Free Caress of Fire by Martha Hix Page A

leave here with a bad impression of you.”
    She was not leaving here, not unless his ploy failed, and if that were to come to pass, she’d leave with money, food, and an escort even though he would regret having to lose another cowhand for days on end. Mostly he’d regret losing Lisette.
    Leaning his elbow on Willensstark, he crossed his ankles. “Say, do you know how to shoot a rifle?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen I guess there’s no use in giving you one. ’Course, you need some sort of protection against redskins and coyotes and predators like them, you being in the middle of nowhere. Excuse me. You’re at a gravesite, if you wanna count that. Middle of Comanche country, too. I’ve tried to be hard-hearted about burying good men along the way, but it still hurts.” Gil grimaced. “This is my third trip up this cowpath, and Ernst and José and Willie make the eighth, ninth, and tenth casualties.”
    He watched the fear she tried to hide. Pleased for getting to her but regretful for his means of persuasion, Gil offered, “Maybe you ought to take a rifle anyway. I’ll load it for you. Who knows? You might get a lucky shot.”
    Her fingers tightened on Willensstark’s lead. “I–I’ll hide during the day. I did it before, and I’ll do it again.”
    He fingered a blond braid lying over her breast. “Boy howdy, would those redskins love to get their hands on this. It’d be quite a coup for some hatchet-faced brave, having a blond scalp decorating his tepee.”
    Her face ridden with fright, she pulled up her shoulders. “You’re trying to s-scare me.”
    â€œMaybe I am getting carried away. They’d think first before scalping you. No doubt they’d find a better use for all this blond bounty.” He gave Willensstark another pat. “Why don’t you tell me which route you’re taking? If Adolf Keller never sees the whites of your eyes again, I can tell him where to search. In which redskin camp, that is. You ever gotten a whiff of a tepee? Phew.”
    â€œCows smell, too.”
    He chose not to reply to her statement. “Comanche men like being waited on hand and foot, so it’s a good thing you don’t mind hard work. Squaws do everything but the hunting and warring. Well, sometimes they do those, too. Whatever keeps them occupied–outside of keeping the buffalo hides warm on a cold night–they’ve got a papoose strapped on their back and a passel of younguns squalling at their feet.”
    â€œIf a woman is looking out for her own husband and children and home, I doubt she resents the work.”
    Damn, his schemes weren’t working. Yet he replied, “See, you’re already thinking like a squaw.”
    â€œNo, I’m thinking like a woman.”
    â€œGlad to hear you don’t make a distinction. It’ll make life easier. I hear the Injuns are fine ones for needlework, what with their beading and so on. Those braves, why, I bet they’ll let you keep your needles to stitching, though I don’t think they hanker for ribbons and lace and frou-frou on their headbands.”
    If looks could have stitched Gil McLoughlin, he would have been tattooed with embroidery.
    â€œIt’ll be tough, Lisette, breaking the news to Adolf.”
    â€œYou won’t be needing to tell him anything. I’ll write from Chicago.”
    â€œHow you gonna get there? Not on that, I hope.” He gestured at Willensstark, who brayed.
    â€œHe got me here. He’ll get me away.”
    â€œRight. Say, one more thing. When the Comanches capture you, better not try to escape. They don’t take to that sorta stuff. I’ve heard they’re not as bad about cutting off women’s noses as they used to be. ’Course, you can never trust gossip.”
    Her face whitened during his oration; he was glad for it. “I saw a couple of noseless white women toting