Chapter Thirteen
Candice moved with a cry, but not fast enough. Luke got to Jack first, bending over and feeling for his pulse. Candice became aware of her father’s hand on her arm, restraining her. Luke straightened. “He’s got a high fever. Looks like them marks got infected.”
“Red, you and Willie take him into the barn,” John Carter said.
“Pop!” Mark protested. “Set him on his horse and send him out of here!”
Candice opened her mouth to object, but Luke was already ordering Red to help him move Jack.
He bent and lifted the man by his armpits, and Red took his ankles.
Candice watched worriedly, blaming herself for everything.
As they started across the yard, she took exactly two steps after them before her father grabbed her shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“He …” She faltered. “To see what I can do.”
“Maria will tend him, just like she tends everyone on this ranch when they get hurt.”
Candice flushed. But she met her father’s piercing stare and wondered what he was thinking. She soon had no doubt about what Mark and Little John were thinking.
“What do you care about that breed, Candice?” Mark shot. “You seem awful concerned.”
Candice tensed and was furious. “How dare you, Mark. How dare you call me a liar and—”
“Do you know what the talk is going to be?” Mark demanded.
Candice inhaled. She had been hoping no one would ever find out about her and Jack Savage.
But now it would be spread around Tucson and all the ranches as soon as the first hands rode into town for a few drinks.
And it didn’t matter that nothing had happened between them—or almost nothing.
People would speculate. Talk. Condemn. “I don’t care,” she said, lifting her head.
“Nothing happened. For God’s sake, Mark, he is a human being first. And he’s very white.
I don’t need you siding with everyone else. ”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want you around him,” Mark said tensely.
“That’s enough,” John interrupted. “Mark is right, Candice. Stay away from him while he’s here. And you, Mark, keep your opinions to yourself. You too, John-John. Now don’t you have some work to do this morning?”
Both young men turned, Mark still angry, little John a shade less. Candice met her father’s gaze. “You have a lot of explaining to do,” he said.
“I wanted to avoid all this, I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Maybe if you’d told the truth from the start, we could have been prepared for this. Mark is right. There will be some talk.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “The sooner he’s well enough to ride on, the sooner we can get past this.”
Candice nodded, knowing he was right, but she couldn’t resist one last glance back.
She couldn’t sleep.
She wondered if he was all right.
The day had dragged endlessly, and Candice had kept thinking about the hurt man in the second barn.
A visit from one of her beaux, the widower Judge Reinhart, did not help the time to pass any easier.
And after all the accusations and confusion of the morning, she was afraid to ask after him.
When she finally did, Maria barely answered, unusually curt, brushing her off.
She was forgiven, she knew that. Even Mark was acting normally toward her, with teasing affection, except when he would glance out the window toward the barn—and then his face would become grim.
Mark was not just the most volatile of her brothers, with John-John following close in his footsteps—he also hated Indians.
That had never bothered Candice before, because everyone was afraid, so to some degree they hated the natives of the area.
Mark, of course, had stronger personal reasons than most. He had been in love with a pretty Mexican girl from Nogales.
She had been killed by Geronimo and his renegades—and not prettily, either.
Candice hadn’t seen the body, but she had heard that Mark wept when he did. That had been two years ago.
Of course, Candice reflected, this man didn’t even belong to Geronimo’s band—or did he?
No, he couldn’t.
Everyone knew Geronimo had once ridden with Cochise.
But a few years ago when Cochise had made an alliance with the whites, Geronimo had left the tribe—taking with him many Chiricahua warriors who wanted to fight.
Apaches on the warpath were deadly. These renegades showed no mercy, ever, to women or children, much less men. They were worse than deadly.
Candice knew he couldn’t belong to Geronimo, because if he did he would have certainly killed her—after using her brutally.
Trying to sleep was hopeless. She got up and slid on a cotton wrapper.
What would one peek hurt? Everyone was asleep.
This was all her fault—she had no doubt about that.
If she hadn’t stolen the horse, he wouldn’t have had to come after her, pushing himself while he was still healing, infecting his wounds with sweat and dirt.
She took a small lantern with her but didn’t light it, stealing through the house in the blackness like a thief.
