Texas Splendor

by Bobbi Smith

  Michael briefed them on the terrible trauma of the past evening. "Pa was so bad, I couldn't leave him," he concluded, "so Lance went after Trista alone."

  "If anyone can find her, he will," Whitey put in.

  "I hope so," Michael began, intending to tell Sukie all about Lance's love for Trista. He could hardly wait to tell her that he and Trista had called their wedding off and that he was now free to marry her. But just as he began, the door to George's bedroom opened and Dr. Spalding came out.

  "Michael?"

  The solemnity of his tone caused Michael to stiffen perceptibly as he moved away from Sukie. "Down here, Doc . . . "

  Dr. Spalding, a tall, distinguished, gray-haired man, looked exhausted as he came downstairs to speak with him. His sleeves were rolled up past his forearms, and bloodstains marred the front of his shirt.

  Michael met him at the bottom of the staircase. "How is he, Doc?" His eyes were dark with concern, and his manner was uncertain as he tried to read the physician's expression.

  "It looked bad there for awhile, Michael, but your quick thinking last night no doubt saved his life."

  "Oh, Michael." Sukie breathed a sigh of relief as she came forth to take his arm in a cherishing, supportive gesture.

  "He's going to be all right?"

  "It'll be slow going for awhile, but he should make it as long as infection doesn't set in."

  "Thank God," Michael, murmured, struggling to control his runaway emotions. He had barely been able to contain his grief over his mother's death, and he had been horribly afraid that he was going to lose his father, too. The realization that his father was going to live swept through him in a wave of relief. He turned to Sukie and embraced her tearfully. "Can I see him now?" he asked when he'd released her.

  "Yes. He's awake, but he's very weak. I haven't told him anything. I thought it would be better if I left that up to you."

  Michael tensed at the thought that he would have to be the one to tell his father of his mother's death, but he knew it was his duty. "I'll go on up." He looked down at Sukie and lifted a hand to caress the softness of her cheek. "Don't leave. Wait for me, darling. . . ."

  Misty-eyed, she nodded. "I'll stay as long as you want me to, Michael."

  Unmindful of the others, he bent to her and kissed her sweetly before hurrying up the steps to see to his father. Sukie turned back to her mother, her expression mirroring her love for Michael and her confusion over his openly loving actions.

  "Let's go back in the parlor. I'm sure Michael will come down and fill us in on George's condition just as soon as he can," Mary Lou encouraged.

  Just as Michael started down the hall to the room, Rosalie emerged. "Michael, good . . . He's anxious to see you now."

  "How is he, Rosalie?" he asked worriedly. In all his years, Michael had never seen his father laid low by anything, and he found the thought of him wounded and near death slightly unnerving.

  "He's weak, but I think he'll be all right. He knows nothing about your mother, and he keeps asking about Lance. I avoided all his questions as best I could, but you're going to have to tell him. . . ."

  "I know." As she patted him comfortingly on the shoulder, he moved past her into the bedroom.

  His fight for life having drained much of his vitality from him, George looked pale and very old as he lay on the big double bed. For a moment Michael thought he'd fallen back asleep, but at the sound of the bedroom door closing, his eyes opened and he focused on his son.

  "Michael . . . " His tone was barely above a whisper. "You're all right."

  Michael went quickly to his bedside. "I'm fine, Pa. I wasn't injured at all. Neither was Randolph."

  George only nodded slightly, but the effort cost him much. "Lance . . . is he . . .?" He was obsessed with the need to find out if his oldest son had been murdered by the raiders. He had seen the shot hit him, and he was filled with anger and guilt at having been unable to protect him.

  Michael knew that the last thing his father had seen before he was shot was Lance being wounded. He hastened to assure him that Lance had come to no lasting harm. "Lance is just fine. The bullet only grazed him. He didn't even need to see the doctor."

  At that news, George drew a deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes as if in relief. "Good."

  "Pa . . . " Michael knew he had to tell him of his mother's death, but he wasn't sure how to break it to him.

