Comanche Heart (16 page)

“And if I change? If I try, will you try, too?”

Her small features tightened, and she averted her face, staring at the roses on her table. “I don’t know if I can.”

“What have you got to lose? I think I’ve made my stand pretty clear. If we can’t work things out between us, I’ll settle it the only way that’s left. Why not try it the easy way? Will you at least try? I’m not asking for surrender, just for a declaration of peace. I’ll meet you more than halfway.”

Her mind raced with all the possibilities that trying might pose, but foremost in her thoughts was the consequence that would undoubtedly occur if she refused. “I—I guess I can make an effort, though I don’t see how that will—”

“You promise?”

She sighed, feeling as if she had lost important ground. “I promise to try, nothing more.”

“That’s good enough,” he whispered.

 

A sense of purpose filled Swift as he left Amy’s house and strode down the main street of Wolf’s Landing toward Hunter’s home. Change. It had sounded simple enough when he had agreed to do it, but now that he had time to consider, he had no idea how to begin. Only one thing seemed certain: Amy wanted nothing to do with a gunslinger who dressed like a comanchero. If he wanted her, and he did, he had to acquire a new look.

When Swift stepped into the Wolf home, he found Hunter sitting at the kitchen table, head bent over a large book, the pages lined with green columns and chicken-scratched with writing. Glancing up, Hunter riveted his gaze to Swift’s face.

“What happened to you?”

“The coon came out,” Swift muttered, stepping to the stove to pour a cup of coffee. “Where is everybody?”

“Mrs. Hamstead’s sick, and Loretta went to check on her. She took Chase and Indigo to help chop wood and tidy the house.”

“What’s she ailing with?”

“Her mother-in-law’s sheep dung tea.” Hunter smiled when Swift turned from the stove. “What did your coon hit you with? That nose looks broke.”

“It is. More fool me for sticking my chin out and telling her to slug me.”

Hunter’s grin widened. He leaned back in the chair and laid down his pencil. “I haven’t seen Amy lose her temper in years. Congratulations.”

Giving his nose a tentative probing, Swift tried to sniff, only to discover his nasal passages were already swollen closed. “Don’t get carried away celebrating. Just because she gave me a poke doesn’t mean I’ve accomplished anything.” Heaving a sigh, he pulled out a chair and sat down. Taking a sip of coffee, he said, “I don’t know what to do, Hunter. Is this game I’ve been playing helping, or am I just making things worse?”

“Things must get worse for her to see she has to change.” Hunter reclaimed his pencil, toying with it idly. “I think you’ve done well. Unless she leaves Wolf’s Landing, she has no sanctuary. That leaves her no choice but to adjust.”

“I’m tempted to do just what she expects and take her. It’d be easier and a sight quicker.”

“Yes, but quick isn’t always good, especially considering what Amy has been through.” Hunter’s gaze softened with memories. “Gaining Loretta’s trust took time, but in the end it was worth the wait.”

Swift fished in his shirt pocket for his tobacco pouch, then forgot what he was doing and dropped his hand. “I’m just talking, anyway. As if I could take her, even if I wanted to. I’d hate myself afterward worse than she would.”

“Perhaps.”

Swift narrowed his eyes. “Have you ever forced a woman?”

“A little bit.”

“How do you do it a little bit?”

Hunter’s eyes filled with amusement. “ ‘For a little while’ is probably more accurate. Until my woman forgot to struggle. That was Loretta, though. Amy’s story is much harsher.” He studied the tip of his pencil, as if the mysteries of the world might be answered there. “Loretta saw her mother brutalized, and that made her very much afraid. Amy didn’t just see, she was the victim of twenty-three cruel men. It has been many years, and living with fear every day is an unpleasant thing. She has journeyed beyond it, I think, into a place where she doesn’t feel. Until you came, that is.”

Swift raked his hand through his hair. “She asked me to change.” Bluish oil ribboned the surface of his coffee. Tipping the cup, he gazed into the murky depths. “She doesn’t like my appearance or the fact that I wear my guns. I don’t think she believes I can provide for her without resorting to my old ways.”

“Can you?”

