The Mavericks (3 page)

While the horses fanned out to drink, the two men rode up together.

“I'm Zeke Maxwell,” the black man said, introducing himself.

“I'm Hawk Maxwell,” the other one said. He glanced at the wagon. “It shouldn't take but a minute to fix that wheel.”

He must have realized all of them were staring, a question in their minds.

“We were adopted,” Zeke explained.

“Adopted? You two?” Josie asked.

Suzette didn't understand why Josie had to be so abrupt with men. Suzette wasn't thrilled to have these two intimidating strangers so close, yet she couldn't help feeling a little sympathetic to them. It couldn't be easy being an outsider wherever you went.

“Yes, by a couple crazy enough to adopt eleven orphans at once,” Zeke said, his manner as brusque as Josie's. “Now, do you want to keep poking around in something that's none of your business, or do you want us to fix that wheel?”

Suzette decided Zeke Maxwell was about as friendly as a prickly-pear cactus. Since she was a little afraid of Hawk, she agreed with Josie in wanting the men to leave as soon as possible. Not even the opportunity to be around the horses was enough to make her want them to stay past supper.

“Fix the wheel,” Suzette said. “In return, you can eat with us.” She couldn't make herself say she
wanted
them to stay.

“I don't eat with people who shoot first and ask questions later,” Hawk said.

“If you don't want to be taken for a savage, you shouldn't go around wearing a feather in your hair,” Josie said.

“If you don't want to be taken for a strumpet, you shouldn't go around in the desert wearing so much rouge,” Hawk responded.

Familiar with the way Josie's temper could blaze out of control at the slightest provocation, Suzette intervened before the exchange could escalate into a full-fledged argument. “I think we all understand each other a little better now. First impressions can be misleading.”

“Or they can be right on the mark.” Zeke's grin was wide and insincere. “Too bad we won't get to know each other well enough to know which applies in this situation.”

Zeke turned away abruptly. He and Hawk walked over to the wagon, apparently deciding how to handle their tasks without the need of words. Josie followed close on their heels, her rifle still in her grasp, her gaze riveted on the pair. Suzette wondered if Josie thought they might try to steal something from inside the wagon. She could have told her they wouldn't. They were the kind of men who would give, but never feel comfortable taking.

Suzette would have preferred that the women fix the wheel themselves, but she knew that none of them could have held up the wagon the way Zeke did by putting his shoulder under it. Or lifted up the wheel as though it weighed hardly anything as Hawk did. The bulging muscles in Zeke's back, shoulders, and legs belied his calm expression. He talked to Hawk as though holding up a wagon single-handedly was something he did every day. Hawk acted like it was nothing to pick up a wheel so heavy it had taken three of the women just to lean it against the wagon.

“All I need to do now is find a piece of wood I can make into a linchpin, and you can be on your way,” Zeke said.

“Where's he going?” Suzette asked when Hawk walked away without a word.

“To see to the horses,” Zeke said.

“Would he mind if I went, too?” Suzette asked. “I used to have two horses,” she explained when Zeke looked surprised. “I miss them.”

“Go if you want,” Zeke said. “If Hawk doesn't want you around, he'll let you know quick enough.”

“Are you always this rude?” Josie asked Zeke.

“Actually, I'm being very well-mannered. Isabelle would be proud of me.”

Suzette didn't know who Isabelle was, but she didn't have a high opinion of the woman's notion of what constituted good manners. Suzette's stepfather had been a member of Quebec society, so she knew all about suitable behavior. As far as she was concerned, neither Zeke nor Hawk had a nodding acquaintance with it, but she decided a chance to be with the horses was worth a brush with a prickly personality.

Hawk wasn't happy when he turned to see Suzette following him. He didn't mind helping the women, but that didn't mean he wanted to have anything more to do with them than necessary. Thirty-six years had given him no reason to believe a woman was anything but trouble.

Hawk studied the ground as it changed from sandbar to riverbank to desert, looking for a good place to picket Dusky Lady. The other mares didn't need to be hobbled, because they wouldn't leave without their leader. They needed to graze, and the abundant growth along the river would be enough to last them through the night.