  At the tentative sound of his voice, George sensed that there was something else . . . something terrible that Michael had to tell him. "Michael . . . what is it? What's happened?" Suddenly realizing that Eleanor hadn't been in, he knew. "It's your mother, isn't it? Something's happened to her?"

  The pain that he had held in check and denied all night long exploded within him. "She's dead, Pa, and I couldn't do anything to save her. . . ." he choked as he finally gave vent to his feelings. Burying his face in his hands, Michael wept.

  "Your mother is dead?" George repeated dully as he watched Michael nod in response.

  Tears of regret and sorrow filled George's eyes, and his heart grew heavy with the loss. He had loved Eleanor in his own way. It hadn't been the all-consuming passion he'd known with Shining Star, but she had been a good wife and a good mother to Michael. She had helped him to pull his life together after Shining Star's death, and though he had often thought that she had only married him for his money, it had never mattered. They had found a measure of happiness together, and they had been content.

  Even in his weakened state, George felt a driving need to see both his sons together, and he reached out to grasp Michael's hand.

  "What is it, Pa?"

  "Get Lance. I want to talk with you both. . . ."

  Michael had not wanted to tell him about the kidnapping, but his request left him no alternative. "Lance isn't here, Pa."

  "What? Where did he go?"

  He explained quickly about Trista's being taken and how Lance had known the warrior who'd come to steal her away.

  "You must go after him. . . . You have to help him, Michael," he insisted. "Lance is your own flesh and blood. He's your brother."

  "But I can't leave you."

  "I'm going to be all right," George said in as stern a tone as he could manage. "Go . . . and bring them both safely back to me."

  "I'll go as soon as I get everything ready."

  Comforted, George closed his eyes, and the tension that had gripped him faded. "Good . . . good . . . I'll be waiting for you." He seemed to drift off to sleep then.

  Michael remained in the room awhile longer to pull himself together before going downstairs to face Sukie and the others. At the sound of his approach, Sukie raced into the hall.

  "Michael . . . how is he?" she asked as she noticed the signs of strain reflected on his handsome features.

  "He's going to recover," he told her, glancing up at Mary Lou and Whitey as they came out of the parlor to join them.

  "That's wonderful." Mary Lou was relieved.

  "Whitey, as soon as I've made arrangements for my mother's burial, I'll be riding out after Lance. Get my horse ready and pack extra ammunition."

  "Right away, Michael," he responded, hurrying off to do his bidding.

  "Michael! You can't go! You're needed here." Sukie protested, still fearful of losing him.

  Michael gave her a sweet/sad smile. "Sukie, I have to go. Lance is my brother. He might need me."

  His response troubled her, and she looked at him questioningly. "I don't understand. . . . You're going because Lance needs you? What about Trista?"

  "I think we need to have a long talk, love."

  "Love?" Surprise registered on her lovely face, and he smiled tenderly.

  "Yes, Sukie," he told her ardently right in front of her mother, "I love you."

  "Michael! You can't know what you're saying. Trista—"

  "Trista is in love with Lance, and he with her. Luckily, we discovered the truth of our feelings before we went through with the wedding ceremony."

 
Sukie was completely dumbstruck by this revelation, and she could only stare up at him, her emerald eyes sparkling with happiness. "Oh, Michael," she finally breathed before she lost herself in his embrace. Hungrily, she lifted her lips to meet his in a pledge of undying love.

  In the midst of all his pain, this one moment of beauty struck Michael deeply, its meaning bittersweet. He had just found his love, and now he had to leave her. He clasped her tightly to his chest. He felt jaded and weary, and she was so innocent and beautiful.

  "I love you, Michael. I always have, and I always will."

  "Wait for me, love. I've got to go help Lance find Trista, but I'll be back."

  "I'll be here, Michael," Sukie promised, tears of happiness filling her eyes even as her heart ached for all the tragedy that surrounded them. "You go and help your brother. Find Trista and bring her home. I'll wait forever for you."

