The Savage

by Nicole Jordan

  “Did he? Well, I expect you’ll just have to live with it. You brought it on yourself, after all, marrying that savage.”

  She wanted to protest the unfairness of her sister’s accusation, but she suspected it would be futile. And Amelia’s next words sent her thoughts spinning along another track.

  “I’m not pregnant.”

  “I’m glad for you, Amelia,” Summer said slowly.

  “Yes, you can’t know what a relief it is, knowing I won’t have to bear a bastard redskin. I only hope you’re as lucky.”

  Involuntarily Summer’s hand went to her abdomen. She had refused to let herself think too much about that complication. She wasn’t certain she was strong enough to withstand the tribulations she would face as the wife of a half-breed, let alone the implications of bringing an innocent, defenseless child into the world to brave the same adversity. No child deserved the fate Lance had endured.

  When she remained silent, Amelia leaned her head back and shut her eyes. “Now if you would only get rid of that terrible man.”

  “What man?”

  “Why, that disgusting half-breed, of course.”

  “Melly…I’ve told you before, Lance is my husband. I can’t go back on my word.”

  “You could if you wanted to.” Amelia looked at Summer directly for the first time, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t bear him, don’t you see? He’ll always be a reminder of what happened to me.”

  “Amelia…” Her sister’s plea raked her heart, but she couldn’t give in. “I’m sorry, but…Lance is a good man. I won’t betray my vows to him.” Her own voice quivered. “Please, don’t make me choose between the two of you.”

  Amelia rose regally to her feet. “I think you’ve already chosen, Summer. It’s certain you’re no longer my sister.”

  She swept from the parlor in a rustle of black skirts, leaving Summer to sink unsteadily onto the chintz-covered settee.

  That Amelia considered her a traitor made her heart ache, in addition to rendering her resolve to honor her marriage vows that much harder to keep.

  And yet, as she’d told Amelia, she had no choice in the matter. She had made a bargain with Lance, and she owed it to him to keep up her end.

  Chapter 19

  She didn’t tell Lance of the incident with Prewitt, knowing it would have aroused her husband’s dangerous temper. And two mornings later, she was glad she hadn’t, since it would have spoiled a beautiful day.

  She was in bed, fast asleep, dreaming of nothing in particular, when a warm, suggestive voice murmured in her ear, “Wake up, your highness.” Strong arms slipped about her waist, dragging her flush against a male body.

  “Lance?” she mumbled, reluctant to leave her comfortable nest.

  “Who else? Come on, sleepyhead, open your eyes.”

  Obeying, she blinked at the bright sunlight streaming through the open shutter. “What time it is?”

  “Early. Now, wake up.”

  The smell of fresh coffee filled the cabin, and when she sat up, she saw that Lance was fully dressed in denims and chambray shirt. It was Sunday, she remembered, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “We’re not going to church, are we?” Her family used to attend a Methodist church service near Round Rock at the home of one of the ranchers, but she hadn’t dared face the outside world yet, and she hadn’t thought Lance would ever wish to.

  He grinned. “Nope. We’re going for a ride. You have five minutes to get ready.”

  “A ride? But…have you forgotten that Reed invited us to Sunday dinner this afternoon?”

  “Nope. We’ll be back before then. Now, get going.”

  He gave her mouth a quick, hard kiss and her fanny a gentle swat, but Summer could only stare at him. Lance had an air of eagerness about him that she had never seen before, almost like a little boy with a secret—although she couldn’t imagine that he had truly ever been a little boy.

  It was only when he stripped her of her warm covers that Summer at last obeyed. Her curiosity aroused, she shrugged off the last dregs of sleep and climbed out of bed.

  He had fixed a picnic breakfast, she realized once she had washed and dressed and drunk a hasty cup of coffee. And he had saddled their horses in preparation for a long ride.

