The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition)

by Bittner, Rosanne

  The faint smile passed over his lips. “Yes. As well they should be. You are a most beautiful white woman. You should not be out at night. Some terrible, bad Comanche might murder you, or do worse. Those Comanche are a bad lot.”

  The words were spoken with a hint of sarcasm, and Rachael felt a smile tease her own lips. Brand Selby smiled even more, a broad grin that showed white, even teeth, a melting smile that brought the pleasant flutter to her insides again. Why was she smiling? She should be screaming, ordering him to get out. How did she know he wouldn’t do something bad to her himself? “You haven’t answered my question, Mr. Selby. And you can’t deny that it is dangerous to be out walking after dark.”

  “I won’t deny it.” He sobered slightly. “But there are two sides to every story, Miss Rivers.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Ah. So, you remembered my name, too.”

  He nodded, still smiling softly. “From the supply store.” He looked around the small room, then his warm green eyes moved to meet her own. “It is true about walking after dark. When you leave, you don’t have to be afraid. You won’t see me, but I will be watching you from the shadows. No harm will come to you. I will make sure of it. I know the Comanche.” He sobered slightly, straightening with pride. “I am Comanche. At least half of me is. And I feel no shame in it—only pride.”

  She studied the proud specimen of man that he was. “Yes, I can see that. There is nothing wrong with that, Mr. Selby.”

  His eyes moved over her, and she felt caressed. It was different from the way Jason looked at her. Under Jason’s eyes she felt naked, exposed, manhandled. This man did not make her feel that way. She was astonished that she didn’t mind his lingering gaze, and she wondered if it was sinful to let such a man as this one be looking at her at all.

  He met her eyes again, frowning. “You are an unusual white woman. You show no fear, and you show no contempt for the Comanche. I could tell the other day in the supply store that you are a good woman; you have a good heart.”

  “My father was very much like you, Mr. Selby,” she answered. “He looked very much like you. He was a white man, but he was raised by the Cherokee, and I think his heart was more Indian than white. He used to tell us about there being two sides to every story, as you just mentioned. He told us about the terrible things that happened to the Cherokee, and told us never to judge a man by his blood—to only judge the quality of person that he is.”

  “Your father spoke wisely. I would like to know him. Does he still live?”

  She looked down at the desk, slowly sitting down in the chair behind it. “No. He died not long ago. I didn’t even know it until I came home recently. I’ve been in St. Louis getting an education. I came back here to—” Again she caught herself spilling things out to this near stranger, and for no good reason. She leaned back in her chair. “Mr. Selby, I cannot believe I’m sitting here talking to you so easily like this. I hardly know you, and you have come in here as silently as a shadow with no explanation for your presence. Please do tell me why you’re here. I really have to be getting home.”

  He looked around the room again, his eyes scanning a couple of books that lay on a log bench nearby, then moving to letters she had written on a slate that hung on the wall. He stared at the letters a moment, then stepped closer, lightly touching a book that lay on her desk. He opened it, staring at the print on the page. He moved his eyes then to meet her own again, looking suddenly embarrassed.

  “I, uh—” He swallowed before continuing. “I want to learn to read.” He swallowed again, closing the book, taking his eyes from hers and looking down at the book. “To read better, I mean. My mother was white. But she hadn’t had much schooling when my father captured her. She taught me what little she remembered. But I need to know more if I am to live in the white man’s world, which is what I have decided to do. I want to read and I want to know how to write and how to figure numbers.”

  He had spoken the words quietly, almost bashfully. He met her eyes again then, looking almost like a lost little boy. “I thought maybe you would agree to teach me. After I saw how you were that day in the supply store—how kind and accepting you could be—and knowing you are a teacher—”

  He stepped back a little, holding his chin proudly. “It is hard for me to ask,” he continued. “You are a woman. It might not be right—a woman doing the teaching. But I want to learn, and I know without asking that no white man around here would teach me. But I also know it could be dangerous for you if people knew. It is probably wrong of me to ask, and foolish of me to think that you would do it.” He turned as though to leave.

