The Savage

by Nicole Jordan

  Remembering Lance’s capitulation just now Summer felt her mouth curve in a self-congratulatory smile. Finally, after all this time, it seemed she was learning how.

  The interview with Reed was as uncomfortable as Lance knew it would be. He hated coming hat in hand like some beggar looking for a handout. And so when he was shown into the parlor that was Reed’s combination study/bedchamber, he refused to remove his hat at all, and he remained standing, even when Reed politely offered him a seat in front of the large oaken desk. His stance exuded belligerence, and his expression might have been carved in stone, so stiff were his facial muscles. He knew it, and yet didn’t attempt to change it. Instead he said through gritted teeth, “Summer asked me to talk to you.”

  Reed’s blue eyes surveyed him coolly. “I know. She asked the same of me.”

  “So talk.”

  “You aren’t going to make this easy for me, are you?”

  “Should I? I don’t recall you Westons ever making anything easy for me. Fact is, I distinctly remember your pa trying to make my life hell.”

  Reed sighed. “I know. And I’m sorry for that. But I’m not my pa.” When Lance remained stubbornly silent, he ran a hand roughly through his dark hair. “All right. I’ll just spit it out. My sister made a contract with you, and I feel obligated to honor it.”

  “You’re gonna let me into the Weston family, is that it? You’re going to let your sister stay married to a breed?”

  “Actually, I don’t have any say in the matter. Summer is of age. She makes her own decisions. I can’t say I like it, but it’s done. You’re her husband now.”

  “She’s likely to be shunned by all your fancy friends, staying married to me. Nobody around here is likely to accept me as a social equal.”

  “Probably not. But there’s not much I can do about that—except stand by her. If we stick together, then perhaps we can keep the wolves at bay. I’m not without influence in this county, despite my Union sympathies. I can have a talk with the ranchers in the area…try to encourage them to accept you.”

  “You’re willing to stick your neck out for me? Why the hell should you do that?”

  Summer’s brother ground his teeth. “Because I’m a man of my word, for one thing. And I would be doing it for Summer as much as you. If they accept you, they’ll accept her. And last—most of all—because I owe it to you both for what you did for Amelia.”

  Lance still didn’t believe Reed was willing to accept him as a brother-in-law, and a devil drove him to press the point. “I can’t give her all this.” He waved a hand, indicating the luxury that surrounded him. “I can’t support her in the manner she’s accustomed to.”

  “None of us can have what we’re accustomed to,” Reed retorted with a bitterness Lance recognized. “The war saw to that.”

  “Summer said the ranch was part hers,” Lance said finally, his lips stiff.

  “Yes. Which means it now belongs to you, too. You can have your share now, if you want, but I’d rather…It would be better to keep the place together.”

  “Better for who?”

  “Perhaps for both of us. Certainly for the ranch.”

  Lance stared coolly.

  “The fact is, I can’t…I’d be obliged if you’d lend me a hand.” When Lance continued silent, he lost his temper. “Look, dammit, I don’t like this any better than you do, Calder. I didn’t like being beholden to you for saving my sister, and I sure as hell don’t like being in this position. It galls me to have to ask for help. But Summer’s right. I can’t continue to manage the place alone. The ranch will only continue to go downhill if I try.”

  “Seems to me Summer did well enough by herself during the war.”

  “Perhaps so, but she says she won’t do it any longer, that it’s your place now. Besides, she’s a woman. She wasn’t brought up to ride the range and supervise an operation of this size. I can’t do it myself now, either, with only one goddamned leg.”

  “What about your foreman?”

  “Dusty’s a good man. And we’ve got good hands. Summer made do with the vaqueros during the war, and since then we’ve hired more men to build up the operation—Sky Valley is nothing like it was when my father was alive. But hired hands can’t make the thousands of decisions that make the difference over the long haul between a first-class ranch and a run-down one. They don’t care about this place, not like an owner would.” He held Lance’s dark gaze. “You’re part owner now. You have a say in how Sky Valley is run. So what do you say?”

