by Heidi Betts
"What others think is more important than us being together? Is that what you're saying, David?” She understood, she really did, even as she wanted to grab him by the ears and shake some sense into him.
"You don't know what it's like to be young and tormented because you're different. Because you're an Indian.” Releasing his grip on her arms, he took a step back, a grave look on his face. “I won't do that to you, Hannah, and I won't do that to an innocent child."
"What if it's already done?” she asked quietly. “What if we've already made a baby? We've certainly been together often enough for it to be a possibility. If a child is already on the way, he or she will be part Indian. Everything you've said could very well happen. Will you make that child a bastard as well?"
The tick in his jaw jumped again. “Are you pregnant, Hannah?” he ground out. “Do you know for sure?"
"I don't know. It's too soon to even suspect. But what will you do if I am?"
"If you're pregnant, I'll marry you,” he said, as though it was a death sentence.
The fight went out of her suddenly, along with the vehemence in her voice. Her crossed arms fell limply to her sides and she walked past him, continuing toward her cabin. “Don't bother. I don't want you to marry me because I'm in a family way. I want you to marry me because you can't imagine your life without me."
He caught up with her, tugging at her elbow. “But if there's a child. . ."
"Let me make this easy for you, David,” she said, both tired and sad. “Even if it does turn out that I'm to have a baby, I won't marry you. Not if you ask, not if you beg, not if you abduct me and take me across the border into Mexico. Go back to your village, David. I wish you and your sister well. Tell Little Bear I'll miss him."
And then she shook off his touch and started away before he saw the tears that streaked her face or heard the wrenching misery in her sobs.
"Son of a bitch.” Walker swore twice in every language he knew. And then he started all over again.
He'd really bungled this, hadn't he? And now, in addition to hurting Hannah a hundred times worse than he'd intended, there was the possibility of an impending child to worry about.
Deep down in his gut, he hoped Hannah was pregnant. He wanted all of the things she'd spoken of—love, marriage, children, happily ever after. He wanted everything, and he wanted it with her.
The thought of making a baby with her—a tiny little girl with golden hair and robin's egg blue eyes, or a little boy with . . . with black hair and sun-bronzed skin. . .
He pressed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets, trying to obliterate the heart-wrenching yearning that image brought to life. He wanted it, more than he cared to admit. Even if their children all turned out to have dark hair and eyes and red skin. Even if their next twenty years together were miserable because people treated them like outcasts.
But wanting it didn't make it right. Wanting it didn't justify putting her or their children through the kind of torture he'd endured all his life. And regardless of her claims of being willing to put up with whatever hard times might come, she didn't realize just how hard those times could be. How could he tell her he loved her and then consign her to that kind of misery?
With a sigh of resignation, he started after Hannah, keeping well behind her and out of sight. He wouldn't approach her again; there was no sense continuing an argument with no apparent solution. But he did plan to see that she got home all right.
Keeping his distance, he followed silently, waiting until she'd reached her cabin and closed herself safely inside. The dim light of a lantern spilled through the small front windows, and he leaned a shoulder against the rough bark of a tall pine, straining for a last glimpse of Hannah before he had to leave.
And he did have to leave. He couldn't stay in Purgatory, where he would be within spitting distance of the woman he loved and still have to stay away from her. Going back to the Comanche village, at least for a while, was the intelligent thing to do. It would give him time to think without the temptation of sneaking off at all hours of the night to crawl into bed with Hannah.
His parents would keep an eye on her for him, though. If it turned out she was expecting a baby, he would come back. He would see that she and the child were taken care of, no matter what.
The yellow glow inside the cabin flickered a moment before all went dark. Pushing himself away from the wide tree, he straightened and steeled himself for the weeks to come.
"I do love you, Hannah,” he whispered into the black night. And he would miss her, more than his own life. “Be happy, notsa?ka?."
Chapter Twenty-eight
Hannah stood at the back of the one-room schoolhouse while two of the older students worked through a complicated division problem at the blackboard and the younger children practiced writing their letters at their desks.
She'd done what she considered a remarkable job of hiding the fact that she was abjectly miserable every minute of every day. She was down to only crying into her pillow in the wee hours of the night, when biting the inside of her lip or pinching the flesh of her outer thigh until it was bruised to keep the tears at bay no longer worked. Whenever anyone asked, she blamed the lavender circles under her eyes on staying awake far too late grading papers.
After the first week of startling at the smallest sound, praying it might be David or searching the distance hoping for some sign of him, she'd given up on his ever returning to Purgatory. He was gone and she was alone, and she would just have to come to terms with that, however agonizing the thought might be.
She had loved him since she was a girl and lived twenty-odd years without him. She supposed she could survive the next twenty with-out him, too.
Of course, now she knew more about him than when they'd been children. She knew what it felt like to be held in his arms. Knew he loved her, too—or at least claimed to, though he didn't seem willing to put his words to the test.
