The Savage

by Nicole Jordan

  Tears welled in her eyes when she saw the despair in his. “I…I’m sorry. What was I to think with you shutting me out of your life at every turn?”

  He chuckled, the bleak sound a travesty. “You might have trusted me.”

  He left quietly then. Turned and walked through the main room, shutting the door softly behind him.

  Her knees weak, her heart hollow, Summer sank into the rocking chair. She could still hear the echo of Lance’s boot-heels on the floorboard, still remember his raw gaze when he said she might have trusted him, his face drawn as though in pain.

  A sharp ache rose in her throat as she realized the full scope of what she’d done. She had turned her back on Lance. She had acted as whites usually did, banding with their kind against him. She had taken their side, refusing to believe in his innocence. She had let him down, disappointed him cruelly—at the very moment she’d come to realize how very much he meant to her.

  Summer pressed a hand over her mouth to hold back a cry of despair. For some time now she had known she was in danger of losing her heart. But until this moment she hadn’t realized it had already happened. She had fallen in love with her husband. With a hard, hostile, defiant half-breed who had opened himself up to her, only to find himself betrayed.

  She loved Lance. She didn’t know when it had happened, or how, yet she knew why. Lance was a good man. With an honor and integrity that most men couldn’t hold a candle to. With a grit, a heart-deep courage, that most whites couldn’t even understand, let alone emulate. He deserved better than a wife who lost faith at the first trial.

  Shame crawled through Summer’s belly, gnawing at her. If she had truly loved him, she never would have doubted him.

  But then, she had been wrong about Lance frequently. She had prided herself on her magnanimity, on her self-sacrifice in agreeing to marry him. She had condescended—stooped—to become his wife, telling herself it was the only way to gain what she wanted from him. She had braved the censure of their neighbors, even daring them to snub her and him, all the while feeling a self-righteous anger at being forced to renounce her future because of Lance. She had been afraid for herself, her future, her needs, her consequence. She hadn’t been concerned for Lance at all. She had thought Lance lucky to have won her hand—but she was the lucky one.

  Fool! Arrogant fool.

  She hadn’t trusted him enough—no, that wasn’t quite true. There was no one she trusted more than Lance to keep her safe, to protect her physically from harm. But she hadn’t believed in him. She hadn’t taken his side when all the evidence pointed against him. She hadn’t given him a wife’s loyalty.

  And now her lack of faith might have destroyed whatever softer feelings he had begun to feel for her. She deserved it if he couldn’t forgive her, if he hated her.

  Shaking, Summer wrapped her arms around herself to hold back the tremors. Dear God, she couldn’t bear it if he hated her. She wanted him to love her. She wanted to own his heart, as he owned hers. She wanted to become the center of his universe, his hopes, his dreams. She wanted him filling the emptiness inside her, just as she wanted to fill it for him. She wanted him standing beside her, against the rest of the world if need be. Just as she should have stood beside him when he’d needed her.

  She closed her eyes tightly, wishing she could deny her betrayal. Lance had been right to condemn her. She had done nothing this past week to help him clear his name. She had sat at home waiting, while he had tried to prove his innocence, while he had faced his enemies alone.

  But he wouldn’t be alone any longer.

  With determination and a bleak hopefulness, Summer raised her head. Lance needed help. She needed to find him help. She would do everything in her power to provide it for him. She would show him that she was on his side, totally, irrevocably.

  And this time when he asked for her trust, she wouldn’t let him down.

  Chapter 23

  A half hour later, Summer spoke to Reed, telling him exactly what Lance had been up to during the past week. She believed totally in his innocence, she declared, and never should have doubted him. She also demanded that they do everything possible to help Lance in his search for the real cattle thieves, and that Reed put all resources of the Sky Valley ranch behind the effort. Reed, in the face of her adamancy, swallowed his skepticism and capitulated.

