The room rang with gossip and chatter once each woman had introduced herself to Rachael and had asked whatever nosy questions she might have for the young schoolteacher. Rachael was nibbling on a cookie when she heard the name Brand Selby.
“The man has actually settled north of town,” one woman said. “That’s what my Harold told me. And he said there would be trouble. Jason Brown hates the man.”
“It gives me the shivers, knowing he’s that close,” her gossip mate answered. “I’ve not seen him, and some say he’s a fine-looking man—but wild as the mustangs and more untrustworthy than a full-blood Comanche.”
“It seems to me like Jason and his men should be able to do something about it.”
“He can’t. The man has to break the law first, and so far he hasn’t. He’s a clever one, that half-breed. That’s the trouble with them. They’re scheming and devilish.”
Rachael smiled inwardly, wondering what kind of reaction she would get if she stood up and announced she would be teaching Brand Selby how to read and write—and going to meet him alone to do it! She didn’t doubt that half the women in the room would faint dead away.
“Oh, you must miss your Jason, don’t you, Miss Rivers?” Harriet Miller approached Rachael, talking in a loud, singsong voice that grated on Rachael’s nerves.
“He’s not ‘my’ Jason, Mrs. Miller. He’s just a friend.”
“Oh, come now!” The woman shook her finger at Rachael and winked. “We all know our Jason has been seeing you regularly since you returned. Oh, what a catch, Miss Rivers! What a catch! He’s such a capable man. Everyone in town is so fond of him. And to think he rides out into Indian country and risks his life constantly just to protect us.” She clapped her hands together. “Oh, it must be something to be loved by a man like that.”
Rachael fought an urge to scream at the woman that she had no love interest at all in Jason Brown, that he was not anywhere near the man everyone here seemed to think he was. But she knew there would be no convincing them.
“I have only been back a short time, Mrs. Miller, hardly long enough to be professing my love for Jason. But he is a good man, and I do hope he’ll be all right. And call me Rachael. I don’t mind.”
“Oh, well, I must tell you, Rachael, that we all wish only the best for you and Jason. Oh, how we would love to go to a wedding, wouldn’t we, ladies?”
Giggles and agreements filled the room. Rachael felt choked, wishing she could just get away and put on something more comfortable. Her mother had never cared for nor understood women like these, and Rachael put up with their scrutiny only because she wanted to keep her job.
More women approached her with questions about a woman teaching: nostalgic questions from women who missed their origins back East. Finally Rachael rose from her chair, walking to the screen door and out onto the veranda of the Miller home. It was a small but immaculately kept home, filled with expensive furnishings. Mrs. Miller carried on over and over about the “grand” house they intended to build in the future, adding, “This little place is just our temporary home,” to make sure everyone knew.
Rachael thought how her mother would have loved a house like this, but Mrs. Miller made it sound like a soddy. The house was located at the northwest corner of Austin, and Ted Miller had built a literal stockade around the house for protection against the Indians.
Rachael walked along the veranda, the scent of roses that bloomed all around the house filling her nostrils. She could not see past the stockade fence, but she knew that out there somewhere lived a half-breed called Brand Selby, and she had actually agreed to teach him how to read and write. She could not help but wonder what a foolish decision that might have been, as well as a dangerous one. But she had promised, and she had no way of telling the man she had changed her mind. She was too soft-hearted and too much a woman of her word to just not show up next Monday, which left her with no choice now but to go through with it. The thought of it brought flutters of fear and apprehension to her stomach. But she knew the flutters came from more than that—an odd expectancy, a fascination with the unknown, an unexplainable desire to see the man again.
Inside the house the women carried on about the atrocities of the Comanche, gasping over things it was rumored the Comanche did to women, and again talking about how they wished that half-breed had not settled so close to Austin. Rachael knew she was risking her job and her reputation by helping the man, but the promise she had made to her mother gave her the determination she needed. But for now, somehow, she had to keep what she was doing a secret from these women.
A hawk flew overhead, and she wished she could fly away with it—away from the gossip and questions and scrutiny and talk of Jason Brown. Brand Selby represented everything foreign to these people, and she realized she actually looked forward to their meeting. In just two more days she would see him again, and she would find out if she had made the right decision.
Chapter Six
Rachael made her way over the hard ground, watching constantly for snakes amid the rocks and prickly brush. She picked up her skirts as best she could with one hand, while in the other hand she carried books and a slate. She cursed the heat under her breath, suddenly realizing with anger that she cared how she looked.
She told herself she shouldn’t mind at all that her hair might wilt and cling to her forehead, or that her dress wouldn’t be quite as crisp and clean as when she started out. After all, her duty was to teach, and the way she looked had nothing to do with that. But her anger with herself came from the realization that she must have lost her mind altogether, coming out here all alone this way, literally risking her reputation, and her life, to teach a near stranger how to read.
