Apache Angel

Chapter One

"Out West a man learns to fight for what's his, and take care of his own."

New Mexico Territory, June 1885

He never expected to travel this road again, but he could think of no other place he would rather be headed. Home ... and he was damned anxious to get there.

Storme Warwick knelt in the center of the dirt road and grabbed his gelding's front hoof, cursing this delay that would prevent him from reaching the ranch before nightfall. He dug the tip of his knife under the inch-size pebble that had caused the mount to go lame and pried the stone free. Standing, he tugged his hat brim down against the glare of twilight's golden streamers snaking through the firs and cottonwoods, the last vestiges of day fighting a losing battle against the night as dark shadows slowly worked their way upward along the grassy forest bed of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. With aggravated resignation, he slid his knife in the leather sheath attached to his gun belt and prepared for the ten-mile walk ahead.

"Watch your back, mister!?

Storme tensed for only a split second at the woman's unexpected shout, then reached for his Colt, clearing the holster as he spun around. A shot rang out from the dense woods. The bullet plowed into the ground between his feet, scattering dust in a small cloud. His horse bolted down the road. In the distance, Storme caught a glimpse of a man on horseback before a ray of sunlight bounced off the nickel-plated barrel of the rifle and tarnished his view in a blinding white ball.

The attacker fired again. Storme darted to the side of the road, emptying all six rounds from his pistol before slipping behind the nearest tree.

Who the hell was shooting at him?

He didn't question why. He knew being a bounty hunter earned him more enemies than friends, and the Apache blood running through his veins only added to his lack of popularity. Pressing back against the thick sheltering trunk of the cottonwood, he tossed his hat to the ground and quickly reloaded.

What bothered him just as much was the fact that he had been so occupied with thoughts of returning home, he hadn't even sensed he was being followed?and not just by one person, but two!

Storme didn't recognize the woman's voice, but he definitely owed her for calling out when she did, and he hoped she had enough sense to stay hidden until this was over. Caution on high alert and his heart pounding, Storme peered around the edge of the rough bark. Through narrowed eyes, he stared into the shadows that quietly slipped between the dense columns of trees, searching for a movement or sound that didn't belong among the stirrings of nature.

Nothing.

Wait!

Storme squinted harder, barely making out the shape of a lone rider weaving his horse in retreat through the distant reaches of the forest. Surprised, but grateful the man had given up so easily, he holstered his gun. His heartbeat slowed. There wasn't any need to go after the attacker. If the man's determination to gun him down was strong enough, Storme knew he would try again. They always did.

The light breeze brushed against his face, cooling the moisture that beaded on his brow. Retrieving his hat, Storme settled the black Stetson in place, wondering if word had spread in Pleasant Grove about his return to the ranch. He glanced again where the rider had disappeared higher into the mountains, unable to discount the possibility. He hadn't been liked by most of the townsfolk when he had lived here, and nothing in the letters he received from his half brother over the last seven years indicated that anything had changed.

Yet the woman had called out to him ... and saved his life by doing so.

Storme stared across the road, frowning at the hard knot that suddenly tightened his gut. There was no sign of her, but his body hummed with the feel of her presence. His blood raced with an apprehension more acute than he had ever known. He told himself it was only because he owed this woman a life-debt now, and honor demanded he repay her in kind. Nothing more.

So why did he sense he was about to walk off a great precipice and must quickly learn to fly?

Storme swallowed the dryness that hovered unwelcome in his throat and shook off the odd feeling. "It's safe to come out now, ma?am."

Anna Alexander tensed at the slow, powerful command in his voice, wincing as the rigid bark of her tenuous shelter poked into her back.

Safe? Did he think she was crazy, or just plain stupid?

Watching him handle himself and that six-shooter with the speed of a seasoned gunfighter, she could tell the man was no stranger to trouble, and Anna didn't need his problems. She had plenty of her own.

She glanced at the light fading fast all around the mountain and stifled her groan. Now, she could add missing curfew at the boardinghouse to her list of trials, and knew Mrs. Harrington might dismiss her for this tardiness.