  Summer confronted her sister abruptly afterward, demanding that Amelia retract her lies about Lance. Amelia, however, remained stubbornly silent, her hostility undiminished.

  Frustrated, Summer went out to the corrals to look for Dusty. She had to wait until he returned from the range, though, to implement the main part of her plan. She wanted to enlist his help, as well as that of the vaqueros who could be counted on to be loyal to Lance.

  When Dusty rode in, Summer followed him into the small office he used for record keeping and forced herself to sit in the wooden chair he offered, determined to remain calm and logical. The foreman seated himself behind the small desk, heard her out in silence, and agreed to her plan without hesitation.

  “You don’t believe Lance is guilty?” Summer asked, relieved.

  “Nope.” Dusty shook his head. “I never thought for a minute he’d do something stupid like stealing beeves. Lance might have the disposition of a grizzly bear, but he’s always had brains.”

  “Lance told me he was hunting for Comanche tracks, but he never said whether or not he’d found any.”

  Pushing back his hat, Dusty frowned in thought. “I doubt he did. Leastwise, not any that belonged to his kin. He’d be a damn fool to invite the Comanches into this territory—he knows he’d be blamed for anything any Indian did.”

  “But if the Comanches aren’t stealing, then someone else is.”

  “Yep. I’m inclined to think maybe Will Prewitt had a hand in it.”

  Green eyes met blue in complete understanding. “So am I.”

  “Well, then…” Dusty grinned, making Summer feel infinitely grateful to have someone on her side. “I guess we better figure out how to catch us some cattle thieves.”

  They talked for a time about various options and what men they could put out riding the range. Dusty finished by expressing regret that Lance was trying to do it all alone.

  “I wish he had come to me. I would have done my darnedest to help him.”

  Summer smiled bitterly. “Lance wouldn’t ask anyone for help, not even me. You know how proud he is.”

  Dusty nodded. “That, he is. And after the barbecue…I guess now he feels like everybody’s against him.”

  “My sister didn’t help matters with her accusation. She refuses to admit she could be wrong.”

  “I can’t figure why Miss Amelia is so set against him.”

  “I suppose because she blames him for what the Comanches did. I’m not really certain. I feel like I don’t know her anymore.”

  They both fell silent, reflecting on the unfairness of the situation.

  “Dusty…would you consider talking to Amelia? Perhaps you could influence her where I’ve failed.”

  “You think she would listen to me?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. She likes and trusts you.”

  “She does, really?” He averted his gaze, as if suddenly ill at ease. “Do you think…someday maybe…Miss Amelia might consider getting married again?”

  His color was high, his eyes lowered—the signs of a man enamored of a woman but reticent to admit it. Summer, acutely sensitive to such nuances with her own affairs of the heart in such disarray, replied gently. “I don’t know. Perhaps to the right man, she would. After what happened…she’s afraid of men. And at the same time she’s afraid no man would want her.”

  “I’d want her. I’d take her as my wife in a second.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps in time. I wouldn’t give up.”

  “I won’t.” He adjusted his hat and stood up. “Well, I guess I better go talk to some of the boys so we can get started tonight.”

  “Dusty…thank you.
”

  “No need to thank me, Miss Summer. Even if I didn’t like Lance as much as I do, I’d still help him. I figure I owe him for bringing Miss Amelia back safe.”

  He left then, relinquishing the small office to her. Alone, Summer let her head sag wearily. The strain of the past week was beginning to tell on her physically. And if she was suffering, how much more was Lance enduring?

  God, please let it be over soon.

  She rubbed the ache in her temples with both hands, wondering where Lance was at this moment, wondering if he was thinking of her, and if he possibly knew how desperately she regretted hurting him with her doubts.

  The nausea began the following morning. Summer woke Saturday feeling listless and overhung, as if she was coming down sick. Her stomach settled as she lay there worrying about Lance, but she had barely left the bed before she felt the remains of last night’s supper start to well in her throat.

