by Heidi Betts
And all the while, her mind raced. It catapulted from wanting to shake David until his teeth rattled to being heartsick over his feelings of not fitting in.
She had a bit of experience with not fitting in herself. She'd been somewhat of an outcast as a child, having grown up in the Purgatory Home for Adoptive Children. She knew what it was like to be teased at school for not having any parents. And later, as a schoolteacher, she'd had to deal with a handful of children picking on others because they were taller, skinnier, shorter, fatter, poorer, walked with a limp, spoke with a lisp, or had hair just a shade lighter or darker than was fashionable.
Struggling with that sort of teasing as a child was bad enough; she couldn't imagine what it must be like to deal with it on a daily basis even into adulthood, as David did. To feel that no matter where you went, someone was staring at you, judging you, thinking less of you without bothering to say so much as hello. And for no better reason than because his hair was a bit straighter and longer than others’ or because his skin was more sun-kissed. It was ridiculous, and yet she knew it to be a prejudice that permeated more than David's small world; it seeped through the entire continent and possibly beyond.
But when Hannah had left Purgatory to attend school, she'd learned that if she acted like an outsider, people treated her as one. In direct contrast, if she acted as though she fit in, then she soon did.
She couldn't help but think the same rationale could work for David. If he looked at everyone as though they were censuring him, then chances were they would. But if he put aside his own apprehensions about his heritage, perhaps others would, too. There was no guarantee, of course, but she planned to put her theory to the test as soon as David returned to the cabin.
She wiped the back of one arm over her sweating brow, taking a much-needed break from scouring the floor to catch her breath.
And he'd best return soon—of his own volition—or she would march off after him and drag him back by his ear.
Walker made his way back to Hannah's cabin early the following morning and felt for all the world like a flea-bitten mongrel returning home with its tail tucked tightly between its legs—as though he knew he deserved a scolding for running away. Which didn't explain one whit the rapidly increased beat of his heart at the prospect of seeing her again.
He was torn between knowing he should keep his distance and not ever show his face near her house again . . . and wanting to curl up under the covers of her bed, wrap his arms about her waist, and never move so much as a muscle from that position.
When he'd arrived home last evening, with Bright Eyes, Little Bear, and the newest addition in tow, his mother had practically squeezed the life out of him, she was so happy to have him home. She'd been more than willing to welcome his Comanche sister and her children as well, and had insisted he spend the night in his old room before racing off again for—as she put it—God knows how long.
He'd been surprised by how nice it felt to be home again and hadn't argued. There wasn't much he argued about with Regan, anyway. He rarely won such battles.
And he could hardly tell his parents that the only reason he very much wanted to sleep elsewhere was because he had an invitation to return to Hannah's place. She hadn't invited him into her bed, exactly, but he was optimistic enough to believe that if he returned as she'd commanded, before long he'd be able to woo her in that direction.
Now, he wasn't so sure. For one thing, it was daylight. Not that anything so immaterial would deter him from making love to Hannah if he got half the chance. He was more concerned, though, with how she would respond to his arrival after staying away through the night, and what she planned to say when they sat down for the conversation she'd promised.
The idea of having a talk with Hannah disconcerted him more even than the idea of walking down the main street of Purgatory with her on his arm. Maybe because any time his mother or father had sat him down for a talk as a boy, he ultimately ended up going to bed without supper or doubling up on his chores because of some childish prank he'd gotten caught at.
Only this was much worse. This was a grown-up discussion about issues much more dire than putting a grass snake down his little sister's bloomers.
Dragging his feet the last several yards, he finally reached the front of Hannah's cabin and knocked lightly on the door. It opened almost immediately, and a smiling Hannah greeted him.
She wore a long, smoky blue skirt and a simple white shirtwaist today, with a lighter blue cameo broach pinned at her throat. Her glorious honey tresses were pulled up in a loose twist atop her head, held in place by two large silver combs. Loose strands fell about her face, softening the arrangement and making Walker want to reach out and run his fingers through what was surely straw spun into gold.
He swallowed hard, curling his fingers into his palms and forcing himself to remain perfectly still for fear he'd do something crazy like sweep her into his arms and declare his undying love.
"Good morning,” she said brightly. “Would you like to come in?"
For the life of him, he couldn't get a single word to pass his lips. He felt no better than the town idiot, standing there with a blank look on his face, shuffling his feet in the dirt.
"All right, then, why don't we go.” Leaning to the side of the open doorway, she picked up a straw-woven bonnet with a wide blue ribbon in much better shape than the one she'd worn on the trip from Hell yesterday. She placed it on her head, pinned it in place, then stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
The sides of her mouth turned up cheerfully and she linked her arm with his. “I'm glad you came by so early. This will be fun."
Finally getting his tongue to function, his voice only cracked once as he asked, “What will?"
"Our trip into town. I know you don't really want to go,” she added, gazing up at him with an expectant, almost imploring look in her eyes, “but I think you need to, and I appreciate you indulging me just this once."
