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  LOST IN HIS ARMS

  “Let me get something to warm you,” Rick said.

  His thoughtfulness surprised Jennie for she hadn’t been sure what to expect from him. The last time they’d kissed he’d been cold and aloof afterward, but now he seemed so—so nice. She watched as he unrolled the bedroll and then as he strode purposefully back to her to wrap it about her trembling body.

  “Thank you,” Jennie murmured, grateful for the protection not only from the cold, but also his searing regard, for the touch of his eyes upon her had been as arousing as any physical caress. When his arms didn’t release her, she looked up at him expectantly.

  “You’re welcome.” His words were a growl as he nestled her close.

  Then, with slow precision, his mouth took hers in a devouring, passionate kiss that swept away all her inhibitions ...

  Books by Bobbi Smith

  Dream Warrior

  Pirate’s Promise

  Texas Splendor

  Capture My Heart

  Desert Heart

  The Gunfighter

  Captive Pride

  The Viking

  Arizona Caress

  Island Fire

  Heaven

  Arizona Temptress

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  ARIZONA TEMPTRESS

  BOBBI SMITH

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  LOST IN HIS ARMS

  Books by Bobbi Smith

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Author’s Note of Thanks

  Prologue - Arizona Territory, 1840s

  Chapter One - Arizona Territory 1850s

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Thirty-six - One month later—El Rancho Grande

  Copyright Page

  This one’s for Mary Jane Pellarin and Sandy Jaffe who’ve been supportive from the very beginning and for Mary Martin, Rochelle Wayne and Dianne Schwartz who were always there when I needed them.

  Author’s Note of Thanks

  I’d like to thank all the wonderful people in Arizona who helped me with my research:

  Cindy Coffman, of Gold Canyon Ranch—who braved the wilds of Willow (Peralta) Canyon with me.

  Tom Kollenborn—who kept me enthralled with his tales of the Superstitions.

  Ellen and John McCrea, of the Arizona Book Cache Bookstores—who were always there to lend a hand when I had a question.

  Bobbie Suncelia—who helped immeasurably with the detailed research.

  Prologue

  Arizona Territory, 1840s

  Since the beginning of time, the mountains had stood tall in their awesome majesty. Cruel and unforgiving, they rose abruptly above the desert floor; the harshness of their face showed the world only a shadow of the ruthlessness contained within their heart.

  They watched and they waited, ferociously guarding the secrets of the ages, and they sneered contemptuously at the pitiful attempts by mortal men to discover their hidden treasure. Jagged and deadly, the rock-strewn cliffs stood as warriors, ready to do battle with those foolish enough to trespass, and they presided over the demise of those reckless adventurers with imperious disdain.

  “Hurry! We must hurry!” Don Rodrigo Peralta hissed the order in low, desperate tones to his men as he stood guard over the long line of plodding, heavily laden pack mules.

  “They can go no faster, Don Rodrigo. The gold is heavy,” one of the workers offered in explanation.

  “I know, Pedro. You are doing your best.” Rodrigo sighed as his gaze raked searchingly over the boulder-strewn mountainside. What was it? What made him feel that all was not quite as it seemed to be?

  Watching the entourage of pack animals and men pass by, his expression was both proud and worried. They had done well during their mining venture here in the Superstition Mountains, and he knew his father, Juan, would be pleased with their success. All that remained to be done was to transport the gold home to Sonora.

  “Rodrigo! Why do you look so worried?” Antonio Peralta rode up beside his brother. “The hard part is over. The mining is done and we are going home!”

  Rodrigo smiled at him. “You’re right, of course. I’m being foolish, I guess, but I get the feeling that we’re being watched.”

  Antonio frowned. “Indians?”

  He shrugged. “I hope not, my brother.”

  Antonio was silent as he surveyed the craggy, barren peaks surrounding them. “It seems quiet enough. We’ll be fine once we get out of the mountains.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Rodrigo looked around trying to catch sight of his son. “Have you seen Ricardo?”

  “He is riding farther back. Do you want to speak with him?”

  “No. I hadn’t seen him in a while and I was growing concerned. You know how tricky this trail is and this is his first trip to the mine.”

  “And probably his last.” There was a deep abiding bitterness in Antonio’s answer. “The war with the United States has ruined us. When the treaty is ratified by the Americans, we will be forbidden from taking what is rightfully ours!”

  “That’s true. That’s why Father insisted we bring back as much gold as we could this trip.”

  He nodded, his mood brightening. “I don’t think he’ll be disappointed. We’ve done well.”

  “Indeed.” Rodrigo agreed watching as the caravan of two hundred gold-ladened mules continued on past him down the winding trail.

  The trek out of the mountains went slowly for them and each mile they moved seemed a victory. The footing was treacherous following the path marked by the topped Saguaro cacti, the drop-offs sheer and steep, but they struggled onward, intent only on going home.

