Say You Love Me

by Patricia Hagan

  There were no plates, and Luke took his time laying the bacon on a rock to cool. "Eat. Then we will sleep. We are both tired."

  Jacie bit back the urge to beg him to tell her more, positive that he knew something he was not telling her but felt it best to bide her time and coax it from him bit by bit.

  She ate ravenously, and so did he. Then he left and returned with her satchel. "In case you need anything inside," he said, setting it at her feet.

  "As a matter of fact I do." Jacie opened it, reached inside for the baby blanket, and took out the locket and handed it to him. "Look at this and tell me if there is a resemblance to any white woman that you know."

  Curiously, Luke stared at the locket. He had never seen anything like it. Jacie opened it for him. Then, seeing what she explained was called a daguerreotype, he had to admit to himself it did look something like Sunstar and definitely resembled Jacie.

  "That is my mother. Her name is Iris Banner. She looks like me, doesn't she?"

  "I suppose." He closed the locket with an angry snap and gave it back to her. Sunstar's name had once been Iris, and now he felt a burning pain inside to realize he might lose her. And it was not fair. She'd had a chance at freedom once and refused. Now this upstart of a girl was going to tear her life apart, tear apart the lives of all his people. They loved Sunstar, and they needed her. If she left with Jacie, it would be like going to live with a stranger. And she would go, Luke was certain of that. She would feel bound to do so, because Jacie was her own flesh and blood. He would just have to protect her from herself, he decided fiercely. He would not let her make such a fatal mistake as to try and return to the white man's world now. She had been Comanche too long.

  He started to turn away, but Jacie reached out and caught his arm. "Listen to me, please," she said in desperation. "Awhile ago you said if you knew a white woman. I think you do know one. Please tell me about her. We have a right to know each other, Luke—"

  "Yellow hair," he cut her off. "The white woman I have heard of has yellow hair. Not black. And she is too young to be this woman." He nodded at the locket, which Jacie clutched with trembling fingers. "So there is no need to take you to her. Now make your bed and sleep."

  Jacie stared after him as he disappeared into the shadows. She was disappointed the woman he knew did not fit her mother's description but relieved and grateful to realize he had no illicit intentions toward her. Perhaps he had a bit of gentleman in him after all, which gave her hope she might eventually persuade him to take her where she wanted to go.

  Curling up on her blanket, she tried to dream of Michael... but thoughts of the Comanche known as Luke kept getting in the way.

  Chapter 18

  Jacie's first thought on waking was that she had been deserted. Luke was nowhere to be seen. The campfire was a pit of cold black ashes. Her pony was still tethered nearby, but not the stallion. Suddenly she felt more helpless than when she had escaped Black Serpent. At least then she could hope to eventually stumble onto the river and follow it back, but now she had no idea where she was.

  Wilderness surrounded with sandy ridges and rock formations amidst clumps of sagebrush, cactus, and stretches of saw grass, some of it knee-high. It was early morning, with not a cloud in the dazzling blue sky, which meant the heat would be unbearable by midday. She wondered which direction to take, all the while fearing the same thing would happen—she would succumb to exhaustion and faint, only this time there might not be anyone to find her before the vultures did. She also had nothing in which to carry a supply of water, no canteen, as Luke had.

  The more she aimlessly walked about stewing over her plight, the angrier she became. If he had planned to desert her, why had he brought her so far from where he found her? Why didn't he just leave her be? He could claim to be civilized all he wanted, but to forsake a woman in the wilderness was cold and remorseless.

  "Savage," she muttered, pounding the air with clenched fists as she circled about the clearing. "No better than a wild animal. Dirty, rotten savage. I hope the vultures get him."

  "They won't."

  She whirled about to see him crouched on a rock above her, dark eyes twinkling, his face spread in a wide grin of amusement.

  "Unlike some people I know, I don't get lost." He dropped to land flat-footed in front of her.

