Savage Thunder (12 page)

“W
hat are you going to do when the man starts to thrash you?”

Jocelyn waved a hand meant to dismiss that notion. “Don’t be silly, Vana. He wouldn’t dare.” But she stopped in her pacing about the tent, and even she recognized the uncertainty in her voice. “Would he?”

“Don’t look at me, my dear. You’re the one who keeps playing with fire. I haven’t even spoken to the chap yet. But isn’t that something you should have considered before you stole his horse?”

“I didn’t steal it, I just borrowed it. But he would have deserved it if I had.”

She had caused quite a stir returning astride the big Appaloosa, but one look at her sour expression and no one had commented on it, not even Colt’s brother, at least not to her. But that was several hours ago.

The cavalcade had passed the point where she had left Colt, but there had been no sign of him. They had also set up camp for another night and there was still no sign of him. Likely her people were beginning to wonder if she hadn’t gotten rid of him in a permanent way. After all, they would have heard those shots she had fired. She was beginning to worry herself. There were the snakes he had mentioned, and that blasted mountain lion was still out there some
where. Of course she hadn’t left him weaponless. He did still have his revolver. He no doubt just
wanted
her to worry about him.

“I rather like this carpeting, but it isn’t going to last much longer if you keep that up,” Vanessa said in her driest tone. “Why don’t you come and have a sherry before dinner?”

“I’m sorry,” Jocelyn said, but she didn’t quit her pacing. “I know I haven’t been very good company for you these past few days.”

“You must be joking,” Vanessa snorted. “Your little clashes with Mr. Thunder have been quite the best entertainment to happen among us since our two strapping footmen tried to kill each other over Babette. You haven’t said what happened today, but when you leave in an impeccable condition and return quite the opposite, it isn’t that hard to guess. I really can’t wait to see what happens next.”

For that the countess received a dark glower, but it almost instantly turned into a closed-eyed cringe, for they could both hear the commotion that started up just outside the tent. Mr. Thunder had arrived.

“Now see here, mate,” one of the guards said in annoyance. “You can’t go in there without an invite.”

The only answer was the sound of flesh meeting flesh, likely in the form of knuckles to face. Then another guard’s voice was heard, and there was some further scuffling, and two more solid punches.

“You’d better get your derringer, my dear, until he calms down enough to see reason.”

But Jocelyn didn’t move at Vanessa’s prompting,
and there really wasn’t time. It was ironic that neither of them thought the guards might win the tussle, and they were both right. The tent flap whipped open as Colt came through it without breaking stride, an angry stride that brought him straight to Jocelyn. She braced herself, but still she didn’t move an inch. Perhaps that was what made him keep his hands from her when he reached her. He did no more than throw his hat down on the ground between them—and shout.

“I ought to…don’t you ever…”

He didn’t finish either thought. Her apparent calm in the face of his fury defeated him. And it was fascinating, watching him fight to regain control of his emotions. He stood there with his eyes closed and she could almost feel the turbulence inside him, the heat and power of it radiating so close to the surface, yet she could no longer see it.

Jocelyn had the feeling that losing control of any kind was alien to him, that he was a man who prided himself on being able to mask feelings of both body and mind, to never give a clue to the inner turmoil he might be experiencing. She had witnessed just such control before. But then, she had also been shouted at before by him.

Was that a good sign, she wondered, that the man seemed to lose his calm only when he was around her? Or was it just the situation he found himself in that he couldn’t handle? She wished she knew which it was, but she concluded she’d prodded him enough for one day. Vanessa was right as usual. She had no business playing with fire before first learning the consequences.

Before he opened his eyes the tent was invaded again, by six more guards. “They’re late,” Colt said quietly to Jocelyn while Vanessa quickly assured the men there was no further need for alarm. “It’s too damn easy to get to you, woman.”

“Not really,” she said just as quietly. “The only reason you got as far as you did is because you’re known to them. If a stranger had tried the same thing, he would have been shot instead of merely warned off. Did you do much damage out there?”

