Comanche Heart

by Catherine Anderson

  Swift had never intended for this conversation to turn ugly. But she was leaving him very little room to sidestep. What did she expect? That he should release her from their betrothal and ride out, pretending there had never been anything between them? “I’d say there’s plenty for me here,” he replied evenly.

  She paled. “Meaning me, I take it?”

  “Not just you. There’s Hunter and Loretta and their children. Amy . . .” He heaved a tired sigh. “Don’t back me into a corner on this right now.”

  “Don’t back you into a corner?” Amy worked her mouth to speak, but for a second no sound would issue from her throat. She fastened her gaze on his silver-studded gun belt, shaking so badly she could scarcely stand. “Fifteen years is a long time. Too long a time. I won’t marry you. If that’s what you have in mind, now that you’ve found me here, then just forget it.”

  She stepped around him to the door. He planted a palm on the rough wood planks to bar her escape. She stood there with her hands knotted on the handle, her heart pounding, her senses electrified by his nearness.

  “You’re determined to have this out right now, aren’t you?” His voice, pitched low and husky, flowed over her like ice water. “Why that surprises me, I don’t know. You never did have much sense when it came to going up against bad odds.”

  “Is that a threat?” she asked shakily.

  “It’s just fact.”

  Her neck stiff with tension, she turned her head to look up at him. “Meaning?”

  “You know damned well what I mean.”

  She tightened her hands on the door handle. “I knew it. The instant I saw you, I knew it. You’re going to hold me to those promises I made, aren’t you? It doesn’t matter that I was only twelve years old. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t seen you in fifteen years or that you’ve betrayed everything that was ever between us. You’re going to hold me to them.”

  The tensing of his jaw gave her all the answer she needed. She stared up at him, feeling trapped. As if he read her thoughts, he withdrew his hand from the door.

  “Make no mistake, Swift. This is Wolf’s Landing, not Texas. Hunter may honor many of the old ways, but he will never countenance your trying to force me into a marriage I would abhor.”

  With that, Amy ran out, slamming the door behind her. As she raced down the steps, she half expected to hear boots resounding on the weathered planks behind her. Relief flooded through her when she didn’t. Scurrying past the black horse tethered at the hitching post, she pressed a hand to her throat, her one thought to reach Hunter and talk to him before Swift did.

  Chapter 3

  THE SMELL OF BAKED BREAD FILLED THE LARGE main room of the Wolf home. Amy paused just inside the door, trying to regain her composure. Hunter stood at the planked table. He held a slice of warm, honey-slathered bread halfway to his lips.

  “Where is Swift?” he asked.

  “H-he’s coming,” she replied, her voice shrill. The room rushed at her, familiar and comforting, yet strangely out of focus. To her left stood Loretta’s prized Chickering piano, shipped from Boston around the Horn and hauled from Crescent City by Hunter in a wide-tread wagon. The well-polished rosewood glistened in a ray of sunlight. The braided rugs on the puncheon floors, bright and multicolored, seemed to swirl and undulate. The heat radiating from the wood cookstove seemed suffocating. “Hunter, where’s Loretta? I have to talk to you both.”

  “She’s down at the smokehouse getting a ham.” His brows drew together. “You look like you just came across a skunk in the woodpile.”

  “I did.” Amy concentrated on the family portrait hanging above the settee, taken shortly after her arrival from Texas, by a photographer named Britt, in Jacksonville. Typical of Britt’s work, the picture was lifelike, capturing Loretta’s family and herself just as they had looked eight years ago. At that time, Amy had prayed Swift would come to Oregon. Now, ironically, those long-abandoned prayers had been answered. “I can’t believe he’s here,” she croaked.

  “I know seeing him made the ground turn to air under your feet, but now that you’ve talked, surely you’re feeling better.”

  Amy swallowed and brushed her sleeve across her mouth. “I’m afraid he’s going to make me honor the promises I made to him.”

  “Ah. And you don’t want to? That isn’t like you. Words we speak are for always.”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to become that horrible man’s wife.”