  “You really want my help on the ranch?” Lance asked slowly, as if still not believing.

  “Yes, I really want it. I mean it when I say I’d be grateful to be relieved of some of the burden.”

  “So…” Lance took a slow breath, finding it hard after all the years of being an outcast to commit his trust. “What needs doing?”

  Reed’s mouth curved in a rueful smile. “The most pressing is to round up several hundred head of the least valuable horses and sell them before winter sets in. There won’t be enough grazing to support all the herds once the grass goes dormant. And they’ll need to be broken to saddle if we’re to get the best price. Can you see to all that?”

  It was Lance’s turn to break into a grin. “With one hand tied behind my back.”

  “Would you like to shake on our new partnership?”

  For a long moment, Lance looked at the hand Reed had stretched out to him. And then slowly he reached across the desk and clasped it with a firm grip. “To our partnership,” he replied solemnly.

  Reed relaxed visibly. “I’d say this calls for a drink to celebrate. You prefer whiskey or brandy?”

  The result of their interview gratified Summer. Reed and Lance settled into a truce of sorts, apparently willing to let bygones be bygones. It was awkward at first, and a bit uneasy because of their past relationship, but Summer held out the hope that from partners, the two men eventually might become friends.

  Amelia showed no sign of relenting, however, much to Summer’s sorrow. She scarcely spoke to Summer when their paths crossed, and looked at her as if she considered her a traitor. The night Reed invited Summer and Lance up to the big house for dinner, Amelia stayed in her room. And the following afternoon, when Summer found her crying in the kitchen, she wouldn’t accept consolation or comfort.

  Otherwise, Lance seemed to be fitting in fairly well as the new boss. As Dusty had predicted, a few of the hands quit outright, but the others were willing to give him a chance, and the Mexican vaqueros seemed pleased to be working with a man of Lance’s knowledge and skill.

  That he was skilled with the horses, no one could dispute, and he more than proved his worth in the roundups.

  “You ought to see how he breaks those mustangs, Miss Summer,” Dusty told her a few days later. “He downright charms ‘em. It’s a sight to watch.”

  “I’d like to see it,” she agreed, warmed to have someone finally appreciating Lance for his abilities rather than condemning him for the copper color of his skin.

  She rode out with Dusty that afternoon to the north end of the valley, and found a ridge where she could watch without getting in the way. In the distance she could see where the vaqueros had constructed a wide-mouthed corral of brush and post oak timbers near a watering hole and had driven part of the herd inside.

  The wild mustang was a tough, wiry, mobile animal, smaller than the warm-blooded American horses of the East, and more ungainly, but with great endurance and the ability to subsist on grass and cover great distances between water holes. John Weston’s strategy for the ranch had always been to encourage selective breeding, maintaining the best qualities of the mustang stock but adding the thoroughbred traits of beauty and speed. More than a few of these wild mustangs joined Sky Valley’s herds each year and had to be culled out so as not to dilute the bloodlines and contribute to overgrazing.

  Summer watched at a distance as Dusty explained what was happening. Lance, mounted on his sorrel gelding, a coiled lasso on hi
s arm, entered the corral and rode through the restless herd. When he picked the horse he wanted, he and the other vaqueros drove it away from the band and back through the opening in the fence, which was quickly closed. Then the chase began, Lance alone following the racing mustang over the valley.

  “It won’t be long now,” Dusty said confidently from beside her. “And you’ll get a better view. They’re headed this way.”

  True enough, the galloping pair had moved close enough for Summer to see the flecks of foam on the horses’ coats. After a mile or so, when the mustang was weary and blowing hard, Lance uncoiled the thong of braided rawhide and flung the lasso noose over its neck, choking off its breath. Immediately he dismounted, running with the animal, holding the rope taut as he ran.

  Moments later the horse fell to the ground for want of breath. Lance advanced slowly, keeping the lasso tight, till he could fasten a pair of hobbles on the animal’s forelegs and slip a noose around the underjaw. Then he loosened the rope so it could breathe.