  The early morning sparkled. The October air was chilly and crisp, with a vast blue sky overhead. They rode west through the valley, across dew-covered meadows glinting with sunshine, while all around them stood rugged hills, studded with stands of post oak and evergreen cedar brakes.

  Summer reveled in the beauty. On such a day she could forget any worry she’d ever had, any thought of war and pain, prejudice and despair. All she had to do was close her eyes and put her head back to let the gentle breeze blow her memories away.

  Lance seemed to share the sentiment. His gaze traveled over the land, drinking in the sight, his expression silently declaring his pleasure.

  He led her up a steep incline, to a ridge where the ground flattened out and the view was spectacular. Down below they could see much of the huge Weston spread, and the flying herds of horses whose hooves beat out a song.

  Summer suspected Lance had brought her here for a purpose, and she wasn’t wrong. Resting his forearm on his saddle horn, he pointed to the east, down in the valley, perhaps a mile or so this side of the main buildings.

  “See that bend in the creek? That’s where I’m going to build our house,” he said in a low voice.

  Caught by surprise, Summer parted her lips to issue a protest—but then she thought better of it. The cabin where they lived now was adequate for her needs, but perhaps not for her husband’s. A man as proud as Lance would chafe at being unable to provide his wife with her customary standards of wealth and luxury, even if she would be satisfied with far less.

  “It’s perfect,” she murmured quite truthfully.

  He had chosen a beautiful site, and practical as well. The great cottonwoods and pecans that lined the creek would provide shade in the heat of summer, and shelter against the fierce northers that swept off the plains, while the surrounding pastures would provide lush grass for grazing their livestock. In spring those meadows would be carpeted with wildflowers—bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush, wine-cups and goldenrod and wild verbena.

  The setting presented so pristine a picture that Summer could imagine what her parents had felt, arriving as some of the first Texas settlers to carve a way of life out of the wilderness. And in a way, that was what she and Lance were. They would have to carve their own place in the valley, make their own life together.

  “Think Reed’ll mind if we claim that piece of land for our own?”

  “No. I think he’ll be pleased you finally want something. He’s been fretting to repay you for all the help you’ve given him.” And her sister would be glad to see them move farther away, Summer added silently to herself.

  “I hope to start the foundation next week. I thought maybe I could work on it a few hours each day, in between rounding up mustangs. I’ll send to Austin for supplies.”

  She considered asking Lance if they could afford building a house just now, after all the money he’d spent buying horses to compensate his brother, but she figured he might take offense. Besides, he was unlikely to propose such a grandiose scheme without considering the cost.

  She allowed Lance to help her dismount and then spread the blanket he’d brought over a patch of grass while he hobbled the horses. The fare she found in his saddlebags was simple but delicious—apples and sausage and a loaf of wheat bread he said he’d persuaded Estelle to bake for them. They joked about Summer’s cooking and then hungrily devoured the meal.

  When they were done, Lance lay back on the blanket, one arm behind his head, as he gazed up at the warming sky. Summer, who sat beside him with her chin resting on her updrawn knees, thought she had never seen him so at ease with himself, so carefree.

  “This reminds me of when I was a kid in my father’s camp,” he said wistfully after a long, comfortable moment of sil
ence. “He would take me hunting sometimes…partly to show me how to survive in the wild, but mostly to teach me about the spirits that dwell in the rocks and trees and especially the animals. He would make me sit still for hours while I tried to feel them.”

  Summer eyed Lance curiously. “Do you miss that life?”

  He thought about the question. A part of him would always be Comanche. Like them, he understood the craving for freedom. Away from them, he felt tied down by too many restrictions, still felt a restlessness that his civilized life couldn’t satisfy. And yet he was too civilized really to be one of them. Sometimes when he thought about his years with the Comanche, when he remembered the times he’d gone against every stricture his mother had taught him, he winced. He’d done things she wouldn’t have been proud of. Things he wasn’t proud of himself.

  “Sometimes,” he said finally.

  Another moment passed before Summer realized he had turned his head and was watching her.

