ChasetheLightning (21 page)

“I’m sorry, Trey.”

“No need to be. I’ve lived my life pretty much the way I
wanted. My only regret is that I didn’t kill that bas— That I didn’t kill
Hollinger when I had the chance.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to, but he was kneeling on the floor,
crying like a baby, and I couldn’t pull the trigger.”

“I’m glad.”

He snorted softly. “So was he, I reckon.”

“Trey, what are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

“I was plannin’ to settle down in a little valley I found,”
he replied ruefully. “And raise horses.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t know. The money I was countin’ on to buy the
land with is sittin’ in your house.” He laughed softly. “Ironically, the land I
was going to buy isn’t far from your place.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Let’s try to go back, Trey, please? You can still raise
horses. We could raise them. Together.”

“You proposin’ to me, Miss Amanda?”

“Sounds like it.”

“What about good old Rob?”

She looked at him, a faint smile hovering over her lips.
“Who?”

Trey laughed out loud. “Shucks, ma’am, I don’t even know
your last name.”

She wasn’t laughing.

Trey cleared his throat. “Amanda…”

She turned her face away. “It’s all right. It was a stupid
idea. Forget I ever mentioned it.” She started to rise. “We should go.”

Trey grabbed her arm, wincing as the movement pulled on his
bruised ribs. “Dammit! Wait a minute.”

“Just let me go.” She jerked her arm from his grasp and
started walking. Abruptly, she changed direction, her steps gaining speed,
until she was running, away from the camp, toward the stand of timber that grew
along the back wall of the canyon.

It felt good to run again. She tried to push everything from
her mind, to concentrate on the sheer joy of her feet pounding against the
ground, but it was impossible. She had humiliated herself. Tears stung her eyes
and were quickly blown away. How could she have been so stupid? She didn’t want
to marry Trey Long Walker. The man was an outlaw. Sooner or later he would be
caught and most likely hanged, and then where would she be? Stuck in the past,
alone.

She veered to the right. The horse herd grazed in the
distance. Trey’s spirit horse might refuse to take her out of the canyon, but
there was nothing magical about her gelding. She had to get out of here, had to
get away from Trey before she made a fool of herself again. If she couldn’t get
back to her own time, she could at least live in a city. Trey had said Tucson
was only a couple of day’s away. Surely she could make it that far without
anyone's help. She was a seasoned rider now, and the gelding was a good
reliable horse. There would be some kind of work she could do in Tucson, even
if it was waiting tables or washing dishes. She wasn’t afraid of hard work; she
would do whatever it took to earn enough money to buy a train ticket back east,
to New York or Boston or Philadelphia. Anywhere, as long as it was away from
the wild frontier.

She slowed to a walk, not wanting to spook the horse herd.
Brushing the tears from her eyes, she searched for her gelding.

Relámpago trotted up to her. Snuffling softly, he rubbed his
forehead against her chest, begging to have his ears scratched.

“Go away, you traitor,” she muttered. But she couldn’t
resist scratching the stud’s ears while she looked for her gelding.

“Ah, there you are.” She started walking toward her horse,
with Relámpago trailing at her heels like a puppy, when it occurred to her that
she had neither rope nor bridle. Of course, she hadn’t had a bridle for Relámpago
either, but with the stallion she hadn’t felt like she needed one.

With a sigh of exasperation, she turned toward the village,
came to an abrupt halt when she saw Trey walking toward her.

Relámpago gave her a push with his nose, and when she refused
to move, he nudged her again, pushing her toward Trey.

“Just what I need,” Amanda muttered crossly, “a match-making
stallion.”

Relámpago nudged her again, but she refused to move. Let
Trey come to her.

She couldn’t help feeling a surge of pity as she watched him
walk toward her. She knew he was hurting. Well, so was she!

She lifted her chin. And waited.

Trey took a deep breath as he slowly closed the distance
between them. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but he had been shocked by
her unexpected mention of marriage. Certain she had been joshing him, he had
replied in kind. Only she hadn’t laughed.

“Amanda…”

“Go away.”

“Let’s talk this out.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m leaving.”

He lifted one brow. “Oh? Where do you think you’re going?”

“Tucson.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. Tucson! The woman
didn’t have the sense God gave a goose.

“Listen to me,” he said, speaking slowly. “Tucson is no
place for a woman…”

“Are you telling me there aren’t any women there?”

“Of course not, but you’re not like those women.”

