“No, you can’t know.” She closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at him. “You’re a man. Things are different for you.”
“I think I can come close.” Swift yearned to brush the wetness from her cheeks, to gather her into his arms, to hold her while she wept. But she was fighting the tears, battling the memories, afraid, for reasons beyond him, to share either with him. And until she did, he didn’t dare touch her. “You were afraid if you admitted you liked the kiss that I’d demand more, that I’d marry you. And then your life would never be your own.”
She made a strange sound, half sob, half laugh. “What life?” She lifted her lashes and brushed at the tears on her cheeks with tremulous fingers. “Do you realize this house and everything I’ve saved would become yours if I married you? Even my clothing! If you decided to sell everything and give away the money, I’d have absolutely no say in it.”
“Of course you would.”
“Not by law.”
“Is that what this is about? About the things you own?”
Bright crimson dotted her pale cheeks. “No, it’s about being owned. By you! By anyone!”
The words shot from her mouth, stark and ugly, crackling between them. By her expression, Swift guessed that she hadn’t meant to say them, that she wished she could call them back.
“Owned, Amy?”
“Yes, owned! Have you any idea how it feels to be—someone’s property?”
Swift knew he had finally drawn the truth from her, but he was left feeling as confused as ever. Naturally he would consider her his property if he married her, just as she would him. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“It’s simple. If I married you, you would own me. If I bore children, you’d own them. Do you know what the neighbors said when I ran away from Henry and asked them for sanctuary?”
Swift stared at her. “No. Tell me.”
“They said he was my father. And I had to go home. That I should try not to rile him. As if I were to blame!” A haunted look crept into her eyes. “I was in no shape to take off walking to get out of there that night, let me assure you. It was all I could do to reach them. The man saddled up his horse and took me home, as if that were the noble thing to do.”
Swift didn’t want to hear the rest. “What happened?”
“What do you think? Henry was furious. And drunk, as usual. Do you think he patted me on the head and said it was very bad of me for going to the neighbors?”
“Amy, Henry was the world’s worst bastard. One man in a thousand.”
“No!” She shook her head and pushed up from the chair. Pacing, she ran her hands over things, the coffee grinder, the butter churn, a decorative plate on the wall, her eyes not seeming to focus on what she touched. “Right here in Wolf’s Landing, it happens. The man has all the power. Men make the laws, and there are precious few to protect wives and children. God forbid they should lose control of their families.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Think what you like.”
“After what you’ve been through, I guess it’d be mighty scary to put yourself in a vulnerable position again.”
“Scary? No, Swift. Scared is when something jumps out at you and your heart leaps.” She ran a hand over her hair. “Did you notice the bruises on Peter when you were attending school?”
Swift thought back. “I—yes, one on his cheek.”
“His father, Abe Crenton, gets in his cups over at his saloon and goes home for the big finale.”
“Have you gone to the marshal?”
“I talked Alice Crenton into going.”
There was a world of heartbreak in her eyes. Swift stared at her. “And what did Marshal Hilton do?”
“He threw Abe in jail for five days.”
“And?”
“When Crenton got out, he went home to his house and beat his wife for having him locked up.” She dampened a rag and wiped off the table, which looked spotlessly clean to Swift. After finishing, she clenched her hand around the cloth. “Really beat her, so she’d never dare file a complaint against him again.”
“She could leave, Amy. No one has to put up with that.”
She stared down at the cloth a moment, then lifted her gaze to his. “Really? And where would she go, Swift? She has no way to earn a living and five children to feed. She can’t throw him out. It’s his house. She looks on the bright side. Her kids aren’t starving. A few bruises aren’t so bad.”
“Are you telling me that Hunter stands by and lets some man in this town beat his wife and kids, and he does nothing?”
“I’ve never laid the problem at Hunter’s doorstep. What could he do? Beat Crenton? There are laws against that.” She laughed softly, bitterly. “Hunter would end up in jail, and for a whole lot longer than five days.” She held up her hands. “That’s the way it is. Peter comes to me for comfort after the bad times.” Her voice turned thin. “And I hug him and put medicine on his cuts. And I say the unforgivable. ‘He’s your father, Peter. You’ve got to go back home. Try real hard not to rile him.’ And he does his best, until the next time.”
