The Savage

by Nicole Jordan

  Summer raised a trembling hand to her temple. Her head felt fogged by too many hours of exhausted sleep, her naked skin overly sensitive to the scratchy wool of the blanket, the hollow between her thighs throbbing with a tender ache....

  At least Lance had left the office. She didn’t want to face him just now. She didn’t want to remember the shameful things he had done to her, the way she had come apart in his arms, how she had broken down in tears afterward. Her pride was in tatters, her nerves a state of raw confusion. She didn’t want to be so vulnerable to him.

  And when he returned? What in heaven’s name was she going to do? She had surrendered to him with pure wantonness—

  A sudden realization made Summer’s chin snap up. She was Lance’s wife now. There was no dishonor in what she had done. She had accepted his conditions in exchange for his help, simply that. Her weakness last night had been the result of strain and weariness, nothing more. She had turned to Lance for comfort—and he had responded with more tenderness than she’d thought him capable of, holding her and stroking her before she’d succumbed to exhaustion.

  Today she would be better prepared to handle herself, to face the difficult future. This morning they would take the stage for Fort Belknap. Shortly, in fact. From the brightness of the sunlight, the morning was well-advanced—

  With a sudden exclamation of dismay, Summer whipped her head around to stare at the shuttered widow. Dear God, Amelia! How could she have forgotten her sister even for an instant?

  Throwing off the blanket, Summer jumped up from the cot and searched frantically for her watch, which was pinned to the bodice jacket of her traveling suit. Prying open the gold case, she felt relief flood her. It was scarcely nine o’clock. There was still ample time to catch the stage if she didn’t dally.

  Hurriedly she washed and dressed, then brushed her hair. As she secured it into a simple knot at her nape, she couldn’t help remembering how Lance had removed the pins last night. The thought made hot color flood her cheeks.

  Trying to ignore the insistent recollections, she gave her skirts a final smoothing and stepped outside the office, intending to make use of the privy behind the stables. It was a cool, fresh early September morning, sunlit and sparkling. A dozen horses moved restlessly in the corral beside the building, but there was no sign of Lance.

  She had returned to the office and was eating a hasty breakfast of biscuits and coffee when she heard the plod of horses’ hooves outside. When the door latch lifted, Summer froze, not daring to look behind her, not knowing how to act.

  The door swung slowly open and Lance stepped inside the room; she knew it was he from the way her skin suddenly started to tingle. She was palpably conscious of his presence in the small cabin. His nearness had always affected her powerfully, but this time the effect was magnified tenfold after what had gone on between them last night.

  This man was her husband, the husband who had become familiar with her body last night, who had held her through the night, lending her his strength. The thought of facing him unnerved her.

  “I went to fetch Molly Jenkins’s boy,” Lance said gruffly into the silence. “And to pick up some supplies.”

  As he set down on the table the parcels he carried, Summer raised her head and their gazes collided. The shock was like plunging into an icy swimming hole on a hot summer’s day; it stole her breath away. When he looked at her with those hard obsidian eyes, her thoughts scattered. All she could remember was Lance’s mouth on her breasts, his fingers stroking between her thighs.

  He broke the spell first. Carefully avoiding touching her, Lance moved past her and began filling his saddlebags for the journey ahead.

  Summer sat awkwardly sipping her coffee, wondering what she should do or say. The tension was back between them; she could feel its presence, alive and distancing. And Lance’s silence disturbed her as well.

  “Do you need me to help?” she asked after a moment.

  “No. I can take care of it.”

  “It…it feels so strange…to be married.”

  When he glanced up from his packing, his ink-black eyes looked wary, the guarded look of a wild animal prepared for danger. “We’re not really married yet. Not completely.”

  His caution struck her as odd. Was it possible that Lance was as uncertain how to act toward her as she was toward him?

  The notion of Lance Calder—arrogant, rebellious, hard-as-nails Lance—exhibiting uncertainty at anything amazed her. And consoled her at the same time. For an instant Summer forgot her confusion and resentment, forgot the strange circumstances of their marriage, in the need to reassure him, to ease the tension between them.

