"Are they indeed?" she snorted.

He did grin this time. "So what's it to be?"

"This is absurd," she said, glaring over his shoul-der at the group of waiting Indians. "What can they do?

We outnumber them more than three to one. And need I remind you I am also a skilled shot?"

He admired her gumption, but she didn't really know what she was dealing with here. "You ever kill a man before?"

"Certainly not," she replied. "Nor do I have to kill one to disarm him."

She said that with such confidence he didn't doubt it, so he said no more on that point. "Let me lay it on the line for you, Duchess. You can turn them away empty-handed and they'll go, but you can bet your sweet. they'll be back with reinforcements. A few days from now, a week, you won't know when, and it isn't likely they'll give warning either, since it's to their advantage to attack at night, when most of us are asleep. Then they won't just be after the stallion, but everything you've got, especially your lives."

"I won't give up my stallion, for any reason," she said with stubborn determination. "He's the future of my stud farm."

"Lady, it's not as if you need a business to earn your keep, is it? Or was I mistaken in thinking you're so rich money has little meaning to you?"

They were moving into dangerous ground here, if his tone was any indication. "Whatever wealth is at my disposal, life still needs meaning, Colt, and breeding the finest Thoroughbreds gives me that." It was why she had finally allowed Sir George to cover the three mares after she made twenty-one, because she had thought her wandering days were over at last. More fool she.

Suddenly an alternate solution occurred to her. "What if I offer them one of my mares?"

His brows shot up in surprise. "You'd do that?"

"I don't want to, but if it will keep them from attacking us at a later date, yes, of course I will. I won't risk my people needlessly."


He slowly shook his head. "It won't work. The leader of this raiding party has set his sights on the stallion. A horse like that would raise his prestige among his followers so much, he's willing to die to possess it. But I'll make a deal with you. If I can manage to send them on their way with you still in possession of all your horseflesh-"

"Do you mean to tell me you've had another so-lution to this dilemma all along and failed to mention it?"

"I guess you could say that. But I'm not doing it for nothing, Duchess. It'll cost you—"

"You can't be serious!" she gasped. "After what I'm already paying you—"

"— a filly from one of your mares. that is, if your stallion is the one that sired those they're pres-

ently carrying." N

For a long moment she just stared at him. There was some surprise that he knew the mares were already carrying her future breeding stock, when they weren't due to foal until spring. But mostly she was amazed at his gall. He couldn't just get rid of those Indians as part of his job, could he? No, that would be too magnanimous of him, the blasted blackguard.

"Is that your deal?" she asked tightly. "Those Apaches leave and bother us no more, and you get a mare from Sir George?" At his curt nod, she added, "Just how do you intend to get them to leave?"

"That's my business, Duchess. Is it a deal?"

"Since you leave me no other choice—"

"Good," he cut her off, impatient now. "Keep your men here, and I would suggest you and the other women stay in the coaches and don't watch."

Don't watch? "Don't watch what?" she de-manded, but he had already turned back toward his horse and didn't hear her, or chose not to answer. Whichever, she was annoyed enough not to ask again.

Slowly she walked back to the coach and was about to join Vanessa, who must still be sleeping since she had yet to inquire why they had halted. And then Jocelyn stopped, even more annoyed to realize she was doing just what Colt had ordered her to do.

She moved around the coach to the shaded side and stood there to see how long it would take Colt to convince the Indians to leave. It had better take the rest of the afternoon for what it was costing her. But it was no more than a couple of minutes before Colt was about-facing again.

Jocelyn stiffened. That easy? That no-good, rotten opportunist! But no, he rode only halfway back. And one of the Indians followed him, dismounting when he did, about twenty yards away from both interested parties.

So they were going to talk privately. Very well. She could see where that would be to Colt's advantage.

He was probably going to make certain ungentle-manly threats. After all, he was much taller than the Apache, and broader in frame. The full-blooded In-dian was in fact short and wiry, to the point of look-ing undernourished.


