Innocent Fire by Brenda Joyce

pale.
    “If Chavez is still alive, Miranda,” Bragg said in asomewhat calmer tone, “he will never forget what I did, and he will kill me without a second thought the next time he sees me—unless I kill him first.”
    Miranda clapped her hands over her ears and turned away.
    Bragg kicked at a rock and sent it flying through the air. He strode away to saddle the horse, furious with himself for yelling at her—but someone had to teach her the facts of life. Was she going to welcome the Chavezes of the world with open arms and blind innocence, time and time again? But what did he care? This wasn’t his problem—it was John’s problem.
    No, he thought, flinging the saddle on the startled chestnut’s back. I owe her. Because of me she was brutally used. I owe her protection. It was that simple.
    “Captain Bragg?”
    He turned at her approach, unable to smile at the ridiculous look of the blanket clutched around her waist. “Yeah?”
    “I think you should know something about Chavez.” Her eyes were fixed on his. He stiffened.
    “I mean, if he is going to try to kill you sometime in the future…you should know how smart he is.” She gazed up at him, her face pale.
    “Go on.”
    “Chavez’s half brother was the chief of those Comanche you were decoying. It was a trap, to get you away from me, so he could abduct me.” She shuddered uncontrollably. “It was planned.”
    He stared at her with growing comprehension. And in that moment, he hoped that Chavez was alive…so that he could exact vengeance, Apache style. The man would die—oh yes. But very, very slowly, and in great pain.

Chapter 16
    That day was nothing like the one before. Miranda sat stiffly in front of him, her every muscle tensed, trying to hold herself away from his body. After a long fight Bragg had finally let her keep the wool blanket thrown over her legs to hide them from his view. If she had not been abused so badly, the situation would have been almost amusing. Unfortunately, her discomfort only matched his. Her firmly soft little derriere nestled between his thighs had elicited an unavoidable physical reaction from him, of which she seemed—thankfully—oblivious. He intended for her to remain ignorant of his disgusting lust—although he had never been disgusted with his own natural appetites before. He did not want her to equate him with Chavez.
    Because of their mutual discomfort, they did not talk. Miranda was thankful. Today she was numb and exhausted, as if she had been undertaking a very strenuous task for a very long time. Her mind had blocked out all memory of her abduction and encounter with Chavez. She knew she had been hurt and touched, but could not recall exactly what had happened, nor did she even try. She could still feel numbly the horror and the terror, way back in the farthest depths of her mind. She knew that her ordeal had been a punishment from God, but she didn’t feel guilt, as she should. She still grieved for her aunt, although not as strongly as she knew she should. She had not even knownher aunt until she had returned from the convent to England, but that was no excuse. All she could think about were two things. The man upon whose lap she was sitting and her fiancé.
    Miranda was very uncomfortable. Bragg’s body heat made her own body throb—not unpleasantly, but feverishly. It was not a new feeling, and she wondered if she was becoming ill from everything that had happened. She was aghast at the impropriety of their riding arrangement, indeed, of the fact that she was no longer chaperoned. It was not that she did not trust Bragg. His one, brief, accidental kiss was virtually forgotten—insignificant compared to the humiliation and agony she had endured since then. He had risked his life to save her, and she trusted him completely.
    But there was no escaping the fact that Chavez had ruined her, and that now she was traveling in a completely scandalous manner with a strange man. She knew she was ruined, that