Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) (46 page)

“Agreed?” She backed away from him, gesturing in a fury. “I don’t remember agreeing to no such thing! I just took it for granted we’d name the first one Jefferson Davis like I said. . . .”

“Jefferson Davis!” He took a deep breath and his face turned red with anger. “Now, little Reb, you aren’t gonna name no son of mine after that traitor to his country!”

“Traitor, is he?” She had been tricked by this blasted, hardheaded Texan! She looked around frantically for something to fend him off with as he advanced on her.

“Come here, baby”—he held out both hands as if he were attempting to soothe a wild mustang—“now let’s just cuddle up and talk about this a little. . . .”

“You’re not going to change my mind, you ornery Yankee sympathizer! I’ve been tricked and I won’t have it! You hear! We’re going to get this straightened out before I get into bed with you!”

He kept advancing on her, and she grabbed up her hairbrush and threw it. It hit the wall behind him. She started backing away.

“Cee Cee,” he admonished, unbuttoning his shirt as he moved toward her, “everyone downstairs will hear you shouting!”

“Who’s shouting, you—you—”

He started toward her, and she picked up her face powder jar off the dresser and threw it at him. It crashed with a shattering sound.

“Enough, baby,” he said softly, and his gray eyes flashed sparks. “Stop that and come here to me!”

“Damned if I will!” And she took off around the room, running barefooted across the floor to keep the bed between them. He stalked her around the bed like a hunter after wild game. When she scampered around the bed, he tried to intercept her. But she was quick and smart as well as angry. She couldn’t help but smile at his frustration as he chased her around and around the big four-poster.

She picked up a flower vase. “Stay away from me until you promise I can name him Jefferson!”

He stopped, sighed, and stuck his thumbs in his belt. “If you don’t let me catch you, there’ll never be a child to name!”

She paused, putting the vase down slowly on the bedside table. She studied him across the bed, considering his words. And in that moment, he made a sudden dive across the middle of the bed, caught her in his arms, and kissed her ’til she was breathless. “Maverick, you’re an untrustworthy rascal!” she gasped.

“That’s why you love me, baby.” He nibbled at the edge of her lips, running his hand down to cup the creamy globe of her breast. “We’ll talk about it later,” he muttered.

“Now,” she demanded, “we’ll talk now!”

He swung her up easily in his powerful arms and looked down into her face. “No, baby. I got better ideas for now.”

She couldn’t hold out any longer. Her arms slipped up around his neck and she kissed the strong line of his jaw. “Maybe you’re right,” she whispered as he carried her to the big four-poster feather bed. “We’ll talk about that some other time. . . .”

The old Don held Angel on his expansive lap. He had paused in his storytelling at the sudden noise of angry shouts, of something thrown against a wall in the upstairs room. He grinned a little. “I believe the newlyweds are having a difference of opinion.”

Joe coughed, an expression of embarrassment on his features. “Maybe I should have warned your son that my daughter is rather—ah, shall I say, she is sometimes a handful?”

Gracious put her hands over her mouth, giggling in delight. “What he means is, We don’t call her ’Cayenne’ for nothin’!”

The little girls all laughed with merriment while Joe coughed in confusion. “Gracie, you shouldn’t have told him about Cee Cee’s temper!”

From upstairs came the sound of glass crashing, the sound of running feet as if one of them might be chasing the other around the room.

Don Diego leaned back in his chair and smiled expansively, remembering his own younger days, his beautiful wife. “And we don’t call our stubborn renegade ’Maverick’ for nothing, young lady. I imagine they’re about evenly matched!” And suddenly the upstairs grew very quiet.

Lynnie pushed her spectacles back up her freckled nose, looking at her little sisters and back to her father. “It’s awfully quiet up there. Do you suppose some of us ought to go up there and find out what’s happening—?”

Joe reached out and caught her arm. “I don’t think that’s necessary, honey. It’ll be all right.”

Lynnie looked at him and back to Don Diego. “But what are they doing? It’s so quiet. . . .”

“Someday, when you’re a big girl, you’ll understand.” The Don stroked his mustache, smiling reassuringly at her.

Joe nodded. “It’s past your bedtime, girls; go on to bed.”

The littlest one had gone to sleep on Don Diego’s lap. His pants felt damp where she sat but he decided not to mention it as old Rosita came in and he handed the toddler over.

Steve’s eyes half closed and she jerked awake. “I’m not sleepy yet.”

“Girls,” Joe said gently, “go to bed.”