So the next few decades would be harder to pass than the first . . . she would still be all right. She would simply learn to smile as though her heart wasn't cracked in two, and replace her desolation with false happiness.
She rubbed her fingertips on either side of her head, over the throb of a headache that was brewing beneath her temples. One of the students at the blackboard called her name and she looked up, forcing her attention to the mathematical equation she'd given them to decipher.
While she concentrated on mentally putting the numbers in their proper order and following the line of her pupils’ thinking, muffled noises from outside drifted into the schoolroom.
Hannah ignored them, used to the sounds of Purgatory during the day. The children were, too, but for some reason they had been distracted today. One at a time, they turned toward the back of the building, craning their necks as though they could see through the wall and closed double doors.
"Children, pay attention,” she scolded, approving the two older boys’ work at the blackboard with a smile before sending them back to their seats.
"What is that sound, Miss Blake?” one of the girls asked, still straining toward the back of the classroom, even though she'd been told to straighten up.
"I don't know, but I'm sure it's nothing you need to be concerned about."
Smoothing the back of her gray woolen skirt, she sat down at her wide, neatly organized desk at the front of the classroom. “Let's get back to our lessons,” she said. “Penelope, would you like to be the first to read your report on George Washington?"
Penelope stood, paper in hand, but before she could make her way to the front of the room to speak, Olivia Walker darted out of her chair and raced to the doors, opening them a crack to peek out.
"Olivia, get back to your seat,” Hannah ordered sternly, rising to her feet.
"Miss Blake, I think you should see this."
Rounding her desk, she started down the middle aisle between rows of desks, ready to twist Olivia's ear if necessary to get her back in her chair. “Penelope is about to read h
er report, Olivia, and I would appreciate it if you would show her the courtesy of sitting still until she's finished."
"But. . .” The girl glanced over her shoulder, her brows knit in a cross between concern at being in trouble with her teacher and an overwhelming curiosity at what was outside the schoolhouse doors. “I really think you should come and see this, Miss Blake."
At the plaintive whine of Olivia's voice, the entire class jumped up and raced to the back of the room. Hannah knew she had little chance of getting her students settled again until she found out what was so thoroughly distracting them.
Olivia Walker yanked the door open as Hannah approached. The hot afternoon sun beat down on her as she stood on the top step leading out of the schoolhouse, so bright she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare. Behind her, she felt the children brushing past her and barreling down the stairs.
She opened her mouth to call them back, to assign some harsh punishment for their extraordinary disobedience. And then she noticed what had them in such an uproar. Several yards away, a mob of people was gathered, headed for the school and closing in fast.
At first Hannah thought something was wrong . . . or even that they might be coming for her. What if they'd found out about her time with David? About her—the unmarried, supposed-to-be-beyond-reproach schoolteacher—being alone and intimate with the son of the local sheriff in the outlaw town of Hell?
After a moment, however, she realized no one in the large crowd seemed angry. In fact, they were all smiling rather broadly as the students danced and jumped around, looking for their parents. She saw Clay and Regan Walker, Wade and Callie Mason, old Fergus McGee and his wife Nelda, the couple who owned the local hotel, and a number of other folks she recognized.
And if they were smiling, they couldn't be coming to fire her. Could they?
As they drew closer, Hannah's pulse picked up a burst of speed and then trickled off to a sap-slow gurgle.
David was at the front of the crowd, leading the swarming mass. The corners of his mouth lifted in a grin when he spotted her. But Hannah's mind had shut down completely because she couldn't think of a single reason for him to be back in Purgatory, let alone bearing down on her with a parade of townspeople trailing behind him.
Her nails dug into the rough, painted wood of the railing as they marched forward. She felt frozen in place, but if she'd been able to move, she thought she might have run back inside to hide under her desk.
The better part of the crowd halted several feet from the door of the schoolhouse, but David kept coming. Resting one hand on the end of the banister and a booted foot on the bottom step, he stood below her and tilted his head back, smiling.
"Hi there,” he said softly.
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself, trying not to notice how the midday sun turned his glossy black hair midnight blue and glinted off the bronze of his skin. Though it had been only a few weeks since she'd last seen him, she'd forgotten how fathomless his chocolate brown eyes could be, how the twitch of his lips could send shivers down her spine.
She was still angry with him, darn it. Not because he'd taken his sister back to the Co-manche village and stayed there longer than necessary, or even because he'd admitted he loved her and walked away. She was angry with him for not being willing to stay with her, fight for her—fight with her—when she was more than willing to fight for him.
She cleared her throat, praying her voice wouldn't break when she tried to speak. “What are you doing here, David?"
"Well, I've done some thinking."
She quirked a brow and then ran her glance over the throng of onlookers, eagerly doing their best to eavesdrop, though they were polite enough to hang back a bit.
"What are all these people doing here?” she hissed, feeling awkward and on display.
