Comanche Temptation

by Sara Orwig

  When he stirred awake again, Honor left and returned to feed him a thick stew with chunks of beef. Afterward he had another long drink of whiskey to ease the constant pain. When he needed to get up to relieve himself, Honor moved close to his side to help him and steady him, leaving him at the privy and then helping him back to bed.

  The next morning he lay awake, sitting up in bed, wanting to get up in spite of his aches, when Horace Roth entered the room and closed the door. Pushing his tan hat to the back of his head, he crossed the room to stand near the bed and gaze down at Luke.

  “You look better.”

  “I want out of this bed.”

  “Then you must be better, but you’re going to have to give those bones time to heal. I rode to town yesterday and talked to Maizie. I was ready to round up my men and go after Acheson for his striking Maizie, but the next day when he sobered, he went to town and bought her a new seven-foot gilt mirror he’s having shipped in from San Antonio. He’s butchered a steer for her and ordered two new lamps for her place. He apologized to her and said the gifts were to make amends.”

  “That’s a damned big apology.”

  “Yes, it is. And since he apologized to her and she’s forgiven him, that ends the matter involving her. He did not apologize to Tessie. I don’t care what kind of fights he gets in with his women, particularly when I’m not in the vicinity when the fight erupts. I asked around. While you were taking a beating, Acheson was gambling at Maizie’s with five men I know and Maizie. I’ve already talked to three of the men. So if Acheson was behind your beating, he had his men do it.”

  “Someday he’ll wish he’d joined his men and finished the job they started.”

  “Luke, since you started working for me, you fit into our family and this place like you were my own son. We can’t prove it was Acheson, and I don’t have the time or money or want to waste the men for a feud with Acheson. He’s probably the guilty party, but we can’t prove it, so I want you to let it drop.”

  Luke looked out the window at a small yellow butterfly while he thought about Acheson. His fists clenched and he felt another surge of hot rage, but he couldn’t blame Roth for wanting to keep out of a long-running fight. “I’ll let it drop for now, but I’ll repay him someday.”

  Roth nodded. “If possible, do it when you’re off my land. Can I get you anything?”

  Luke shook his head. “Thanks for the whiskey.”

  “Drink all you want. The pain ought to let up in another day. Luke, when you’re well, don’t ride alone when you’re off my land. And when you leave the H Bar R, pack a pistol. Whoever did this meant you to die. If it was Acheson, he’ll want to finish the job.”

  “I’ll remember,” Luke answered, shifting in bed and trying to ease a throbbing pain in his arm and shoulder. Before long he expected to be in California. Now with Acheson for an enemy, he had all the more reason to go. Someday soon he would settle with Acheson, then ride for California.

  “Get well. We need you. The cattle drive north will come sooner than you think. I’m taking the kids this year.”

  Luke turned to look up at Roth in surprise. “Jeddy’s too young and Honor’s a girl!” he exclaimed, thinking about the tough men he worked with, their rough language and ways when they were hard at work. Then he realized he had just argued with his boss.

  Horace shrugged. “I want Jeddy to learn this business so it’s in his bones. And Honor can keep up almost as good as a man. She’s ridden with me since she was five years old.”

  “Don’t you want her to marry someday?”

  “Of course I do, and she will. And she’ll know as much about this business as the man she marries.”

  “That might scare some men.”

  “If it scares him, he’s not the right man for her. Honor is strong, and she’s going to take a strong man.”

  “Sir, I’m not sure a strong woman is what a lot of men are searching for in a female.”

  “He might not be searching for it, but he’ll appreciate it. You take care of yourself,” he said, then turned and left. Within minutes Honor and Jeddy both appeared.

  “We thought you might like to play chess. We’ll take turns playing with you.”

  “I don’t know how to play chess.”

  “We’ll teach you,” Honor said happily, and they climbed onto the bed beside him. “You watch us first and pay attention.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and she grinned, picking up her pigtail and sticking the end of it in his ear to tickle him.

  He laughed and dodged away and then let out a yelp of pain.

  “I’m sorry!”