  Hunter took another bite of bread, chewing with maddening slowness, his indigo eyes resting thoughtfully on hers. “Swift, a horrible man? He’s been my good friend for more years than I can count. When I rode with him in battle, I trusted him with my life many times. Have you forgotten all he did for you, Amy?”

  “He’s not the same person you knew. Not the same person I knew. He’s a killer. And God only knows what else.”

  “And only God should judge him.” He studied her. “It isn’t like you to be unforgiving. Can you condemn Swift for what he’s done? When I looked into his eyes, I didn’t see a killer, just a lonely man who had ridden a long way to find his friends.”

  “I don’t want to judge him. I just want to be free of him.”

  “The promises you made are between you and Swift. It is not my place to—”

  “He was threatening to announce his marriage to me. To drag me off.”

  Hunter’s gaze sharpened on hers. “Did he say that, or are those your words, Amy?”

  She took another step into the room. “He didn’t have to say it, Hunter. I could tell what he was thinking.”

  “It would be better if he found a priest so it would be a marriage for both the tosi tivos and the Comanches.”

  Amy stared at him, horror growing apace with disbelief. “You’d let him do that?”

  Hunter glanced hopefully toward the window, as if he wished Loretta would hurry and get back. He cleared his throat. “It isn’t for me to say.”

  Amy advanced on him, fists knotted at her sides, shoulders rigid, so close to losing her temper that she shook. “I’m part of your family. Since the day you rescued me from the comancheros, you’ve always protected me and been my friend. How can you stand there now and—and eat!”

  He studied the bread for a moment, then fastened confused eyes on hers. “I’m hungry?”

  Amy found it difficult to breathe. She threw an arm toward the door, lungs convulsing, chest heaving. “That man is a killer. You’ve known it for months. Yet you’d let him take me? You’d just stand by and let him carry me off? I’ve just told you he threatened me, and you act as if you don’t even care.”

  Hunter slid his gaze to the closed door. “He didn’t pull his gun on you, did he?”

  Amy gaped at him. She recognized that gleam in Hunter’s eyes. He found this horrible turn of events amusing.

  “If he draws on you, I will kill him,” Hunter added, taking another bite of bread. “If he pulls his knife on you, I will kill him.” He lifted one eyebrow. “But if all he threatens you with is marriage? That’s between you and him, Amy. You shouldn’t have made promises you didn’t intend to keep.”

  “It’s been fifteen years!”

  “Ah, yes, a very long time. But, fifteen years or a lifetime, betrothal promises are unbreakable. I suppose you could ask Swift to set you free. . . .”

  Amy clamped a hand over her heart in a futile attempt to stop its wild pounding. She couldn’t believe this was happening. “He’d never agree to that. You know he wouldn’t.”

  “Have you asked?”

  “Not in so many words, but he must know how I feel.”

  Hunter smiled. “I think you’re doing a lot of Swift’s talking for him, instead of giving him a chance to speak for himself. How do you know he’d refuse you if you went to him and calmly asked to be released from your promises?”

  “Beg him, you mean.”

  “Whatever it takes, eh?”

  Amy swept past him toward the back door. “I can see where your sympathies lie. Well
, we’ll just see how you feel once I talk to Loretta. This is supposed to be a household where the Comanche and tosi beliefs are blended. It seems to me you’re leaning mighty heavily one way.”

  Amy found Loretta just as she was stepping out of the smokehouse, golden curls escaping the braided coronet atop her head. Latching the door, Loretta noted the high color on Amy’s cheeks and frowned. “Amy, love, surely it can’t be as bad as that.”

  Amy clutched her collar, swallowing rising panic. She could count on Loretta. She only had to explain what was happening, and her cousin would march inside, give Hunter a tongue-lashing, and settle this matter with all speed. The problem was that Amy couldn’t gather her thoughts to put them into words.

  “Amy? Honey, don’t upset yourself like this. I know it seems bad to you right now. But aren’t you jumping the gun just a little? Give Swift a chance, hm? What can it hurt?”

