Unwinding her arms from around his neck, he pushed her away, distancing himself more than just physically.
“Summer, go back to your brother. He’ll keep you safe. I can’t manage it any longer.”
Chapter 22
The party broke up quickly with the festive mood shattered by the threat of Comanche raids. The guests scattered to their various vehicles, wanting to get home to their ranches and protect their stock and to prepare for the worst.
Summer, still furious over her sister’s betrayal of Lance, refused outright to ride home with Amelia. Instead, she borrowed a buggy from Harlan and had Reed escort her home, while Dusty drove her sister.
Summer fumed the entire way. “Why, why would she be so cruel and lie that way? She’s ruined his chances to become accepted into the community. Destroyed whatever trust he’d begun to develop—and she did it deliberately, maliciously.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t deliberate, Summer,” Reed temporized. “Perhaps she truly believes Lance is her enemy. You know what an ordeal she went through. Her mind is so…fragile nowadays that she could have talked herself into it.”
“I don’t care why she did it. I’ve made allowances for weeks for the terrible way she’s treated him, Reed, but I can’t forgive her this time. I can’t. And he won’t either.”
Lance didn’t come home that night, or the next—or any night during the following week. He hadn’t left the ranch altogether, Summer discovered to her profound relief. Although he was apparently no longer herding mustangs with the vaqueros, Dusty saw him occasionally during the days. Summer could only conclude that he was avoiding her. She spent the interval vacillating between fear for his safety, fury and despair at her helplessness to change the situation, and hurt that he was shutting her out.
For some time now she’d known her feelings for Lance had been changing gradually—had grown beyond gratitude and simple loyalty, beyond mere physical desire. The hollow ache that pulsed in the vicinity of her heart only confirmed her suspicions. Lance meant far more to her than she had ever allowed herself to admit. His presence fulfilled a need in her; his absence created a great emptiness. And his deliberate withdrawal from her left her in a turmoil of guilt and frustration.
Perhaps he only wanted to protect her by staying away, but he had no right to make such a decision for her, no right to spurn her help. He had been there when she needed him. She should be there for him now.
The building supplies started arriving for the house Lance had planned to erect—finished lumber from Bastrop, nails and bricks and plaster from Austin. Summer directed the deliveries to the homesite, but she was no longer certain that there would even be a house, or that they would have a future that required it. Reed had finished a preliminary set of drawings, but she couldn’t answer questions about Lance’s preferences for the small details, or make decisions for him in his absence.
Those unresolved questions, however, were minor compared to the terrible tension that permeated the rest of her life. Not only was her marriage in limbo, her future with Lance in doubt, but she felt as if she were waiting for an impending explosion. She jumped at shadows, froze at the merest creak of a floorboard.
The uncertainty was beginning to wear on her nerves, so much so that she was almost grateful when an incident occurred at midweek that allowed her to vent her temper. She had ridden into Round Rock with Reed in order to purchase some miscellaneous household supplies and sewing notions at the general store when she ran up against the kind of prejudice Lance had lived with all his life, coupled with genuine fear.
She had known the store owner, Jeb Parker, and his wife, Mary Sue, all her life, but incredibly, they refused to serve her and ordered her out of the store.
“We’ll fill your order, Reed,” Mrs. Parker said stiffly. “That woman isn’t welcome.”
Summer drew herself up, bristling. “That suits me fine, Mary Sue Parker. I don’t care to associate with blind, small-minded, bigoted people like you, either.”
Turning on her heel, she walked out. Reed found her a moment later, standing by the buggy, shaking with sick fury.
“That is exactly what Lance’s mother had to deal with all her life, what Lance had to put up with. Oh, it makes me so mad, I could scream!”
Not answering, Reed took her arm and urged her into the vehicle. “We’ll drive to Georgetown next week to buy what we need.”
“If they’ll serve us. No doubt they’ve heard about what’s happening down here by now.”
“Then we’ll go to Austin,” Reed said quietly.
