Comanche Heart

by Catherine Anderson

  Mr. Hamstead seemed so taken aback that he didn’t bother saying, “Going, going, gone.” A man could attend every single social and buy baskets for five years with a hundred dollars. Hamstead handed the basket to Swift, the bid uncontested.

  Loretta nudged Amy forward. “Go, you ninny. How long do you expect him to stand up there waiting for you?”

  Amy couldn’t feel her feet. She walked toward Swift, the silk dress swishing with every step, her cheeks warm beneath his penetrating gaze. Unlike Mr. Black, Swift didn’t look at her chest. He never stopped looking into her eyes.

  When Amy finally reached him, he crooked his arm, the possessive gleam in his gaze unmistakable. She knew everyone in the building was staring. Miss Amy and that man. She could almost hear them.

  She curled her hand around Swift’s arm. They’d think she was cavorting. She’d lose her income, her independence. Where would that leave her? Looking for a man to take care of her, like every other dumb female in town, that’s where.

  Swift’s arm felt rock hard, the cloth of his sleeve slightly damp and warm. She knew he had scrubbed up and thrown on his shirt while still dripping wet to get there. As he shouldered a path through the crowd, Amy bent her head, cheeks burning. “A hundred dollars, Swift? Why’d you do something so outlandish? My reputation will be ruined.”

  “Ruined?” She felt him stiffen. “Ruined? I honored you, paying a hundred dollars. Hunter says no one’s ever paid that.”

  It hit Amy then. Comanches showed regard for their brides by the bride price they paid. The more horses they left before a future father-in-law’s lodge, the greater the honor. Swift had seen the auction as a way to express his high regard for her. And he had. Irrevocably.

  “Oh, Swift, you don’t understand. People will think something’s going on between us. They’re going to wonder what you’re going to get for your hundred dollars, don’t you see?”

  He stopped at the rack for her shawl, draping it over her shoulders. His dark eyes twinkled at her. “What am I gonna get? A chewing? You’re the prettiest woman in town. If you don’t smile, I’m going to go put another hundred dollars on the table.”

  “Where’d you get so much money?” she squeaked. “You didn’t steal it, did you?”

  “I don’t steal money from people.” He clamped on his hat, took her arm, and drew her out the door. “I came by it honest.”

  “How?”

  “Selling horses and cows. When I left the reservation, I planned to start a spread. I worked and saved.” He glanced down. “The plan fell through. I never spent the money.”

  As they stepped into the night, the chill air curled around Amy. She took a deep breath, glad to escape all the suspicious eyes. “Thank goodness for that much. I’d hate to think you bought my basket with ill-gotten gains.” She angled a glance at his dark profile, squinting to see as the light from the building fell behind them. “Where’d you get so many horses and cows?”

  “Watch your step.”

  Amy saw nothing in her path, but then in the dark she usually didn’t until she tripped. “Are you going to answer me?”

  “Careful, Amy.” He drew her closer to his side.

  “Hell and damnation! You stole them, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t cuss. You want your mouth washed with lye soap?” He tipped his head, his face shadowed by his hat brim. “Where do you want to eat?”

  Amy narrowed her eyes. “How much money do you have, Swift?”

  “Amy, if you’re gonna hang me for stock stealing, you’d better hang every man in Texas. Those cows I sold had been across the Rio so many times, they didn’t need droving.”

  “How’s that relate?”

  “The Texans steal from the Mexicans, and vice versa. The cows learn the way real quick.” He led her to a sprawling oak. “Don’t be mad. They were stolen cows and horses before I stole them. This is a special evening. I even bought a new shirt.”

  “How much ill-gotten money have you got, Swift?”

  He set the basket down. In the moonlight, she saw a leaf flutter down and settle on his broad shoulder. He flicked it off. “Enough to keep you in lace drawers for a good long spell.”

  Amy’s neck tingled. “I don’t wear lace drawers.”

  “You ought to. That day when you fanned your underwear out the window, all I could think was that they should’ve been lace.” He nudged his hat back and grinned at her, moonlight gleaming on his teeth. “Would you stop glaring at me?”