  Michael stood over his mother's grave several hours later. He knew that Whitey was waiting nearby with his mount and pack horse, yet he found it difficult to leave. He knew he was needed here desperately, but he also knew that Lance could be in great danger. It had been foolhardy of his brother to go after the raiding party single-handedly, and Michael realized he could afford to waste no more time in following after him. He had to go.

  "Sukie . . . " He turned to her as she stood by his side, supportively. "I'll return just as soon as I can."

  "You just be careful," she ordered. "I've waited too long to have you, to lose you now."

  "Don't worry. I'll be back."

  "Mother and I are going to stay here for awhile. We thought Rosalie could use our help in nursing your father since he's so badly wounded."

  "I'd really appreciate that."

  "My darling, there is no appreciation involved in this. I love you. That's all that matters."

  It occurred to him that he had never proposed to Sukie. Michael knew he could not leave without letting her know just how deep his feelings were for her. "Sukie . . . "

  His tone was so serious, she glanced at him nervously. "What is it, Michael?"

  "I know I've been taking this for granted, but . . . will you marry me? We can have the ceremony just as soon as I get back."

  Sukie felt a rush of joy unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. "Oh, Michael! I love you so! Of course I will!"

  They embraced then with tenderness and devotion before breaking apart.

  "You'll tell Pa everything when he's better?" Michael implored, regretting that he wouldn't have the opportunity to tell him himself.

  "As soon as he's strong enough I'll explain it all," Sukie promised.

  Michael gave her a quick kiss, and then, after saying a quick farewell to Mary Lou, Randolph, and the doctor, he walked away from the grave, a solitary, but determined man.

  "You be careful, Michael," Whitey instructed as he handed him the reins to his mount.

  "I will, I'll—" He looked on down the trail and saw four men, mounted up and waiting for him. "What's this all about?"

  "It's Tommy and some of the other men who are good at trackin'. They want to see them Comanche caught, too. They're goin' with you."

  Michael was appreciative of the extra help. "All right. We'll get back as soon as we can . . . with Trista and Lance."

  "I'll keep things runnin' here till your pa's on his feet again. You take care."

  "I will," Michael said with grim resolve. Putting his heels to his horse's sides, he rode forth to speak with the other men. Then, together, they headed out in search of Lance.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  In moon-bronzed splendor, horse and rider sat unmoving on the precipice of the hill. They were a magnificent pair—the bare-chested warrior and the golden stallion. Framed by the night as they were, they looked almost otherworldly. Only the telltale twitch of the horse's ears as he grew restless gave testimony to their true existence.

  "Easy, Fuego." Lance spoke in low, calming tones to the powerful rogue. "She's out there. We just have to be certain that we know exactly where before we go charging in after her."

  When the stallion snorted in annoyance, it was almost as if he'd understood his master's words. Lance bent low over his neck to stroke him reassuringly. Then, aggravated himself because there was no sign of a campfire in the distance, he turned Fuego around and guided him down to the tree-sheltered watering hole at the base of the hill, where he intended to make camp for the night.

  Lance tethered Fuego near the water after he'd allowed the stallion to drink his fill, and then spread his blanket on a smooth bed of grass. He settled in, needing a few hours rest, but he lay staring up at the sky. Sleep was elusive again, as his worry over Trista's well-being grew unbounded.

  Lance had stayed tight on their trail, but it was the end of his second day of tracking, and he felt that he was no closer to them than he had been in the beginning. Since Striking Snake thought him dead, he had expected the braggart warrior to grow careless during his flight, but that had not happened. Lance wasn't sure if the other man was aware that he was being followed, but he knew that Striking Snake certainly wasn't taking any chances on being discovered.

  Frustrated, Lance closed his eyes and tried to blank all thought from his mind. Realizing that he would be of little use to Trista if he was totally exhausted when he finally found her, Lance forced himself to relax and to sleep. His last thought as he drifted off into a restless slumber was that there was nothing more he could do to help her until daylight, anyway.