Swift closed his eyes.
“I hate myself for saying that to him, but that’s life, right? You said that to me, remember? That’s life. . . .”
“Amy, I’m sorry. You can’t doubt I love you.”
“No. But—” She made a frustrated sound and tossed the rag onto the table. Curling her hands into fists at her sides, she said, “I just can’t take the leap of faith other women take. I can’t, Swift. After Ma, I was Henry’s whipping post for three miserable, endless years, with no way out. Do you know what finally drove me to leave on foot? He had sent for a preacher! He was going to marry me! There wouldn’t have been an escape for me, not ever. I preferred to die of thirst on the plains. So I left and swore I’d never give anyone dominion over me again.”
“I understand.” And the heartbreak was that he truly did.
“There’s a dark side to you, Swift, a side you’ve never let me see, but I know it’s there.”
“Yes, there’s a dark side. Don’t we all have one, though?”
“Yes, and that’s the problem. We can’t escape the fact that we’re all just human beings, with faults and weaknesses.” Tears welled behind her lashes again, brilliant, turning her eyes into shimmering pools. “I’m not condemning you, truly I’m not.”
“Aren’t you?”
Her small face twisted. “No! I understand the situation you were in was impossible, that you survived the only way you could. It’s just—” Her breath caught and came out of her in a jagged rush. “If I married you, it might be wonderful. Then again, after the new wore off, maybe it wouldn’t be. There are no guarantees in life. Marriage, especially for a woman, is a big gamble. And the stakes are just too high for me.”
“I’d never lift my hand against you. Surely you know that.”
“I know you don’t believe you would. But the magic wears off, Swift. Daily life gets dull and frustrating, and there are hardships. People quarrel and lose their tempers. Men drink. They come home in nasty moods. It happens. Can you swear to me it wouldn’t? You’ve led a violent life. You’ve killed so many men you’ve lost count. Can you truly put that behind you?”
A muscle began to tic along his jaw. “Amy, I can’t promise you a life with no rough spots, if that’s what you’re wanting. I can’t promise I’ll never lose my temper. All I can promise is that I’ll never hurt you. No matter how mad I get. If I really blew up, I might take the house apart, or scream and yell and threaten. But I’d never lay a hand on you.”
She dug her teeth into her bottom lip, her gaze clinging to his. Swift knew she waged a battle. He also knew the fear within her overwhelmed all else. After a while she whispered, “I wish I had the courage to give you the chance to prove that. But I don’t. I’m sorry. I know you don’t understand. . . .”
“But I do understand. I did a lot of thinking last night.” He took a deep breath and glanced u
p at the window, letting his eyes fall closed for an instant. “That’s why I’m leaving.” He returned his gaze to her. “I don’t want you to feel threatened. We never made it to being lovers, but no one’s ever had a more beautiful friendship. You don’t make a friend’s life hell, not if you can help it.”
He rose and took two mugs from her cupboard. She turned to watch him, her eyes shadowed. Filling each cup with coffee, he handed one to her, making a valiant effort to smile as if his heart weren’t breaking. “Have a swig with an old friend?”
Amy took the mug, stared at it a moment. “Whwhere will you go?” she asked in a faint voice.
“I don’t know. Wherever I light, I guess.”
“Will you—ever come back?”
Swift avoided her gaze. “To do what? Spar with you? Make you unhappy again? I love you, honey. I wish we could be just friends, but that isn’t possible, and you know it. I want more. I can’t help wanting more.” He shrugged. “I’d like to come back now and again to see you, but I probably won’t.”
“We were such good friends, though.” She clutched the coffee mug, trembling so that the dark liquid sloshed over the porcelain edge. “We had such fun together.”