Twisting around, he threw a look over his shoulder. “I'll get to them in a minute,” he said, returning his attention to her. “I took Bright Eyes and the kids back to the village, and then I stayed there a while. Like I said, to think."
"I hope it wasn't too painful for you,” she replied dryly.
He studied her for a minute before chuckling. “I'm getting better at it,” he told her with a wink. “Although I wasn't getting far on my own until Pa showed up."
"Your father followed you to the Comanche village? Why?"
"I think Ma might have put him up to it, actually, but he came out to make sure I didn't do anything stupid.” He lowered his gaze to the ground for a second before bringing it back up to hers. “Like leaving you."
Her heart stuttered in her breast.
"He told me some things about his relationship with Ma when they first met. And he gave me a few facts about women."
Crossing her arms over her chest, she considered him. She wasn't sure what to think of his story and hoped the doubt she felt didn't show in front of all these people.
"One thing he made pretty clear was that if I made you angry and then took off, you'd probably never forgive me.” He bowed his head sheepishly. “I'm kind of hoping I didn't stay away so long that you hate me completely.” He raised his head again, any sign of teasing gone from his eyes. “Did I?"
"I don't hate you, David,” she answered softly. It was the truth. She didn't hate him at all; she loved him. But at the same time, she wasn't sure she could handle the pain of his leaving again.
"Good! That will make this much easier.” He slapped his hand down hard on the flat portion of the railing and then took the stairs two at a time until he was only one step below her. With the difference in their heights, he was almost at eye level with her.
Hannah's breathing turned shallow as her gaze met his. He was too close. She could smell the musky scent of his skin and feel the heat emanating from his wide, well-muscled body.
Arms behind his back, he leaned forward on the soles of his boots and pressed his lips near her ear. “Marry me,” he whispered.
She jerked back as though she'd been burned. “What?"
"Many me,” he said again, looking her straight in the eye, “David.” She forced his name past a throat clogged with emotion. “I'm not . . . There's no baby, if that's what you're worried about,” she told him, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard by the horde of people still milling around the school yard.
He inhaled deeply and then nodded. “Good,” he said again. “Don't get me wrong; I'd be happy if there were a child. Ecstatic. But if it's all the same to you, I'd rather any children we have are conceived after we're hitched. That way, you'll never have cause to doubt why I married you. You'll know it's because I love you, and for no other reason."
Hannah opened her mouth, not the least bit sure of what she intended to say, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her down the steps to the ground where everyone else waited.
With his arm at her waist he said, “You told me once that the people of Purgatory didn't think of me as a half-breed. And you must be right, because when I asked them to help me out this morning, every single one of them was eager to oblige."
Taking her hand, he started to lead her through the crowd, pausing in front of each person as he seemed to tick them off a mental list. “Father Ignacio will perform the ceremony at the church, of course. Mrs. Smith will open the Eat “Em Up Cafe afterward and has generously offered to prepare a meal for all our guests. Which, by the way, will be the entire town.
"I hope you don't mind,” he added as an aside, moving on to the next person, “but when word got out that I planned to propose, everyone wanted to be involved. And everyone wanted to be there—there for the wedding and here for the proposal."
Hannah shook her head, not sure she was absorbing anything at the moment. She wasn't even sure she was awake. David's words and the crowd around her made her feel as though she might still be asleep in her bed and merely dreaming.
"Mr. and Mrs. Potter are gifting us with their best room at the hotel for our honeymoon night. Unless you'd like to spend it somewhere else. It's completely up
to you, notsa?ka?. And Mr. McGee at the general store has a case of rings in his safe for you to look at. I want you to pick whichever one you like."
He let go of her hand and took a step back. Facing her, he stood with his arms loose at his sides, looking more earnest than she'd ever seen him.
"I've thought about everything you said, Hannah, and you were absolutely right. I'm not saying there won't be problems. That there won't be times when people look at us differently because you're white and I'm part Indian, or call our children names—especially if we leave Purgatory. But we're safe here. These people are our friends."
Her eyes were already brimming, her lungs struggling to take in air. But his next words sent her completely over the edge.
"I love you, Hannah. Whatever comes, I know we can handle it. Together. I can handle it, with you at my side. All you have to do is say yes."
His voice softened and he got down on one knee in the grass in front of her, taking her now quivering hand in his own. “Nu? kamakuru mui, notsa?ka?. Will you marry me?"
For several long seconds, she watched him. His strong jaw and soft lips, the love and sincerity in his eyes. She looked around her, at all of the townspeople and all of her students awaiting her answer right along with David. His mother was bouncing on the balls of her feet, her high cheekbones flushed with expectation.
Hannah gave a watery laugh, returning her attention to the still kneeling David. “If I say no, these folks are likely to string me up from the nearest tree."
"Don't say no.” His already strong grip on her fingers tightened. “Unless you don't love me, after all, or can't forgive me for leaving you the way I did. But . . . for God's sake, forgive me, Hannah, and say you'll marry me. These folks will string me up if you don't."