Lone Star Lover

by Debbi Rawlins

  He pushed his fingers through her hair, combing through the tangles, and then arranged the long messy curls over her shoulder, away from her face. She almost wished he hadn’t, because now she felt too exposed. But he gave her an encouraging smile, and all her defenses seemed to melt.

  “Talk to me,” he said in a low voice, husky with emotion.

  She moistened her dry lips, summoning her courage and preparing herself. Once he heard the words from her own mouth, he might not be so understanding. “It happened five years ago,” she said slowly, searching his face for loathing, now that he knew it hadn’t been for a week or a month or even a year since she’d been removed from white society.

  He said nothing, simply waited patiently, his eyes now neutral, while he continued stroking the back of her hand.

  “My parents and brother and I were traveling from Fort Belknap.” She stopped, unprepared for the stab of a painful memory from the night they were attacked. The screams, the flames, the smell of fear and desperation…the shrill cries of the warriors as they threw their heads back in victory.

  Jake frowned. “On your own?”

  “We’d started out with a wagon train from the Kansas railyard, but Father said it would be faster if we—” She stared down at her lap, knowing now, years later, that the tragedy could have been avoided if not for her father’s stubbornness. But to put a voice to the knowledge would make her a traitor to his memory. “We were warned it could be bad.”

  He nodded without judgment. “How old were you?”

  She sighed. “We were celebrating my nineteenth birthday that night.”

  “Ah, Rebecca.” He leaned over and pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry.”

  “My brother had turned thirteen two days before,” she whispered. “Father had given Seth our grandfather’s rifle as a birthday present. Mother was worried about him learning how to shoot.” Her voice cracked as the irony hit her.

  Jake drew back, his eyes concerned. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

  She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t remember very much. Not about that night. It all happened so fast. There were a dozen Comanche or more. Before coming West, we’d lived in Philadelphia. Father was a lawyer. He seldom used a gun. He was no match for—” She covered her face, unable to go on.

  “Shh, it’s all right.” He gathered her in his arms and held her tight. “It’s all right.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” She broke free, her face feeling hot and flushed. “I lived with them, ate with them, slept with them. I had no choice.” That wasn’t true. She’d had many chances to kill herself, but she’d been a coward.

  “Of course you had no choice. You survived. That’s all that matters.”

  She sadly shook her head and lowered her gaze. “A decent woman would not have endured such shame.”

  He brought her chin back up, and looking genuinely puzzled, said, “What shame? You were a captive.”

  “I heard the women from the wagon train whisper while they washed the supper dishes. They all vowed to never be taken alive by Indians. They said the decent thing for a woman to do was to…release herself.”

  “I don’t pretend to understand your customs,” he said slowly, distracting her for a second because it was such an odd thing for him to say. “But that’s plain wrong.”

  “No, I heard them, but I was too afraid. I had many chances, but I—”

  “Listen to me.” He wouldn’t let her hide, but framed her face with his hands and looked her square in the eyes. “Unless you’re threatened with death, taking a life, even your own, is never the right thing to do. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You stayed alive.”

  “But—”

  He lightly drew his thumb across her lower lip, cutting her off. “Believe me, I can’t say I wouldn’t put a bullet between any man’s eyes for hurting you. But that wouldn’t be justice, it would be vengeance, and I’d like to think I’m better than that.” He smiled faintly. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve done things in my life I regret, things that I never dreamed I would consciously do. No one knows how they’ll react until they’re actually in a situation. I bet not one of those women you heard talking would actually take her own life. And certainly not a God-fearing woman.”

  Oh, how she wanted to believe him. She’d told herself the same thing many times, but it hadn’t helped. “They weren’t all bad,” she said slowly, studying his reaction, preparing herself for his revulsion. “The Comanche who I lived with.”

  Relief relaxed his jaw, softened his mouth, and made her want to weep. “I’m glad,” he said, placing a light kiss on her cheek. “That’s something.” He had more questions. She could see them smoldering in the dark blue depths of his eyes.