“We were kids. I’m no kid anymore, Amy. I need more than you’re able to give. Last night, when we were dancing, I told myself I could settle for just seeing you smile.” He raked a hand through his hair. “And if it was just me I had to think of, maybe I could. But what if I’m not that noble? I’m not the only one who’d suffer. You would, too. I couldn’t take that.”
With a shaking hand she set her mug on the table, memories washing over her, so sweet she yearned to recapture them. She stood there, rigid and shaking. “Why can’t you just love me? Why does it have to be dirty?”
Swift’s guts contracted into a knot and he nearly choked on his coffee. He swallowed hard. “Amy, it isn’t dirty. It’s beautiful with the right person.”
A closed expression came over her face. “H-how far away do you think you’ll go?”
He sighed and reclaimed his chair. “I don’t know. Until the urge comes over me to stop and hang my hat, I guess.” He gazed up at her. “Won’t you sit down with me, honey? This one last time, as friends.”
She sank onto a chair, the closed expression still on her face. Swift ached at that look, for he had secretly hoped she might beg him to stay, that the love he knew she felt for him might give her the fragile courage to take a chance on him.
They drank their coffee in frigid silence, a far cry from the camaraderie of old friends. When Swift finished off the last sip, he stared into the dregs and abandoned all hope that she’d say the words he longed to hear. An image of her back flashed in his mind, the network of scars that were testimony to all she had suffered, and he understood her letting him leave. He understood, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.
“Well . . .”
She didn’t lift her eyes from her coffee mug. Her hands were clenched around the porcelain, her knuckles white and rimmed with red. Swift had the horrible feeling he was deserting her, yet how could he not?
“I guess I’d better see to my horse and get my gear together,” he said softly.
She still didn’t look up. He rose from the chair, set his mug on the dish board, lingered, praying to her God and all his that she’d fly up from the chair and into his arms. But she didn’t. And she never would.
“Good-bye, Amy,” he said in a husky voice.
“Good-bye, Swift.”
She kept her head bent, never moving. He went toward the door, each step tearing a chunk out of his heart. When he reached the threshold, he looked back. She remained where he had left her, clinging to the coffee mug as if it were her lifeline.
Hunter sat on the straw bale, watching Swift saddle his horse. The time had come for saying last words, something neither man wanted to face. They were the only two of a kind, in a strange and sometimes hostile world.
“I hope the sun shines upon you,” Hunter said.
Swift smiled through the sadness. “My sunshine’s up the street, Hunter. Take care of her for me, will you?”
“I always have.”
Swift tightened the saddle cinch. His good-byes to Hunter’s family had been said. The time had come to leave.
“Hunter . . .” Swift rested his hand on Diablo’s neck. “There are things about Amy you don’t know.”
Hunter’s blue eyes lifted and sharpened. “Yes?”
“I gave her my promise that I’d never tell you.”
“Amy has no secrets from us.”
“Yes . . . she does, Hunter. Terrible secrets.” Swift’s throat constricted. He had never willingly broken a promise in his life. “You said you’d built her a safe world, and that you’d done a bad thing. I’m asking you to let her hide here and dream her dreams, for as long as you can. Don’t let anything threaten that. For Amy, the world you’ve given her is her survival.”
Hunter’s face tightened. “What are these secrets?”
“I can’t tell you that. And don’t press her to tell you.” Swift led Diablo in a circle to turn the stallion toward the door. “Some things are best left buried.”
“Henry . . .” Hunter whispered the name, his eyes taking on a gleam of anger.
“Don’t press, Hunter.” Swift hesitated, gazing over his saddle at his friend. “I won’t betray her trust. She’s been betrayed enough to last her a lifetime. Just be there for her.”
Hunter looked sick. He closed his eyes, his throat working. “But the letters—everything was fine.”
Swift offered no explanation for that. Because of his promise to Amy, he couldn’t.
“I think I must go to Texas,” Hunter whispered.
Swift’s hands started to shake. “Jesus! You can’t do that. Don’t talk crazy, Hunter.”
Hunter met his gaze. “Where are you going?”
Swift averted his face. “I told you, wherever I light.”
