Comanche Heart

by Catherine Anderson

  Crenton wasn’t ready to admit defeat. He got back up and turned, which proved a mistake. Swift gave him another boot in the belly for his efforts. “That one’s for your wife, you miserable bastard!”

  Crenton went down, and this time he stayed down, moaning, “I’m finished, I’m finished . . .”

  Swift, who looked none too steady on his feet, staggered over to the man, hunkered, and grabbed him by the hair. After giving him a vicious shake, he snarled, “The next time you lay a hand on that boy or anyone else in your family, I’ll do worse! Far worse! Do you understand?” When Crenton didn’t reply, Swift gave the man’s hair another jerk and nudged him in the ribs with his boot. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes! Yes,” Crenton moaned. “I won’t hit on ’em no more. I swear it!”

  “You remember that the next time you feel in the mood to pound on somebody!”

  With that, Swift dropped the man’s head onto the packed dirt and straightened. Turning back to the boardwalk, he swayed and caught his balance, then strode in a reasonably straight line toward the saloon.

  “All right, folks! The show’s over,” Hilton yelled, stepping out into the street and crossing to Crenton, who still lay crumpled on the ground. “Well, Abe, looks like you met your match this time.”

  “I want that man arrested,” Crenton croaked. “And he’s payin’ for all damages.”

  “You want him arrested?” a man from the crowd yelled. “I was in there when it started, Crenton. You cheated at cards, and you threw the first punch. I’d say you’re the one to go to jail.”

  Swift came out of the saloon just then, hat in one hand, sheathing his knife with the other. Hilton turned toward him. “You want to file a complaint, Lopez?”

  Swift saw Amy, and his expression hardened. He leveled a cold gaze on Crenton. “What do you say, Crenton? Do you and I have an understanding or not?”

  Crenton grimaced, trying to sit up, one hand planted on his ribs. “He threatened me, Marshal! You heard him! Threatened my life just a minute ago!”

  Hilton frowned. “I guess with all the noise, Abe, I must’ve missed that.”

  “Other people heard! Speak up, somebody!” Crenton threw a wild look at the spectators. No one in the crowd came to Abe’s aid, and more than a few looked away with expressions of disgust on their faces. Abe’s treatment of his family in the past hadn’t earned him much popularity, and even though Alice Crenton no longer dared to make her husband’s rages public knowledge, people still remembered the time she’d had Abe tossed in jail. “Somebody had to’ve heard him!”

  Swift swiped at the blood on his chin. “What counts is that you heard me, Crenton. Touch a hair on that boy’s head again and we’ll see if I was threatening or promising.”

  Abe glanced at Hilton. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

  The marshal nodded. “Nothing specific, though.” He looked to the crowd. “Any of you hear anything specific?”

  None of the bystanders volunteered to speak. Marshal Hilton smiled slightly. “I guess nobody heard anything, Crenton.”

  Swift came toward Amy, dusting his hat clean on his trousers and reshaping the crumpled crown. As he stepped onto the boardwalk, he clamped it on his head, tipping the brim low over his eyes. She riveted her gaze to his torn knuckles, then to the cut on his chin. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, Swift! Your poor hands!”

  “I’m fine, I tell you!” He narrowed his gaze. “A lot finer than you’re gonna be. What are you doing here?”

  “I heard the noise and I—”

  He clasped her arm and pulled her none too gently into a walk. Under his breath he said, “Don’t you ever come near a fight again. Is that clear?”

  “But I—”

  He gave her arm a light shake. “No buts. Don’t you ever—He could’ve pulled a gun instead of a knife!”

  “Other women were there.”

  “I don’t give a damn about other women! When the dust clears after something like this, I don’t ever want to see you standing there again. If I do, I’ll kick your little fanny all the way home.”

  Amy stared at his harsh profile, frightened for an instant by the picture his words conjured. He looked angry enough to kick her now. Taking measure of his broad shoulders and whipcord build, it was a threat she couldn’t take lightly. Then the absurdity of it hit her, and she smothered a smile. He had just pummeled a man for being abusive to his wife and children. It didn’t seem likely he’d commit the same sin himself.