All night she had pondered not coming at all. The wakeful night had left her eyes slightly puffy, and that upset her, too. She reasoned she should turn back right now and forget this whole thing. If Mr. Selby’s feelings were hurt, so be it. Still, she had made a promise, and she didn’t like breaking promises. And she could not forget the almost boyish pleading in Brand Selby’s eyes. She realized how hard it must have been for such a big, proud man to come to her for help, and she did not doubt his sincerity. The only thing she really feared at the moment was that he would get his days mixed up and she would be a woman alone in this very dangerous land.
A crow flew overhead, cawing loudly. Rachael stopped walking, and turned to see that Austin was completely out of sight. Her heart beat a little harder. She slowly turned back around, gazing out at the distant, barren hills. There was nothing here but total silence. She had known this kind of quiet before, growing up on the Double “R.” But then the family had always been around somewhere. This was different. She was totally alone. Did she dare go any farther, or should she turn back?
She walked to a large, flat boulder and sat down, after first walking around it to be sure there were no snakes nearby. She forced herself to sit still and wait. Selby would come. And then she would be perfectly safe, for she was certain of one thing—Brand Selby was a capable man who probably knew his way in this land better than the wild deer. After all, he was half wild himself, had grown up among the Comanche. Who knew this land better than the Comanche? No animal, that was sure.
Comanche! There could be renegades lurking behind the distant rocks or in the very next gully. They could appear and disappear like the wind. And what they were capable of doing to white women…Her eyes began to tear. If Comanche came and carried her off, no one would have any idea where to look for her or what had happened to her. She had told no one what she was doing, not even Lacy. There would be no help for her, certainly not in time to prevent the horrors of rape and torture and a most certain death. She realized that at the moment even the sight of Jason Brown would be welcome.
Rachael finally heard the sound of a horse coming at a fast trot. But sounds in this land were so tricky that when she turned to look, she saw nothing, and suddenly she lost the sound again.
“Dear God,” she whispered, swallowing. �
��Please let it be Brand Selby, or a friend.”
She stood up to wait, turning back again to the direction from which she had first heard the sound.
That’s when he appeared, looking almost like some kind of apparition, the heat waves making his image blurred and ghostlike. He was in buckskins, riding a black and gray gelding, big, like its rider. She stared, her racing heart calming somewhat as he came closer and his green eyes held Rachael’s reassuringly. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was Selby.
“Why did you stop?” he asked.
“I…I wasn’t sure how much farther to go—if you’d show up.”
He dismounted, walking closer with the reins of his horse in his hand. His eyes were surprisingly soft and understanding. “You were afraid. I told you not to be. I have been watching you almost from the moment you were a few yards from town. I said I would be waiting and watching, that I would not let anything happen to you.”
She took a deep breath, stepping back a little and angry with herself for letting tears show in her eyes. She blinked rapidly and put on a proud stance. “Well, you must admit I had a right to wonder. After all, I didn’t know for certain I could count on you, considering that I hardly know you.”
The slow grin made its way across his lips. “You must learn to trust, Rachael Rivers. Right now there are other Comanche out here. Some have seen you.”
Her eyes widened, and she looked around. “Are you sure?”
He grinned more. “Yes, I am sure. But no one bothered you, because I told them you belong to me.”
She met his eyes then, looking indignant. “What?”
His eyes moved over her, again bringing uncomfortable desires to her insides. “It is the only way I can be sure they will not bother you. Besides, they are my friends. As long as they think you belong to me, you can walk all over these hills if you want. No harm will come to you. But if one of them decided otherwise, he would have to answer to me, and I am a good warrior.”
Their eyes held a moment. Warrior! Had he killed whites himself? Maybe that was just what he had in mind for her. And yet here she was, meeting him alone, willing to go all the way to his cabin where they would be even more alone. It irritated her that she almost liked the feeling she got when he mentioned belonging to him. Surely this strong, virile man before her would defend his own woman to the death. It gave her a feeling of warmth and protection. Suddenly she hardly noticed the heat, and all her fear left her.
“Thank you, Mr. Selby, for looking out for me. You can hardly blame me for being a little bit afraid. I realized for a moment that I was all alone out here, and it was so quiet.”
“Just remember that I am always watching.” He put out a hand. “Come.”
She walked a little closer, and he took her arm gently.
“Why did you walk instead of bringing a horse or a buggy?” he asked.
“I decided it would be easier to duck out of town unnoticed if I was on foot,” she answered. “Austin is so small that just going shopping doesn’t necessitate a horse or a buggy. Lacy would have wondered if I had asked for either, and more people would have noticed me if I tried to get out of town either way.”
A sweet warmth moved through her as his strong hands came around her waist and lifted her as though she were a child. He set her up on his horse, then mounted up behind her.
“I am sorry you have to sneak around at all.” As he reached around her she could not help but notice the dark skin of his arms where the sleeves of his buckskin shirt were pushed up; nor could she help but notice the powerful forearms, the big hands as he took up the reins. He settled in behind her. Rachael realized with near shame that she liked the feel of his powerful body against her own; liked the wonderful feeling of safety and protection she felt being near him; liked the scent of leather and sage; liked the pleasant urges being near him stirred deep inside. At the same time she was furious with herself for the feelings this man awakened in her being.