  “I want…I should thank you, Lance…for being so considerate last night.”

  The swift play of emotion that crossed his face was gone in an instant, to be replaced by the familiar hard remoteness. “Just don’t expect to get around me so easy next time.”

  “Next…time?”

  “We didn’t finish last night, princess. Stop pretending to be so ignorant.”

  “I wasn’t pretending. I know we didn’t finish.”

  He made a sound that was almost a grunt and returned to his packing.

  Summer watched him, having difficulty reconciling the hard stranger with the tender lover he had become last night. “Are you always such a bear first thing in the morning?” she demanded in irritation.

  He looked up at that, focusing narrowed eyes on her. “Only when I’m left hot and aching by a damned tease.”

  She flushed. “I wasn’t…I didn’t mean to tease you.”

  “Sure you did, princess. That’s always been your game. Arouse a man till he’s half-crazy with lust for you and then sashay away.” His dark eyes swept over her with that characteristic hard stare of appraisal and challenge. “But you better understand now that you’re not going to treat me like that. You’re my wife now. When I want you, I intend to have you.”

  Summer felt her resentment swell again at his highhandedness. She appreciated Lance’s consideration last night, but just because he hadn’t raped her was no reason for her to grovel in gratitude. He had forced her into this disreputable marriage, but she hadn’t agreed to be his doormat—or his trollop.

  Her chin rose. “I consented to become your wife, Lance Calder, not your…your fancy woman. And I won’t be treated like one!”

  His gaze hardened. “Are you already trying to get out of our bargain?”

  “I wasn’t, but if you mean to be such a boor, perhaps I should reconsider. Perhaps I was too impulsive—”

  Lance cursed out loud. His temper was raw as fresh meat from the lack of physical release. He had an erection the size of a fence post, and it was all he could do to keep his hands off his bewitching bride. And now Summer was threatening him with what he feared most: her defection.

  He had clenched his fist and opened his mouth to reply when he was interrupted by the rattle of wagon wheels outside. Lance immediately went rigid, while Summer tensed. She couldn’t mistake the sound of her brother’s voice cursing and telling his team to “Whoa!”

  She rose from the table, smoothing her skirts and straightening her shoulders. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to face a confrontation with Reed this morning, but he must have learned from Dusty about her marriage and come after her.

  Avoiding Lance’s gaze, she went to the door and opened it. She wouldn’t make Reed climb down from the buckboard on only one leg. She stepped outside where he waited in the sunlit morning.

  His gaze swung at once to her, his eyes pinning her, but otherwise he remained where he was.

  For a long moment Reed sat unmoving, his hands clenched on the reins, his handsome face tight with conflict, his blue eyes filled with feeling: fury, anguish, regret.

  “You did it,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

  “Yes,” she said simply. “We’re married.”

  She felt Lance come silently to stand behind her, felt his hand settle possessively on her shoulder. S
ummer flinched involuntarily at his touch.

  She saw Reed notice the gesture, saw the way his mouth tightened. “Are you…all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Truly.”

  He digested that in silence. “There’s nothing I can do, is there.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No. I’m Lance’s wife now, Reed. Completely. It’s too late to annul our marriage.”

  She felt Lance’s startlement in the tightening of his fingers. Quite possibly he expected her to rescind her marriage vows after the quarrel they’d just had. But her reasons for marrying Lance hadn’t changed. She wouldn’t go back on her word. And she didn’t want her brother holding out false hope.

  “We’re leaving for Fort Belknap in a little while,” Summer said into his silence. “The stage should be here shortly.”

  “You were going to go without a word to me.”

  She heard the hurt in his voice. “I had to, Reed. You would never have approved, otherwise.”

  “Well…” The word was expelled on a harsh breath as he looked away, staring off in the distance. “If I can’t change matters…I guess the only thing I can do is try to help.”