“Oh? What kind of women would those be?”

“Dammit, Amanda, you know what I mean. I’m not letting you
go to Tucson alone. The town’s full of…”

“Outlaws?” she supplied sweetly.

He curled his hands into tight fists to keep from strangling
her.

“If you’ll excuse me…” She took a step forward, intending to
sweep by him, gasped when his hand closed on her arm.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His eyes burned into her own.
“Understand?”

“You can’t keep me here against my will!”

“Wanna bet?”

Fueled by a sudden overwhelming anger, she drew back her arm
and punched him in the stomach. The corded muscles there hurt her fist, which
made her furious, and she hit him again.

He grunted with pain, but didn’t let go of her arm. “Go
ahead, hit me if it makes you feel better,” he said grimly. “I’ve taken harder
licks…some of them just recently.”

Amanda felt the color drain from her face as she remembered
what he had been through at the hands of the miners.

She stared at him, her eyes wide with horror as she realized
what she had done. Pain etched his features. “Oh, Trey, I’m sorry!”

He gazed at her, affection mixed with aggravation, and
stroked his ribs gingerly. “You pack a pretty good wallop, for a city girl,” he
said.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Honest.”

“You…” He took a deep breath, and the corners of his lips
twitched. Down, then up. “Are a lot of trouble.”

“Does it hurt very bad?”

“Me brave Apache warrior, used to hardship,” he grunted,
mimicking the way the Lone Ranger’s companion had talked. “Yeah, it hurts a
little.”

“You don’t need to make fun of me. I said I was sorry, and I
am.”

He nodded. “You have every right to be angry, but I can’t
let you go. You know that, don’t you?”

“Why not?”

“What do you want me to say?” His grip on her arm loosened.
“That I need you?” His hand slid down her arm. “That I love you?” His thumb
moved back and forth across the inside of her wrist, sending shivers of delight
up her arm. “That I can’t live without you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes. That’s exactly what I want
you to say.”

He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. “Will you
marry me, Amanda? In the Apache way?”

She met his dark gaze directly, her heart beating
double-time. “I’ll marry you in any way you want.”

“It won’t be binding anywhere but here, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’ll speak to my grandfather. As shaman, he’ll be the one
to marry us.”

She nodded, pleased and excited. She had grown fond of the
old man, with his warm smile and gruff manner.

“I think we’d better wait a week or so,” he said.

“A week!” she exclaimed. In one way, a week seemed far too
short for such a step. But in another way…. “Do we have to wait a whole week?”

He seemed surprised by her question, surprised but pleased.

“We can get married tomorrow,” Trey said. He pressed a hand
to his rib cage. “But I’m afraid the honeymoon might have to wait a few days,
if you know what I mean.”

“Whatever you want is fine with me.” Rising on her tiptoes,
she kissed him. “And my last name is Burkett.”

* * * * *

Returning to the lodge, they told Trey’s grandparents of
their decision to be married right away. But Yellow Calf Woman shook her head.
They would need to wait at least a week, she said. There were things that must
be done, and she would need time to fashion a dress for Amanda to be married
in, she said. After looking Trey up and down, she declared he would also need
new clothing and moccasins, and extended the date another week.

As anxious as Trey and Amanda were, they both decided it
would be best to wait. Amanda was touched by Yellow Calf Woman’s generosity in
offering to make her a dress.

Living in the same lodge made it difficult to keep their
hands off of each other. A look, the slightest touch, and the attraction
between them flared to life. Amanda hadn’t done this much necking in high
school, she mused, or enjoyed it so thoroughly. Trey tempted her touch at every
turn. It was impossible to be near him and not run her hand over his arm, his
shoulder, let her fingertips trail down his back, slide down his chest.

Here, among his own people, he shunned the clothes of
civilization. Clad in a brief buckskin clout and moccasins folded over at the
knee, his long hair hanging past his shoulders, he looked wild and completely
untamed. She dreamed of him at night, erotic dreams that shocked her upon waking,
and made her yearn for the day when he would be hers, when the dreams would
become reality. The two-week wait seemed to stretch on forever into the dim
future, fanning her yearning for the moment she would be totally his, and he
would be totally hers.

