The Savage

by Nicole Jordan

  John Weston had taken two years and a small fortune to build it, determined to provide his large family with something better than the rough log cabin that had supported them when they first settled the land.

  A familiar, cold heaviness swallowed Lance up as he sat there hesitating. He remembered being a kid gazing up at the fancy mansions in Austin, remembered his mother drawing him away as she gently explained why he would never be accepted in any of those fine homes. You aren’t like them, Lance. They can’t accept your Indian blood. They can’t accept me. But it doesn’t matter. We don’t need them. Not as long as we have each other. He remembered the anger that had burgeoned inside him, the anger that, like smoldering embers, only grew hotter. He remembered the savage hurt.

  That pain hadn’t been as raw, though, as what he’d felt when he’d learned Summer had betrayed her promise to wait for him. She had left him to follow her, as if he were some sort of unwelcome afterthought.

  Setting his jaw, Lance tore his gaze away and swung down from his horse. There was no point in waiting. He was here to lay claim to his wife, and nothing was going to stop him. And unlike five years ago, he wouldn’t be run off.

  To his surprise, when he knocked he was admitted at once by a Mexican woman, just as if he’d been expected. He was shown into the front parlor and told that she would fetch the patrón if he would wait, por favor.

  Left alone in such elegant surroundings, Lance belatedly removed his hat. He didn’t take a seat on the blue chintz settee or the velvet armchairs or even the wooden rocker. Not when he was so dusty and unshaven, with three days of trail dirt clinging to him. He hadn’t even taken the time to change clothes before riding out here to settle the issue of his marriage with his errant bride.

  She and her sister had made it back unharmed, he’d learned from young Nate when he’d arrived at his livery in Round Rock. But once he’d known they were safe, the relief he’d felt had quickly been overshadowed by smoldering anger…and fear. Anger that Summer would risk making such a dangerous journey unprotected. Fear that she’d only used her sister’s condition as an excuse to be free of him.

  His claim to Summer wasn’t indisputable, not by a long shot. Her sister was safe, and without that leverage, he had no real hold on her. If Summer wanted to disavow their marriage, she could do it. She could demand a divorce, and any judge in the land would grant it to her, Lance had no doubt. Certainly her family would have preferred it that way.

  Vowing it would be a cold day in hell before he gave her up, Lance glanced around the parlor. He had never been inside the Weston house before, and he found himself looking for glimpses of Summer, unwillingly comparing the elegance she had grown up with to the rugged simplicity he’d always known.

  When his gaze roamed over the stone fireplace, his eye caught the small gilt-framed portrait sitting on the mantel—and his breathing suddenly seemed to stop. Summer. How did he always manage to forget how beautiful she was?

  The portrait was Summer as he’d known her five years ago—laughing, face upturned, innocent green eyes dancing with that feminine come-hither glance that could tempt a man’s soul from his body. Even then she’d been sure of her own power.

  He hadn’t heard much laughter from her lately, nor had he seen that alluring look directed at him, but she still held that same devastating power over him. She could wound him without even trying.

  Was that what she’d done? Her note had said she’d been forced to leave Belknap at Amelia’s insistence, that she was sorry but she had to take her sister home—but was that the truth? Was her regret real? Or had she simply been running from him, trying to postpone the moment of reckoning?

  His dark musings were interrupted just then when Reed limped through the door. Lance looked up—and tensed as he met the other man’s gaze. Reed’s blue eyes were unsmiling, his expression as solemn as a funeral.

  Mentally Lance girded himself for battle, but to his surprise, Reed balanced one crutch under his arm and held out his hand. Lance looked at it warily for moment, then reached out his own to accept the handshake.

  “I can’t ever repay you for what you did, Calder,” Reed admitted in a low voice. “Thank you for saving my sister.”

  “I don’t want your thanks,” Lance retorted more gruffly than he’d intended. “I want my wife.”

  Reed tried to smile. “Of course. Summer should be down in a minute. I sent Maritza to fetch her.”

