Slater Bros: Apache Summer Part 8

"Thank goodness, sir, that you would not partic.i.p.ate in such a skirmis.h.!.+

I mean, as one could see how heavily involved you are ..."

"What?" he demanded, scowling.

"The bountiful brunette, Lieutenant. Miss. Eliza."

"Oh, Eliza." He said the name dism~ssively. Too dismissively. He knew Eliza well, maybe better than he wanted to at the moment.

"Yes, Eliza," she said pleasantly.

"Are you engaged, Lieutenant?"

"Good heavens, no!"

"Ah, was the horror of that statement over the possibility of engagement, or over Eliza?"

"Miss. Stuart, you are very presumptuous."

"Sir, no one is forcing you to dance with me."

His arms tightened around her. He was smiling, but there was a sizzle to the smile, and it sent little shock waves rippling all along her system.

Maybe she was playing dangerously. It was delightful. Maybe she risked igniting his temper to extremes she had yet to know. She realized that she was willing to do so, that the storm taking place within her own heart and body was demanding that she do so. "Miss. Stuart, I am your escort to this dance, remember?" he said bluntly.

"Oh ... yes, well, I suppose that I had forgotten. When I saw the way your lips became pasted together with Eliza's ..."

"Jealous, Miss. Stuart?"

"Well, how could I be? I have just entered into your life. I couldn't possibly mean to dissuade you from, er, liaisons you have been nurturing."

She heard the clenching of his teeth. The scowl that tightened his handsome features seemed to reach inside her and take her breath away.

She felt his hand upon her waist, warm and powerful, and the fingers of his other hand so tightly entwined with hers that the pressure nearly caused pain. She inhaled a clean scent from him that also seemed to speak of the plain, of the rugged vistas, of the horseman, the marksman.

Everything rugged, and everything striking.

He was a real son of a b.i.t.c.h, a small voice warned her. It didn't matter.

"Do you always hop so recklessly into the fray, Miss. Stuart?"

"Whatever do you mean? What fray, Lieutenant?"

"You've barbs on your tongue, ma'am."

"Why, Lieutenant! I'm only speaking frankly."

"Um. I still say there are barbs there. Perhaps I should discover if I am right ..."

He was swift on his feet, agile and sure. In a moment he had danced her out the door and into the shadows on the porch. He swept her against a supporting pillar, then his mouth descended upon her, lips parted, parting hers. She had wanted this. this very thing. She had teased and goaded him, and now she had him. But the kiss was no casual dance-floor brush. It was a thing so searingly intimate that she lost all hope of breathing, all hope of standing upon her own two feet. His mouth encompa.s.sed hers, drawing from her all strength and will. The heat of his mouth filled and infused her, and his tongue swept by all barriers to ravage and invade.

And she did nothing to stop him, nothing to fight back, nothing to protest even the shocking intimacy of the invasion.

He kissed her mouth as if he kissed all of her. His 73 tongue touched every little crevice and nuance of her mouth and thrust with a rhythm that entered into her pulse, into her bloodstream. It was far different from anything she had ever experienced before. Anything. It brought tremors to her limbs and a swirling tempest within her belly; it singed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and weakened her knees.

And worst of all, perhaps, she felt no remorse, no shame. She allowed herself to fall into his arms, to feel his strength support her, the rippling muscles of his chest and thighs. Then his mouth pulled away from hers. She inhaled raggedly and lifted her eyes to meet his. It had been a game; she hadn't been expecting this, and she was suddenly very afraid that her eyes betrayed the depths of her innocence, of her shock, of the staggering sensations that had taken place within her. His eyes were heavily shadowed, and he didn't look at all like a man about to laugh with the pleasure of an easy conquest, but rather like one consumed with some blinding fury or emotion. But he didn't speak. She wanted to reach up and touch the sandy tendrils of his hair, fallen rakishly over his forehead, but she didn't dare move, she didn't dare touch him again, for there seemed to be something explosive about him.

"There she is!"

The accusing cry seemed to awaken them both. Jamie stepped back, surprised, frowning, looking around.

A plump woman was coming out on the porch. She was small and seemed exceedingly broad. Her hair was snow white and swept up beneath a little cap, and her dress was old-fas.h.i.+oned, her petticoats as wide as they might have been during the war, her dark fringed stole from an earlier period.

She wasn't alone. People were spilling out behind her. "Clara," Jamie said softly, still frowning.

"Clara, what on earth is wrong?"

Clara seemed not to hear him. She pointed a finger at Tess.

"You!

You--you harlot! You hussy! You wh.o.r.e!

Attacked by Indians, and crying out that white men fell upon you! How dare you! You should have been killed! G.o.d will smite you down with an arrow for lying! You trash, you white tras.h.!.+"

"Clara!" Jamie shouted.

Tess, stunned by the violence of the attack, stared in silence.

"Clara, you're overwrought, but you owe this lady an apology, you can't know"

"No!" Clara shrieked.

"She's the devil's sp.a.w.n!" Tess realized then that the porch was full of people.

The young soldiers who had been ready to die for her looked as if they'd gladly nail her to the wall.

"How many of us have lost our dear loved ones to the b.l.o.o.d.y savages?

