Comanche Temptation

by Sara Orwig

  He went to the cart that held a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice and a decanter of brandy with a dozen glasses.

  “They must think you’re having a party.”

  “They just sent up lots of glasses.” He uncorked the champagne with a pop and poured two glasses. Honor watched Luke’s dark hands moving over the delicate glasses, the amber liquid spilling into them and bubbling. He turned to hand a glass to her and lift his.

  “Here’s to you, Honor. You did a fine job this afternoon, and your father would have been proud of you.”

  He touched her glass with his and drank, watching her over the rim. She drank, feeling the bubbles tickle her nose, her gaze held by Luke’s. She felt tense, as if everything inside her were wound too tight.

  “Luke, I didn’t want to go through all that—”

  “I know you didn’t,” he said gently, sipping his champagne and turning to open the brandy and pour some in a glass. He turned back to her. “You’re a strong woman, Honor. And you saved the H Bar R.”

  She drank the champagne, and Luke refilled her glass. She knew she should tell him to stop, but she could feel little prickles of nervousness from the past hour and a current of anger at Stanton for trying to take the ranch from her. “We’re safe, aren’t we, Jeddy and I? They can’t ever try anything like this again?”

  “No, they can’t,” Luke said, sipping his brandy. “Come sit down, and I’ll build a fire,” he said, moving to the fireplace. She sat on the edge of a wing chair near him and watched him stack the logs and light a match, his trousers pulling tightly over his strong thighs. She shivered, feeling cold, drinking the champagne. The H Bar R was theirs forever; her gaze went to Luke and she felt a pang because it was Luke’s love she wanted with all her heart.

  Luke stood up, glanced at her glass and crossed to the cart. “Champagne or brandy, Honor?”

  “I think brandy. It is like fire, and right now I’m cold.”

  Luke brought a glass of amber brandy to her, his warm fingers brushing hers as he handed it to her.

  She drank and stood to move close to the fire, in minutes feeling a warmth inside from the brandy and along her backside from the fire.

  “This is better,” she said, turning to face him. He shed his coat and stood with his brandy. “Thank you, Luke. You helped me through that ordeal,” she said quietly, knowing whatever argument and disagreement they had, he had given her his strength and support all day. And she kept thinking about the stolen kisses and loving in the empty office.

  He took the brandy glass from her and refilled it and she shook her head. “Luke, we haven’t eaten since this morning—”

  “I told you we’d eat before we start home.”

  “Don’t pour more brandy—” she said as he filled the glass and turned back to her with it, holding it out to her.

  “This is the last one. I’m already feeling light-headed. I’ve had two glasses of champagne, one brandy, and I didn’t have any noon dinner.”

  “You won’t be tipsy,” he said, moving away from her and drawing the drapes on the window, making the room dusky. Honor felt the brandy warm her, and now it was too hot to stand by the fire. She moved away, unbuttoning the top button of her dress. Luke returned, taking the glass from her hand and setting it down. Her pulse leaped, beating erratically, and she wanted to hold herself back, to pick up her cloak and walk out, but her head spun and she couldn’t move. She felt caught in the depths of his sea-green eyes.

  She touched the corner of his eye, feeling the feathery brown lashes brush her fingertips. “You have strange-colored eyes, Luke. I remember that from the first time I saw you when you stopped the fight Jeddy was in.”

  He looked amused as he pulled her down on a thick rug in front of the fire and turned her so he could knead the muscles of her shoulders. She relaxed, tilting her head back, feeling faint tugs on her scalp that tingled in a delightful way.

  “I was fascinated by your strange green eyes.”

  “And I remember your large brown eyes that were so dark they looked black.”

  “My Comanche eyes.”

  “Beautiful eyes, Honor,” he said softly, his breath fanning her hair and stirring more tingles that made her heartbeat quicken again.

  He kissed her nape and she inhaled, closing her eyes. “Luke, you have gotten me tipsy on champagne and brandy. You’re a devil and a scoundrel,” she said lightly, while he pulled her back to cradle her in his arms.

