“You told me once”—his voice dropped, yet she caught the edge of scorn over the ripple of the creek—”it didn’t matter to you that I was half-Indian.”
“Yes, but…marriage…It’s…such a high price.”
“Maybe so, but that’s what I want.”
He paused for an instant.
“Before you say no, you ought to consider one thing,” he said slowly, carefully, so she would understand, so she would have plenty of thought to chew on. “My people wouldn’t take kindly to my helping whites against my own kin, but if we were married…it would change things. By Comanche law, a man is obliged to protect his wife’s family. If you were my wife, it would be my duty to rescue your sister. There’s not a Comanche alive who would argue with that.”
Slowly then, he stood and went to retrieve his black slouch hat from two yards away, where he’d flung it earlier. Slapping it restlessly against his thigh, he finally looked down at her.
“That’s my condition, princess. You think on it and let me know what you decide.”
Chapter 2
Marriage was the price for saving her sister. Marriage to a hard-bitten, unforgiving stranger. A man she had once wronged. A bastard half-breed within whose veins flowed the blood of the most vicious race ever to ravage the Texas plains.
Marriage to Lance Calder. It was unthinkable—and yet Summer had thought of nothing else during the past five hours.
She had needed every moment of that interval for sober reflection, every moment to conquer the feelings of shock and denial Lance’s ultimatum had aroused in her. The condition he had put on his services—while dumbfounding, contemptible, perhaps insulting—deserved careful consideration. The stakes were too high to do otherwise.
Summer had postponed telling her brother until now, though, waiting until after supper before following Reed to the west parlor, which had served as his bedchamber since his wounding rendered him unable to climb stairs. As she’d expected, he’d turned livid. For the last two minutes Reed had vented his helpless fury in a roar loud enough to make her wince. Summer clasped her hands together now as she watched her brother, feeling the same impotence, the same anger, but trying to draw courage from the simple need to calm him.
Too outraged to sit still, he paced the floor with as much vigor as a one-legged man could summon, his crutches thudding dully on the rose-patterned carpet.
“The nerve of that bastard! Who in God’s name does Calder think he is?”
“I expect,” Summer murmured with more equanimity than she felt, “that he knows exactly who he is. No one will let him forget it. He won’t let himself forget.”
“The devil, he won’t! He dared propose to you.”
“Well, actually…it wasn’t much of a proposal. He was more interested in the respectability that marrying a Weston could bring him. And I suppose he’s right. As his wife, I could give him a better chance at acceptance than he has now.”
Stopping abruptly, Reed turned to stare at her in horror. “You can’t seriously be considering his offer? Good God, Summer! The man’s an Indian!”
“Half-Indian—who was raised white.”
“Dammit, you’re splitting hairs!”
“Five years ago you weren’t so troubled about his race,” she pointed out reasonably. “You were the one who convinced Papa to hire Lance in the first place.”
“Only because I thought he got a raw deal. I took him in because I felt sorry for him.”
“You took him in because he was the best mustanger in Texas, and because he saved your life.”
“That debt’s paid now,” Reed snapped. “And just because I might hire him as a ranch hand doesn’t mean I want him marrying my sister!”
Summer took a calming breath, striving to present an argument that would persuade her brother as well as herself. “What choice do we have? How many volunteers did you get to help us search for Amelia? Three. That isn’t nearly enough, Reed, and you know it.”
“With the vaqueros who offered, we’ll have eleven,” he muttered.
She shook her head. “Eleven hundred wouldn’t be enough if we don’t know where to look. Lance said he would ask his Comanche relatives for help if he were to take on the job.”
“But…marriage…It’s absurd, impossible! The whole notion is scandalous.”
She tried to smile. She’d had five hours to accustom herself to the notion, while Reed had only had five minutes. “It isn’t as if we would be living in sin. He offered to marry me.”
Reed clenched his teeth at her failed attempt at humor, as if not trusting himself to speak.
“Perhaps it won’t be so bad.”
