She reddened, and grew angry too. “That’s not fair.”
“No? Then stop looking at me as if I’m some kind of half-human animal.”
She stiffened. “I haven’t …”
“I’m a man,” he said. Then, crudely: “Surely you remember that?”
She went even redder, thinking about how a few nights before he had stood in the smoke with his penis rigid like a stallion’s. She turned her back abruptly, trembling. She very deliberately walked to check on their dinner, trying to get those images out of her mind. It wasn’t easy.
They ate in a tense silence, not looking at each other. He fell asleep soon after the meal, while it was still light out. She sat and studied him openly. His lips, almost full and certainly not thin, were parted slightly. Her gaze riveted there. His mouth, his face, so hard in waking, was relaxed and vulnerable in sleep. There was a growth of stubby beard, but it couldn’t detract” from his evenly sculpted features. He was part Indian, but he was a good-looking man.
Candice blushed at the thought and resolved never to think it again.
She didn’t understand him. He was Apache, wasn’t he? Yet he hadn’t acted like one. He hadn’t hurt her, abused her, forced himself on her. Or worse. In fact, other than the few times he had lost his temper, he had even been decent. And when he had been injured, in terrible pain, he had been so stoic …
She abruptly tore her gaze away from him and stood. He was well on his way to health. They weren’t far from the High C. Now was the time to leave. She had owed him her life, she had paid in full. Of course, she would be stealing his horse.
She wondered if she could be hanged for stealing a half-breed’s horse.
The guilt could have been consuming, but she was determined, and she started tacking up the black quickly and quietly. She found herself wishing that there was another way. The stallion was no longer nervous around her; in fact, he turned to nuzzle her, pushing against her side and blowing softly. She patted him and yanked the cinch tight.
She thought about how Savage had stared at her breasts with bright silver eyes.
She looked over her shoulder at him as he lay sleeping. He moved slightly, and she froze, her heart slamming, and for a moment she thought he was awake. But he settled again.
She swung into the saddle and rode off into the approaching night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was twilight the next night when Candice rode through the fortified walls of the High C. The gate, of course, had been closed and barred, but the sentry recognized her and swung the heavy door open. That produced the usual result, and she had gotten only halfway to the low, long adobe house when her family came pouring out, Little John in the lead.
“Good God, Candice,” he shouted, whipping her off the horse and into his strong, warm arms. She clung to him, laughing. He whirled her around and passed her to Mark, almost as tall as their younger brother. Then Luke, the oldest, was embracing her wordlessly, before she was swept into her father’s arms. By now she was crying.
“Are you all right?” John Carter demanded, peering into her face.
“Yes, yes, Pop, I’m so sorry.”
“We’ll get into that,” he assured her.
“Where in hell is Kincaid?” Mark demanded.
Candice pressed against her father, who still had his arm around her as they started to the house. Luke said, “Easy, boy, give her a chance.”
“I think I’ll kill Kincaid” was Mark’s hot retort.
“Whose horse?” John-John was asking. “Are you alone, for Christ’s sake?”
“John-John,” his father reproved.
Candice saw the husky form of Maria, who had raised her after her mother had left, and she rushed forward for another embrace. The big Mexican woman was crying. “Candita, how could you? You put us all to hell!”
“I’m so sorry,” Candice cried, meaning it.
Inside, Maria ordered her niece Conchita to prepare a bath. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” Candice replied. Maria left and she turned to face her family, flushing with guilt because now the lies would start.
“Where is Kincaid?” her father asked.