  “Mr. Selby,” she called out. He stopped but kept his back to her. “I would be glad to teach you. Everyone has a right to an education. That’s the way my mother and father would look at it. They sacrificed hard-earned money to see that I could go to school in St. Louis. If I refused you I would be dishonoring their memory.”

  He turned to face her. “You will truly do it?”

  She rose, pressing her hands on the desktop as she leaned forward. “Yes. But for now it has to be done in secret. I am not personally ashamed to be teaching you, Mr. Selby; but right now I need this job badly. I want to prove a woman can be a good teacher, and I am more or less on my own. There is nothing else I want to do as far as earning money, and the people here have agreed to pay me a fair wage to help bring education to Texas. Needless to say I would lose this job in a minute if they knew I was teaching a half-breed to read and write. I’m speaking for them, not myself, mind you,” she added.

  Selby nodded, the look of admiration returning to his eyes. “How can we do it?”

  She sighed, standing straighter and folding her arms. “Do you live far from here?”

  He stepped closer again. “Only about two miles north of town. But you have to leave the main riding path to get to my cabin. It is almost hidden in a small valley behind Bald Hill.”

  She nodded, turning and pacing a moment, then meeting his eyes again. “In another week we will have to stop teaching altogether. Too many of the children are needed for summer chores. I have been mostly observing these last few weeks, preparing to do my own teaching next autumn. My days will be free soon. I could come out every three days, without telling anyone. All I have to do is tell my landlady that I am going shopping or visiting. I could ride into town where I am seen, then circle around the thick stand of cottonwood on the east side of town and head north. But you would have to be waiting there for me. I can’t ride that far alone.” The faint smile returned to her own lips then. “I’m afraid of the terrible Comanche.”

  Now he grinned again. “I am afraid you are right to be afraid. I agree you cannot ride there alone. But I should not be seen regularly that close to town. Someone might suspect something and start following me. If I know the day you will come, I will be watching, even though you do not see me. After you are far enough from town for no one to see, I will come closer and take you the rest of the way.”

  She stepped a little closer. “How can I be sure you’re there? I would hate to get that far from town and find out I really am alone.”

  “I will be there. You will just have to trust me.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Trust you? I hardly know you!” She put a hand to her cheek, frowning and turning slightly away. “I must be losing my mind,” she said almost absently.

  The air hung silent for a moment. “Please don’t change your mind, Miss Rivers. I promise I will be there. I would never let any harm come to you, by anyone else’s hand or by my own. I want to learn, Miss Rivers. I will see that you are protected, and you can trust that I would not harm you myself.”

  She turned, meeting the soft green eyes, feeling the utterly divine warmth surge through her insides again. She was actually agreeing to allow herself to be alone with this man who was not only a stranger, but half Indian! What would Joshua say? Or Lacy? And Jason! He would be furious! Somehow that only made her more eager to do it.

  “All right,” she said
aloud. “Today is Friday the fifth of May. We have already decided that next Friday is the last day we will teach for the summer. The following Monday I will come out to you.” She turned and walked to a book that lay on a table nearby. “Come here, Mr. Selby.”

  The man walked to stand beside her, and his closeness brought again the scent of sage and leather. Rachael wondered if he could smell her soap and perfume, or if he was as curious about how it would feel to touch as she was. She felt suddenly wicked and foolish, and a hot anger at herself made her open the book and turn the pages more eagerly and deliberately than necessary.

  “This is an almanac, Mr. Selby. I brought it from St. Louis. It has calendars in it covering several years. Do you know how to read a calendar?”

  Brand looked down at her golden hair and the soft flow of her shoulders under the pink dress she wore. She filled out the dress with tempting curves. He almost ached to cup one of the firm, young breasts in his hand, to gently feel of its softness. But he reminded himself he must have no such thoughts about this lovely, trusting woman, who was not only kind but also being very brave. She was risking her reputation and her job in order to teach him.

  “I am afraid I know nothing about your calendars,” he answered. “I keep track of the days according to the moon and the stars and the way the sun hangs in the sky—the Indian way.”

