She opened her mouth as if she might argue, then hesitated. “I just wish…” But then she shrugged her slender shoulders. “I wish this would be over.”
She turned and let herself out of the corral, but Lance could have sworn he’d seen disappointment in her eyes because he’d turned her down. Reluctantly he watched her go, wishing she would see he was trying to be noble.
The past two days had been hell. He’d wake up thinking about her, hard and aching for her, but then he’d remember the circumstances. Seeing how the other passengers treated her—because of him—had awakened him from his fantasy of a peaceful future with Summer. Reality had come rushing back to punch him in the gut. He’d had time to see exactly what he’d done to Summer by forcing her to marry him. He’d turned her own kind on her.
It was an unwritten rule in her society. A white woman who willingly kept company with a half-breed was no better than a whore.
Worse, he would wind up repeating the past if he wasn’t careful. He’d been so damned anxious to consummate their marriage—because he’d wanted her so bad, and so her brother wouldn’t have grounds for an annulment—that he hadn’t spared a single thought to the future. He’d been thinking with his groin instead of his head—a common event where Summer was concerned.
He hadn’t considered the likelihood of making her pregnant. The whores he’d had carnal relations with knew how to use those little sponges soaked with brandy to keep a man’s seed from taking hold. But Summer was a lady. She didn’t know anything about stopping babies, or about keeping herself safe from a man like him. And he wasn’t sure he had willpower to control himself. If he ever got inside her, he didn’t know if he could pull out in time to keep from spilling his seed in her.
Summer wouldn’t want to have his kid, he was sure of it—and he wouldn’t want her to, either. Their child wouldn’t be a bastard like him, but it’d still be part Comanche. He didn’t want to do that to a poor helpless kid. Make it suffer like he had.
He didn’t want Summer to suffer because of him, either. Riding into Indian Territory to rescue a Comanche captive wasn’t the most dangerous thing he’d ever done, but it could get him killed. If he died, she would have to bear a mixed-blood child alone, and he knew from his mother’s bitter experience what hell that could be.
He couldn’t let that happen to Summer. By marrying her he had won the right to protect her—which meant protecting her from himself as well as from anything else that could cause her harm. No matter how much he wanted her, no matter how fierce this burning need to take her, he had to keep his hands off her.
God, he would be glad when they reached Belknap and he could turn Summer over to her sisters in-laws. Another day and a half and he would be removed from temptation. Surely he could keep away from her until then.
Until then he wouldn’t try to make love to her…not until he returned from Indian territory…If he returned. It would be the hardest thing he had ever done, but he owed her that much.
His noble vow lasted all of twelve hours. That night, at their last stage stop, Lance found Summer out back of the station, alone, crying quietly in the darkness.
His heart contracted in alarm at the sound of her soft sobs; his fists clenched in helpless rage as he remembered all the times his mother had cried to herself when she thought he was asleep.
“Summer?” he demanded sharply. “What’s wrong?”
She went rigid at his approach and hastily fumbled for her handkerchief. “Nothing…I’m f-fine.”
The bleak despair in her voice gave lie to her words. “You don’t sound fine to me.”
“I am…honestly. I was just…worried about my sister.”
Which was party true. Summer inhaled a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself, not wanting Lance to see her in such a state. She didn’t understand what was wrong with her. Despite the difficulties of the past few days, she should have had more control over herself. She’d known what to expect: the weariness, the fear gnawing at the edge of her consciousness, the ever-present terror for her sister, her nerves rubbed raw by uncertainty.
What she hadn’t expected, though, was the terrible loneliness. She felt so alone, as if she were fighting unarmed, single-handedly, against the world. And Lance’s remoteness only made it worse.
How she wished she could go to him…that he would put his arms around her and comfort her tenderly the way he had on their wedding night. But he was keeping his distance from her.
Wiping her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder at him. His hard-planed, hawkish face, silvered by moonlight, was tight with concern. And so was his voice when he tried to reassure her.
