Hostage Heart Read online

  Herter grinned from beneath his gray-and-black mustache, the white cavalry hat perched at a rakish angle on his head. His uniform was dusty and the throat of his dark blue vest was open to reveal a red kerchief tied around his neck. “Call her Lark,” Herter said. “Beautiful name, isn’t it? Like her.” He winked at Lark, enjoying Wilson’s embarrassment.

  “Er, yes, sir,” Wilson acknowledged, reluctantly releasing Lark’s hand. “Mighty pretty, sir.”

  Herter returned his attention to Lark. “How many three-year-olds have you got ready for us to look at, Lark?”

  With the change of subject, she relaxed. Over the years, Frank had urged her to take a larger role in the horse breeding and the choosing of future foals that the Army could buy to replace their worn-out animals. He had been pleased to note her growing confidence in business discussions.

  “Twenty, Frank. But you decide. There isn’t a bad leg among them. A few blemishes, but nothing that will stop any of them from being good mounts.”

  “Are they all the Kentucky Stud’s offspring?” he asked.

  “Five are Huelga’s, the medicine-hat-marked mustang.

  They’re slightly smaller, and what they don’t have in height, they more than make up in spirit and muscle. They’re more heavily built.”

  Frank glanced over at Lieutenant Wilson. “Why don’t you start the inspection, Barry? I’ll be along shortly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lark felt the tension in Herter’s lean body. She waited until Wilson was out of earshot before speaking. “You still haven’t answered my question, Frank. Do you know who killed my father?”

  With a grimace, Frank rubbed his jaw. “Got a sneakin’ suspicion it was the Ring.”

  Frowning, Lark searched her memory. Yes, her father had spoken of the Ring once, over a year ago, in vague terms to her mother. It was some mysterious group that was supposed to be causing havoc between whites and Indians alike. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Frank sat down in the porch swing and motioned her to join him. Lowering his voice, he said, “I suspect the Ring exists, but I don’t have firm proof, Lark. Your father and I talked on this subject long and hard over the past couple of years.” His eyes narrowed on her upturned face. “The Ring is a group of men in powerful positions. I think some of them are even in the Army, though I can’t be sure.”

  “Who are they?” she whispered.

  “Greedy men who want money,” he explained. “Your father thought that Cameron and his bunch of hired guns, who work out at his ranch, were part of the Ring. Also Colonel Morgan, my boss. You see, men like Cameron stand to make a heap of money if the U.S. Army keeps tunneling men into the Arizona Territory. The troops have to spend their paychecks somewhere. Why not in the towns where Ring members own saloons, brothels and other establishments designed to take the soldiers’ money?

  “But the only way to ensure that the troops keep coming to this area is to keep the Indians on the warpath, attacking the folks who are trying to settle the land. Your father and I both figured, but couldn’t prove, that the Ring was hiring gunslingers to raid and kill Indians, and paying renegade Apaches, Yavapai, or other tribes, to attack white settlers. That way, they were keeping things stirred up on both sides, and the government was being forced to send more troops.”

  Lark thoughtfully considered Herter’s explanation. Finally she looked up into his compassionate brown eyes. Her voice trembled. “Do you think Cameron killed my father because he’d figured out about the Ring?”

  “No, we never spoke to anyone about our theory. I’d seen too much evidence that suggested law-enforcement officers were also in cahoots with Cameron and the Ring. There was nothing we could do, Lark, so we kept our thoughts to ourselves. And you should too. As to why your father might have been killed, I’m not sure. But I do think Cameron had a hand in it.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to steady her roiling emotions. “What did he want, then?”

  Frank gently patted her shoulder. “The water rights to this ranch, Lark. For years he’s known that the water on his own big spread next to yours would eventually dry up. Now it has, and his cattle are going to be in desperate need of water as soon as the spring snow runoff melts. Your land has natural artesian wells.”

  “I know for a fact that your father refused to sell Cameron water rights. As big as your ranch is, you have just enough to feed your stock, and that’s it. I don’t think Cameron realized that. Or maybe he didn’t want to.”