“You shouldn’t have to go to all that trouble.” She hesitated. “Mary Sue said she would serve you.”
Reed shook his head. “You’re my sister, Summer. I told you I’d stick by you. It’s no more than you’ve done for me since I came back from the war.”
She was glad of her brother’s support but regretted that he should be made to suffer. Even so, she didn’t intend to argue.
With a contemptuous glance at the store, she turned around in her seat to stare straight ahead over the horses’ heads, determined to forget the entire incident.
Yet she couldn’t dismiss her concerns as easily the following day when Harlan Fisk rode over to talk to Reed. Summer learned of the visit after Harlan had left, when she walked over to the big house to share supper with her brother and sister, preferring even Amelia’s traitorous company to eating alone. Amelia had refused to retract her accusation, and Summer refused to speak to her until she did. After a virtually silent meal, Summer followed Reed to his study, where he told her about Harlan’s call.
The previous night several hundred head of prime stock had gone missing from the Fisk ranch, and Comanche arrows had been found at the site.
Summer sat numbly, wanting to deny Reed’s solemn disclosure, knowing she would be grasping at straws. She might have accused Will Prewitt and even Bob Blackwood of lying to gain their own ends, fabricating stories about cattle rustling, but Harlan Fisk was as honest as a man could be. If he said his stock was gone, then it was gone. It seemed that cattle really were disappearing from neighboring ranches. And the evidence pointed to Comanche involvement.
“Maybe the Comanches really are behind it,” Reed observed quietly. “And maybe”—he took a slow breath—“Amelia didn’t lie about Lance.”
Summer lifted her head to stare at him in horror. “Surely you don’t believe Lance is involved?”
“Honestly?” Reed ran a hand distractedly through hair. “I don’t know what to believe. The evidence looks pretty damning.”
“What possible motive could he have for stealing from our neighbors?”
“Revenge for what happened to his livery, maybe?”
Summer shook her head, trying to keep calm, her tone reasonable. “Not only isn’t it logical, but it’s impossible. Think about it, Reed. Lance didn’t know his livery would be vandalized. If he invited his brother to raid as Amelia suggests, then he had to have done it before he left the Comanche camp. Why would he have arranged for them to steal from this area when he planned to settle here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t trust you to keep your word about your marriage. You left him behind, remember? Maybe he thought you owed him, that the people here owed him for all the hell they’d given him over the years. Maybe he’s getting back at them. Or maybe he only wanted to repay his brother for helping him find Amelia.”
“Lance paid his brother already, in horses and money.”
“Maybe that wasn’t enough.”
“No.” She shook her head furiously. “It’s impossible.”
“It isn’t impossible, Summer.” Reed gazed at her with sympathy, but also with unwavering determination. “Nobody’s been hurt so far. That isn’t like the Comanche. Maybe Lance told his kin to lay low, to leave the ranchers alone and only take their stock.”
“And maybe it’s the whites who are stealing and blaming it on Lance!” Her eyes grew pleading. “Think about it, Reed. Will Prewitt hates Indians. He wo
uld like nothing more than to drive Lance out of the county, like Papa did five years ago. Think about it—”
“Perhaps you’re the one who should do the thinking, Summer. I realize he’s your husband…Of course you feel a certain obligation toward him for coming to Amelia’s rescue. But what do you really know about him? How do you know he can be trusted?”
“I just know. And you would, too, if you gave him a chance. Lance hasn’t been back here all that long, not enough time for you to come to know him well. Or anyone else for that matter.” She laughed bitterly. “And now Amelia has ruined any chance he had of earning their trust.”
“Has she?”
“Yes! It’s her fault—”
“Loyalty is admirable, Summer, but stubborn blindness is stupid.”
“What are you saying?”
“Where has Lance been the past few days? What has he been up to?”
Summer remained silent, unable to answer.
“He’s been gone every night since the barbecue, and during the day, too. He could be riding with his Comanche kin.”
“No.”