  As they crossed the crest of Freemont Saddle and descended into Willow Canyon on the final leg of their journey out of the mountain range, eighteen-year-old Rick Peralta searched the length of the pack train until he found his father and uncle.

  “Pedro tells me we’ll be out of here in just a few more hours!” He was excited at the prospect of heading back home after the long weeks of hard work in the mines.

  “It won’t be long now.” Antonio grinned at his boyish enthusiasm. “And I’m sure all the senoritas will be glad to have you back.”

  “They won’t be nearly as happy to see me as I will be to see them.” Rick smiled widely.

  “I’m sure that more than a few are pining away for you,” his uncle teased, knowing of his reputation with the ladies.

  “My intentions have always been most circumspect.” Rick said, trying to reply t
o his uncle’s baiting with dignity, but his eyes were twinkling.

  “Perhaps some of the senoritas wish they weren’t.” Antonio chuckled. “We shall just have to wait and see.”

  “Ricardo.” Rodrigo interrupted the playful banter between his brother and his son. “I want you to stay to the back and make sure there are no stragglers. Once we reach the desert, we will regroup and move out as fast as possible.”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered respectfully.

  “And Rick?”

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Have your rifle ready. If the Apache are near, they’ll attack as soon as we’re in the open. Keep watch.”

  “Do you think they’re close by?” Rick was suddenly alert.

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t want to take any chances. The mules are too heavily burdened to move quickly in an emergency, so we have to be prepared just in case.”

  “Right.” Rick hurried toward the end of the slow-moving column of men and animals.

  Rodrigo watched his son ride away and his pride in him was obvious. “He will be a fine man. It’s a pity Ana didn’t live to see him grown.” He grew melancholy at the thought of his long-dead wife.

  “She would have been pleased. You’ve done a good job,” Antonio complimented. “Someday, I will have a son like Ricardo.”

  “But first, you have to find yourself a bride!” He laughed at his brother, the perennial bachelor, and kneed his horse to action. “Come. Let’s go home.”

  It was late afternoon when the procession finally left the rocky protection of the desolate, jagged range, and spirits were running high as all the men thought of the homecoming that awaited them when they returned to El Rancho Grande with this great wealth of gold.

  Rodrigo’s feeling of foreboding had faded as they had moved out onto open ground, and he was as eager as his men to begin this final segment of the trip back to Mexico. Their hopes and dreams were never to come to pass.

  The Apache attacked savagely; their intent deadly.

  Startled, caught off guard by the bloodthirsty assault, the Mexicans, who moments before had been contemplating the joys of home, were mown down, their horses scattered; their richly ladened mules stampeded.

  Caught in the thick of the others’ panicked retreat, Rick had presence of mind enough to stop and try to fight back. Bravely, he stayed at Antonio’s side until the pressure from the hostiles became too great and they were forced to draw back. Regrouping with a few other survivors in a shallow, barely protected canyon, they prepared, with grim determination, to pay the Indians back for their bloody ambush.

  The Apache, however, were not to be denied complete victory. Relentless in their pursuit, they gave them no time to plan a counterattack. Doggedly they hounded them, until the light began to fail with the coming of night. Drawing back, the Indians waited. Morning, they knew, would come soon enough.

  As the day faded into night, Rick and Antonio grew desperate. They had little food, some water, and their ammunition was running dangerously low. Knowing that their only chance for survival was to escape under the cover of darkness, Rick, Antonio, and the men who were with them left their horses behind as decoys and began to make their way back into the mountains, hoping to gain some protection in the rugged wilderness.

  But the Apache knew every crevice and boulder and they were waiting when the sun’s light broke the horizon. With unerring precision, they cut them down.

  Antonio had been leading Rick along the crest of a mountainous peak when the brave who had been stalking them attacked. Shoving Rick aside, Antonio took on the Indian alone.

  Thrown clear by his uncle’s timely, self-sacrificing move, Rick slipped and fell over the edge of the cliff. Landing unconscious on a slanting ledge, he rolled from sight below the trail.

  When he regained consciousness some time later, it was over. The entire entourage had been wiped out.

  In shock, lost and more alone than he’d ever been in his life, Rick clawed his way from his precarious perch and wandered the uncharted canyons in search of help. The horrors of the massacre would stay with him the rest of his life, but no memory would affect him more dramatically than the discovery of his beloved uncle’s tortured and mutilated body. Rick fashioned a grave as best he could in the stony ground, covering Antonio with rocks to save him from the scavengers that ravaged the countryside. Of his father, he found no trace.

  His discovery of an uninjured horse was the only thing that saved Rick from certain death. Leaving the horror of the mountains behind, he quickly headed back toward civilization and the sanctity that was El Rancho Grande.