“No.”

“Good.”

She smiled before turning toward her men and adding her assurances to Vanessa’s that it was all a misunderstanding. She even took full blame for it, though she did not go into detail, merely admitting that she had provoked Colt unreasonably. The fact that everyone there knew she had returned with Colt’s horse, minus Colt, made his upset understandable as well as forgivable. He didn’t have to utter a word in his defense, not that he would have.

Sir Parker was the only one reluctant to leave with Colt still there, but as Colt was now calmness itself, and both women insisting there would be no further trouble, he had little choice in the matter. As soon as the last guard departed, though, it was rather disconcerting to hear Colt’s comment, quiet, but quite serious.

“I tried walking it off, then running it off, but neither worked one little bit. Nothing short of wringing your neck was going to work.”

Vanessa, appalled upon hearing this, opened her
mouth to call back the guard, but Jocelyn forestalled her. “Well, my neck appreciates that you came to your senses. Perhaps I do owe you an apology—”

“Damned right.” Even that was somehow said in a moderate tone.

“—but you owe me one as well, so why don’t we call it even this time?”

He didn’t acknowledge her suggestion by word or nod, and Jocelyn grew uncomfortable under his piercing stare. Those eyes of his really were lethal in what they could make her feel, and staring back at him only made it worse. In those blue depths she saw intimate knowledge of her body. His hardness had covered her only hours ago. His hand had seared the flesh on her legs when he had yanked her skirt out of his way. Her knees went weak now as she recalled that he had put his finger inside her. And she had the feeling he was remembering the same thing when he looked at her like that. She prayed not.

She turned away, caught Vanessa’s wary look, and almost burst into relieved laughter. It was one thing for Vanessa to make all her snide comments and warnings based on speculation, but now that she was seeing the man for herself and how he could be, she likely didn’t know what to think. He certainly wasn’t easy to read, especially when he was like this. The fury was probably still there, but buried so deep now that it was harmless—at least for the moment.

“The countess reminded me earlier that I have been remiss in the way of introductions. Colt Thunder, allow me to present my dearest friend and companion, Vanessa Britten.”

“Ma’am,” Colt said with a nod.

Vanessa was obviously encouraged, enough to say, “Delighted, Mr. Thunder.”

“Oh, he doesn’t like to be called mister, Vana. He answers to either name.”

“Without preference? How odd.”

“But it’s rather nice, the informality, isn’t it? It makes you feel you know a person better than you do.”

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies.”

He said it even as he headed for the exit, prompting Jocelyn to step in front of him. “But you can’t leave yet. You must stay and have dinner with us.”

“Must?”

She lowered her eyes before correcting herself. “Will you please join us?”

“I don’t—”

“At least stay and have a drink,” she persisted. “You must be…” Wrong thing to mention, his likely thirst. “We have sherry…no, you wouldn’t like that. Vana, why don’t you see what Jane can find in the supply wagon in the way of more potent spirits?”

“Haven’t you learned yet that it isn’t safe to be alone with me?”

Jocelyn swung around to see that Vanessa had left them without answering, the tent flap still fluttering. They were indeed alone—for the moment.

“She’ll be right back, and…” She peeked a glance at him. Good Lord, those eyes again. They sent shivers of excitement racing along her skin even
when they were so inscrutable. “And haven’t you learned yet that I’m not so easily intimidated?”

“What you are is crazy, woman…and asking for it,” he retorted.

She
was
asking for it, but not in the way he meant. Why couldn’t he see that? Why did he try so hard to appear mean and despicable?
Because he really is mean and despicable
, a tiny voice suggested. No, she wouldn’t believe that, not for a minute. Besides, Sir George wouldn’t have taken to a man who was inherently cruel.

“What I am, Colt Thunder,” she said in a soft, whispery tone as her eyes sought his again, “is very attra—”

“Jane won’t be but a moment. I told her to find that bottle of old brandy you bought from—oh, I say, I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” Vanessa asked.

