Hannah's Half-Breed

by Heidi Betts

  She was worried about David; that was it. But David was a grown man, she reminded herself over and over. He could take care of himself.

  Of course, the last time he'd tried to take someone away from the Bar L, he'd been shot. He might have caught an infection and died if she hadn't taken him in when she did. Imagine how much worse it could be this time, when he tried to steal away with his sister, especially if Ambrose Lynch was expecting him.

  Afternoon came and went, the stifling heat giving way to cooler temperatures as the sun set. Little Bear grew bored with the length of string and started playing with a deck of cards that had been left in the cabin by its previous occupant. To make conversation and fill the almost deafening quiet of the room, he also attempted to teach her a few words of Comanche.

  For being a teacher herself, she didn't think she made a very good student. She had trouble with the nuances of the language and the subtle differences in the sounds of certain words and meanings.

  She did manage to remember ara?, meaning both uncle and nephew, which she'd heard him and David call each other frequently. Haa meant yes, kee no, and pia mother.

  These were all short and fairly easy to recall, but everything else went right over her head. Hannah chose to believe she was too distracted to retain more of the language, not that she wasn't capable of learning it. In fact, she was determined to do just that . . . as soon as she knew David was safe and out of harm's way.

  The merriment across the street started in earnest again, and Hannah judged it to be somewhere between ten o'clock and midnight. Peak hours for revelry in Hell, the time each evening when the cowboys got really loud, the tinny piano played ceaselessly, and the women laughed like braying donkeys at every little thing.

  She was about to check outside again when a sharp, insistent banging sounded at the door. Hannah jumped and took two steps toward Little Bear to protect him when she heard David's voice.

  "Hannah. Open up, it's me."

  With her heart in her throat and the blood pounding in her veins faster than the fingers on the piano keys over at the Devil's Den, she raced to the door and pushed it open.

  He stood just outside the entryway, lights from behind drawing shadows on his dark skin. Though she couldn't tell exactly what he was carrying, she saw that his arms were full. Only as he turned sideways to step inside did she realize he was holding a person. His sister.

  She looked terrible. If Hannah hadn't known better, she would have thought the woman no more than a girl. She seemed to be small in stature but was also painfully thin, her arms like narrow tree branches, her eyes and cheeks sunken.

  And she'd been beaten. Purple, black, and yellow swelled one cheek and lined her face along the opposite temple. The scarlet line of a cut bisected her upper lip, and Hannah thought her nose, bulging and slightly crooked, might be broken.

  "Did everything go all right?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

  With a sharp, affirmative motion, David brushed past Hannah and deposited his sister on the low cot. The lumpy, straw-filled mattress was covered with a thin white sheet, and Hannah immediately stepped forward to cover the poor woman with one of the extra blankets David had provided for her and Little Bear before he'd left.

  As soon as David laid Bright Eyes down, Little Bear raced forward. “Pia!” He leaned over his mother's prone form, linking one of his small hands with her own and using the other to pat an unblemished spot on her cheek.

  "Pia. Tubunitu, pia."

  Hannah cast a questioning glance toward David, who stood on the opposite side of the bed, hovering over his sister.

  "He wants her to wake up.” He explained the boy's words in little more than a whisper.

  Hannah's gaze went back to Bright Eyes, who was either unconscious or so exhausted and relieved at being away from the man who beat and mistreated her that she had fallen into a deep, deep sleep.

  Now that the woman was lying down, Hannah's eyes were drawn to her stomach, the only round part of her body. Of course, David had told her his first night at her house that his sister was expecting another child, but only now did Hannah realize how far along in the pregnancy she was, and just how dangerous Bright Eyes's condition could be for the unborn infant.

  "He hit her again.” Little Bear's words were soft but savage, and filled the cabin with the heat of his fury. Raising his eyes to his uncle, he said again, “He hit her again."

  "Haa,” David agreed, fists clenching where he rested them at his hips. “But hell never do it again. Neither of you are ever going back there."