  He reached in the side storage box beside the driver’s seat and withdrew a small leather pouch. Quietly he held it out to Summer. “Here. It’s all the money we have. Three thousand and some dollars, Union bills. I’ve heard the Comanches are sometimes willing to ransom their captives.” He looked directly at Lance for the first time. “You may need it to buy Amelia back.”

  Summer’s eyes filled with tears. Reed hated what she had done, but he was resigned enough not to fight it. And hopeful enough of their chances of success to donate the Weston savings to aid in their sister’s rescue.

  She started to move forward, but Lance prevented her by tightening his grasp on her shoulder. When she glanced back at him in question, she found him staring belligerently at her brother.

  Lance spoke then for the first time, his tone gruff, hostile even. “I have money. I don’t need yours, Weston.”

  His blue eyes narrowing, Reed stared back. “It’s my sister you’re trying to save.”

  “It’s my wife’s sister as well. I’ll take care of it.”

  There was a wealth of possessiveness in the way he said “wife,” but Summer didn’t think it had much to do with her personally. Lance was only stating the code Westerners lived by: a strong man protected his woman, his woman’s family. He had taken Reed’s offer of money as an insult, as an insinuation that he couldn’t provide for his wife…his white wife.

  She watched helplessly as Lance’s smoldering gaze locked on Reed, as Reed glared back at Lance in frustration: two proud males fighting over the right to protect their women.

  Reed must have seen the absurdity of it, though, for he suddenly shook his head and let out his breath on a huff of unwilling laughter. His blue eyes held a grim gleam of humor when he said, “I’m not offering you charity, Calder. I’m responsible for Amelia, and it’s my duty to pay for her release. You’ll not make me any more beholden to you, either. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you risk your life in my place without me doing all I can to help. Besides, you may need every penny.”

  When Lance remained silent, Reed thrust the leather pouch toward him again. “Blast you, take it! We’re in this together now, whether or not you and I like it.”

  Beside Summer, Lance nodded once, stiffly, and released her shoulder. Moving to the buckboard, she accepted the pouch, but instead of stepping back, she climbed up to the seat and embraced her brother.

  “This is for the best,” she murmured, pressing her cheek against his. “You’ll see.”

  He returned the gesture, holding her tightly. “You be careful, Summer, do you hear?”

  “I will.”

  After a moment, she felt Reed look over her shoulder at Lance. “You’ll take care of her?”

  “Yes.”

  Reed let her go then. Holding her elbow, he helped her gently to the ground. Summer knew how much it cost her brother to surrender his duty; it went against every gentlemanly instinct, every family feeling he possessed, to entrust the safety of both his sisters to the care of a man like Lance. But he had no choice, and he seemed to know it.

  His fingers clenched around the reins once more as he looked at Lance. “I’ll be obliged to you…if you can bring Amelia home.” His voice was low, unsteady.

  Lance nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  With a last glance at his sister, Reed flicked the reins and urged the horses forward. The buckboard made a wide circle and rolled away with a rattle of wheels, heading back toward the Weston ranch.

  Summer waited until her brother was out of sight before wiping away the tears on her cheeks. Turning to Lance, she handed him the pouch of money. “You’d better keep it.”

  It startled him a bit that she would trust him with so large a sum, just as it had stunned him when she’d told her brother they were married for good. He hadn’t expected her to stretch the truth that way. In fact, he’d prepared himself for just the opposite. They hadn’t consummated their marriage last night, and if Summer meant to renege on their bargain, this was the time. His heart only just now had stopped pounding. Did she really mean to accept him as her husband?

  When she would have returned to the office, Lance stayed her with a hand on her arm. “This is a lot of money. You’re not afraid I might ride off with it?”

  She gave him a puzzled glance, as if uncertain whether he was jesting or goading her. She swallowed once hard, as if it were impossible for her to speak just then with the tears clogging her throat. Shaking her head, she moved past him, going inside the cabin.