Swift felt heat rising up his neck. “I can work with you or get a farm. I’m not lazy, Hunter.”

“I could use a partner in my mine. Chase has his eye on the timber, and one day I expect him to try logging. But is Amy’s concern truly your ability to earn money? Or is it that you are an acorn in a bowl of walnuts?”

“Meaning that I don’t fit in? I can buy some new shirts. Take the conchae off my hat. I’m not so different from the people here.”

Hunter shook his head. “You misunderstand. Your clothes are a small thing. The man who wears them is not.” He gestured at the book before him. “To be my partner, you must know your letters and numbers, and you don’t.”

“You expect me to learn how to read?” Swift stared at him, scarcely able to believe Hunter, of all people, placed importance on book learning. “I can’t read, Hunter. I can’t even spell my name.”

“I was one dumb Comanche, and I learned.” Hunter tapped his finger on the writing. “My books. They say how rich I am. And I put all the numbers here. If I can do this, you can. You talk of a new shirt? Anyone can buy a shirt, Swift. What will that prove to Amy?”

“That I’m willing to try.”

“But only a little bit. This is a white man’s world. Our world, as you say, no longer exists, except within our hearts. You claim a white woman as yours, and you plan to marry with her and live in her world. To do that, you must make yourself a little bit like a white man, so you can care for her.”

Swift swallowed, his gaze dropping to the writing on the paper. Anger filled him. “I don’t need to know my letters to care for her. Damn it, Hunter, that’s asking too much. It’s enough to consider taking off my guns now and again. I never know when someone may discover I’m here and come looking for me.”

Hunter lifted one shoulder in an eloquent shrug. Swift clenched his teeth. “It’d take me years to learn letters and numbers,” he argued.

“A little time if you study hard. I learned quick.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re smarter than me.”

Hunter shrugged again. “You are right. It is too high a price to pay for a woman.”

“That isn’t it, and you know it.”

“What is it, then? Are you afraid to try?”

Swift bristled. “I’m not scared of anything, let alone a bunch of letters on a page.”

“We will see.”

“Are you daring me?”

Hunter looked bewildered. “Me, Swift? You came to me, and I have said my thoughts. That is all. You don’t like my thoughts, and that is fine, but they are still my thoughts. Amy is a schoolteacher, and she makes much of letters and numbers. I think she would be pleased if you showed interest in what is important to her. You ask Amy to do all the compromising. This way, she will see you making a big effort.”

“All right,” Swift said through clenched teeth. “I said I’d try, and I will. You teach me.”

Hunter grinned. “I can’t teach you, Swift. I must work in my mine to feed my family. And Loretta is very busy with her work. You could study with Chase and Indigo at night, but that would take a very long time.”

“Well, how in hell can I learn, then?”

“Maybe you should go to school.”

Swift stared at him, incredulity striking him speechless for a moment. “With the children, you mean?”

Chapter 8

MORNING SUNLIGHT SLANTED OVER THE ROOF of the schoolhouse into Swift’s eyes. He shuffled his boots, not quite able to force himself up the steps. The feelings sweeping through him reminded him of the first time he’d bedded a woman. He had been uncertain of himself then, afraid of failing. Making love had turned out to be something he had aptitude for, but he wasn’t sure he could master academics with the same flair.

What if he
was
stupid? What if, no matter how he tried, his mind couldn’t make sense of the scribbles? Amy would see and know. He’d never again be able to stand proud before her. Years ago he had impressed her with his many skills, but those skills meant nothing here. Wouldn’t it be wiser not even to try than to risk revealing his inadequacies? She might never guess if he tried real hard to do good at everything else.

Children’s laughter floated from the building. Swift imagined that laughter was being directed at him. Sweat filmed his palms. He could face a man on the street in a gunfight, but this was different. For the first time, he wanted to run. Pride wouldn’t allow him to. What would Hunter think if he found out? Swift could admit to many things, but never to cowardice.

He walked slowly up the steps.

Amy stood at the front of the classroom, her slender back straight, head held high, her voice ringing like a bell as she gave instruction on some arithmetic problems. When she glimpsed Swift, she turned in surprise, her eyes widening in question. Swift felt like a fly in the honey.

