Lance stroked the roan’s neck absently, wishing it were Summer’s neck he was caressing. She’d been wrong when she’d thanked him for his patience. He was impatient as hell—with the lack of privacy, with being unable to touch her, to hold her, to bury himself in her sweet warmth.
His sexual satisfaction could wait, though. He might be denied Summer’s presence in his bed, but it was a pain worth enduring. She had obligations elsewhere right now. He wouldn’t hold her to her marriage vows for a while longer. He wouldn’t push her to choose between himself and her sister.
Her sister’s reaction bothered him, of course, but if he tried, he could forgive Amelia’s invectives. She wasn’t in her right mind after what the Comanches had done to her.
What worried him was whether she would ever get over her ordeal. Amelia always had been half-afraid of him, even before her captivity, yet he didn’t know how Summer would take it if her sister held on to such stark terror and hatred of him.
For now, though, he could put up with Amelia’s ranting. He was a grown man. After all these years he was hardened to the slights white women offered him, no matter how much they cut. It was enough that Summer sympathized with him, enough that she had taken his side against her sister.
As long as he was on his side, he could bear anything life threw at him.
Amelia’s manner toward Lance only grew more hateful as they traveled farther south. She seemed to blame him for everything the Comanches had done to her. She wouldn’t acknowledge his name, referring to him as he or him, her frightened tone suggesting he was some sort of monster. She screamed at Lance every time he so much as looked at her, and pleaded with Summer to make him go away.
Knowing the horror Amelia had endured, both Lance and Summer tried to make allowances, but it was hard.
On the fourth day, they reached Deek’s Trading Post on the Red River. Amelia wouldn’t look at the burly trader when he came out to greet them, or even acknowledge his existence. Deek was the first white man to see her after her degradation, and apparently she couldn’t face him. Finally, though, after much pleading, she allowed Summer to persuade her to enter the trading post, where she could bathe and change into white women’s clothing and sleep in a real bed.
She shrieked when she saw his Comanche wife, Topusana, but Summer, appalled by her rudeness, finally lost patience and gave her shoulders a hard shake. Amelia collapsed in a fit of sobbing and allowed herself to be supported into the spare guest room, where she fell immediately into an exhausted sleep.
Supper was a sober affair, even though Deek tried to liven it up with his tall tales and jokes about their trials in Indian Territory. When Lance sparingly related the events of the past month, Deek seemed to know just when the danger had been understated and prodded Lance to confess more of the details about the rescue and the knife fight afterward.
At the conclusion, Deek raised his glass of whiskey in a salute to Lance. “The Comanche’ll be making legends about you, ya know. What you did was nigh impossible. I’m damned proud of you, boy.”
Lance smiled somewhat cynically, but watching him, Summer thought nothing Deek could have said would have pleased her husband more. And indeed it pleased her, too, hearing someone she respected give Lance the praise he deserved.
Deek’s friendship was obviously good for him. She had never seen Lance so relaxed, so at ease, than at this moment. All his defenses seemed to be down, all his smoldering hostility banked. When occasionally he met her eyes across the table, the affectionate intimacy in his look included her.
The feeling warmed her so much that she hated to leave just now, yet she needed to check on her sister and be there if Amelia was awakened by nightmares. After a polite interval, Summer bid the two men good night and retired to the spare bedchamber, leaving them to discuss Lance’s plans to deliver Fights Bear’s horses.
When she emerged the following morning, it was to find Lance dressed in the garb of a Texas mustanger—buckskin trousers and boots, blue chambray shirt and leather vest, red bandanna and tall hat. His appearance seemed strange after the past month of thinking of him as a Comanche warrior, but he looked almost as dangerous with his side guns strapped to his hips.
Amelia pretended not to notice the transformation in him. Both she and Summer, however, looked vastly different. Gone were the calico shirts and deerskin skirts of the Indian woman. Instead they were gowned as genteel ladies, which included the usual layers of underwear—corset and camisole, drawers and crinolined petticoats—beneath their voluminous skirts.