  The dazed animal struggled to its feet, and having gotten its breath, began a desperate effort at escape, rearing and plunging and whirling till it was covered with foam.

  Finally, at last, the mustang’s power was exhausted and it stood trembling and wild-eyed. Lance advanced hand over hand toward the horse’s head. From her position, Summer couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she knew it must be something and that his low murmurings obviously had a calming effect. The mustang stood obediently as Lance gently placed his hand first on the horse’s nose, then over its eyes.

  “What is he doing?” she asked Dusty curiously when he saw man and horse standing nose to nose.

  “Breathing in its nostrils. It’s the darnedest thing you ever saw. Watch and you’ll see what I mean.”

  Bending down, Lance carefully removed the hobbles. Then catching a handful of mane, he swung himself gently up on the animal’s back. The mustang moved off without protest, as docile as a lamb.

  “See? And it doesn’t break the mustang’s spirit. We’ll keep it tied to a gentle mare for a few days, and give it a lot of handling. Then one of our boys will be able to break it to saddle without much trouble. We already have two dozen green-broke horses like that ready for market, thanks to Lance. Come on, let’s go meet him.”

  He led Summer down off the ridge, while down below, some of the vaqueros assumed control of the mustang and returned Lance’s sorrel to him. Lance must have spied her, Summer realized, for he turned and rode directly toward her. When he reached her, Dusty excused himself, giving them some privacy.

  Lance looked tough and supremely masculine with his black hair drenched in sweat and plastered to his skull, and streaks of dust lining his face, she thought. He also looked guarded as his dark eyes surveyed her warily. “Something wrong, princess?”

  Summer smiled demurely as she offered him water from a canteen. “Why do you always thing something’s wrong whenever I come out to see you?”

  “I guess I still think of you as being too fancy to get your fine clothes dirty, coming near us filthy hands.”

  Since she was wearing a brown calico gown that had seen far better days, she wasn’t particularly worried about her clothes. And besides, the war had done a lot to change what she considered important in life. Pretty, smudgeless dresses were no longer very high on the list.

  “Gracious, Lance. I grew up on this ranch—with three brothers, no less. I’m entirely accustomed to dirty men, including you. And you’re no longer a hired hand. You’re the boss, remember?”

  He ignored her last remark. “Why’d you come, Summer?”

  “I told you, I wanted to see you. Actually I wanted to see you ride. Dusty said it was fascinating watching you break a mustang, and it was. I’ve never seen anything so incredible. And I’m not trying to flatter you either, Lance Calder! You’re proud enough as it is. You don’t need your ego puffed up. However did you learn to handle horses that way?”

  Her gentle teasing combined with her frank curiosity disarmed him, Summer thought. He still looked wary, as if he couldn’t quite accept her reasoning, but he gave her a half smile that was a bit rueful and self-consciously pleased. “The Comanches taught me, but I’ve always had a knack with horses.”

  “Well, it certainly is impressive. And productive. Dusty says we wouldn’t be half as far along if it weren’t for you.”

  “Maybe,” Lance replied modestly.

  Summer flashed him an arch smile. “I’m glad it’s working out so well, your taking over here. I don’t suppose I need to say I told you so?”

  “No, you don’t,” Lance retorted with a mock growl. He glanced over his shoulder. “I need to go. The boys will be waiting for me.”

  “All right. I need to get back to my own work, anyway. I’ll have supper waiting for you when you get home. Pedro caught some bass in the creek, and I thought I might fry it, if that’s okay with you?”

  Lance’s mouth curved dryly. “Are we having rocks or biscuits to go with it?”

  Summer flushed. She’d forgotten to put any yeast in the biscuits she’d made for breakfast two days ago, and they’d turned out as hard as granite. “I thought I would heat up some stones from the creek and see if you could tell the difference.”

