“Yes.” He met her gaze and saw the undisguised hurt, the bitterness, the sadness. He didn’t want her to be any of those things. Why couldn’t she understand?
She sat, hair parting like two curtains to reveal all her splendid nudity. “Were you going to wake me, or were you just going to leave?”
“I was going to wake you. Candice …”
“Don’t! Is this the way it’s going to be? You ride in and bed your wife whenever you feel like it? Or did you just happen to be passing through town?”
“I told you I would come as soon as possible,” he said carefully, refusing to be drawn into an argument.
Her tone didn’t change. “And when should I expect another magnanimous appearance?”
He frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t even bother!” she cried with rising hysteria.
“Are you telling me I shouldn’t stop by?” he asked calmly, but inside he was frozen like a winter lake.
“Very astute, Jack Savage! You expect me to manage by myself, pregnant, without a husband while you ride off to war on my people? No! I won’t do it!” Tears came. She swiped at them. She was standing. “I want a divorce, you bastard. I want a divorce!”
He felt like she’d kicked him in the groin. “You don’t mean that.”
“Just go,” she said, her voice breaking, turning her back to him, her shoulders shaking. “Just go and get out! And this time—don’t ever come back!”
He couldn’t leave like this. He went to her and put his arms around her, to comfort and reassure her and make peace between them. But she writhed away like a furious spitting cat. “Just go,” she said vehemently. She was crying. “Just go and don’t ever come back!”
He hesitated, then took her roughly in his arms and kissed her, his mouth hard—a brand, not a lover’s kiss. “I’ll be back,” he said. And he left her there, crying, as he went through the door.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Luz came to him shortly after he arrived back at the Coyotero camp three days later. He tried to keep the pain and sadness he felt from leaping into his eyes at the sight of her. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman he had known. Her face and forearms were scabbing where she had gouged them deeply with her nails. Her hair had been cropped raggedly at ear length. Her skirt and shirt were torn and dirty. Jack grieved with her, and for her.
“What happened?” she asked evenly. It was the first time she had questioned him about the way Shozkay had died. Her green eyes were glazed with anguish.
With a deep breath, Jack told her. Luz listened without expression, then turned away. “Wait,” Jack said, catching her. “Luz, I know you’re mourning, but can you be ready to leave today?”
She looked at him blankly.
They left a few hours later, Jack on the black, Luz and Datiye each mounted on Shozkay’s ponies, a mule packed with hides, supplies, and gear. They rode at a walk because of Datiye’s condition, and made camp that night in the San Pedro Valley, almost where the Butterfield Trail crossed the river.
“How are you feeling?” Jack asked Datiye.
“Just tired. I am all right.” Her gaze held his searchingly, making Jack feel grim.
She wanted mm, wanted to be his wife, wanted to bear more of his children. She was the noose, one he couldn’t remove. At least, not until the child was born. He looked over at Luz, who had ignored her food and was staring toward the east.
Datiye followed his glance. “She won’t eat. Except to ask you what happened, she doesn’t talk. There will never be another man for her.”
Jack frowned. How long should he let her go on starving herself? The problem was, he knew it was true. Luz would never love again the way she had loved Shozkay. Few were fortunate to experience mat kind of love in a lifetime. He thought about his own wife. Before Candice, he had not understood Shozkay and Luz’s relationship. Now he could understand what Luz was feeling—it was what he would have felt if Candice should die. And thinking of her, as always, brought with it the pain of having had to leave her. Once again he wondered if he shouldn’t have brought her with him, and then instantly knew she would never come—not of her own free will, not to live with her enemy.
“Eventually Luz will remarry,” he said, “It is the way of things.” His words sounded hollow even to his own ears.
“No,” Datiye said.
Jack was startled.
“Soon she will join Shozkay.”
“Don’t say that,” Jack snarled. He walked away and sat down to eat dried venison and dried beans. There was no fire, for the last thing he needed was to have to defend two women, one deep in mourning, the other pregnant, against scouting soldiers. But the moon was half full, shining, and the sky was lit with a million glinting stars.