  “What am I going to do if I lose my job?”

  “You can marry me and have babies.”

  “I don’t want to. I want my teaching position, and my own life, with no man telling me what to do and when to do it.”

  Swift folded his arms across his chest. “I won’t tell you what to do and when to do it. Sit down, Amy, so we can eat.” When she didn’t oblige him, he leaned toward her. “I won’t steal any more horses or cows. I promise.”

  “Swift, I don’t care if you steal. It’s not my concern.”

  “Then why are you mad?”

  “Because you spent the money on my basket. Not to mention spending so much. If I don’t lose my job, it’ll be a miracle.”

  “You worry about that job too much.”

  “That job buys my bread and butter.”

  “If you get the boot, I’ll bring you more bread and butter than you can eat. You’ll get fat eating it all. And I won’t tell you what to do and when to do it, I promise. Now, sit down. I didn’t buy your basket to fight. Do you like my shirt?”

  She studied him for a moment, unhappily aware that he vowed not to order her around, then commanded her to sit, all in the same breath. “Yes, I like it. You look very nice.”

  He grinned again. “You look so beautiful in that dress, I almost forgot to bid when I heard your name called. Who was that man standing with you?”

  “Thank you for the compliment, and his name is Mr. Black. He’s on the school committee.”

  “Well, I can forget you winding up without a job and needing me to take care of you then. I’d say he’s stuck on you.”

  Some other couples came from the hall, finding spots beneath the trees to eat. Following their example, Amy sat on the grass, taking care not to soil Loretta’s dress. Swift sat beside her. She gnawed her lip. “Oh, Swift, I’m sorry for being sharp. I know you didn’t mean any harm, paying so much for my basket.”

  “Of course I didn’t. Is it my fault white people think crazy?” He braced an arm behind him and lifted the towel from the basket. “Mm, Amy, this looks good.”

  She leaned over, eyes narrowed to see. Laughter floated through the moon-touched darkness, a woman’s laughter. Amy’s throat tightened. It was a sure bet no man had spent a hundred dollars on her basket. Poor Swift had spent a fortune and got scowls. “I made apple pie. Do you like apple pie?”

  “I love apple pie.” He glanced up. “Especially yours.”

  “You’ve never tasted mine.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  Feeling dull and horribly inadequate, Amy began setting out the food, acutely conscious that Swift watched her every movement. They ate in silence. To Amy it seemed an uncomfortable one, especially when she heard other ladies all around her giggling and talking. The potato salad grew to gigantic proportions in her mouth.

  She heard Elmira Johnson say, “Oh, Samuel!” Teehee. “Get away with you!” Swift glanced up from his plate. “Amy, would you relax?”

  She gulped the salad down, wondering if he thought it tasted dry, too. “I’ve never come to a dance social before. You should have bought Elmira’s basket so you could be with someone fun.”

  “She sounds like a duck.”

  Before she caught herself, Amy giggled.

  “What’s worse, she looks kind of like a duck. You ever noticed how her skirts poke out behind her when she walks?”

  “That’s a bustle, Swift, the absolute latest in fashion. I’ve heard tell that everyone will wear them in a year or so. Elmira has an a
unt who travels abroad.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You’re not wearing one. When she walks down the boardwalk, her bottom sticks out so far behind her, you could set a plate on it.” He angled her a rakish grin, “And who says you’re not fun? I kind of like being chewed out if it’s the right lady doing the chewing.”

  He served himself a huge piece of apple pie and made an appreciative noise. “Amy, you’ve got to marry me and make me apple pie every week. Where’d you learn to make this crust?”

  “My ma.” Sadness cut through Amy. She shoved the memories away. “She was quite a hand at cooking and baking.”

  He cleaned his plate in record time, then stretched out on the grass. One by one, the other couples began drifting back to the hall and the music. Amy finished her meal and put away the food, placing the soiled dishes on top so she could wash them later. She wished some of the other couples had remained outdoors. Any moment now Swift might suggest they go inside, too. Then he might expect her to dance with him.

