Free Hostage Heart by Lindsay McKenna Page B

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?”
    Maria shook her head. “No, no, Patrona . Remember? You wanted me to awaken you in case you overslept this morning. I have breakfast waiting for you.”
    With a relieved sigh, Lark got up. “Will you start a fire, Maria? As soon as I make