Four weeks ago when Anna garnered the position of maid, the housemother had firmly gone over all the rules. She was amazed at how many there were, but being responsible for the virtue and well-being of the single girls working at the train depot restaurant, Anna really couldn't fault Mrs. Harrington's strictness. Especially since the older woman was kind enough to offer free room and board in addition to the job.

And Anna needed the job if she hoped to save enough money to reach San Francisco soon.

"Ma?am??

Her heart pounded at the tightened intensity in the stranger's tone. Good heavens! She didn't want to be out here alone with him. The last time she was alone with a man, she had landed herself in serious trouble with the law.

"You have no reason to fear me." His voice drew nearer with each word.

She had no reason to trust him, either. Anna's hands shook. She tightened her grip around the smooth, wooden handle of her derringer, chastising herself because she wanted to believe the soothing sincerity in his tone.

A twig snapped, echoing in the stillness and rattling her nerves harder. Anna swallowed the knot of panic as the man's footsteps rustled through the grass, coming ever closer. Blast it! She shouldn't have given her presence away. But she couldn't just let him get shot in the back. It wasn't right, no matter what his troubles. Releasing a tense sigh, Anna realized that she would have to deal with the consequences of her generosity, whether she wanted to or not.

She raised the pistol and stepped out from behind the tree. "That's far enough, mister." She aimed the gun at the center of his broad chest.

He stopped, standing tall and proud with just a few short feet between them?still much too close for Anna's comfort. Straight black eyebrows arched high on his prominent forehead, disappearing in the concealing shade of his hat.

"You can put that away." He nodded down at her weapon. "I intend you no harm."

"The gun's fine right where it is," she insisted. Sweat dampened her palms as she stared at him. A red bandanna partially hid the leather strip tied around the corded column of his neck. His long hair hung loose beneath his hat and gleamed like polished onyx in the sunset. The hard planes of his face, the high cheekbones and smooth bronze skin strongly hinted at Indian blood, and every chiseled line in his long, square jaw and firmly rounded chin spoke of his strength and dominance. To her chagrin, she found him handsome as well as intimidating.

"I just wish to offer my gratitude for your warning, ma?am, and declare my indebtedness." The warmth of his smile echoed in his dark brown eyes. He crossed his arms, the rolled-back white sleeves revealing strong, defined muscles that reinforced her vulnerability, in spite of the derringer.

"You're welcome. And the only thing I want is for you to leave."

He glanced down at her gun, then back, his smile fading. "Are you out here alone??

"That's none of your business," she snapped, irritated that he didn't appear the least bit threatened by her weapon.

"It'll be dark soon. Let me see you home."

Anna glared her dislike of his stubborn insistence. "I don't need your escort."

His gaze narrowed to thin slits. "Why, do you have one? Are you acquainted with that gunman??

"No." Anna jerked back, affronted at the accusation. Maybe I should've just let you get shot after all! ?I was only taking a walk, and lucky for you I was, mister."

He hesitated, then nodded. "And I'm grateful. I won't return the favor by leaving you out here alone." He lowered his arms to his sides and stepped forward.

Anna's blood raced in waves; nausea rolled in her stomach. "One more step, and I swear I'll shoot." She forced herself to remain calm. If this man tried to lay one finger on her, she wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger ... and she knew she could do it.

She'd done it before.

He raised both hands in surrender. "You have my word that I won't hurt you, ma?am."

Anna detected no deceit in his voice, but she had been around enough men to know that their promises were easily broken, or only given when they wanted something in return. "And you have my promise that I'll pull this trigger if you come any closer."

The warning in her velvety voice fell far short, overshadowed by panic. A strong protective instinct Storme didn't feel all too comfortable with kicked in and dug its claws deep. He assured himself it was only because he was indebted to the pretty lady.

"There's nothing to be afraid of."

She firmed her mouth in doubt. Her full, round breasts rose and fell with every quickened breath. Through hooded eyes, Storme followed the voluptuous line of her waist and slender hips outlined beneath her rose-flowered dress, then retraced the shapely path back up to her thick knot of reddish gold hair that shimmered like fire in the evening light. Her green eyes reminded him of the color of new spring grass, with golden flames blazing on the horizon. Twin spots of pink tinged her cheeks, enhancing the paleness of her smooth, creamy face.

"But I do understand your concern. You should consider a larger gun, ma?am, or aim lower and shoot fast if you hope to stop a man with that thing."