  Lance’s stiff stance relaxed the slightest degree.

  “You made good time. Summer said you wouldn’t be here for several more days.”

  “I didn’t wait for the stage.”

  Reed’s eyebrow rose. “You rode all that way?”

  “Yeah, what of it?”

  This time Reed managed a reluctant chuckle. “You haven’t changed one damn bit, have you, Calder? You’re still just as prickly as you were when you hired on five years ago. But there’s no reason to take my head off. I meant no insult. Indeed, I’m envious you can sit a horse that long. This damned stump of mine”—he glanced down at what remained of his left leg—“won’t let me even climb on one, let alone ride hundreds of miles. Ten minutes in the saddle would put me on my back for a week.”

  It was said lightly, not at all a plea for sympathy or pity, yet Lance felt both. The Comanches had no place in their society for crippled warriors. He couldn’t imagine living as Reed was trying to do, being forced to hobble around, being dependent on others, especially a household of women. But then, Weston didn’t need his pity. He had plenty of servants and hired hands to do his bidding. All he had to do was crook a finger and his wishes were met. A damned far cry from the way Lance himself had been raised.

  Still, Reed was obviously making an effort to be amiable, not as if he intended to kick his unwanted visitor off his land. Lance felt some of his resentment, his age-old hostility, drain away. If Summer was going to divorce him, would her brother be standing here now, acting so polite? Unless Reed was trying to soften him up—

  He heard the silken rustle of a woman’s skirts, and looked beyond Reed to find Summer poised in the doorway. Lance was aware of his heart thudding slowly against his ribs, of anger and hurt and fear swelling again in his chest.

  “Lance.” Her voice was a soft murmur as she offered him a tentative smile. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she swept into the parlor, offering her hands to him graciously—the lady of the manor to the hilt. Except that Summer went one step further. Raising on tiptoe, she tilted up her face and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.

  It startled him so bad that the gruff retort he’d meant to make died in his throat.

  “How is your wound?” she asked, then glanced over her shoulder at her brother. “Reed, I told you about the terrible knife fight Lance was in.” She turned back to Lance. “It isn’t any worse, is it?”

  If he didn’t know better, he would swear Summer sounded nervous. And to his surprise, her unexpected reception threw him off balance. He’d come here prepared to battle for his life, but he didn’t know how to act in the face of her insecurity.

  He wanted to haul her into his arms and shake her till her teeth rattled for taking off the way she had. He wanted to crush her to him and strip off her clothes and his own and take her right there in the parlor—except that her brother was hovering protectively nearby, and his own clothes were much too filthy for any well-bred lady to get close to.

  Instead of doing either, he brushed his hat against his thigh in a gesture of restrained impatience. “The wound’s fine.”

  “I know you must be unhappy with me,” she began, sweetly reasoning. “And you have every right to be, but truly, I had no choice but to come home when I did. If you had heard Melly’s sobs, you would have done exactly the same thing. I know you would have, Lance. Beneath that fierce scowl of yours lies a kind and generous heart.”

  He knew what she was doing with her flattery—trying to wrap him around her little finger—but d
ammit, she was succeeding. And her explanation did mollify him a bit. He knew what dealing with that hysterical sister of hers was like.

  “Maritza said you rode in,” Summer went on at his silence. “I’ll have her husband take your horse to the barn and carry your things up to your room. You can sleep in our brother Jamison’s old bedchamber—”

  “We can sleep in your brother’s old bedchamber, princess.”

  A flush of warm color spread over her cheekbones, and she avoided looking at Reed. “Well, yes, if Melly doesn’t need me.”

  “Summer…” Lance said warningly.

  She obviously wanted to delay this particular conversation. “You must be hungry and tired—and in need of a bath,” she said with a glance at his attire. “I’ll have Estelle fix you something to eat while I heat some water.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “And don’t tell me I shouldn’t go to the trouble. I fetched enough water in the Comanche camp to know what I’m doing. Did you bring some fresh clothing? If not, I’m sure Reed wouldn’t mind if you borrowed some of his. You’re about the same size—”

  “I brought a change of clothes in my saddlebags,” Lance interrupted.

