Bay wondered how he’d known the right thing to say to Little Deer, who puffed up with pride at being referred to as a woman. Bay knew she must look silly sitting there with three dirty bowls in her lap listening to the two of them talk, but she couldn’t bear the thought of missing the dialogue between the man to whom she belonged and the child she felt belonged to her.
Little Deer angled her head sideways so she could look up at Long Quiet’s face. He smiled down at her and said, “I was only a little older than you when I first came to live among The People. My tawp, my grandfather, used to tell me a story each night before I went to sleep. Would you like to hear my favorite one?”
“Oh, yes!”
Long Quiet settled the child more comfortably in his arms and began, “Once a Comanche was traveling across the desert and found a black colt that was all alone. The Comanche asked where the colt’s mother and father had gone, but the colt answered that he did not know. The colt was very thirsty and the Comanche brave had water. The brave offered the colt some water, but the colt was stubborn and very independent and decided he would keep trying to find some water on his own.
“Two days passed while the colt got thirstier and thirstier, weaker and weaker. The brave offered the water again, and this time the colt said maybe he would take just a sip. While he sipped the water, the brave stroked the colt’s nose and scratched that itchy spot behind its ears. The colt thought that felt very good, so when the brave asked if the colt would like to come home with him, the colt agreed.
“When they got to the Comanche’s village, the brave told the colt to go and play with all the other ponies that lived there. That sounded like it would be fun, so the colt raced over to join them. But when he arrived, several of the ponies turned and lashed out at him with their heels. He shied away from them, only to be bitten on the neck and the rump by two other ponies. The colt raced back the way he had come and stood at the edge of the herd watching the ponies play with one another.
“The colt ran to ask the Comanche brave why the other ponies did not like him. The brave asked the colt to take a look at himself and then to look at the other ponies. Was he not different? The colt looked carefully at himself. He had four legs, a mane and a tail, a nose, two eyes, and two ears, just like all the other ponies. He did not see a single thing that was different and he told the brave so.
“That was when the brave pointed out that he was much larger in size than the other ponies. His coat was black, while all the other ponies were spotted or red or brown. While their manes and tails hung straight to the ground, his flowed in waves. The colt found it hard to believe that such little things would keep the other ponies from liking him.
“The Comanche brave assured him that those things made no difference to him, and that if the colt were just patient, the other ponies would soon discover the same thing for themselves and become his friends.”
Long Quiet had been so involved in telling the story, he hadn’t been aware of Little Deer’s body relaxing in his arms. “She’s fallen asleep.”
“She was very tired, and your voice was soothing. It was a beautiful story. Did the other boys come to like you as your grandfather promised they would?” Bay ventured.
Long Quiet started at her perception. It wasn’t until he was much older that he’d acknowledged how obviously the story mirrored his own situation. He’d only known it offered the hope of acceptance, and for a little boy who felt all alone, it had been the balm that had allowed him to survive his circumstances. “It was what I needed to hear at the time,” he hedged.
“So they didn’t accept you.”
“Comanches are a very loving people. It didn’t take long before the other boys forgot the color of my eyes and skin.”
“But you were never really one of them,” she prodded.
“I grew up knowing I was different,” he admitted.
Bay took a deep breath and said, “Me too.”
“What?”
“I was different, too. The neighbors weren’t too accepting of the way Rip raised us, so we weren’t always welcome when we showed up at some harvest social. I stopped going after a while. It hurt too much to be shut out. It might not have been so bad, I suppose, if I’d been more like Sloan or Cricket. At least they were always sure of Rip’s approval.”
“But you weren’t.”
“Not always.” Then Bay corrected, “Not ever.”
“So life is better among the Comanches.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Would you go home, Bay, if you didn’t have Little Deer to consider?”
“But I do.”
“Answer the question.”
Bay looked down at the bowls in her lap, filled with the greasy residue of their dinner. “I don’t know.” Home was not the place she would choose to be, but where else could she go?
Long Quiet struggled to hide his conflicting emotions. He was sorry she felt so unloved by Rip, but he was more than willing to make up for that himself. He would love her so much she wouldn’t ever have to wonder again if she was wanted.
After what Many Horses had told him about his intentions, Long Quiet was glad to know that Bay had considered a future that precluded going home to Three Oaks. He wondered how well she would survive the loss of her child if it came to that. He would never have taken her from Little Deer by force, but the choice had been taken from him. He could not control Many Horses’ decision.
He looked down at the girl sleeping peacefully in his arms. It was hard to begrudge the charming child the love he knew Bay felt for her. He was beginning to feel a few tugs at his own heart.
“I guess I should lay her down and let her sleep,” he said.
Bay set down the bowls and went over to straighten the already straightened pallet. “You can lay her here.”
Long Quiet did as she bid him. As soon as he’d laid her down, Little Deer curled up into a ball. He sat for a moment watching her, imagining his own child lying there.
“You’ll make a wonderful father.”
Bay’s words bore so closely on what he was thinking, he turned abruptly to her. “I have much love to give a child . . . and the child’s mother.”
Bay rose quickly to escape the intimate turn of the conversation. “I have to clean those bowls now.”