Diego smiled as he watched the weary, cake-smudged little girls stumble out of the room.

Trace and Sanchez were nowhere about, and he wondered if they were out in the bunkhouse playing poker with Juan and the
vaqueros,
but he didn’t say anything. Joe looked like a good sport but he was, after all, a preacher. Trace’s beautiful wife had taken her children to bed.

They sat in silence a long moment, enjoying each other’s company, and then a thought struck Diego. “In all the excitement, I forgot! Senor, I had a birthday this past week. I’m seventy-five years old!”

Joe had brought out his pocket knife but now he stopped and considered, dropping it back in his pocket. “I don’t usually drink,
Senor
,” he said, “but I think we need to toast this happy ending, your birthday.” He gestured toward the dining room. “If you’ll look in the sideboard, I think you’ll find some fine old brandy, a couple of glasses.”

Diego got them each a drink, settling back down before the fire with a satisfied sigh. “I suppose we are both useless, Joe; you blind, me too old to do much.”

Joe shook his head. “That’s not true, Diego. If you hadn’t taken the bull by the horns, come in on that stage, no telling what might have happened. Don’t count us down and out yet. We’re still useful. What is it that poet, Milton, wrote. ’He also serves who only stands and waits.’?”

Don Diego tasted his fine brandy, remembering the poem
Sonnet
on
His Blindness.
“Maybe you’re right, Joe.” He thought about generations passing into generations in a long, unbroken line. “You’ve got lovely daughters.”

Joe sipped his brandy. “Aren’t they, though? I’ve been so worried about how long I could keep this place running with me blind and not much money. I’m relieved to be able to hand it over to Maverick’s capable hands. Remember the gun I won? ”

The Don glanced up at the fine prize rifle hanging over the fireplace. “Si, I remember. A one-in-a-thousand Winchester ’73. That’s a priceless weapon, Joe.”

“I’m gonna give it to Maverick,” Joe smiled, stroking his red beard. “Let’s say it’s a wedding gift.”

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Joe grinned. “When you’re in my house, Diego, you smoke as many cigars as you want!”

“I think we’re going to be great friends,” Diego said, sipping the savory brandy and enjoying the strong taste of his cigar as he bit off the tip and lit it. “Of course Maverick has an inheritance from me and he’ll be able to pay off your mortgage, fix this place up a little.” He looked around at the threadbare furnishings.

Joe sipped his brandy. “The McBrides don’t take charity,” he said firmly.

“Charity?” the Don snorted. “He’s family, man! To accept help from family is not charity, and besides, you’d offend him by refusing.”

Joe stroked his beard. “Maybe you’re right. And after all, I do intend to take him in as a full partner on the Lazy M since I don’t have a son.”

“Oh, but you do!” Don Diego smiled and nodded.

The other man’s face lit up in a smile. “That’s right, isn’t it? I finally got a son.” He fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief and blew his nose. “I enjoy your company, Diego; I hope you’ll come visit often.”

Don Diego blew smoke, nodding happily. “I was just about to suggest that very thing! And, of course, you must come visit the Triple D!”

“I play the whistle, but not very well,” Joe said, fumbling in his pocket.

“All the grandchildren would like that,” Don Diego said. “And I’ve got a lot of stories from the old days I can’t get anyone to stop and listen to anymore.”

“Isn’t it the truth?” Joe exclaimed. “Why, they’re just all so busy I have a hard time even getting my little girls to sit very long while I tell them how it used to be when I first come to Texas. Why, one time I was rounding up mustangs on the Brazos—”

“You, too?” The Don leaned forward. “I did that years ago. And hot,
Dios!
Such weather!”

Joe leaned closer. “These kids don’t know what real heat is! Do you remember that summer of? . . . ”

Upstairs, Cayenne pulled Maverick down to her and offered him her breasts, gasping with pleasure and shivering as his lips kissed there.

“Mmm. You smell just like sugar cookies.” Maverick sniffed along the hollow of her throat. “Don’t ever stop wearing that vanilla perfume.”

She shivered as he nibbled up to her ear, ran his tongue inside. “I won’t,” she said, “as long as that scent gets me attention like this!”

“It’s nice snuggled down in this feather bed,” Maverick whispered, running his hands over her warm skin. “This is the way to spend the winter, curled up making love to you.”

She giggled, tousling his black hair, loving him as she had never dreamed she could love a man. “We can’t spend the whole winter in bed, silly!”

He pulled her to him, kissing the edges of her mouth. “I’d like to know why not?” he murmured.