  But he didn’t ask. Instead he moved his hands from her face to comb back her hair, and then brushed his lips to hers, a gentle featherlike touch that told her more than his words. He didn’t blame her. The knowledge gave her courage.

  “The braves who attacked our camp knew there was a company of soldiers from Fort Belknap patrolling the area so they didn’t linger. They took our horses and milk cow and the only three rifles Father owned, a few of Mother’s trinkets and then threw me over the back of a horse. I was lucky in that we rode quickly…” She hoped he caught her meaning, and added, “With no stops until we got to their village.”

  His eyebrows went up slightly, and then he nodded. She hoped he understood that she hadn’t been brutalized, at least not in the way most white people assumed, but with Jake it was difficult to tell. He’d shown none of the reactions of loathing and horror she’d suffered from the Rangers. His sympathy for her was earnest and heartwarming.

  “Once we arrived, Running Bear, one of the war chief’s sons immediately claimed me. I was terrified, bloodied and badly bruised. His mother took pity on me and kept me with her until I healed. I honestly don’t remember much of that, only what I was told later.”

  “I have to admit, I know only a little about the history of the Comanche people,” Jake said. “I have a friend who’s half Comanche but—” He smiled suddenly. “That explanation is for later.”

  She couldn’t wait for later. A white man who had a Comanche friend? Not unheard of, she supposed, but rare. Even when her family had stopped at the Fort, she’d heard nothing but unkind remarks about the Indians. “Your friend is a scout?”

  “No.” Jake drew out the word. “He works with me sometimes but it’s hard to explain.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Tom.”

  Rebecca blinked. “Yes?”

  “Tom Parker.”

  “He has no other name?” She didn’t understand. The Comanche were fiercely proud people. A brave would not take a white man’s name easily, even if he was a half-breed.

  Jake shifted, stretching out his back, and then held his side and winced.

  “You hurt yourself again.”

  “I’m just stiff. Tell me more about Running Bear.”

  Rebecca sighed. “He was not so hateful of the white man as were his brothers. Like his father, he wanted peace.”

  “Did he treat you well?”

  She nodded, knowing the truth of what he asked. “He made me his wife.”

  “Ah.” Jake didn’t look pleased. He moved the hand he’d placed on hers and rubbed his jaw. But she knew there was no itch he needed to satisfy. He no longer wished to touch an Indian bride. “How did you end up here?”

  “The men had gone hunting and there were only a few of us working in the village when the Rangers came.” Another memory she wanted banished from her mind. “Three older boys had stayed behind to protect the women and children. They were killed, but everyone else scattered into the woods.” Rebecca shrugged. “One of the Rangers saw my hair and they chased me into the trees while the other women got away.”

  Abrupt anger darkened Jake’s features. “Were they shooting at the women and children?”

  She said nothing. As much as she wanted the Ranger
s to pay for their cruelty, she didn’t want Jake involved. He was one man. They were many.

  “Bastards,” he muttered, exhaling sharply. He touched her hand again, and then quickly retreated, folding his hands together and letting them dangle between his knees. “So I guess your husband must be looking for you.”

  “Running Bear is dead.”

  His head drew back. “When?”

  “Over a year now.”

  “I’m sorry.” He didn’t look sorry. Oddly, he looked almost pleased. “I am. I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m—Oh, crap. I’m an ass.” He abruptly stood and paced to the small window over the dresser.

  Rebecca hesitated, but then couldn’t sit still another second. Following him to the window, she dared to lay a hand on his arm, ready to pull back if he showed signs of anger. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re mourning the loss of your husband, and God help me, I’m sitting here glad that you’re single—that you’re free. That I can kiss you and touch you and not feel guilty as hell.”