“Not bad? You’ll be shunned by everyone we know. No one will receive you—”
“No one receives us now,” Summer interrupted him tiredly. “They can’t forgive you for your political persuasions. Besides,” she added doggedly, her voice suddenly unsteady, “I hardly think our social calendar should concern us more than Amelia’s safe return. In any case, if—when—we find her, her reception is likely to be far worse than mine. What kind of treatment do you think she’ll get from our neighbors? Have you thought of that? Have you thought of what she might be suffering at this very moment?”
The agonized look in her brother’s blue eyes told her that her shaft had struck home. “That isn’t fair,” Reed retorted hoarsely. “I’ve though of nothing else for the past two days.”
He turned abruptly to resume his pacing, but his right crutch caught on the edge of the carpet, causing him to stumble and swear foully. He righted himself before he fell, and Summer stopped herself from going to his aid. Reed hated to be made to feel like a cripple, and he wouldn’t take help from her unless he was in the direst pain.
“Damnation, if only I weren’t a cripple!”
She saw the frustration, the fury, on his face, and her throat closed over the ache of tears. If only. How many times had she voiced those same helpless, hopeless words since the war began? But she fought down the urge to say them again. She couldn’t afford to dwell on wistful “what ifs,” or indulge in the luxury of tears.
She watched silently as Reed gave up pacing and sank onto the velvet settee, his head bowed.
His voice, when he finally spoke, held a wealth of quiet anguish. “I’m your brother…a man. I’m supposed to be able to protect my sisters.”
“Reed…you can’t blame yourself for what happened to Amelia.”
“Perhaps not. But I would blame myself if I stood idly by while you made such a sacrifice and married Calder.”
For a moment Summer didn’t answer. Then she asked in a low tone, “Do you remember Bart Mobly?”
“The fellow who moved to Austin a while back? Amelia’s beau?”
“Yes, him. Amelia could have been his wife, Reed, but she wouldn’t leave me, so he found someone else. She gave up her future to help raise me—and I was too young and spoiled even to realize it, much less appreciate it. But I understand her sacrifice now. How can I ever forget what Amelia did for me? How can I not try to repay her? How could I possibly consider my future more important than her life?”
“I…I know.” Reed rubbed his hand roughly down his face. “I just…can’t bear the thought of Calder touching you. If he’s your husband—You’re still an innocent, Summer. You don’t know about the things that go on between a man and a woman. It isn’t like the stolen kisses you used to give your flirts. It’s more…physical. Sometimes it’s…painful for a woman. I wouldn’t want to think what a man like that might do to you.”
She didn’t want to think of it, either. Involuntarily her hand went to the hollow between her breasts. She could feel the constricting press of whalebone beneath her bodice, reminding her of what had happened this afternoon by the creek. She’d replaced the corset laces Lance had cut, but she hadn’t forgotten the primal look in his eyes. That heated look alone had told her there was more to carnal relations than chaste kisses and gentle petting. Indeed, his kiss five years ago had told her that much. She might stil
l be an innocent, but she was less naive than her brother gave her credit for.
“He said he wouldn’t hurt me,” she answered finally, her tone less certain than she would have liked.
Reed gave a scoffing snort of disgust but didn’t reply for a long moment. “It’s sheer blackmail, you know.”
“I know.”
“It’s despicable, dishonorable.”
That, too, was true. Lance had taken advantage of her vulnerability, her powerlessness, approaching her when she was at her most desperate. She fiercely resented his forcing her to make such a decision. And yet railing against his brazen ultimatum would not help rescue her sister. Nor would moral arguments. It would only waste time and energy that she didn’t have.
“Honor won’t bring Amelia back,” Summer said quietly. She could feel her brother’s blue eyes searching her face.
“Comanches killed Mama. Have you forgotten that?”
She shook her head. “No.” She hated the savage Comanches as much as anyone. No one who had witnessed the terrible depredations the Comanches committed against innocent settlers year after year could help but feel hatred for them, in addition to horror and fear. And yet it wasn’t right to hold Lance responsible for every atrocity his father’s people had perpetrated.