  Flustered, Jacie covered her embarrassment with indignity. "You scared me to death. I thought..." She trailed off as she realized he was no longer dressed in army trousers and boots. Instead, he wore the garment known as a breechclout and nothing else. His legs were bare and so were his buttocks, and the sight of his hard, corded thighs and the firm, sculpted flesh of his hips made her ill at ease. "You... you changed clothes," she managed to say, instinctively retreating a step. She had never seen a man so nearly naked.

  "I'm more comfortable this way when I'm hunting bison."

  "Bison?" she echoed. "Around here?"

  "Or buffalo. Whichever you want to call them, and yes, around here. My people rely on them, not only for food but for other essentials, like clothing, weapons, tools, tepees. Normally a hunt is a big task, with a lot of men involved, but then buffalo usually travel in large herds, around fifty in number. I was out scouting for some food this morning and saw only a few grazing together. I came back to change and get ready to go after them."

  "That sounds dangerous," she said uneasily.

  "I don't have any choice. I couldn't find any other game or berries. You ate the last of my pemmican and jerky yesterday. There's no more bacon. I didn't take time to pack enough supplies, so Buffalo steaks will make a nice meal." He was not about to confide that he welcomed the time-consuming task, for it would give him a chance to try and figure out what to do with her.

  She pointed at the stream. "We can catch fish, maybe birds." She did not like the idea of helping clean the carcass of a huge animal and knew it would be expected. Maybe he even thought she would do it all. From what Mehlonga had told her about how hard Indian women worked, Jacie was of the opinion they did the dirty tasks while the men gloried in the kill.

  "The Comanche do not eat fish or wild fowl. Neither do we eat dogs," he added, "in case you think otherwise."

  "Well, I never said you did." The idea was revolting.

  "Some Indians do. Not my people."

  "I still don't think we need a whole buffalo. I'm not that hungry. Besides, when we get to Fort Worth—"

  "I am hungry now, and what we don't eat, I will take to my people."

  She followed after him as he walked back around the rock and saw he had left his horse there. The saddle was on the ground nearby. A trailing rawhide thong was tied around the stallion's neck.

  He saw her looking at it and explained, "That's all I need, so I can grab hold if I fall and slow him down by dragging my body and then pull back up. I need both hands free for these." He held up a three-foot bow and a quiver of iron-tipped arrows and pointed to a sheath knife tucked in his belt.

  "Why not a gun?" Jacie asked, still dubious over what seemed a formidable task.

  "I prefer these. All I have to do is single a buffalo out and hit him three times just behind his last rib to make his lungs collapse."

  He swung himself up on the horse's back, and Jacie was helplessly rocked once more by the sight of hard muscles and bare flesh. Glancing away self-consciously, she said, "I wish you'd forget about this."

  "You can watch."

  Jacie looked in the direction he pointed and saw the great hulking beasts framed against the horizon.

  "Climb up on the rocks and I'll run them in this direction so you can see."

  Jacie did not share his optimism that bringing down a buffalo single-handed would be an easy task. "Maybe you'd better point me in the direction of Fort Worth in case you get killed. There's no need in both of us feeding the vultures."

  "You'd never make it, little one." The horse was pawing the ground, anxious for the chase to begin. "But don't worry. I've done this many times."

  She clambered
up the rocks to watch him ride slowly toward the distant buffalo.

  Luke glanced back, and she waved. He felt only a mild twinge of guilt over the decision not to take her to Sunstar. He had lived in the white man's world after attending the mission school. He had worked with vaqueros in Mexico, then drifted for a time, taking odd jobs on farms and ranches, and he had learned how cruelly some whites treated Indians, the contempt and scorn they inflicted. He had no doubt that Sunstar would be looked down on after living so many years among the Comanche, and her suffering would be far too deep for the love of her daughter to heal.

  Sunstar's welfare was his only concern, and he knew she was looking forward to the move to Mexico in the spring. The white man was taking over the west, coming in great numbers, and no matter how many were killed, more would take their place. Nothing could stop them. And if the Indians did not bow down to them, then the Indians would be destroyed. Sunstar knew that, as Luke did, and while they urged peace, more and more hotheaded young bucks like Black Serpent were taking off to form renegade bands. So it was time to make a new life somewhere else.