  Swift watched Amy from the corner of his eye. Moonbeams touched her small face, turning her eyes to shimmering spheres, making her mouth glisten. The coronet atop her head shone like silver, the curls above her ears and at her nape tempting him to touch them. Her hand rested on her skirt, her slender fingers keeping time to the fiddler’s beat. She looked so beautiful in the shifting moonlight that he yearned to move closer, to feel her warmth, to have the sweet scent of her in his nostrils.

  “Shall we go in and dance?” he asked, gesturing toward the brightly lit hall. A line of dancers swept past the door, boots stomping, skirts aswirl. “Sure looks like they’re having fun.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Even in the dim light, he saw the flush on her cheeks. “I enjoy just listening.” She settled her gaze on a nearby wagon and team of horses. “Look at that old fellow. I swear he’s got that front hoof tapping to the rhythm.”

  Swift shifted onto his side, propping his head on his hand. He had a feeling Amy had spent all her life just listening. From the way she fidgeted, he suspected she would love to do a whole lot more. He supposed, at her age, it would be awfully embarrassing to dance her first dance in front of half the town.

  “You know, I always wished a lady would teach me to dance.” It wasn’t a lie. The only women Swift had ever danced with hadn’t been ladies. “Do you know how, Amy?”

  “I know some, but not nearly enough to teach you.”

  “Can you teach me the some you do know?”

  She glanced at the hall. “Everyone would stare at us.”

  “Not here.” He pushed to his feet. “Come on. It’s fun.”

  Looking more than a little hesitant, she took his hand and let him pull her up, away from the tree’s shadows and into the direct moonlight. He swept the shawl from her shoulders and tossed it next to the basket.

  With a frown puckering the skin between her fair eyebrows, she peered down at his feet. “I hope I don’t show you backward. Or, worse yet, step in a hole and fall flat.” She moved sideways, gnawing her lip. “Can you even see me?”

  “I can see you fine. Can you see me?”

  “Not good enough to read your large print if you were a newspaper, let’s put it that way.”

  Swift swallowed a chuckle. He’d danced in practically every saloon in Texas, and whatever step Amy was trying to execute, he’d never seen its like. She heaved a sigh.

  “I’m not very good to be teaching anyone, I’m afraid.” She dipped in a graceful slide to her left. Swift followed suit, and she giggled. “I think that’s the lady’s part.”

  The music stopped. She stood before him, arms out from her sides, waiting. Then the lilting strains of a waltz began. Swift stepped forward and settled a palm on her waist, reaching for her hand. She went rigid at the close way he held her.

  “Relax, Amy. Just move with me.”

  When he swept her in a circle, she glanced worriedly over her shoulder at the dark ground.

  “I can see fine. Put your hand on my shoulder.”

  She did, tipping her head back to look at his face. “Swift, you dance beautifully! Where did you learn?”

  “You’re like air in my arms,” he whispered, pulling her closer. “Close your eyes, Amy. Let the music take you with it.”

  Her lashes fluttered closed, and a rapturous expression crept across her small features. Swift imagined her lying beneath him with a look like that on her face, and he missed a step. Amy, in her inexperience, didn’t note his error. His throat tightened. In so many ways she was still a child. He wanted to keep her there in his arms forever.

  The waltz ended, but Swift kept dancing. Amy was all the music he needed. Another waltz began.

  “It feels like flying,” she whispered, her eyes still closed. “Oh, Swift, it’s wonderful!”

  He wanted to kiss her. So badly that he ached. He wanted to carry her off into the shadows and slide the silk dress down her arms, to feel the warmth of her skin, to hear her say how wonderful he made her feel. He wanted to change her nightmares into dreams, to make her yesterdays dim memories, to build her a life full of love and laughter. He wanted to feel her belly swollen with his child, to see that child’s dark head pressed to her breast, to see the love he knew she’d feel shining in her eyes. He wanted that, more than anything. So far, no one had followed him to Oregon. It didn’t look as if anyone would. He had done the impossible and escaped his past. Now he had to help Amy escape hers, so they could build a future together.