“I haven’t forgotten. But Lance didn’t kill Mama. You can’t blame one man for all the terrible things that an entire race has done to another.”
A soft knock sounded on the door just then, interrupting Reed’s reply. When Summer bid entrance, the door opened and a dark-skinned Mexican woman peered inside the parlor.
“Do you need me any longer this evening, patrona?”
“No, Consuala, thank you. You may go.”
The woman smiled tentatively and shut the door once more. Consuala was one of several Mexican house servants John Weston had brought to live and work on the ranch twenty years ago. She was married to one of the vaqueros who worked with the horses.
Alone again with her brother, Summer would have continued the conversation, but Reed shook his head. “Go on up to bed, Summer. We’ll discuss this further in the morning.”
She hesitated, recognizing the stubborn resistance in his voice. She wouldn’t succeed tonight in persuading him to reconsider. She wouldn’t even try.
Going to him, she bent and kissed Reed tenderly on the temple, wondering if this would be the last time she bestowed such an affectionate gesture on her brother. If she made the long journey to Fort Belknap as she intended, there was always the chance she wouldn’t survive the dangers she might have to face.
“Yes…we’ll talk in the morning.” She brushed back his sable hair, so like her own. “You should try to sleep yourself, Reed. You’ve been driving yourself far too hard. You have to save your strength.”
With one last look, she left him and made her way slowly along the hall and up the front staircase to her bedchamber. She felt incredibly weary all of a sudden. Weary of the responsibilities and worries that had dominated her life for so long.
The war had wholly ravaged the Weston family. They weren’t poor exactly. During the war she had managed to sell enough of the horses to keep the ranch going. The comfortable, privileged way of life she’d been born to might be gone, but they were better off than most. Wealth no longer meant as much to her as it once had, though. She would have given it all up instantly if she could have her brothers back, her father alive, if Reed could be whole again, if Amelia could only—
But she’d sworn she wouldn’t let herself dwell on Amelia’s fate. It would only drive her mad.
Forcibly Summer straightened her shoulders. She’d never mastered stoicism, but she’d long ago learned that she had a stronger will than she’d ever imagined. For years she had faced the devastation unbowed. She’d had no choice. And she had no choice now but to carry on. Still, she was tired, so very tired of being strong.
Slipping inside her bedchamber, Summer shut the door softly and leaned back against the cherry-wood panel. This was the room she had once shared with Amelia. Her gaze swept the airy chamber with its feminine furnishings: white lace curtains at the windows, crocheted doilies embellishing polished wood surfaces, the thick featherbed that drew you down into sweet slumber, with its cheerful yellow counterpane that her sister had lovingly fashioned. Amelia had tenderly tucked her into this bed at night—
Hush, now. I’ll stay with you till you fall as asleep, Summer.
But what if the Indians come, like they did for Mama?
You don’t have to be afraid, love. I’ll protect you. I’ll always be here for you.
At the poignant memory, Summer closed her eyes, unable to stop the tears that suddenly spilled down her cheeks. She had only a dim recollection of her mother, but Amelia had more than filled that yawning need in her life. She owed her sister so much…
With a fierce gesture of impatience, Summer dashed a hand across her eyes. Going to the armoire, she reached up and took down a carpetbag in order to pack. Dusty would drive her into town. She was capable of driving herself, for that matter, but it would only be asking for trouble, a lone woman traveling at night, what with the lawless vagrants roaming the hills since the war’s end. Once she reached Round Rock, Lance would protect her. From others, at least. She trusted him to do that much, even if she had little faith in his willingness to protect her from himself.
Summer paused as she pulled out her traveling suit of brown and gold striped grenadine from the armoire. The memory of Lance staring down at her so fiercely this afternoon, his dark, hawkish face so close, made a tremor run up her spin. What in heaven’s name was she letting herself in for?