  For a full minute she retched into a basin, an attack that left her weak, as well as puzzled and concerned. She was rarely ill, and just now she couldn’t afford to be sick. Not now when Lance’s troubles demanded her best efforts, when his situation remained so uncertain.

  She felt better once she’d chewed on a crust of bread. Following her new plan, she went up to the big house to iron her best day gown and choose a suit for Reed to wear. If she meant to drag her brother all over the countryside, paying a call on every woman in the neighborhood in order to plead Lance’s case, she wanted her finest armor. It was possible such a venture would come to naught, that they would be refused entrance before being given a chance to explain why they thought Lance innocent of the charges against him, but Summer thought making the attempt better than sitting at home doing nothing to help the man she loved.

  She was heating the irons at the kitchen fire, working alongside Maritza and Consuala as they did morning chores, when the nausea struck again. Clapping a hand over her mouth, Summer whispered, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Maritza had enough command to hastily guide Summer to the sink and hold her shoulders while she retched, while Consuala wet a cloth and held it to her flushed forehead.

  “Thank you,” Summer murmured gratefully. “I don’t know what’s come over me. This happened earlier this morning, too.”

  In the silence that followed, Summer looked up to find both Mexican women watching her with dancing black eyes.

  “What is it?” she asked, bewildered.

  “You are to have a bebé, sí?” Maritza said happily.

  “A baby?” She stared unseeingly at the woman. “You mean I am pregnant?”

  “That is usual when these signs come to a woman. I myself was very sick when I carried my first son. The next two were not so difficult.” Her smile faded. “Are you not glad about el niño?”

  “I…yes…I’m just…surprised, that’s all. I haven’t been married very long.”

  Consuala laughed. “You should not be surprised with such a magnificent hombre as Señor Lance. He is one lusty lover, I would guess. This baby will have a fine padre, no?”

  Summer felt color flood her cheeks at the woman’s frank supposition.

  “It is warm in here, señora,” Maritza observed. “Perhaps you should go outside where it is cool. I will make you a cup of tea to ease your stomach. You will be all right once you grow accustomed to the idea of bearing a baby.”

  “Yes…thank you…” Summer said distractedly.

  She let herself out of the kitchen onto the back porch, hardly knowing where she was going. Apprehension, shock, joy, wonder, all warred inside her.

  A baby. Lance’s child. A child of mixed blood. White and Comanche.

  Blindly she sank into a wicker rocking chair, her hand pressed uncertainly to her stomach. Was there truly a new life growing inside her? If so, it would only compound a complex situation.

  And yet she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. She wanted this child. Even knowing the difficulties she would face bringing a mixed-breed baby into the world. Even knowing the trials a young child would suffer as an innocent victim of bigotry and hatred. She would have to shield him, teach him to defend himself against the slurs and innuendos, the baiting and physical assaults, to hold his head proudly, without shame…

  At the thought, Summer felt a surge of protectiveness rip through her, an instinct so fierce, it took her breath away. No one, no one, would ever harm this child as long as she had a breath left in her body. She pressed her hand possessively over her abdomen. She knew, in that moment, what a mother lion felt defending her cub. She thought she understood what Lance’s mother must have felt when she’d chosen a life of shame and poverty as the price of keeping her infant son.

  She herself would be willing to pay that price, Summer thought. As long as she had Lance, she could face anything a hostile world threw at her. Love engendered strength, and she loved him deeply, irrevocably—more than enough to brave whatever future lay before them. As long as she had Lance—if she still had Lance. Which really was not so certain at the moment.

  Remembering his painful departure yesterday, how terribly she had wounded him with her suspicions, Summer gazed blindly out over the buildings of the ranch.

  She wouldn’t allow herself to believe she had lost him for good. She owed him an abject, humble apology, yes, but she would make him accept it. She would admit how wrong she’d been, how weak and foolish she’d been to be swayed for one instant by the arguments against him. She would make Lance see how much she loved him, that she believed in him.