“What do you want?” He didn't mean to sound rude or angry, but he didn't bother to modulate the tone of his voice.

“I love horses.” Suzette's expression softened as she looked at the mares. “I miss having some of my own.”

“You don't look like a woman who spends much time around horses.”

Hawk had seen enough saloon women to recognize one the moment he saw her. Their clothes were different. It wasn't just the colors or even the style. It was the way the material clung to their bodies, accentuating their breasts, hips, legs, and shoulders. It was also the way saloon women wore their clothes, like they were part of their personalities, as if they were never able to take time off from the business of attracting men and seducing them into spending time and money on them. This woman didn't look like she'd ever saddled her own horse, much less cleaned up behind one.

“I had two horses when I was growing up,” Suzette said. “They would take sugar or apple pieces right out of my hand.”

“I don't make pets out of my horses.”

“Mine were riding horses, one a Morgan very much like that mare.”

Hawk looked at Dusky Lady and his anger subsided. “She's the best horse we own. She's in foal to a stud with Morgan blood. I'm hoping she'll drop a filly so I can breed them both to our new stud horse.”

“What are you planning to do with these horses?”

“Breed quality horses for sale.”

“I could never sell them if they were mine.”

“Then you'd go broke and the bank would sell them for you.”

Hawk didn't understand why some women seemed unable to think logically about animals that they depended on for a livelihood. If you had a product—no
matter what the product was—you had to sell it if you wanted to make money. It was probably a good thing Suzette was a saloon girl. That way she only had to sell herself.

“I'd raise cows for money,” Suzette said. “I'd keep the horses for myself.”

She walked up to Dusky Lady and reached out to pat her neck. The mare raised her head from the scarce grass and thrust her muzzle against Suzette's chest. Suzette's peal of laughter sounded as out of place as an exotic bird; the look on her face was near bliss. She looped her arm around the mare's neck and leaned against her. Moments later she stepped back and walked around the mare, her fingers trailing along her sides, probing, caressing, all the while murmuring softly.

“She's going to have twins,” Suzette announced.

“How do you know?” Hawk didn't want twins. He wanted a single, strong, sturdy foal.

“A woman knows.”

How many times had Hawk heard that before? It translated as
There's no logical reason to support my opinion, but I'm going to stick with it because it's how I want things to be.
What was it about females that told them when another female—regardless of the species—was pregnant? Maybe it was the same kind of instinct that told a man when he was facing an enemy even before the other man said or did anything.

“Maybe they'll both be fillies,” Suzette said.

She wandered among the horses, going from one to the other without fear or hesitation. Entranced, she talked to them, patted them, stroked them, hugged them.

“All the mares are in foal,” Hawk told Suzette. “We're hoping to get to our ranch before they start dropping their foals. Travel isn't easy on new foals or nursing mares.”

“Are these all the horses you have?”

“We have more at the ranch, but these mares are the best we've bought so far. We've followed back trails all the way from the Mogollon Rim to keep thieves off our track. That's part of the reason we were surprised to see your wagon. There must be easier ways to get where you're going.”

“I'm sure there are.” Though she responded to his questions, Suzette's attention was still focused on the horses. “But we didn't want anyone to follow us, either.”

“Where are you headed?”

“To Tombstone. We hope to work at the Birdcage.”

Tombstone had once been the biggest city between St. Louis and Los Angeles, but the town had begun to slip into decline after water started filling the silver mines four years earlier.

“Do you know how to get there?”

“Follow the San Pedro River.”

That directive wouldn't get them to Tombstone, but they'd be close enough to make it the rest of the way. He couldn't imagine why they had started on such a journey in a wagon. It would have been much easier and faster on horseback. This woman certainly seemed more comfortable around horses than around him. She continued to weave among the mares like she was one of them.

“Zeke said your name was Suzette.”

“That's right.”

“That's an unusual name for an American.”

“My parents were French Canadians.”

