Comanche Woman

by Joan Johnston

  “There’s no need for that.”

  “I think there is.”

  “You have no right to make assumptions about what’s important to me.”

  “I have every right,” he retorted, “and you know it.”

  Sloan stood steadfast at his censure, unable to deny his words. They had an agreement. And if the terms were not exactly to her liking, she was still bound by it. “I spoke out of turn. He speaks English very well,” she said by way of apology.

  “Will you speak to your son, Sloan? Will you hold him in your arms as a mother should?”

  She was trembling when she said, “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it would only lead to pain for me and the child.”

  “The child! The child! Can you not call him by his name? He is Francisco, or Cisco if you will.”

  “I . . . I thought he would look more like Antonio. But he doesn’t. He looks like you.”

  Sloan met Cruz’s blue eyes and saw the desire that never failed to frighten her. He wanted her. But they had an agreement, so she was safe.

  Cisco interrupted the moment of awareness between them when he called, “Come see! Bayo!” The little boy had lost interest in the flowers and was headed back to the corral.

  “Shall we join him?” Cruz said. He reached out to take Sloan’s arm, but she flinched away. He started toward his nephew with Sloan at his side.

  They walked up behind Cisco, who’d climbed up onto the lowest rail of the corral and stood stretched out with his fingers barely reaching the top rail. In his excitement at their arrival, he turned too quickly and would have fallen if Sloan hadn’t been there to rescue him.

  As he tumbled backward, she caught him at the shoulders and knees so she was holding him like an infant. It was the first time she’d touched her son since the day she’d given him away, over two years before. He lay there for a moment staring into her eyes before he began struggling for a more upright, less babyish position.

  Sloan accommodated him, and once she did, he seemed content to stay in her embrace. When Cruz would have taken Cisco from her, she held on. Sloan closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of her child’s arms and legs wrapped around her, the feel of his baby-soft cheek against hers, the fine curly black hair on his head tickling her chin.

  She felt her throat closing in anguish and tried to squeeze back the tears forming in her eyes. She’d never forgotten or forgiven Antonio’s betrayal. Would it have been any worse to have kept this living reminder of his perfidy? The child didn’t even look like Antonio! Oh, dear God, it felt so good to hold her baby. Had she made the worst mistake of her life giving him up?

  Cisco got impatient being held, and Sloan put him down to run again. This time when she met Cruz’s eyes, she found a different emotion there.

  “I don’t need your pity,” she cried.

  “You deserve more than my pity, Cebellina, that is true.”

  “I don’t want anything from you,” Sloan said. But she did want to see Cisco again. And she wasn’t sure how she could ask such a thing without giving Cruz any more encouragement to address her by intimate names like Cebellina, which he’d given her because of the sable color of her hair.

  And there was the agreement. Always the agreement.

  She turned to face Cruz, unaware that she’d squared her shoulders, which made her seem taller than her slight, five-foot-four-inch height. “I want to see Cisco again.”

  “Of course, Cebellina. I would never keep you from your son. Do you wish to come see him at Rancho Dolorosa?”

  “No, no. I can’t come to your hacienda.” Memories of the awful confrontation there with Cruz’s mother three years ago flooded her. The regal woman had stood beside Antonio’s casket and casually offered to take Sloan’s bastard child. Sloan could smell the incense burning in the dimly lit bedroom, could feel the stiffness of Antonio’s dead flesh, could taste the bile rising in her throat at the humiliating offer.

  Raising stark, pain-filled eyes, she asked, “Couldn’t we meet somewhere else?”

  Ready to do anything to ease her pain, Cruz offered, “Do you want me to bring him to Three Oaks?”

  “No. Not at my home, either. What about here, at my sister’s home?”

  “You don’t think Bay would mind?”

  For the first time, a smile broke through Sloan’s strained features. “She’s the one who plotted all this in the first place. Somehow I don’t think she’ll be upset if we want to meet here.”