  “Good. Then come to the kitchen when you’re through here. I’ll leave you two alone to get reacquainted.” She flashed another smile, which included her brother, and swept out in a rustle of skirts.

  Lance glanced at Reed, who was looking solemn again. “I guess I’ll be staying here,” Lance said contentiously, determined not to mince words.

  “I guess so,” Reed replied. “I just hope…It…won’t be easy for her, being married to you, Calder.”

  His jaw hardened. “It was Summer’s choice.”

  “I know. I just don’t want her hurt.”

  “She’s my wife, Weston. I don’t want her hurt, either.”

  Reed nodded slowly, and Lance felt the worst of his tension ease. It was clear he wouldn’t get a warm welcome into the family, but they weren’t going to try to kick him out, either. It was probably too much to expect anything more.

  The kitchen stood at the back of the house, Lance discovered when he went looking. It boasted an iron stove, but the big fireplace apparently was used for most of the cooking, judging by all the hooks and tripods suspended over the coals.

  Several large kettles hung there now, and one of the Mexican women was stirring the contents of a pot—some kind of soup, Lance figured from the delicious odors wafting his way. The smell made his stomach grumble. Summer was right. He was damned hungry, after the lengthy journey. He’d ridden hell-for-leather and hadn’t taken the time to eat anything but jerky the whole trip.

  Summer came up behind him just then, carrying a pile of snowy white towels. She smiled as she passed him, and addressed the Mexican woman.

  “Maritza, this is the man who rescued the señora. My husband…Lance Calder.”

  To his surprise, the woman bobbed him a curtsy and grinned broadly. “Welcome, Señor Calder. We are very glad you bring the señora home.”

  A small storeroom off the kitchen held a copper tub, and Summer deposited the towels in there. “I told Pedro to bring your saddlebags in here,” she said when she came out. “Sit down, Lance, and we’ll feed you.”

  Lance took a seat at the large wooden table, waiting while the women served him a steaming bowl of beef-and-vegetable soup and a plate of fresh cornbread, with a crock of sweet butter and some homemade apple marmalade to go along.

  Summer filled the tub while he ate, making small talk and listening as he told her about delivering the horses to Fights Bear’s warriors, and expressing her relief that everything had gone smoothly.

  She wouldn’t attend his bath, though. Not even when some devil inside prodded Lance to remind her of the time he’d taken her to the creek to bathe.

  “You weren’t so shy then, as I remember, princess. What’s wrong? You afraid to see me without my clothes on now? After all the time we’ve been married?”

  Her cheeks flushing with color, Summer sent an embarrassed glance toward the Mexican woman standing at the fireplace and murmured an excuse about needing to prepare his room. Before he could stop her, she had fled from the kitchen.

  Lance stared after her, his mouth tightening. It seemed Summer was ashamed to have anyone know they slept together as man and wife. But she had better get over her offended sensibilities pretty soon. He wasn’t going to let her deny him his marital rights any longer.

  Telling himself there would be time enough to press the issue, though, he shut the door to the bathroom behind him and began stripping off his filthy clothes.

  Upstairs in the bedchamber that had once belonged to her brothers, Summer felt the warmth gradually fade from her face as she busied herself arranging the flowers Consuala had brought in from the garden.

  She’d already checked to see that there were fresh sheets on the bed, but her glance kept straying to the large four-poster, where in all likelihood she would be sleeping with Lance tonight, where in all probability he would take her body with the kind of passion he’d shown her during most of their marriage.

  Faith, she wished he hadn’t reminded her of how abnormal their relationship was. In the Comanche camp, their lovemaking, while wild and primitive, had seemed almost natural, part of the untamed setting. But what had been an earthy mating between husband and wife there would seem entirely wanton here, depraved even, now that they’d returned to civilization. What had been acceptable there just wasn’t done between ladies and gentlemen. Why, Amelia had once confessed she’d never even undressed in front of her husband, let alone let him do the kind of scandalous things Lance had done to her.

