by Bobbi Smith
"Randolph! Sukie! Rosalie! They're back! They're riding in right now!" As quickly as he could, he edged about the room and threw wide the door. His gait reflected the pain he was still experiencing from the wound, but the joy he was feeling more than countered the discomfort. "Sukie! Randolph!" He made his way slowly down the hall and was just starting down the steps as the others came racing out of the parlor to see what was happening.
"George . . . what is it?" Randolph asked worriedly as he hurried up the steps to assist him.
"They're back," he related happily. "I saw them coming from my bedroom window."
"Is Trista with them?" he asked tentatively, not knowing whether to allow himself to hope or to prepare himself for the worst.
"From this distance I couldn't tell," he replied as they reached the bottom of the staircase.
Sukie was thrilled at the thought of Michael's return, and she ran outside, leaving the door standing wide open for the others to follow. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she stared off toward the group of riders coming their way. Her heart stirred wildly in her breast as she recognized Michael's mount, and she charged off the porch, unmindful of anything except that he had come back.
Michael and his men had been riding almost nonstop since leaving Lone Elk's village. Exhausted, yet pleased to be the bearers of good tidings, they rode full speed into the ranch. He saw Sukie immediately and sawed back on the reins to slow as he neared her. Leaning low, he scooped her up into his arms and drew her across his lap.
"Ah, love, I missed you so. . . ." Michael told her just before he kissed her. It was a quick, breathless exchange, and then he kneed his horse onward toward the house.
"Oh, Michael, I'm so glad you're back. . . ." Sukie told him, her arms locked tightly about him. But as she glanced back at the other riders, she realized with a jolt that Lance and Trista were not with them. The sudden change in her expression mirrored her fear that something terrible had happened to them, and she looked up at Michael, her eyes wide with fright. "Where are Lance and Trista?"
"They're back with Lone Elk at the Comanche village right now."
"They're alive?!" Sukie let the good news wash through her in relief.
"Yes, darling. They're alive."
Randolph was standing in the shadows of the porch filled with misery. When the riders had entered the yard area, he had seen immediately that Trista was not with them, and he knew a moment of true sorrow and grief. He thought his daughter lost to him forever. He thought her dead . . . or worse . . . and his torment was inconsolable.
George was watching Michael's approach, his heart heavy with despair. He was thrilled that Michael was back, but he feared that his younger son's returning without Lance and Trista meant that the other two were . . .
"They're alive!" Sukie called out joyously to Randolph and George as they drew to a stop before the house, and it was that happy cry that dragged the two fathers back from the depths of their private agonies.
"They're alive?" George asked, surging forward to speak with Michael.
"Yes, sir." Michael helped Sukie down and then dismounted himself as the other men dispersed to see to their own business.
"Thank God," he claimed. "But where are they, son? Why didn't they come back with you?"
"Trista's been hurt—" Michael started to explain as he joined George, Randolph, and Rosalie on the porch. He kept his arm firmly around Sukie's waist as he spoke.
"Hurt? What happened? How is she?" Randolph interrupted.
"Trista was shot, but—"
"Shot!" He was outraged.
"Randolph," Michael told him comfortingly, "they're staying on with Lone Elk until she's strong enough to make the trip back."
"Who's this Lone Elk?" Randolph wondered.
"He's a Comanche chief and he's Lance's uncle. His village is several days ride from here, and that's where they're staying."
They made their way inside, and as they settled in the parlor, Rosalie hurried off to bring refreshments. She was excited to know that Lance was safe and that both he and Trista would soon be returning to the ranch. The mood of those gathered there was one of thanksgiving and celebration as they learned from Michael all that had happened while he was gone.
It was much later that evening, as George made ready to retire for the night, that he summoned Michael to him in the privacy of his bedroom. Although he'd put on a cheerful front during their reunion, his mood had really been solemn. There was something troubling him deeply, and he needed to know the truth from Michael. It was a truth that would either break his heart or make him a happy man. At the sound of Michael's knock, he called out for him to come in.
"You wanted to see me, Pa?" Michael asked as he closed the door behind him. When he'd been called to George's room, he'd been afraid that the excitement might have proved too much for his father and that George had suffered a relapse. "Are you feeling all right?"
George stood near the window staring out across the vastness of his holdings. He had long thought that the Royal Diamond was the source of his happiness, but he knew now that it was only a small part of it. His true joy was in his sons, and he needed to know if Lance was really planning to stay when he returned to the ranch. George held the deep-seated fear that his older son would be forsaking his white heritage now and going back to live permanently with Lone Elk and the Comanche.
"Yes, son, I'm fine," he said in a voice gruff with emotion. He didn't think he could bear to lose Lance twice. He loved Lance and he wanted him home with him.
"Is there something wrong?"
"That's what I need to find out. . . ."
"I don't understand."
"It's Lance."
"What about him?" Michael wondered.
"Is he going to stay with us when he comes back? Is he going to make the Diamond his home?"
Michael sensed his father's insecurity and answered him quickly. "Lance told me that he and Trista were coming back and that they were planning to make their home here, with you."
George felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but he couldn't help but wonder about his rival for Lance's affections. "What about Lone Elk?"
"When we left Lance hadn't talked with Lone Elk yet, but he had every intention of continuing to visit him. He loves his uncle very much, and I could tell that Lone Elk loves him."
"He's really coming back. . . ."
"As soon as he can, Pa," Michael responded.
George felt his heart swell with emotion. Lance was home. His sons would be with him. His dream had come true. He knew then that, despite Eleanor's vicious betrayal, everything was going to work out.
Sukie stood on the porch gazing up at the starry night sky, her heart filled with love and contentment. Michael was safe . . . Michael was home. She heard the door to the house open behind her, and she instinctively knew that it was him, coming to seek her out.
"I had a feeling I'd find you out here." The deep, rich tone of his voice sent shivers of sensual appreciation up her spine, and Sukie turned to welcome him.
"I needed to be alone for a moment, and it's such a pretty night. . . ."
"I haven't noticed the night yet," Michael told her seductively as he moved closer to take her in his arms. "I've been too busy looking at you."
Sukie went delightedly into his embrace. "I missed you so much." She gazed up at him with all the love she felt clearly reflected in her eyes.
Michael felt his desire for her flare heatedly to life as he stared down at her. "I love you with all my heart, Sukie, and I'll never be away from you again if I can help it."
"Oh, Michael . . . " she sighed as she lifted her arms about his neck and drew him down to her for a passionate kiss.
Their lips met, tested, tasted, and then parted in want of a more sensual exploration. As they were clasped in each other's arms, the worry and trouble of the past weeks vanished. All that mattered was that they were together and that they would stay that way forever.
Kiss followed exciting
kiss, each touch led to more thrilling caresses until Michael's driving need for her threatened his control. Breaking off the kiss, he shifted slightly away from Sukie's intoxicating nearness. She wondered at his actions and looked up at him, puzzled.
"What is it? Is something wrong?"
Michael gave a short laugh at her query. "No, love. Absolutely nothing is wrong. As a matter of fact, everything is right, very right."
"Then why did you stop kissing me?"
"Not because I wanted to, love, but because I had to."
"I don't understand." Her confusion was obvious, and he bent to kiss her once more quickly and softly.
"I love you, Sukie, and I want you, but this"—he glanced around in frustration—"is not the time or the place."
A daring smile curved her lips as she realized the reason for his withdrawal from her. "When will it be the time and the place?" A flicker of invitation shone in her eyes.
Michael bit back a groan as he considered the risk of slipping into her room later. The idea was tempting, but he reasoned it would be too dangerous. "How soon can we get married?"
"Tonight wouldn't be soon enough for me," Sukie told him.
"Me either," he agreed, pulling her close and kissing her tenderly once more, "but I think it'd be best if we wait until Lance and Trista get back. I would like to have them at the wedding."
"All right, it's settled then. The week after they get here, we'll be married."
"Fine."
Several hours later Sukie lay in her solitary bed tossing restlessly. She remembered the glory of Michael's lovemaking that day by the creek, and she ached with the need to know the strength of his embrace again. Her desires had been stoked to a fever pitch by their earlier caresses, and they still had not abated, even after all this time. Driven by the overwhelming excitement that filled her, Sukie crept from her bed and wrapped her dressing gown about her. Silently, knowing that discretion was essential, she left her room and hurried quietly down the hall to Michael's.
Michael lay facedown on his bed, his body throbbing with unsated desire. The passionate encounter with Sukie on the porch had awakened his need for her to the fullest, and he was having difficulty banishing the memory of her enticing embrace. The thought that she was sleeping just two doors down the hall had driven him even further to distraction, and he wondered in annoyance if he would get any rest at all.
The sound of his door opening startled him, and he rolled over quickly to see who was entering his room. The sight of Sukie wearing only her dressing gown standing just inside his bedroom door sent a jolt of excitement through him. Without speaking, he left the bed and moved to close the door behind her. He took care to make certain it was locked before turning to Sukie and taking her in his arms.
"I'm glad you came. . . ." was all he murmured before he kissed her with rapturous delight.
Michael carried her to the welcoming width of his bed, and they lay together upon its softness totally enthralled in the joy of their coming together. In a celebration of their love, they cherished each other's bodies. Each touch, each kiss took on a deeper, more beautiful meaning as they stripped away the barrier of their nightclothes and joined in love's most intimate union.
Sukie was in ecstasy as she clung to Michael, reveling in his possession. He was all she'd ever wanted or needed, and now she knew he was hers, and hers alone. The wanton glory of their lovemaking sent them soaring to rapture and beyond. Lost in the splendor of their closeness, they reached the heights and crested, each calling out the other's name in hushed tones. Replete and content, they rested, exulting in the love they'd discovered and the future that promised them untold happiness.
Only as the eastern horizon brightened with the dawn of the new day did Sukie force herself to leave Michael's bed. They shared one last, soul-stirring kiss before she donned her dressing gown and fled down the hall to her own chamber.
