The Savage

by Nicole Jordan

  His dark eyes narrowed in suspicion at her soft tone. “I only came back here because Peace left me his livery.”

  She nodded as if she understood. “I was sorry about Mr. Peace. He was a good man.”

  “A lot of good men died in the war.”

  “I know. My brothers…”

  Her green eyes suddenly shimmered with tears, and Lance felt his gut tighten. There was nothing feigned about her anguish, the way her lower lip trembled. He could have kicked himself; he had no call to be so cruel, reminding her of her loss—even if cruelty was his best defense against her.

  “I was sorry to hear about your brothers,” he said gruffly, grudgingly.

  “Thank you.” She swallowed with effort and forced a tremulous little smile that pierced his heart like an arrow. “I’m glad Mr. Peace left you his livery stable.”

  “You’re the only one, then.” His mouth twisted in that bitter way of his—half-sardonic, half-defiant. “Came as a shock to the good citizens of Round Rock to have to consider me one of their own. A savage and a Union sympathizer.”

  She wished he wouldn’t be so hard on himself, or on the people around him. Hurting for him, she raised her hand to touch his denim-covered thigh in mute appeal. He flinched visibly, and made his horse sidle away from her, out of reach.

  “Lance…I…I wanted to ask you—”

  “The answer is no.”

  “Please, won’t you just listen to what I have to say?”

  He averted his gaze, looking down the road, impatient to leave. He’d be a damned fool to get involved with her again, to leave himself open to the kind of hurt he’d suffered five years ago. He’d lied to himself about why he’d come here today. He’d told himself he was simply curious to see Summer after all this time, that he only wanted to hear her ask him for a favor, to have her admit that she needed him. But he was wrong. Dead wrong. He still wanted her as much as ever, damn her. If he could just keep away from her, though, he’d manage all right. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m not interested.”

  “But I need your help in finding my sister.”

  “Get somebody else.”

  “I have no one else to ask.”

  “Sure you do, princess. I’ll bet any one of your countless beaux would be glad to help.”

  She smiled sadly. “I think you overestimate my appeal. I don’t have that many beaux any longer. As you said, a lot of men died in the war.”

  “It’s not my problem.”

  “I know, but I thought perhaps…I have no one else to ask,” she repeated quietly. “There’s no army to call on. The Confederate troops have been disbanded.... All the frontier forts are nearly deserted.”

  His grim silence didn’t hearten her. Summer took a deep breath and continued doggedly. “Able-bodied men are scarce, and ones who could go—You heard what they were saying. They don’t want to leave their homes after just returning. They don’t want to leave their families unprotected, either, with all the lawlessness in Texas just now. In any case, no one is eager to help Reed because he fought for the Union. Some consider him a traitor. He did what he thought was right, but he’s paying for it now.”

  “I have my own life to live, too,” Lance said grimly. “Or maybe you hadn’t thought of that. I’m trying to make a fresh start, get my business on firm footing. I’m no different from anybody else, even if I’m not white.”

  She bit her lip, not answering. Lance tilted his hat back restlessly, avoiding her gaze.

  She tried again, as he feared she would. “We can’t do it alone, Lance. Reed is crippled. He couldn’t make such a long journey easily. I’m not sure he could find Amelia, even if he were whole again.”

  “I might not be able to find her, either. Indian territory covers a lot of ground.”

  “You would stand a better chance than anyone else.”

  His mouth tightened rebelliously. “You’re asking me to risk my life for a woman who wouldn’t give me spit.”

  “I…I’m asking you to do it for me.”

  He glanced down at her upturned face then, and wished he hadn’t. The pleading look on her beautiful face was almost more than he could stand. But he’d seen that look before when she wanted something from a man. He’d seen her turn those luminous green eyes on some poor helpless fool and near lure his soul from his body.

