Apache Fire

He shook his head, and Rose realized that even now he didn’t trust her. The pantry, with its thick, windowless walls and heavy door, could too easily become a prison.

“You could unlock that kitchen door and let me out,” he said.

“You’re too weak to run. You’d pass out in the yard.” Rose scooped the half-warmed beans onto a plate, added two slices of brown bread and poured some coffee into a porcelain cup. Her shaking hand splattered the hot liquid onto the counter. Reflexively she reached for a dishcloth, then, realizing she was only wasting time, flung it down, piled the breakfast things onto a tray and, with a last frantic glance at Latigo, rushed out of the kitchen.

Bayard was teetering backward on the rear legs of his chair, his fingers drumming impatiently on the tabletop. Rose bit back a surge of nervous irritation. Bayard Hudson was a good man, she reminded herself. Any sensible female would throw herself into his arms and beg him to protect her from the brooding stranger in the kitchen.

Sensible?

A grim smile tugged at Rose’s lips. No one, least of all John, had ever given her credit for having much sense. Before his accident, she had been a trophy, with little more expected of her than to adorn his home and produce the heirs he’d so stridently demanded. All that had changed, however, in the past six months. She ran the ranch now, and she would deal with the man named Latigo on her own terms.

Bayard scowled as she arranged the simple breakfast on the cloth before him, but he did not complain. His warm gaze followed her as she pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table and settled uneasily into it.

“You’re not going to join me?”

“I’m more tired than hungry. Forgive me, Bayard.” Rose brushed a lock of hair out of her face, her heart sinking as she noticed the spark her gesture ignited in his hazel eyes. “Your visit can’t be a social call at this hour,” she said, feigning an air of cheerfulness. “What are you up to?”

“Posse business.” He scooped a hunk of bread into the beans, took a hungry mouthful and washed it down with a swig of coffee. “We rode out of Tucson last night and made it as far as the hot springs. While the rest of the boys bedded down for a few hours, I decided to ride over this way and make sure you were all right.”

“As you see, I’m fine. You could’ve saved yourself the trouble.” Rose laughed uneasily, her hands clenched into fists below the tabletop. “Posse business, you say?”

“Uh-huh. Half-breed army scout named Latigo murdered two government agents on the San Carlos Reservation. The wire from Fort Grant said the bastard was headed south, maybe this way. When I got here this morning and saw that trail of blood across your porch, the idea that it could be yours—”

Rose watched him gulp his coffee. She felt light-headed, as if a noose had been jerked around her throat, shutting off the blood supply to her brain.

Was the wire from Fort Grant a mistake, or had Latigo lied to her? Was she protecting an innocent man or harboring a killer?

“I don’t like the idea of your being alone out here,” Bayard was saying. “Those Mexicans of yours, hell, they’ve got no more loyalty than jackrabbits. They’ll turn tail and leave you at the first sign of trouble. You need someone strong, someone who cares about you. You need a man.”

“What?” Rose had been staring down at the weave of the linen tablecloth. Preoccupied with her own thoughts, she had only half heard him. She glanced up to discover that he had stopped eating and was gazing at her with an intensity that raised goose prickles beneath her robe.

“Bayard—”

“It’s time,” he insisted. “John was my friend. He would want me to take care of you and the baby.” He paused long enough to take in her stunned expression. “Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Rose. Now that you’re free, and you’ve had a few months’ time for mourning, I’m asking you to be my wife.”

Chapter Three (#ulink_df8cfc52-befc-5f89-b586-a0d11c5c3d1a)

Rose stared at the man across the table, hoping she had misunderstood him but knowing she had not. His boldly stated words left her no room for evasion.

“Well, Rose?” He was beaming at her as if she had already said yes. After all, what woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to marry Bayard Hudson? He was handsome, well-to-do, and one of the most respected men in Arizona.

So why had her skin suddenly gone clammy beneath her robe?

She sensed his impatience, sensed the tension in him as his body poised to spring out of the chair and sweep her into his embrace. Rose thought of the dark stranger in the kitchen. Lives could depend on her getting Bayard Hudson out of the house as swiftly as possible.

