent.

“Hey, they’re stopping,” Billy said with some surprise.

Colt swung around and swore. “Christ, she wouldn’t—and in front of a damn saloon?” She did, and one of her guards even rushed forward to open the door for her. He caught a glimpse of that glorious red hair before he quickly mounted up. “That woman hasn’t got any more sense than you do, Billy.”

“Why? All she’s doing is getting down and…and I think she’s coming to talk to you.”

Colt refused to look at her again. His blood was already heating, just by his knowing she was only a few feet away.

“She won’t if I can help it. I’ll meet you in front of your hotel.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to wait and—”

“You know how these people will react if they see her talking to someone like me.”

Billy bristled, hating it when Colt degraded himself like that. “Maybe she could teach folks a thing or two about judging a man by his worth.”

Colt didn’t even bother to answer that. He jerked his horse to the side and took off down the street. Billy was left staring at the most beautiful redhead he had ever laid eyes on. She had stopped in the middle of the street, and the expression of keen disappointment on her face as she watched Colt ride away made Billy want to kick his half brother on the seat of his pants—not that he would ever actually dare, but he sure wanted to.

And what had Colt accomplished anyway, when everyone watching her—and everyone on the whole street
was
watching her—could see who
she
was watching, who she had intended to speak to? It sure wasn’t Billy, for after Colt rode off, the elegant redhead turned about and, after a few words to one of her escorts, got back in her coach and continued down the street.

V
anessa opened the door of their suite in the Grand Hotel to find Babette giggling in the hall with Mr. Sidney, one of the two footmen constantly vying for her attention. “Well, come along, girl,” Vanessa said impatiently, giving Sidney a look of stern disapproval that had him quickly leaving. “I managed to get her to lie down with a cold compress, but she won’t relax until she hears what Alonzo has to report. You
do
have his report?”

“But of course.” Babette grinned, her artfully arranged blond ringlets bouncing as she hurried into the room. “Alonzo, he finds where the ’Merican goes, but how long he stays there…” The French maid shrugged.

“Well, as long as he stays put for whatever it is she intends, though I can’t imagine what that is. She did say he refused employment.” Vanessa frowned then, staring at the closed door of Jocelyn’s bedroom. “On second thought, maybe it would be better if she didn’t see him again. I haven’t seen her burst into tears like that since those first months after the duke passed on.”

“Is no wonder, after everything that is happen today—”

“Oh, I know, I know,” Vanessa replied, still
amazed that none of their people had been seriously hurt during the ambush. Though two men had been wounded and put to bed under a doctor’s supervision, they could travel again if the need arose. “But
that’s
not why she cried. The nerve of that rogue, to snub her like that.”

“Maybe he did not see her, yes?”

“Maybe.”

But Vanessa didn’t believe that for a minute. And although she was surprised at how keen Jocelyn’s interest was in this man, she wasn’t sure it was wise for her to pursue that interest, not after all she had told Vanessa about her encounter with him. He sounded much too…unusual.

“Did Alonzo also find out what a half-breed is?”

Babette’s pale blue eyes rounded, remembering that part of the report. “Oh, yes, but you will not like it, I think.”

“I didn’t suppose I would,” Vanessa remarked dryly. “Come along, then.”

The countess knocked softly before the two women entered the darkened bedroom. The sun had just set, though there was still a lavender sky visible through the open windows, with just enough light to show that Jocelyn was not sleeping; was, in fact, sitting up and looking expectantly at her young maid.

Vanessa motioned Babette to turn on the lamps before saying, “I took the liberty of ordering a light repast that should be delivered shortly. I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t feel up to changing for dinner tonight.”

Jocelyn frowned at her dear friend. “You should
have been the one to lie down, Vana, especially after that terrible headache you suffered this morning. There’s certainly nothing wrong with me—”

“—that a little food and rest won’t see to,” Vanessa finished, her tone brooking no argument.

Jocelyn sighed. It was easier to give in to the countess when she got into one of her mothering moods, which she had been in ever since Jocelyn had succumbed to that silly burst of emotion just after they were shown to their suite. She looked at Babette again, who was still flitting from lamp to lamp. There were six of them in this room alone.

The accommodations were very adequate, considering what they had been led to expect: that most Western towns were small, their hotels even smaller. This being the first Western town they encountered, its large size was a welcome surprise, as was the selection of hotels they had had to choose from. The Grand was not on a par with the luxurious hotels on the East Coast, but it certainly tried to be. And they had been able to rent the entire second floor here, which was ideal for security purposes.

“Enough, Babette,” Jocelyn ordered with impatience. “How much light does Alonzo’s report warrant?”

The French girl grinned cheekily now that her stalling ploy was seen through. “Is not so bad. At least Alonzo, he say is only a matter of prejudice. The half-breed, he is considered the same as the Indian, and the Indian, he is treated with contempt and loathing.”

“Contempt?”

“To hide the fear, you understand. The Indian, he is still greatly feared in this place. He still raids and kills and—”

“Which Indian—ah, Indians?”

“Apaches. We hear of them in Mexico, no?”

“So we did, but I don’t recall hearing they were still so hostile.”

“Is only Geronimo. Alonzo say he is a renegade with only a small number of followers who hide out in Mexico, but they raid this side of the border too.”

“Very well, but Colt Thunder is not an Apache half-breed, he’s Cheyenne,” Jocelyn pointed out. “What did Alonzo learn of the Cheyenne Indians?”

“They are not known in this area.”

“Then why would Mr. Thunder think I should be leery of him?”

“I believe you have missed the point, my dear,” Vanessa interjected. “Prejudice is not particular. It sounds like all half-breeds are treated the same in these Western territories, no matter which Indian tribe they are associated with.”

“But that’s preposterous,” Jocelyn insisted. “Not to mention unfair. Besides, there wasn’t the least little thing contemptible about Colt Thunder. I found him very polite—well, mostly polite. And he was exceedingly helpful. Good Lord, in less than an hour’s span the man twice saved my life.” He was also impatient, short-tempered, argumentative, and stubbornly opposed to having anything more to do with her, but that wasn’t worth mentioning.

“Jocelyn, dear, we are all grateful to this fellow for his timely assistance. Indeed we are. But his feel
ings in the matter couldn’t have been more plain this afternoon. He won’t even talk to you.”

“I understand that now. He behaved the same way this morning, as if I were committing some grave faux pas just by being in the same vicinity with him. It’s so silly.”

“He obviously doesn’t think so.”

“I know, and he thought he was protecting me by avoiding me in town, which is very commendable, but hardly necessary. I’m not about to let someone else’s prejudices influence me. Nor do I give a fig for public opinion. If I want to associate with the man, I will. No one will tell me that I can’t.”

Vanessa raised a golden brow as Jocelyn’s chin went up stubbornly. The duke had told her once, during their initial interview, that his duchess was of the sweetest nature, biddable, and flexible. Vanessa was in a position to know differently.

“Just what sort of association did you have in mind?” Vanessa asked reluctantly, afraid she already knew.

Jocelyn shrugged, though there was a definite sparkle in her lime-green eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps what we were discussing early this morning.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”