  “What about her husband?” he asked finally. “Wasn’t your sister married?” He saw the eager hope that sprang to Summer’s eyes at his question and wished he had kept his mouth shut. He shouldn’t encourage her. He didn’t want to get tangled up with her and her problems, devil take her.

  “She was, to a farmer, but Amelia is a widow now. Her husband died two years ago of the grippe. She wanted to return home to Sky Valley, but she stayed on with his family because they needed her. She could have come home…where it was safe.”

  Hearing the quaver in her voice, Lance set his jaw, grimly fighting the sympathy for her that was trying to build inside him. He shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t make one bit of difference to him if Summer Weston was in trouble way over her beautiful head. He ought to be able to steel himself against the fierce longing she still had the power to arouse in him. If he was smart, he would get the hell out of there, right now, before she could say another word.

  He didn’t move.

  “She’s my sister, Lance. She practically raised me after my mother died. Perhaps you don’t understand since you don’t have a sister of your own, but—”

  “I have a sister.” At her quizzical frown, his mouth curled at the corner. “Nobody you would acknowledge, princess. She’s a full-blood Comanche.”

  “Oh.”

  Summer lowered her gaze, feeling singed by the look of scorn in his eyes. Fumbling in the pocket of her skirt, she drew out a folded letter, dog-eared and worn by countless readings. “This came yesterday by stage.... The attack happened last week, north of Fort Belknap. Amelia was visiting neighbors. A raiding party struck the farm.”

  She offered him the letter, but he wouldn’t take it. Disappointed, she put it back in her pocket while she went on. “They killed two men and one of the women before burning the place. One of the children hid and saw what happened. They took Amelia and a child and went north; that’s all anyone knows. But the longer we delay, the less likely she’ll be found. And I can’t help thinking…about what she must be going through…the horrible things the Comanche do to their captives.”

  He knew about those things. He’d seen firsthand what his father’s people did to white captives. He knew what they’d done to his mother.

  But he also knew what he’d let Summer Weston do to him five years ago. Tie him up in knots and hang him out to dry. He sure as hell wasn’t going to fall for her practiced charms again. No way was he going to let her play her seductive little games with him.

  Deliberately he forced himself to meet her pleading gaze, making himself remember all the times he had seen the shallow charmer persuade some worshiping male to do her bidding. From the cradle she’d effortlessly ruled those around her, never giving a thought to anything save her own comfort and enjoyment. She wasn’t going to rule him like that again. She wasn’t going to use him and then cast him aside with his heart sliced to ribbons.

  “Like I said, princess. Find somebody else.”

  He nudged his horse forward, planning to ride away, but her soft little cry brought him up short. When he turned, he saw that she had raised one hand to her brow and was standing in the road, swaying like she was about to swoon.

  Lance cursed under his breath. He knew he was being played for a fool; Summer was no more about to faint than he was. She had reached into her bag of feminine wiles and pulled out the first trick that was likely to keep him from riding off. Well, by God, he would call her bluff! He would teach her she couldn’t manipulate him now the way she had so easily five years ago.

  Hauling back the reins, he threw one leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. In two strides he had reached her and bent dow
n to catch her legs behind the knees. Bracing his other hand behind her back, he swung her up in his arms, forcing her to clasp him around the neck to keep from falling.

  “Oh!”

  He ignored her startled exclamation and stalked across the road, plunging down the rocky embankment without breaking stride.

  “W-What are you doing?”

  “Why, nothin’, Miss Summer, ma’am. Just takin’ you down to the creek. Have to get some water for your temples, doncha know? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for faintin’ women?”

  His savage tone with its exaggerated drawl made a mockery of his chivalry.

  “You don’t have to do that.... Lance, I’m all right, honestly.”

  “Honest? You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word, princess.”

  “Lance, please…you’re frightening me.”

  “Good. Then maybe you’ll think twice before playing your damn tricks on me again.”

  He shoved his way past a thicket of redbud and wild plum bushes and reached the bank of the slow-moving creek, low after the hot summer months of little rain. It was cooler here, shaded from the sun by the tall cottonwoods and hickories that grew along the creek bottom.