  “I’m all right, Honor,” he said quickly, knowing she hadn’t meant to cause him any pain.

  Jeddy carefully set everything in place and the two began to play. As they concentrated on moves, Luke looked at Honor and thought about what Horace Roth had just said. Honor’s dark brows were drawn together and her even white teeth bit a full underlip. Luke knew her father expected her to marry well and would be fiercely protective of her.

  Jeddy was lost in thought about the next move. Jeddy had a good grasp of the game and more patience than Honor when he played. As short a time as Luke had been on the place, he knew Jeddy wasn’t as skilled in handling horses and wasn’t as interested in the day-to-day work on the place as Honor was, but in moments like these, his patience could outlast Honor’s.

  Jeddy won the first game and Honor won the second while Luke began to get the rules in mind. He had to bite back a smile at Honor’s expression when Jeddy would make a shrewd move; she was tenacious, having a bulldog determination to beat her little brother.

  At one point when Luke was playing with Jeddy, Honor’s slim cool fingers brushed his cheek. He glanced at her to find her studying him.

  “You’ll have a scar on your jaw from the fight.”

  “Will I look scary?” he asked lightly, having already looked at himself in the mirror and deciding the scar would not be too bad.

  “Never to me,” she answered solemnly, and he met her direct gaze before he turned his attention to the game again.

  Luke played and lost, first to Jeddy and next to Honor. Finally he begged off, saying he was tired, suspecting Honor would play until the next sunrise to try to beat Jeddy as often as he beat her.

  The next few days Luke spent hours playing chess with them, letting Honor feed him and help him around, and listening to Jeddy read to him.

  As he got better, Luke walked through the big house with its four-foot-thick adobe walls that kept it cool in summer. When he stepped into the front parlor, he paused, momentarily taken back in memory to the comfortable farm home where he grew up. With thick rough-hewn beams running across the ceiling and a large stone hearth and fireplace, the room had a feel of the outdoors that made it welcoming. A black leather settee sat facing the hearth with two rose-and-blue flowered wing chairs on either side. Marble-topped tables held glass lamps, and Luke experienced a sudden pang for the family he had lost, figuring there wouldn’t be one in his future.

  “Are you looking at the house?”

  “Yes,” he answered easily, turning to see Honor walking down the hall from the kitchen, a buttery biscuit in her hand.

  “Hungry? Want a biscuit?”

  “No, thanks. You have a nice home, Honor.”

  “Thank you. Pa says when he built this, a couple of times he had to close the shutters and barricade himself inside while he defended himself from renegades.”

  “It looks as if it could be a fortress.” He looked down the wide hall. Two hallways intersected, dividing the house. The bedrooms were on one end, the parlor, dining room, library, and kitchen were on the other.

  “Let’s play a game of chess,” she said, taking his arm to propel him into the parlor.

  Luke smiled at her, wondering if he could escape the game if he wanted to. He played, concentrating, realizing Honor was a formidable foe and enjoying the challenge of trying to beat her.

  “You always play to
win, don’t you, Honor?”

  She looked up at him, her black brows drawing together. “Why else would I play?”

  He smiled at her. “Good enough reason.”

  As Luke got better, he could get around more easily, but he continued to live in the big house instead of the bunkhouse for the time being because it was still difficult to sleep at night. While Honor went back to riding with her father, Jeddy spent long hours with Luke, listening to Luke read to him and reading to Luke.

  It wasn’t until late the following winter that Luke encountered Rake Acheson. He rode into town with four hands from the H Bar R, and they entered the crowded Bluebonnet Saloon. Music played, and men’s voices were a noisy chorus in the smoke-filled interior. As the four men headed toward the bar, they approached a table where Rake Acheson was playing cards. His broad-brimmed brown hat was pushed to the back of his head, his brown coat hanging open, a revolver showing on his hip.

  Glancing up at Luke, Acheson came to his feet. All the men at his table stood up, two whirling around, guns drawn as they faced Luke and the H Bar R men.

  The three men with Luke drew just as swiftly, facing each other, while people around them scattered for cover. Staring into Rake Acheson’s cold blue eyes, Luke raised his empty hands as high as his shoulders.