"I appreciate the advice." She squared her shoulders. "Good-bye, mister."

Storme stood his ground and saw her jaw tighten with displeasure at his action. They eyed each other with challenge as the minutes ticked on, until a prairie dog barked in the distance and broke the heavy silence. Storme cut his stare to the side, noting the deep purple sky of night slowly surrounding the mountain. "Do you live out here?" he questioned, searching his memory for any families who used to live in this area north of town. None came to mind, but then he'd been gone a long time.

She lowered her arm, shifting her aim to just below his belt. He arched one eyebrow, hoping he hadn't been too quick offering advice where to shoot.

"I ... I'm leaving, since you won't." She stepped back. "Don't try to follow me. I will shoot you."

He admired her courage, but he didn't believe she had the guts to follow through with her threat. "You do not wear the look of a killer, ma?am."

She lifted her chin defiantly. "Perhaps you should look again."

The confident turn in her voice, and the sure anger that lit her eyes, gave him pause to question his judgment. When she backed away this time, he did nothing to stop her.

* * *

Anna shivered as darkness settled like pitch over the valley where Pleasant Grove nestled sat two miles south of the mountains. Scurrying sounds of various desert crawlers whispered in the hazy moonlight, and an occasional howl of a lone wolf filled the night and sent chills through her veins. She hurried along the uneven rock and grassy terrain, careful to watch for snakes as she dodged the squatty piñon trees and oval pods of sharp-needled prickly pears with their pale blooms bursting at the tips.

Not for the first time since her encounter with the handsome stranger, Anna scolded herself for walking alone tonight, instead of with Elise and Caroline as she usually did. But after being cooped up cleaning all day, she had been desperate for some fresh air and didn't want to wait for the girls to finish their work at the restaurant. Slipping away from the boardinghouse while Mrs. Harrington visited with a couple of lady friends from town, Anna hadn't meant to be gone so long. She hadn't intended to get distracted with musings of her future, or to walk so far, either.

She picked up her pace, praying she wouldn't lose her job over this.

The single light from the third-story window of the boardinghouse glowed like a welcome beacon. Mrs. Harrington's rule that lamps couldn't be lit unless the room was occupied told Anna her roommate must be inside. She wondered if Samantha Crowley would be willing to keep silent about the missed curfew, and also help her sneak in.

In the week since Samantha's arrival they had gotten along well. Anna still didn't know much about her, though?except she came from New York and, at nineteen, was a year younger. But Anna knew she would have to ask for help, if she hoped to keep Mrs. Harrington from learning about this tardiness.

She approached the white-clapboard house from behind. Muted sounds of loud music and raucous enjoyment drifted down from the saloons at the far edge of town. It still amazed her that the small community boasted four drinking establishments, but with the traffic she had seen pass through daily on the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad, she supposed there were a number of travelers in need of a drink to quench their thirst from the desert dust.

If only her father had opened his saloon out West, instead of in Missouri.

She shook aside the introspection. Nothing would have been different. Her father still would have gambled them into debt. Her mother still would have died. It was time to forget the past. She had to concentrate on her future now.

Pale moonbeams played havoc with the shadows, dancing in ghostly appearance over the fenced yard. Anna slowly lifted the latch on the back gate so as not to agitate the grinding squeak of the hinge, then slipped inside. Hiking up her skirt, she ran across the expanse of cropped grass to the right side of the house and stopped beneath the widespread oak that stood as the lone sentry of shade against the hot afternoons. Blackness graced the kitchen window on the ground floor and the second-story room where Mrs. Harrington slept. But Anna knew the housemother never retired early and would still be downstairs in the parlor, indulging in her nightly ritual of tea with the girls.

She released a grateful sigh. Thank goodness the parlor is on the other side of the house.

Anna glanced up to the half-opened window on the third story, glad Samantha had decided to skip tea tonight. Squatting, she searched the ground for something to throw, grabbed a two-bit-sized pebble, then straightened and took aim, tossing the rock into the air. It hit the house below the window with a soft thunk. Huffing her irritation, Anna bent to search out another pebble, discovering one slightly larger than the first. She scooped it in her hand and aimed higher. The rock sailed through the opening.

