Read Online The Peacemaker by Chelley Kitzmiller - Free Book Online
Authors: Chelley Kitzmiller
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Paranormal, Western, American, supernatural, Wild, Arizona, camp, Warriors, West, wind, Southwest, Indian, Territory, of, The, Grant, massacre, Apache, Tuscon, Cochise, Old, Native
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to be told which one was the new widow; she was the one walking between Opal and Ava. She was the one crying.
Indy's heart went out to her. She didn't envy the choices the young woman would have to make. If she didn't have family or money, none of them would be easy. And what with it being so dangerous to travel now…. The choices, Indy realized were even more limited than she had thought.
The very thought of packing up and leaving sent Indy into a panic. She clung to the broom handle and stared at the flagpole in the center of the parade ground. If not for Shatto coming to the detachment's rescue, where would she be now? The army reports had not censored the horrors the Apaches inflicted on their captives. Slavery. Repeated beatings. Starvation.
Thank God Shatto had come along when he had.
Shatto.
His name was becoming a habit in her mind— just thinking his name triggered an image of him—an image that would take her away from the present and put her right back in the ambulance, watching him bring the team to a stop, feeling his weight on top of her and his hands on her body.
Closing her eyes she imagined she could feel them now. Warm and strong. Demanding, but not hurting. They touched and explored, frightened her, and, she had to admit it, excited her.
Beginning in her shoulders, a tremor moved with excruciating slowness down her body, radiating into her breast, her stomach, then moving straight to her abdomen where it lingered and ignited a soft, sweet fire. A sensation like none she'd ever known took root deep inside her and blossomed like a summer rose. The feeling stayed with her only a moment, then disappeared leaving her breathless and wanting.
Wanting what?
Her eyes flew open at the unexpected question and she began sweeping with a vengeance, taking her frustration out on the broom, as if it were to blame. It was just a daydream, she told herself. A silly daydream. There was no harm in it, and it didn't mean anything. So why did her face feel so hot, and why did she feel as if she'd done something naughty?
Thundering hoof beats put an end to her discomfiture. Picking up the broom she stepped outside. A horseman galloped through the center of the parade ground. Pulling a tight rein he slid his horse to a halt right in front of her.
"I need Colonel Taylor!" he shouted.
"He isn't here, Private. He's at the adjutant's office. What's the matter?"
The soldier wasted no time on polite chatter. "Apaches ridin' in," he shouted as he reined sharply to the left and spurred his horse into a gallop.
A cloud of dust engulfed her, filling her nose and mouth. She tried to wave it away but was forced to retreat coughing and choking back inside her quarters. What did he mean that Apaches were riding in? Were they attacking the camp? Biting down on her thumbnail, she perched herself on a chair in front of the window, hoping to get a glimpse of something or someone. As the dust began to settle, she saw the riders. There were six of them—naked but for their breechclouts, cartridge belts, and moccasins. They were walking their horses through the camp, and though they looked frighteningly dangerous and menacing.
Shatto rode in front of the small party, a head taller than the others. Slung facedown in front of him, over his horse's withers, was a body—an Apache. Even from where she sat she could see the blood covering the dead Indian's back. With an effort, she switched her gaze to the others and was horrified to see that each of the riders had an Apache prisoner that they were towing behind them.
What was going on here? Why would Shatto make prisoners of his own people? And why would he bring them to Bowie?
From every direction troopers ran from whatever task they had been doing to the parade ground. There was chaos and commotion the likes of which Indy had never seen at any fort. Her father emerged from his office, pulling on his gauntlets. He was wearing his revolver. Four soldiers followed close behind him,
Indy's heart went out to her. She didn't envy the choices the young woman would have to make. If she didn't have family or money, none of them would be easy. And what with it being so dangerous to travel now…. The choices, Indy realized were even more limited than she had thought.
The very thought of packing up and leaving sent Indy into a panic. She clung to the broom handle and stared at the flagpole in the center of the parade ground. If not for Shatto coming to the detachment's rescue, where would she be now? The army reports had not censored the horrors the Apaches inflicted on their captives. Slavery. Repeated beatings. Starvation.
Thank God Shatto had come along when he had.
Shatto.
His name was becoming a habit in her mind— just thinking his name triggered an image of him—an image that would take her away from the present and put her right back in the ambulance, watching him bring the team to a stop, feeling his weight on top of her and his hands on her body.
Closing her eyes she imagined she could feel them now. Warm and strong. Demanding, but not hurting. They touched and explored, frightened her, and, she had to admit it, excited her.
Beginning in her shoulders, a tremor moved with excruciating slowness down her body, radiating into her breast, her stomach, then moving straight to her abdomen where it lingered and ignited a soft, sweet fire. A sensation like none she'd ever known took root deep inside her and blossomed like a summer rose. The feeling stayed with her only a moment, then disappeared leaving her breathless and wanting.
Wanting what?
Her eyes flew open at the unexpected question and she began sweeping with a vengeance, taking her frustration out on the broom, as if it were to blame. It was just a daydream, she told herself. A silly daydream. There was no harm in it, and it didn't mean anything. So why did her face feel so hot, and why did she feel as if she'd done something naughty?
Thundering hoof beats put an end to her discomfiture. Picking up the broom she stepped outside. A horseman galloped through the center of the parade ground. Pulling a tight rein he slid his horse to a halt right in front of her.
"I need Colonel Taylor!" he shouted.
"He isn't here, Private. He's at the adjutant's office. What's the matter?"
The soldier wasted no time on polite chatter. "Apaches ridin' in," he shouted as he reined sharply to the left and spurred his horse into a gallop.
A cloud of dust engulfed her, filling her nose and mouth. She tried to wave it away but was forced to retreat coughing and choking back inside her quarters. What did he mean that Apaches were riding in? Were they attacking the camp? Biting down on her thumbnail, she perched herself on a chair in front of the window, hoping to get a glimpse of something or someone. As the dust began to settle, she saw the riders. There were six of them—naked but for their breechclouts, cartridge belts, and moccasins. They were walking their horses through the camp, and though they looked frighteningly dangerous and menacing.
Shatto rode in front of the small party, a head taller than the others. Slung facedown in front of him, over his horse's withers, was a body—an Apache. Even from where she sat she could see the blood covering the dead Indian's back. With an effort, she switched her gaze to the others and was horrified to see that each of the riders had an Apache prisoner that they were towing behind them.
What was going on here? Why would Shatto make prisoners of his own people? And why would he bring them to Bowie?
From every direction troopers ran from whatever task they had been doing to the parade ground. There was chaos and commotion the likes of which Indy had never seen at any fort. Her father emerged from his office, pulling on his gauntlets. He was wearing his revolver. Four soldiers followed close behind him,
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