  “What can it hurt? He’s going to hold me to the betrothal. You should have seen the look in his eye. You know that look they get when they’re bent on something.”

  Loretta’s blue eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure you read him right? Swift always loved you so much. I can’t picture him riding roughshod over you. Maybe you took him off guard. Maybe he needs time to mull it over.”

  Amy swiped at a wisp of hair on her forehead, struggling for calm. “I know him, I tell you. He means to marry me now that he’s found me. I just know it. And Hunter said it’s not his place to interfere. You have to do something.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  Amy gestured at the house. “Go in there and tell Hunter that . . .” Her voice trailed off. A feeling of unreality swamped her, and she focused on her surroundings, wondering how such an ordinary day had gone so impossibly awry. To her right she heard the creek rushing. Delilah, the cow, came ambling up to the fence and mooed, sending the chickens that scratched nearby into a flutter. “Surely you can reason with him.”

  The tiny lines deepened at the corners of Loretta’s eyes. “The first thing Hunter said to me when he walked into the house was that this was none of our business. He meant just that. Oh, Amy, do you realize what you’re asking?” She stepped over to the fence and pulled a cloth sack of milk curd from the nail where she had hung it earlier to drain off the whey. “Hunter and I have spent our entire married life honoring both his ways and mine. How can I ask him to step into this and interfere when it’s against his beliefs?”

  “What about our beliefs, white beliefs?”

  Loretta gave the sack of curds a little shake to dislodge the remaining beads of whey clinging to its bottom. “I’m afraid you forfeited the right to those when you took part in a Comanche betrothal ceremony. It’d be different if you’d become affianced according to our ways. You could just say forget it. But, Amy, you made vows to Swift’s gods, before his people. And you knew it was for forever when you did it.”

  “I was a child, an impulsive child.”

  “Yes. And if you’ll remember, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when I discovered what you’d done. But by the time I learned of it, you’d already betrothed yourself to him. There wasn’t much I could do to rectify the situation then, and there isn’t now.”

  “The man’s a gunslinger, a comanchero. Have you and Hunter both lost your minds? Having him show up here is a nightmare!”

  Loretta went pale. “I know how you’re feeling, truly I do. I’m a little leery about having Swift here. More than you know. I have children in the house, and if he’s as bad as the stories say, he can’t be trusted.”

  “Then how can you—”

  “How can I not?” Loretta pinioned Amy with a pleading look. “Hunter’s my husband. Swift is his dear friend. Hunter thinks differently than we do, you know that. He looks forward, never back. No matter what Swift has done, all that counts to Hunter is what he does from today forward. Am I to go inside and tell him his friend isn’t welcome at my table? It’s Hunter’s table, too, Amy. And he puts the food there.”

  “What are you saying, Loretta? That you won’t help me?”

  “I’m saying I can’t—not until Swift does something to warrant it.”

  A breeze picked up, whipping Amy’s skirts around her legs. She shivered and hugged herself. “He’s rumored to have killed over a hundred men, for God’s sake.”

  “If he kills someone here in Wolf’s Landing, we can start counting,” Loretta replied gently. “Amy, love, have you tried just talking to Swift? Telling him how you feel? The Swift I remember would listen and weigh what you have to say. I’m sure he never intended to make your life a misery by coming here.”

  Amy tipped her head back, gazing up at a lofty pine, her eyes narrowed against the sun. “Do you really think he might listen to me?”

  “I think you must try.”

  Swift ran the curry brush along his stallion’s shoulder, his thoughts on Amy and the harsh words that had passed between them. When the light in the barn dimmed, he knew someone stood in the doorway behind him. A sixth sense told him who. Pretending to be unaware, he spoke softly to his horse, continuing his chore, his body tensed as he waited for her to speak.

  “Swift?”

  She sounded like a frightened child. Memories swept over him, taking him back to that long-ago summer and those first weeks after the comancheros had stolen her from her family. He remembered how terrified she had been in his company. Back in the schoolhouse, he had seen that same panicked expression in her eyes, that of a trapped animal. He didn’t want that.