  “I guess I owe you an apology, princess,” he began in a low voice. “I didn’t really think you would honor our marriage vows.”

  Summer went still, not knowing quite how to reply to his solemn admission. She thought she knew what it cost Lance to admit he was wrong—but perhaps it was wiser not to make too much of it.

  Impudently Summer wrinkled her nose at him, forcing a light reply. “Well, at least you admit now that you misjudged me.”

  “I didn’t make it very easy for you.”

  “That you didn’t.”

  “I guess I’m not used to this husband business. It’ll take some time, I reckon.”

  Summer smiled. “I’m not exactly accustomed to being a wife, either.”

  “I have something for you,” he said quietly as he reached in his vest pocket. When she looked at him questioningly, he handed her a small leather pouch. “I never gave you a real wedding ring, so maybe this will do.”

  Inside was a small seed pearl mounted on a thin band of silver. “It belonged to my mother.”

  “Oh, Lance, it’s lovely.”

  “It isn’t much—”

  “Oh, but it is.” Slipping it on her left ring finger to find it a perfect fit, Summer held out her hand to admire the delicate filigree mounting. Strangely, his gift pleased her far more than any expensive jewelry could have done, for it meant Lance might finally be coming to trust her, at least a little, if he was willing to part with a ring that, while not worth much in monetary terms, had profound sentimental value to him. “I shall cherish it. I know how much your mother meant to you.”

  “Yeah. She did,” he responded gruffly.

  Reaching out, he took Summer’s hand, his fingers closing tightly around hers. She saw a softness in his hard face that she’d never seen before. She felt the callused skin of his palm, strong as leather, warm against her own, as he slowly drew her down to him for his kiss.

  The careful brush of his mouth caught her off guard. Surprisingly, there was nothing lustful about his caress. Instead it was a mingling of quiet breath, a tentative exploration. She tasted uncertainty, a mute questioning, as if all his defenses were down and he were lying bare a vulnerable and lonely soul.

  It made her feel oddly humble, having this wary, mistrustful man open himself to her.

  When he pulled her down beside him, Summer went willingly. He tucked her against his body, her head on his shoulder, as if he simply wanted to share the closeness. As if he wanted to hold and be held. She knew that need. There had been countless times during the past five years when she’d longed for someone to turn to, to lean on and help lessen the pain, a compatriot in the struggle merely to get through each day.

  And perhaps that was what Lance really needed from her, after all. He had claimed he wanted a wife who could help him become a respected member of the community, but perhaps what he wanted was more basic, more essential. What he wanted, what he needed, was acceptance of the most elemental kind: the simple human warmth he had never had except from his mother and his Comanche family.

  They rode home reluctantly, not eager to spoil the intimacy of the day, and discovered an unexpected visitor awaiting them in the stable yard. Summer tensed when she spied the man standing beside her brother, dreading another encounter with Will Prewitt, but relaxed as soon as she realized the visitor was much taller and bulkier than Prewitt.

  Harlan Fisk, their closest neighbor and owner of one of the largest cattle ranches in the area, had been a good friend of her father’s, as well as one of the countless malleable, softhearted males to spoil John Weston’s youngest daughter rotten. Summer had always liked him, and not just because he let her have her way.

  Harlan greeted her now with a fond smile, although the glance that flickered over Lance was less welcoming as he dismounted and helped Summer down.

  “There you are,” Reed said jovially. “I didn’t know where you’d gone, so I couldn’t say when you’d be back.”

  “Lance was showing me the site for our new house he means to build,” Summer replied purposefully, determined to show their guest her solidarity with her husband.

  Her brother raised an eyebrow, but didn’t follow up on the opening. “Lance, you know Harlan Fisk. Harlan rode over to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  Immediately the man stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Hello, son.”

  His face shuttered, Lance stared down at the proffered hand. “You want to welcome me?”

