He moved to her. She tried to shrug him off when his hands tightened on her shoulders. “But this time you’re coming too,” he said.
Candice froze. She turned to face him slowly. “What?”
“I was a fool,” he said bitterly. “A woman belongs with her man. I should have never left you. I thought I was doing what was best, but I wasn’t. You’re coming with me.”
“To live in an Apache camp?”
His face tightened. “Yes.”
“No.”
His smile was bitter. “I told you—I’m not giving you a choice.”
Her eyes widened. Her heart was pounding. “The Apaches are murdering my people. And you expect me to live with them just because you have some kind of insane notion of loyalty and honor?”
Jack turned away. He went to a small straw chest, opened it, and dumped the contents on the bed. He began going through her things.
“I’m not going,” Candice said again with real apprehension. “First you make me your mistress, now you want me to be your squaw? I won’t have this child in an Apache camp!”
Jack didn’t answer. He bundled a few of her things into a blanket. He placed the blanket by the door. “We have a half day of light left,” he said, looking at her. “We may as well start now.”
Candice didn’t move. “I changed my mind,” she said. “I want you to take me to the High C.”
He ignored her. “Let’s go, Candice.”
“I’m not going, Jack. I’m not going to be a part of this—I’m not going to live with the enemy.”
He walked toward her. “Do I have to tie you up?” He said it painfully.
She drew her derringer and trained it on his chest. “Yes,” she said. “Because kidnapping is the only way you’ll get me to go.”
He stopped, looked at the little gun, then at her flashing eyes. “Do you hate me enough to hurt me, Candice?” he asked softly.
“I don’t hate you,” she said, her face cracking with the threat of more tears.
“I didn’t think so,” he said, and started toward her again.
“Jack, don’t make me shoot you,” she pleaded. “I won’t have my baby in that camp.”
“If you have the hardness in your heart to shoot me,” Jack said, stopping in front of her, “then go ahead—I don’t want to live.”
She emitted an anguished sound, half a sob.
He took the gun from her drooping hand, then placed it back in her apron. “Let’s go, Candice,” he said gently. “From now on, you’ll be where you belong, where you should have been this whole time—with me.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
They weren’t halfway down Main Street, riding double, when they saw the mob.
Candice saw the guns and knew, with clawing, icy terror, that they wanted Jack.
Jack saw the guns and knew with cool certainty that he would do whatever it took to protect his wife and their unborn child.
He halted the stallion.
“What are we going to do?” Candice whispered.
Jack drew his rifle out of the scabbard. He looked over his shoulder. More townspeople, the men with more guns, the women with stones.
