She stared at him. “You think I hold his heart?”
“I know so,” he said. “Once we talked long into the night.” Cochise suddenly smiled. “It was some time after I had seen you at Apache Pass with another man.” He scrutinized her.
Candice blushed. “I had no choice.”
“A woman with many husbands is a rare thing,” Cochise said, chuckling.
Candice wisely did not respond.
“Some time later Salvaje shared mygohwah. He talked of you. He did not have to say in words what his heart put in his eyes. It was easy to see.”
She took a deep breath. Even if it was true, it wasn’t enough and it didn’t solve anything. “It is still humiliating for me to share my husband with another woman, even if it is in name only. It is not done.” Her eyes flashed. “I have pride. It makes me want to kill them both!”
Cochise laughed. “It is the Apache way. But, more important, he would lose all face if he did not feed and shelter a woman carrying his child. Whether he chooses to later bed her or not makes no difference. He owes her his care, that is his duty.”
“How do Apaches divorce?”
Cochise became wary. “Why do you wish to know? Will you divorce your husband?”
“I might,” she said, very seriously. “Is it easy for a wife to divorce a man? Or is it usually the other way around?”
“Wives rarely divorce husbands, because there are fewer men. I do not think I should tell you how it is done. This is something for your husband to tell you.”
“But it’s common knowledge to an Apache!”
“And you are not Apache,” he said easily.
Candice knew he had made his mind up and no amount of wheedling would get him to change it. Yet she felt uplifted by their discussion. She was sure now that Jack hadn’t bedded Datiye since their Apache marriage at Shozkay’s camp, and that did mean something. At least he had been faithful to her since then. Except for the time she was with Kincaid. That she would never hold against him, except to feel disappointed that he had been so quick to find solace elsewhere.
Maybe there was hope.
If she could just hang on until this war ended—if it would only end.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
When she returned to thegohwah, Candice saw that Jack was there. He had brought fresh game, an opossum and two cottontail rabbits, which Datiye was cleaning. He did not look pleased. In fact, he looked at her intently. “Where have you been?”
“With Cochise,” she answered smartly.
Jack’s eyes grew narrow. “Don’t push me,” he warned.
She wondered if he was jealous, and the possibility delighted her. But she hid her smile. “I’m not pushing you. Cochise and I are friends. He is a pleasure to be with. And—he’s honest.”
He strode over to her. “Wives do not keep company with men that are not kin, without their husbands present.”
“Apache wives,” she retorted. “But I’m not Apache.”
“Don’t even think of trying to make me jealous,” he said darkly.
She managed to hide her smile, because he reeked of jealousy, and it served him right. She couldn’t resist. “Cochise wanted to make me his third wife when we met at Apache Pass.” Her eyes were wide and innocent.
His nostrils flared. “That will happen only over my dead body—or would you like to be a third wife? I thought you were having enough trouble being a first one!”
“I share my husband with no other woman,” Candice said. “And you’d better keep that in mind, Jack, if you expect to save this marriage.” The moment she’d said it she wanted to bite her tongue, but he pounced.
“Ah, so you admit it, that we’re married,” he said, smiling.
“I think you’d better focus on the rest of what I said.”
