Jack sawed hard on the reins. The black reared, then came down and was turning for another pass at the window. All around him Apaches were attacking the cabin, the bunkhouse, the cookhouse, and torching everything they could. Flames were starting to lick at wood, smoke curling almost lazily. The stock that had been freed from the corrals were stampeding, horses screaming, a donkey braying. Jack reached the window at a gallop, pulled up hard, and leapt off, dropping the stallion’s reins. Gun and knife in hand, he threw himself against the wall and peered through the window.
To meet the startled gaze of a man.
They both lifted their guns simultaneously, but Jack was quicker, and he blew the man’s face apart, flesh, blood and brains splattering his shirt and face. He climbed through the window, dropping agilely to the floor. He paused, eyes searching the dark interior, to wipe his face with one sleeve.
He was in a small bedroom the size of a large closet with one bed and a table, the door partly ajar. Already he could smell smoke, even see wisps—five hundred warriors could do great damage against a dozen unsuspecting men in a very short time. He could even hear the crackling of flames, and when he looked back at the window he had come through, he saw a tendril of fire snaking into the house. He pushed through the door.
A woman screamed, raising her rifle.
Jack fired instinctively and she fell, blood flowering on her chest. But he wasn’t looking at her.
“Warden!” he shouted.
The big rancher was at the window across the kitchen, where flames were moving rapidly along both walls converging upon him. He had already turned at the sound of the gunshots, had already raised his rifle, was already pulling the trigger.
The front door burst open with a splintering of wood. Cochise, Nahilzay, and another warrior burst in. Warden and Jack were firing. Jack knew the woman had cost him the draw, and felt the burning sensation of the bullet as it tore into his side. Simultaneously three rifles boomed, and Warden fell backward, blood gushing from his neck, his chest, his ribs. He screamed as he fell into the flames, and was engulfed in the inferno.
“Come, Niño Salvaje!” Cochise ordered.
Jack realized he had staggered backward until he was sitting on a chair. With effort, holding his hand over his side, sticky blood pouring through his fingers, he tried to stand, and barely managed. Dizziness swept him. Nahilzay reached him first, grabbed him, threw one arm around him, and half propelled, half dragged him out.
All around him the Apaches were looting and destroying the ranch. Jack looked around for his horse and whistled feebly, then again with all the effort he had. The black came galloping around the corner of the house, eyes white and rolling, ears pinned back, nostrils flaring. Jack grabbed the reins, placed one foot in the stirrup, clinging to the pommel, trying to heave himself up, failing, and was pushed upward from behind. He managed to find his seat and hung grimly on. He nudged his horse slightly. The black needed no prodding to follow amid the rest of the galloping horses. Caught up in the herd of thundering warriors, the black ran, while Jack fought to stay on.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
It was too late.
She miserably regretted every word she had said to Jack. She had wanted to hurt him. She had ranted at him in a combination of hurt, anger, and hysteria. She should have known better. He was a man of determination, and nothing she could say or do could change his mind from doing what he thought was right. But what about her? What about the baby?
A little over a week had passed since Jack had been home, and although she regretted her rash words, her bitterness had not faded. If anything, it was stronger than ever. She couldn’t help making an ugly comparison. His Indian heritage was more important to mm than his own wife and baby. That hurt unbearably. He had said he loved her. Well, he wasn’t capable of it. She wanted a divorce.
It seemed to be the only solution. Maybe, with time, she could forget Jack and fall in love again. But this time with a man who could provide for her and the baby. A St. Louis businessman, or a lawyer, or even a merchant. She could pass herself off as a widow. Of course, she had saved only ten dollars from the laundry, and that certainly wasn’t enough to get to St. Louis.
Damn Jack!
She knew she was only fooling herself if she thought she could ever forget him—if she thought there would ever be another man for her.
But exactly what kind of man was he? Did she even know him? And what in God’s name should she do? Sit there in El Paso until the baby was born? It looked as if she had no choice.
She wondered if Jack would come back.
She wondered if he was all right.
News had come from an outrider about the devastation and carnage that had occurred throughout the Sonoita Valley. An estimated five hundred Apache warriors had gutted Warden’s ranch, then proceeded to attack every ranch in their path as they rode north to the safety of the mountains. Basta’s spread had survived, but not without casualties, and one man had been killed in the fighting. Fortunately, most of the ranch buildings had been saved, but Basta had lost his entire remuda. Three other ranchers had been attacked as well, with about the same results. The troops had lost the Apaches’ trail at the foot of the Chiricahua Mountains. The huge war party had just seemed to disappear.
She wondered if the next attack would be on the High C.
If Jack rode against her family, it was over. She would never forgive him. Never.
Candice knew it could take years for her to get a divorce. She would probably have to go to California or Texas to get one. The New Mexico Territory not only didn’t have statehood, it had no judges (or law for that matter), and while it belonged to the United States, it didn’t even have the status of a federal territory. Another problem was that she didn’t know if Jack had to be present to obtain a divorce. If he did, she might never be free of him.
And the thought of being free of him made her want to weep.
Why couldn’t they stay together and just be a family? Go somewhere far away where there were no Apaches? Where no one knew them—so they could live in peace and raise their child together, happily. Why couldn’t Jack come to his senses?
Candice didn’t think things could get worse, but they did.
The sun was high and bright. Buds had appeared on the saguaro and octillo in the yard. It was warm enough to go without her shawl, and Candice had even rolled her sleeves up. She bent to pick up wood for the fire when a hand from behind restrained her, and a familiar voice said, “Let me get that, little lady.”