Jocelyn was blushing profusely, but managed to shake her head as she stepped away from Colt. “No, not at all,” she got out, nearly choking on the words.

She couldn’t believe she had been about to confess her attraction for him. That simply wasn’t the way things were done, especially when the second party’s feelings were not in the least bit clear. Good Lord, how mortifying if she had done so and he hadn’t responded, or worse, had replied something to the effect that it was her problem, not his. It
was
her problem, but for once she couldn’t plunge right ahead in solving it.

“It’s as well you came back so soon, Vana, since I was just getting around to asking Colt why he
wanted us to avoid that town yesterday. The answer was of particular interest to you, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Vanessa replied, though with reluctance.

It was all well and good to complain to Jocelyn about their guide’s apparent spitefulness, Vanessa thought, but quite another thing to broach the subject with him, especially when he looked anything but friendly. In fact, the way he was looking at Jocelyn while her attention wasn’t on him…Good Lord, what had happened while she was gone? His eyes were fairly smoldering with passion, but what kind of passion?

He didn’t seem to have followed the conversation, so intent was his concentration on Jocelyn, so Vanessa prompted, “Was there a reason, ah—Colt?”

His gaze swung to her with what could only be described as impatience, but the fires were banked now, and then he was looking at the duchess again, almost as if he couldn’t seem to help himself. “I kept you out of Benson because your best protection is out in the open, where you can see your enemy coming. In a town, you don’t know who the hell to watch out for since you don’t even know what this Englishman looks like, or his men. Out here, anyone who approaches is suspect. It’s the simplest precaution there is, Duchess, keeping to yourself.”

There was a double meaning there. Even Vanessa caught it. Jocelyn chose to ignore it entirely.

“There, you see, Vana, a perfectly good reason. And what’s more, Longnose has been temporarily misled thanks to the detour Colt insisted on this
morning. We couldn’t be in more capable hands, wouldn’t you agree?”

Vanessa nodded, but her attention was still on Colt, watching for his reaction. She couldn’t fault Jocelyn’s age-old tactics. She had let the man know his company was desired, had been shyly avoiding his gaze as if she didn’t dare look at him for fear her feelings would be blatantly clear, and now was using flattery. But none of it seemed to be working on the man, at least not as one would expect. If anything, the more agreeable Jocelyn was, the more disturbed he seemed.

Did he grasp the situation and just want no part of it? Or were his the actions of a man who had decided he couldn’t have what he wanted? Now there was a thought, but one Vanessa couldn’t very well pursue. She wondered if she ought to mention it to Jocelyn. No, best let the girl proceed in her own way. Besides, the answer couldn’t be had without direct questioning, and Jocelyn might be straightforward on most subjects, but Vanessa hoped she had sense enough not to broach this one. The embarrassment that could arise didn’t bear thinking of.

Neither woman could have known that Colt would have welcomed a little straightforwardness at this point, for he still didn’t understand the duchess’s motivations in the least. That she could want him, knowing what he was, was the last thing that might occur to him.

But his wanting her was getting out of hand, and being this near to her again was just making it worse. It had been a bad mistake to come in here, even with
his anger to sustain him. With the anger gone now, he needed to get the hell away and fast.

He did just that the moment the tent flap opened again with the servant bearing the brandy on a silver tray. “Ladies,” was all he said in parting before stalking toward the exit. But he did first snatch the bottle from the startled maid. At least there was something of Jocelyn’s that he could have without guilt, and he damn well needed it tonight.

F
or the next several days Jocelyn saw nothing of Colt, though she had assurances from others that he hadn’t deserted them. He was simply gone before she awoke, and did not return until after she had retired for the night. It was not unreasonable that she should worry about him during these long absences as they moved through what was considered the very heart of Apache country, but it was unusual. There had been much to worry about these past three years, but not since Edward had she focused her concern on one man in particular.