“Maybe in Texas.”
“Who’s to say?”
“If you go there, you’ll never come back. You know that, and I know that. Does Amy know? That is the question.”
“What I do is no concern of hers.”
Hunter pushed up from the straw bale. “I will pack.”
Swift swore. “You’ll do no such thing. Loretta and your children need you here, and, damn it to hell, so does Amy.”
Hunter clenched his hands. “What did he do to her?”
“You don’t want to know, my friend.”
In a blur of movement Hunter came across the barn, grabbed Swift by the shirt, and threw him against the wall. For an instant Swift was so taken by surprise that he drew back his fist. Then he focused on Hunter’s rage-contorted face and forced his body to relax.
“What did he do to her?”
“I won’t fight you, Hunter.”
“You will tell me! She is part of my heart!”
“No. I promised her, and I won’t betray her. If you’re my friend, you won’t ask me to.”
“Why did she never tell me herself? Why?”
“Because she’s—” Swift pushed Hunter away, straightening his shirt with a shrug. Raking his hand through his hair, he paced, then turned. “Some things are mighty hard to talk about. She never told me, if that’s what’s eating you. I found out by digging and—” Swift threw up his hands. “She doesn’t want anyone to know. She’s hidden it from you and Loretta all these years. It’s not my place to say anything.”
“Yet you go to Texas?”
“I never said that.”
“Your eyes say it. You’re going to reclaim her honor. He raped her, didn’t he?”
Swift picked up his hat where it had fallen during their scuffle. Clamping it on his head, he led his horse from the barn. Hunter followed, rigid with anger. His gaze shifted from Swift to Amy’s little house at the other end of town.
“Don’t say anything to her,” Swift said. “Promise you won’t. It’d just about kill her if she found out you kne
w.”
“Why?”
Swift sighed, hesitating with one foot in the stirrup. “Shame, maybe.”
“Shame!” Hunter’s face drained of color. “Shame? It’s Henry’s shame, not hers! Never hers!”
“To our way of thinking. But Amy wasn’t raised like we were. Just let it go, Hunter. The wound’s healed over.”
“Healed? The man she loves is riding out of her life!”
Swift felt as though someone had plunged a knife into his stomach. “Whether or not she loves me is another thing entirely. She doesn’t trust anymore, and who can blame her? Bringing it all out—shaming her—won’t change how she’s come to feel.”
Swift swung into the saddle. Hunter grabbed the stallion’s bridle. “Swift, if you’re going, take her with you. Ride down there, throw her on the horse, tie her on, if you have to, and take her with you. Don’t leave her here to live the rest of her life with nightmares.”
“Hunter, I’m her nightmare.”
With that, Swift spurred his horse into a gallop. The horse’s hooves threw up dirt as it careened onto the street and leveled out in a run.
Chapter 14
AMY CLUTCHED THE WINDOWSILL, STARING through the steamed glass as Swift rode his black up the street. Tears filled her eyes, and she began to shake. He drew his horse to a walk as he passed her house. Her gaze shifted from the gun belt that rode his hips to the conchae on his black hat, then fell to the roll of black wool across the back of his saddle, the hated poncho.
A comanchero, a gunslinger, a killer. She forced herself to repeat the words in her mind, to remember who and what he was. But she could no longer find the fear she had once felt. He was just Swift, a curious blend of past and present, a hard, bitter man with a capacity for violence she couldn’t fathom. Yet he touched her with such gentleness.
He rode to the top of the hill and wheeled his horse to look back. She had the feeling he could see her at the window, but she didn’t drop the curtain or pull away. She couldn’t. She wanted to drink in the sight of him, memorize every detail, because she knew, deep in her heart, that once he disappeared she would never see him again.
A sob swelled in her throat. She willed him to ride off so the hurting would stop. But he just sat there on his horse, buffeted by the late October wind, staring at her house, as if he were waiting, giving her this one last chance. Trust me, he seemed to be saying. Come out of the house, Amy. Run into my arms. Take a chance on me.
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