  But for this little while, the night was Amy’s. To dance, because she never had. To giggle, because she did so seldom. His gift to her, in lieu of all else, because she wasn’t ready for more. And if she was never ready for more, Swift knew he’d take what she could give, even if it was only a smile, because a morsel of Amy was worth a thousand other women giving their all.

  He loved her. He had loved the skinny little girl of fifteen years ago, he loved the beautiful woman she was today, and he would love the wrinkled old woman she would become, simply because the essence of Amy went far beyond the physical. Amy, his sunshine. The one perfect joy that had ever touched his life, lost to him for so long. Now that he had found her again, he couldn’t imagine life without her.

  Chapter 12

  AMY DIDN’T THINK ANYTHING COULD SPOIL the evening. Dancing. Really and truly dancing. It didn’t matter that they swirled beneath an oak tree, alone. She didn’t need onlookers to make it official. A man held her in his arms, and she was wearing a beautiful silk dress, gliding to a waltz. It surpassed her wildest dreams. She wanted to dance and dance and dance, until the moon drifted from sight and dawn streaked the sky.

  Looking up at Swift’s dark face, she decided he was the handsomest man in the whole world. To think that he had bought her basket. And for the unheard-of price of a hundred dollars. Delicious, that was how she felt. Beautiful. The night was magic, Swift was magic, everything was magic.

  It didn’t even matter anymore that he’d come by the hundred dollars stealing. Raised as a Comanche, Swift had grown up learning to be a horse thief. The fact that he’d learned the craft so well shouldn’t have surprised her. His promise that he would never steal again enabled Amy to forget that he had.

  When a stitch started in her side, she tried to ignore it. This was the one night of her life, and she wanted to make it count. When Swift slowed his steps and swung her up against his chest, she tried to protest but didn’t have the breath.

  “You’re tired.”

  “Oh, Swift, must we stop? It feels so glorious.”

  “We’ll have other nights, Amy.”

  He bent his head. Too late, Amy realized that she had melted against him like a dollop of butter on a hot biscuit. The magic feeling fragmented. For several wonderful minutes she had fallen under his spell, as she had so many years ago, forgetting her yesterdays, that she was a woman in a world where men had absolute power. But a person couldn’t stay in a pretend world.

  She drew her face back, frightened by the gleam in h
is eyes and the firmness of his arm around her, arching her toward him so that his arousal was apparent, even through the layers of denim, silk, and muslin. As blind as she was in the dark, moonlight gilded his face, revealing the hardened set to his features, the grim determination of his mouth, the flare of his nostrils. Amy had seen that look on men’s faces before, but never on Swift’s.

  His passions had become aroused while dancing with her. And when that happened to a man, the animal in him took over. She could smell the change in him, see the sheen of sweat filming his face, hear the quick, urgent way he breathed. It struck her suddenly that he stood between her and the community hall.

  He drew her arm around his neck and released his hold on her hand to settle his own on her waist. Only, of course, with the need coming over him, he didn’t keep his hand on her waist. As his mouth claimed hers, his palm slid up her ribs, his fingers probing, frustrated by the network of whalebone in Loretta’s corset. He homed in on the only softness, her breasts, which swelled above the stays, cupped to midnipple with the wispy cloth of her chemise and covered with only the silk.

  Amy jerked. The heat of his hand scorched her. When she gasped, his hot, silken tongue dove into her mouth, striking a rhythm she knew too well, plundering deep, allowing her no quarter. He found the peak of her breast, his thumb and fingers capturing it through the silk. A shock of sensation zigzagged through her. And in its wake came mindless panic.

  She tried to jerk her face from his, to twist from his arms. He was rawhide lean and roped with muscle. He held her as easily as he might have a struggling child. His body hunched around her, hardening to steel, his kiss turning more demanding and determined, as if by forcing her he could convince her to like what he was doing. She tried to say his name, to plead with him to stop, but the words went into his mouth, a jumble of whimpers.

  The world became a swirl of moonlight and madness. Swift wasn’t Swift anymore; he was just another hurtful man, taking what he wanted. She was no longer Miss Amy, safe in Wolf’s Landing, under a sprawling oak outside the community hall, with music floating on the air. Animal instinct drove her just as it drove Swift, and she fought for survival.