by Sara Orwig
Comanche Temptation
The Comanche Series: Book One
Sara Orwig
Copyright
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008
New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © 1996 by Sara Orwig
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email [email protected]
First Diversion Books edition April 2015
ISBN: 978-1-62681-770-8
Also by Sara Orwig
The Civil War Saga
Atlanta
Memphis
New Orleans
The Southwestern Saga
Albuquerque
Denver
San Antonio
The Comanche Series
Comanche Eagle
Comanche Passion
Oregon Brown
Heat Wave
The Goodies Case
Sweet Desire
Texas Passion
Tides of Passion
Warrior Moon
With many thanks to Kate Duffy.
One
March, 1867
“Injun, Injun, little Redskin with a squaw mama!” taunted a tall boy as he shoved a smaller boy on the wide dusty main street of the frontier town of Montello, Texas. A ring of boys drew closer around the younger one they had been pushing and shoving. He bounded to his feet, his straight black hair hanging over his eyes. He swung his fists and plowed into four older boys, who fended him off easily, laughing and pushing him down again, but not before he threw several swift, furious blows that made two of the boys yelp.
Tightening the cinch around his bay, Luke McCloud glanced across the street and felt a rising admiration for the little one. He wanted to go over and stop the fight, but wisdom held him back. He clenched his jaw, watching as the tallest boy kicked the little one while he was down. The object of the taunting grabbed the tall boy’s foot and twisted, causing a yelp.
“Go get him,” Luke cheered under his breath, feeling his pulse thud with anger. Two more boys pounced on the small one, pummeling him with their fists. Luke drew a deep breath and glared at them.
“Stay out of it,” he said to himself. The only way he had survived was by avoiding drawing attention to himself, yet the boys were bullies, and it irked him to watch the fight. Even though the scrappy little fellow was doing his best to defend himself, he was taking a beating. People walked past, men watching with amusement, women shaking their heads, but no one was doing anything to stop the fight.
Clenching his fist, Luke started toward them. “Damn fool,” he swore at himself, knowing he was going against good judgment by stepping into the fray. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A girl, dressed in denim pants and a chambray shirt and as tall as some of the bigger boys, raced toward them.
“Get away from him, Thad Wilgert!” she yelled. Black pigtails flew as she jumped on the biggest boy, clawing him and biting him. They both went down.
“Leave him alone! Bullies!” she screeched, while she and the tall boy rolled in the dirt until she broke free and jumped up.
As the boy came to his feet, her fist connected solidly with his nose. Blood spurted over his face and he yelped, swinging his fist and hitting her squarely on her jaw and knocking her flat.
She was on her feet in an instant, rolling up and throwing herself against one boy, knocking him into another, taking two down at once. Two jumped her and pinned her down, and Luke began to run. The tall boy shoved the two out of the way and leaned down over the girl, his fist doubled as he hauled back to hit her.
Luke grabbed the boy’s arm and spun him around. Blue eyes widened as the boy’s face drained of color and he dropped his hands to his sides. While the other boys scattered like quail in flight, Luke held the tall one firmly by the shoulders.
“You want to know what it’s like to be hit and kicked by someone larger and older than you?” Luke asked quietly, and he could see the tremor run through the boy, who licked his lips and wiped his bloody nose.
“No, sir! She hit me!”
Luke bent his knees so he could look the boy in the eye directly. The boy’s gaze slid away. “Look at me,” Luke ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t hit little boys who are half your size. Do you know what that makes you?”
The boy shook his head.
“A bully. And don’t hit little girls. Even ones who give you a bloody nose.”
“Yes, sir.” Suddenly he lurched free of Luke’s grasp and jumped into the air. “Yeow! Let me go!”
The girl was on her knees, biting the tall boy’s leg and hanging on with bulldog tenaciousness.
“Get her off! Help!”
Luke grabbed her around the waist. “Let him go,” he said, trying to hold back his laughter as she grunted a protest. The little boy ran to stomp on the tall boy’s foot and jab him in the stomach with his fist.
“Help! Yeow!” The tall boy hopped on one foot and bent over.
“Here, stop that!” Luke ordered, and the girl released him, her arms flailing at Luke.
“Let me go! Let me at him!”
He pushed her back and caught up the little boy. The big one turned and ran, long legs flying as if demons were after him.
“Scairdy cat, Thad Wilgert!” taunted the little boy. “Scairdy cat, Thad! Puddin’ liver, bones a-quiver!”
“Calm down, you two,” Luke said, realizing people were watching. He led the children toward a watering trough and untied the red silk bandanna around his neck. “Here, let’s get the blood wiped off.”
The girl’s lip was split and her eye puffed, her cheek darkened with a bruise. “Are you all right?” she asked the little boy.
“I’m fine,” he lied, his jaw thrust out, one eye swollen shut, his mouth bleeding.
Pumping fresh water, Luke wrung out his bandanna and turned the girl to face him. He looked into the large, dark brown thickly lashed eyes of a girl he guessed to be about eleven years old. She had a fine bone structure with wide, prominent cheekbones that revealed her Indian heritage as much as her raven black hair. “I hate Thad Wilgert!”