  To her surprise, Lance threw back his head and laughed, a deep, rusty laugh that caught at her heart. It pleased her that he could laugh like that, that he could share the humor of her mistake. It gave her a comfortable, pleasant, warm feeling to know she had given him some pleasure in his hitherto cheerless life.

  She said good-bye and, accepting one of the armed vaqueros as escort, rode back to the ranch, feeling content and satisfied with her progress. She had tried to carry through with her promise to make her marriage to Lance work, and her success buoyed her spirits.

  Her return home, however, forcibly reminded Summer just how unfounded her optimism was. When she rode into the yard, having dismissed her escort to return to his work, she discovered, to her surprise and dismay, a visitor she’d never expected. Will Prewitt, one of the neighboring ranchers who’d been so offensive to Lance last month when they’d met to discuss Amelia’s rescue, was just mounting up.

  The look he gave her as he addressed her held insolence and smug contempt. “I hear tell you went and married yourself to our resident Injun, Miss Summer.”

  Summer stiffened at his rude tone. She had temporarily forgotten the world beyond Sky Valley and how unfavorably it would view her marriage to Lance. She wanted to tell Prewitt to mind his own business, but it would do no good to respond with ire. Grinding her teeth, she forced herself to smile sweetly. “I am now Mrs. Lance Calder, yes. Have you come to congratulate us on our marriage, Mr. Prewitt?”

  He snorted. “Not hardly.” He moved his horse closer to hers, giving her a leer that made her skin crawl. “What’s a pretty lady like you want with a stinkin’ breed?” His voice lowered suggestively. “You like it rough, do you? If you were so hot for it, you should’ve come to a real man.”

  She gasped at his crudity, while her chin snapped up. “You are disgusting, sir! I’ll thank you to go. And to keep off Sky Valley land in future.”

  His grin made a mockery of her indignation. “All hoity-toity, ain’t you? Seems mighty odd for a squaw to be putting on airs.”

  “Get out of here!” Summer said through gritted teeth. “Before I call someone to teach you some manners.”

  “I reckon I got a right to visit here. Your sister sent for me.”

  “Amelia?” The revelation shocked her. Two years ago Amelia wouldn’t have given a man like Prewitt the time of day, and that was before her ordeal. If her sister couldn’t bear to be near men now, why had she chosen to invite this trash to be her first caller? There had to be some mistake. “I don’t believe you,” Summer said flatly.

  “Oh, yeah, Miss Amelia asked me to call,” Prewitt said with a secret glee. “You just go ask her.”

  “I intend to!” Summer said tightly. “In the meantime, I suggest you leave
. I assure you, you don’t want to be here when Lance returns from the range.”

  “I ain’t afraid o’ no half-breed Injun,” he retorted defiantly, but he glanced over his shoulder all the same. Not seeing anyone around, he tipped his hat to her, the epitome of mockery. “You tell your sister good day for me.” Turning his horse toward the road, he spurred it into a lope.

  Summer stared after him a long moment before she forced herself to dismount. She wasn’t surprised to find herself shaking; she had known she would be subjected to scorn and contempt because she was Lance’s wife. Her only surprise was that Amelia had wanted to speak to someone like Prewitt. She couldn’t imagine what her sister had been thinking.

  Knowing she had to talk to Amelia, Summer put up her horse and then went in search of her. She found her sister in the front parlor, rocking herself slowly in the wooden rocker while she hummed tunelessly to herself. How many countless hours had they spent here together when they were younger, working samplers and mending clothing while Amelia lectured her on manners and ladylike behavior?

  “Melly,” Summer began uncertainly. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m fine.”

  “I just saw Will Prewitt out in the yard. Did you really invite him to visit?”

  “Yes, I asked him here.” Amelia’s lips curved in a secretive smile that Summer didn’t understand at all, and that worried her no small amount.

  “Why?”

  “That really is none of your business, is it?”

  “Melly…” Summer faltered, not knowing how to get through to her sister. This cold, bitter creature was a stranger to her, nothing like the strong, generous-hearted woman who had raised her, whom Summer had cherished like a mother. “Do you know he insulted me?”