  “This is our fight, Acheson. I don’t want others hurt, and I know you’re not afraid to face me alone.” Luke stared at Rake Acheson, gazing steadily into angry blue eyes while Rake held his revolver aimed at Luke’s heart. Rake finally lowered the weapon.

  “Put the guns away,” Acheson said under his breath. In a strained silence the men stood for a minute, then holstered their revolvers.

  “Enrique,” Luke said without taking his eyes from Acheson’s, and in his peripheral vision he saw his men put away their weapons. The piano player started again, music filling the room, but no one moved. As a sprightly tune plunked out, Luke felt the hatred burning from Acheson and knew there would be a time and place when they must fight.

  “You’re right, McCloud. We’ll have our fight.” He sat down, his attention shifting to cards, while three of his men watched Luke as he turned toward the bar. In a few minutes Luke was engaged in his own game of poker and an hour later he saw Acheson and his men leave the saloon.

  Tom glanced at him as the dealer shuffled the cards. “You don’t know for certain he’s responsible.”

  Luke stared at the door. “Yes, I do. He was the one behind the beating. I’m as sure it was him as I’m sure I’m holding cards in my hand. I’ll get my chance with him. He wants it as badly as I do.”

  Four

  Texas, 1871

  Coiling rope in his hand, Luke stood in the bunkhouse. His gaze was on Honor and Boss as they walked to the corral. Honor’s stride was almost as long as her father’s and as Luke’s gaze raked over her swiftly, a strange pang gripped him. Even though she was as innocent as spring flowers, Honor was a beauty—already a woman. Tall and willowy, at sixteen she was striking, and Luke found it more and more difficult to be alone with her. So far suitors hadn’t come calling. Luke knew Roth had discouraged a few older men, and some men wouldn’t call on her at all because of their prejudice about her Indian blood. Maybe her competence about horses and cattle scared some men. Honor didn’t have a simpering bone in her body, and he suspected she wouldn’t be good at flirting either. She had spent too many hours with her pa, and she was as direct and straightforward as Horace Roth.

  And she had just as little use for pompous men as Roth did, so some men would never come calling in spite of the Roth wealth. Luke’s thoughts jumped to his own land he was accumulating to the west of Roth’s. Land and cattle. His cattle already ran with the Roth cattle, and he had enough now he could move to his own place, but he wasn’t ready yet. He liked working for Roth.

  His gaze went back to Honor, drifting down over her slender back and long legs. When she got a little older, it would be time for him to move on. He thought about the Kincaids’ dance coming up soon. Honor would attend, and Luke was half-tempted to stay away and avoid any chance of trouble. He mounted up and headed out, his gaze straying again to Honor, who was watching him.

  Two weeks later on Saturday August 10, Luke stood by a keg of homemade brew watching the dancers, seeing Honor whirl past with one of the Kincaid boys. She wore a dress, something he seldom saw her in, and the blue gingham hugged her tiny waist and clung to high breasts. Her hair was tied behind her head and she seemed caught between girlhood and womanhood, at moments still the gangly child and at other times the beauty that she was becoming. And every male at the dance saw it, too, because she never lacked for partners.

  “It’s hard to be a father sometimes,” a deep voice said beside him, and Luke glanced at Horace Roth, who was watching Honor. “It’s wonderful other times; I’ve got good children, and I’m proud of them, but the next few years aren’t going to be easy.”

  Luke held back a smile, suspecting from the look on Horace Roth’s face, he would like to march out and pull Honor away from the Kincaid boy. “Honor’s intelligent. You can count on her judgment.”

  “She’s young and headstrong, and she needs a mother now more than ever.”

  The music stopped, and Luke dipped into the keg to pour a small amount of amber liquid into the tin cup he held. Another piece started, and dancers began to move around the barn. The fiddles were loud, the smells of tobacco and hay strong in the air.

  “Dammit,” Horace Roth muttered. Luke glanced over at him, then followed his gaze to the dancers. Rake Acheson spun past with Honor, and Luke felt as if a fist had clenched his insides.