“I don’t mind if Little Deer stays here in the tipi with us,” Long Quiet said, halting her in her tracks, “but you’ll be sleeping with me.”
“But she’s always slept with me,” Bay protested. She shifted nervously under Long Quiet’s steady gaze.
“I won’t let you put the child between us. It shall be as I say, or Little Deer will not stay here at all.”
“All right,” Bay replied sullenly. “You win.”
Long Quiet stood up and grasped Bay’s chin in his hand, turning her face up to his. “There is no winning or losing between us on this matter. I do not deny your need to love the child or the child’s need for your love. But your duty at night is to me. Little Deer can have your pallet. You will share mine.”
When Long Quiet released Bay’s chin, she ran from the tipi with the bowls in hand. Long Quiet realized she was angry, but he didn’t know what else he could have said. He turned to locate the pallet she’d put out for him and settled himself upon it to wait for her return.
Bay didn’t stop running until she’d reached the creek. By then she was breathless, and her exhaustion had taken the bite from her anger. What was to happen would happen. She could not change it. But now she regretted having spoken so openly with him. She’d forgotten for a few moments why he’d come to the village in the first place. She’d revealed too much of the truth to Long Quiet about her past. But she’d thought it would help him understand why she wasn’t sure she wanted to go home. Among the Comanches, she hadn’t needed to try so hard to be something she wasn’t.
Bay took her time getting back to the tipi, hoping Long Quiet would be asleep when she got there. It was a ridiculous expectation, and she knew it hadn’t
been fulfilled the instant she entered the dimly lit tipi. Long Quiet was wide awake. And he was waiting for her.
“Come to bed, Shadow.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Come to bed, Shadow.”
“I have some sewing to do.”
“Shadow . . .”
“All right!”
She wondered whether he expected her to undress again.
“It’s too warm to wear what you have on. Take it off,” he said.
She wondered whether he wanted her close to him.
“Come lie next to me.”
She wondered whether he would touch her.
Bay shivered as Long Quiet’s hand caressed the length of her body from shoulder to hip. “Your skin is softer than I imagined. More silky than my pony’s nose.”
Bay smiled despite her nervousness. “Your pony’s nose?”
He chuckled. “It’s very soft. I’ll let you pet him tomorrow. You can feel for yourself.”
“I’m not very good around horses.”
“I’m not asking you to ride him, Shadow, only to pet his nose.” His arm cinched her waist and he pulled her back against his body. The feel of her smooth back against his chest made him harden with desire, and he was sorry he’d pulled her so close, because there was no way she could mistake his reaction to her.
Bay could not help being aware of the warmth of Long Quiet’s skin and his rigid shaft against her buttocks. She stiffened. It would happen tonight. He would not be able to wait any longer. A man like this . . . he would need a woman.
Long Quiet felt her tense, knew what she was expecting, and almost fulfilled that expectation. But reason came and held his hand and guided him away. “Not tonight, Shadow. When you are willing will be soon enough.” With that, he placed a soft kiss on her shoulder and shifted away.
Bay lay trembling, afraid to admit how much of what she was feeling was relief and how much disappointment. The feel of his callused fingers on her hip, that had been good. The warm flesh of her back nestled against his chest, that had been good, too. The way her buttocks had spooned into his groin had been . . . natural. Why was she so afraid? She’d seen how gentle he could be. What did it matter whether he joined their bodies today or a week from today? She knew it was inevitable. Why couldn’t she just submit and get it over with?
“Pia? Where are you?”
At Little Deer’s frightened call, Bay rose on her elbow and replied, “I am here, ona.”
Little Deer sat up and rubbed her eyes, then crawled over to lie in Bay’s arms. “I dreamed Piamempits, Big Cannibal Owl, was going to eat me up.”
Bay turned to Long Quiet, daring him to make her send the child away.
“Put her on her own pallet, Shadow.”
“She’s just a baby,” Bay whispered. “She’s afraid to sleep by herself.”
“Little Deer, you must sleep on your own pallet,” Long Quiet told the girl.
“Why?”
Bay arched a brow as if to ask how he intended to answer that.
“Because I wish it so,” he replied.
“Why?”
“Because a Comanche woman must learn to sleep on her own pallet until she is called to the pallet of her husband,” he replied, staring at Bay until she blushed.
“Oh.” Little Deer was clearly torn. She’d enjoyed Long Quiet’s earlier approval a great deal. But clearly there were some things a woman must do that a little girl—who’d always slept with someone else—found a little frightening.
Long Quiet took the choice out of Little Deer’s hands, scooping up the child and putting her back on the pallet across the tipi. “I will keep you safe from Piamempits. Go to sleep now, and in the morning I will let you ride my pony.”
“You will?”
“Yes. If you sleep here tonight.”
Bay was furious that he’d offered Little Deer a bribe and disgusted when Little Deer accepted it, blithely turning over to go to sleep.
“See,” Long Quiet whispered. “She can sleep by herself after all.”
Bay turned her back to Long Quiet and closed her eyes. She’d always loved sleeping with the child’s body snuggled trustingly against her own. Tonight she felt cheated. And for the first time since she’d taken Little Deer into her care, she felt alone. Long Quiet was keeping his distance and he’d ensured that Little Deer would keep hers. As Bay drifted off to sleep, she was angry and frustrated and confused.