To pass the time and give her mind something else to think
of, she made an effort to learn the language, to understand the Apache customs,
to accept with a smile whatever food was offered her. The Apache diet consisted
largely of meat, roots, mescal, berries, and mesquite beans. The mescal plant
was plentiful in the desert. The women gathered it and roasted the pulp in
pits. It was easily stored and carried. Mesquite beans and acorns were pounded
into meal and made into cakes. The fruit of the giant cactus was also
harvested. Amanda thought it tasted a little like figs.

The women made lovely baskets. There were two kinds, those
used to carry burdens and those used for water.

She loved the children, with their luminous black eyes and
sweet smiles.

The Apache were a superstitious people. They believed that
the devil was in the whirlwind, and that anyone caught in one would die. It
seemed an odd belief to her, but certainly no stranger than believing that
spilling salt would bring bad luck.

She learned there were many bands of Apache Indians. There
were two bands of Mescalero and two bands of Jicarilla. The Chiricahua tribe
was made up of three bands; the Western Apaches consisted of four groups.
Trey’s band was Chiricahua. She had heard of them, of course. Who hadn’t heard
of Cochise and Geronimo? When she asked about them, she was told that Cochise’s
band was located further to the southwest, and that Geronimo was most likely in
Mexico.

Trey was pleased by Amanda’s interest in his people. Though
their customs were strange to her, she did her best to accept and understand
them. She was polite to his grandparents, gracious to those she met. The
children were curious about her red hair, seeking every opportunity to touch
it, then crying, “hot, hot” as if the bright strands burned their fingers.

How had he lived without her? He took pleasure in her
laughter, the sound of her voice, the way she touched him, the way she smiled
when he touched her. And they found numerous excuses to touch, he mused,
especially at night, alone in their wickiup. They spent hours touching,
kissing, exploring, the knowledge that they would soon consummate their love
giving them the willpower to wait.

And now it was the night before the wedding.

Trey slid out from under the furs and stepped out of the
lodge. The village was asleep. He stood there a moment, and then, feeling
restless, walked through the camp toward the horse herd. A spotted dog growled
softly as Trey passed by.

A few horses lifted their heads as he approached the edge of
the herd. Relámpago stood out from the others, his white coat a ghostly shimmer
in the fading moonlight.

Trey smiled as the stallion approached. “Hey, ‘Pago.”

Relámpago whinnied softly, then rubbed his forehead up and
down Trey’s arm.

“What do you think?” Trey asked, scratching the stud’s ears.
“Am I making a mistake? Is it wrong of me to keep her here?”

The stallion shook its head.

“She doesn’t belong here. You know that, don’t you?”

Ears twitching, Relámpago snorted and pawed the ground.

“I tried to take her back,” Trey said. “Nothing happened.
Maybe she can’t get back. Or maybe it’s just not time…” He looked at the
stallion. “Is that it? The timing’s not right?” He shook his head. “Why do I
have the feeling you know exactly what I’m saying?”

The stallion tossed its head, then turned and trotted back
to the herd, sidling up to a pretty little buckskin mare.

“Looks like everybody’s pairing up,” Trey mused aloud.

If Amanda had been an Apache woman, he would have gone in
the night and left horses tied in front of her wickiup. If she accepted his
suit, she would care for the horses; if she left them unfed, it meant her
answer was no. An Apache maiden was allowed four days to make her decision.
Most women waited one day before caring for the horses, as it was not considered
good form to feed them immediately. If she allowed the animal to go without
food and water more than two days, she was considered overly vain and proud. If
a suitor was accepted, there followed a wedding feast that lasted for three
days. The prospective bride and groom were not allowed to speak to each other
during these three days, but on the third night, they would steal away to spend
a week or so together in a wickiup hidden away from the rest of the village.

But Amanda was not an Apache girl. She had no family here,
and he had no horses to offer for her.

Suddenly anxious to see her, to hold her, he hurried back to
his lodge and crawled under the furs.

Amanda turned on her side, snuggling up against him.

“Where’d you go?” she asked sleepily.

“Just out for a walk.”

“Your feet are cold.”

“Sorry.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, his
senses filling with her scent, her nearness.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would be his.

* * * * *

It was her wedding day. Amanda ran her hand over the dress
Yellow Calf Woman had made for her. Tanned to a soft creamy whiteness, it was
quite beautiful, from the beaded yoke to the long fringe dangling from the
sleeves and the hem. Tiny silver bells were fastened to the fringes at the hem.
Her hair fell loose down her back and shoulders, save for two narrow braids on
each side of her face. She wore a pair of new moccasins.