  Summer felt unwelcome heat steal back into her cheeks, and scolded herself for allowing it. She would have to learn to quell the hot feelings Lance aroused in her before she turned into a complete hussy. And hide her embarrassment. All he had to do was hint at the things that had happened between them, and she flamed up like a torch. If she kept that up, soon everyone would know just how appealing she found her husband’s lust and—

  “Summer, what are you doing?”

  She gave a guilty start at the plaintive sound of her sister’s voice. Amelia had been napping in her own room, but obviously had just awakened.

  Turning slowly, Summer hesitated to answer. She dreaded the upcoming discussion, but it couldn’t be put off any longer. Lance was here, and demanding his rights as her husband, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, turn him away.

  She gave her sister a bright smile, or tried to, as Amelia entered the room. “I’m putting out flowers, Melly. You know how much you enjoy fresh-cut flowers.”

  “But why here?”

  “Because…” Summer took a deep breath. “Because Lance has come home. And this is to be his room. Our room.”

  “This…? He means to live here?” Amelia’s voice had grown high and breathless. “In our home?”

  “Yes, in our home. He’s my husband now—”

  “No! I won’t have him in this house!”

  “You don’t mean that, Melly,” Summer said stiffly. “You—”

  “I do so mean it! He can’t stay here!” Her face flushed with fury as she stamped her foot. “He’s a savage! I won’t allow it. I won’t eat or sleep in the same house as one of those horrible creatures, even if he is your husband!”

  Summer sighed as an impossible tiredness flooded her. Reminding herself of all her sister had been through, though, she tried to restrain her impatience. “I should think you would be grateful for all he did for you, Amelia. Lance risked his own life twice to save you—”

  “I don’t care what he did! He’s a rutting beast! God, I don’t see how you can bear to have him touch you!” Amelia shuddered violently while her tone held revulsion. “How could you? How could you have married a heathen like him?”

  “It was easy,” Summer retorted, losing a measure of control as well as her temper. “He promised to try and rescue you if I became his wife. I chose you, Melly. If you want the truth, I only marri
ed him for your sake. I think you should be grateful that I was willing to make such a sacrifice!”

  The words had scarcely left her mouth when she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. Jerking her head up, Summer gazed beyond Amelia in dismay.

  Lance stood in the doorway, his wet hair slicked back, his face frozen in an expression that was no expression. Except that she could see the anguish in his eyes, stark and raw and excruciating to watch. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a grim defiance, cold and hard as granite, but it was clear he had overheard their argument.

  “Lance…” Summer breathed.

  Amelia whirled, clutching the lapels of the wrapper to her throat. Her gaze fixed on Lance, she backed up a step, then another, as if expecting him suddenly to attack her. “Get out! Get out of this house! You aren’t welcome here!”

  His gaze, so piercing and insolent now when a moment before it had held agony, shifted slowly from Summer to Amelia. “I’d say you’ve made that real clear, ma’am. I’d say both of you have.”

  “Lance, no…!” Summer cried softly.

  Her sister retreated another step but stamped her slippered foot. “You aren’t staying in this house!” She turned to Summer, her eyes wild. “I won’t live here with him! I won’t! I won’t.” Abruptly she burst into tears.

  Reflexively Summer put an arm around Amelia’s shoulder, trying to console her, even though she wanted more to reach out to Lance. He didn’t look, however, as if he would accept consolation from anyone, especially her.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said with a cynical drawl—to either or both of them, Summer wasn’t certain. “You won’t have to put up with me any longer.”

  Spinning on his heel, he quit the room.

  Horrified by his obvious misinterpretation of her words, knowing she was greatly to blame, Summer nevertheless turned her frustration on her sister. “Melly, how could you!”

  Amelia began crying harder, but Summer couldn’t summon the will or take the time to comfort her. She owed her husband more than that. “Lance, wait!” Calling after him, she brushed past her sister and followed him.