“You bloodied his nose, so his feelings toward you are probably the same,” Luke remarked dryly. “Do you have many fights like this?” She flinched as Luke tried gently to wipe away the blood. “Sorry, I’m trying not to hurt you,” he said.
“It’s all right,” she answered, her voice still brimming with anger.
He glanced into her dark eyes again to see her studying him with an intent, unwavering stare. “You’re very brave,” he said.
“Thad’s mean as a knotted snake.” She looked beyond him. “Oh, oh. Jeddy, here comes Pa.”
Luke glanced around at a ruddy-faced, broad-shouldered scowling man whose blue eyes and blond hair surprised Luke.
“What the devil have you two been doing?” the man snapped, pushing open his black coat, tilting his broad-brimmed black hat back on his head and placing his hands on his hips. His gaze went from them to Luke. “I saw you rescue my children. Thank you. Maybe I should say my ruffians. I’m Horace Roth.”
“Luke McCloud,” Luke replied, shaking hands and thinking how easily the lie rolled off his tongue, yet there was always a twinge of guilt when he faced a man whose countenance was open and straightforward.
“I’m indebted to you. And you two,” Roth said sternly, looking at his daughter and son, “we’ll discuss this at home. You know how I feel about fighting. This is my daughter, Honor Roth, and my son, Jeddy.”
“Glad to meet you, Honor and Jeddy,” Luke said, offering his hand to Jeddy, who dutifully placed his small hand in Luke’s and shook hands. Luke looked at Honor, gazing into solemn dark eyes again.
“You two get in the wagon,” Horace Roth ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Honor answered. Jeddy’s lower lip thrust out, and he gazed up at his father solemnly.
“Pa, they were talking about Mama,” he said quietly, his eyes filling with tears. Luke felt a twist inside for the small child, and glanced at the father and hoped he wasn’t too harsh on them.
Horace Roth’s stern look melted away while pain filled his eyes. He leaned down to pick up Jeddy, and Luke’s concern about the man’s harshness vanished as he watched Horace Roth give his son a hug.
“You did right, Jeddy. Sometimes you have to fight,” Roth said hoarsely. Luke looked away, feeling as if he were intruding on a private family matter, realizing the mother was Indian and the children must have had battles before because of taunts. He glanced at Honor. She had a fierce scowl on her face, and her fists were clenched as she stared down the street as if looking for Thad Wilgert again.
“Do you hurt badly?” Roth asked his son gently.
“No, sir.”
“All right. You two wait in the wagon, and I’ll be along in just a minute,” he said, setting his son on his feet.
“Here,” Luke said, handing his cold, wet bandanna to the boy. “Put this against your mouth; it might make it feel better.”
“Thank you, sir.” His sister took his hand and the two crossed the wide street of Montello. Luke watched them as they walked away, thinking they looked much younger than they had during the scrappy fight.
A tall blond man approached, speaking to the children and frowning at Horace Roth as he walked up. “You should keep your children with you, Horace, and they wouldn’t get into mischief so often.”
“Stanton, this is Luke McCloud. McCloud, this is Stanton Roth, my brother,” Horace Roth said with a note of impatience as Stanton Roth’s gaze raked over Luke. They exchanged a brief handshake.
“I’ll take care of my children, Stanton.”
“You didn’t do so well this morning. You should teach them to keep to themselves.”
“Stanton, one more suggestion like that and I’m going to teach you the results of a hard right,” Roth said quietly. Stanton Roth paled and turned on his heel, hurrying away and disappearing inside the barbershop. Horace Roth faced Luke. “My brother and I don’t agree on much of anything. You passing through?” Roth asked, glancing at Luke’s frayed denim pants, his dusty boots, and the blue chambray shirt that had a rip in one shoulder.
“Yes, sir. Heading west,” Luke said uneasily.
“I have a place outside of town. Ever worked cattle?”
“No, sir. Not on the scale I hear about in Texas. I’m from a farm in Kentucky,” he said with another faint twinge of guilt as he looked into honest blue eyes.
“I can use another hand if you want to sign on for a few days or longer. Just had two men quit and one got injured, so I’m short-handed.”
Luke thought about his dwindling finances and the odd jobs he had done as he had worked his way west since the war: smithy, hired hand on farms, cotton picker, barkeep, bronc buster. He made a quick decision. “I’d like a few days’ work.”
“Good. If you’re ready, you can follow the wagon home. We’re northwest of town.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, nodding while Horace Roth thrust out his hand. Luke clasped it firmly, feeling the strength in the older man’s grip when they shook. The other man turned away.
“Sir,” Luke said, and Roth paused. “Half a dozen boys twice your son’s age were bullying him. He held his own damn well, but he was outnumbered, and his sister came to his aid.”
“She always does. They’ve had to learn to defend themselves. Comanche blood isn’t accepted well on the frontier. See you at the place.” He squared his hat on his head and strode away, his coat flapping open as he crossed the dusty street along the square and climbed up to the wagon seat. He released the brake, flicked the reins, and the matched sorrels moved forward. The two children sat in the back on sacks piled high. The rig was well-appointed, so Roth must be successful, and he had sounded fair and compassionate in his dealings with his children. Hopefully, a good man to work for.