  Horace Roth started forward, his shoulders stiff and his jaw clenched. Luke reached out and clamped his hand on Roth’s shoulder. Roth spun around, his blue eyes cold, and Luke faced him.

  “Sir, you just said that Honor’s strong-willed,” Luke said quietly. “She doesn’t like Rake Acheson, but if my daddy stepped in and didn’t want me to dance with someone, I’d probably be hell-bent on dancing with her.”

  Horace Roth looked back at the dancers and at Luke. He exhaled and reached for a tin cup, pouring himself some brew. “You’re probably right, but I hate for him to touch her.”

  Luke bit back a smile, knowing that Horace Roth hated for any male from sixteen to sixty to touch his daughter. Dusty was probably the exception, but Dusty hadn’t danced with Honor. And neither had Luke. And Luke understood Horace Roth’s antipathy to Rake. He had to battle his own urges to step between Honor and Acheson.

  Luke glanced around and saw Ginny Anderson, whose parents owned cattle south of the H Bar R. Ginny’s rosy cheeks and red lips were pretty; her blue eyes sparkled, and Luke had danced twice with her already. She was nineteen years old, ripe for marriage and easy to look at.

  He turned and walked outside into the cool night air, moving to a corral fence to sip the potent brew, knowing he should stop because he needed a clear head around Honor and her pa.

  Stars were bright, twinkling against the black sky that spread endlessly over the hills. Music stopped then started again as he finished his drink.

  “Aren’t you ever going to dance with me?”

  He turned around, and Honor stood only yards away. She walked up beside him and lifted her hair off her slender neck. She smelled like roses and moonlight played over her features, highlighting the fine bone structure of her face, leaving her eyes in shadow.

  “You look like you’re having a good time. I don’t know how you escaped out here. I’m sure there’s someone back there disappointed because you stopped dancing with him.”

  She slanted him a look. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he said, drinking the last drop in the cup. “I’m not much of a dancer, Honor.”

  “I saw you dancing two times with Ginny Anderson, and you danced with Mary Belle and Wilma Jean.”

  “Ginny’s three years older than you are, Honor, and she’s a grown woman,” he said, hating to hurt Honor in the smal
lest way, yet knowing he couldn’t tell her that he didn’t want to dance with her because he worked for her pa, and he didn’t need that kind of trouble. She was temptation, and he didn’t dare lose his cool control. He sighed. “We’ll dance some other time, Honor.”

  She placed her hand on his arm and he drew a ragged breath, her touch seeming to burn through his veins and heat his body. “I’m not a child, Luke.”

  He moved back so she wasn’t touching him, and her eyes narrowed. “Honor, there are more than two dozen men lined up in there to dance with you. Now you’ll have a lot more fun—”

  “Never mind, Luke.” She stepped back, shaking and glaring at him. “You can just wait until I’m as old as Ginny. By then I hope I don’t want to dance with you!” She turned and walked away a few steps, then looked back at him. “I’m grown-up now, Luke,” she said quietly, and he felt something clench inside because he wanted to take her in his arms and dance with her, but couldn’t.

  Silence stretched between them and then she turned and broke into a run to the barn, her skirt swirling around her trim ankles. He swore under his breath and looked around for his horse.

  No one was going to jump him tonight because they were all having too good a time. He left the tin cup on a post and strode to the barn to get his hat. He stepped out of the crowd and mounted his horse, turning for the H Bar R.

  As Honor danced with Edwin Stroby, she saw Luke leave. She hurt inside, and her gaze went to Ginny Anderson, who was beautiful and blond, so very blond. Honor glanced at her own hand, studying her dark skin. Was it her Indian heritage that put the distance between Luke and her? Or did he still see her as a child? Luke was special to her, and she knew he always would be, but he didn’t feel the same way toward her, and she wondered if he ever would. He must feel something, she thought, because she could remember the moment when she placed her fingers on his arm. He had drawn a deep breath that sounded as if he were drowning, and his eyes had narrowed as he looked at her. Was it her Indian blood that made him so cool? Or was it because he worked for Pa?