  Relief spilled through her. “I too am sorry he’s dead. He didn’t deserve to die at the hands of the filthy Comanchero. But Running Bear had not been a husband to me for two years before he was killed.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed as he considered what she was trying to tell him. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but that man was a fool,” he said quietly. “You’re so beautiful. How could he stay away?”

  “He had two other wives.” Rebecca cleared her throat. Whatever pride she had once possessed was gone. Left in the ashes of her family’s camp all those years ago. “They bore him children.”

  “So he abandoned you?”

  Would Jake never stop surprising her? She had all but admitted that she was barren, but still he hadn’t recoiled from her. “No, I was still part of his family. His mother and I grew very close. She taught me many things. I owe Bird Song my life.”

  “Then I owe her, as well.” He lowered his head and kissed one side of her mouth, and then trailed his lips to the bruised spot where Corbin had dug his hard fingers into her flesh.

  Rebecca’s eyes drifted closed, hoping with all her heart that this was real and not a dream. No man had ever treated her so tenderly. Certainly not her husband. She didn’t know this was possible. Many times in the past five years she’d given up her belief in God. But now she knew He did exist. He’d sent her Jake.

  13

  JAKE TRACED the delicate shell of her ear and then flicked the lobe with his tongue. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this humbled and irrational about a woman. Touching her, hearing her voice, merely inhaling her earthy feminine scent stirred every protective instinct in his being. The whole thing was crazy and dangerous because his reaction to her was throwing him off his game. If he weren’t more careful in the future, he’d end up getting them both killed.

  Thinking about the incident with Corbin, Jake cursed his own stupidity. Bad enough he’d been lax in monitoring Rebecca’s movements until he knew she was safely in her room, but then he’d unthinkingly plowed after the Ranger without regard for the careful trap he’d been laying for the captain. If the man couldn’t bring himself to trust Jake, there’d be no helping anyone.

  He realized how turned on he was getting, and promptly lifted his head. How could he be such an ass? She’d just explained about losing her husband. It didn’t matter that the man had been too foolish to treat her like a proper wife. He had been a part of Rebecca’s life. To some degree, he’d kept her safe. For that, Jake owed him his respect and gratitude.

  “I’m sorry, Rebecca,” he said, aware that he’d said those words more in the past couple of days than he had in his whole life. Cupping her shoulders, he set her back. “I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

  Her eyes were huge and shining, her lips coated with a sheen of moisture. “Don’t be sorry,” she said shyly, and tentatively put a palm against his chest. “Why aren’t you like the others?”

  Now that he knew she wasn’t innocent, that she’d been with a man, it still didn’t add up for him. She had to know how worked up he’d been getting, how the way she was moving closer to him would only make him want her more. “The other Rangers?”

  She blinked. “The other white men. Even Kitty and Lola said no white man would touch me if they knew I’d been bedded by an Indian. Captain Wade and the Rangers only kept the secret so they could use me when the railroad men came to town.”

  The thought of how she’d been treated by the so-called lawmen sent a shaft of white-hot fury through him. The kind of blinding anger that he’d better restrain and quick. He breathed in deeply, reminded himself of what was at stake, and his sense of control slowly returned. This was the perfect time to tell her about himself, to explain that in the future, the ignorance against Indians no longer existed. He winced inwardly, knowing that wasn’t entirely true, but close enough for her frame of reference.

  “You don’t have to worry about the railroad men, or any other man that you don’t choose to invite into your room. Do you understand?” Although he didn’t say so, he included himself. She needed comfort and an empathetic ear, not his desire to strip her naked and kiss every inch of her body.

  She nodded, though she didn’t look convinced, and then a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You shouldn’t have taken away my broken glass.”

  He started to smile back, but then the implication of what she’d said struck him. “Rebecca, I respect that you’re willing to defend yourself, but the truth is, if you were to fight a man, you’d probably be the one to get hurt.”

  She sighed. “That’s what Kitty said when she took away my knife.”

  He shook his head. She’d be better off with a gun. At least then she’d have a chance. “If a man is close enough for you to use a knife or shard of glass, he’ll be able to overpower you. Are you getting that?”

