The Darkest Heart Page 6

  She thought about how Savage had stared at her breasts with bright silver eyes.

  She looked over her shoulder at him as he lay sleeping. He moved slightly, and she froze, her heart slamming, and for a moment she thought he was awake. But he settled again.

  She swung into the saddle and rode off into the approaching night.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was twilight the next night when Candice rode through the fortified walls of the High C. The gate, of course, had been closed and barred, but the sentry recognized her and swung the heavy door open. That produced the usual result, and she had gotten only halfway to the low, long adobe house when her family came pouring out, Little John in the lead.

  “Good God, Candice,” he shouted, whipping her off the horse and into his strong, warm arms. She clung to him, laughing. He whirled her around and passed her to Mark, almost as tall as their younger brother. Then Luke, the oldest, was embracing her wordlessly, before she was swept into her father’s arms. By now she was crying.

  “Are you all right?” John Carter demanded, peering into her face.

  “Yes, yes, Pop, I’m so sorry.”

  “We’ll get into that,” he assured her.

  “Where in hell is Kincaid?” Mark demanded.

  Candice pressed against her father, who still had his arm around her as they started to the house. Luke said, “Easy, boy, give her a chance.”

  “I think I’ll kill Kincaid” was Mark’s hot retort.

  “Whose horse?” John-John was asking. “Are you alone, for Christ’s sake?”

  “John-John,” his father reproved.

  Candice saw the husky form of Maria, who had raised her after her mother had left, and she rushed forward for another embrace. The big Mexican woman was crying. “Candita, how could you? You put us all to hell!”

  “I’m so sorry,” Candice cried, meaning it.

  Inside, Maria ordered her niece Conchita to prepare a bath. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved,” Candice replied. Maria left and she turned to face her family, flushing with guilt because now the lies would start.

  “Where is Kincaid?” her father asked.

  “I’m going to kill him if he touched you before the wedding,” Mark said.

  Her color went deeper. She looked at Luke, not the tallest and not the shortest but the coolest, then at her father. “Kincaid is dead. There was a robbery. Right after the wedding. I was in shock, and I had to get out of there. I got a horse and left.”

  They all stared in dumbfounded silence.

  “Candice, I’m sorry,” her father finally said.

  Candice’s mouth began to tremble. “Oh, Pop. It was awful,” she said, thinking of how Virgil had betrayed her and tried to rape her, and how she’d had to defend herself.

  Her father hugged her again. Then he raised her chin sternly. “Where is there?” he asked.

  She started chewing a nail. “Fort Yuma.”

  More stares and more silence. Little John broke it. “God, Candice! You left alone—you came alone—all the way—alone!”

  She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry.”

  Even Luke was looking appalled. “I can’t believe it,” he said. She gave him a pleading look, and he softened and hugged her.

  “Well, at least Kincaid got what he deserved,” Mark said.

  “Mark,” John reproved.

  “I don’t care. He ran off with our sister. She’s gonna never live that down. Who’ll want to marry her now?”

  Candice inhaled sharply. She should have known Mark wouldn’t hold back, and it was true—it would be even more true if they knew she’d never married Kincaid, and if they knew about the half-breed.…

  “Mark, that’s raw,” Luke said. “I don’t think Candice will have too much of a problem. Tim McGraw’s asked her three times this year, and Judge Reinhart was about to pop the question before she eloped. It’ll be just a matter of time.”

  Candice gave Luke a grateful look. Her father affirmed what Luke had said, adding, “Besides, there’s no rush, and there’s mourning to think of.” He reached out to hug her. “Honey, it’s so good to have you back.”

  Candice smiled back, relieved.

  She tried not to think about stealing Jack Savage’s horse. She had a niggling thought. He wouldn’t come looking for his horse—would he? She assured herself that he would not. The guilt was too much to bear, so it was easier to put it out of her mind and concentrate on the reunion with her family. After the warmth came the lecturing, which she staunchly braved. And when she finally crumpled into bed, she said a brief prayer of thanks to the Lord, asking for forgiveness for the murder, and the lies and the horse-stealing.