  He threw her a glare. “What’s so funny?”

  “I—” She shook her head, making a valiant effort to keep a straight face. “Nothing!”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I take it you don’t think I’d kick your butt?”

  Amy fastened her gaze on the planked walkway, amazed to realize that he was exactly right; she didn’t believe it for a minute. And knowing he wouldn’t felt absolutely wonderful! She lifted her gaze to his. Though she knew the urge coming over her was unforgivably childish and that this was no time to tease, she couldn’t resist. “I think you’d have to catch me first.”

  Before he could react, she bolted away from him, gaining several yards before she whirled and stuck out her tongue at him. Swift didn’t look as if he were particularly amused. She walked backward a moment, poking out her tongue again. He scowled, lengthening his stride, the heels of his boots tapping sharply on the boardwalk. Amy retreated as he advanced, very much aware that seeing him in a temper a month ago would have terrified her.

  When he lunged for her, she whirled and ran. Within seconds he caught her around the waist and nearly lifted her off her feet. She laughed and looped her arms around his neck, pleased to see a twinkle had replaced the glitter in his eyes.

  “Now what are you going to do, Miss Amy?” he challenged.

  “Surrender,” she said softly.

  His gaze clouded with tenderness. “Promise me you’ll never go near a fight again? If anything happened to you . . .”

  “I promise.”

  He bent his head and touched his lips to hers in a fleeting kiss, then seemed to remember where they were, that others might see them. Drawing her into a walk, he angled off the boardwalk into the street. Amy put an arm around his waist and tipped her head back to look at his chin.

  “You’d better take care,” he warned in a gruff tone. “First thing you know, you’ll be fired from your teaching position for cavorting with a gunslinger who brawls in the streets.”

  At the moment, Amy was too happy to care. “Are you sure you’re not badly hurt?”

  “Not so bad I can’t kick your fanny if it needs it,” he replied with a slow grin.

  “My fanny is in perfectly good order as it is, thank you.”

  “Is that so?”

  Amy glanced away, embarrassed by what she had said. He chuckled and ran his hand up her side, his fingertips coming dangerously close to her breast. She threw him a look, which he answered with another grin.

  “On second thought, maybe I am hurt bad,” he tempered, wincing and touching his ribs with exaggerated care, his mouth twitching at the corners in an ill-concealed smile. “You going to tend me until I’m well?”

  “Yes.” Amy’s own smile faded, and she touched a fingertip to his chin. “Until you’re well . . . and always.”

  After cleaning Swift’s torn knuckles and the cut on his chin, Amy roused Peter from bed. The child turned ghostly white the moment he stood up. Swift, who had followed Amy into the room, met her gaze over the top of the child’s head.

  “You know what, partner?” Swift said softly, bending to Peter’s eye level. “I got my ribs broke once, and I was so sore I couldn’t even breathe, let alone walk.”

  “I’m fine,” Peter said, jutting out his chin.

  “You’re a tough one, no doubt about that.” Swift gave him a slow wink. “But knowing how you’re hurting, there’s no way I’m taking you home unless I pack you. You’d do the same for me, I’l
l bet. And never tell anybody I couldn’t make it on my own.”

  Peter placed a shaking hand on his ribs. “If I was big enough, I would.”

  “Well, it won’t be long until you are. I could use a friend I could count on. How about if I help you this time around? Then, when I need a hand, I’ll have you to call on.”

  “Me?”

  Swift smiled and very carefully scooped the child into his arms. Amy’s throat ached with tears as she watched Peter turn his small face against Swift’s shoulder.

  “It hurts,” Peter whispered.

  Swift’s mouth hardened. “I know it does, partner. I’ll walk real easy, okay?”

  “My ma’s gonna find out and sass my pa for sure.”

