Apache Caress Read Free Page B

with cavalry mounts.
    The animal snorted again. “Easy, boy,” he soothed. “Be still. Once I get these chains off, we’re leaving.”
    Then Cholla brushed against something on the top rail, something fluffy and feathered that set up a terrible, loud squawking and wing-flapping.
    A chicken . He had awakened a stray barnyard hen perched on the rail, and she’d set up a racket as if a fox were after her. As Cholla paused, uncertain what to do, the chicken squawked and flapped, further exciting the creature that was snorting, maybe at scenting the fresh blood on Cholla. The animal now began an ungodly heehawing.
    By Usen, a mule. A damned mule. That creature and the noisy hen were making enough racket to be heard for miles.
    What to do now? Cholla looked toward the house. Would the woman come out to investigate the racket? Maybe she hadn’t heard it.
    She came to the window, peered out uncertainly. Cholla watched her, hoping she would stay inside. Even though she had looked at him earlier with eyes full of hatred, he didn’t want to kill her. He glanced at the chains on his wrists. By looping them over her head, he could break her neck before she had any chance to cry out.
    In the darkness Cholla pressed his back up against the wall and held his breath. He heard a sound and twisted his head to look. The woman stood in the doorway of the small house. She held a rifle and a lamp. For a long moment, she hesitated as if afraid, then started toward the barn.
    Cursing silently, Cholla pressed himself against the inside wall, listening to her footsteps coming closer. He had never hurt a woman, but there was no way out of it now. To insure his own safety, he would have to kill the one with the hate-filled eyes.

Chapter Two
    Sierra stood by the trunk in her chemise, holding the small photo and staring at Robert’s handsome face. It had been a whirlwind courtship and such a brief marriage before the dashing lieutenant was sent to Arizona Territory. Robert. He wasn’t the type to be called Bob. Under the shock of blondish hair, his almost turquoise-colored eyes stared back at her as cold and remote as his personality.
    They had both had their pictures made that day. She wondered idly what he had done with hers? It hadn’t been among the little package of personal items included with the medals and the letter of condolence from his commanding officer.
    Was there a chance he might have been carrying it with him so it had been buried with his body? She could only hope he cared that much, but in reality she knew better.
    She was a widow because of a bunch of bloodthirsty Apaches. It was ironic somehow. At her stern grandfather’s urging, she had married Robert, though with misgivings. Now both men were dead, and she faced the world alone.
    With a tired sigh, Sierra bent over the small trunk and tucked the photo in the tray next to Robert’s medals and her hairbrush. At least Robert hadn’t shirked his duty. Somehow Sierra had figured him for a coward. She felt guilty about that. She had hoped she and Robert could be reconciled, but now that would never be.
    Sierra took the hairbrush out of the tray and pulled hairpins out, shaking her long ebony hair down to brush it. So few things to take, really: personal items, clothes, scissors and sewing notions tucked deep in the trunk, a few household items. The furnishings would stay with the house when banker Toombs and the sheriff came to put her out tomorrow. She intended to be gone before they got here. She brushed her hair with angry strokes.
    Abruptly, Sierra had the eeriest feeling that she was being watched. She paused, looked around, realizing that she stood in a skimpy chemise near an open window.
    Then she chided herself for being a fool and reminded herself that Grandfather’s old rifle was in the cupboard. She could shoot fairly well for a woman, so she hadn’t been afraid to live alone this past summer. Besides, in all these years there had never been any trouble or