He had thought she was asleep.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
She closed her fingers over him, while freeing him of his loincloth. He grabbed the roving culprit. “Candice,” he began, a feeble protest. Datiye was sleeping nearby and there were still people up. The mountain air carried sounds—the nearest gohwahwas only thirty feet away and occupied by a family of five.
She threw her thigh over his and mounted him gracefully, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him. He relaxed. He wanted her. He was thrilled she wanted him. He held her head, coiling her hair around his wrist, and accepted her prodding tongue.
They should not be doing this there, he thought, but didn’t care. This could be the last time. Her chemise had ridden up, and she was wet and moist on his belly. “Turn onto your side,” he whispered in her ear. “No, your other side.”
She obeyed in some confusion, so her back was to his chest. “Jack,” she protested in a soft breath.
He pressed his hardness against her buttocks and, with a creeping hand, found her breast. He nibbled the nape of her neck as he rolled a nipple into hardness between his thumb and forefinger. Then his hand swept down, over the delicious curve of her belly, and lower still, into the warm, wet delta where she throbbed in invitation. She gasped and bit off the sound. He stroked her rhythmically. She arched against his hand.
He raised her upper leg, then slipped his hand between her thighs from the rear, fingers invading her moistness, showing her the way he would enter her. She whimpered in understanding. He removed his hand, clasped her hips firmly, and slowly prodded toward his goal. He plunged into her. Gripping her tightly, moving with growing rapidity, he brought them both to a stunningly quick and intense climax. He managed to clasp his hand over her mouth as she cried out, while he drained himself into her, riding her to the end of their surging crest.
He held her in his arms and needed to find the right words. He nuzzled her neck, thinking desperately. At the very least she should know she would be taken care of if he didn’t come back. “Candice,” he whispered softly. “I want you to know you don’t have to worry.”
She didn’t answer. Because she still had her back to him, he didn’t know what her expression was. He ran his hands over the firm curve of her belly, then up to her breast. “If I don’t come back, Cochise will see that you return to the High C.”
There was still no answer.
He sighed. Did she even care at all about him? Or was it only the pleasure he could give her? His thumb touched her jaw and stroked it idly. Tonight he would keep her in his arms all night, and make love to her again and again. It was such a small yet such a large token. His thumb moved higher, then stopped, paralyzed. Her cheeks were wet with tears.
“Ya-tethla?”Then, realizing he’d spoken in Apache, he said softly, “What’s the matter,shijii?”
She shook her head wordlessly.
He turned her over despite her attempts to remain facing away from him, and peered at her face. The dying fire not far from them shed little light. He tasted the salty tears with his mouth, kissing them away.
“Love me again, Jack,” she said brokenly.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
The past three days had been a nightmare, filled with nothing but anxiety. She couldn’t help it. The war was there, filling up her life with the possibility that Jack would be hurt or killed. Three days. What had taken them so long? A day and a half of restrained riding to reach the Santa Cruz Valley (Datiye had told her their destination), several hours of battle, a day of pell-mell galloping back. Where were they? Had they encountered troops? And was Jack all right?
She didn’t want to live this way.
Worse, what about after the baby was born?
She had been thinking about that a lot lately.
Almost overnight, the physical signs were becoming pronounced. She didn’t think she was due until August, but if she had conceived the first few times they had lain together, she could be due in mid-July. And what if she gave birth early? She realized, then, that she could go into labor as early as the end of June. Less than two months away.
Having a baby became as real as the war and the danger Jack faced when he rode out to go into battle.
And her resolve to leave Jack and take the baby East and make a new life for them was stronger than ever. She fully realized her predicament now; that she would need help from her family. There was a dark, bitter sadness at the eventuality of leaving Jack. But she had no choice. She was determined to avoid thinking about never seeing him again.
In the late afternoon of the third day that they had been gone, a cry went up from the sentries left behind to guard the entrance to the stronghold. They had returned.
For days the camp had been preparing for the return of the war party. A huge feast had been in the making. Now the women hurried to don their best, most elaborately decorated buckskins to greet their men. Children ran screaming with delight up the canyon to greet their fathers. Candice stood by thegohwahin tense anticipation, waiting.
Datiye came out clad in a white deerskin dress that, despite her bulky form, was beautiful, beaded and fringed. Her moccasins matched. She wore a necklace of colored beads, and a silver and leather bracelet, beaded earrings. Candice was dismayed. The woman had decked herself out in finery to greet Jack, while she stood clad in her single woolen skirt, which was brown and ugly, and a plain white blouse, which was ragged from being washed so many times. She felt dowdy and unattractive as Datiye hurried off.
She refused to be outdone. She changed her clothes furiously. Her petticoats were clean and white, lace-trimmed and ruffled. She slipped on two with a lacy camisole that buttoned down the front and was trimmed with pink ribbons. She felt a smug satisfaction. The Apaches would not even know the difference, would probably think she was wearing a fine dress. And Datiye would be green with envy. Candice unbraided her hair and brushed it with a wood comb until it gleamed. She removed a white ribbon from her underpetticoat carefully and tied it around her throat. She wished she had a mirror. She placed a hand on her belly for a moment. She was obviously pregnant, but she no longer felt like a cow. She felt beautiful. She smiled, thinking about how she had felt like a cow when her belly had barely protruded, months ago.
She pulled oft her boots, refusing to spoil the effect, then washed her feet, her hands and face. She stepped outside.
The ranchería was alive with excitement and welcomings. A heavy, frightened anxiety was strangely interwoven, though, with the excitement, which Candice understood as she made her way across the camp. Not toward the entrance to the stronghold, which was already jammed with the throngs, but toward a knoll from which she could overlook their arrival. She sat down on an outcropping of boulders, watching the riders walking in single and double file down the canyon.