You, Lydia, the p.a.w.nee took your only daughter! Charlie, the Comanche cost you your arm, and Jimmie, your boy Jim went down in that fight with the Apache. Heathens, b.l.o.o.d.y heathens, all of them! And now she's lying about what happened to her little wagon train.

She won't let the men go after the real culprits, she wants a war with the white men! She wants us all at one another's throats so the b.l.o.o.d.y savages can move right in. She"--" No!" Tess shouted furiously.

"You don't understand, you weren't there, and don't you dare" -- "She ought to be tarred and leathered and thrown right out of here naked as a jay. Then she can run to her Indian buddies."

There was a startled moment of silence. Tess felt certain they were all about to step forward and tear her into little shreds.

"Yes, yes" -- Clara began wildly. But she was interrupted.

The sound of a clinking spur struck loudly and discordantly upon the floor as Jamie stepped firmly between Tess and Clara.

"That's enough!" Jamie stated flatly.

"Clara, I don't know what got you going tonight, but you've no right to judge this girl, none at all. You owe her an apology, and I d.a.m.ned well mean it." He paused. Tess realized that he was looking across the crowd.

Looking straight at Eliza. And there was something about her eyes that told all, even if she tried to stare at Jamie with a look of pure innocence.

She had stirred up the people. Jamie had left her on the dance floor, and dear Miss. Eliza had made the rounds, talking to those most vulnerable.

"But what if it is true, Lieutenant? What if Miss. Stuart was seeing things?

Then the Comanche or some other tribe is on the warpath, and if so, we've got to start fighting back!" "I'll find out," Jamie said.

"I promise you, I'll find out." There was a gasp from the crowd. The sound had come from Eliza, Tess realized. Her plan had backfired. Tess wasn't sure what victory she felt. Whatever move Jamie made, he made because he had been forced into it, a gentleman caught by circ.u.mstance into defending a lady's honor.

"I'm going to escort Miss. Stuart to her home, and I'll look into things there. And I will find out the truth."

By then Jon Red Feather had come to stand next to his friend. It was a casual but defensive gesture. They were shoulder to shoulder. If any fighting had erupted, the handsome half-breed would have been ready. But maybe he had come for more than that. He edged forward, taking Clara's hands.

"Give Jamie time," he told her.

The little woman looked up at Jon.

"Oh, Jon! I didn't mean you."

"I know," he said, grinning.

"I'm only half savage and heathen and barbarian."

She flushed brilliantly.

"Jon ..."

"It's all right, Clara. Heaven help us, if the Sioux Nation went to war now, I'm not at all sure where I would be at times." He raised his voice.

"Every single one of you has, at one time or another, seen some savage injustice done to the Indians!. You've been with commanders who think nothing of the murder of women and infants! How in h.e.l.l can you possibly doubt this story!"

There were murmurs, then the crowd began to clear. Clara started to cry softly.

"I'll take her home," Jon told Jamie.

Jamie nodded. He and Tess watched as Jon escorted her through the alehouse.

"Well, d.a.m.n it, it's just exactly what you wanted, isn't it?"

He was a far different man from the one who had kissed her with such staggering heat. She stiffened, wis.h.i.+ng she could wash the taste of his lips from her own, trying to wipe the taste away with the back of her hand.

"What I wanted!

No! I never wanted to be called' any of those things, Lieutenant, and I certainly never wanted to see an old woman in pain, nor did I ever particularly want to be threatened with being tarred and feathered!"

"You wanted me to go to war with your von Heusen."

"All right, yes! I wanted someone else to stand up against him."

She was backed against the pillar still. Her hands slipped behind her to reach for it for support. He turned on her, coming closer, leaning his hands upon the beam and bringing his face very close to hers. She was trapped by his arms, by the prison of his body.

"And now," he said softly, "it's my battle."

"You're the d.a.m.ned cavalry, aren't you? You spent time enough telling me that the day that you dragged me into the dirt!"

"I dragged you into the dirt! Why, you little h.e.l.lion! You're the one who came after me like a bat out of h.e.l.l!"

It was there again, that feeling of something entirely combustible between them, of static charging the air, of 77 lightning on a still night. She had to fight back, and quickly and hard, or she would lose everything.

"I was frightened out of my wits," she retorted, "not that you probably weren't worthy of everything I did!"

"Oh? Is that a fact? And have you taken to judging me, Miss. Stuart?"

"Why the h.e.l.l not? You're determined to judge me." They were silent for a moment, and in that moment, they both heard a throat being cleared.

Jamie swung around again. Sergeant Monahan was standing there, red-faced.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant."

"What is it, Monahah?"

"The, uh, the colonel wants to see you."

"Right after I escort Miss. Stuart to her house."

"Er, pardon me, sir, but no, sir. The colonel says that I'm to escort her and that you're to see him immediately. About this business of your going to Wilts.h.i.+re." Jamie frowned, started to protest, then sighed. He cast Tess a warning glare, although she wasn't at all sure of what the warning was about.

She was still trembling, she realized, still holding hard to the pillar.

Jamie bowed to her.

"Good night, Miss. Stuart. We'll leave as soon as possible."

He walked away with long, angry strides. Tess looked at Monaham Monahan was watching Jamie go.

"Well, that might be one heck of a confrontation," he muttered. "Why?"

Tess asked.

"what? Oh?" Monahan flushed, as if he had just realized she was there.

"Why, nothing, miss ..."