urge to reach out and pin Carter against the headquarters building was very strong. West Point had swelled Carter’s already arrogant head. Worse, McCoy realized, was that Carter had been in the Southwest less than a year and didn’t have a flea’s intelligence about Indians. Nor did he care.
“For the record,” McCoy ground out, “I protest Kuchana being chosen to go along. She’s an Apache, and the miners aren’t going to like her presence in their camp.”
With a wave of his hand, Carter turned away. “Go file your protest, Sergeant. Those miners know we have scouts. Nothing’s going to happen.” He turned on his heel, stalking off toward the stabling area.
With a curse, Gib stood there, mulling over the options. Kuchana was going to be in danger. Over the years, the miners had killed a lot of Apaches. They were trigger-happy and liked to collect black-haired Indian scalps for the twenty-five dollars apiece they got from scalpers. Turning, McCoy went into the office to file his protest. If anything did happen, he’d at least be able to protect Kuchana and himself from any further charges by Carter. The snot-nosed officer was out to get him, and was using Kuchana as a lever to do it.
Kuchana was visiting Poppy’s tent when Gib located her. The laundress and her daughter were hard at work, scrubbing clothes on the corrugated tin washerboards set in tubs filled with hot, soapy water. He hid his worry and anxiety over the forthcoming trip to the mine as he approached. Kuchana was helping out by hanging clothes on a line.
“Morning, Sergeant McCoy,” Poppy greeted, her features shiny with perspiration. She wore a bright red scarf around her head, and a voluminous red dress. The sleeves were folded up to her elbows but the material was soaked, anyway.
Gib tipped his hat. “Morning, Poppy. I see you have Kuchana hard at work.”
“No-o-o, Sergeant McCoy. Why, I told that chile she didn’t have to help us, but she got it in her head to do just that.”
Kuchana smiled and waved to Gib. Hanging the last two items of clothes on the line, she brought the woven basket over to the laundress and set it down.
Every time Kuchana smiled, an ache shot through Gib. The past two weeks had wrought a miracle of sorts in her. With Poppy’s feeding her three times a day and making her feel at home, Kuchana had blossomed from a silent, suspicious woman into one with a ready smile.
And every night, he dreamed of her in his arms. Gib tried to tell himself it was infatuation, not love, that he was feeling for Kuchana. It was agony to be with her and not reach out and make contact with her. This urge to touch her was a hunger he was barely able to control. Kuchana was in his blood and he was helpless to do anything about it.
Gib nodded in her direction. “We’ve got orders to get up to Jacobsen’s,” he told Kuchana.
Poppy gasped. “You aren’t going to take this chile up there! Why, that’s plumb stupid, Sergeant McCoy.”
Kuchana frowned at the alarm in Poppy’s voice. “Who is Jacobsen?”
Uncomfortable, and wishing he could express his anger and concern just as the laundress had, Gib explained, “It’s a mining community about five miles from here. Lieutenant Carter usually sends the cooks up with the mules to get supplies for the officers and their wives once a month.” Trying to hide his worry, he added, “Carter has ordered us to do it this time.”
“Oh, Sergeant McCoy,” Poppy pleaded, “you know that’s foolish. Kuchana’s Apache. Oh, Lordy, something awful could happen.”
“It won’t,” Gib answered tightly. He could see Kuchana becoming upset over Poppy’s dramatic display. Taking Kuchana by the arm, he gently pulled her to his side. “Come on, we’ve got a long day ahead of us. I’m sure Lieutenant Carter expects us to be back in time for the officers to get fresh food for dinner tonight.”
Poppy gave him a helpless look. “You be careful,” she warned.
Kuchana remained at Gib’s side. The time spent with him had been rare. If she saw him once a day, that was a lot. To be able to spend a day in his company answered her prayers. She looked at Poppy’s distraught features.
“Painted Woman will protect us, Poppy.”
“Somebody better,” Nettie wailed. She wrung her hands, giving Gib an anxious look.
“We’ll see you late this afternoon,” he promised the ladies. Kuchana’s gold eyes shone with happiness. He’d wanted time alone with her, but not like this. Not under these circumstances. “Come on, Kuchana, let’s get our horses saddled.”
In no time, the pack-mule train was assembled. Kuchana sat on Wind, watching as McCoy checked the long string of harnessed brown mules carrying a huge canvas sheet on their strong backs. Each mule’s halter rope was tied to the next mule’s tail.
Holos was barely above the horizon, and excitement thrummed through Kuchana. A whole day with Gib. True, he’d be at the head of the mule train and she’d be bringing up the rear, but that didn’t matter.
They left the post, working their way slowly up and out of the valley. The breeze was warm and the only sour note to the day was that Gib had insisted that Kuchana wear the heavy wool army jacket to identify her as a scout. The blue jacket was cumbersome. Gib had never made her wear it before, although the other scouts proudly walked around wearing their jackets all day long.
Kuchana felt happiness sing through her as she watched Gib up ahead of her. Ealae had once confided in her that love made her feel like a cloud—light and happy. That was how she felt toward Gib. She’d had no experience with the wonderful feelings that lived within her heart since meeting him.
Frowning, Kuchana wondered if it was the love Ealae had spoken of. Her vow to bring her people to safety must override such a personal need. And yet, every time Gib looked at her, she felt like warm honey. Confused, she refused to hide her feelings from herself. Perhaps she was wrong. In time, this beautiful emotion toward Gib would dim. Perhaps…
* * *
Jacobsen’s Mine was a thriving mining community comprising fifty silver mines in the rugged mountains north of the fort. Gib went on internal guard as the city of gray tents and spindly wooden shacks came into view. Bearded miners with floppy, sweat-stained hats and small gray donkeys moved in tow up and down the main street.
Kuchana’s joy over the beauty of the mountains and being with Gib disappeared. She watched his back become ramrod straight, his hand resting across the flap of the pistol holster at his side. As she brought up the rear of the mule train, she saw her presence in the mining community ripple like wind across the water.
Several miners halted, gawking at her as the mule train swung down the street. She saw surprise and then hatred in their accusing eyes.
Gib looked over his shoulder and saw Kuchana’s face become expressionless. A number of miners had stopped to stare at her. Damn! Turning, he kicked his horse into a trot, forcing the train to amble along a little more quickly. The butcher shop was at the other end of the town.
There was a long hitching rail at the butcher shop. Gib dismounted, giving orders to Kuchana to start tying the mules to it. Ordinarily, he’d have gone straight into the butcher shop, but he didn’t trust the gathering miners who had followed them down the dusty street. He and Kuchana tied the mules, one after another, to the rail.
Kuchana met Gib at