  They stood awkwardly, both aware of the momentousness of the occasion, but neither willing to be the first to comment on it. Finally, Sloan said, “I guess we should fetch Cisco and get back to the house.”

  Sloan made no move to touch Cisco when Cruz picked him up, and she was careful to keep her distance when they stepped inside the house. She shook her head ruefully at the clearly disappointed look on Bay’s face. When they sat down for dessert, she said casually, “I have a favor to ask, Bay.”

  “Of course,” Bay replied. “What can I do?”

  “I’d like to come visit again next Sunday.”

  “You know you’re welcome anytime, Sloan.”

  “Does that invitation extend to Cruz and Cisco as well?”

  Bay’s eyes narrowed as she looked from Sloan to Cruz and back again. “Of course, they’re both welcome.”

  Sloan burst out laughing. “You’ll be happy to know your devious little plan worked. I would like to see Cisco again, but we need a place to get together. How would you like having company for Sunday dinners for a while? I’ll be glad to help out with the cooking.”

  Bay turned to Long Quiet and smiled serenely. “I’d love it.”

  Everything had turned out even better than she’d hoped. It wouldn’t be long before Sloan had her child back in her arms for good.

  Now, if she could only convince Long Quiet that she loved him. . . .

  Chapter 24

  AFTER THEIR COMPANY LEFT, LONG QUIET ENCIRCLED Bay’s waist with his arms from behind and rested his hands on her belly. “That was a good thing you did for Sloan.”

  “I only wanted her to be happy.”

  He turned her around in his arms. “And are you happy?”

  “I don’t . . . I suppose I . . . are you?” she countered, unable to put her feelings into words.

  “I have you.” He leaned down to kiss her briefly, but she noticed he hadn’t answered the question.

  She searched the face of the man who held her in his arms and saw lines of worry at the corners of his eyes. Had they been there before? She saw the tightness around his mouth. Was that bitterness? Anger? She saw the faint creases on his forehead. Had she contributed to those? Was there anything in his countenance that spoke of happiness or contentment? He’d said he had her. What if she wasn’t enough? It was a sobering, even frightening, thought.

  “Are you really, truly happy here with me? Do you ever wish you were back home in Comanchería?”

  He smiled at her question, and all the lines of worry and tension disappeared. “What brought that on?”

  Her fingertips traced the feathery lines at the edges of his eyes, then sought out the lips that curved now with amusement. She looked up expecting to find a sparkle in his eyes, but there, in the gray depths, the sadness still remained. “I just wondered,” she murmured.

  Long Quiet knew what she was asking. How could he answer her? His fondest wish had been answered when her father had brought her to his doorstep and demanded that he take her as his wife. So, yes, he was happy with what he had—but he wanted more. He’d seen how her love overflowed on those she cared for, on Little Deer and now on Sloan and Cruz and Cisco. He would have given all he had to have it envelop him as well.

  He felt the firm roundness of her abdomen pressed against him. There was happiness in knowing a part of them both grew inside of her. And there was happiness in knowing he could hold her and love her. His hands curved around her buttocks and he cradled her more firmly
between his thighs. He felt her hands tighten around his waist in response. For now, it was enough.

  “I don’t know how to reassure you, but I think you want reassurance,” Long Quiet said at last. “I can only say it doesn’t matter to me whether I live in a tipi or an adobe house. My grandfather once told me, ‘Happiness is a feeling inside that makes a gift of each day the Great Spirit gives you to walk upon the Earth Mother.’ I never really understood that until now. Look at me, Bay.”

  He waited until she looked up at him and said, “To me, you are home and happiness.”

  Bay had never felt so needed, so fulfilled, as she did at that moment.

  Long Quiet tried, but failed, to keep the bitterness from his voice as he added, “I’ll try to give you the things you need to be happy, too.”

  “What if I said having things doesn’t matter to me as much as being with you?” Bay replied.