  Lark couldn’t believe all that she was hearing. Although her father had been preparing her to take over the ranch someday, he’d never spoken about Cameron wanting water rights. She searched Frank’s weathered face. “Sheriff Cole lied to me, then.”

  “In all probability. It’d do him no good to investigate and find out that that oily snake Shanks drilled a hole through your father’s back. No, I think Cameron is payin’ Cole to look the other way.”

  She gave him a worried glance. “And you said your commanding officer might be involved in this Ring?”

  Frank nodded sadly. “Which is why I’m leavin’ the Army this summer. I won’t be a party to such corruption. Yet I can’t fight superior officers in a court of law and win, Lark. I just can’t lay my hands on the kind of evidence that would be needed. Colonel Morgan ordered me and my column to go out and raid a Tonto Apache rancheria yesterday, but I refused.” He held up his thumb and index finger. “I came this close to getting court-martialed.”

  “Why exactly did you refuse to go, Frank?”

  “Because he wanted my men to kill that band of Indians as payment for the murder of a ranch family by the name of Kincaid, whose bodies were found down near Tucson last month. I’m not goin’ to go out and slaughter a bunch of Indians just to get even, especially without proof of their guilt. I told Morgan that the officers down at Fort Apache should be investigating this matter, that we shouldn’t be killin’ possibly innocent people up here for it.”

  Lark gasped. “Kincaid?”

  “Yeah, a man by the name of Matt Kincaid lost his wife and daughter to an Apache raid.”

  Bowing her head, Lark felt renewed pain for the man recuperating in her bedroom. Matt had called for Katie. That must have been his wife. No wonder he’d reacted so violently when he’d awakened and seen her dressed in Apache garb.

  “Lark?” Frank placed a finger beneath her chin and forced her to meet his concerned gaze. “What’s wrong?”

  She swallowed hard and told him about Matt Kincaid’s unexpected arrival at the ranch. When she was done, Frank got up.

  “In the telegraph from Fort Apache, they said Kincaid was trailin’ Ga’n. Looks like that devil damn near did him in. Does Ga’n know he’s here?”

  “No, and he’s not going too, either.”

  Frank nodded soberly. “Maybe, when he’s up to it, Kincaid should drop over to the fort and talk to me. I’m interested in gettin’ Ga’n, too. We might be able to collaborate and figure out where’s he’s hidin’.”

  Miserably, Lark told him of Ga’n’s late-night visit to the ranch. As she spoke, Frank’s jaw tightened, and she knew that spelled trouble for Ga’n.

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “He was heading toward Prescott, Frank.”

  Pacing the porch, Herter muttered, “Ga’n probably won’t show up here again for six months or more. As far as you’re concerned, I’m more worried about Cameron and his gang.”

  Lark tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “You’re one of the few whites who bears us no grudge, Frank. There are many people in town who were jealous of my father’s success selling horses to the Army. I’m sure Cameron is rubbing his hands with joy over his death.”

  Frank gave a snort of disgust but didn’t disagree. “If Cameron thinks he’s going to steal this ranch from you just because Roarke’s dead, he’s in for a big surprise. You’re a cougar when you’re cornered. In fact, I’ve told him as much.” His brown eyes sparkled with amusement as he
held her gaze. “Talk’s goin’ around town that you’re sellin’ out because of what happened. Any truth to it?”

  Her cheeks flushed with anger. “I’d never sell our ranch!”

  “Bo Shanks, Cameron’s hired gun, is goin’ around tellin’ everyone you’re sellin’ out since your father’s not around to manage it anymore.”

  Lark’s chin lifted. “The Gallagher Ranch is staying in the family, Frank,” she said tightly. “As long as I can make those monthly mortgage payments to Cameron’s bank, it’s safe.”

  He laughed, tucking his dusty white gloves into his black belt. “Well, since I’m here today to sign a contract for at least twenty sound young horses, I think you’ll be able to make the next couple of payments, don’t you?”

  Twenty colts! Lark had expected Frank to pick ten colts, no more than that, for the Army’s use. This was an unexpected monetary windfall. She didn’t try to disguise her broad smile.

  By early evening, all the transactions were complete. Lark signed the Army documents that would give her fifty dollars a head for the twenty three-year-olds.

