Lance’s black gaze flickered over her. “I understand.”
Reed looked cautiously relieved. “I want you to know…I was the one who doubted you. Summer didn’t want to believe you had anything to do with those cattle thefts. I spent a damn hour trying to convince her while she defended you at every turn.” He hesitated as if to give Lance a chance to respond, but Lance remained silent. “You have every right to kick my butt—and you’re welcome to, as soon as you’re able. But if you’ll forgive me, we’ll go on as before.”
For a long moment, Lance didn’t reply—and when he did, Summer didn’t know what to make of it. “As soon as I’m able…I’ll think about it.”
Reed eyed him quizzically, as if not knowing whether his apology had been accepted or not. Apparently deciding not to press the issue, though, he edged aside so that Amelia could step forward.
She did so, her head lowered, her lower lip trembling, her fingers clenching and unclenching her handkerchief. She took a deep, shuddering breath as if she were about to speak, and for a brief instant, she even risked a glance at Lance. But then suddenly she turned away, sobbing, and covered her face with her hands.
Summer took an involuntary step toward her, feeling the need to offer her sister comfort despite Amelia’s treachery, but Reed raised a hand, making her halt. And he was right, Summer knew. This was something Amelia had to do on her own.
“I’m…I’m s-sorry…” she finally managed to get out between deep, gulping sobs, “…for what I did to you…For lying. I’m so sorry…I would…I would…understand…if you never forgave me…but I never meant for…them to h-hurt you…I never…I didn’t w-want you to d-die…”
She stopped explaining then, and wept for a long while, while everyone else in the room remained silent. Reed, looking grim but determined, rubbed her shoulder in solace, but he evidently didn’t yet consider her apology adequate. When Amelia’s sobs had quieted to shuddering breaths, he turned her back to face Lance, saying gently, “All of it, Melly. Tell Lance everything you told me. You asked Prewitt to get rid of Lance for you, but then you changed your mind because things went way too far.”
“Y-Yes. I never wanted him to be 1-lynched. I just didn’t want…him to stay…”
“Why didn’t you want him to stay?”
She raised her head slowly then, daring to look at Lance. “I thought you might…h-hurt me. I was…I was…afraid of you.”
“Am I really such a scary fellow, Miss Amelia?” Lance’s tone was quiet, softer than Summer had ever heard it, the gentleness incongruous coming from so hard a man.
“N-No…I don’t r-really s-suppose so. It’s just that…”
“That I look like the Comanches who hurt you.”
“Y-Yes…”
“I may look like them, but I’m half-white, too. And I’m human, just like you.” He patted the bandage covering his wounded right arm. “I bleed just like everybody else.”
She gulped, wiping absently at a tearstained cheek. “I know…but you…you saw my shame. I wanted to die…”
“It wasn’t your shame I saw, Miss Amelia. It was your courage.” The light in Lance’s eyes was almost tender. “It takes a strong, brave woman to survive what you did. I always thought my ma the bravest person I knew, but you Weston women are right up there with her.”
“Some people would say…I should have…I should have killed myself.”
Summer drew a sharp breath, but Lance shook his head. “Some people would be wrong, Miss Amelia. As long as you have family behind you, you can get through anything. That’s what my ma would have said.
“I’m sorry about what the Comanches did to you,” he added quietly. “If I could have prevented it, I would have. But—I know you find it hard to believe just now—but not all of them are bad. My brother’s not. He helped me find you, Miss Amelia, at no little risk to himself. He wouldn’t have hurt you. Just like I wouldn’t. I want you to believe that, Miss Amelia. I would never, ever hurt you. Not in a million years.”
She started crying again, but more softly this time. “I’m the one who’s bad…You saved my life…and I never even thanked you…for rescuing me.”
“Well…” Lance gave her an awkward smile. “Consider it done. And we’ll forget what happened after. All’s forgiven.”
“No…no, it’s not.” She sent a sad look toward her sister. “Summer won’t forgive me. She won’t speak to me any longer.”
“Melly…” Summer began uncomfortably, but Amelia shook her head.
“No, you were right. What I did to Lance…to you, was terrible. You risked your life to come after me…and all I did to repay you was nearly get your husband killed. I’m sorry, Summer…truly. I wasn’t in my right mind.”
Summer couldn’t refuse such a humble, heartfelt apology. Not if Lance was willing to let Amelia off so easily. Her own eyes filling with tears, she went to her sister and put her arms around her. “I know. I’m sorry, too…Melly. I’m sorry for striking you. I had no right.”
“What’s that?” Reed asked.
“Summer hit me…when she found out that I had helped…lure Lance into a trap. But I deserved it,” Amelia added quickly, as if her admission might be construed as an attempt to shift blame.
“No, Melly, you didn’t,” Summer interrupted. “I shouldn’t have hurt you. I would never have, either, if I hadn’t been out of my mind with fear.”
Her sister pulled away, looking at her intently. “I know. But, Summer? You were wrong…about the baby. I wouldn’t cast out an innocent child. I want to be a good aunt to him, Summer. I promise, I’ll be the best aunt a child could ever have.”
“Summer told you?” Lance demanded softly. “About the baby?”