"Ouch!?

Oops! Anna covered her mouth, stifling the chuckle that bubbled in her throat.

Samantha came to stand in front of the window, knotting the chenille robe around her waist, then pushed the framed glass all the way up. "Ben? Is that you?" she called out in a resonant whisper.

"Ben??

"Anna??

Anna frowned, stepping into the moonlight that filtered through the thick, leafy limbs stretching outside her room. "Ben who??

"Never mind that." Samantha braced her hands against the broad ledge and leaned farther out the window. "Where have you been?" she whispered louder. "Mrs. Harrington was up a few minutes ago to see if you wanted to take tea with them."

Anna gasped. "What did you tell her??

"That you went to the necessary, and were going to bed when you came back." Samantha smiled.

Anna's relief came swift ... and fleeting. She wasn't inside yet.

"Where have you been?" Samantha asked, her grin slipping.

"Out for a walk." Anna dismissed the vague explanation with a quick wave of her hand. "Will you come down and unlock the back door, so I can get in??

"I can't. I broke the rule about being late to work. I have to stay in the room tonight."

Anna's shoulders slumped. She planted a fist on her hip and tapped one foot. Samantha couldn't come downstairs without passing by the parlor, and Mrs. Harrington. Now what? She rubbed one hand over her chin, pondering her next move.

"You could climb up, ma?am."

Anna's heart slammed against her ribs at the deep, confident voice that sounded at her back. She whirled around on one heel and saw the handsome stranger she had met on the mountain, now leaning casually against the trunk of the oak tree.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded in a harsh whisper.

His wide, engaging smile softened the hard lines of his moonlit face and fairly stole her breath away. "Making sure you arrived home safe."

"Who's out there with you??

Anna looked up, warily shifting her gaze between Samantha and this man she still wasn't sure she should trust. "Someone who owes me a favor." And may have just offered her the only solution to her current dilemma. She stared at the stranger. "Will you help me climb up??

"It would be my pleasure ... Anna."

The sound of her name rolled like warm honey from his lips. Anna swallowed, wondering why he had the power to make her tingle with more than just caution, when no man ever had before.

"What's going on down there??

Anna tore her gaze from the stranger and glanced to her roommate. "I'm going to climb up."

Samantha's eyes widened. "What? Are you crazy??

"It'll be fine, " Anna assured, praying she was right. She had never climbed a tree before, and still wasn't convinced she should trust this man. "I have ... someone to help me."

"Who??

"I'll explain later." Though Anna had no idea what she would say. She really didn't understand any of this herself, except that she had to think about her job right now.

Anna approached the tree where he stood, and to her utter surprise the man walked away. Stopping, she stared at his back in baffled silence.

Is he going to help me, or not?

She heard the slight squeak of the gate latch opening, then less than a minute later he returned, leading his limping horse. Without a word, the stranger tossed his hat to the ground, then jumped to the stout limb hanging high above and latched on with his large hands. Pulling up, he swung one long, denim-clad leg over, then smoothly shifted his body upward to sit on the broad branch.

"Put your foot in the stirrup, and when you lift up, place your other foot on the saddle."

Anna took a deep breath and shoved her hesitation aside. Walking over to the horse, she mounted as the stranger had instructed.

"Now, reach your left hand up and take hold of mine. I'll help you stand."

She did as he said, sliding her fingers along the callused strength of his warm palm. He tightened his hold around her hand and gently tugged. Placing both feet on the saddle seat, she used his support to stand, but nothing prepared her for his swift shift of hands. In a single fluid motion, he grabbed her under her arms, swept her up, and planted her bottom firmly on the limb between his straddled legs.

Sweet Jesus, but he was strong ... and fast!

Anna rapidly sucked in air, trying to catch her breath. His thigh pressed intimately against her backside. He lowered his hands to her waist and lightly dug his fingers into her flesh. Panic welled in her stomach. Anna closed her eyes, reminding herself she wasn't at the saloon anymore, and this stranger had given his word not to hurt her. She had to trust him.

"Are you all right?" he whispered.

His warm breath brushed against her ear. The calm concern in his voice eased her rioting nerves. His masculine scent drifted on the air, a pleasing array of woods and spice that stirred her senses. Anna nodded, then opened her eyes.