“It makes me feel ashamed,” he was saying. “I am as good a man as any of those in your town. And yet you dare not be seen with me because half of my blood is Indian. You white people have strange values.”
“You needn’t include me in the same category as the others,” she answered. She wanted to turn and look up at him, but was afraid to meet his face so close. Perhaps he would think her too bold, or perhaps she didn’t trust her own feelings. “After all, I’m here, aren’t I? I didn’t have to come at all.”
He turned the horse, moving one arm around her waist. “I didn’t mean to include you with the rest,” he said then, his voice suddenly softer.
He rode off with her and her heart and mind raced with a mixture of fear and forbidden desires. The feel of his powerful arm around her made her realize how strong he was, what he could do to her if he wanted. For all she knew he was taking her to the Comanche to sell her or to use her for some kind of ransom. And yet there was a wonderfully reassuring feel to that strong arm. Her feelings of safety and protectiveness and trust far outweighed her fears.
She clung to the pommel of his saddle as he rode over small hills and through ravines and gullies, taking her farther and farther from Austin and all things familiar to her. In her own innocence, she little realized the near torture it was for him to have to ride double with her.
Brand Selby felt an intense ache at the feel of Rachael Rivers’s voluptuous body pressed close to his own. He could smell the light soapy scent of her hair, which today she wore tied back at the sides but long and loose in the back. He wanted to touch it, kiss it. He wanted to move his arm and gently grasp her breasts with his hand; wanted to lean around and kiss her soft cheek, smell her neck, nibble all the sweet little places such a woman could offer.
Selby had never been this close to a white woman; had never considered how he might feel about one; had never given thought to having sexual desires or emotions for such a woman. But this one was good, understanding. She had risked a great deal to come to him, and he admired her greatly. He could not help wondering if there had ever been a man in her life. She said there had not, and he was inclined to believe it. She had that innocent air about her, which only made him desire her more. How lucky the man would be who took this one first. The thought of it possibly being Jason Brown made his arm tighten around her, bringing forth jealousy and anger. Jason Brown was a cruel man. He would never be kind or patient enough for a woman such as Rachael Rivers.
Rachael felt slight alarm as his arm tightened around her. Was he thinking things he should not be thinking? Was he going to suddenly turn mean? Was he thinking victorious thoughts—that now he had her and she was his captive?
They came to a rise and he stopped. “That is my ranch below,” he told her.
Rachael looked down at a small cabin, a log shed where horses were kept, a building where feed was apparently stored, and several fenced corrals. The entire place looked rather dilapidated.
“It is not much,” he told her, heading the horse down then. “But it was all I could have for now. I took it over from a man who gave up and went back East, as so many of them do. People come out here and don’t have any idea what this land is like. I think it is very hard for people who have not lived here growing up. This land takes a lot of getting used to. For me it is easy. I will build this place back up.”
“I’m sure you will, Mr. Selby. You know the land better than any of us could.”
They came closer to the little cabin. “I love this land. It is my home, and it is home to the Comanche. That is why they fight to keep it. You can’t blame them, Miss Rivers. It is sad for them.”
She said nothing as he rode up to a hitching post and dismounted. He reached up for her and, as he lifted her down, their eyes held. She felt no fear now. She moved away self-consciously as he tied his horse.
“I will tend to my horse later,” he said. He came over and led Rachael up two steps to a small porch and through the front door of his one-room cabin. She noticed a few of the boards in the wooden floor curling f
rom the arid climate. There was a window on either end of the cabin and a stone fireplace on the back wall, and the place smelled dusty, although it was apparent the little room had recently been cleaned as best a man can clean.
In one corner lay a pile of what looked to Rachael like skins, perhaps buffalo robes, partially covered by blankets. She realized it must be Brand Selby’s bed, remembering just how Indian he was in so many ways. No Indian would sleep in a conventional bed.
The only furnishings were a hand-made table, two chairs, and an old dresser in another corner. Shelves on either side of the fireplace displayed a few tin plates and heavy iron pots and pans, some canned food and other food stuffed into gunny sacks or crates.
Brand moved to one end of the table, looking nervous. “Welcome to my humble home,” he told her. “I must tell you it is not easy getting used to living this way, so if it seems like not much to one such as you, it is only because it is all new to me. I much prefer a tipi, and sleeping under the stars, cooking over an open fire. You whites have a way of confining yourselves, making life more difficult than it has to be. But that is the way you choose to live. This is as far as I have been able to bring myself. I am sorry if you are offended by his small house, which is probably not as pretty and tidy as you would have a home of your own.”
Rachael, who had been gazing around the little structure while he spoke, turned her eyes then to meet his. “It’s just fine, Mr. Selby. I can tell you cleaned it up as best you could.” She smiled warmly. “Back on my father’s ranch we lived in a fine, frame house. But you should have seen it when I went back recently after being gone for three years.” She set the books on the table. “There were only my father and brothers to take care of it, and my father had died recently.” She pulled out a chair. “Whether it’s a fine home or a small cabin, when it’s men taking care of it, you can’t expect much. A home needs a woman’s touch.”
The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition) Page 46