  Swift raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you need to worry anymore about your pa’s temper, Peter. He and I had a long talk, and he agreed to mend his ways.”

  “He did?”

  “Sure did. Miss Amy heard him. Didn’t you, Miss Amy?”

  “I certainly did.”

  Peter winced again as Swift turned sideways to get through the doorway. Swift looked as if he were hurting as bad as the child. “I’m being as careful as I can, son.”

  “I know.” Peter bit his lip and sniffed. “Can you make sure Miss Amy don’t tell I was a crybaby?”

  “She and I already came to an understanding about that when she was doctoring the cut on my chin with alcohol.”

  “How’d you cut your chin?”

  “She told me to sit and I didn’t.”

  Peter managed a wan smile. “Miss Amy didn’t do it! And you ain’t no crybaby!”

  “If something hurts bad enough, anybody’s a crybaby.”

  Chapter 19

  AFTER DELIVERING PETER TO HIS MOTHER, Swift stretched out on Amy’s settee and slept while she baked a deep-dish apple pie, then prepared an evening meal. While she worked she went back over the day, remembering Swift’s tenderness with Peter above all else. Her throat constricted with emotion. She loved Swift so much, and he loved her. He had proven it in a hundred different ways. Wasn’t it about time she did the same?

  She gripped the spoon handle tightly, stirring the vegetables with more force. A funny, fluttery feeling attacked her belly and worked its way up her throat. Knowing what needed to be done and doing it were two different things.

  The delicious smells woke Swift, and he came to the kitchen, lightly rubbing his tender ribs, his sleepy eyes warming with appreciation as his gaze settled on the laden table.

  “Apple pie, Amy?”

  She cast him a nervous smile. “A man doesn’t necessarily have to be in jail to get pie. Sometimes he’s so wonderful he deserves pie any old time.” Running her hands over her apron, she tried to meet his gaze but couldn’t quite manage. “I, um, I want tonight to be special.”

  Swift stepped closer. “Fried chicken?”

  “Hunter brought me a hen yesterday.”

  “Mashed potatoes and gravy? I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  She hoped he didn’t notice how her hands were trembling as she set a bowl of vegetables on the table. “I didn’t think you believed in heaven.”

  “Sure I do. Comanche heaven, your heaven, it’s probably the same. The gods must keep us Indians and you whites separated so we don’t know we’re up there together and start another war.”

  Amy wrinkled her nose. “That won’t do. It wouldn’t be heaven if I wasn’t with you.”

  He shot her a glance, then slowly grinned. “Why do I have the feeling I’ve risen in your estimation since that fight?”

  “Because you have.” She turned back toward the stove and shrugged out of her apron. “Don’t misunderstand me. Violence isn’t my way. But nothing else worked with Crenton, and there are no laws to protect his family from him. He’ll think twice before he hurts Peter again. And I think—” She broke off and glanced back at him over her shoulder, her eyes stinging with tears. “I thought you were wonderful with Peter. . . .”

  Swift crossed the room to her. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her into his arms and brushed his lips across hers in a light kiss. “I nearly got my butt kicked.”

  Her eyes widened. “You did?”

  “Damned near it.” He laughed softly. “If I hadn’t been lighter on my feet, he would have had me.”

  Momentarily forgetting her own dilemma, Amy ran her fingertips along the scar on his cheek, remembering how frightened she had been when Crenton was waving the knife. She could have lost Swift today. “Which only makes you all the more wonderful in my eyes.”

  His gaze held hers, warm and compelling. “If it has this effect on you, I’ll go pick a fight every day.”

  She gave him a playful shove. “Sit down and eat.”

  He complied and then took second helpings of everything, including apple pie, complimenting her between bites.

  Swift couldn’t help but notice that Amy picked at her food, glancing frequently at the darkness beyond the window, then at the lantern, her mouth curved in a distracted smile.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She focused. “No . . . nothing.”

  Swift leaned back in his chair, studying her. “You’re nervous about something. Want to talk about it?”