  Without ceremony or much care for his burden, Lance bent a knee to the ground and roughly laid Summer on a bed of ferns. When she tried to sit up, he held her down with a firm hand on her shoulder and proceeded to unfasten the front buttons of her gown’s bodice, completely ignoring her shocked gasp.

  “Lance…? W-What…?”

  “Hush, princess, don’t try to talk. A woman in your condition has to save her breath.”

  Her fluttering hands were frantically trying to close the buttons that he’d just undone, but he pushed them aside as a mere nuisance and finished his task. Catching her right wrist in his grasp, he drew the bowie knife he kept strapped in a sheath at his waist.

  Her eyes widened in alarm.

  “We have to loosen this contraption, ma’am, so you can get some air.”

  Not waiting for her protest, he lowered the point of the knife to her waist and, with several quick upward slices, cut the laces of her corset.

  The sudden freedom from restriction made her rib cage expand, allowing air to rush into her lungs, yet it only had the effect of stealing away what little breath Summer had left.

  Frozen in fear, she could only stare up at him. Lance had guessed right; she’d only been pretending weakness before in order to gain his attention. But she truly felt faint now. Lance was leaning over her, his fierce black eyes boring into her, as if any moment he might lose whatever tenuous hold he had on his control, as if he might unleash his most violent primal instincts.

  Then his gaze dropped suddenly to her bosom.

  The soft white swells of her breasts, pushed up by the stiff buckram padding of her corset, practically spilled over the lace edge of her chemise, leaving her indecently exposed. Summer felt his hot gaze move over her like a burning brand, felt her nipples tighten in response. She wanted to cover herself, but she couldn’t move. Her lips parted as she tried to speak, but no sound came out.

  Just as suddenly, he let go of her wrist and sat back on his heels. “Goddammit to hell!” In a furious motion, he snatched his hat from his head and flung it away.

  Summer scrambled to sit up, to edge away from him, putting a safer distance between them.

  Seeing her frightened gesture, Lance expelled a harsh breath and ran a hand roughly through his black hair. What the hell had gotten into him? He never let himself lose control like that, never let his anger explode. He’d learned the hard way how vital it was to keep a rein on his temper. Control often meant the edge needed for survival, and yet he had turned his violence loose on a woman, on her. And God help him, it was just one more proof of Summer’s power over him.

  She was clutching the open edges of her bodice together, watching him with those tear-filled eyes, eyes edged with fear.

  Cursing himself, he looked away.

  “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said finally, his voice low, gruff.

  Her silence made him feel lower than dirt.

  Untying the red bandanna around his neck, Lance pushed himself to his feet and then side-slid down the creekbank. He dipped the cloth in the water, wrung it out, and climbed back up to her. Keeping his movements slow, he hunkered down before her.

  She was watching him warily with those big, green, shimmering eyes. Tentatively, awkwardly, he raised the damp cloth to her face, brushing it over the soft white skin of her cheek, wiping away the tears.

  It was torture being this close to her. Her lower lip trembled, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to kiss her mouth, and how much he hated himself for wanting to. He didn’t know how to handle all the feelings roiling inside him: lust, tenderness, regret, self-contempt, anger. What he felt most of all was anger, because she was still beautiful, damn her, and because he still wanted her.

  Even so, he knew he owed her an apology. “I’m sorry I got riled,” he muttered. “It’s just that…you and your damned female tricks. I don’t like being played for a fool.”

  She bit her lip in an obvious struggle for composure, which only had the unwanted effect of drawing his gaze to her mouth.

  He clenched his own jaw. “You weren’t really swooning, were you?”

  “No.” Summer lowered her gaze in shame. He had seen through her. She had tried to manipulate him, tried playing the same sort of calculating games she had been so good at as a girl, just as she had five years ago. She felt ashamed of herself—until she remembered Amelia.