But they didn't do any more talking. The Apache, whose bare, knobby knees showed between his high moccasins and a yellowed cloth that hung halfway down his thighs, put his rifle down. His loose, long-sleeved cotton shirt was store-bought or traded, and he was one of them who wore only a single cartridge belt about his waist with a long-bladed knife stuck through it. Now that he was closer, Jocelyn also noted that his skin was much darker than Colt's, his black hair worn much shorter, barely reaching his shoul-ders, and with a red headband to confine it. Small he might be, but he looked distinctly menacing as he stood there waiting for Colt to face him.

Colt was meanwhile removing his buckskin jacket. Jocelyn hadn't noticed before, but today his shirt was also buckskin, long, and worn outside his pants with a wide, elaborate belt over it. When he turned to hook his jacket over the horn on his saddle, she saw that the front of the shirt held some type of design in

… Blast the distance. It looked like white-and-blue beadwork topping the shoulders, but she couldn't be sure. The extra long fringes next to it flowed across the top of his arms, as well as all the way down the sleeves to his wrists, and each one seemed to have a bead attached to the end.

He removed his hat next, and Joeelyn could only stare openmouthed as he parted his hair just behind his ears and braided each side. When the gun belt came off after that, she felt her first stirring of alarm. She took a step forward, only to stop as she watched Colt tear off one of the longer fringes and hand it to the Apache before turning his back on the Indian. What the devil.?

A moment later she gasped when Colt faced the Apache again, and she wasn't the only one to make a sound of consternation. Her guards were also whispering among themselves, wondering why Colt would let the Apache tie his right hand to the back of his belt, rendering that arm useless, but that was exactly what he had done. In another second they had their answer.

The two men drew their knives for what could only be called a very primitive challenge. Colt had allowed himself to be handicapped, severely handicapped, since Jocelyn knew him to be right-handed.

They both held their knives in fists, with the long blades facing outward in a stabbing, rather than a slashing, grip, yet it was slashing they did in this backward manner, the Apache first.

He was quick, and agile, and definitely going for blood, but (hen so was Colt. Apparently the object of this combat was to slash each other to ribbons. Colt had the advantage of a longer reach, but that was all. His disadvantage was in not having that other arm for balance, or for blocking. If he should fall.

The result didn't bear thinking of.

Obviously, the Apache came to realize that too, for after receiving several slashes across his torso, without scoring any in return, he changed his tactics. He began to leap at Colt, instead of away, and to try to get behind him. When that didn't work, he tried to trip him.

Jocelyn finally came out of her horrified daze and started to run forward, but was immediately blocked by Sir Parker. "You mustn't, Your Grace. He said any interference on our part could draw their fire."

"But we have to stop it!"

"It's too late for that. Best hope those Indians un-derstand some English when we have to deal with them after—"

Her total loss of color silenced him. After Colt was dead? Did they all think he didn't have a chance?

No, he couldn't die. She would give them Sir George.

But it was too late. When she looked at the com-batants again, it was to see Colt already down, with the Apache on top of him. She nearly fainted with the realization she could never reach them in time to stop it. She could only watch, as the others were doing, as the Apache immobilized Colt's only defense by holding his knife hand to the ground with his own left hand and prepared to stab him with the right.

Jocelyn swung around, unable to bear witnessing the fait accompli, but it was a complete turn she made, for she couldn't bear not knowing either. And in those mere seconds, Colt had pulled off the impossible.

He was now on top, his knife at the Apache's throat.

"What? How?"

Sir Parker seemed disgusted by the outcome. "The Indian didn't have the strength to keep his arm pin-ioned. Thunder managed to bring his knife over to block the stab. The Indian lost his blade in the pro-cess, and his balance, since he was still holding onto Thunder's wrist when it happened."

Jocelyn started to smile, but it wasn't over yet. Or was it? Colt got up slowly, reached behind him to cut free his right hand, then offered his left to help his opponent rise. So he hadn't killed the Apache, though the man's lack of movement until then had made her think otherwise. But the defeated man refused his of-fer, got slowly to his own feet, and moved directly to his horse.