  And why, God, was it the last that preyed on her mind and nerves? She had killed a man, but all she could think about was stealing an Apache’s horse while he lay sleeping and wounded.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Candice, get up.”

  She opened her eyes to see Luke standing in the doorway. “Huh?”

  He was grim. “There’s a half-breed Apache in the yard and he says you stole his horse.”

  She sat up, her face paling. “Oh, God.” He had came.

  “Pop wants you downstairs. Now.” Luke stalked out of the room.

  Candice leapt from the bed, shaking. She felt fear and sought control as she pulled on a chemise and petticoats. Her whole family was there, so he couldn’t do anything. She didn’t have to know him very well to know he would be furious. And her omission of the truth was about to be exposed.…

  She shrugged into a skirt and blouse and ran downstairs, barefoot, her hair still loose and uncombed.

  He was standing in the yard, facing the verandah, at gunpoint. One of the hired hands had his rifle trained cautiously on his back, and three others ringed him warily. Mark, Little John, Luke, and their father stood facing him. His eyes were blazing, and he was wearing only the loincloth and moccasins, an empty gunbelt and the knife. One of the hired hands had his Colt stuck in his own waistband. The scabs on Savage’s chest and knee had opened, and were raw and bleeding slightly.

  Their gazes locked.

  Candice was shaking, and she could barely breathe.

  He smiled, a mere baring of his teeth. “I believe,” he said harshly, “you have something that belongs to me.”

  Candice opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  Mark whirled, eyes wide. “This breed was at the gate, demanding to come in. He says you stole his horse.”

  Candice looked at Mark and then at Jack. His gaze was ice cold and filled with contempt. Yet his face seemed pale beneath the bronze of his tan. “I …” She faltered completely. Oh, why had he come!

  “I want my horse,” Jack said softly, slowly, enunciating every word, his gaze pinning her.

  “Do you know this man, Candice?” her father said.

  “Yes.”

  Mark took a step toward her, incredulous and furious all at once. “How in hell do you know him?”

  “Is it his horse?” John-John demanded, as angry as Mark.

  “Yes.” Candice looked back at Jack and flushed with the guilt that resurfaced with full intensity. She quickly faced her father and Luke, the only ones who might show her any sympathy. “Pop, I didn’t tell you the whole story.”

  “I can see that,” her father said, but he was cut off by Mark, who was shouting.

  “Did he touch you? Did he? Did this red-skinned bastard touch you?”

  Candice stepped back, flushing. Thinking many, many thoughts—waking up naked, standing together nude in the smoke, cleansing his body. Mark met her gaze and his own went wider, and then he whirled, drawing his gun in the same motion. Candice cried out, “No, Mark, no, he didn’t, I swear it!”

  Before she had even finished the sentence, Jack grabbed Mark’s arm, hard, and the gun went clattering to the ground. Luke quickly moved between the two men. He said to his younger brother, very softly, “Don’t be a hothead.”

  “If he touched her, I’ll kill him!”

  Jack laughed, the sound hard and short and mirthless. “I have no interest in her.”

  It was, of course, a lie, and they both knew it. Candice went crimson, wishing, with all her heart, that he hadn’t come.

  “What happened, Candice?” her father injected firmly.

  Candice took a breath, glad to turn away from Jack. “I bought a horse in Arizona City, but she got bit by a rattlesnake. I walked until I couldn’t walk any longer. I had no water, no food. I finally passed out. It had been three, maybe four days. He found me.”

  Mark made a noise, and even John-John gasped. Everyone, including the hired hands, looked at the half-naked man standing tautly in their midst. Jack smiled again, savagely.

  Luke spoke. “You were alone with him, in the middle of the desert?”