  Hannah swallowed hard and turned away to keep them from noticing the sheen of tears in her eyes. They both loved Bright Eyes so much. She only hoped it was enough to help the woman recover fully.

  Once she had her emotions back under control, she moved to David's side and spoke softly in his ear. “She's going to need to eat when she wakes up. Can you find me the ingredients for a good soup or broth?"

  "I'll get them,” he said firmly.

  "And something to treat those cuts and bruises."

  Tilting his head, he studied her for a long minute. Hannah wasn't sure what to make of the bright, intense flare of his coffee-brown eyes.

  "Just tell me what you need,” he told her finally. “I'll make sure you get it."

  There was a small chiminea in one corner for a fire, with a hole cut in the roof above to take away the smoke. Because the weather had been quite hot during the day and not too chilly at night, and the meals she'd prepared had been cold, they hadn't felt the necessity to build a fire. But now, as Hannah read off a mental list of items to David that she'd require to tend Bright Eyes, she knew the Mexican fireplace would come in handy.

  "We'll also need plenty of water and kindling,” she added.

  "Little Bear can help you with those things.” His glance darted to where the child still hovered over his mother. “He knows where to get water, and I'm sure he can find some sticks and leaves to start the fire. I can find more wood to keep it going after I've gotten the rest of your supplies."

  He turned to his nephew. “Ara?."

  Little Bear craned his neck from where he stood next to his mother to look over his shoulder at David, tears glossing his dark eyes.

  "Can you help Hannah gather some things, please? She's going to take care of your pia."

  The boy hesitated a moment, studying his mother's pale, blotched countenance and trying to decide whether to leave her side. Then his tiny fingers loosened their hold on Bright Eyes's hand and he stepped away, turning to offer his assistance to Hannah and his uncle.

  "I'll be back in a bit,” David told her, guiding Little Bear out the door and closing it behind them.

  Once they'd gone, Hannah moved closer to the unconscious Bright Eyes and began removing her clothes. She wore a doeskin sheath, similar to the tunic like shirts both David and Little Bear wore, but longer. The garment was ragged, though, with worn patches and most of the colored design at the neck scratched off. The dress looked to be something Hannah would expect to find on a beggar rather than a woman with a son and a man who was supposed to be taking care of her.

  The rest of her body was as mottled with bruises and minor abrasions as her face. Even her taut-skinned, distended belly.

  Not for the first time, a touch of nausea rolled through Hannah's stomach at the image her brain formed of Ambrose Lynch. She'd never met him, but from the way David had described him and what she was seeing now, she thought the man deserved to be horsewhipped. Drawn and quartered. Dropped into a pit of snakes.

  Hannah re-covered the now naked Bright Eyes with the thick woolen blanket, tucking it up to her chin. She would ask David later to buy his sister a new nightgown or some such. For now, it was more important to keep her warm, tend her wounds, and get some food into her so she could gain weight and recover more quickly.

  An hour later, the cabin was filled with the scent of meat and vegetable broth as the soup boiled in a dented copper pot over the blazing fire Little Bear h
ad built. Hannah had also mixed together several herbs and had a number of soothing poultices on Bright Eyes's more serious bruises.

  Little Bear stood close beside the bed, worriedly watching over his mother. David did the same, between bouts of pacing and low, furious curses. And every time he swore or stalked across the room, Hannah watched Little Bear's concern increase by the deepening of shadows in his eyes and the tightening of the straight line of his lips.

  Deciding something had to be done before he sent the child into hysterics, Hannah put a hand on David's arm and drew his attention away from his sister.

  She pretended not to notice the rock hardness of the corded sinew beneath his fringed leather shirt. Or the way the feel of those muscles sent tingles through her fingertips and up the length of her arm.

  And yet she didn't let him go. Didn't yank her hand away or betray the unique sensation by gasping aloud the way she wanted to. Instead, she maintained the contact and even moved her fingers higher along his arm in a light, stroking motion.