So when Colt showed up one afternoon to ride at the head of the cavalcade, Jocelyn was not the only one who felt there must be a specific reason for it. That he offered no explanation was typical of him. Getting voluntary information out of Colt Thunder was harder than finding water in this arid region. And if she hadn’t already guessed that her men had formed a distinct dislike for him, the fact that not one of them would appease his curiosity by questioning him proved it.

She could have done so herself. It would only have been a matter of raising her voice a little since she was riding up with the driver of her coach while Vanessa napped inside. She thought about it for about
two seconds. But she had caught a glimpse of his face when he rode up, and quite frankly, he had never looked more unapproachable.

She couldn’t help feeling a certain apprehension now, an anticipation of something about to happen, especially as she stared at the rigid set of Colt’s back as he continued to lead them forward. It was still another half hour, however, before the tense waiting came to an end.

There was what could only in very generous terms be described as a hill in the near distance, and on top of the tiny mound sat six mounted riders. Jocelyn’s front guards drew up the moment the small group was sighted, but when Colt continued on, she indicated they should follow. The strangers weren’t identifiable yet, nor were they doing anything except sitting there watching the cavalcade’s approach. If it was Longnose…well, Jocelyn almost wished it was. To borrow one of the region’s more colorful phrases, this was one “showdown” long overdue.

But no such luck. As they drew nearer the hill, it became clear that they were to be treated to their first sight of some genuine American Indians, but closer still gave an indication that these were not of the tame variety, not with so many cartridge belts in evidence. some used merely as belts, some crossed as bandoliers. Still, there was nothing to be truly alarmed about, not with so few of them. Her guard alone doubled their number. Even so, Jocelyn found herself holding her breath as the Indians began to descend their hill, slowly and in single file, and in a direction
that would put them directly in the path the cavalcade now moved.

Colt reined in this time, and everyone behind him immediately followed suit. After a moment, Sir Parker moved up beside him and they shared a few words; then Colt rode forward to speak with the Indians.

Pearson, who was driving the lead coach today, leaned toward Jocelyn to whisper, “I thought these blokes were supposed t’ be skilled archers.”

She could see what prompted the remark, since not a bow or an arrow was in sight. “These are modern times, Mr. Pearson. It’s not surprising they’ve discovered the rifle to be a more handy weapon for killing—game.”

“Game’s a mite scarce in this area. Would they be wantin’ some food or such, do you think?”

“That, or perhaps a toll for crossing their land,” she replied with a good deal of relief. “Yes, that would seem logical, wouldn’t it? What other reason could they…have…?”

Her attention centered immediately on Colt as he reached the Indians, who had lined up to face him. Some words were exchanged, but the distance was too far for Jocelyn to hear any of them, and she could only wonder about the excessive use of hand motions between Colt and the Indian leader to emphasize whatever they were discussing.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long. Colt yanked his horse about, and Jocelyn had already asked for assistance and was on the ground when he reached her. Unfortunately, his expression was so grim she was
back to holding her breath again, at least until he had dismounted, took her arm, and led her a few feet away from the others.

“They want your stallion,” he said without preamble.

Equally to the point, Jocelyn replied, “Sir George is not for sale, at any price.”

“I didn’t say they want to buy him, Duchess.”

“But…you don’t mean they’re demanding Sir George in payment to let us cross this way?”

“No, I don’t. They’ve got no business in this area themselves. Those are renegade Apaches.”

“As in the kind that ‘raid across the border,’
this
side of the border?”

The hesitant way she said that almost made him grin. “Now you got the picture.”

She sensed his condescension and her chin came up. “And if I don’t choose to give them Sir George?”

“They don’t usually ask before they take,” he replied patiently. “They spotted us yesterday and could’ve made the attempt to steal the stallion last night. I think they’ve taken you folks for Easterners, the reason for this brazenness on their part. They’re pretty confident you’re scared out of your minds right about now and will give up the horse without a hitch.”