“Crying about it won’t do any good, princess. You can’t let it get to you.”
“I know.”
“I told you I’ll do my damnedest to find her.”
“I know you will.” She bit her lip. “I don’t suppose…I could go with you…to Indian Territory.”
His gaze searched her face for a moment, but then he shook his head. “I can’t let you. It’d be too dangerous for you. Not to mention too difficult a ride.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“I know,” he said gently.
“If we find Amelia—when we find Amelia—she might need me…another woman.”
“Maybe so, but she’ll have to settle for me. You’d only slow me down.”
Summer wanted badly to argue, yet she knew Lance was right. She had no business accompanying him beyond the settled frontier. A white woman traveling through hostile Indian country would be subject to countless dangers. Even Lance might be unable to protect her. And the last thing she wanted was to impede his search for Amelia. Her own need to be with her sister, to comfort and help her, would have to wait.
Her shoulders hunched in frustration. “I just feel so helpless.”
Lance didn’t reply, not knowing what to say. Awkwardly he took a step closer, his hands hovering at his sides.
At his silence, Summer turned to gaze up at the faint stars overhead. “Amelia taught me about the constellations. She used to make up stories…about our mother. Do you see Cassiopeia there? Melly says Mama lives there…Mama’s up there in heaven, Summer.”
Her vision blurred at the memory, her throat filling with tears. “Oh, Lance…I can’t bear it…”
Summer turned blindly toward him, her voice catching on a sob. She heard him take a swift breath, felt his arms come around her, and then she was clinging to him helplessly. Gratefully she buried her face in his hard shoulder and wept, letting the sobs come.
Lance held her shaking body tightly, and yet he had never felt so useless. He hated to see her like this, hurting and helpless. He hated the guilt he felt, even knowing it was unreasonable. His own people were responsible for her grief; the Comanches had killed her mother, taken her sister captive. He hadn’t taken part in either atrocity, and yet he still felt somehow to blame. And it was his fault the other stage passengers were treating her like a leper.
Lance gritted his teeth, both in rage at the situation and frustration at the feel of Summer’s slender body shaking in his arms.
He shouldn’t be touching her like this. He was liable to lose control any minute, which he’d sworn he wouldn’t do. And yet he wanted, needed, to offer her comfort. She was his woman now, his wife. It was his duty to console her, to take care of her. He felt his heartbeat thunder in his ears as he tightened his hold.
It was several minutes before Summer’s tears let up, and longer still before her shudders subsided and she became aware of Lance’s embrace. She felt his body, hard and reassuring, offering her strength, felt his cheek, warm and gentle, against her hair. His voice was a low murmur, whispering to her in the same strange language he’d used on their wedding night, when he had demanded her innocence as the price of his cooperation. Hearing it brought back a rush of memory so powerful, it weakened her knees.
How could he affect her so intensely? How could he shatter all her defenses so easily? Like then, she w
as taking comfort from him again, trying to burrow inside him in an effort to feel safe. It amazed her how safe she felt in his arms. She’d never expected to react to Lance in such a way. She should hate him, should despise him for the difficult position he’d forced upon her. Instead, she hated herself, for her acquiescence, for her show of weakness.
Yet she was helpless to deny herself the solace he offered. When she felt his lips brush her cheek, Summer didn’t push away. When he nuzzled the corner of her mouth, she tilted her head back to give him better access. When his lips settled on hers in a gentle caress, she could only sigh, wanting to surrender.
His taste was warmly familiar, the scent of his heated skin so exquisitely tantalizing. Then suddenly Lance shuddered. His kiss deepened, turning hard and hungry and overwhelming.
Summer felt the swift, responsive rise of heat inside her, the raw, coiling tension—and for an instant she even welcomed it. For a dozen heartbeats, she yearned to be swept away from the fear and despair, carried away on a primal rage of desire.
And then Lance’s splayed hand tightened around her bottom, drawing her hips roughly against him, letting her feel the blatant bulge at his loins, reminding her where this was leading.... She felt the danger in his kiss, the seeking, the need, the wildness like an explosion. Felt the fierce hunger in his embrace…brutal, lustful…hot and primitive.