“Well, I don’t know why not,” she shrugged, closing her eyes as his hands stroked her skin.
Comanche caress
. She shivered at the sensation. “No one ever has, that’s all!”

He rolled over on his back, pulling her on top of him. Her breasts hung over his face and he reached up with his tongue, kissing the pink circles around her nipples. “At least we could try,” he whispered.

She gasped as she slid down on the throbbing hardness of his staff, felt his hands grasp her small waist to hold her there. “I don’t think even you could do this all winter, Maverick.”

He chuckled, beginning to move rhythmically under her, pushing up deep into her body. “Try me, baby,” he whispered, “just try me!”

Her mounting excitement took over as she rode his lean body, bringing them both to fulfillment. She had a sudden feeling of going over the edge as she opened her lips to moan, and he put his hot tongue deep in her mouth to muffle her cry of pleasure.

Eagles,
she thought as the hot waves swept her under, sent her falling through space. She felt his virile seed surge deep into her womb and he gasped as he pulled her hard against him. She seemed to remember a day on a Kansas creek bank—giant, majestic eagles locked together, hurtling through space as they meshed.
Eagles mate for life,
she remembered. Oh, to spend the rest ot hers in Maverick’s arms! And in her mind and soul, she locked her wings about her love, joining him in eagles’ flight. . . .

Maverick finished his breakfast, enjoying the sound of birds singing in the June stillness of the ranch yard. Everyone else had left the long table where he now leisurely sipped a second cup of coffee and reread the headline in the
McBride Monthly Gazette: Uprising Finally Ends! Quanah Parker surrenders!

He glanced at the date, June, 1875, before he took another sip of coffee and read the article.

At long last, the Red River Uprising ended this month as Quanah Parker led his hungry, defeated people into Fort Sill to surrender, the last of the warring bands to do so.

Colonel Ranald Mackenzie, hero of Palo Duro, now the new commander at Fort Sill, says Quanah will not be punished because since he signed no treaties, he is not guilty of breaking any. However, the other chiefs will not be so lucky. Seventy-two leaders of the Comanche, Kiowa, and Cheyenne renegades will be shipped off to prison at Fort Marion, Florida to make sure they start no more rebellions.

One prisoner wore yellow satin sleeve garters and a telegraph operator’s green eyeshade as he boarded the train. We can only wonder what hapless white men died so he could own those. But on hearing his fate, one Comanche leader, Little Fox, committed suicide by slashing his wrists with a lady’s silver and pearl comb he had evidently sharpened against the stone walls of his cell.

The four little German girls have all been found now and Colonel Miles has announced he will adopt these pitiful orphans. In the meantime, all the Indians have been forced back to their reservations and there are complaints there’s not enough government food provided to keep them from starving and that the few supplies they do get are inferior. Charges of widespread graft and corruption among government contractors providing for the tribes are becoming a scandal.

“Poor devils,” Maverick shook his head. He could feel pity for all the tribes now, even the Comanche. He had buried the scalp from his stallion’s bridle along with the rawhide thong from his gun belt when he closed the door on his revenge. Love had softened his heart toward all mankind. He thought for a moment about Molly, Pat Hennessy, all the white and Indian victims of the Red River War.

Another item caught his eye:
New Invention Changing Ranching.

That new invention, barbed wire, is coming to Texas as word of this cheap fencing spreads across the whole southwest. Farmer Joseph Glidden from Illinois patented the wire and some say it spells the end for the open range and the cattle drive. . . .

Maverick smiled as he turned to the Local
Happenings
column.

Congratulations to Mr.
&
Mrs. M. Durango on the new baby at the Lazy M Ranch. Joe McBride, well-loved local preacher, is busting his buttons over that first grandchild.
. . .

The noise of giggling little girls running down the stairs interrupted his quiet morning coffee and Maverick looked up, smiling as the four came into the dining room.

“Hello, girls, all set for that trip to town?”

Gracie turned her back to him. “Tie my sash.”

“Please,” he corrected gently as he tied it. “Angel, quit sucking your thumb.”

The red-haired toddler took her thumb from her mouth reluctantly.

Steve looked him over skeptically. “You’re not getting to go to town? Have you been bad?”

Maverick pulled one of her pigtails. “Sis, let’s just say I’d rather stay here with Cee Cee.”

Serious Lynnie pushed her wire-framed spectacles back up her freckled nose. “We’ll bring you a candy stick,” she announced solemnly.