Storme hadn't missed her fear when he placed his hands on her waist. He thought about her threat to shoot him, the panic that had flashed in her eyes, and not for the first time sensed that something troubled her deeply?more than just witnessing a gunfight, then finding herself alone with a stranger. He wondered if some of her wariness had to do with his being a half-breed.

Or had the Spirits sent her to him for a reason? Was that why he felt this strong pull to her?

"Whenever you're ready." He stared into the creamy glow of her soft, moonlit face, all the while telling himself to forget how pretty she was and stay focused on earning her trust for this climb. "Turn sideways a little, then put your left foot on the branch."

She nodded, biting at her lower lip.

"I won't let go of you," he assured her.

She nodded again and reached one hand to her skirt, then paused, frowning. "Don't look."

Storme suppressed his chuckle. Of course, he was going to look. What sane man would pass up this opportunity? ?I would not dream of dishonoring you," he answered honestly. Looking caused no harm. But getting caught in the act was a different matter.

She shifted so her back faced him and hiked her skirt. When she placed one booted foot on the branch, Storme's breath caught at the view of her shapely black-stocking-clad calf and rounded knee.

It took every bit of his restraint to rein in his lustful thoughts and remember the task at hand. "Now stand up, and grab the branch above."

She did, giving him an up-close view of her nicely rounded bottom. Storme swallowed and shook his head. Bracing back against the hard bark, he pushed himself up to stand behind her, never releasing his hold on her narrow waist. Lifting, guiding, he helped her climb up two more branches until they were even with the window, ever mindful to keep his hands, and his thoughts, from wandering.

Storme kept the solid trunk against his back, and now that they were much higher up, his hands a little firmer on Anna's waist. He could feel her shaking beneath his touch and wondered if her fear stemmed from his increased hold, or the height. He hoped the latter.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, worry in her gaze, but the moonlight also revealed a small sparkle of trust in the green depths of her eyes. Storme's heart pounded triumphantly at the sight. He removed his left hand from her waist. The trust instantly fled her widened stare.

"You're safe, Anna," he promised as he reached up to grab the branch above, his fingers brushing against hers. "Now, I want you to make your way to the window."

Her bottom lip trembled until she captured it between her teeth.

"I'll be right beside you." He watched her throat ripple as she swallowed, admiring her courage when she stared skeptically toward the house, then adjusted her hands tighter around the branch above and took that first step.

"Be careful, Anna. Oh, my stars, I can't believe you're doing this," the brown-haired girl at the window cried out in a shocked whisper.

Anna cautiously slid her feet along the thick limb.

"You're doing fine," Storme encouraged as they came to within several feet of the window ledge. The branch groaned, then cracked. The sound split the quiet night, stopping Storme's heartbeat and shattering his confidence. Wrapping both hands around the limb above, he pulled himself up, freeing the branch of his weight. "Anna, move! Get to the window."

Heeding his urgent command, she slid her sweaty, shaking hands along the rough bark and moved one step, then two. The branch groaned out another warning.

Samantha gasped. "Hurry, Anna!" She leaned forward, reaching out one hand.

Anna lifted her right foot, frantically searching the empty air until she found purchase on the solid support of the wooden sill. She released one hand and grabbed hold of the framed edge of the window, then, with Samantha tugging hard at her skirt, climbed into the room.

"My goodness, are you all right?" Samantha gripped her shoulders.

Anna took several deep breaths, grateful to have the support of the pine floor firmly beneath her feet. "I'm ... fine." Her heart pounded with leftover fear at her daring accomplishment, then swiftly changed to concern.

Shrugging off Samantha's hold, Anna turned toward the window. She couldn't stop her smile at the sight of the stranger standing safe on the branch, leaning casually back against the broad trunk as though he helped women climb trees every day, and never for a second doubted their success. Moonbeams shone through the leaves, brushing his handsome, bronze face in a warm glow. Her pulse beat faster.

She leaned out, pressing her palms flat against the windowsill. "Thank you, Mr ..."

"Storme Warwick." He nodded once.

"Thank you, Mr. Warwick. I'd say we're even now."

His confident grin heated her already racing blood. "Not yet ... Anna."