  She moved aside a little, showing him the correct calendar. “Right here. This is today.” She pointed to the square that showed the day and date. “And this is the month of May.” She pointed to the word at the top. “M—A—Y—May. And here the square says Friday, and the number is five. May fifth. Now, here is Monday and the week coming up where Mr. Dreyfuss and I will teach. Here is the Monday after that week—the fifteenth. That is the day I will come out to you. Will you know the day by your own way of keeping track?”

  She met his eyes. He stood so close, so overwhelmingly handsome, so tall, so unnerving. “I will know it,” he answered, moving his eyes from the calendar to meet her own.

  For a moment the room hung silent as their eyes held, each of them thinking things that were forbidden, each of them afraid to voice thoughts they felt were utterly wrong and ridiculous.

  “What time will you come?” he asked her.

  She noticed how perfectly his full lips were etched into his rugged but beautiful face. His high cheekbones seemed to be the key to his provocative good looks, as well as a straight, finely carved nose and the wide-set green eyes. “How about right after lunch—around one o’clock? Do you keep a watch?”

  He grinned then. “Yes. A white man I worked for gave me a pocket watch and taught me how it worked.”

  She smiled in return. “Good.”

  Again their eyes held, until Rachael finally looked away, afraid he would see through her, afraid he would sense the disturbing warmth he brought to her blood, and perhaps read in her eyes the faint desires he stirred in her.

  “I must leave, Mr. Selby.”

  “Please, call me Brand. It seems strange to have someone call me by my name, using mister in front of it. Usually it’s ‘breed’ or just ‘Selby,’ or ‘hey, Indian.’ At any rate, I appreciate the honor with which you speak my name. But we are fast becoming friends, and I wish you would just call me Brand.”

  She quickly walked farther away from him, totally annoyed with herself for the feelings he created in her. “I’ll have to get used to that. Let’s stay with Mr. Selby until I know you just a little better.”

  He smiled. “All right.”

  Rachael walked back toward the doorway, almost wishing she could stay and talk longer with him. “A week from Monday then—one o’clock. Make sure you’re out there, Mr. Selby, or I might pay a high price for agreeing to teach you.” She folded her arms, keeping her shawl wrapped tight. “I trust you can handle yourself.” Her eyes dropped to the weapons he wore. “You must speak Comanche—know how to handle them.”

  He nodded. “You will have nothing to fear. I lived with them for many years. They know me. They would listen to me.”

  She shook her head, laughing lightly. “As I said earlier, I must be losing my mind.” She studied him admiringly. One needed only to look at this man to see how capable he was. No wonder Jason was afraid of him. It made her feel almost giddy at the thought of doing something Jason would be furious about. “You have my mother to thank for this, Mr. Selby. I promised her a long time ago I would teach anyone who needed teaching. She was very determined to learn herself, and she taught me a lot before I ever went off to St. Louis. Her father—”

  Rachael didn’t finish the sentence. She heard voices outside, and her smile faded. “Get under the desk!” she said quickly. “Someone is coming—they’re probably looking for me, wondering what happened to me!”

  Brand hurried over to the desk, ducking under it just as the storekeeper Briggs, Bert Peters, the widower who lived at Lacy’s boardinghouse, and the teacher, Leonard Dreyfuss, came inside the little one-room log structure, all three of them brandishing rifles, Dreyfuss holding a lantern in one hand.

  “Miss Rivers!” Dreyfuss exclaimed. “What on earth are you still doing here? Mrs. Reed sent Bert to get us to come and find out what happened to you.”

  “Oh, Mr. Dreyfuss!” she exclaimed, grasping his arm. “I’m so happy to see you. I was reading and I simply lost all track of time. The next thing I knew it was dark. I didn’t know what to do. I was just getting ready to leave. I was going to run home as fast as I could.”

  “Miss Rivers.” The man patted her hand. “You must not let this happen again. It’s very dangerous to be out alone after dark here in Austin. I’ve told you that before. It’s especially dangerous for a lovely young lady like yourself. You come with us now and we’ll get you back to Miss Reed’s place as quickly as we can.” He led her through the entrance way and outside, while behind them Briggs blew out the lamp inside the school and hurried out after them.