“You do that, Sis. Is Papa Joe ready?”

From the back of the house, he heard old Rosita scolding Joe for dawdling. Maverick got up and went to lean against the front door as Rosita led Joe carefully into the front hall.

Joe turned his scarred face toward the sound. “Son, can we bring you anything from town?”

Maverick straightened the man’s collar. “No, Dad. Rosita, you all have a good time shopping and at the church social and don’t hurry back.”

Maverick went out onto the porch to watch them all pile in the buggy with Juan driving them into town. “See you all later this afternoon,” he waved as the wagon pulled out. “And, Angel, take your thumb out of your mouth!”

With happy giggles and shouts, the little girls waved to him as the buggy pulled away. Maverick waved after them with a feeling of great contentment.
His family.

He watched them until they drove under the big sign hanging over the gate.
Lazy M Ranch, it read, Maverick & McBride.
He had suggested the McBride name go first but Papa Joe wouldn’t hear of it.

Only yesterday, the Durangos had departed after coming to visit a few days and see the newest member of the family. Maverick grinned. The old Don and Joe were wearing out the road between the two ranches visiting each other. Now Maverick had two families. He was a very lucky
hombre.

He stood there until the buggy faded into a small dot in the distance. Then he surveyed the surrounding pastures critically, looking at the fine-blooded cattle and horses he’d bought this past year. Dust Devil whinnied a welcome to him, then went back to grazing near the mare, Strawberry. The roan’s new foal gamboled about the pasture, its little red tail straight out behind it like a flag as it ran.

Maverick leaned against the porch rail and grinned, watching the speckled baby play near its dam.
Red mane and tail,
he thought. Even the horses on this spread have red hair. He’d let the little sisters name the foal.

He thought about it, laughing out loud. “Freckles.” Of course a bunch of freckled little redheaded girls would pick that name for Strawberry’s foal.

He looked around the landscape. The next item on the agenda was a big new barn. He’d already remodeled the house, bought new furnishings. But he hadn’t replaced the long table. It was part of his dream.
His family. His ranch.
Just like he and his mother always imagined it would be. He could think of her now without hurting, remembering only the good memories. His wife’s love had erased the terrible scars of his mind.

Pink Seven Sisters roses by the porch scented the late June day and he broke off one, sniffed it. His favorite scent would always be vanilla. Then he smiled, thinking they had the whole day, the whole house to themselves. A small wail drifted from the open upstairs window and he grinned again, picked some of the roses, and went back inside. The most important people in his world were waiting for him in the big room at the head of the stairs. He climbed those stairs, two at a time.

The high sweet voice drifted through the closed door along with the rhythmic sound of a rocking chair. “. . .
gave me her promise true that ne’er forgot will be, and for darling Annie Laurie . . .”

He opened the door, “Cee Cee?”

She smiled at him from her rocker, motioning him in.

He thought she had never been so beautiful as she was at that moment in a delicate pink dressing gown, her hair like soft swirls of flame on her small shoulders. And in her arms, she held the baby who nursed contentedly.
His
woman.
His child
. His heart seemed to fill to bursting and he stood there, drinking in the sight of the two of them a long time before he put the roses in a vase on a table and went over to her.

“You look like the angel on a Christmas tree,” he whispered. With a hesitant finger, he touched the baby’s delicate hair. “Red like Mama’s,” he smiled.

Cayenne looked up at him and her eyes told him how very much she loved him. The baby’s eyes flickered open at his touch.

Cayenne smiled. “Gray like Daddy’s.”

The baby looked at him and seemed to smile, and the smile was familiar, too.
If your grandmother could only know about you. Well, maybe she does. . . .

For a moment as he stood looking down at them, he could not trust himself to speak. When he finally could, he said, “You don’t know how much it meant to me for you to choose that name.

Cayenne reached out and caught his hand. “I knew there could be no other name for this baby.”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, little Annie Laurie Durango opened her eyes sleepily, milk running down her chin, then dropped back off to sleep.

Cayenne stood up, handing the tiny, precious bundle to him, and he marveled again at how perfect the child was. Maybe Papa Joe was right.
Who could hold a child and not believe in miracles?
Very gently, he kissed her tiny fist, carrying baby Annie to tuck her in her crib.

Cayenne studied him. “Are they all gone for the day?”

Maverick sighed with relief. “Yes, I didn’t think they would ever get things together and out the door! There’s times when my family is a real handful!”

“Families are like that.” She came over and slipped her arms around his neck. “Do you know what today is?”