Crossing the street to his tethered horse, Luke gathered the reins and swung up into the saddle. He urged the bay forward and rode behind the wagon. Jeddy waved at him, and Luke waved back, while Honor gazed solemnly at him.
Her stomach hurt where Thad had hit her, and her mouth hurt; her lip was swollen. But beneath the aches was a deeper one because she could remember her beautiful mother, whom she had loved deeply and still missed with a terrible longing. She stared at the man following them. Her gaze went over his brown mustache, the long wavy brown hair that showed beneath his broad-brimmed battered tan hat. His eyes were a strange color, like a stone she had that Pa had given her called jade. The stranger had come to their defense, and she liked him for that. And when she had looked into his strange-colored eyes, she had felt an awareness of him, a shyness around him that she didn’t usually feel.
It was nice of him to help them, but she wished he had just hit Thad and really taught him a lesson. If he had, maybe Thad would stop bullying Jeddy every time he had a chance. Yet if Thad didn’t, other boys would. She sighed, picking up one long pigtail and brushing the ends of her black hair across her fingers. The townspeople were at war now with the Comanche, so few people could tolerate her Comanche blood or Jeddy’s, and they let them know that anytime Pa wasn’t around. Some wouldn’t speak to them and there were storekeepers who wouldn’t allow them inside their businesses.
She thought about the women in town who so politely smiled and talked to Pa, but who were barely civil to her. There were some who were nice to her, yet she knew it was all because of Pa and their being sweet on him and hoping he would come courting, but she knew Pa had a woman friend—Miss Maizie, who owned the Bluebonnet Saloon. Her thoughts shifted back to the man following on the big bay horse. Pa said Mr. McCloud was going to work for him, and she was glad.
As they left town, they passed the small wooden building with the Lone Star flag and the Stars and Stripes flying. Beneath the overhanging tin roof, on the rough weathered wall near the open front door, were nailed wanted posters, some yellow with age. With a casual glance, Luke gazed at them and spotted his own likeness sporting a thick brown beard as well as his mustache. Wanted: Luther Webster $5,000 Reward, Saint Joseph, Missouri.
The price had gone up since the last poster. As Luke turned, meeting Honor’s steadfast gaze, he felt a chill run down his spine because children were far more sharp-eyed than many adults gave them credit for. A child might see beyond the beard and mustache quickly.
They passed a general store, a silversmith’s business, a bakery, a small gun shop, a wheelwright’s place, two saloons, and then they reached the livery stable and the smithy. Houses spread along the next few blocks, and Luke felt a mild surprise that the frontier town was so thriving. Twisting in the saddle, he glanced back over his shoulder and wondered how far he would have to run from Missouri and bounty hunters and how long he would have to wait before he could stop looking over his shoulder.
They left the road and headed west, taking a weed-filled trail of two wagon ruts. The brush-filled rolling country was lush and green in the springtime, with flowers spreading across the hills in deep blues and reds. Luke settled in the saddle, his uneasiness lifting and his spirits soaring like the hawks floating on wind currents overhead. He inhaled the clean, clear air and felt free, unencumbered with worry about a bounty hunter or the law. He could work a few weeks for Horace Roth and then move west, heading toward California. He thought ab
out the law books he had abandoned in Missouri, along with his dream of becoming a lawyer. That was over forever. He moved his leg, feeling the bulge in the saddlebag of one law book he had found in an abandoned house during the last months of war in Tennessee.
His gaze shifted to the wagon ahead with the two children, and he felt a swift knot inside because of his drifting life, wondering if he would ever be able to have his own family. Almost as quickly as the notion came, it lifted. He felt a blessed freedom in Texas, and if he went farther west, maybe he could stop running altogether.
He glanced at the straight back of Horace Roth. Three or four weeks working for the man—Luke hoped he would learn something about cattle that he might use in the future.
After three hours Luke began to wonder how far they were going before they reached the Roth place. Townspeople said they were at the edge of the frontier, and Luke had heard tales about the Comanche and the lack of soldiers and men to patrol and keep the Indians under control. From what he had heard, they should be in danger now where they were traveling, yet Roth held no weapon, nor did he glance around as if he felt danger was lurking.
When one more hour passed and they were still heading west, Luke began to wonder about the man riding ahead of him. How far out was his place and what kind of place was it?
Two round slabs of granite lay on the ground ahead and wagon ruts turned between them. The wagon swung to the north, passing a large sandstone rock with H — R carved into it.
Instead of looking over his shoulder for bounty hunters, would he have to watch constantly for the Comanche he had heard so much about? The children’s mother must be Comanche. They didn’t inherit their dark looks from their blue-eyed Anglo father.
Roth drew rein on his team and they slowed to a halt. Puzzled, Luke glanced around at junipers, mesquite, and oaks, listening to a bird trill and watching the hawks circle above. Why had the man stopped? This surely wasn’t his home because there was nothing but wild country surrounding them.