  And she would make him love her in return. She had never met a man yet who could resist her charms when she truly put her mind to it. Not even Lance, as fiercely proud and unyielding and defensive as he was.

  How would he react about the baby? Should she even tell him yet? With such flimsy evidence as two instances of a sick stomach? No, she could be mistaken. She didn’t think so; in her heart she knew it was true. She was carrying Lance’s child. But she would wait for a time. For the moment she would hug the secret to herself, at least until she was certain.

  She was so wrapped up in her thoughts about the baby that at first her consciousness didn’t register what her eyes were seeing. In the distance, near one of the barns, a man and a woman stood engaged in intent conversation.

  Summer had no trouble recognizing her sister, but the man was more difficult to place. It looked like one of their young ranch hands, Calvin Stapp. But whatever would Amelia be doing talking to him? For that matter, why was Calvin here, instead of out riding the range?

  A chill swept Summer as a suspicion struck her. Amelia had spoken secretly with Will Prewitt shortly before he began his campaign to discredit Lance. Could this be connected somehow? Could Calvin be in league with them? Could, perhaps, they be plotting a further offense against Lance?

  Summer’s fingers clenched into a fist, but she willed her heart to settle down. There was an innocent explanation, surely. Amelia couldn’t hate Lance that much. All the same, it would be wise to warn Dusty about this rendezvous, to ask him to keep an eye on Calvin.

  Her sister was too far away for Summer to hear what was being said, but she appeared upset about something. When Calvin spoke to her earnestly, gesturing, Amelia shook her head once, twice, then took a step back, as if trying to distance herself from him. He seemed intent on arguing a point, or perhaps persuading her to do something she wasn’t eager to do.

  A moment later, he left her, heading toward the hitching rail and his horse, while Amelia stood watching. He had mounted and ridden away, toward the range, before she finally turned and moved slowly toward the house, her head lowered as if deep in troubled thought.

  She had climbed the porch steps and was about to enter the back door when she saw Summer sitting in the rocker. Giving a start, Amelia came to an abrupt halt.

  “Is everything all right, Melly?” Summer asked in a cool tone.

  “Y-Yes…of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I thought you could tell me. I
’d say you’ve been acting rather secretive of late.”

  Amelia gave a small laugh, which sounded a bit forced. “That’s absurd.”

  “Why were you talking to Calvin Stapp just now?”

  “I…I wanted to ask him about the herd they are rounding up for market.”

  “You’re finally taking an interest in the ranch?”

  “Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

  Summer shook her head sadly. “Do you know what hurts the most, Melly? We used to be friends, sisters. Not strangers. Not enemies. You never used to lie to me.”

  Amelia winced, and for a moment, her gaze looked anguished. But then she stiffened, straightening her shoulders. “I am not your enemy, Summer.”

  “No? You are doing your best to drive my husband out of the county. I think that makes you my enemy.”

  “If I am…it’s only because he shouldn’t be here. Lance Calder doesn’t belong.”

  Pulling herself up out of the rocking chair, Summer rose slowly to her full height. “You’ve made yourself believe that, but he does belong here, Amelia. Lance has every bit as much right to stay here as you or I. He owns this ranch now, my part of it anyway—”

  Amelia shook her head bitterly. “What would Papa say if he heard you?”

  Summer raised her chin, holding her sister’s gaze unwaveringly. “I don’t care what he would say. Papa is dead—and I can’t honestly say I’m sorry. While he lived, he was too blinded by hatred to give Lance a fair chance.” She ignored the shock on her sister’s face. “Just as you are blinded now. I warn you, though, Amelia. I mean to stand by him, no matter how difficult you and Prewitt make life for us. If I must choose between the two of you, then I’ll choose Lance. Without question.”

  “You would turn your back on your own family?”

  “Not entirely. Lance is my family now. He’s my husband. And the father of the child I’m carrying.”