  “That was a real foolish thing to do, Miss Rivers,” Bert Peters was telling Rachael. “Lacy is beside herself with worry.”

  “Oh, Lacy fusses like a mother,” Rachael answered, hanging on to Dreyfuss’s arm. She breathed a sigh of relief that she got them outside quickly. As they walked, Briggs held up the lantern to show the way. Rachael wondered if she should tell Lacy what had happened this night, and tell her she had agreed to teach Brand Selby. She decided she would say nothing until absolutely necessary.

  Inside the dark schoolroom Brand Selby came out from under the desk, feelings of hatred and embarrassment raging inside the proud man. He shouldn’t have had to hide. He couldn’t blame Rachael Rivers. He knew she had made him hide for his own good, not because she was ashamed to be seen with him. For her sake, her reputation alone, he would keep all of this secret. But under no other circumstances would he hide or show shame or cower in front of any white man. He never had and he never would.

  He moved to the door, peering out to see Rachael disappearing down the street, busily chattering with the three men and walking as fast as she could. Brand grinned, the pleasant urges grasping at his insides again. Rachael Rivers was more than just beautiful. She was smart—not just in the ways of education, but in the ways of human behavior. How easily she had steered the three men away, without giving one hint that the half-breed Brand Selby was crouched under her desk! She could have given him away, got him in a lot of trouble. But just like at the river, she had said nothing.

  Brand moved outside and through the darkness to his horse, mounting up and riding out. He knew that for the next several nights he would not sleep well, for Rachael Rivers would be on his mind. The days would be long and lonely until the day she would come out to him. He would fix up his little cabin as best he could so that she would feel comfortable there. He wished he knew more about how white women liked things to be inside a house.

  Brand was more accustomed to the Indian way of life. And he would prefer to continue living that way. But the days of the free Comanche were numbered. And he knew he never want
ed to live on a reservation. He would have to try to make it as a white man, and knowledge was the best weapon in the white man’s world. He would get that knowledge, from Miss Rachael Rivers, and men like Jason Brown and the storekeeper Briggs would not stop him or rob him of his pride and his rights.

  Rachael took a tiny cookie from the silver tray handed out to her by a young Mexican girl, a servant of Mrs. Harriet Miller. She held the cookie nervously in a cloth napkin, feeling the eyes of all the women upon her. Her manners and knowledge of etiquette were impeccable; but knowing she was being looked at through the judging eyes of the most respected ladies of Austin made her acutely aware of her appearance and actions. It also aroused her anger, an emotion she struggled to keep hidden.

  She was the guest of Mrs. Harriet Miller, who had led the original expedition of Austin’s upper class to the schoolhouse on Rachael’s first day. Her husband, Theodore, owned the biggest mercantile in Austin. As promised, Mrs. Miller had invited Rachael to her house to meet Austin’s elite. All the women were anxious to know about all the latest happenings and fashions in St. Louis, and were also curious to meet the new young schoolteacher. Rachael knew that without her St. Louis education these women would not give her the time of day. She was not wealthy, and a few of these very same women had snubbed her mother because Emma Rivers was an uneducated woman from the hills of Tennessee whose husband had been raised by Indians. But most of the women in the room were new to Rachael, new arrivals during the three years she had been gone, for Austin had just recently begun to mushroom in growth.

  Rachael patiently answered questions, sipping tea between remarks, while Mrs. Miller and her guests studied her prim, high-necked, lacy blouse, her upswept blond hair, and her captivating blue eyes.

  Mrs. Miller moved around the room with all the grace of a horse. She was a big, tall woman, who always overdressed, especially for the wilds of Texas. Her dark hair was drawn up in a tight bun at the top of her head, and the bustle of her dress only accented an already too large rear end. Expensive rings decorated her well-manicured hands and pearls graced the neck of her dark blue taffeta dress. Rachael wondered how anyone could stand taffeta on such a hot day.