  Long miles away in Striking Snake's camp in the box canyon, Trista lay huddled in a blanket, bound hand and foot. When her captor had discovered the truth of her claim regarding the state of her monthly flux, he had picked up the pace of their flight and had hurried without stopping to the place where they were now camped. Since then, he had essentially left her alone. He'd bound her so she couldn't flee and then had remained a good distance away from her, never speaking to her and only negligently throwing her bites of food as a seeming afterthought.

  Trista had been numb through the whole ordeal. She hated Striking Snake with every breath she took, and she wished there was some way she could get her hands on a weapon so she could kill him. Over and over in her mind, she witnessed Lance's death. Alone in the night, she cried endless tears for her lost love. Trista thought it tragic that she had never had the opportunity to tell him the truth of her love for him. She had come so close to true happiness, but it was lost to her forever now.

  As she passed another sleepless night, Trista wondered how much longer she would be safe from Striking Snake. His patience wouldn't last forever, and she realized she would probably have the protection of her womanly condition for no more than another day or so.

  The terror of being taken by the cruel brute sent shivers of dread through her. Trista knew from what she'd gone through in the beginning with Lance that she could be strong, but Lance had been so different from Striking Snake. In Lance there had been a chord of goodness, yet in this savage warrior she sensed only evil. He would physically force her into submission. He would slake his lecherous desires upon her whether she was willing or not. If she dared to defy him as she had Lance, Trista didn't doubt for a moment that he would beat her and possibly even kill her.

  Shifting position, she rolled uncomfortably to her side and closed her eyes. It would be a long night and an even longer day tomorrow.

  Lance guided Fuego carefully through the rocky terrain as he followed Striking Snake's trail through the badlands. He was familiar with this area, though he hadn't been here in some time, and he felt reasonably certain that he knew where Striking Snake had taken Trista. The box canyon that lay not far ahead was known by his people, but seldom used because of its isolated location. Lance reasoned it would be the perfect place to hide out, and it seemed logical to him, now that he had followed him this far, that Striking Snake was heading there.

  Despite the ruggedness of the countryside, the thought of Trista helpless in the other warrior's savage captivity spurred Lance on
to even greater speeds. Onward he rode, unmindful of the heat or the constant throbbing in his head from his wound. All that mattered was Trista. A man obsessed, Lance wanted only to save her from Striking Snake's savage possession.

  It was late afternoon when he reached the canyon. Taking every precaution, he dismounted and went ahead on foot, leading Fuego behind him.

  Striking Snake was irritated with his plight. Though he knew he had won in killing Lance and claiming Trista, he was restless over not having been able to enjoy the spoils of his triumph. He realized that he could not take her for at least another day, yet the knowledge that she was there in his camp and totally helpless filled him with the restless need to prove his domination over her.

  He glanced toward where Trista sat on the far side of his camp. The golden beauty of her hair hung in wild disarray about her slender shoulders, and Striking Snake longed to run his hands through it. He had taken white women before, but never had one aroused him as Trista did. She was fire and spirit and totally woman, and he was aflame with desire for her. Only the fear that he would lose his powers if he touched her now held him back. Cursing under his breath at the weakness he had for her, he stood up and stalked off into the wilderness.

  Lance had followed the stream that fed the canyon and had come upon their camp a short time later. He had tied Fuego some distance away and had approached on foot. The sight of Trista tied and alone on the far side of the camp gave him hope that the rescue itself would not be too difficult. Only the confrontation with Striking Snake would be dangerous.

  Tense and ready to do battle, he studied the layout of the encampment, wanting to make sure that Striking Snake was the only renegade there. He had found no sign that the other warriors had met up with him yet, but he knew he couldn't be too cautious. It was a matter of survival. It was a matter of life or death.

  Steadily he took aim with his rifle, but when the brave suddenly left the camp for no apparent reason, his plan was thwarted. Frustrated, Lance waited and watched, trying to figure out where Striking Snake had gone. As long moments passed and he didn't return, Lance knew he had to make a move anyway. With any luck, he calculated that he could get in and out of the camp with Trista in a matter of minutes.