“You’ve been very kind to me, Bayard,” she. murmured, staring down at the tablecloth. “But it’s far too soon. John has barely been gone four months. Out of respect for him, if nothing else, I should wait.”

“The man who was your husband and my best friend died last summer when that horse bucked him out of the saddle onto his head.” Bayard spoke sharply, making no effort to hide his impatience. “It was his body you tended for those last months, but it wasn’t the man we knew and loved, Rose. It wasn’t John.”

“Your breakfast is getting cold,” she said.

“Forget breakfast!” The chair legs grated across the tiles as he slid away from the table and strode around it to stand behind her. Rose stiffened as his warm hands settled onto her shoulders. “Dash it, but you’re tense,” he murmured, his strong, blunt fingers working her knotted muscles. “What’s the matter? You aren’t afraid of me, are you?”

Rose shook her head in denial.

“Then what—?”

She forced a tired smile. “Forgive me, Bayard. You just didn’t pick a good time to propose, that’s all. I’ve had a long night, and I’m not thinking very well.”

His hands continued to knead her shoulders, their motion slowing to a sensual caress. “You’re a beautiful woman, Rose,” he murmured, “too beautiful to be alone, without a man. Just say yes.” He bent close to her ear, his lips skimming her tousled hair. “You’ll never be sorry, I promise.”

Rose shivered, imagining Latigo behind the kitchen door, his sharp Apache ears hearing every intimate word.

“Rose, darling…” Bayard’s voice had deepened to a breathy rasp. His mouth nibbled a damp trail down the side of her neck as his fingers nudged aside the collar of her robe to expose the naked slope of her shoulder. “Do you know how long I envied your husband? How long I’ve wanted to—”

“No!” Rose spun away from him, toppling her chair in a spurt of nervous panic. The crash resounded like a gunshot through the empty house, freezing her in midmotion.

Bayard righted the chair, his expression as bewildered as a slapped child’s. Silence lay leaden between them, broken only by the ponderous tick of the grandfather clock in the entry. Little by little Rose began to breathe again.

“You are afraid of me,” Bayard said. “Rose, I swear I would never hurt you.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t.” Wanting only to have him gone, she molded her features into a conciliatory smile. “You’ve caught me off guard, that’s all. I’m honored by your proposal, Bayard, but I truly need some time to think about it.”

“I’ve waited a lot of years for you, Rose, and I’m not a patient man. All the nights I’ve lain awake, imagining you in my bed, in my arms…” He made a move toward her, then hesitated, realizing, perhaps, that he had said too much. “So when do I get my answer?” he demanded. “In a day? A week?”

Rose’s gaze flashed toward the kitchen door. It was open a crack, and she realized Latigo was not only listening but watching. She groped for a reply, anything that would placate Bayard and send him on his way.

“I was thinking of longer,” she hedged, already knowing what her answer would be but desperate for him to leave.

“A month, then. But don’t expect me to take it in good grace. I’m anxious, girl. Anxious to make you mine.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your posse?” She edged toward the front hallway, praying he would follow her.

Still, maddeningly, he lingered. “I don’t like leaving you here with that half-breed Apache murderer on the loose,” he said.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’ll be fine!” Rose punctuated the words with a toss of her head. “A lone desperado would never take on a ranch this size.”

“Maybe not” He exhaled like an agitated bull. “But keep John’s big pistol handy—I know you can use it. If you see a stranger, don’t take any chances. Shoot to kill.”

“I hardly think that will be necessary.” Her eyes flickered toward the kitchen door.

“Is something wrong, Rose?”

Her heart convulsed for an instant. “No—no,” she answered much too quickly. “You caught me unprepared, that’s all. I prefer to look my best when people come calling, and I haven’t even combed my hair.” The laugh she attempted came out sounding like a nervous hiccup. “Off with you, now, I need to get dressed and start my day!”

Bayard stood his ground, his thumb absently rubbing the butt of his pistol. “Not until you kiss me goodbye,” he declared.

Rose struggled to ignore the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Right now, she reminded herself, the only thing that mattered was getting the man out of here before he discovered Latigo and someone wound up dead.