She hurried across the yard in her bare feet, seeing by the moon and stars. She swung the big barn door open, then knelt to light the lantern. After carefully adjusting the wick, she held it up to see.
She gasped.
He was lying on his back in the straw, without a single comfort. No blanket, no water. He was sweating heavily and shaking. Candice’s heart ripped in two. How could Maria do this to him?
She rushed forward and knelt. “Jack.” She touched him. He was burning up.
At her touch his eyes flew open and he twisted his head violently. Recognition flared. “Don’t touch me,” he said hoarsely.
She froze, her hand still on his wet, slick temple, then said, “Nonsense. I’ll be right back.” She ran out of the barn.
She returned with water, linens, and whiskey.
He was waiting for her now, his eyes bright and angry.
She knelt beside him and spread a linen sheet alongside him.
Then she gave him a coaxing smile. “Let me help you up and onto this sheet. It will be much more comfortable. Come on.” She touched his shoulders.
He wrenched violently away. “I told you—don’t come near me.” His teeth clacked together on the last syllables.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I am sorry.”
He closed his eyes and turned his head away.
She hesitated only a moment. Then she dipped a linen strip in the water and proceeded to wipe his face. In the next instant his hand was on her wrist, yanking her chest on top of his, surprisingly strong, hurting her. Her face was inches from his, her eyes wide with surprise and shock.
“I told you, Candice Carter, get the hell away from me. Or don’t you understand English?”
He was hurting her, but she deserved it.
“I’m not going away. I’m not leaving you like this.
Now let me up, Jack.” Her voice wasn’t calm—it shook slightly.
Partly because she was afraid—he was still so strong and so angry, and possibly crazed with fever—and partly because her breasts were crushed on his hard, wet chest and she could feel his heart pounding and smell his male scent. And then his grip went lax.
His head went back and his eyes closed, and she knew he had no more strength.
She straightened and proceeded to bathe him with cool, clean water, cleaning the wounds as well on his chest and legs.
They were angry looking and oozing yellow pus.
When she drenched them with whiskey he jerked upright, eyes wide and startled until he recognized her.
She took advantage and grabbed him around the waist, blushing from the intimate contact. “Turn over, Jack,” she coaxed. “Onto your stomach, on the sheet.”
To her surprise, his eyes drooped and he obeyed, giving her the chance to get to work on his back.
She picked out pieces of straw and dirt.
She bathed the wounds with soap and water, then disinfected them with alcohol.
As she was wiping his shoulders down with a cool cloth, another lantern flared in the doorway, making her look up, frozen.
Luke stared.
Candice felt resolve stiffen in her. Despite the frantic beat of her heart, she calmly wrang out the cloth.
Luke said quietly, “What’s going on here, Candice?”
“What does it look like, Luke?”
He approached with his lazy, relaxed stride. “Not good.”
Candice dumped the cloth in the water and glared. “How could you leave him here in the straw, without water or a blanket, Luke? I’d expect it of Mark, who’s never gotten over Linda, or even John-John, who is too young to know better—but not of you!”
Luke squatted. “I told Red to see that he had what he needed. I didn’t know they just dumped him here.”
His blue gaze was steady on her face. “I asked you a question, little sister. What’s going on?”
“This is my fault,” she told him, relieved to be sharing the guilt.
“Luke, he saved my life, and how did I pay him back? By stealing his horse when he was hurt. Now he’s even worse, because he came after me on foot when he was too ill to do it.
I had to come out and tell him I was sorry. And when I saw him like this …”
Luke regarded her. “His fever still high?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t tell anyone about this, Candice. But you’d better go on back to the house. I’ll go get Maria.”
“This is her fault too,” Candice protested. “It’s because he’s part Apache. You know how much the Mexicans and Apaches hate each other. We should have known she wouldn’t give him any care.”
Luke absorbed that, then squatted again. “You can’t stay here.”
“I won’t leave him while he’s like this.” Her dark blue eyes flashed. “It’s not right!”
Luke sighed. “I’ll stay, I’ll do what you’re doing. You go on back to bed.”
Candice realized she still didn’t want to go, even though she trusted her older brother completely—and even though she was proud of him for offering to help. But she realized she should give in now, so she hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Luke.”
He smiled slightly. But his gaze was still probing, questioning.