Free Only in My Arms by Jo Goodman Page A

mare halted, shifted her weight restlessly, but could not be urged forward. Anna Leigh's approach was cautious as Ryder remained slumped but essentially upright in the saddle. He managed to lift his head as she drew up beside him. His pale gray eyes were glazed, unfocused.
    This time it was Anna Leigh who took the reins. She led the horses to a squared-off section of boulders that formed a shallow cave. There would be shade, even when the sun reached its zenith. It looked like a shelter Ryder would have chosen for himself.
    By the time they reached the rocks Ryder was no longer self-supporting. Anna Leigh had to ride closely abreast of him and lend her shoulder to hold him in his saddle. His dark head was unprotected by a hat, and his black hair fell forward on either side of his neck. The red bandana he wore was soaked with his own sweat. His head lolled and his chin rested heavily against his chest. When Anna Leigh withdrew her support Ryder's slide from the saddle was ignominious at best.
    She looked down at his sprawled, unconscious body. There was no remorse on her face or in her voice. As far as she was concerned, he deserved it. "I told you the water was bad."
    Her sentence was punctuated by the first of a volley of shots echoing in the canyon below.
    * * *
    There was no time to take cover. Matheson's first indication that something was wrong was the return of the split-off company. No wagons accompanied them and less than half the men who had gone formed the new column. Sergeant Shipley was no longer in the lead. They looked like troops who had just engaged in combat yet Matheson hadn't heard a single shot.
    Matheson motioned to his second lieutenant. The man was a recent arrival at Fort Union, trained at West Point but a virgin in the field. "Go back to that column and find out what the hell's going on," he ordered. "I want to know what's happened to Shipley and the wagons." Matheson looked up into the canyon rocks. Ryder and Anna Leigh hadn't been visible for the last half hour. He added impatiently, a trace of alarm in his gruff voice, "And see if Ryder circled 'round to their side and saw something."
    Second Lieutenant Davis Rivers lifted his hand as if to make a smart salute. Spencer Matheson went to his death with that vision in his mind.
    * * *
    Ryder's vision was fuzzy when he woke. His hearing was distorted. He could hear shouting and shots and an Apache war cry that instantly took him back twenty-three years. He tried to come to his feet. He couldn't even lift his head.
    Anna Leigh's voice was soft and soothing. "Here," she said encouragingly. "Drink this." She held a canteen to his lips.
    Ryder used what remained of his strength to clamp his lips shut until Anna Leigh laid her gloved hand over his nose. When he sucked in his next breath she trickled water down his throat. He stared at her for a long time. Her eyes were not cruel, merely frank. Looking into their light blue gaze he felt as if his will were being leached, his energy sapped. He tried to speak, but in spite of the water she had given him, his mouth was dry. He felt her hand slide into his. With her free hand she was undoing the buttons of her blouse.
    He shut his eyes and slept.
    * * *
    Davis Rivers was in command now, and he rallied his men. They fought hard and took the advantage. The battle was a bitter one. Many men died without clearly seeing the enemy. Some scaled the rocks, but there was no quarter given. They were hunted down, and none of them made it to the top of the canyon rim.
    The battle was over by noon. Five of the surviving men set grimly about the task of collecting the dead. Others removed foodstuffs from one of the wagons to make room for the bodies. Second Lieutenant Rivers called in another group and gave them specific instructions. One soldier was sent back to the fort for reinforcements. Rivers assigned himself and a private to go in search of Ryder McKay and the senator's daughter.
    "That half-breed son of a bitch is