Summer froze suddenly, assaulted with guilt and confusion and fear. How could she allow herself to feel such pleasure when her sister wasn’t safe? How could she let her passion get so out of hand? Frightened as much by her lack of willpower as the intensity of her feelings, she tried to draw back.
“Lance…no, we can’t…we can’t do this…please!”
Almost frantic, she pushed at his chest, until he abruptly let her go. Summer took a stumbling step backward, holding up her hands to ward him off.
He was breathing hard, his eyes molten, his face a dark, taut mask of confusion and desire. “You’re my wife, Summer,” he said unevenly, the strain in his voice apparent. “We have every right to ‘do this.’”
“I know…but maybe we shouldn’t… not until this is all over…until Amelia is safe…The others…” Her voice trailed off lamely at the way Lance had stiffened, at the harsh look that had taken hold of his features.
“You don’t want your white friends to know you’re humping a scum breed, is that it?”
“No…that isn’t it…I mean…” Weakly Summer raised a trembling hand to her forehead. “You don’t understand. I just can’t…deal with this just now.”
His jaw went rigid; she could see the clenched muscles even in the dim light. “Oh, I understand, princess,” he retorted with lethal softness. “Better than you know. You want me to risk my life for you, but I’m supposed to keep my filthy Injun hands off you in the meantime.”
Summer closed her eyes and swayed. “Lance…I didn’t mean…”
His mouth curled. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m not going to rape you. You couldn’t pay me to touch you again.” Lance’s scornful gaze flickered over her. “You’d better get inside where your fancy white friends can protect you. It’s dangerous out here in the dark, what with a savage breed roaming around.”
With that he turned abruptly on his heel and walked away, leaving a bewildered, regretful Summer to stare after him in the darkness.
Chapter 6
Summer gazed uneasily out the stage window late the following morning, counting the miles until the end of their journey and trying to ignore Mr. Yarby’s leering glances.
She wished she were safely at home with Amelia. The dry, dusty landscape of north Texas held little of the raw beauty that typified the Hill Country of Sky Valley, while the jolt and sway of the stagecoach only made her head ache.
She had never been this far north before, but because of her sister’s letters over the years, she knew something of the area. Fort Belknap had once been a thriving military post and a hub for travelers and settlers. Before the war, the Butterfield Overland Mail had passed through there on its way west, connecting St. Louis and San Francisco. While the war raged, the governor of Texas had billeted a civil force there—two companies of Frontier Regiment Riders—to protect settlers against Indian depredations, but when the Confederacy fell, Fort Belknap was abandoned, leaving the settlers to fend for themselves.
The stage trail, after crossing the Brazos River at Miller’s Crossing, passed close enough to the actual fort for Summer to see that it had already begun falling into decay.
A quarter of a mile farther on, the road widened into the main street of Belknap, the frontier town that had sprung up near the fort. The stage station, with its corral fence of stacked stone, resembled the ones where they’d stopped previously, except that this one enjoyed the company of other buildings, including a courthouse and a church and a small hotel.
All of which, Summer noted with dismay, were boarded up and deserted.
Still, she was grateful when the stage rumbled to a halt with a creak of leather and jingle of harness. She would be glad to reach the Truesdale ranch and take refuge with Amelia’s inlaws. Lance’s cold silence this morning had been almost hostile.
He had good reason to be angry with her, she knew; he had only tried to comfort her, and she had pushed him away. Yet she hadn’t known how to apologize to him for last night, or to make him understand that she had been rejecting his sexual advances and not Lance himself.
How could she explain that she’d been frightened—she, who’d never been frightened by any man but him? That when the consoling brush of his mouth had changed to raw hunger, she had panicked? His voice afterward had held withering scorn, and yet she’d clearly heard the raw wounded edge. She had hurt Lance without ever intending to.