Amelia seemed less pitiful, less broken, in her new attire. She had stopped weeping and held her shoulders straighter, and her freshly washed hair had been combed into a simple coiffure beneath a wide-brimmed bonnet.
Summer, in her coffee-striped traveling costume, put her older sister in the shade, though. Her complexion was no longer pure ivory, but tanned by the sun—a crime for a well-bred lady—yet Lance thought she looked more beautiful with that golden-honey hue.
They set out early, without their Comanche escort. Amelia wanted to return immediately to the Truesdale ranch, to her late husband’s family, and wouldn’t listen at all to Summer’s gentle warning that they might not be welcome.
The return journey to Fort Belknap took two full days instead of one, but other than Amelia’s verbal attacks on Lance, it was fortunately uneventful. The endless miles of prairie grassland interspersed with patches of scrub timber assumed a monotony that was heartily welcome after the difficulties of the past month.
The tension rose in all of them, however, as they approached the Truesdale ranch, perhaps Lance most of all. It scared hell out of him to think Summer might lose her past easiness with him once she was back in civilization, and worse, that she would have to face much of the scorn and rejection his mother had faced.
Summer was more worried for Amelia than herself. The Truesdale boy had said her in-laws would take her back, but Summer wasn’t at all certain of their reception.
They arrived at the ranch in late afternoon, weary and saddle-sore. As before, Billy came out to greet them, brandishing a shotgun, but when he saw Amelia, his mouth dropped opened.
“Aunt Amelia! Cripes…Ma, come out here! They found Aunt Amelia!”
He hurried forward, and Amelia, much to Summer’s surprise, allowed the boy to help her dismount. She fell into his sturdy arms sobbing, while Martha Truesdale came out onto the porch, carrying her own shotgun. She didn’t look as crazed as she had the last time, but her face twisted with hatred when she laid eyes on Lance. “I thought I told you, you stinkin’ Injun, you aren’t welcomed here. Get off my land.”
“Ma, he found Amelia!” Billy protested, while Lance sat unmoving in the saddle.
“I don’t care. I want him to get. And her, too.” She punctuated her command by waving the shotgun at Summer.
Amelia spoke up then, showing more backbone than she had since her rescue. “Summer’s staying, Martha. I don’t know where he is going, but my sister is staying with me.”
Mrs. Truesdale turned her malevolent gaze on Summer. After a brief inspection that made Summer want to shudder, she turned away. “Suit yourself—as long as he goes,” she muttered as she stalked back into the house.
“He can’t stay here,” Amelia echoed triumphantly. “He has to go.”
Ashamed of her sister’s appalling injustice, Summer pressed her lips together as she strove for patience. “Lance didn’t intend to spend the night, Melly. I explained all that to you. We owe the Comanche quite a few horses for helping rescue you, and Lance has to deliver them.”
“You owe that red filth nothing!”
“Lance gave his word-—”
“What does that matter?” Amelia replied with contempt. “He’s one of them. His word isn’t worth spit.”
“Summer, leave it,” Lance interrupted quietly. “I need to be on my way.”
She clenched her teeth in frustration, but gave up, seeing how pointless it was to argue with her sister just no
w. It would take time for Amelia to come to her senses and stop seeing Lance as her enemy, as a cruel brute who wished her harm.
With that issue apparently settled, Billy sent a cautious glance at Lance and helped Amelia into the house, leaving Summer alone with him.
“I’m sorry, Lance,” she said at once, in a weary voice.
He gave her a brief shrug, masking his own bitterness. He was grateful to her for championing him, but it galled him that she should have to do it—and terrified him that someday she might stop.
Dismounting, he walked around his horse to Summer’s and reached up for her. Without hesitation she placed her hands on his shoulders and let him assist her down.
For a moment, however, they stood facing each other, feeling the awkwardness of the moment, both aware of the people in the house behind them.