“Are they indeed?” she snorted.

He did grin this time. “So what’s it to be?”

“This is absurd,” she said, glaring over his shoulder at the group of waiting Indians. “What can they do? We outnumber them more than three to one. And need I remind you I am also a skilled shot?”

He admired her gumption, but she didn’t really know what she was dealing with here. “You ever kill a man before?”

“Certainly not,” she replied. “Nor do I have to kill one to disarm him.”

She said that with such confidence he didn’t doubt it, so he said no more on that point. “Let me lay it on the line for you, Duchess. You can turn them away empty-handed and they’ll go, but you can bet your sweet…they’ll be back with reinforcements. A few days from now, a week, you won’t know when, and it isn’t likely they’ll give warning either, since it’s to their advantage to attack at night, when most of us are asleep. Then they won’t just be after the stallion, but everything you’ve got, especially your lives.”

“I won’t give up my stallion, for any reason,” she said with stubborn determination. “He’s the future of my stud farm.”

“Lady, it’s not as if you need a business to earn your keep, is it? Or was I mistaken in thinking you’re so rich money has little meaning to you?”

They were moving into dangerous ground here, if his tone was any indication. “Whatever wealth is at my disposal, life still needs meaning, Colt, and breeding the finest Thoroughbreds gives me that.” It was why she had finally allowed Sir George to cover the three mares after she made twenty-one, because she had thought her wandering days were over at last. More fool she.

Suddenly an alternate solution occurred to her. “What if I offer them one of my mares?”

His brows shot up in surprise. “You’d do that?”

“I don’t want to, but if it will keep them from attacking us at a later date, yes, of course I will. I won’t risk my people needlessly.”

He slowly shook his head. “It won’t work. The leader of this raiding party has set his sights on the stallion. A horse like that would raise his prestige among his followers so much, he’s willing to die to possess it. But I’ll make a deal with you. If I can manage to send them on their way with you still in possession of all your horseflesh—”

“Do you mean to tell me you’ve had another solution to this dilemma all along and failed to mention it?”

“I guess you could say that. But I’m not doing it for nothing, Duchess. It’ll cost you—”

“You can’t be serious!” she gasped. “After what I’m already paying you—”

“—a filly from one of your mares…that is, if your stallion is the one that sired those they’re presently carrying.”

For a long moment she just stared at him. There was some surprise that he knew the mares were already carrying her future breeding stock, when they weren’t due to foal until spring. But mostly she was amazed at his gall. He couldn’t just get rid of those Indians as part of his job, could he? No, that would be too magnanimous of him, the blasted blackguard.

“Is that your deal?” she asked tightly. “Those Apaches leave and bother us no more, and you get a mare from Sir George?” At his curt nod, she added, “Just how do you intend to get them to leave?”

“That’s my business, Duchess. Is it a deal?”

“Since you leave me no other choice—”

“Good,” he cut her off, impatient now. “Keep your men here, and I would suggest you and the other women stay in the coaches and don’t watch.”

Don’t watch?
“Don’t watch what?” she demanded, but he had already turned back toward his horse and didn’t hear her, or chose not to answer. Whichever, she was annoyed enough not to ask again.

Slowly she walked back to the coach and was about to join Vanessa, who must still be sleeping since she had yet to inquire why they had halted. And then Jocelyn stopped, even more annoyed to realize she was doing just what Colt had ordered her to do.

She moved around the coach to the shaded side and stood there to see how long it would take Colt to convince the Indians to leave. It had better take the rest of the afternoon for what it was costing her. But it was no more than a couple of minutes before Colt was about-facing again.

Jocelyn stiffened. That easy? That no-good, rotten opportunist! But no, he rode only halfway back. And one of the Indians followed him, dismounting when he did, about twenty yards away from both interested parties.

