The Darkest Heart Read Online Free Page A

all the grace of a cow
    A drunken cow.
    She could be a mile away and he would still hear her, and if what she was doing wasn’t so serious—if she didn’t have that deadly stone in her hand—he would be laughing. Instead, he didn’t move. His breathing was relaxed and even. His lashes lay thick and dark on his skin.
    She was a foot away from his right shoulder, and she paused. Her breathing was loud and shallow. She was afraid. As she should be, he thought grimly. She inched closer, now on her hands and knees. He moved with the speed of a striking snake.
    One moment she was poised on all fours, the next she was on her back, landing with a thud, and he was on top of her, pinning her body with his, her wrists ensnared in one of his large, strong hands, their faces inches apart. The stone fell out of her grasp and rolled away.
    He stared into her eyes, the color of the desert night, so dark a blue they were almost black, and saw her fear. Even as that registered, he became aware of the feel of her beneath him. So soft. She had managed, miraculously—and he wasn’t surprised—to keep the blanket in place. But it was thin and he knew she was naked beneath it—knew every lush curve of her body. His knees were between hers, his groin nestled in hers. Desire uncurled, his body stiffened.
    “Doesn’t it bother you,” he snarled, “that you were about to murder a man who saved your life?”
    Her mouth opened, lips trembling, but only a whimper escaped. He cursed, his hold on her wrists tightening, causing another frightened sound. Maybe he was angry at himself too. His manhood was thick, throbbing, the ache heavy and persistent. Too bad Apaches didn’t rape. She expected it, he knew—had expected it since she’d awakened, and it was almost in him to fulfill her expectations. Of course he couldn’t rape her—it went against every value he had been raised to believe in. “Well?”
    “I—I wasn’t.”
    “No?” He cupped her face with his free hand, catching some of her glorious hair. “A liar, are you?”
    “Please, I’m sorry.”
    “So am I.” He wanted to kiss her. Instead he raised himself to all fours. “Did you really think you could sneak up on me and kill me?”
    She began to cry.
    He stood abruptly, wrenching away. Then he twisted back to her. “Do I have to tie you up?”
    She sat, clutching the blanket to her breasts. “No, please, don’t.”
    “I sleep with one eye open, one ear listening. It’s the Apache way. Lie down, go back to sleep. And don’t try anything so foolish again.”
    She rose and turned to move away, back across the fire. He grabbed a hank of her long hair, stopping her. “No,
inlgashi,”
he said softly. He gestured to where he had been lying on the ground. Her eyes went wide.
    He used her hair as a leash, pulling her close then pushing her down. He slipped down behind her, forcing her onto her back and throwing one arm over her waist. She was holding her breath—not that he cared—and he closed his eyes. Sleep, of course, would not come.
    He would have to take her back.
    He imagined the reception she would receive and almost felt sorry for her. But he cut off his sympathy. There would be a lot of talk about her being rescued by a “breed.” He couldn’t spend his energy worrying about that—better to worry about his own reception. Of course, he wasn’t going to harm her, but that didn’t necessarily preclude danger to himself from the bigoted whites. He didn’t feel like facing an angry lynch mob.
    Carter, however, did have a reputation as an outstandingly fair man. And there had been little trouble between the Carters and the Apaches. Just the usual winter raiding, which was actually for subsistence needs—an occasional, minor fray. Carter seemed to understand that the theft of a few head of cattle every year was not war, but a way of life for the Apache.
    He decided he could risk bringing her home.
    Home. He was close to his own home, and after three years his