“I’ll only be two days,” Lance said finally. “I’ll ride into Belknap now and pick up the herd at the stage station. Burkett should have them waiting for me. I can get a few miles before dark if I push it.”
Summer’s expression softened with concern as she searched his face. “Don’t push too hard. You must be almost as tired as we are, after all the hard riding you’ve done.”
Surprisingly, his mouth twisted wryly. “Those are insulting words to a Comanche warrior, princess. I’m used to long hours on horseback, remember?”
“Lance, I didn’t mean to imply—”
He raised a finger to her lips, shushing her apology. “It’s okay, I know what you meant.”
And he thought he did. Summer still felt a strong sense of gratitude toward him, and accordingly felt obliged to worry about his welfare. Even knowing her reason, though, it couldn’t stop his heart from warming at her display of concern.
He wanted to express his own feelings in return. He wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her close, to remove that fancy bonnet and bury his face in her hair. But he forced himself to be content with surveying Summer’s face, memorizing it all once again—the emerald eyes with their sweeping dark lashes, the delicate cheekbones, the soft pink lips…
“You do have enough money to purchase the horses?” she asked pragmatically, interrupting his fanciful musings.
He smiled briefly. “Yeah, plenty. We got off cheap, considering.”
His eyes flickered, as if he’d just remembered something. Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out a wad of Union bills and handed it to her. “This is what your brother gave me to ransom Amelia. I won’t be needing it.”
Summer eyed the money hesitantly. “Reed wanted you to have it.”
All expression left his face. “I don’t care what he wanted. Our bargain was between you and me.”
In the eternity before she took it, Lance felt his heart contract with a feeling almost like panic. Summer had her sister back now. She didn’t need him at all, except maybe to escort her safely back home. But he wouldn’t let her off the hook. He wouldn’t take money in exchange for finding her sister. Summer was still his wife. She still owed him.
When she took the bills, he felt his taut muscles relax the slightest degree. “You’re going to be here when I get back?” he asked, trying not to let his worry carry in his tone.
She looked at him blankly. “Of course.”
At her answer, his heart stopped its slow slamming and eased into a more normal rhythm. “If there’s trouble, take your sister to the stage station in Belknap. Jeb Burkett will look after you. I’m leaving you one of my rifles.” He turned to heft one of the Henrys from its saddle scabbard and handed it to her.
“Lance…please take care.”
He looked at her, wondering if she really meant it. Would she be sorry if he didn’t come back? Or would she be relieved to be spared a future with him, a lifetime of living on the outskirts of society as the wife of a half-breed? If he didn’t return, she could pretend this was all a bad dream.
Shifting his gaze away, he forced his doubts to crawl back under the rock where they belonged. Summer was his wife. She would keep her word.
“Is Amelia going back to Round Rock with us?” Lance asked gruffly.
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me what she wants to do.” Summer hesitated. “I may have to stay here with her for a while, to make sure she’s all right.”
“She has a few days to decide.”
He didn’t kiss her. Instead he gathered the reins of the other horses, including Summer’s, and swung up on his own. “I’ll take your mounts back to Burkett. They don’t need to be eating their heads off in the Truesdale barn while I’m gone.”
Or provide you a way home, his suspicious thoughts insisted on adding. Without horses, Summer would have to wait for his return.
He felt her gaze on him as he led the horses away, and was struck by how similar this leave-taking was to those between them in the past—him riding away, Summer watching him go.
But this would be the last, Lance swore silently to himself. If he had anything to say to it, this would be the last time Summer was separated from him.
He glanced back over his shoulder, his heart leaping at the sight he found. Summer was still standing where he’d left her in the late afternoon sun, her hand raised in farewell. If he didn’t know better, he would think she looked almost like a true wife waving good-bye to her husband.
Or maybe he just wanted so bad to believe it that his imagination was playing tricks on him again.