So they were going to talk privately. Very well. She could see where that would be to Colt’s advantage. He was probably going to make certain ungentlemanly threats. After all, he was much taller than the Apache, and broader in frame. The full-blooded Indian was in fact short and wiry, to the point of looking undernourished.

But they didn’t do any more talking. The Apache,
whose bare, knobby knees showed between his high moccasins and a yellowed cloth that hung halfway down his thighs, put his rifle down. His loose, long-sleeved cotton shirt was store-bought or traded, and he was one of them who wore only a single cartridge belt about his waist with a long-bladed knife stuck through it. Now that he was closer, Jocelyn also noted that his skin was much darker than Colt’s, his black hair worn much shorter, barely reaching his shoulders, and with a red headband to confine it. Small he might be, but he looked distinctly menacing as he stood there waiting for Colt to face him.

Colt was meanwhile removing his buckskin jacket. Jocelyn hadn’t noticed before, but today his shirt was also buckskin, long, and worn outside his pants with a wide, elaborate belt over it. When he turned to hook his jacket over the horn on his saddle, she saw that the front of the shirt held some type of design in…Blast the distance. It looked like white-and-blue beadwork topping the shoulders, but she couldn’t be sure. The extra long fringes next to it flowed across the top of his arms, as well as all the way down the sleeves to his wrists, and each one seemed to have a bead attached to the end.

He removed his hat next, and Jocelyn could only stare openmouthed as he parted his hair just behind his ears and braided each side. When the gun belt came off after that, she felt her first stirring of alarm. She took a step forward, only to stop as she watched Colt tear off one of the longer fringes and hand it to the Apache before turning his back on the Indian. What the devil…?

A moment later she gasped when Colt faced the Apache again, and she wasn’t the only one to make a sound of consternation. Her guards were also whispering among themselves, wondering why Colt would let the Apache tie his right hand to the back of his belt, rendering that arm useless, but that was exactly what he had done. In another second they had their answer.

The two men drew their knives for what could only be called a very primitive challenge. Colt had allowed himself to be handicapped, severely handicapped, since Jocelyn knew him to be right-handed. They both held their knives in fists, with the long blades facing outward in a stabbing, rather than a slashing, grip, yet it was slashing they did in this backward manner, the Apache first.

He was quick, and agile, and definitely going for blood, but then so was Colt. Apparently the object of this combat was to slash each other to ribbons. Colt had the advantage of a longer reach, but that was all. His disadvantage was in not having that other arm for balance, or for blocking. If he should fall…The result didn’t bear thinking of.

Obviously, the Apache came to realize that too, for after receiving several slashes across his torso, without scoring any in return, he changed his tactics. He began to leap at Colt, instead of away, and to try to get behind him. When that didn’t work, he tried to trip him.

Jocelyn finally came out of her horrified daze and started to run forward, but was immediately blocked
by Sir Parker. “You mustn’t, Your Grace. He said any interference on our part could draw their fire.”

“But we have to stop it!”

“It’s too late for that. Best hope those Indians understand some English when we have to deal with them after—”

Her total loss of color silenced him. After Colt was dead? Did they all think he didn’t have a chance? No, he couldn’t die. She would give them Sir George….

But it was too late. When she looked at the combatants again, it was to see Colt already down, with the Apache on top of him. She nearly fainted with the realization she could never reach them in time to stop it. She could only watch, as the others were doing, as the Apache immobilized Colt’s only defense by holding his knife hand to the ground with his own left hand and prepared to stab him with the right.

Jocelyn swung around, unable to bear witnessing the fait accompli, but it was a complete turn she made, for she couldn’t bear not knowing either. And in those mere seconds, Colt had pulled off the impossible. He was now on top, his knife at the Apache’s throat.

“What? How?”

Sir Parker seemed disgusted by the outcome. “The Indian didn’t have the strength to keep his arm pinioned. Thunder managed to bring his knife over to block the stab. The Indian lost his blade in the process, and his balance, since he was still holding onto Thunder’s wrist when it happened.”