  Her mouth tightened. She swallowed, avoiding his gaze. “No. I . . .” Her voice trailed off and her huge blue eyes lifted to his. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  Swift watched her leave the kitchen, troubled by the expression he had seen in her eyes. She hadn’t looked just nervous, but frightened. He thought back over the meal, trying to remember if he had done or said something he shouldn’t have. Nothing came to mind.

  Pushing to his feet, he began clearing the table. He had just picked up the pie plate when he heard Amy speak his name in a tremulous, uncertain little voice. He turned, pie plate in hand, and froze. She stood just beyond the doorway in the shadows, her hair unbound and flowing around her hips in a shimmering, golden cloud. His gaze dropped, and as it did, so did the pie plate, hitting the floor with a resounding crash, glass and pie filling geysering everywhere.

  “Shit!”

  The word crackled in the air, so loud it seemed to vibrate the walls. Swift wanted to bite his tongue. Amy jerked and made a startled little sound, crossing her arms over her bare breasts, her small face so pale that Swift feared she might faint. He took a step toward her, his boot crunching on glass, then slipping on a piece of apple. He froze again, staring at her. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. Even splattered with apples, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His throat closed off. His temples started to pound. And the wary look on her face made him afraid to move.

  “Amy . . .”

  She retreated a step. “I shouldn’t have—it was a stupid—” She broke off and took another step back. “I have apples all over me.”

  Swift crunched two more steps through the glass. As he advanced she withdrew, deeper and deeper into the shadows. “Amy, don’t—” His foot slipped on an apple and he cursed. “It wasn’t stupid.” He jumped over the rest of the mess. “Amy, come back here.”

  Like a wraith, she fled through the shadows toward her bedroom. Swift swore under his breath, took an angry swipe at his pant leg to flick off a slice of apple, then hurried after her. As he entered the hall, the door shut with a thunk. He knew it had no lock. Grasping the knob, he turned it slowly. Soft sobs and jerky little whimpers came through the darkness as he opened the door. He wanted to give himself a good kick.

  He heard her rattling around. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he saw that she was groping for her clothes, which were slung across the bureau. “Amy,” he said softly.

  She started and whirled, clutching her pantalets to her breasts. Swift closed the door and leaned against it. She threw a frantic look around her, then riveted her gaze in his direction. He knew she couldn’t see him. A tender smile touched his mouth as he imagined her leaving here a few moments ago, trembling wi
th fright, every step an agony, but going to him anyway, wearing nothing but her beautiful hair because she had wanted to please him.

  In a husky voice that shook with emotion, he said, “That’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever—I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.” He swallowed. “I, um, the pie—I was so surprised, it just sort of—Did any of the glass cut you?”

  “No.”

  Her voice was barely audible. An ache filled Swift’s chest and crawled up his throat. He could see her trembling. “Amy, could we do it one more time, minus the pie and cussing? I’ve been trying real hard to clean my language up—you know I have—but sometimes words come out before I think.”

  With a sob she cried, “We can’t do it minus the pie. I have apples all over me.”

  “So? My two favorite things in the whole world are apple pie and you, not necessarily in that order. If I have to go through apples to get to you, I won’t complain.”

  She swiped at her cheek and sniffed. “I—I just want to forget it happened. I’m all sticky.” Swift started toward her. “Apples on my legs!” He drew up, smiling through the darkness, watching her. “Apples in my hair!”

  He reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. She jumped and reared back against the dresser.

  “Are you trying to startle me out of my wits?”

  “I’m sorry. I can see fine, and I forget you can’t.”

  She clutched the underwear to her chest, her eyes luminous as she tried to find him.

  “I’m right here, Amy.” He cupped her chin in his hand and tipped her face up. “And if you think I can forget you standing there in that doorway, shimmering like gold and moonlight, you’re wrong. I’ll never forget, not as long as I live. And there’s no way I can leave, pretending it didn’t happen.”

  He felt her shiver.