He was still the hard, unforgiving man she’d once wronged. And God help her, he still held the same fascination for her that she’d felt as a girl: dangerous, forbidden, exciting. He had awed her then. Left her tongue-tied and absurdly nervous—she who had the ability to charm anything male. Lance had only to look at her and she felt weak.
He’d done it to her this afternoon, but with a difference. His look this afternoon had been calculated to frighten her, to drive her away. When his eyes had deliberately roamed over her, she’d felt as if he’d stripped her naked and assessed her body—and was contemptuous of the conclusions he arrived at. And yet she was woman enough to recognize the lust in his eyes and to realize that part of his contempt had been reserved for himself. He didn’t want to want her.
She was grateful for his masculine susceptibility. It was the only trump card she had to play, the only leverage. That, and the respectability of her Weston connections.
Reed was right. Lance was blackmailing her into marriage—a despicable, dishonorable act. But at least he wanted something from her, enough to lay out his terms for coming to her rescue.
Absently Summer raised a sleeve of her traveling suit to her damp cheek, trying to take comfort from the softness. What would marriage to Lance be like? She tried to picture him enveloping her in a loving embrace, but her mind utterly failed her. All she could remember was the way he had held her this afternoon when he’d carried her down to the creek, his arms like steel bands. She couldn’t imagine any love in those arms. No gentleness or warmth at all. Only hardness and anger.
Do you still hate me, Lance?
He still harbored a bitter anger toward her, certainly. His wounded pride wouldn’t let him forget what she’d done to him. She couldn’t blame him. A man didn’t forget that kind of hurt.
Their situations were entirely reversed from five years ago. Lance wasn’t dependent on her father’s goodwill for a job. He wasn’t dependent on anyone. He had the upper hand now. He had caught her when she was at her most vulnerable.
All she had left was pride—but she was willing to swallow it whole if it meant he would help her find her sister. She would stifle all the feelings of impotence and rage she felt at being forced into marriage with a man whom her father had refused even to allow on the ranch. She wouldn’t let herself think of the devastating consequences that a marriage to a half
-breed would have on her own future.
She wouldn’t tell Reed until after the deed was done, either. He would try to stop her, and she couldn’t afford the delay.
No, she would go now, tonight. As soon as she could pack and get some money together. Before she could change her mind. Before she lost her nerve entirely.
One arm behind his head, Lance lay on the cot in the livery stable office, staring at the rough wood ceiling and the flickering patterns made by the low-burning lantern. The tiny room, tucked in the front corner of the livery, doubled as his sleeping quarters. The place was cramped and crudely furnished, but better than bedding down in a stall or outdoors with the elements and wild critters to contend with.
Lance hardly noticed his surroundings, anyway. His mind was too wrapped up in thoughts of a green-eyed enchantress and the hell his conscience was giving him—and the resentment he felt toward both.
He should never have gone out to the Weston ranch today. And he damned sure shouldn’t have stuck around long enough for Summer Weston to fix those pleading green eyes on him. If he’d had the sense to ride away, maybe now he wouldn’t be torturing himself this way—one part of him hoping feverishly that she might actually consider thinking about his offer. Another part cursing his foolishness for opening himself up to rejection. Still another flogging himself for adding to her troubles.
“Damned, stupid ass,” Lance muttered fiercely.
He should have stayed away from her, from temptation. He should’ve known what would happen the minute he got close. His gut had twisted when he’d seen her standing on her back porch facing that unsympathetic crowd, looking so defenseless and alone. And then later, looking so defenseless against him. He’d gone and scared hell out of her by almost attacking her.
His conscience hadn’t stopped hounding him since. He should never have let his temper get so out of control.
A real bastard, that’s what he felt like. A bastard and a fool.
He’d gambled big this afternoon. Laid himself open for all kinds of hurt. A fine lady like her would no more marry a man like him than she would suddenly take up employment in a whorehouse. He’d been fantasizing even to think up such a harebrained proposal.
The Savage Page 5