  “Maybe I am taking advantage of you, Honor, but you needed a moment to relax.” She gazed up at him as he leaned down, then his mouth covered hers. She knew she was lost, and all her intentions to remain aloof and cold toward him vanished.

  “Luke,” she whispered, kissing his throat. “This doesn’t change what will happen to us, does it?”

  “No, Honor, but it gives me one more time with you.”

  “One more and then one more and then there won’t be a time to say good-bye—”

  His kiss silenced her words as he pulled her to him. She felt his hands at the buttons of her bodice. Instead of stopping him, she reached out to unfasten his collar and the buttons at the neck of his shirt, and then all arguments between them vanished while Luke took her with him to bliss.

  Two hours later Luke dressed, turning to watch her as she brushed and repinned her hair.

  He crossed the room to her, standing behind her, pulling her up into his arms. “Honor,” he said, longing filling his voice as if they hadn’t just spent the last two hours in each other’s arms.

  “We should go, Luke,” she said quietly, pulling away from him, the effects of the brandy and champagne now gone, the hurt that he still kept the secrets of his past to himself returning.

  “Honor,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket, “I had this made for you.” He fastened the silver necklace around her neck. It was a chain with a heart-shaped locket. She opened it and it held a picture of her father and a picture of Jeddy.

  “Luke, it’s lovely,” she said quietly, wishing she had a picture of Luke to carry with her.

  “Dolorita found the pictures for me.”

  Honor looked up at him, and he saw the quick flash of tears before she turned away. “Thank you very much,” she said, opening the door and stepping into the hall.

  He clenched his fists and glanced around the room, suspecting it would be the last time Honor would succumb and let him hold her and love her.

  He strode out behind her, catching up with her at the top of the stairs as she pulled her cloak around her shoulders. They shopped and then met the others for a dinner of thick, juicy steaks and fluffy potatoes that Honor left almost untouched. And finally they rode home, Jeddy bursting out the back door as the buggy halted and Luke lifted her down.

  “What happened, Honor?”

  “The ranch is ours forever, Jeddy. Uncle Stanton and Aunt Lavinia can’t do anything to take it from us,” Honor said, glancing beyond him at the house that looked solid and welcoming, light spilling from windows and the open kitchen door.

  Jeddy yelled and whooped, cavorting around the yard, while Luke grinned. Honor brushed past them, hurrying to her room, and Luke wished he could change things because he was the cause of her hurt on a night when she should be as happy as Jeddy. Luke climbed back into the buggy to drive it to the barn.

  Buckling on his gunbelt and taking down his rifle, Luke mounted to ride out, Dusty joining him within minutes. “Mind if I ride along?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t want you to find half a dozen thieves and take them on single-handedly again. Next time they might turn around and look and see there’s only one man.”

  Luke tried to smile, barely able to keep his thoughts on Dusty’s conversation.

  “I heard Jeddy whooping, so I take it they keep the ranch.”

  “Yes. Stanton Roth couldn’t annul the marriage,” Luke said, knowing word would get around town and Dusty and the men would hear it anyway. “I’m her husband and she’s my wife and there’s n
o grounds for an annulment,” he said flatly.

  Dusty was quiet, leaving Luke to his own thoughts. He was grateful because he knew none of the men would ever prod or ask questions or intrude on his privacy.

  They rode miles in silence, Luke wondering finally if Dusty was sleeping in the saddle. With reluctance he turned to head for home; he dreaded going back because it would be a sleepless night, but Dusty worked too hard to ride shotgun with Luke because Luke couldn’t sleep.

  As they approached the house, Luke saw the light burning in Honor’s window and wondered whether she was reading or sewing or simply sitting thinking about the day. Or crying. The last possibility hurt, only he suspected Honor would feel anger before tears.

  “Dusty,” he said softly. “Are you awake?”

  “Sure thing, Boss. But I’m glad to see the corral.”

  “Go on to bed. I’ll take care of your horse.”

  “Thanks, I won’t argue on that one.”