Dusky Lady ambled over to Hawk, nipped at his sleeve. He glanced at Suzette, who was still talking to one of the mares. After his remark about not making pets of his horses, he didn't want her to see him feed Dusky Lady the sugar she'd come to expect from him each evening. He was certain Suzette would take it to mean he was a sucker at best, a liar at worst. But his loyalty was to the mare, so she got her sugar. While she lapped it up with her rough tongue, Hawk ran his hands over her sides, trying to feel the foal she carried inside. How did Suzette know she carried twins? Could she feel two sets of legs, two heads? The sugar gone, Dusky Lady nickered softly—her way of showing her appreciation—then turned back to graze. Hawk would let her seek out a favorite spot, then stake her out for the night. The sun had about two hours before it would sink over the horizon, but he knew it would be pointless to travel further today. It was unlikely they'd find a better camp spot. Even with the generous rains, it was difficult to find enough graze for eleven horses.

Curiosity drew Hawk's attention back to Suzette. She'd stopped moving among the horses and seemed content to watch them graze as she leaned against the trunk of a cottonwood. Occasionally she raised her hand to brush away a strand of blond hair a gust of wind had blown across her face. He wondered if she ever put a bandana over her hair. For some reason, the image appealed to him.

“Where did you grow up?” Hawk asked.

“Quebec.”

He walked over to join her in the shade of the cottonwood. Briefly, her gaze turned to him. Apparently deciding he hadn't come too close, she turned back to watch the horses. She looked relaxed, even content, despite the fact that he knew she didn't trust him. He didn't know if he felt any different about her, but he did know he was attracted to her. Any man would have been. She wasn't as beautiful as Josie, but there was something earthy about her, a kind of simplicity that made her look at home under a tree in the middle of the desert. The movement of her hand capturing an errant strand of hair, the billowing of her skirt in the sudden gusts of wind, even the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slowly breathed in the warm, dry air contributed to the sense of rightness about her being here. Hawk decided it was good that they would be going their separate ways soon. He found far too much to like about this woman.

“How did a French Canadian from Quebec end up in Arizona?” he asked.

When she turned toward him, he saw that her eyes were a deeper blue than he'd first thought. He'd always associated deepening eye color with passion, but that couldn't be true in this case. She found the horses more attractive than him.

“My father died when I was a child.” Suzette spoke softly but without hesitation. “Unfortunately, he was as improvident as he was handsome and charming. Having no means to support herself and her two daughters, my mother married the first man who offered for her, an austere Scot.” She turned her gaze to a sorrel mare. “I don't know why he married my mother. He made it clear from the beginning that he
thought the French were a godless lot. When my mother died, he married me off to the first man who would have me. My husband brought me out West and went off to the gold fields, where he had the bad luck to die of cholera. Having been reared to be a lady, I had no skills. It soon became clear that I would have to marry again, or work in a saloon, or become a soiled dove. Having had a father, stepfather, and husband who thought more of their breakfast than of me, I decided against marriage. Fortunately, I met Josie, who convinced me to work with her. Now, what's your story?”

Her gaze wandering back to the horses, Suzette moved out of the shade to pick flowers from some rabbit brush. She sniffed for fragrance but showed no reaction. She rubbed the flowers against her cheek as she looked for more. She appeared totally uninterested in whether Hawk would answer her question or not. Inexplicably, it was this apparent lack of curiosity that made it easier for Hawk to speak.

“My father was a Comanche chief, my mother a woman he captured. I lived with the Comanche until I was eleven and my mother was retaken by white men. After she and my sister died, nobody wanted me. Even my father thought I had become a spy for the white man. I became so rebellious, no one would have me. I didn't
want
anyone to want me until Isabelle grabbed up eight orphans like me, and we ended up on Jake's ranch. Next thing you know, we're taking his cows to Santa Fe.” He chuckled softly, shook his head at the memory of the cattle drive that changed his life. “By the time we got there, he and Isabelle were crazy about each other and determined to adopt all of us. Zeke and
I have trailed cows over most of the West, hired out as guards, cowhands, drivers, gunmen, just about any job you can do out here.”