  Despite the hectic day, Lark’s thoughts were never far from Matt Kincaid. Twice she had stolen a few minutes while the officers were inspecting each horse individually to check up on him. Maria had also dutifully peeked in on him every hour, checking to see if he had gained consciousness. To Lark’s relief, he slept like a baby, his fever still high but the wound no longer infected.

  Frank Herter wrote out a voucher and signed it. “Well, there you go, young lady. One thousand dollars. Enough money to pay the bills and buy yourself a purty new dress.”

  Fingering the crisp green voucher, Lark forced a smile as she sat behind the massive oak desk. “Is that what young ladies do with money they earn? Buy dresses?”

  Frank grinned. “Absolutely.” He motioned to her clothes. “You’re the prettiest Apache maid I’ve seen in warrior’s clothes, but I’ll bet you’d look twice as good in one of those fancy dresses from Madam Bouchard’s in Prescott.” His expression grew serious and he glanced over at the lieutenant. “Lieutenant Wilson, why don’t you bring our mounts around? I’ll meet you outside in a moment.”

  Wilson snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!” He inclined his head toward Lark. “It was a great pleasure meeting you, Miss Gallagher. Perhaps, ah, we can see one another soon?”

  “If you want to come and look at our weanlings in September, you’re welcome to stop by, Lieutenant,” Lark parried, trying tactfully to avoid Wilson’s amorous invitation.

  His face filled with disappointment. “I see, ma’am. Very well, you can expect me September first. Since Captain Herter will be retiring early this year, I’ll consider it my duty to come and see the new crop of fine youngsters that red stallion of yours is siring. Good night.”

  “Good night, Lieutenant.”

  Frank slouched against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “You know,” he began hesitantly, “running a ranch this size was hard enough on your father, Lark. It’s an awful big responsibility to heap on a young woman’s shoulders. You’re getting to a good marryin’ age and maybe you ought to think about tying the knot.”

  Lark toyed with the voucher, avoiding Frank’s penetrating gaze. “The blood of my father runs in my veins, Frank. I have his strength as well as that of my mother. I’ll manage.”

  “You have to do more than scrape by, Lark.” He began to pace slowly back and forth in front of the desk. “Cameron’s already claiming how he’s gonna take this ranch away from you. Now, I knew your father for years. He was an honest man who never cheated anyone out of a nickel. A lot of town folk respected him even though they felt it was wrong for him to marry your mother. Roarke earned their respect the hard way, after years of honest and fair dealing with them. But that’s all changed now.”

  He placed his hands flat on the desk, looking down at her. “What I’m trying to say, Lark, is that you’re a woman. Cameron doesn’t respect any woman, but especially not an Indian. You’re the one who’s going to have to ride into town and do business with that carpetbagger. Are you prepared to handle the sneers of men, women’s gossip, and children calling you names when you ride in? I’m sorry to bring this up, but I’ve been hearing this kind of nasty talk for too many years. And with the Yavapai and Tonto Apaches causing havoc all over the area, there’s no love lost right now between the citizens of Prescott and the Indians.”

  Taking a deep breath, Lark steeled herself to face the painful truth he spoke. “My father sometimes mentioned how some townspeople would hurl insults at him.”

  “There were a few, Lark, but not many. If I recall rightly, they were unmercifully cruel to you when you tried to go to that white school when you were a little girl. They spit on you, called you names, and the boys beat you up a couple of times. It wasn’t right that they tormented a defenseless twelve-year-old girl just because she was half Apache.”

  She frowned. “I’ve not forgotten it, Frank.” She clasped her hands and met his worried eyes. “But I don’t have a choice, do I? I’m my father’s daughter. If I don’t ride into Prescott and do the banking and buy new supplies, who can?”

  Frank grimaced. “I’m just trying to prepare you, Lark, that’s all. The people are nervous because of recent Apache attacks. They’re looking to take out their frustration and anger on someone. If you come into town, I don’t know what will happen.”

  “All Apaches revere the wisdom and courage of their women, and it isn’t uncommon for a woman to be a warrior beside her man or to be chosen as a leader. My mother was a woman chief for her tribe, Frank. I’ll pray for her courage.”