  Luke groomed and watered and fed the horses, working in the barn as long as he could, finally putting out the lantern and stepping into the dark night to pull his hat low and his coat around his shoulders. The shaggy hound got up and followed him, and he stopped to scratch the dog’s ears and pet him, moving around the house to lean against a cottonwood and light a cheroot. He stared at Honor’s window, wanting to stride back to her room, take her in his arms, and throw caution to the wind, but every time he looked at Jeddy, he thought what it would be like if a child had his father suddenly taken away to be hanged.

  He glanced again at Honor’s window and wondered again about turning himself in. The thought of prison made his palms sweaty, and he thought how much going back to Missouri to stand trial was something he didn’t want to do, but if it was the only way to ever have Honor, he would.

  A week later Luke had to ride to Montello for supplies. He stood in the general store, talking to men, buying supplies, then went to the smithy, keeping an eye on the sheriff’s office. Finally near noon he saw Whit Branigan come out with Henry Beaudine and stroll across the street to the saloon, Branigan’s bowed legs carrying him in a rolling gait.

  Luke told the smith he would be back and left, walking casually along the boardwalk and entering the sheriff’s office. “Anyone here?” he called.

  Olin Swenson turned around to glance over his shoulder. “Sheriff will be back in a few minutes. Or did you want a haircut?”

  “No, I wanted to see the sheriff. I’ll just wait.”

  Swenson turned back to his tailoring, bending over a piece of cloth, his back to Luke.

  Luke glanced outside and saw people passing, but no one was headed toward the sheriff’s office. He turned to the faded, wrinkled posters on the wall. They were stacked over a dozen deep and his was covered, only part of his jaw revealed.

  He wanted to take down the posters or pull his free, but if someone noticed one missing or a change, they might get suspicious. There was another on the outside wall and there was no way he could risk removing it without being seen. He raised the ones on top and looked at the drawing of himself with a mustache and longer hair and he prayed no one could see the resemblance.

  He had been Luke McCloud so long now, that McCloud seemed his rightful name. As the door opened, he dropped the posters.

  “What are you doing?” Branigan said, striding into the room and flinging his hat on a hook.

  “Waiting for you. Any word from the marshal on the cattle thieves at my place?”

  “No.” Branigan’s eyes narrowed. “You’d like to see the marshal take my job away from me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Damn right, I would.”

  Branigan inhaled, his stomach straining against his shirt, his belt and pants riding low beneath his thick middle. “Well, I’m elected by the people and I’m sheriff and I intend to run again and win again. And if you ever break a law, McCloud, I’m going to enjoy arresting you. Oh, yes, I am!”

  Luke felt cold, knowing he couldn’t expect any kind of fair treatment from Branigan and hating the man for allowing Acheson to get away with murder. He wanted to reach across the desk and yank Branigan up, but he controlled his temper, knowing he would only get a handful of trouble and would be doing just what Branigan wanted.

  “I’ll talk to the marshal about the cattle thieves.”

  “You do that. Stay out of my office and out of my sight.”

  Luke strode outside, forgetting the sheriff as he thought about his past and what he could do. Bounty hunters abounded, and Texas was a ripe field for them because many men had done the same as Luke and fled to the West. He went back to the blacksmith’s to get his tools, picked up his supplies, and met the men to head home.

  He shifted on the seat, gazing at bare-limbed trees and the winter sky, knowing the holidays approached. He felt a desolation in his heart because the only Christmas he wanted was with Honor, a joyous one, filled with love.

  As Luke rode home, Sheriff Branigan went through his desk drawers, opening them and studying his things that were tossed in haphazardly. The man had been standing in here for a reason and he couldn’t believe McCloud was waiting to talk to him about cattle thieves. What had he wanted?