  Candice flushed again. “He saved my life.”

  Again, all eyes went from her to Jack.

  Candice hurried on into the tense silence. She could feel the male anger, the maelstrom of hostility, the urge for violence. “He saved my life. He didn’t touch me. He’s part white, he speaks like a white man. There was a mountain lion—he got hurt.” She faltered and found herself looking at him, saw the fury in his gaze, and this time she couldn’t look away. Her voice went to a whisper. “That’s when I stole the horse.”

  Their gazes locked in another silence, this one endless. Then Candice thought she saw him sway, but the movement was so slight and he was standing so rigidly that she had to have imagined it. John-John said, “He has a helluva nerve, coming here.”

  “I don’t believe her,” Mark accused. “She’s lying.”

  “Mark!” her father said.

  Candice held her breath. Mark turned his hot, angry eyes on her. “If he di
dn’t touch you, why are you so guilty looking—so red? He’s a damn red-skinned breed. You were unconscious when he found you. They don’t do any different from animals. You might not even know if—”

  “Enough!” John Carter roared.

  Luke said, “If he had touched her, little brother, horse or no horse, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to come here.”

  “I didn’t touch her,” Jack gritted. “At least, not the way you mean. I saved her damned life—and all I got out of it was a stolen horse and a delay in my journey north.”

  Candice was shaking. She looked everywhere but at Savage.

  “Pedro, get his horse,” John said. The hand immediately turned to obey. John looked at Jack. “You saved my daughter’s life, and for that I thank you.”

  Jack smiled again. It didn’t reach his eyes.

  The stallion was led out, saddled. Candice looked at Jack again. He wasn’t looking at her, but at the horse. She saw the slick sheen on his oozing chest. Her mind started to work. He had trailed her on foot. He was still hurt. She should have never stolen the horse. She would never forget the look in his eyes—or how close they had all come to violence and maybe murder. Pedro handed him the stallion’s reins. He didn’t move to get on. His hands on the leathers were white.

  “You’d better ride out of here while you can,” Luke advised.

  Jack met his gaze evenly. His was strangely bright. “My gun.”

  Luke looked at Red Barlow, who still had his rifle aimed at the man’s back. He nodded. “Give him his gun, Red.”

  Red hesitated. “You sure?”

  “Give it to him, Red,” John said.

  Red hesitated again, then, still training his rifle on Jack, he gingerly removed his gun.

  “Wait,” John-John said, and moved in between them to take the Colt and quickly empty its chamber. He wheeled and thrust it at Jack. Jack sheathed it and moved stiffly to the stallion’s side. His back was bloody. The scabs had opened, and Candice inhaled sharply. He must have heard, because he tensed.

  “Pop,” Candice said swiftly, “he’s hurt. He came all this way on foot. At least—at least he could have something to eat.”

  Everyone stared at her.

  “What in hell’s wrong with you?” Mark shouted.

  “He did save my life,” Candice said, her chin coming up and her heart pounding furiously. She wasn’t looking at her brother or anyone other than the man whose bloody back was facing her. How could he have done it? Did the stupid horse mean so much to him? And how—how was he going to get on it and ride?

  “You, boy,” John Carter said.

  Jack was still standing with his back to them, facing the horse. Now he put his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle.

  “Go around back to the kitchen. Maria will give you something to eat.”

  The stallion swung sideways and Jack faced the Carter family with scorn blazing in his eyes. Candice blushed, knowing this proud man would never go to the back to take scraps like a dog. She felt a sudden shame for her family—and for herself. His glance settled on her and it burned.

  Candice bravely held it, her hand coming up to her mouth. Something seemed to choke her from deep inside. She saw that his face was beaded with sweat. “Please,” she heard herself say. “Go around back and get some food and water.”

  “To hell with your charity,” he said in a low voice.

  He tore his gaze away and turned the stallion, who was prancing restlessly. As he did so he slumped slightly, from the waist, then pulled erect again. The stallion snorted and shook his head.