  Summer drew a sharp breath at his hesitation, but Harlan had obviously been expecting it, for he didn’t seem to take offense. “Yes, that, and to say thank you for getting our Miss Amelia back. I want you to know how grateful I am—we all are. You took on a job that none of the rest of us had the gumption to face.”

  Stubbornly he kept his hand out, and Lance seemed to sense a determination as strong as his own. Warily he extended his hand, which the other man shook firmly.

  “Nice to have you as a new neighbor, Calder.”

  Disbelief in his expression, Lance nodded carefully.

  Reed cleared his throat. “Harlan and his wife plan to hold a barbecue next Saturday, and he brought our invitations personally.”

  “Why, Harlan, how thoughtful!” Summer said brightly, thinking it was time she intervened. “A barbecue! What a splendid idea. I’m certain we would be delighted to attend.” Stepping forward, she stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Amelia is to be the guest of honor,” Reed told his sister.

  “Oh?” Summer said in surprise. “Melly really means to leave the house?”

  “She says no,” Harlan replied, “but I hope she’ll change her mind.”

  With a smile, Summer took the older man’s arm. Steering him toward his horse, she asked after his wife, Becky, and stood chatting with him for a moment, answering his concerned questions about the difficulty they’d had rescuing Amelia.

  By the time he mounted his horse and rode off, both her husband and brother had disappeared into the barn to unsaddle the horses.

  Or rather, Reed was leaning on his crutches, watching Lance do the work. When Summer joined them, Reed handed her the invitation, which had been written on expensive pressed paper.

  “He really means to include Lance?” she asked skeptically.

  “Yes. See, it specifically says Mr. and Mrs. Calder.”

  “Did you put him up to it?” Lance demanded, glancing over his shoulder with narrowed eyes.

  “I spoke to him last week, yes, and convinced him to give you a chance. There’s no one else in the county who could do you more good. If it’s seen that Harlan and his wife accept you, you’ll have won half the battle.”

  Lance didn’t seem to appreciate the efforts on his behalf. Instead his jaw had hardened in that stiff, belligerent way Summer knew so well.

  “It would be fun to go to a party,” she acknowledged. “It’s been so long since we had much to celebrate. What about you, Reed? Do you mean to go?”

  Her brother gave her a grim smile. “Absolutely—although I
doubt I’ll be much more welcome than Lance is, Union traitor that I am. But I have some fence mending to do. And I’ll have to escort Amelia, if she attends.”

  “Do you think she will?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll do my darnedest to persuade her.” Balancing on one crutch, he put his arm around Summer’s shoulder and squeezed. “Come on, sis. Use your powers of persuasion to convince this ungrateful grizzly to accept Fisk’s invitation. We’ll all be outcasts together. Strength in unity and all that.” Shifting his crutch back beneath his arm, he turned and hobbled away, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll see you at dinner in a little while.”

  Alone with Lance, Summer watched him in silence, wondering exactly how far she could push him. His reaction to the invitation was as cynical as she’d expected, and just as bristling. When it came to dealing with whites, Lance was like a half-tame wolf, bearing his teeth and raising his neck fur, ready to attack before being attacked, hating to accept the slightest show of kindness, yet at the same time dependent on that very kindness. He had needed such defensive measures in dealing with a hostile white world till now, but it was time to lower his defenses and give people a chance to accept him.

  “I think we should go,” she said finally.

  “Do you?” His tone was far from agreeable.

  “Yes, I do. Reed was right. Harlan’s support will make it much easier for others to accept you.”

  “You think anyone’s going to welcome me just on his say-so?”

  “Perhaps not, but they certainly won’t if you don’t try.”

  When Lance didn’t answer, Summer bit her lip. She wouldn’t use the argument that they should attend for Melly’s sake. Lance had done more than enough for her sister, with too little thanks to show for it. Besides, she wanted him to go for his own sake. “Lance…please?”

  A muscle clenched in his jaw at her pleading tone. “If you want to go so bad, then have your brother take you,” he muttered.