Amelia looked worriedly from one to the other, and stammered, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, I didn’t know it was a secret—”
“It’s all right, Melly,” Summer soothed. “I told Lance already. Besides”—she forced a small laugh—“we all have too much to be sorry for. I think we should do as he says and consider the past forgotten.”
Amelia sniffed and nodded. After using her handkerchief to mop her swollen eyes, she turned once more to Lance. “I was wrong…to force you out of the house. You can live there…with us…if you want.”
Lance’s mouth curved in a forced smile. “Thank you, Miss Amelia. That’s a mighty fine offer. But I don’t guess I can take you up on it. I won’t be living here, you see.”
The sharp ache that sliced through Summer’s heart could not have hurt worse if Lance had physically struck her. She was certain it showed in her expression. She wanted to cry out, to protest, to issue a desperate denial, a plea for him to give her another chance. But all she could do was stand there dumbly. Her face felt numb, and the dull roaring in her ears nearly drowned out his next words. And even then, it took her a moment to comprehend.
“You see, I won’t be needing a place to live. I plan to build your sister a fine house of her own about a mile from here. Reed’s been working on the plans. This cabin will do fine till then. That is…if Summer’s agreeable.”
With a soft exclamation, she took a faltering step toward him and stopped, afraid to believe what he was saying. His black eyes were watching her, intense yet wary, as if he was still uncertain about lowering his defenses to her. Her knees suddenly felt weak; her heart had leaped into an erratic rhythm.
She was hardly aware when her sister and brother took their leave. She didn’t know what she actually said in farewell; she only knew that she was left alone with Lance, was only aware of the quiet tension in the small bedchamber.
“Did you mean it?” she breathed, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Mean what?”
“About building our house? Living here with me?”
In answer, he tossed the blanket aside and struggled to swing his legs over the edge of the bed.
“Lance, you shouldn’t get up! You’re hurt!” In an instant Summer had crossed to his side, but she couldn’t m
anage to prevent him from standing up. On the contrary, he grasped her arm and used her to lever himself to his feet, holding on to her tightly to maintain his balance.
“Hush, princess,” he warned as he hauled her close. “You always did baby me too much. A real Comanche warrior would be ashamed to be lying on his back for as long as I’ve been out of commission.”
He kissed her then. His mouth came down on hers with a strength that captured her breath and filled her with hope. She tasted desperate loneliness. And need. And want. All the powerful yearnings that clamored for expression inside her, as well as a determination that settled all the terrible doubts that had tormented her for days.
When, a score of heartbeats later, he raised his head, Summer clung to him weakly for support.
“Say it,” he whispered, his voice as hoarse as hers had been, his ebony eyes kindled with a fierce flame.
She couldn’t possibly misunderstand what he needed to hear. “I love you, Lance. I always will.”
He shut his eyes, his face contorted with what looked like pain.
“Please…your injuries…At least sit down.”
“Hell, I’m okay.” His grimace had more to do with the shocking culmination of his most cherished dream than his physical wounds, but he complied, sinking onto the mattress. Refusing to let Summer go, he drew her down with him, keeping his good left arm tightly around her.
She didn’t protest, but laid her head on his bare shoulder, cherishing the closeness, the warmth, the way his lips were buried in her hair.
“I was so afraid…” she said after a moment. “Afraid I had lost you.”
“I didn’t think I ever had you to lose,” Lance said quietly.
Summer drew back and reached up to tenderly touch his bruised jaw with its faint shadow of stubble. “You do have me. I think you’ve always owned a little piece of my heart. I was just too blind to see it.”
His eyes searched hers, dark and intense, as if still not totally convinced of her sincerity, and yet desperate to believe.
She smiled, tentatively, wishing she could smooth away that crease between his brows, wishing she could take away his hurt, wishing he would ease hers. His somber silence was not at all the response she’d yearned for. She’d offered her heart to Lance, and his lack of a reply left her feeling suddenly shy and in need of reassurance.
“Lance…” Summer faltered, finding herself in the awkward position of not knowing what to do or say next, or how to handle this crucial, intimate moment. With any other man, she might have wheedled a reciprocal admission of love from him. But Lance was not simply any man. All her feminine wiles were less than useless; indeed, they were as welcome as poison. Any attempt at manipulation on her part, she knew, would only arouse suspicion and doubt on his. No, if Lance was to trust her, she had to be totally honest. And the same was true of him. Summer found herself wanting, needing, the truth from him—even if it confirmed her worst fears.
“You aren’t…really going to leave, are you?”
“No.” He knew he could no more walk away from her now than he could cut out his heart. Not if she really loved him.
“I had always hoped…to have a husband who loved me in return,” Summer murmured hesitantly.
“Love?” He scowled suddenly and looked away. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“I think you do, Lance.” She waited hopefully, but he remained silent.
Watching the way his jaw clenched, she thought she understood his struggle. Looking deep, beyond the grown man he was now, she saw the defiant young boy inside, the one who’d always guarded himself so fiercely against rejection that he’d never allowed himself to love—or to believe that anyone could love him. That certainty, that no one wanted him, had been ingrained in his soul. It would take far more than a single confession of love to erase all the scars, to make Lance forget all the years of pain. She would have to fight for every inch of progress, perhaps for the rest of their lives. But it was a battle worth fighting.