  Sheriff thought of the money he had taken from a drunken man who passed out behind Miss Maizie’s a week ago, as well as the money taken from the prostitutes to let them stay in business. He yanked open the bottom drawer, lifted out a ledger and looked at the metal box beneath it. Unlocking the box with a tiny brass key, he counted his money, for a moment thinking about how soon he could collect again from the sporting houses. He locked the box and replaced it, putting the ledger back in place. He went through each drawer, pawing through the papers on top of his desk, finally deciding Luke McCloud had come in to do exactly what he said. Still, the next time Rake was in, he’d tell him. Acheson was sly and had a mind that ran in a devious fashion, and he might think of some reason McCloud was hanging around.

  Two nights later on a busy Saturday night, Rake Acheson dismounted and strolled into Miss Maizie’s, shouldering his way through the crowd and going to the bar.

  He glanced around, seeing the sheriff head toward him. A dark-eyed woman smiled at him, and he smiled in return. He had been two weeks without a woman, and he was ready for one tonight and he didn’t want to spend a lot of time with Branigan.

  “Rake, glad you’re here.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Not much. Guess you heard about Stanton Roth trying to get that marriage of Honor Roth’s annulled and so that he could be appointed her guardian.”

  Rake laughed, thinking about Honor. “Don’t blame him. If he became her guardian, he’d get that ranch and Honor Roth all in one swoop. I’d like her myself. She’s turned into a beauty.”

  “She has at that. Saw her come down with that bastard McCloud. They had to go to the doc’s office so he could certify that the marriage had been consummated.”

  Rake’s head swung around, and he looked at the sheriff. “Any fool would consummate a marriage to her.”

  “Uncle and aunt didn’t think it had been. That would have been grounds for an annulment, and Roth could have become her guardian because she’s only sixteen.”

  Rake laughed, downed his whiskey, and slammed down the glass, ordering more. “I thought Stanton Roth was smarter than that. Man like McCloud, he wouldn’t shake hands with her and take her in name only. No man would.”

  “Well, you’re right. The doc confirmed it, and the old witch aunt left here in a rage while Stanton came in here and really tied one on. And word has it that while they were waiting to hear whether the doc could examine her or not, she and McCloud slipped down the hall and re-consummated it right there.”

  Rake drew a deep breath, remembering Honor’s long slender body beneath him, her dark eyes looking up at him, filled with fury as she fought him. That was her wild Comanche blood, the mix between Horace Roth and his dark-haired wife. Rake remembered Ila Roth. She was a beautiful woman, and her daughter was turning out to
be just as attractive.

  He wanted Honor Roth, and sometime he’d catch her riding alone. He could remember seeing her chasing strays just like the rest of the hands. He thought about the last time he had glimpsed her in town. She had been in a black dress and had been with McCloud. They were passing through and he saw her riding on the buggy seat beside McCloud, her back straight, that black hair piled on her head, the dress tight over her high breasts.

  He turned and surveyed the room and looked at the women, finally finding one who had dark eyes and dark hair who would make a substitute for Honor.

  “McCloud was in my office this week,” Branigan said, and Rake didn’t bother answering. “I don’t know what he wanted. When I came in, he was just standing there. Said he wanted to talk to me about the men who went after his cattle—Stomp and Sly.”

  “What about them?”

  “I told him I didn’t know anything, so he left. I wondered if he was in there for another reason, but I went all through my desk and couldn’t find anything disturbed.”

  “See you later,” Rake said, moving away from the bar and heading toward the woman.

  Branigan shrugged, deciding to forget the matter as he watched Rake talk to a tall, black-haired woman, then saw both of them headed toward the stairs.

  Sunday morning, Rake entered the sheriff’s office and sat down on a chair, propping his feet on a desk. “I want Honor Roth. As long as McCloud’s around, there’s no hope of getting her.”

  “You better figure on McCloud and Dusty Shackleford. Shackleford’s like a second father to her.”

  “Think you could find some kind of charge to arrest McCloud and get him out of the way for a time?”

  Branigan frowned. “Damn, he has friends—Marshal Weitzman and Judge Tolliver. I’d have to have a good reason, and the man’s hardly ever in town.”

  “He won’t be here much at all with Honor to keep him happy,” Rake grumbled and stood up, rubbing his jaw. “You said he was here in your office and you wondered what he was up to?”