Free The Darkest Heart by Brenda Joyce Page A

to ride on, the sooner we can get past this.”
    Candice nodded, knowing he was right, but she couldn’t resist one last glance back.
    She couldn’t sleep.
    She wondered if he was all right.
    The day had dragged endlessly, and Candice had kept thinking about the hurt man in the second barn. A visit from one of her beaux, the widower Judge Reinhart, did not help the time to pass any easier. And after all the accusations and confusion of the morning, she was afraid to ask after him. When she finally did, Maria barely answered, unusually curt, brushing her off.
    She was forgiven, she knew that. Even Mark was acting normally toward her, with teasing affection, except when he would glance out the window toward the barn—and then his face would become grim. Mark was not just the most volatile of her brothers, with John-John following close in his footsteps—he also hated Indians. That had never bothered Candice before, because everyone was afraid, so to some degree they hated the natives of the area. Mark, of course, had stronger personal reasons than most. He had been in love with a pretty Mexican girl from Nogales. She had been killed by Geronimo and his renegades—and not prettily, either. Candice hadn’t seen the body, but she had heard that Mark wept when he did. That had been two years ago.
    Of course, Candice reflected, this man didn’t even belong to Geronimo’s band—or did he?
    No, he couldn’t.
    Everyone knew Geronimo had once ridden with Cochise. But a few years ago when Cochise had made an alliance with the whites, Geronimo had left the tribe—taking with him many Chiricahua warriors who wanted to fight. Apaches on the warpath were deadly. These renegades showed no mercy, ever, to women or children, much less men. They were worse than deadly.
    Candice knew he couldn’t belong to Geronimo, because if he did he would have certainly killed her—after using her brutally.
    Trying to sleep was hopeless. She got up and slid on a cotton wrapper. What would one peek hurt? Everyone was asleep. This was all her fault—she had no doubt about that. If she hadn’t stolen the horse, he wouldn’t have had to come after her, pushing himself while he was still healing, infecting his wounds with sweat and dirt. She took a small lantern with her but didn’t light it, stealing through the house in the blackness like a thief.
    She hurried across the yard in her bare feet, seeing by the moon and stars. She swung the big barn door open, then knelt to light the lantern. After carefully adjusting the wick, she held it up to see.
    She gasped.
    He was lying on his back in the straw, without a single comfort. No blanket, no water. He was sweating heavily and shaking. Candice’s heart ripped in two. How could Maria do this to him?
    She rushed forward and knelt. “Jack.” She touched him. He was burning up.
    At her touch his eyes flew open and he twisted his head violently. Recognition flared. “Don’t touch me,” he said hoarsely.
    She froze, her hand still on his wet, slick temple, then said, “Nonsense. I’ll be right back.” She ran out of the barn.
    She returned with water, linens, and whiskey. He was waiting for her now, his eyes bright and angry. She knelt beside him and spread a linen sheet alongside him. Then she gave him a coaxing smile. “Let me help you up and onto this sheet. It will be much more comfortable. Come on.” She touched his shoulders.
    He wrenched violently away. “I told you—don’t come near me.” His teeth clacked together on the last syllables.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am sorry.”
    He closed his eyes and turned his head away.
    She hesitated only a moment. Then she dipped a linen strip in the water and proceeded to wipe his face. In the next instant his hand was on her wrist, yanking her chest on top of his, surprisingly strong, hurting her. Her face was inches from his, her eyes wide with surprise and shock.
    “I told you, Candice Carter, get the hell away from me. Or don’t