  Straightening, Swift turned to look at her. Sunshine slanted through the doorway behind her and ignited the coronet of braid at the crown of her head to a blinding gold. Because he looked against the light, he couldn’t see her expression, but from the taut way she held herself, he knew what it had cost her to approach him alone, out here in the barn.

  “I see y-you found everything—the feed and all.”

  “Chase showed me.”

  One of Hunter’s horses neighed; Diablo nickered in answer, shifting sideways.

  “That’s a beautiful stallion. Have you had him long?”

  He doubted she was sincerely interested in his horse. But if she needed to circle him for a bit before she got to her point, he had no objections.

  “I raised him from a colt. He’s not as ornery as he looks. If you’d like to pet him, he’s pretty gentle with the ladies.”

  “Maybe later. Right now, I, um, need to talk to you.”

  He walked to the wall, spurs chinking, to rehang the brush on its nail. “I’m listening,” he replied softly.

  She surprised him by taking another step farther into the barn. Once out of the sun, her face became visible—a face so lovely and sweet it made his heart catch. Wiping her hands on her blue skirt, she glanced around uneasily, as if she expected ghosts to jump out at her. Swift indicated a bale of straw perched by the stall, but she shook her head, clearly too nervous to sit. Interlacing her fingers and bending her knuckles backward, she finally managed to drag her gaze up to his.

  “I, um . . . first of all, I’d like to apologize. I didn’t give you a very warm welcome. It’s wonderful seeing you again.”

  Swift bit back a smile. Amy had never been an accomplished liar. “Maybe we can start over, hm?” He held her gaze with his, wishing he knew a way to ease her fears. “Hello, Amy.”

  She licked her lips. “You used to call me Aye-mee.”

  He grinned. “Which sounded like a sick sheep. You have a beautiful name when it’s said correctly.”

  “You’ve mastered English well,” she said lamely.

  “I didn’t have a choice. I had enough counts against me without talking strange. If you practice hard enough, you can master anything.”

  Amy mourned the change. Swift’s ineptness at expressing himself in English had often led him to say things that had seemed profound to her. Wherever you put your face, Amy, your eyes see the horizon and your tomorrows, never yesterday. The sadness in your heart is a yesterday you can no longer see,
so put it behind you and walk always forward.

  A lock of black hair curled across his forehead. She recalled touching his hair years ago, tugging his braids, repositioning the feathers he wore. Her gaze shifted from his dark face to the silver-studded gun belt that rode his narrow hips. Rawhide strings anchored the holsters to his muscular thighs. Though his stance seemed relaxed, she sensed a readiness about him, an alertness, as if even now he registered every sound around him. The black shirt and pants heightened the effect, making him seem all the more sinister. She wondered if he had chosen the color to intimidate his opponents.

  “Swift . . . I have a request to make of you.”

  He glanced at her hands and saw that she had her fingers bent so far backward that they were in danger of breaking, her knuckles a painful white. “And what might that be?”

  “Do you promise to consider carefully before answering?”

  “If it’s something I feel deserves consideration.” Swift hooked his thumbs over his gun belt, waiting, knowing before she spoke what she meant to ask.

  “I—would you—” She broke off and looked up at him with her heart in her eyes. “I want to be set free from the betrothal promises I made to you.”

  He turned back toward his horse and deftly unfastened the animal’s bridle.

  “You promised to consider.”

  “Do I take this to mean that Hunter still honors the customs of the People?”

  “You know he does!”

  Swift smiled. “And he suggested you ask me to set you free? How quickly he forgets.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t you remember his marriage to Loretta?” He tossed the bridle onto the straw bale and turned back to face her. “He practically dragged her to the priest.”

  “It was different for them.” In her agitation she came several steps closer, so close Swift could have touched her. “They loved each other, Swift.”

  “Do you think I don’t love you, Amy?” He couldn’t resist the urge. Lifting a hand, he brushed his fingertips along her pale cheek. She felt as soft as velvet. “Have you any idea how many times I dreamed of you these last fifteen years? How many times I wept because the great fight for my people kept me from being with you?”