He kissed the tip of her freckled nose. “Saturday.”

She looked annoyed, then coquettish. “No, I mean besides Saturday.”

He pretended he didn’t. “It’s the week before we finish branding all that new stock?”

“No, silly! It’s our anniversary.” She nuzzled his neck and he took a deep breath of vanilla, of the clean scent of her fiery hair.

“Can’t be.” He kissed the top of her head, enjoying the warm feel of her against him. “We got married in September.”

“You’ve forgotten!” She looked stricken and he only smiled.
There was a dainty necklace in his pocket for her but he wouldn’t give it to her just yet; a delicate gold necklace with a graceful winged eagle charm.

“You’ve forgotten,” she said again as if she couldn’t quite believe he would do such a thing. “It was just a year ago today that I walked into the Red Garter Saloon. . . .”

“Oh, yes”—he pretended to search his memory—“and I rescued you from a drunk. . . .”

“Then we ended up out on the sidewalk and I threw myself at you. . . .”

“Somehow, I don’t recall. . . .”

“You’ve forgotten how I grabbed you and kissed you?” And she kissed him.

“Oh, I seem to remember now,” he teased.

“Then I think I picked you up off the ground and said, ”No, Cayenne, here’s the way it’s done.” And he kissed her now as he had kissed her that long-ago day, thoroughly, expertly.

When he stopped, she clung to him breathlessly. “Am I any better than I was?”

He pretended to consider. “I think you need about fifty years more practice to get it right!”

“Oh, you!” She ran her hand through his black hair, tousling it.

He swung her up in his arms, carried her over to the big bed, and lay down next to her. It was enough for now to be able to hold her close, feel her heart beat against him.
Where she was, there he would always be.

“Do you love me, Maverick?” She snuggled against him, her flame-colored hair falling across his big chest.

He had to swallow hard before he could answer. “I’m just a cowboy, baby, I don’t have much of a way with words.” He kissed her eyes, her lips.

“Oh, Maverick, I wish everyone in the world could find such happiness, such love! There are so many, many lonely people out there!”

“Like I was,” he murmured, kissing her again. “But if they keep hoping, when they least expect it, love will happen along and the wait will have been worth it.”

He stroked her hair and she lay her face against his chest. “Maverick, dearest, I’ve been thinking about the names for the next baby and I’ve come up with three.”

Maverick looked askance. “Don’t get any ideas; all you get today are kisses!”

“You think I’m just desperate for your body?”

“Aren’t you?” he teased.

She laughed. “My stars! You’re trying to get me off the subject! I’ve given it a lot of thought, and since we’re going to give Annie a bunch of brothers—”

“We are? Reb, you do intend to give me enough time out of bed to run this ranch, don’t you?”

“Just barely,” she murmured, snuggling against him. “I’m serious, Maverick, I’ve come up with three boys’ names we can agree on.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “And those names are?”

“Any Texan would be proud to name his sons for the fallen heros of the Alamo,” she said. “What about Travis, Crockett, and Bowie?”

“Amen! Those are true Texas names!”
You little Rebel,
he thought as he kissed her again, thinking he had a long, long time to persuade her.
We’ll name that fourth one Sam Houston Durango.

She smiled smugly, curling up in his arms.
You ornery Yankee sympathizer,
she thought as she kissed the corners of his mouth and held him close.
I know exactly what you’re thinking. A woman who loves a man as much as I love you can see through him like clear spring water
. Besides, she had a long, long time ahead of her to sway him about the fourth son’s name. With enough kisses, she knew the big man was as soft and pliable as homemade taffy in her hands.

“What’re you smiling about?” he demanded. “You look like a kitten that’s dipped its paws in a saucer of cream.”

“Nothing except how much I love you, dearest.” She put her face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Where he was, there she would always be.

And with them, she thought, would be their children: Annie, Travis, Crockett, Bowie—and little Jefferson Davis Durango.

He kissed her deeply and she shuddered at the feelings that swept over her, impatient that she had to wait for his lovemaking.

His warm tongue slipped between her lips to tease and torment, and his hand stroked her thighs. “Just wanted to remind you what we’ve both been missing,” he whispered.

His teeth nipped her lips ever so gently. She realized suddenly she was as soft and pliable as taffy when he made love to her.

“Joe,” he murmured, “we’ll call that fourth one Joe. But the fifth one. . .”

“We’ll argue that one when we get there.” She laid her face against his wide chest. “We’ve got time. That’s a lot of lovin’ from now.”