  She frowned at his frustrated tone, her chin going up, her hand falling away from his chest.

  He hadn’t meant to sound so sharp. “Maybe if I could somehow get you a gun…”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know how to use a gun. But I’m very good with a knife.”

  Jake flashed back on the time she’d helped him to sit up after he’d come to. He remembered then thinking how deceptively strong she was for such a petite woman. Now he understood. Living in an Indian village had required physical endurance and skills most women would never dream of. Rebecca undoubtedly was excellent with a knife, but he still didn’t like the idea of her carrying one.

  “Tell you what,” he said, stepping back as far as he could without knocking over the basin and stool behind him. “I’m going to show you a few moves that will stop a man long enough for you to get away from him.”

  “A knife will do that.”

  He groaned. “Enough with the knife. I mean it.” He immediately regretted the words and the tone. She gave him a resentful glare, which he deserved. Men had been running her life for too long. She didn’t need hearing that kind of crap from him. He closed the distance between them once again and cupped his hand around her slender nape. “If I sound stern or harsh it’s because I’m scared for you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  She tilted her head slightly, her curious blue-green eyes fixed on his face. “Why?”

  “That’s a funny question.” Tensing, Jake drew back his hand. “Because I worry about you.” He cleared his throat. “Kitty worries about you.”

  Rebecca showed no reaction, not even disappointment over his cowardice. Why couldn’t he have simply admitted that he cared for her? He did. Nothing serious. She was a human being, a mistreated woman, and he’d sworn to uphold the law.

  And then the reason for her lack of reaction struck him, hard, right in the gut. She didn’t expect anyone to care about her. Her husband’s mother had been kind, but that didn’t mean Rebecca wasn’t used to being on her own and depending on herself for survival.

  “Look,” he said. “I care about you, that’s
why.” He shoved his hand through his hair, frustrated. He couldn’t even get that out right.

  Rebecca smiled, almost as if she understood the turmoil roiling inside him. Glad someone did.

  “You ready for your lesson?” Stepping back again, he rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen up the tension that had settled at the base of his neck and between his shoulder blades.

  She nodded, her hands fisting at her sides.

  “There are three ways you can either stop or slow down a man who attacks you. Depending on your position if you’re attacked, you should go for the eyes, the throat or the groin area. These are all vulnerable areas that with a well-placed kick or flat-handed—”

  Her brows furrowed, she regarded him as if he were speaking a different language.

  What a dumb ass. He’d shifted gears, gone into Jake Malone, Texas Ranger, the third Saturday of every month, women’s self-defense instructor. He’d taken on the volunteer assignment for a year before going undercover. It seemed like a decade ago. In reality, his current reality, it hadn’t even happened yet. Hell, he still wasn’t sure he wasn’t totally insane. But gazing at Rebecca, he sincerely hoped not. He needed her to be real. Flesh and blood. This woman who stirred all kinds of crazy emotions inside of him.

  He had to finally tell her the truth about himself. Right after the lesson.

  “I think it’s best that I show you, okay?” He waited for her hesitant nod, and then demonstrated the precursor for the open-hand technique. “Hold your hand like this.”

  Her nose wrinkled in concentration, she mimicked his stance, and made him want to laugh. He didn’t dare.

  “This is how you would knock the air out of him.” He delivered a mock blow to her throat. “Hit him hard enough and he won’t be able to catch his breath. He’ll double over, trying to breathe, and you run.”

  She nodded uncertainly.

  When he was done explaining, they’d practice and she’d feel more confident. “The eyes are another good place to strike.” He made a V with his middle and forefinger. “Poke him in both eyes just like this,” he said demonstrating on himself. “He’ll panic and not be able to see. If your attacker is drunk, you’ve got a good shot using either one of these tactics. If he’s not, and too tall, being as short as you are might be a problem. But you have other options.”