  Now the young woman had arrived to complicate things. He had watched her for a long time last night as she slept and could not deny the deep stirring in his loins that she provoked. But it was not altogether physical, this drawing he felt. Something was tugging in his heart, a feeling he'd not had since those wandering days after mission school when he had been sorely tempted not to return to his people at all. He had never told anyone about it, but Sunstar, in her uncanny way, had suspected something had happened and that it had to do with a woman. That was when she had begun to urge him to take a wife, as though she feared he would return to the white man's world—and the woman he would not talk about, who'd stolen part of his heart and torn it to shreds.

  Her name was Amelia Prescott, and Luke had been dazzled by her heart-shaped face, her hair the color of a sunrise. When she smiled, she had dimples in her cheeks, and when she laughed it was like hearing little silver bells ringing in the breeze. Her father, Will Prescott, was a wealthy ship owner in Galveston, and the family home was situated right on the bay. Luke had taken work at the docks, and from the very first day he was aware of how she watched him from her front porch. She became bolder and at the end of a week had sauntered down to the dock, saucily twirling a lace parasol and wearing a fetching blue gingham gown with a tight bodice and a dipping neckline that accentuated her breasts.

  Luke had been instantly taken by her beauty as well as her coquetry, and it was not long before her delicate subtlety gave way to brazen intent. She asked him to meet her for a moonlight walk, and he was waiting at midnight when she sneaked out of her house to meet him on the sandy beach. Before the sunrise began to bleed onto the waters of the quiet, silent bay, Luke had discovered new ways to please a woman, because Amelia was only too eager to teach him.

  But he made a mistake. He foolishly let himself fall in love with her. Other men working with him, who were not blind and knew what was happening, warned that she was poison. She would never marry a lowly dockman, much less an Indian, and if her pa found out, Luke would be a dead Indian, they grimly predicted.

  Luke had not listened. The romance had continued on through the summer. He was completely bewitched, and when he finally got up the nerve to speak of a future together, she had given no indication she did not share his dreams, as she moaned and thrashed wildly in the sand beneath him.

  Luke kept it all a secret, how she had agreed to be his wife and go with him to Mexico, where they could live in peace. There he did not feel their union would be so frowned upon, and he did without things, starving himself sometimes, to save what meager wages he earned for their future. Luke knew he would break his back, if need be, to take care of her.

  Then one day, when Luke was unloading a ship that had just docked, shadows fell on his happiness. Amelia appeared, all dressed up, accompanied by her parents and her three older brothers. She very carefully did not look in Luke's direction, and the other workers noticed and teased Luke about how she pretended not to know him.

  He watched in misery as a smartly attired man came down the gangway and the Prescott family swarmed around him in greeting, including Amelia, who threw her arms around his neck. But Luke told himself that was what she had to do. No doubt the man was an important business associate of her father's. So he went about his work, filling his mind and heart with thoughts of the passion to come later that night.

  Only that night she did not come, and Luke stood outside the Prescott house with fury mounting to see how the family fawned over their guest. And later, when Amelia drew the stranger out to the porch and went into his arms and pressed her mouth against his, Luke had exploded with rage. He had lunged from the darkness, forgetting how he had vowed to turn his back on his heritage and become part of the white man's world. He had screamed the words of the Comanche counting coup as he tore the stranger from the embrace of his beloved.

  Will Prescott and his sons heard and charged out to drag Luke off of him, but Luke had turned savage, and he gave them a fight they would never forget. It was only when one of them ran back into the house for a gun that Luke retreated. But he froze at the sound of Amelia's voice screaming hysterically, "Shoot him. Shoot the crazy Indian!"

  Amelia's brother fired once, striking Luke in the arm. But Luke did not run. He stood where he was, meeting Amelia's glare while Will Prescott snatched the gun from his son and cried, "He's not armed. No need to kill him if he'll get the hell out of here now."