“You once called me kamakuna. Short Dress said it was the Comanche word for ‘beloved.’ Did you mean it, Lance?”
“Maybe,” he replied gruffly.
His refusal to commit himself should have worried her, but it only confirmed what she should have known all along. Deep down, her fierce, invincible warrior had his own fears. Lance was afraid—to feel, to hope, to love. To acknowledge his own loneliness or need.
“Is it so hard to say?”
His eyes turned to glower at her. “Are you fishing, princess?”
“Well, yes…I suppose I am. I’m not the heartless flirt I once was, Lance. My heart can be broken, too. But only by you. I need to know that you love me. Unless you really don’t? Do you, Lance? Do you love me…at least a little?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Okay, dammit, I love you! Are you satisfied?”
“Truly? You love me?”
“I’ve always loved you,” he said harshly, his confession barely audible. “Ever since you were old enough to bat those long eyelashes of yours at me—and you damn well know it.”
Summer shook her head. “When you proposed our bargain, you said it was because you wanted a wife who could help you become a respected member of the community.”
A muscle in his jaw clenched tightly. “I don’t give a damn about respectability or community, not as long as I have you.” He stopped, suddenly looking hesitant. “I know those things are important to you, though—”
“No…they aren’t. I once thought they were, but I was wrong. They don’t matter, as long as you love me. It’s only that…acceptance would make it easier for our children.”
Lance looked down, his gaze fixing on her flat abdomen. Reverently, as if he feared he might hurt her, Lance reached down to touch her stomach. “Are we really going to have a kid?”
“I think so. I hope so. I’ll know in another week if my courses are late.” She frowned, recalling what he had once told her about not wanting to make her pregnant. “Do you want a child, Lance?”
His black eyes lifted to hers. “I…don’t know. I don’t like to think of what he’s going to have to go through with me as his pa.”
“Oh, Lance.” Her heart ached. “We’ll figure out something. Together.”
“Together,” he repeated, and yet his tone held doubt.
“We will. We’ll start over…from this moment on. As long as we love each other…” Summer raised her fingers to his lower lip, tracing the firm fullness with a gentle caress, her own features soft with love. “Will you marry me, Lance Calder? Will you be my husband till death do us part? Will you live with me as my lover, my friend, the father of my children?”
His solemn expression never wavered as he gazed at her searchingly.
“We’re already married, I know,” Summer added quietly. “But I want a real wedding this time. With my family in attendance. And this time when we say our vows, I’ll mean every word of it.”
When still he remained silent, Summer smiled up at him, a tender, teasing, alluring smile, with only the slightest hint of forced gaiety. “Well, what do you say, Lance Calder? Don’t you know it isn’t polite to keep a lady dangling on tenterhooks? Your mama should have taught you better.”
“My ma taught me just fine,” Lance growled as he turned with Summer in his arms and pressed her down on the mattress.
“Will you marry me, then?”
“Yeah, I’ll marry you. If you’re sure you want a savage breed for a husband.”
Reaching up, she entwined her arms carefully around his neck, conscious of his wounds. “I wouldn’t have anyone else.”
In response, Lance raised a hand between their bodies and began unfastening the buttons of her gown’s bodice.
Summer’s breath caught in her throat. “Lance, you can’t mean…You were just shot! Aren’t you hurting too much?”
His faint grin was part pain, part hungry wolf. “Yeah, I’m hurting. And y
ou’re the only one who can make it better, princess.” He winced as he tried to shift his weight over her. “But I think you’re gonna have to do the honors for a while, at least till the stitches in my side stop pulling.”
Her own smile held a hint of worry, but was mostly smug. “Well, finally you’re going to let me help you for a change. It’s about time you admitted you need me.”
Lance’s expression sobered at her artless remark. He needed her, all right. He needed her to fill the empty place in his soul, to heal the raw chasm of hunger in his heart. He needed her like the air he breathed. God help him, he needed her.
Lowering his head, Lance captured her mouth with a fierce possessiveness, intent on showing her just how much.
Chapter 26
The week that followed was a time of healing, for the body as well as for soul and heart. Summer and Lance built on the fragile trust they’d begun by declaring their love—sharing their feelings and thoughts, opening themselves to each other, exposing vulnerabilities, guardedly testing the limits of their delicate new bond.
Summer tried in countless ways to show him that her devotion was real, and Lance cautiously started to believe. Every time he so much as kissed her, she responded like a woman desperate to live, desperate to love. And he felt himself turning into a lovesick kid all over again—fiercely hungry for the sight of her, for the touch of her, for the laughing light in her eyes that came more readily now.
All the vicious hurt dealt him by others, his ravaged pride, his humiliation, his physical injuries, no longer meant so much, not with Summer there to heal him. He had her, and that was all that mattered. Maybe he was a selfish bastard for wanting her so damned much. Maybe he didn’t have any right to ask her to suffer as an outcast with him. But Summer was his, and he would never let her go.
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