“I think you at least have to consider the possibility.”
“If…” She swallowed with difficulty. “If he is…involved, then there have to be extenuating circumstances.”
“Yes.” Reed’s eyes hardened. “But if he is stealing from our neighbors, then your obligation to him is at an end. Married or not, if he’s guilty, you don’t owe him anything more. And you have to consider what to do about it.”
Summer did consider her brother’s suspicions. She thought of nothing else for the rest of the week, waking or sleeping. In her morbid contemplations she began to envision the worst, while her dark dreams were filled with raiding Comanches, with Lance as their leader. She saw him riding at the head of the war party, bare-chested, his face streaked with black paint, eagerly spurring on his galloping mount, brandishing his long, wicked lance…
She couldn’t believe he was guilty, and yet…
She couldn’t help the niggling doubts, couldn’t help wondering if there might be something to Amelia’s accusations after all.
No, her sister had lied. Amelia had never overheard Lance plotting to steal cattle from the ranchers.
Yet no matter how many times Summer told herself the possibility was absurd, she couldn’t deny that Reed’s arguments made sense. Lance had been disappearing at night. And he hadn’t defended himself the night of the barbecue. Perhaps because he didn’t have a defense?
Had he invited his Comanche kin south to raid? Was he aiding them even now?
Was he distancing himself from her now to prevent her from learning the truth? Or in order to protect her? Because if he was caught, he didn’t want her involved?
She had to know. The nerve-shredding uncertainty was almost worse than the truth. She didn’t know what she would do if he was guilty, yet she would rather know clearly what she was facing. She had to discover what Lance had been up to this past week, where he had been.
If he ever came home, she would question him. If not, she would have to search for him. To demand answers he wouldn’t want to give.
In the end she didn’t have to search for him. On Friday afternoon Summer walked back from the big house to their cabin and found Lance in their bedroom, stuffing a change of clothing into his saddlebags.
He didn’t speak when she paused in the doorway. Didn’t even look at her. Summer felt her heartbeat falter. He seemed well enough, until she saw the dark-shadowed eyes rimmed with fatigue. Worried, uncertain, she drank in the sight of him.
“Lance?”
He didn’t answer as he folded a shirt.
“Where…have you been?”
His expression was hard, shuttered, when he glanced up. “What difference does it make?”
“I…I’m your wife. I’ve been worried about you.”
His mouth curled at the corner, but he continued to work in silence.
“Are you hungry? I haven’t started supper yet, but—”
“Don’t bother. I’m not staying.”
His response was sharp and unyielding, distancing, shutting her out. Her heart sank. “At least let me fix you something to eat.”
“I can feed myself.”
Of course he could, Summer thought with regret. He could care for himself better than she could. He had always been a loner. Self-sufficient in ways she could never dream of being. He didn’t need her, didn’t want her…
She searched his face, which was set like flint, hearing the grim, deep echo of his last remark. This was the old Lance, the hard-bitten, unforgiving stranger she had once been half-afraid of. She could see no hint of the tender side he’d recently shown her. None of the gentle, vulnerable, sensitive lover she had come to know. Where had all the sweetness gone?
She drew in a shaky breath. “Lance…about this week. You’ve been gone a good deal. And…some people are beginning to wonder where you’ve been, what you’ve been up to. They suspect…Lance, please…I have to know.”
He froze in the act of fastening a buckle, not looking up.
Aware of the sudden, dangerous tension in the room, Summer twisted her fingers together and hastened to reassure him. “I could understand, Lance, truly. If you were trying to get back at Prewitt…if you wanted revenge for what he did to your livery…But please. I hope…I hope you’ll reconsider. It isn’t worth it. You’ll destroy everything you’ve worked for—we’ve worked for—if you keep this up.”
He heard her words as if from a great distance, as if he were outside himself looking on. But his body felt the physical impact. His gut tightened with every damning word of accusation and defense, locking the air inside his chest.