  With a slight frown he asked, “Would you like a small Army escort? I’d be happy to provide it.”

  Warmth flowed through Lark and she rose. “Your kindness won’t be forgotten, but no, I’ll ride in alone. You won’t be able to bring in a detachment from the fort each time I come to Prescott. That would cause problems with your Colonel Morgan.” She strove to smile for Frank’s benefit, seeing that he wasn’t convinced she would be safe without his help. “I don’t want to give him another reason to court-martial you.”

  Frank sighed. “I suppose you’re right, purty Apache maiden.” He picked up his hat from the desk. “Walk me to the door?”

  “Yes,” she responded shyly.

  He grinned, setting the hat at a rakish angle on his head and placing his hand on her elbow. “Are you about ready for that marriage proposal I keep threatening you with? I’m not such a bad hombre, Lark. With my pension, I’ll be a rich man. I’m a hard worker and I like half-Apache maidens with big blue-violet eyes. How about it?”

  Lark avoided his half-teasing, half-serious gaze. For years Frank had claimed he would someday make her his wife—she had only to choose the time and place. The only problem was, he didn’t pull her heartstrings. Frank liked her just the way she was, but she couldn’t return the feeling, while the man who hated her because she had Apache blood running through her veins was the one who filled her with yearning.

  Chapter 4

  The next time Matt awoke his mind was clear. Although still weak, he no longer felt feverish. Barely opening his eyes, he saw the woman who had been dressed as an Apache sleeping in a high-backed rocker beside his bed. Matt’s eyes widened at her breathtaking beauty as apricot-colored dawn light spilled over her from the east window.

  She sat with a lavender shawl draped over her shoulders, hands on the lap of her familiar long white cotton gown. He couldn’t ignore an inner hunger as his gaze moved from her slender, work-worn hands. The thin gown lovingly silhouetted her high breasts, the neckline opened to reveal her delicate collarbones and graceful neck. But it was her face that held Matt captive. Thick, ebony lashes lay against her golden skin. Her ripe, red lips and their soft, parted vulnerability created that began to uncoil in his loins. She had the face of a madonna, he thought raggedly. How could she be so beautiful and yet be half Apache?

  The sequence of events after he’d been shot by
Ga’n flooded back to Matt. He flexed his fists tentatively, and found he was appallingly weak. His brows furrowed as he vaguely recalled speaking to the woman. Speaking? He’d practically ripped her head off with his anger and hatred. He squinted, looking at the woman hard and long as she slept deeply. That black waterfall of hair across her shoulders and arms was the only indication that she was Apache.

  Strenuously, Matt fought against the idea that she was one of them, the murderers of his family. And then he remembered her low, husky voice telling him her father was Irish. She was a half-breed. She had the coloring of a woman who spent much time in the sun without the protection of a bonnet. Her features were clean and delicate. And her eyes—sweet God in heaven, her blue eyes were wide and childlike with trust every time she looked at him. Guilt shot through Matt as he recalled the shock and then the hurt that had registered in those eyes when he had reviled her.

  Matt squeezed his own eyes shut, as if to deny what he had done. His hatred for all Apaches warred with his respect for common courtesy. She had Indian blood in her, and that made her different. She could be, just like that cutthroat, Ga’n. But, his heart said, if that’s so, why didn’t she just slit your white throat and get it over with?

  There was a bitter taste in his mouth as Matt lay there, torn between his anguish over the loss of his wife and child and the fact that this woman had saved his life. How could he be grateful and yet hate her at the same time? He released a long sigh. There was no room in his battered heart for anything but grief, hate and revenge right now.

  Matt heard her stir, watching through barely open eyes. Was he a prisoner here? Would she turn him over to Ga’n once he had healed sufficiently? Maybe, if he pretended to be asleep, he would find out more.

  A Mexican woman tiptoed into the room. She went over to Lark and gently shook her shoulder. “Patrona? Patrona?”

  Lark jerked awake. “Maria?” Disoriented, she looked toward Matt. “What’s wrong? Is he worse?”