Bay awoke slowly, feeling the warmth of another body behind her. An elbow dug into the center of her back and jolted her awake. She became aware of the large hand splayed across her naked belly and realized there was no way it could be Long Quiet’s elbow jabbing her in the back. Then she saw the small hand draped across her shoulder.
Bay began to laugh. She tried to do it quietly, but the guffaw in her chest escaped in unladylike whoops. She hugged herself with her arms and began to roll back and forth with mirth. Behind her she heard two grunts, one high-pitched and one low.
“What’s going on?” Long Quiet bellowed, coming abruptly awake in a confused mass of arms and legs.
Squeezed between Long Quiet and Bay was Little Deer, who now peered up with wide eyes at the ferocious expression of the rudely awakened man.
“I decided I would rather sleep here than ride your pony,” Little Deer offered.
The guffaw Bay had been trying to control finally let go in a raucous “Hah!” Long Quiet’s glare sent her into fits of hooting laughter. It was all she could do to get out, “Do I still get to pet your pony’s no-ho-ho-ho-se?”
Chapter 8
BAY CARESSED THE SILKY SKIN WITH HER FINGERTIPS AND then bent down to bestow a kiss. Who would have thought a pony’s nose could be so soft? The pony whickered and backed up a step, shaking its head at this human nonsense. Bay smiled and reached over to scratch behind the pony’s ears, noting that the pinto readily bent its head to her reach. How like its master, Bay thought. Seeking her touch but unwilling to be held. She wondered if this tame pinto knew it had been replaced by a fiery chestnut stallion.
She’d watched Long Quiet work with the stallion over the past two weeks as he slowly but surely tamed the animal with his touch. She’d watched them fight for dominance, the man and the beast. It had left her breathless when he finally sat upon the magnificent animal’s back, the gentle master to a willing slave. She refused to find a parallel between herself and a horse. But it was there all the same.
She couldn’t count the times over the past two weeks when she’d gone for water or wood or set out to gather wild fruit or roots or nuts and been met by Long Quiet. She wasn’t sure how he knew where to find her, but he always did. He’d kept her company while she worked, and for that alone she would have been grateful. But he’d gone a step further and shared himself with her. No subject had been tabu. He’d told her she could ask him anything. So she had.
“Tell me about your family,” she’d urged when he’d joined her as she gathered firewood.
“My father was a white man. He stole my mother, the daughter of a Penateka Comanche chief, and took her away with him. At least that’s what my grandfather told me.”
He’d laughed when she’d let the whole load of firewood fall in astonishment. As he helped her stack it up again, she asked, “Did you live in one of the Texas settlements?”
“No. My father was a Comanchero.” At Bay’s quizzical look, he explained, “A white man who traded with the Comanches. He belonged neither to the world of the White-eyes nor the world of the Comanches. A drifter, you would call him, but more often he was called less kind names.
“I remember he talked sometimes about his family back in New York. He’d argued with his father and gone west to make his own fortune.” His lips twisted in what was not quite a smile. “We were never rich, but the land provided us with food to eat and clothes to cover us. My mother taught me the words of the Comanche; my father taught me the white man’s tongue. I learned early to cross the borders between the white man’s world and Co
manchería. I was Long Quiet. And I was Walker Coburn.”
“Walker. That’s an unusual name. It sounds almost Indian,” Bay said.
“It’s a family name, handed down by generations of Coburns. Do you want me to help you carry some of that mesquite?”
Bay laughed. “Of course not. Do you want the women of the village to think you less than a man?”
Long Quiet shook his head. “If we were in Texas I’d have been thought less a man if I didn’t offer to help you carry such a large load of firewood.”
Noting the obvious differences in customs had made them awkward with each other, and she’d found an excuse to leave him.
A few days later she’d been sent to gather plums to be dried for pemmican. She’d nearly filled her basket when he’d come along with a deer slung across his pony. He slipped off his mount and watched her work for a while. Before long, Bay found herself saying, “It must have been difficult for you, growing up like you did, to know where your loyalties lay.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, with a white father and a Comanche mother, and drifting back and forth like that between two peoples who hated each other, how could you know where you truly belonged? It must have been hard having parents who were so different and—”
Long Quiet cut her off with a wave of the purloined plum in his hand. “I belonged with my parents, and I don’t think I ever much noticed the differences between my mother and father. They certainly never let their differences keep them from loving one another.”
“It sounds almost like a fairy tale,” Bay said, smiling dreamily as she picked plums and dropped them in the basket she’d brought along. “Where’s your mother now?”
“She died of pneumonia when I was six.”
“I’m sorry. And your father?”
Long Quiet spit out the pit and swallowed the last of the plum before he said, “My grandfather killed him.”
“Oh, my.” She’d just lifted the basket of plums into her arms and had to juggle not to drop it. His hands covered hers to steady her. They felt good, strong and sure. He didn’t seem in any hurry to let her go, but she stepped back, and then, because she wanted to know, asked, “Why did your grandfather kill your father?”
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