“You think I did it.” His tone was controlled, uninflected, but she caught the rawness in the quiet words.
“I…” She faltered.
“You think I’ve been out rustling cattle for my brother.” His whisper was knife-edged, but he held himself rigidly, determined to keep the sick disbelief, the numb acceptance, at bay. At least until he could get out of the room. With effort, Lance gathered his control and his saddlebags and started to walk out.
“Where are you going?” Summer was startled into asking.
“Out to steal some more cattle, where else!” His fierce retort rang with fury.
“Lance, you can’t just leave—”
Summer clutched his arm as he passed, trying to prevent him from going—a mistake, she learned at once. With a violent oath, he dropped his saddlebags and turned on her, grabbing her shoulders in a tight grip and pushing her up against the wall adjacent the door.
Shocked, unnerved by his violence, she stared at him in fear, at the hostile eyes that flared darkly above her. He had grown white about the mouth, while the muscles in his jaw knotted, but his words held a blistering force.
“You want me to stay, do you? Why, princess? What do you want from me? This?” His hand roughly covered her left breast, pressing through the layers of cloth and whalebone.
“You said you missed me. Well, I missed you, too. I missed what’s between your legs. I missed having you bucking and moaning beneath me.”
She whimpered, trying to pull away from his hurtful grip.
“What’s wrong, princess? Are you afraid of the savage Injun?”
“Lance…what are you doing?”
His fingers worked the buttons of her gown, ripping the cloth. “If you can’t get over thinking me a savage, I might as well act like one.”
“No…”
“No?” His dark eyes seared her with a blazing look, full of aggression, and yet they betrayed a bleak pain that the harsh fury couldn’t completely hide.
“Lance…don’t…”
“Don’t touch you? Don’t fuck you?” His hand left her bodice and fumbled for her skirts. “Come on, now, princess. You enjoy what I do to you. You like my touch. You like it when I fuck you—”
“Stop it!” She turned her head away, unable to bear his ugliness, his
making what had been beautiful seem base and lewd. “Stop being so crude!”
“Crude? You don’t know what the word means. Crude is the drunken slobs who used to rut on my mother. Crude is listening to their grunts as they forced themselves on her.”
“Is that what you mean to do to me? Force me?” She turned her anguished gaze on him. “This is your answer to everything, isn’t it? Violence. Physical force. Do you mean to rape me?”
His angry expression shattered…wilted abruptly…leaving desperate vulnerability in its wake. He stared at her, his features stricken.
Suddenly he squeezed his eyes closed, realizing what he had almost done. He had assaulted Summer, hurt her, when he would have cut off his hands before he harmed a single hair of her head. When she’d voiced her suspicions to his face, he’d snapped—
God, you savage bastard.
Now that he was still, he felt the faint tremors of her body, the thundering of her heart. He took a slow, deep breath.
Carefully, as if handling fragile crystal, he removed his hands from her body and stepped back, feeling as if he were severing his heart from his chest. A moment before, he’d been all knotted up inside with anger and hurt. Now he only felt empty, a bleakness that was soul-deep.
Summer leaned weakly against the wall, her hand pressed against her throat protectively, her green eyes wary.
Lance cursed himself again. “You want to know what I’ve been doing the past week?” he asked in a voice so low, it was almost inaudible. “I’ve been searching for a ghost band of Comanches, the ones Prewitt claims stole his stock. To see if I could find any tracks. I figured if there really were Comanches in the area, then I’d best get to them first and convince them to leave. But if Prewitt was just making the story up to frame me, I might be able to challenge him with the lack of evidence.” He exhaled a gust of ugly laughter. “Fool notion, huh? Even you thought I was guilty.”
He bent to retrieve the saddlebags he’d dropped and turned to go. At the door, though, he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.
“Just tell me one thing, Summer.” He waited till she looked directly at him. “Why would you think me fool enough to jeopardize the life I’ve made with you here? The kind of life I’ve always dreamed of living?”
The Savage Page 38