Michael watched her disappear safely into the haven of her own room. As he returned to his now lonely bed, he found himself hoping that Trista and Lance would return soon. He wanted to marry Sukie as quickly as possible, for he loved her deeply and never wanted to be apart from her, not even for a moment.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Though Night Lark acted outwardly as if nothing unusual had happened between her and Lance, she had silently been seething over his cold rejection. She knew now and had painfully accepted the fact that he didn't love her. It was that knowledge that had festered deep within her since the night over a week before when he'd cast her aside. Her once loving heart had turned into a jealous, vengeful one now, and she was intent only on wreaking whatever havoc she could between Trista and Lance.
Night Lark knew that as soon as Trista had recovered from her wound, Lance would be taking her back to his white father's ranch, where they would make their permanent home. She had seen Trista moving about the village with Lance and knew that they would be departing soon.
Her hatred for Trista consumed her. If Night Lark couldn't have Lance herself, she surely didn't want the stupid white woman to have him. She longed for a way to cause trouble between them. It was the memory of Trista's arrival in the village and her continued profession of love for Lance's half brother, Michael, that provided Night Lark with a possible way of creating doubt in Trista's mind. Night Lark knew that Lance had only taken Trista captive because she'd belonged to Michael. She decided to use that now as a way to torment her, to try to make her wonder about the truth of Lance's love and the real reason he'd married her.
From across the encampment, Night Lark waited for her chance. She kept close observation over Lance and Trista's movements, for she wanted to speak with Trista alone. It seemed that they were together every moment of every day, and she cursed Lance for never leaving his wife's side. It infuriated Night Lark to see Lance constantly touching her and kissing her. Night Lark wished with all her heart that Striking Snake had been a better shot.
To Night Lark s vast relief, Wind Rider finally sought Lance out late one afternoon. She was thrilled as she watched the two men disappear out of the village toward the corral, and she made her move. Night Lark kept her actions casual, and though she seemed to be moving in no particular direction or hurry, her course had long ago been set. In her heart and mind, her motive was clear.
Trista was sitting in unsuspecting comfort just outside Lance's lodge. Now that the infection was completely gone, her strength was returning quickly. She felt sure that within a few days she would feel more like herself again. Trista closed her eyes against the brilliance of the sunshine and lounged there, enjoying the peace of the moment and soothing warmth of the sun. It seemed to her that her life had never been more perfect than it was at that moment.
When the warmth of the sun was suddenly blocked from her, Trista opened her eyes to discover Night Lark standing over her.
"Night Lark . . . hello," she greeted her easily. Trista knew this woman no longer posed a threat to her. She was firm in her love for Lance and confident of his love for her.
"You seem very satisfied with yourself, Trista," Night Lark snapped, resenting her obvious happiness.
"I'm satisfied and I'm happy," she replied. "I love my husband and he loves me."
Night Lark snorted in derision. "You are a fool if you think so, white woman." Her tone was scathing, but Trista paid little attention to her. When Trista didn't respond to her deliberate baiting, she went on snidely, "Lance does not love you, Trista; he is only using you."
"Using me?" Trista was incredulous as she stared at the Comanche maiden.
Night Lark nodded. "He only took you for his wife because you were his brother's woman. He wanted to seek revenge against the Barretts."
"I see."
"It is true. He only married you to keep his half brother from having you. There is no love in your marriage, Trista. There is only hate."
"You're very right, Night Lark, in part of what you told my wife." The sound of Lance's voice so close behind her sent a chill of fear up her spin
e.
"See, I told you. . . ." Night Lark tried to sound haughty before Trista, but Lance's next words put an end to any hopes she'd ever had of coming between them.
"Only part of it, woman, not all of it." His words were cold and his tone was dangerous.
"Lance?" Trista's firm belief in their devotion to each other had not been seriously shaken by Night Lark's revelation, but Lance's statement roused her curiosity.
Lance gave her a meaningful look as he faced down the woman who dared to torment Trista with her half-truths and outright lies. "You didn't tell Trista how I fell in love with her even before the wedding ceremony, but how I refused to admit it to myself."
Trista's expression turned rapturous at his open confession.
Lance continued. "You didn't explain to her how I've repeatedly told you that I don't love you and how I've never proposed to you in all the years I've known you. There was never any chance of your being my wife, Night Lark. Did you tell Trista that?" He cornered her viciously, and the maiden grew ashen at the cruel, but well-deserved, tongue-lashing. "You also didn't tell her how I sent you away from me the other night when you blatantly offered yourself to me. Have no doubt, Night Lark, Trista is the only woman I will ever love."
Caught in her own trap, the chance to save face gone, Night Lark raced away from them, realizing once and for all that Trista had won and she had lost.
Lance watched her go for a moment and then looked down at his wife. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." She smiled at him brightly. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, love. I only told the truth." He extended a hand to help her up. When she got to her feet, he drew her inside the lodge and pulled the door closed behind them.
"What she said . . . was that true? Did you take me captive because of Michael?"