  “I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to trick you. It’s just that I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve been so afraid…so helpless. I hate feeling this way.”

  Finishing with his task, Lance sat back, draping his forearms over his spread knees. He didn’t like feeling this way, either. He hated knowing all Summer had to do was look at him and he lost control. She still had the power to turn his insides to jelly. It scared him, how helpless he was against the emotion he’d thought long vanquished. He wouldn’t let her see the power she held over him, though.

  He looked away, watching the rippling creek water for a time, before finally saying in a low voice, “It’s a fool notion, thinking you can save your sister.”

  She swallowed. “Perhaps so, but I have to try. I can’t give up without at least trying.”

  He was silent for another long moment. “You can’t just waltz into Indian Territory. You’re liable to get your pretty scalp taken—or your body used to warm some warrior’s bed.”

  “I know…I couldn’t. But you might be able to.” She hesitated. “Couldn’t you, Lance?”

  He plucked at a fern, tearing off a leaf and shredding it between his fingers. “I don’t know. I guess I’d go to my father’s people first. There’s no way I could find your sister without their help.”

  “Would you try? Please? After Reed, Amelia is all the family I have left. Please…I won’t play any more games. I’m asking honestly for your help, begging you.”

  He hesitated so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

  “I might consider it,” he said finally. He turned his dark, brooding gaze on her. “On one condition.”

  Her heart leapt with elation. Eagerly Summer rose up on her knees. “Whatever you want, whatever it takes. I’ll give you anything I have.”

  “There’s only one thing you have that I might want.”

  “What is it? Money? We’re not rich, but we weren’t hurt as badly by the war as some. We could pay you.”

  He shook his head. “Not money. I have enough for my needs.”

  “Well, what, then? Land? The ranch is part mine. Papa left me and Amelia each a quarter of the valley, and Reed the rest. I’ll give you my share. It’s worth a lot.”

  Agreeing silently, Lance let his gaze drift upward, over the rolling horizon. Among the hills of Sky Valley lay plenty of prime grazing pasture, with abundant water from the countless springs, where
horses could grow sleek and swift and surefooted. He had dreamed of this land. Coveted it. Ached to have it.

  “I know. It’s good land. But that’s not what I want.”

  “What is it then?”

  He squinted off in the distance. “You, princess.”

  Her heart felt as if it had suddenly stopped beating. “Me?” The word was a breathless murmur of sound. “W-What do you mean?”

  “I want you. For my wife.” The corner of his mouth curved in a faint smile. “All legal-like. I wouldn’t want you to think I’d ask you to do something indecent.”

  Summer stared at him. His soft tone held such mockery that she didn’t think he could be serious. “You can’t mean it…”

  His expression hardened. “Oh, I mean it, all right. I want you to marry me before a preacher. That’s all I want. A wife that can help me become a respected member of the community.”

  Her silence clearly proclaimed her shock.

  He tossed the bit of fern away. “Course, I don’t expect you to like the idea, what with my Comanche blood and all. A bastard half-breed isn’t exactly what every fine lady wants for a husband.”

  He wouldn’t look at her, afraid to see the disgust he was sure would be written on her face, but he could feel her eyes searching his own face.

  “Is this…your way of getting revenge? Is this punishment for what I did to you all those years ago?”

  He winced, realizing how low she thought him. “What do you think?”

  “I…I don’t honestly know.”

  “It isn’t revenge, Summer,” he said quietly. “If you were my wife, I’d stand a chance of living down my past, my Comanche blood. You have standing, respectability, wealth, land, a place in the white world. All the things my mother never had.”

  “I…just can’t believe…You’re really serious? Do you know what you’re asking of me?”

  “Do you know what you’re asking of me?” He smiled coldly. “I’m good enough to do your hired jobs, risk my life for you, but I’m no one you’d want to associate with otherwise, is that it?”

  She heard the bitterness in his tone, but didn’t know how else to reply.