Chapter Twenty-Two
Candice was wearing one of her best day gowns.
Her hair was carefully done in a smooth twist and tucked beneath a blue silk bonnet that matched her dress.
She was waiting impatiently on the verandah as Pedro hitched up the buck-board in the quiet of the morning.
She was going to pay a call on Judge Reinhart.
It was the day after he had coldly turned his back on her in Tucson.
Candice could still feel the shock and humiliation of his rejection.
Before she had eloped with Kincaid, Judge had been in love with her—she was sure of it.
Of course, he was not the only one, but he was the most successful and respected of all her suitors.
Candice was not familiar with rejection.
She could not think when she had ever been turned away or disliked or condemned.
Especially by a man. She couldn’t believe that this was happening, and she had to see him and explain.
To her disappointment, Judge was not at his house, and the housekeeper told her he wouldn’t be back until the midday meal.
She decided to wait. She curled up on the sofa in the small but charming living room, in front of an adobe hearth that added much warmth in the winter.
She tried to pass the time reading a book by Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities, but there was no way she could concentrate—not when she was nervous and perspiring with anxiety.
She bit her knuckle and remembered that this was really all her fault—for dancing with Jack Savage.
“Hi, Candice.”
Little Tommy Reinhart was staring at her with a grin. He was almost six. “Hello, Tommy. Did you have fun at the barbecue?”
“I hated it,” Tommy said sullenly. “Tell me a story.”
Candice looked at him, realizing for the first time that if she ever married Judge she would become a mother to two children. It was a sobering thought.
“Tell me a story,” he said again, sitting next to her.
“Well …” Candice began, and then Lisa Anne appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Lisa Anne.”
“What are you doing here?” the girl said, staring enigmatically.
Candice was taken aback by the child’s rudeness. “I’m visiting your father.”
“Are you going to tell Tommy a story?” she asked, approaching.
“Not today.”
“Oh, please, please, please!” Tommy screamed.
Candice almost grimaced.
Lisa Anne was studying her.
“You shouldn’t look at your elders like that,” Candice said. “And it’s rude not to greet a visitor properly and offer refreshments. Shouldn’t you be doing your chores or your homework?”
“My chores are done, and so is my homework,” Lisa Anne said calmly, as if she were twelve and not nine. Tommy was still shrieking about wanting a story. “Shut up,” Lisa Anne said to him. She turned to Candice. “You’re the one who ran off with the gambler.”
Candice stared.
“You’re the one who was dancing with the half-breed too. Are you really a whore?”
Candice gaped and clenched her hands to stop herself from smacking the little brat. “I’m going to tell your father about your awful manners,” she warned.
“Why? Because it’s true?”
She was incredulous and stunned. Just then Judge appeared in the doorway without his familiar, warm smile. “Hello, Candice.” He sent the children outside.
Candice was on her feet, biting her lip. “Hi.” She tried a smile on him. “I … I had to come and see you, Judge.”
His jaw was tight. He gestured toward the couch. Did Lupa offer you any coffee?”
“Yes, yes, she did.” Candice sat down. Judge sat in a chair across from her. He didn’t say anything. “You’re upset with me.”
Judge looked at her. “Am I?”
“You’re angry.”
“If you want to dance with half-breed savages, go right ahead.”
“It was only a dance—and he’s half white.”
“You two were alone for days on the desert,” Judge said vehemently, abruptly. “And then you chose to be with him again. I think you like his company, Candice.”
Candice was pale.
Judge stood. “I think some of those rumors are true. Are they?”
She got to her feet. “No—no.”
“We don’t have anything to say to each other.”
Candice trembled. “I thought we were friends—more than friends.”
Judge laughed bitterly. “So did I. Then you eloped with that gambler—and showed up back here with a breed. I thought you were a lady.”
It hurt. “Judge …”
“I think you had better leave,” Judge Reinhart said.
Candice looked at him, feeling a burn starting. “It’s not right or fair for you to condemn me for something you know nothing about.”
Judge stepped to the doorway.
Candice sucked in her breath and managed to exit with her head held high.
But once outside, she stumbled from the house, devastated.
He had called her a loose woman without saying the word his daughter had used: whore.
God—she and Savage had only danced! No—they had done more, much more, and maybe he was right—maybe she was no lady, not in truth.
It was a terrible, horrible, wrenching realization, and she was barely aware of the rolling scenery as she and Pedro left the ranch.
But about an hour out from Judge’s, they both noticed a dark, ominous cloud rising out of the south, from behind them. “Rain,” Pedro said.
Candice was about to agree, but suddenly her heart constricted, “No,” she said, grabbing Pedro’s arm. “It’s smoke.”
She could feel the cowboy tense beside her. The rising cloud was so obviously smoke that they thought they could smell burning wood and brush. “That must be the V Bar,” Candice said, hearing the worry in her voice. The fire had to be huge—to be seen from so far away.
“Do not worry, senora,” Pedro said, but there was no assurance in his tone. “Fire—may be all right, this time of the year, no?”
Candice knew he was trying to tell her that a brushfire could happen for any reason at all. She didn’t speak the one word she was trying not to think: Apache.
But after another fifteen or twenty minutes passed without incident, both she and Pedro began to breathe freely again, as the smoke was left almost directly behind them.
Candice pulled off her bonnet to redo her hair.
Unruly tresses had been teasing the back of her neck, sticking damply.
She pulled out a pin and stabbed it back in.
Suddenly Pedro gave a scream, slumping over the side of the wagon.
Candice grabbed the reins, about to pull up the team, when the arrow sticking out of the middle of his back registered.
She slapped the reins, screaming at the team, urging them into a gallop.
Suddenly she heard hoofbeats, dozens of them pounding from behind, getting closer, and frantically, her heart thudding in her throat, she looked over her shoulder.
Ten or fifteen Apache were closing in from both sides, red and white warpaint streaking their faces, feathers poking out of their unbound hair.
It took just a glance to see they were carrying not only rifles and bows but clubs and lances.
A war party! Candice slapped the reins harder, crying out to the horses, fear overwhelming her, taking away all thoughts, her only desire being to escape.
Sweat poured down her face and blinded her.
The terrain rose and fell in front of her maddeningly.
The Apaches had let loose with their wild, strange war cries, and they echoed sickeningly around her.
A rider drew abreast of her, grinning. Candice screamed at the team.
The rider was moving past. Another warrior was in his wake.
Candice whipped her horses. The first Apache was leaping onto the back of one of the team and already slowing it.
The second warrior was at her knee, and then he was in the buckboard, shoving her aside, grabbing the reins.
Candice fell on top of Pedro as the team began to slow down. She threw herself off the wagon.
She rolled and rolled, her skirts twisting around her legs. Gasping, she stumbled to her feet, running blindly. A whoop sounded in her ear. Just as the horse drew alongside her, she screamed. The Indian swept her up into his embrace at a gallop, as if she were a sack of flour.
His body was hard and sweat-streaked, and his torso was greased. He smelled like horse, buckskin, bear fat, and sweat. She struggled in vain, but his grip was iron. He let out a wild, triumphant cry, trotting his pony into a circle of curious, painted faces. Candice closed her eyes and prayed.