  He pulled her arms from about his waist and forced her to stay back so he could see her better. “You don’t have to lie about a thing like that, Bay. You can’t help the way you were raised. I can understand your appreciation for beautiful things, even if I don’t share your need for them. And I don’t intend that you should be deprived of those things forever simply because you’re married to me. I promise to work hard for you, Bay, and someday we’ll—”

  Her fingertip silenced him. “Please don’t say any more.” If she loved him hard enough and long enough, maybe someday he’d believe that she didn’t need to be surrounded by silver and crystal or dressed in silks and lace. He was everything she needed or wanted.

  The loving between them began sweetly, as each sought acceptance and love from the other. It was a futile quest on which they were bound, for what they sought had already been given—they simply had not recognized the gift.

  The days and nights that followed fell into a pattern of easy camaraderie during the day followed by stormy passion at night. Yet both Bay and Long Quiet remained frustrated by the misunderstanding that stood between them.

  On Sunday, Bay looked forward to seeing Sloan again. Perhaps her sister would be able to shed some light on the problem. But Cruz and Cisco arrived first with a picnic lunch, and the moment Sloan got there they all set off in Cruz’s carriage for a picnic spot Long Quiet had found while out hunting stray cattle.

  They topped a rise and saw a huge old live oak that had grown up in the middle of a grassy field. It would have taken six grown men holding hands to circle the trunk of the tree. Its spreading branches created an expanse of shade the size of the manor house at Three Oaks. In the shade of the tree, delicate flowers that would have died in the hot Texas sun had flourished.

  “This is wonderful,” Bay said as Long Quiet helped her down from the wagon.

  “Glory! This tree would make a great target for lightning in a thunderstorm,” Sloan said.

  “It is good we picked a day of sunshine to come here, is it not?” Cruz said, smiling as he took Cisco from Sloan’s lap and set him on the ground.

  “I can get down by myself,” Sloan said when Cruz held up his hands for her.

  “As you wish,” he said, and stepped back.

  Cruz brought the woven picnic basket over to the spot where Bay had laid out a quilt to use as a tablecloth.

  “Go walk,” Cisco demanded, grabbing Cruz’s pant leg and tugging on it.

  “Will you come with us, Sloan?” Cruz asked.

  “I should help . . .” Sloan met Cruz’s encouraging gaze and changed her mind. “All right. Yes, I’ll come.”

  As Cruz, Sloan, and Cisco headed toward a slight rise at the edge of the shade, Bay busied herself setting out the food Cruz had brought—meat and bean tortillas, tamales wrapped in corn husks, shelled pecans, oranges, and buñuelos, crisp fried tortillas with a cinnamon-sugar topping, for dessert.

  “What a feast! Everything looks so good.” She broke off a piece of a buñuelo and popped it in her mouth. “Ummm, sweet.”

  “Let me taste,” Long Quiet said, coming down on his knees across from Bay.

  She held out another bite of the dessert, but Long Quiet chose to taste her instead. “Ummm, yes, that’s sweet all right,” he said as his tongue darted out for a bit of sugar on her lips, and then into her mouth for a taste of Bay. He toppled her over backward on the blanket and came down on top of her, keeping his weight on his arms.

  Bay flushed. “Long Quiet, what are you doing?”

  “Making love to my wife,” he murmured, nibbling on her throat.

  “Ah. What a good idea that is,” Bay said with a smile as she arched her throat for his lips.

  He teased her with light kisses, but his hips were flush with hers and every time he kissed her he pressed himself against her, until the kisses became more hungry and the thrusts more demanding.

  Suddenly, Long Quiet rolled himself off her and threw his arm up to cover his eyes. He was breathing heavily, and Bay didn’t have to look to know he was aroused.

  She sat up and ran her fingers through the hair he’d mussed with his hands. “I guess that wasn’t such a good idea,” she said, breathing heavily.

  “The idea was fine,” Long Quiet countered with a rueful grin. He turned and propped himself up on his elbow. “It was the timing that was wrong.” He scooted himself over so his head was in Bay’s lap and relaxed with his arms stretched out above his head, his hands curved around her waist.