When Lance was finally out of sight, Summer smoothed her skirts and forced herself to enter the Truesdale house, although she dreaded it.
Finding the three of them in the kitchen, she paused in the doorway. Mrs. Truesdale bustled around the large room, straightening things that didn’t need straightening, while her son, Billy, sat at the table, his expression stony. Amelia cradled a mug of coffee in her shaking hands, but she wasn’t drinking. Instead she simply sat there, tears streaming down her face, as if, having come this far, she had reached the end of her strength.
When Summer heard mention of Mary, she realized they were discussing the daughter who had been killed in the same raid in which Amelia had been taken captive.
“I sent Nan back east to her grandma’s,” Mrs. Truesdale was saying bitterly. “Where it’s safe. I couldn’t bear to lose her the way I lost Mary. We’re leaving, too. Soon as I find a buyer for this place.”
Summer doubted that anyone else would be foolish enough to risk the danger of settling here, although she didn’t say so. With all the raids and Indian depredations, the Texas frontier had been steadily retreating since early in the war, when most of the available fighting men and resources had been expended on fighting the Union rather than protecting the farmers and ranchers.
“Do you know what happened to Tommy?” Billy interjected grimly. “His folks will want to know. The last anyone saw, he was carried off with you.”
“Tommy…” Amelia whispered to herself, her face contorted as if remembering some unseen horror. “They killed him. I couldn’t do anything to help him…They wanted him to be quiet, but he wouldn’t stop crying, so one of them…They…they killed him with a spear and left him there on the side of the trail…They just left him there…”
She was sobbing openly now, mourning the murdered child who had been taken captive with her. It was the first time Summer had heard her sister speak about the raid, but she didn’t think it could be good for Amelia to dwell on it.
Entering the kitchen, she crossed to Amelia’s side and put her arms around her. “Melly…please don’t cry. It’s over now. You have to forget.”
Martha Truesdale whirled, fixing her venomous stare on Summer. “What do you know about it? You didn’t lose anybody to those vicious devils.”
Summer clenched her teeth in an effort to keep her voice calm. “I know what it’s like to lose someone I love, Mrs. Truesdale. My mother was killed in a Comanche raid when I was very young. Amelia needs time to grieve, yes, but she needs more to get on with her life. It won’t help her to dwell on what happened.”
“Ma!” Billy exclaimed, leaping to his feet, while Summer froze.
Billy took the skillet from his mother, who turned away, shaking with rage. In the silence that followed, the boy stood shuffling his feet, looking uncomfortable. The tension in the kitchen had suddenly swelled to an explosive level.
“Summer, what is she talking about?” Amelia asked plaintively. “Why did she call you a squaw?”
Summer took a deep breath. “Lance and I were married last month, Melly.”
Her sobbing suddenly arrested, Amelia raised her head to stare at her sister in horror. “Dear God…you didn’t. Summer, tell me you wouldn’t.”
She shook her head. “It’s true. Lance is my husband.”
Amelia recoiled in her arms. When Summer tried to reach out for her, she let out a shriek. “Don’t touch me! Oh, God, don’t touch me. All this time…you and he…”
She buried her face in her hands and started weeping again.
Billy shuffled his feet even harder, looking as if he would rather face a Comanche war party than a group of feuding women. Summer stood helplessly by while Martha Truesdale flashed her a malignant look of triumph.
Amelia was the first to speak. “I think…I need…to lie down…”
“Yes, of course,” Summer said quietly. “I’ll help you—”
“No! Martha will help me!”
The pain that shot through Summer was swift and cruel. It cut her to the quick to be spurned by her only sister, a sister who until now had always loved her unconditionally. And for such a reason. She had only married Lance in order to save Amelia.
Summer felt herself trembling as she watched Martha Truesdale support Amelia up the wooden stairway to the bedchambers above. Billy mumbled something about needing to see to the animals and made his escape. Alone, Summer sank weakly into the chair her sister had vacated.
The Savage Page 27