Chapter Sixty-Seven
They weren’t halfway down Main Street, riding double, when they saw the mob.
Candice saw the guns and knew, with clawing, icy terror, that they wanted Jack.
Jack saw the guns and knew with cool certainty that he would do whatever it took to protect his wife and their unborn child.
He halted the stallion.
“What are we going to do?” Candice whispered.
Jack drew his rifle out of the scabbard. He looked over his shoulder. More townspeople, the men with more guns, the women with stones.
“Drop it, breed,” a big burly man called. “Drop it right now.”
“My wife is pregnant,” Jack said calmly. “Leave her out of this.”
“Pregnant with your Injun kid!” someone shouted.
“A white woman who beds a breed deserves to die.”
“Let’s string her up too!”
The crowd roared its approval.
Candice was afraid.
Jack leaned against her. “When I hit the ground and start shooting, you ride like hell dead west. If I can, I’ll find you.”
“No, Jack. You don’t have a chance.”
But he was already sliding off the horse, shouting “Ride, dammit!” and slapping the animal’s flanks.
The stallion took off.
Jack was diving for a water trough as someone shouted, “Stop the whore, she’s getting away!”
Candice, taken by surprise, clung to the horse as it galloped down the street, scattering the people in their path.
She regained the reins and began to try to bring the powerful horse to a stop as gunshots sounded.
She had to go back. She heard shouting. The stallion had the bit in his teeth and fought her, still running as Candice sawed futilely on the reins.
She glanced back, but could only see the blurred figures of the townsmen firing, the women having run to shelter.
The stallion slowed, shaking his head in frustration.
Once he was under control, Candice instantly turned him down a side street, doubling back, the sound of gunfire intermittent and growing louder.
There was a lot of shouting. She reined up two blocks behind Main Street, panting, her heart thudding, a cramp taking her unaware and making her gasp from pain.
She had to help Jack. She had to. She couldn’t leave him alone to be murdered.
Someone screamed, “He’s making a run for it!” and there was a barrage of gunfire, a simultaneous booming.
Candice jammed her heels into the stallion and he shot forward, toward the shooting.
It was at that precise instant that she saw Jack, running like lightning down the side street, the mob a half block behind, firing on his heels. He was an open target. It was suicide.
“Jack!” she screamed, galloping forward, toward him.
He was diving toward a building, and Candice thought he was hit. “Jack!”
He was on his feet, running toward her and the thundering horse.
Candice pulled hard on the reins but the frenzied horse wouldn’t stop.
Jack grabbed for the saddle and missed as they shot past him, toward the mob.
His hand clung to the heavy wood of the stirrup as he half ran and was half dragged alongside.
Candice shifted the reins into one hand, pulling back with all her might and reaching for her derringer with her other hand.
A bullet whistled past her, and another.
She felt the sting of something on her cheek.
The stallion screamed while she took careful aim at a man who was reloading his gun.
She fired. He fell. The stallion reared wildly.
When his front legs hit the ground, Jack was suddenly behind her, his hands on the reins, twisting the animal’s neck around.
They took off at a gallop in the opposite direction, away from the shouting, furious mob.
They rode like the wind.
It wasn’t until they were out of El Paso that Candice became aware of the throbbing in her face and the stickiness running down the side of it.
They were disappearing in the rolling swells of the desert.
The stallion was slowing, obviously tired.
Jack’s arms were around her, supporting her.
She became aware of the feel of him behind her.
They were alive. She leaned against him, felt another cramp, and moaned reflexively.
“Candice, you’re bleeding,” Jack cried. He pulled up the horse.
He was on the ground, lifting her gently down. “Usen, it’s your face,” he said, helping her to her knees.
He touched her cheek and she whimpered.
“It’s only a graze,” Jack breathed. “Dammit! I told you to ride like hell! Do you ever do what I tell you to?”
“Oh, Jack” was all she could say.
He fell to his knees beside her and took her in his arms, holding her tightly for a long moment. He released her. “Let me clean this up.”
She nodded, waiting with a terrible fear for another cramp. With her hand she began massaging her belly, praying it wouldn’t come. Jack had gone to the horse, and she heard him exclaim in dismay, then curse audibly.
“What is it?”
“He’s hurt,” he said. “Easy, fella, easy, sshh,” he said, and then began soothing the beast in soft Apache words.
Candice looked past him and saw the horse’s heavily bleeding hindquarter. “Oh, Jack, he’s been shot.”
“It’s just a graze, but it probably hurts like hell.” Jack’s hand stroked down the stallion’s neck. “This horse has more courage than any I’ve ever seen.”
He left the animal and returned to her, tenderly wiping her face of blood, then holding a strip of cloth in place to stop the bleeding.
“Will he be able to carry us?”
“Yes, but not far. He needs rest, and more important, so do you. You look very pale, Candice. Are you all right?”
Tears came to her eyes. She touched his face. “I was afraid they were going to kill you.”
“And keep me from you?” he said with attempted levity. “Never.”
“Jack, I’ve had a few cramps.”
Jack sucked in his breath harshly. “I want you to lie down. Now. How do you feel?”
“Weak. Relieved. All right.”
He cursed, again and again. “I should have never left you there in the first place. We’ll stay here the night.”
“We’re too close to town,” Candice said.
“I won’t jeopardize the baby. We have some natural protection, and I’ll keep watch. Besides, a mob is a coward. They want to take what is easy. I wounded four of them, and unless I saw wrong, you got one too. I doubt they’ll come after us, and if they do, they’ll regret it.”
Candice found herself closing her eyes. Jack laid out his bedroll and lifted her onto it. His hand was gentle on her hair, smoothing it back from her face. She turned her cheek into his palm. She was exhausted, so exhausted. She fell asleep.
It was while he was salving the stallion’s flank that Jack’s hands began to shake. He glanced over at Candice. If anything had happened to her … He would have never forgiven himself. Never.
In making the spontaneous decision to take her back to the camp with him, he had acted without thinking, responding to the male instinct of possession and territoriality.
Candice was his, whether that preacher was a fake or not, just as the child she was carrying was his.
Nothing and no one could change that. But now coherent thought returned. He was in deep water. Almost drowning.
How in hell was he going to explain Datiye’s presence in his gohwah?
Things were bad enough. The mob had only delayed the conflict between them.
He knew she had meant it when she’d told him she would not give birth to her child in an Apache camp.
He knew she was with him unwillingly. But it was too late.
Circumstance had forced his hand. He was no longer giving her a choice—he couldn’t.
He needed to think his way out of this predicament.
It wasn’t easy. He thought up a dozen different ways of telling her about Datiye and her pregnancy, and in each his relationship with Candice was irrevocably ruined.
He decided to put off telling her about who would be sharing their gohwah until the morning—or the next evening—or the day after that.
He kept watch all night, repeatedly checking on Candice, who slept heavily and undisturbed. Then, just before the first flush of daylight, he crawled into the bedroll with her. He wrapped his arms around her and fell asleep.