Summer bit her lower lip. The idea that she still had the power to hurt Lance Calder was distinctly unsettling, but even more unnerving was the power he’d begun to wield over her. Lance had only to touch her and she lost control. She would be vastly relieved when he rode away in search of her sister. Perhaps a separation would give her time to accustom herself to their new relationship, to determine just how to handle the complicated, dangerous man who was her husband and the disturbing, helpless way he made her feel.
She would also be glad to see the last of Mr. Yarby. His bold stares had degenerated into outright leers, and worn on her already shaken nerves.
Yarby managed to be the first to dismount and, to Summer’s dismay, insisted on helping her down. His hands squeezed her waist with insulting familiarity and held her far longer than necessary, while his tall body crowded her menacingly.
“Sorry our pleasant little trip’s gotta end,” he whispered, his breath hot on her face.
Breaking away, Summer drew a deep breath and moved close to her husband, seeking his protection. Lance’s black eyes flickered over her, then narrowed on Yarby, but he didn’t say a word as he took her elbow and shepherded her to the rear of the stagecoach.
While Lance retrieved her bag and his gear from the boot, Summer watched the other passengers disperse. Yarby was greeted by another tall, lean man whose features were so similar, they might be brothers or cousins.
The newcomer was dressed as a rancher but wore a saber and six-shooter, as well as a gray forage cap of the Confederate Army. Looking over Yarby’s shoulder at Lance, he elevated his nose and grimaced. “I smell Injun.”
Beside her, Summer felt Lance stiffen, but he held his tongue, not taking the bait.
“Yep, wind’s in the right direction, I can smell a stinkin’ Injun a mile off.”
“Now, Frank,” she heard Yarby say good-humoredly, “don’t be rude. That pretty lady’s married to that stinkin’ Injun.”
“You got to be shittin’ me.”
She felt both pairs of leering eyes focus on her, felt her own face flame with color.
“Hey, Pale Face,” Frank called to Lance. “Who the hell do you think you are, puttin’ your hands on a white woman?”
Seeming to ignore them
both, Lance hefted one of his Henry repeating rifles and held it out to Summer. “Carry this for me?”
She forced a smile. “Certainly,” she agreed with gratitude. Not only did she feel better being armed in the presence of those two crude men, but relieving Lance of some of his burden would give him a free hand to carry the second rifle unencumbered.
They waited inside while the station master changed the team and sent the stage on its way. It was the first time Summer had been alone with Lance since last night, and yet whatever he felt toward her wasn’t showing on his hard features. He was all business when he questioned the station master about the raid on the Grice ranch and Amelia’s capture.
Jeb Burkett knew Lance from his Butterfield days and was more than willing to share what sketchy information he had. He had known Amelia and liked her, and thought her capture “a terrible shame.” She had been visiting the Grice ranch when it was attacked and burned to the ground. The Grices were all killed except for two children, one of whom had supposedly been taken with Amelia. Martha Truesdale, Amelia’s mother-in-law, had hoped Summer would bring some able-bodied men to add to a rescue party she was arranging.
“Thing is,” Burkett said, “folks around here are pretty worn-out, fighting the Comanches and Kiowa, and they could use some help. You going after Amelia, Lance?”
“Yeah. But alone.”
Burkett nodded slowly. “Well, if anybody can do it, you can. What can I do to help?”
“I’d like to hire some saddle horses to visit the Truesdale farm. And I’ll want a good mount to take me into Indian Territory. Later I may need you to supply some horses for trade. If I find Miss Amelia, the Comanches will probably want payment in horses.”
“Sure, Lance, whatever you need. I’ll start getting up a herd. But I’ve got to warn you. Miz Truesdale won’t like you calling on her place. She hates anything to do with Comanches, and I mean anything.”
Lance nodded brusquely and asked to be shown some mounts.
When he and Jeb went out back to the corral, Summer stepped outside to the front porch, needing to escape the feeling of being shut in. Hearing about Amelia had rekindled all the pain and helplessness she’d struggled so hard to repress during the past few days.
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