  Bay’s hands threaded through the curls on his forehead, brushing them away from his face. In a moment his eyes closed in relaxation. His hands slipped down to caress her buttocks and thighs.

  “This is the way life was meant to be lived,” he murmured. “A man doesn’t need more than good food, fresh air and sunshine, and a woman to love . . .”

  “. . . who loves him back,” Bay finished. When Long Quiet started to rise, she caught his shoulders and kept his head in her lap. “Please listen. I’ve been trying to explain for days now that—”

  At that moment Cisco screamed shrilly. Both Bay and Long Quiet were on their feet in an instant, only to discover that it was a scream of delight. Cisco came running toward them, pursued by Sloan and Cruz. As they watched, Sloan scooped Cisco up in her arms and nuzzled his neck as he laughed hysterically.

  “I’ll get you for putting flowers in my hair,” she taunted. “Take that!” Sloan kissed Cisco on the neck.

  He laughed and twisted away, putting his hands up to protect his face.

  “And that!” Sloan kissed him on the ear. “And that!” She kissed him on the chin.

  Cruz came up behind her and held the brunt of Cisco’s weight, cocooning Sloan between the two of them. Sloan stiffened as she realized what had happened. When another kiss didn’t come, Cisco straightened up to see what had stopped the game.

  “Kiss?”

  Sloan leaned to kiss Cisco’s nose, the sides of her breasts brushing against Cruz’s arms as she did so. “That’s enough kisses for now. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Sí! Hungry,” Cisco responded with all the enthusiasm of a two-year-old for food. “Down!” he demanded.

  Cruz had to release his hold in order for Sloan to set the child down. She moved quickly from Cruz’s arms and set Cisco on his feet. He headed on the run for the blanket covered with food.

  Sloan turned to Cruz and, in a voice too low to be heard by the others, said, “Don’t do that again.”

  Cruz didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You are too young to spend the rest of your life alone, Cebellina.”

  “Stay away from me,” she hissed. “I want to see my son, but I won’t if it means I have to contend with you touching me like . . . touching me.” She shivered and crossed her arms as though to protect herself. It was the pleasure of his touch that frightened her.

  “I will not touch you, if that is your wish.” He gestured toward the picnic blanket. “Shall we go join the others and eat now?”

  The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly. While Cisco napped, Sloan and Bay took a walk together.

  �
��How are things at Three Oaks?” Bay asked.

  Sloan reached down to grab a stem of seed grass and chewed on the end, sucking out the sweetness at the tip. “As well as can be expected. Rip’s still looking for a way to pay Jonas. The note’s not due until the first of the year, so he has some time to try to come up with the money.”

  “What will you do if he can’t pay the note?”

  Sloan threw away the stem of grass and grabbed another. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. My whole life’s been planned with Three Oaks in mind. I can’t imagine what I’d do if . . . if it wasn’t there someday. I’m glad you didn’t marry Jonas, though.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah. It’s easy to see there’s something special between you and Walker.”

  “He thinks I only married him because I’m pregnant with his child. He thinks I regret marrying him because he isn’t wealthy.”

  Sloan snorted. “Why on earth would he think a foolish thing like that?”

  “Because when I thought I was going to have to marry Jonas, I told Walker I needed the things Jonas could give me.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Why don’t you just tell him the truth?”

  “I’ve tried. Every time I open my mouth, he interrupts me. Or we get sidetracked.”

  Sloan smiled slyly. “I bet.”

  Bay flushed but continued, “I’ve told him I love him, but he doesn’t believe me. How am I going to convince him I’m telling the truth?”

  Sloan dropped to the ground cross-legged, and Bay dropped down beside her.

  “To start with, I think you have to tell him the real reason why you were going to marry Jonas, even if you have to tie him down to do it.”

  “And then?”

  “Tell him the truth and see what happens. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

  Bay put a hand on Sloan’s knee. “Thanks. I needed someone to talk to about this. I only hope you’re right.”