If she only knew, Walker thought. If she only knew that deciding to grant her requests wasn't even an option anymore. He could no more deny her than he could change the color of his skin or stop his lungs from needing air. If she asked him to climb the highest mountain, swim the deepest sea, turn the sky green and the grass blue . . . whatever she asked of him, he would do his utmost to fulfill her slightest desire.
He knew now how his father felt about his mother. As a child, he'd often thought Clay's affection for Regan too lavish. Later, he'd understood it better but still hadn't comprehended how a man could turn soft at no more than a woman's smile, why a man would set aside his masculine pride and his own inclinations to please a woman. Now, he more than understood; he found himself suffering under the exact same spell.
It was embarrassing. It was frightening. It was frustrating as hell.
"And what is it you hope to accomplish by parading me down the middle of Purgatory?” His words were edged with a touch of disdain. Not for her, but for himself. To give him courage and remind him not to let this blond-haired, blue-eyed sprite of a woman wrap him entirely around her little finger.
"I want to see how the townspeople react to you. If you're right and they treat you badly simply because you're part Indian, then I'll apologize profusely for ever doubting you."
She raised her face to his, seemingly waiting for some form of acquiescence or agreement. When he refused to respond, she continued.
"But if they treat you well, like just another friendly face or the son of the local sheriff, then I want you to stop acting like a pariah, expecting people to turn you away before they make a move to actually do so. Does that sound acceptable?"
Her skirts brushed rhythmically against his pants leg as they walked, and he fought valiantly to ignore the soft, lulling sensation they created.
"I think you're going to be sorely disappointed, Hannah,” he answered finally. Carefully, because he knew for a fact now that this demure, diminutive woman had a streak of temper running through her that could ignite at t
he drop of a hat.
But he'd purposely dressed in a fresh set of clothes this morning that looked much like the ones he'd worn the entire time they'd been in Hell—buckskin trousers and a long, fringed leather shirt. He couldn't look more Indian if he'd donned a loincloth and moccasins and tied feathers in his hair.
By doing so, he honestly didn't know if he was daring the townspeople to shun him, or simply making the statement that he was a half-breed and had no intention of hiding that fact, regardless of their opinion.
"You're being negative again, David. Stop that. You have as much right to be here—and I mean here on this earth, in this state, in this town—as anyone else. Maybe even more. You were born not far from Purgatory. Your real father lived here until the time of his death. Your Comanche mother's family has lived on this land, not far outside of town, for more years than probably either of us can count. You grew up here, even if it was in the orphanage, and were adopted by two of Purgatory's most prominent citizens. The Walkers have always treated you like their very own, and your father is the town sheriff. He wouldn't put up with people treating you badly, no matter who they were."
He looked down at her with wide eyes, surprised by her vehemence. “You've really thought this through, haven't you?” he said slowly.
"Yes, I have,” she answered with a proud tilt of her chin.
The early morning sun danced on her shoulders and over the lower portion of her face as she glanced up at him. Once again, he was struck by how beautiful she was, with her pert nose and gentle features, her bright blue eyes and full, generous lips.
Lips made for kissing—something he knew to be absolutely, 100 percent factual. He wanted to kiss her now, except he was afraid it would lead to more than that . . . and they would end up rolling around on the ground, dirtying her pretty blue skirt and mussing up her carefully coifed hair.
Still, it was a notion well worth considering. And it took him a good two minutes to firmly decide against it.
By that time—thank Ta?ahpu—they'd reached town. They came in at the far end, rounding the backs of a few stray buildings. The livery, for one, and a new office where a highfalutin’ dentist from St. Louis, Missouri, had set up his practice.
Walker took a deep breath, his grip tightening reflexively on Hannah's arm where it looped through his own. “All right,” he said, steeling himself for what was to come, “where do you want to start?"
"How about the mercantile?"
He quirked a brow. “You don't believe in starting small, do you?"
Grinning up at him, her lips curled and she responded with a word she would probably never let her students use. “Nope."
Chapter Twenty-two
They stepped up on the boardwalk where the wooden promenade began in front of the half-constructed dentist's office and made their way toward the general store. As they passed the post office, a woman stepped out. She hardly glanced at them before turning the other way, but then she stopped, turned back, and gave them a wide-eyed once-over.
"Well, I'll be. Folks have been wondering where you got yourself off to."
Hannah smiled politely. “I was sorry to leave so suddenly without letting anyone know where I was going, but an acquaintance of mine in Heaven took ill, and I wanted to see that she was properly cared for. I hope my absence didn't cause too much trouble for the students."
"No, no, not at all,” the buxom woman assured her, the long slope of her mud brown bonnet bobbing up and down as she spoke. “We understand. And the children were certainly happy to play in the sun for a couple of weeks instead of being trapped inside that schoolhouse all day."
"Well, classes will start again on Monday. I hope you'll pass the word along to everyone you see."
"I sure will,” she promised.
And then the woman's hawk like gaze settled on Walker. “David Walker, if you aren't a sight for sore eyes. Every time I see your father, I ask after you. He always says you're fine as far as he knows but spend too much time gallivanting about and not stopping back home often enough to keep your mother from fretting. You should think about sticking around for a while. Your mama would appreciate that."