  When Rick had left his home he had been an innocent boy in search of adventure, but when he returned, he was a man: a man whose soul had been scarred by the blood-curdling memory of the Apache’s vicious slaughter in those looming, desolate mountains.

  Chapter One

  Arizona Territory 1850s

  “Ah.” Jennie McCaine groaned sensuously as she settled her slim, sore body into the hot, steaming bath water. “Thank you, Hildago. This feels wonderful. We must have ridden fifty miles today.”

  Hildago Teran smiled appreciatively as she busied herself picking up the clothing that Jennie had so haphazardly discarded in her haste to soak in the scented water. “You love ranch life and you know it.”

  Jennie returned her smile as she leaned back against the side of the tub. “Sometimes I wonder—like right now.” Shifting stiffly once more, she sighed in relief as she finally found the most comfortable position.

  “Well, you relax for awhile in that hot water. I guarantee, it’ll ease what’s bothering you,” the older woman teased.

  “Lord, I hope so.” Jennie closed her eyes as she rested in the soothing heat. “Oh, Hildago,” she added almost as an afterthought. “Todd’s decided to stay for dinner tonight.”

  Hildago glanced over shoulder her at the young woman and shook her head in frustration at Jennie’s nonchalant acceptance of neighboring rancher Todd Clarke’s attentions. It was time Jennie came to realize just how Todd felt about her.

  “Do you have a particular dress you’d like to wear?” she prompted.

  “No. You go ahead and pick one out.” Her answer was indifferent as she roused herself enough to begin to wash.

  “How about your blue gown?” Hildago turned from her armoire with Jennie’s best gown over her arm.

  Jennie was surprised at her suggestion. “That’s my best dress.”

  “Of course it is. That’s why I think you should wear it.” She spread it out on the bed and carefully smoothed out the wrinkles. “You’ll look lovely for Todd.”

  “Todd? What’s he got to do with anything?” Jennie was wide-eyed in her amazement. Todd was a friend of the family and she’d known him practically all of her life. Why should she dress up for him?

  A certain maternal irritation was evident in Hildago’s expression as she hinted. “Why do you suppose he’s been visiting here so regularly? Surely he doesn’t have that much business with your father.”

  Jennie frowned. “You think Todd has been coming over to see me?”

  “Why else?” Hildago stood with her hands on her full hips watching the play of emotions that crossed Jennie’s face as she considered the possibility. With an exaggerated sigh of impatience, she continued. “Sometimes, Jennie, I think your sister Carrie knows more about men than you do.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Jennie scoffed at the mention of her younger sibling. “She’s only a child.”

  “Your sister is sixteen now and more than a little interested in men. She’s already told me that she wants to get married as soon as possible. When are you going to start thinking about it?”

  “Getting married?” Jennie squeaked, sitting upright to glare at the other woman. Though she was eighteen she had never given the holy state of wedlock more than a passing thought. She was completely and totally happy living here on the M Circle C with her widowed father. She loved the wildness of the land and the freedom of her
lifestyle. She was in control of her destiny and had yet to meet a man who’d given her a reason to change. Be a wife? Have children? Maybe later, but definitely not yet. “I don’t want to get married. I like things just the way they are.” Agitated, she picked up the bar of scented soap and started to wash again, hoping that by ignoring Hildago, she would go away. It didn’t work.

  “All right. Have it your way for now, but don’t forget what I said. You’re no longer a child. Look at yourself. You’re a woman and a beautiful one at that.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Maybe it’s time you started thinking like one, eh? You could do far worse than Todd Clarke.” Before Jennie could answer, Hildago hurried out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  It was almost an hour later when Jennie smoothed a soft, unruly curl back into place and took one last appraising glance in her mirror. Using decorative combs, she had fashioned her lustrous, dark mane up and away from her face, in a style that emphasized the perfection of her features. She studied her reflection for a moment, taking in the dark, expressive eyes with their softly rounded brows, the high classic beauty of the cheekbones, and the full, somewhat pouting mouth. It disturbed her to think that Hildago had been right, yet the evidence was there, staring back at her. She was startled as the realization dawned: She really was a woman now. Jennie found the thought oddly unsettling and was turning away from her reflection when she casually glanced down at the decolletage of her gown. Had she really changed so much and been unaware of it? Evidently she had, for where the bodice had fit comfortably and revealed little before, now, it was snug, forcing her full young breasts to swell above the lace-trimmed edge of the square-cut bodice. Jennie tugged at the offending material, hoping to pull it higher, but she finally gave up the effort for fear of ruining the dress completely. And, though it did display a goodly amount of cleavage, she had to admit that the gown was far less revealing than many of those of European styling that Carrie had brought with her from her trip back East.