  When she lifted her gaze to David's, she found him staring down at her, his eyes burning with something more than mere fury at his sister's condition.

  Swallowing past the lump of anxiety that lodged in her throat, she gestured toward the door and said in a low voice, “Let's go outside for a minute."

  She picked up the battered black Stetson and stuffed it on her head, not forgetting David's warning about making the residents of Hell think she was a man. Then she led him outside and around the corner of the tiny shack.

  As soon as they stopped walking, he looked at her quizzically. “Did you need something, Hannah?” He hitched a thumb in the direction of the cabin. “I really should be inside—"

  She cut him off by placing the soft side of her index linger against his lips. His words stopped dead and he looked at her as though she'd just sprouted horns and a tail.

  "You're making Little Bear nervous,” she told him gently. “He's frightened enough about his mother without having you stomping around, filling the air with expletives. We need to remain calm and assure him that she's going to be all right."

  One hand, large and warm and dark against her own light flesh, wrapped around the smallest part of her arm. He pulled her finger away from his mouth but didn't release her.

  "Will she be all right, do you think?” he asked, visibly concerned about his sister's welfare even as his thumb drew lazy circles on the underside of her wrist.

  It was hard to concentrate, hard not to block out everything but the sensations he was creating and lean forward into his body to experience even more. But she tried to keep her mind clear and focus on David's question.

  "I think she will be,” she answered honestly. “She's terribly thin, and the baby is probably sapping much of her strength. But none of her injuries are that serious, and I think once she's gotten some rest and nourishment into her, she'll start feeling better."

  "And will the baby be okay?"

  That, she wasn't so sure about. “I certainly hope so. Do you know how far along she is?"

  He shook his head, a frown marring his otherwise smooth brow.

  "The longer she has to fully recover before giving birth, the better, I would imagine.” She felt his fingers flex nervously. “I hope you understand that I'm only guessing about all of this, David. I'm doing the best I can because I want to help. But I'm not a doctor; I don't know anything for sure."

  His smile was as welcome as it was unexpected. “You're a miracle,” he murmured quietly. “I didn't plan for you to be here, that's for sure, but now I honestly don't know what I'd do if you weren't. I'm very grateful you came along, Hannah."

  Her heart filled with pleasure at that and her blood seemed to swell in her veins. “I'm glad I came along, too,” she admitted, licking her suddenly dry lips.

  His smoldering gaze zeroed in on that action, driving the temperature around them up by several notches.

  "You know this is a mistake, Hannah. We shouldn't be here like this."

  But even as he spoke the words, his grip tightened on her wrist and his other arm reached up to brush a thumb over the line of her jaw.

  "I'm not afraid of you, David, or of anything we do together. And I don't care about the color of your skin."

  His movements ceased, but he didn't let go of her. He simply stood perfectly still, watching her with those intensely dark eyes.

  "I wanted you to kiss me the day before you left to rescue your sister,” she went on, encouraged by his silence. “I wish you would kiss me again. And anything else you might want to show me along those same lines . . . well, I'm as good a student as I am a teacher, and I think I'd really like to learn more about whatever this delicious sensation is that seems to be running between us."

  David opened his mouth, exhaling a breath of air on a harsh laugh. His grip on her arm tightened, drawing her nearer by a fraction of an inch.

  "You have no idea what you're saying, Hannah,” he warned in a gravelly voice.

  "Yes, I do.” She responded without hesitation, because she was speaking from her heart now, not from her head. “I know precisely what I'm saying, precisely what I feel. The question is: How do you feel about me, David?"

  Chapter Ten

  How did he feel about her? How did he feel?

  He wanted to lower her hand to the front of his trousers and show her exactly how he felt. He wanted to drag her down to the ground and divest her of those ugly pants and shirt, or back her up against the wall of the cabin and take her standing up.

