The Darkest Heart Read Free Page A

expressionlessly from where he sat just outside the firelight. She had seen enough to know that he was naked from the waist up, his hair shoulder length and kept out of his face with a headband, his legs clad in soft buckskins.
    Had he seen that she was awake?
    It all came flooding back. She had run away with Kincaid, he had betrayed her, and dear God forgive her, she had murdered him. In self-defense. And then she had fled Yuma on horseback, in terror of being arrested and hanged. A snake had killed her horse, and the last thing she remembered was walking, falling, burning—knowing she was going to die. This Indian must have found her.
    She dared to peek again at the man sitting in the shadows of the fire’s light. He was no longer gazing so relentlessly at her, but into the flames. He was the largest Indian she had ever seen—Indians were usually thin and of medium or small height. Even though he was sitting in shadows she could see he had broad shoulders and a broad, muscular chest. Something was glinting on that chest—something silver, a necklace. If only it was daylight, if only she could get a better look, she could tell what kind of Indian he was. She prayed he wasn’t Apache.
    His glance lifted and caught hers.
    Candice slammed her lids shut, holding her breath, freezing her body, praying. She heard him move. The tempo of her prayers increased. There was a hiss of flames licking logs, and she started, eyes flashing; open, to see him stirring the fire. He turned his head and looked directly at her.
    It was too late. She knew he knew that she was awake. Still Candice didn’t move. She couldn’t. She was frozen in terror.
    He was Apache.
    He had stood up to tend the fire, stepping closer to her at the same time. She had seen his leggings. Thigh-high but now rolled to the knee and beaded across the instep. The giveaway was the toe tip, and the way it curled up. It was very distinctive. They were Apache moccasins.
    Candice started to shake.
    It was then, as he approached with a silent tread, his shadow giving him away, that she jerked her head up in horror, no longer feigning sleep. He looked even taller and larger from this perspective, standing over her while she lay prostrate on the ground, the fire behind him now, illuminating his broad, hard outline and face.
    With a start, she realized he was a half-breed. His eyes were pale, gray or blue, his features very white and perfectly chiseled—high cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong jaw, and sensual lips. He was very dark, whether tanned from the sun or from an Apache parent, she couldn’t tell. He was wearing a large, crude necklace of silver and turquoise. From a row of stones, two silver conches were suspended, and beneath that, two flat, rectangular pieces of silver. She had seen a necklace like that once before. It had belonged to an Apache warrior.
    He was also fully armed. He wore a low-slung gunbelt boasting two tied-down Colts. Around his waist was a heavy, studded belt, and from it glinted a dangerous-looking knife. Candice was trembling.
    As he squatted down beside her, the full extent of her predicament hit her—she was naked beneath the buckskin blanket. Completely naked—without a single undergarment. A choked sob rose up in her throat. Had he already raped her while she was unconscious? Dear God—and would he do so now?
    He met her gaze again, and from the guarded expressionon his face something hard and angry appeared, darkening his features, making his eyes a silvery gray glitter. She shrank back. He gritted and reached out. One large, thick hand caught hanks of her hair, preventing any further movement. She whimpered at his touch.
    He cursed in his own language.
    She was stiff with fear. He raised her head, his expression becoming more thunderous. She resisted, becoming more rigid. He was holding a tin mug, which he set down as he clamped his arm around her back and pulled her abruptly upright, into the crook of his arm and chest. His bare