“Good morning, Mr. Lopez.” She glanced at the children, and they chimed in, saying, “Good morning, Mr. Lopez.”

It was small consolation that the kids didn’t seem wary of him anymore. Swift shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Tipping his hat, he said, “Mornin’.”

“Did you have a specific reason for coming?” Amy asked, her gaze dropping to his gun belt, then drifting upward to his hat.

Swift yanked the hat off his head and swallowed, shooting a glance at the youngsters. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I’ve come to—” He met her gaze. “Do you have room for a new pupil?”

“Of course. For whom?”

“Me,” Swift mumbled.

“Who?”

He swallowed again. In a louder voice he repeated, “Me.”

“You?” She stared at him as if she didn’t believe she had heard correctly.

“I want to learn my letters and numbers,” Swift said with more conviction. One of the children snickered.

Amy didn’t look elated over his request. He shared her sentiments. But he had come. And he’d be damned if he’d back out now.

“You’re a little old to be attending school, Mr. Lopez.”

“I’m a late bloomer.” Swift strode to the coatrack. After hanging up his hat, he unfastened his gun belt, acutely conscious that everyone in the room was staring at him. He draped his guns over a hook and turned to face them. Flashing a grin, he said, “Maybe I’ll learn quicker since I’m older.”

There were no empty seats near Chase or Indigo. Peter, the little redhead, returned Swift’s smile. Since there was an unoccupied desk behind the youngster, Swift headed in that direction. The desk was a problem. Once he folded himself into it, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get out. Thinking of Amy stuck in the window, he glanced up at her and grinned again. She narrowed her eyes on his swollen nose. Since he felt fairly certain she couldn’t read his mind, he decided grinning might be against the rules. He mashed his lips together and tried to look humorless.

The silence began to feel uncomfortable. Swift wondered if Amy would ever regather her composure or if she was going to stand there staring at him all day. He stared back at her and slowly relaxed. He might not learn anything, but the view was breathtaking. He could think of several less pleasurable ways to spend his days. His gaze trailed from her face downward.

After a moment Amy clamped a hand over the line of buttons on her bodice, as if she guessed where his attention had centered. She turned a very pretty pink, a nice contrast to her somber gray dress. “Well . . .” She looked nonplussed, as if she might have forgotten what she had been saying. Her eyes turned a stormy blue. He knew what that meant. When she got angry, her eyes never failed to look dark and turbulent. “Far be it from me to turn anyone away. If you really want to learn, Mr. Lopez, this is the place to do it.”

She clearly had her doubts about his sincerity. Swift forgot that it might be against the rules to grin. He was enjoying himself more by the moment. To spend hour after hour flirting with Amy Masters and making her cheeks turn pink was about as close to the Great Beyond as a Comanche could get.

Straightening her shoulders, Amy returned to her desk and searched frantically for her notes, which had been buried beneath the homework the children had just handed in. Arithmetic. But she couldn’t recall today’s lesson. Swift Lopez, in her classroom? Her throat tightened with unreasoning panic. He’d sit there staring at her all day, she just knew it. He no more wanted to learn numbers and letters than pigs yearned to fly.

Amy at last found her notes. Clutching them in one hand, she turned to face her class. Swift’s gaze slid slowly from her breasts to her waist, then lower. Fury welled within her. He had come to torment her. And if not for that, to further his cause with her. Well, she’d nip this nonsense in the bud. She would give him so much homework that he’d be up half the night finishing it. He’d very quickly decide this was her territory and, unlike her home, inviolate, unless he was willing to go through a great deal of self-sacrifice.

Somehow Amy waded her way through the arithmetic lesson, seeing to it that each age group understood the instructions and were busily doing the problems. Then she advanced on Mr. Lopez with her arithmetic book. Her determination to bowl him over flagged a bit when she realized he couldn’t recognize any number, except those he had come across in a poker deck. Determined not to soften, she dragged over a desk and sat down.

“I guess we’d better start at the very beginning,” she said sternly, determined not to let the wary expression in his eyes get to her.

He leaned her direction to look at the pages of the book. When he saw the enormity of what he was undertaking, he whispered, “Shit!”