  Still, Luke did not retreat. Instead, he drew a ragged breath from the very depths of his soul and looked straight into Amelia's furious eyes. "You said you loved me."

  "Love you?" she trilled incredulously. "I don't even know you." She whirled on her brother. "Kill him. He's out of his mind. He's dangerous."

  Luke had left then but had not sought help for his wound. He had kept on going and did not stop until he reached his people and the woman he called mother. She had tended him, and the damaged arm had healed—but not his heart.

  His mind snapped to the present. He was upon the buffalo without realizing it. He had let his concentration wander, a deadly mistake, because a bison bull whirled around, nostrils flaring. Beside him was a cow, and Luke knew there was nothing more dangerous than an ill-tempered bull intent on rutting.

  The beast charged.

  In a flash, Luke had the bow in place and pulled back on the string. The arrow shot through the air, striking the bull on target, right below his rib, piercing his lung. But the bull did not falter and kept right on coming.

  Luke's horse did not have to be told what to do. Cutting to the side, he avoided the first charge, and Luke was able to get off a second shot, also on mark. The bull was weakened but his rage of pain kept him coming. Luke fired again but the arrow was high, hitting muscle. Mustering nerves of steel, he was ready with yet another arrow, but suddenly the horse cut too sharply. Luke felt himself falling and grabbed for the rawhide thong just as his back struck the rocks below.

  Ignoring the anguish, he called on every bit of strength he possessed and pulled himself up. Just as he was clearing the ground, the bull was upon them, and Luke felt a hot, sharp stab as he was gored in the shoulder. Teeth digging into his lower lip, it was all he could do to hang on to the thong, but he knew if he dropped it and fell back, it was over. The mighty bison would charge again, killing him.

  Luke screamed at the horse in Comanche, urging him to go faster. Blood was pouring from the hole in his shoulder and torture was a great fist choking his entire body. He knew he could not cling much longer. Behind him he could hear the thundering hooves of the crazed bison in heated pursuit—but was the anguish now filling his ears, obstructing his hearing? Miraculously, it sounded as though the bison was actually slowing.

  Luke managed to twist his head, realized it was so and felt first a thrust of joy, then a stupendous burst of strength. He managed to dance his legs in front of him, digging down with his heels as he yelled to
the stallion to stop. At last he was able to let go, and he slumped to the ground, the fist clenching about him ever tighter and finally squeezing him away to merciful oblivion.

  Jacie came to life. She had frozen in terror as the macabre scene was played before her horrified eyes but now she scrambled down from the rocks to race toward him, all the while praying she could remember everything Mehlonga had taught her.

  * * *

  Captain Logan looked at the soldier standing before his desk. "Are you sure?" he asked tensely.

  "Yes, sir." Sergeant Buckham had hated to be the one to bring the news. Everybody on the post knew Captain Logan was plenty upset over the Indians taking the woman. The latest development would only make things worse.

  "What did you say this man's name was?"

  "Blake, sir. Michael Blake. He comes from Georgia and he's got some other men with him."

  Logan groaned inwardly, Jacie had told him that her fiancé's name was Michael Blake.

  "He told the guards at the gate he was looking for her and a man by the name of Zach Newton, because he was told they were heading for this fort."

  Logan seized on that, Jacie had been traveling alone. Could it be she had originally run away with another man? There had been so much about her story that was mysterious.

  At once Logan decided to let Blake think she had been abandoned by her lover and unfortunately seized by Indians. Logan certainly didn't want Jacie's fiancé to think he had been stalling her search for her mother so he could court her. Perhaps Blake didn't even know about her mother. If not, he would certainly not be the one to tell him. "Has anyone else on the post talked to this man?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

  "Just the guard at the gate. And the minute he found out it concerned the woman, he sent me to tell you."

  "That was wise. Now you go and bring this man to me, but you keep your mouth shut, and spread the word that if anyone gives him more than the time of day, they'll find themselves on a suicide patrol into the heart of Comanche territory. The last thing I need right now is civilians raising hell about army business. Do you understand me, Sergeant?"