That wasn’t likely, though, and Meade had deep distaste for the base behavior he’d witnessed in so many of his colleagues and subordinates. He’d heard too many men boasting of their prowess with the camp followers who plied their trade in wagons just outside Fort Apache. The thought of paying for sexual favors didn’t appeal to him, and over the years he had disciplined himself to shut out unwanted desires.
But Rayna refused to be locked out of his mind, and she was wreaking merry hell on his body.
Angry and frustrated, Meade stalked across the room and retrieved her letter. “As you can imagine,” she had written, “this long wait without word from 121
Constance Bennett—Moonsong
[ e - r e a d s ]
General Crook has taken its toll on all of us, but in some ways I am more fortunate than Mother and Papa. I, at least, can busy myself with the daily concerns of running the ranch. Only the great volume of paperwork daunts me, for I much prefer riding the range to being confined in Papa’s study. However, I’m sure this unladylike attitude comes as no surprise to you.”
Meade could envision her teasing smile as clearly as if she had been in the room with him. She would have bowed her head slightly and slanted a glance at him. Her eyes would have sparkled with mischief as she tweaked him, and then she would have waited expectantly for his tart reply—which he would have given, if only to keep himself from kissing that delightful smile away.
Groaning with frustration, Meade stomped into the kitchen where the coals on the hearth were just beginning to wane. Furious at his lack of control, he threw the letter into the fireplace, but before it had even begun to singe, he snatched the letter back, folded it, returned to the parlor. His personal journal was on the reading table by his chair, and he jerked at the leather band that held it together and shoved the letter into the back . . . right alongside the first one Rayna had sent him.
122
Constance Bennett—Moonsong
[ e - r e a d s ]
10
“My, my, will ya take a look at that, gents?” Private Andy Norris said, giving his comrades his best hoity-toity impersonation. “I do believe I see me some rich Apaches comin’ our way.”
The small cluster of soldiers looked in the direction Norris pointed. What they saw wouldn’t have been impressive anywhere but on a reservation. In the midst of the long procession of Mescaleros straggling in to the agency on foot was a group mounted on fine horses and riding alongside two wagons. One of the wagons was even covered with a canvas canopy that swayed drunkenly as it bounced along.
“Well, fancy that,” Stan Talbot said. “Come on, boys, we’d better check this out. Lieutenant Zaranski said we was to make sure these heathens didn’t bring in no moonshine or no”—he drew himself up in imitation of the snooty lieutenant—”contraband. Apaches this rich prob’ly got lots of that.”
“Hell, Stan, you don’t even know what conterband is,” Norris snorted, poking his buddy in the ribs.
Talbot’s grin betrayed the loss of his two front teeth. “That don’t mean I can’t look for it, does it?” He turned to the other men in the detail that 123
Constance Bennett—Moonsong
[ e - r e a d s ]
had been assigned to search the incoming “hostiles.” “You boys stay here and keep lookin’ through the bundles. Me an’ Andy is gonna check out them wagons.”
“Who died and made you general?” one of the men asked irritably, but Talbot ignored him. He and Norris walked down the line of Apaches toward the slow-moving wagons.
“Whew, boy! Would you get a load o’ that squaw,” Talbot crowed when they’d gotten a little closer.
“Where?” Norris asked, looking around.
“Boy, you been in the sun too long. Your eyes is plum gone. Lookee there, sittin’ up front on the first wagon. If that ain’t the prettiest Injun I ever saw, I’ll eat my boots.”
“Yeah? What’re you gonna use to chew ‘em with?” Norris said, then guffawed at the good one he’d gotten off on his friend.
Talbot shot his friend a mean glance. “Jest fer that, I ain’t gonna share when I get me a piece of that squaw.”
“You’re the one who’s been in the sun too long,” Norris said with disgust.
“Ain’t nothin’ could make me dive ‘tween the legs of no Apache.”
“Boy, you don’t know what you’re missin’! A good squaw is about the best there is. No other woman in the world can buck like an Apache. You just wait an’ see. After another week on the trail, they’ll start lookin’ real good to you.”
Quickening his pace, he hurried the final distance toward the wagon. The riders flanking the wagon shied out of his way but stayed close enough to protect their women and belongings.
“Hey, you! Injun! Where’d you steal them wagons and horses?” Talbot shouted up at Joe Long Horn, who was driving the team.
“The wagons were not stolen. They belong to Miss Skylar, and the horses are our own.”
Talbot hooted with laughter. “Well, how about that. Didja hear, Andy?
We got ourselves an Injun who speaks English better’n you do.”
“Zat right?”
“Yep.” It took only a slow walk to keep pace with the wagon, and Talbot looked up at Skylar. “What about you, squaw? You speak English, too?”
It was broad daylight, there were several hundred Mescaleros within shouting distance and at least half that many soldiers, but for the first time since she’d arrived at the reservation, Skylar was truly frightened. It wasn’t a vague fear of the unknown or concern for her father or any of the other emotions that she had called fear in the past few months. She had seen this man and his friend coming; she had seen the way one of them looked at her. What she felt was a genuine fear for her life.
124
Constance Bennett—Moonsong
[ e - r e a d s ]
It was everything she could do to keep her voice calm and even. “Yes, Private. I do speak English. Mr. Long Horn was correct when he told you that these vehicles and animals belong to us.”
Talbot whooped again. “Whew, boy, don’t you talk pretty. Mr. Long Horn, la-di-da. I guess that must make you Miss Skylar.”
“That’s right,” she answered quietly.
“Well, tell this buck to stop the wagon, ‘cause Norris an’ me gotta search it.”
“Why?” Skylar asked, but Joe pulled the team to a halt and whispered, “We must do as he says, miss. Let him search so that he can go about his business.”
“Climb on down from there, you two,” Talbot ordered as he circled to the rear of the wagon. “And tell these old women to get out, too!”
There was no need to translate, of course, and everyone began climbing down. Talbot ordered Norris to get in the wagon and search the bundles while he gave the women a cursory once-over.
“Nothin’ in here but some food and clothes,” Norris said as he glanced through the bundles.
“Well, keep lookin’. They gotta have some conterband somewheres.” He moved back to the front of the wagon and leered down at Skylar. “Ain’t that right, Miss Skylar?”
She suppressed a shudder. “We have nothing illegal or forbidden with us.”
“I’d like to see that for myself if you don’t mind,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her roughly toward him. In an instant he was groping at her breasts under the pretext of conducting a search. As Skylar struggled against him, Joe tried to insert himself between her and the soldier.