  Lance stood there a minute, trying to get control of himself. The relief he’d felt clearing the hurdle of her brother was fierce, but not as strong as the guilt he felt when he looked at Summer, at the shadows under her eyes, at her lips slightly bruised with passion, at the tearstains on her pale cheeks. Damn, he felt like a heel. Even if he hadn’t forced her last night, he’d taken advantage of her weakness, added to her troubles by making her marry him. Last night he’d marked her as his, and he wanted like hell to do it again.

  The memory of what he’d done to her wouldn’t go away. He kept remembering how it felt to have her silky-skinned body pinned beneath him, her slender legs open wide to him, her hard-nippled breasts pushing against his bare chest. He kept thinking about what it would have felt like if he hadn’t stopped. To have her go wild for him. To have her clawing at his back and arching her hips against him as he rode her. To have her moaning with need for him.

  Dammit to hell, Summer belonged to him. She was his wife now. He’d had every right to take her. Trouble was, she looked worn-out, as if she was only holding back the tears by sheer force of will. As if she might break if he touched her. God, he wanted to touch her.

  He’d given her pleasure last night, he knew that. He’d discovered the hidden fire in her, kindled a passion in her body that she’d never felt before.

  And the thought of doing it again made his mouth go dry. He was conscious of a fierce urge to follow Summer inside the office and lay her down on his bed and thrust himself so deep inside her, he became part of her, to devour her mouth and fit himself to her body, to totally claim his ownership. But she didn’t need some horny bastard rutting on her, husband or no.

  Lance clenched his teeth, trying to stifle his primal urges. Last night had shown him without a doubt just how damned vulnerable he was to her. And the way his body felt just now, he was likely to attack her if he so much as touched her. His stiff sex hurt, squeezed by the pressure of his denim pants. He wanted her bad; as hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop wanting.

  But he had more control than that, more pride. He wasn’t going to let Summer lead him around by his groin. He would have to spend the next several days cooped up in a stage with her at the mercy of his own lust, so he’d damned well better learn to live with it.

  Unless he wanted to prove himself the primitive brute she’
d always believed him to be.

  The stage arrived a half hour late, well within the four-hour leeway the stagecoach company warned its passengers to prepare for. Until then, Summer and Lance said little to each other, both trying to ignore the other and the tension raging between them.

  The lad whom Lance had hired to look after the livery while he was gone, Nate Jenkins, made short work of changing the team for fresh horses, eager to prove his worth. Meanwhile, the passengers, four in all, and the two burly drivers stepped down to use the facilities and to gulp down the fresh coffee waiting in the office.

  While they were inside, Lance stowed Summer’s bag in the boot along with his own gear, and told her to wait till the stage was ready to pull out before boarding. “The trip will be long enough as it is. You’ll be glad of every chance you get to stretch your legs.”

  When she nodded, he turned to help Nate finish harnessing the horses.

  Summer watched, grateful that Lance was going well-armed. He had packed two Henry carbines—a new type of short-barreled repeating rifle. The guns could each fire sixteen rounds without reloading. He’d also strapped on a six-shooter—a Colt Navy .36 revolver—at his thigh, and she knew Lance always carried a knife. He’d scared her witless with it yesterday—God, was it only yesterday that she had asked him to help her?—and brandished it at her brother five years ago. The small single-shot derringer she carried in her reticule hardly compared to Lance’s arsenal, but still it made her feel safer. Her father had taught her to shoot when she was small—in Texas even the youngest child knew how to defend against Indian raids—but when the war started, he’d made her start carrying protection whenever she left the house.

  Less than ten minutes later, the drivers and passengers filed out of the stage office. Lance handed his and Summer’s tickets to the large, red-bearded man in charge.

  “Two passages?” The driver raised his shaggy eyebrows. “You riding with us, Lance?”

  “Yeah, Shep. We’ll be going as far as Fort Belknap.”

  The well-dressed blond lady in the group—the only other woman besides Summer—paused in the act of being assisted inside the stagecoach and turned to stare at Lance. “Surely you don’t expect us to travel all the way to north Texas with him?”