Feeling like he'd just been poleaxed, Walker inclined his head. Hannah nudged him in the ribs with her elbow and he mumbled a quick, “I'll try, ma'am."
"There's one more thing,” the woman put in after a moment of consideration. She spared a quick glance at Hannah before focusing once again on him. “My youngest, Melissa, is supposed to write a paper about how the Indian tribes of Texas hunt and gather food, and how they build their little tents."
"Tipis,” Hannah corrected her.
"Yes, yes, tipis. The paper is for one of Miss Blake's lessons,” she added, casting a brief glance in Hannah's direction, “and as you can see, I know very little about that sort of thing. Neither does her pa. I thought maybe you'd be willing to talk with Melissa and answer some of her questions. We'd be mighty grateful, and I'd be more than happy to bring her by your parents’ house whenever it's convenient for you."
Walker turned to Hannah, his mouth hanging open slightly as he gaped. He wanted to ask if she'd set this up. If she'd cornered Melissa's mother—he couldn't remember the woman's name, though he'd seen her in town before on several occasions—and asked her to be extra nice to him just to prove her point.
But if she hadn't—and he didn't know when she could have managed it, unless she'd gone out after he'd left her cabin yesterday—he didn't want to embarrass her in public or make a fool of himself by overreacting to such a simple request.
"That, um . . . that would be fine,” he choked out. And then, unable to withstand any more shocks, he tipped his head to the woman, stepping around her with Hannah in tow. “It was nice to see you again. Bring your daughter by whenever you like; I'd be happy to help her with that essay."
"Bye-bye!” she called after them, waving frantically.
Walker quickly averted his gaze and stalked down the sidewalk. “What the hell was that all about?” he growled in Hannah's ear. “Did you concoct that little meeting on purpose, just to show me how wrong I've been about the people of Purgatory?"
He kept stomping, belatedly realizing Hannah was no longer at his side. When he turned to see what held her up, he found her glaring at him through eyes the color of an icy blue glacier.
"Is that what you think?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest as he retraced his steps. “Do you really think I would stage something like that just to win an argument?"
All the irritation seeped out of him on a worn-out sigh. No, he didn't. Hannah didn't have a devious bone in her body, and he knew it. She also wanted desperately for her convictions to be proven correct. Not simply to be right, but to show him that the people of Purgatory didn't look down on him for being a half-breed. She wanted him to realize that they accepted him as part of their community.
"I'm sorry. I overreacted. That woman—"
"Mrs. Forrester."
Walker snapped his fingers. “That's it! Mrs. Forrester. For the life of me, I couldn't remember her name."
His declaration brought a hint of a smile to Hannah's lips.
"Anyway, I haven't seen Mrs. Forrester for months, and all of that. . .” He waved a hand, not knowing quite how to describe the conversation that had taken place. “Came as a bit of a surprise."
"Good,” she said, tucking her hand back into the crook of his arm. “I hope a lot of things surprise you today."
They started back down the street, nodding to folks as they passed. Walker paid particular attention to how people looked at him, the expression in their eyes when they saw him, how they greeted him, and how they reacted when they saw Hannah on his arm. To his astonishment, no one seemed to be frowning over the company Hannah kept. No one sneered at him or mumbled insults beneath their breath about his heritage or upbringing.
Could Hannah have been right? Could a few negative childhood experiences and his own defensiveness about his Comanche blood have so prejudiced his cur
rent point of view?
Worse, if he treated people badly because he expected them to do the same to him . . . and if they weren't treating him badly . . . didn't that make him the same sort of person he'd always claimed to despise?
That thought didn't set well at all.
"So whose idea was it to assign a paper on Indian hunting methods?” he asked as they stopped to check for passing wagons before crossing the street.
An attractive blush rose to her cheeks as she turned away self-consciously. “Mine, of course. I've been making the students do short essays on that sort of thing for years now. There's a Comanche village not far from town. They should know how their neighbors live, even if they've never met them."
A wide grin spread across his face, because he knew that wasn't even half the story. She was forever defending him, defending his people, even if she didn't know a single one of them.
"Don't look so cocky,” she castigated him haughtily, finally meeting his eyes. “I've also assigned reports on the Pilgrims, the Civil War, and the Texas Rangers. Your father inspired that last one, since he used to be a Ranger himself."
"Uh-huh.” He was still smiling as he opened the door to the general store, ushering her in ahead of him. The overhead bell tinkled, announcing their arrival to the store's proprietor.
"Be right there,” a muffled voice called out, and a few seconds later old Fergus McGee waddled out from a back room and up to the counter.
"Can I help ya?” he asked, squinting from behind his round spectacles and licking his lips around the pink flesh of his toothless gums.
"Morning, Mr. McGee. It's Hannah Blake.” She had to shout to be heard, but the moment she announced herself, the hunched-over old man beamed.
"Hannah! Good to see you, gal."
Judging by the thickness of the lenses perched on the fellow's nose, Walker seriously doubted that.
"What can I do you for today?” he wanted to know.