  “He’s hurt,” Candice said.

  And he fell from the horse with one crashing thud at their feet.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Candice moved with a cry, but not fast enough. Luke got to Jack first, bending over and feeling for his pulse. Candice became aware of her father’s hand on her arm, restraining her. Luke straightened. “He’s got a high fever. Looks like them marks got infected.”

  “Red, you and Willie take him into the barn,” John Carter said.

  “Pop!” Mark protested. “Set him on his horse and send him out of here!”

  Candice opened her mouth to object, but Luke was already ordering Red to help him move Jack. He bent and lifted the man by his armpits, and Red took his ankles. Candice watched worriedly, blaming herself for everything. As they started across the yard, she took exactly two steps after them before her father grabbed her shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “He …” She faltered. “To see what I can do.”

  “Maria will tend him, just like she tends everyone on this ranch when they get hurt.”

  Candice flushed. But she met her father’s piercing stare and wondered what he was thinking. She soon had no doubt about what Mark and Little John were thinking.

  “What do you care about that breed, Candice?” Mark shot. “You seem awful concerned.”

  Candice tensed and was furious. “How dare you, Mark. How dare you call me a liar and—”

  “Do you know what the talk is going to be?” Mark demanded.

  Candice inhaled. She had been hoping no one would ever find out about her and Jack Savage. But now it would be spread around Tucson and all the ranches as soon as the first hands rode into town for a few drinks. And it didn’t matter that nothing had happened between them—or almost nothing. People would speculate. Talk. Condemn. “I don’t care,” she said, lifting her head. “Nothing happened. For God’s sake, Mark, he is a human being first. And he’s very white. I don’t need you siding with everyone else.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t want you around him,” Mark said tensely.

  “That’s enough,” John interrupted. “Mark is right, Candice. Stay away from him while he’s here. And you, Mark, keep your opinions to yourself. You too, John-John. Now don’t you have some work to do this morning?”

  Both young men turned, Mark still angry, little John a shade less. Candice met her father’s gaze. “You have a lot of explaining to do,” he said.

  “I wanted to avoid all this, I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Maybe if you’d told the truth from the start, we could have been prepared for this. Mark is right. There will be some talk.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “The sooner he’s well enough to ride on, the sooner we can get past this.”

  Candice nodded, knowing he was right, but she couldn’t resist one last glance back.

  She couldn’t sleep.

  She wondered if he was all right.

  The day had dragged endlessly, and Candice had kept thinking about the hurt man in the second barn. A visit from one of her beaux, the widower Judge Reinhart, did not help the time to pass any easier. And after all the accusations and confusion of the morning, she was afraid to ask after him. When she finally did, Maria barely answered, unusually curt, brushing her off.

  She was forgiven, she knew that. Even Mark was acting normally toward her, with teasing affection, except when he would glance out the window toward the barn—and then his face would become grim. Mark was not just the most volatile of her brothers, with John-John following close in his footsteps—he also hated Indians. That had never bothered Candice before, because everyone was afraid, so to some degree they hated the natives of the area. Mark, of course, had stronger personal reasons than most. He had been in love with a pretty Mexican girl from Nogales. She had been killed by Geronimo and his renegades—and not prettily, either. Candice hadn’t seen the body, but she had heard that Mark wept when he did. That had been two years ago.

  Of course, Candice reflected, this man didn’t even belong to Geronimo’s band—or did he?

  No, he couldn’t.

  Everyone knew Geronimo had once ridden with Cochise. But a few years ago when Cochise had made an alliance with the whites, Geronimo had left the tribe—taking with him many Chiricahua warriors who wanted to fight. Apaches on the warpath were deadly. These renegades showed no mercy, ever, to women or children, much less men. They were worse than deadly.

  Candice knew he couldn’t belong to Geronimo, because if he did he would have certainly killed her—after using her brutally.