Apache Gold
Copyright© 2026 by Sonarflash2026
Chapter 12
Western Sex Story: Chapter 12 - A half-blood Apache, Concho is tossed between two worlds. As a child of seven, he is kidnapped by missionary zealots, taken to the cruelty of a residential school. He escapes, is given refuge by a wealthy Baltimore family, but ultimately, as a teen, gets sent back to the hardship of reservation life. He raids the agency store, taking food for his mother. On a stolen horse, he flees into the White Sands desert, where he discovers a mystery, a woman, and gold.
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Paranormal Sharing First Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Violence
An entire platoon of cavalry troopers were scattered about, interspersed with curious Apache men, women and naked children, charged with keeping some order. Spectators had come from town, some from as far away as Albuquerque and Denver. White photographers fiddled with box cameras set up on tripods. Others snapped pictures with much smaller, Eastman cameras. Quite out of place in their city clothing and shoes, newspaper reporters meandered about the agency grounds, scribbling in notebooks, a couple repeatedly trying to converse with one or another of the obdurate, silent warriors.
Plumes of dust appeared back in southwestern hills. Several riders, a train of burros and wagons slowly materialized. They were trailed by the dust cloud from hundreds of cattle, following a dusty track towards agency buildings.
Crowded spectators stirred, murmuring, some making inane exclamations, a few uttering complaints and curses.
Annabelle Worthington watched from the porch with growing uncertainty as the large cavalcade resolved. She drew in a deep breath, steeling herself against disappointment and pain.
Disgruntled, Lieutenant Brad Willcox stood back on the office porch, scowling slightly, a frown creasing his forehead. He regarded the Worthington beauty with confusion. Each time he encountered Annabelle dressed like an Apache woman, he struggled with a mixture of disdain and longing, constantly recalling her first appearance at the agency.
“The message said they were bringing a herd of beef, and a flock of sheep,” he commented, momentarily catching Annabelle’s attention.
“Yes, from his wife’s ranch,” she answered tightly.
He drew breath, saying, “if that fact has changed anything, Miss Worthington...”
“No, Lieutenant,” she answered, voice clipped. “I love Concho. Remember, he is Bella’s father.
All too well, she recalled the words of Concho’s mother, and the attitude of white men towards women who had relations with an Apache.
Bella shot the officer a glance, pressing close, one small hand clutching her mother’s skirt.
Brad’s scowl darkened at Annabelle’s rejection. He studied the child, fighting to contain his distaste. Like her mother, Bella had gone native. She wore a short dress of bleached, fringed doeskin and moccasins ... Except for braided auburn Hair and tanned features, the little girl could have passed for an Apache.
Annabelle and her brother had worked wonders in a few weeks, first by laying in galvanized pipes from a spring, bringing fresh, clean water to parts of the village. Now, a crew was drilling, hoping to bring in an artesian well. Immigrant carpenters were busy erecting clapboard bungalows and a few houses. Excavation for a sewage system was already progressing.
Brad Willcox blew out a breath. “Well, if nothing else, you people have made a change for the better. Clean water, medicine, and plenty of food.”” He gave a snort. “Probably won’t be any more uprisings. All because a young Broncho robbed the trading post.”
She turned, asking, “has this softened your attitude towards the savages?”
“Not likely.” He flushed. “I fought Apache’s, and had to kill a few.” He didn’t bother adding that as much as he hated the Apache’s, he respected them. “Their warriors are Tough, resilient and proud ... except when they get drunk on tizwin or mescal.”
Annabelle pursed her lips, scowling slightly. “Well, the evil of drink continues to plague them, but perhaps in time that too will be done away with.”
“When pigs grow wings and fly,” he said lightly.
Annabelle sniffed her displeasure at the comment, jerking back to the approaching riders. She leaned over the rail, looking back to the road.
Riders were taking shape, a long train of several buckboard and freight wagons adding to clouds of dust. “I can see Marshal Tipton,” Annabelle said, lifting a hand, waving.
The marshal raised a sombrero and waved it in reply. After a moment, another sombrero lifted, waved and drew her attention. Annabelle’s heart skipped. Telegrams and riders had brought word, arranging this day, but now the reality was before her. “Concho,” she breathed.
Bella released her mother’s skirt, abruptly trying to climb up on the porch rails. Annabelle scooped the child into her arms.
“Are you nervous about meeting your poppa?”
Bella shook her head, braids whipping about. “No, mama. Just excited.”
In that moment, two lead horses broke into a gallop. They stretched out in a rush, leaving behind the wagons, charging towards the cluster of new adobe and clapboard buildings surrounding the old agency office. Troopers fell into lines, trying to urge back onlookers, hurriedly clearing what passed for a road.
A pair of big Spanish mounts rapidly expanded, racing neck and neck, their riders bending low over pommels, big sombreros flapping behind on thongs. They thundered towards the compound, slowing as they neared the press of visitors crowded between new buildings. Gait changing rapidly, they pranced, blowing and snorting as they drew up before the agency porch.
Annabelle stared. Concho gazed down, looking from her to Bella, dark eyes wide and intense.
Annabelle gathered courage, breaking eye contact, finally daring to look at the other rider. The woman had strong features, thick eyebrows and a big nose. At first glance, Annabelle thought uncharitably that she wasn’t very pretty, certainly not beautiful. Her skin was darkly tanned, but her unbound hair was silvery gold, her big eyes blue as the evening sky.
Annabelle’s heart fluttered. She instantly felt intimidated by the other woman’s wild Spanish features and serene confidence.
Heart sinking, she thought, “lovely and rich, sophisticated and legally married to Concho.” Both women locked gazes and the other slowly broke into a radiant, transforming smile.
“I’m Lily,” she said, her tone pleasant, surprisingly even happy. “You have to be Annabelle.” Her focus shifted to Bella. “And, this precious little beauty must be Concho’s daughter!”
“I’m Bella,” the child piped.
Lily flipped her leg over the pommel, casually dropping out of the saddle, boots kicking up puffs of dust. Her silver spurs jingled. She looped her big sombrero on the saddle horn. Oblivious to Concho’s frozen countenance, she strode to the steps, jumped onto the porch and brushed aside spectators, almost bowling over Lieutenant Wilcox. She grasped Annabelle’s shoulders, looked from mother to daughter, then pulled them into an enthusiastic hug. Still holding Annabelle tight, she kissed her on the cheek, then leaned towards Bella. The little girl hesitated, then threw arms around her neck. Uncharacteristically, she gave Lily a noisy, wet kiss.
“Bahi says you’re my other mommy.”
Bella’s simple statement caused a stir. There were gasps from a starchy pair of women jammed in with a crowd of white men.
“Yes,” Lily replied, “and I hope your mommy will be like the sister I never had.”
“Sister wife?” Annabelle said quietly, feeling more than a little daring, and no less embarrassed by the listening audience. “I hope you aren’t a Mormon?”
“God no! Not a Mormon, please!” Lily said, laughing, “I’m a Catholic Jewess, but we must find a shared happiness. Bella can look forward to a brother or sister this fall.”