  And wouldn't she just love to be privy to those thoughts as they swirled around in his brain? If she knew that was the kind of thing he longed to teach her, she'd run screaming and never look back. Despite her claims of not caring about the color of his skin, she'd likely stop at the first sheriff's office she got to and tell them a savage had tried to rape her.

  Not fair, Walker, he castigated himself. Hannah had never said a single derogatory word about his heritage. Not even when they'd been young, and pointing and laughing at the abandoned half-breed boy had been the other children's idea of a good time.

  So if Hannah didn't seem to have a problem with his Comanche blood, what was keeping him from doing what his body so desperately desired?

  Nothing, apparently. And if he still suffered a stab of guilt at that, he'd deal with it later.

  Grabbing her by the elbows, he yanked her forward until they were molded together from chest to thigh. The brim of her hat tipped back as he thrust his face close to hers, tilted his head to the right, and pressed his lips to hers.

  A low groan of pleasure and long-suppressed need rolled its way up his throat and he drew her even closer, until the stiff buds of her nipples rubbed against his chest and the hard ridge of his arousal pressed into her belly.

  If he never touched another woman in his life, the memory of this moment would be enough to carry him happily through to the hereafter. Her soft, feminine skin going warm beneath his callused fingertips as he gently cradled her cheeks in his hands. Her full, rosy lips moving beneath him, parting slightly to allow him entrance. Her light, delicious scent that reminded him of fresh, yellow lemons and seemed to linger on her skin and in her hair, even after a day of travel and two days in this outlaw-ridden town.

  He didn't know how she did it. He didn't know how she did anything. All he knew was that he loved everything about her and counted himself lucky for having known her all these years. For being here with her now.

  She was an angel come to earth, and he had no business touching her.

  Yet he couldn't seem to stop himself.

  Even as the thought crossed his mind to let her go, to walk away, his grip on her tightened. His hands swept down to the swell of her hips, then to her buttocks, where his fingers dug into the soft flesh and rocked her against his straining manhood.

  Walker alternated between gently biting and sucking at her luscious mouth and tangling his tongue with her own.

  The hat fell off her head completely
and bounced to the ground as he brought one hand up to stroke her hair. It fell through his parted fingers like sand and made him think of how beautiful she would be stretched out on a feather bed, those honey-blond tresses spread out behind her.

  He might be half-Indian, but he was half-white, too. And as comfortable as he'd always been sleeping in a tipi on a pile of furs while visiting his mother's village, he wanted Hannah in a bed. A big, soft bed with enough room to roll over and over and then stretch full-out afterward.

  After making love with Hannah.

  Holy hell! The thought nearly brought him to his knees, even as he tilted back her head for better access and slipped his hand down to cup her breast through the thin fabric of the plaid shirt.

  Her nipples were pebbled with desire and pressed into his palm. He could feel the moan that purred in her throat in his own lips, and her hands had somehow drifted down his chest, curling in the loose buckskin material at his hips.

  There was no feather bed in sight, not even a room where they could go for privacy. And yet, if they didn't cease soon, he would make love to her. Here, on the ground, against the side of the building. He didn't care, not anymore. He only wanted. Needed. Knew he would die without her.

  Slowing their kisses, drawing back little by little, he finally lifted his head. They both gasped for breath, struggled to fill their lungs with much-needed air.

  But they didn't let go of one another. Their bodies were still molded together, hands flitting over firm muscles and cushiony flesh, exploring.

  "Hannah, notsa?ka?” he said, his chest heaving. “Before this goes any further, I need to know . . . Are you sure?"

  He brushed a strand of silky hair behind her ear, letting his thumb slide leisurely over the gentle curve of her cheek. “Because if you're not, “I'll stop. I swear I will."

  He would probably have to soak in the horse trough for a week, but he would cut off his own hands—and more—before he'd ever raise a single hand to this beautiful woman against her will.

  Hannah's tongue darted out to wet her lips from one corner to the other, and Walker nearly moaned aloud. His pulse pounded in his ears, his erection straining painfully behind the tanned placket of his trousers.