Comanche Heart (7 page)

“Amy? Honey, don’t upset yourself like this. I know it seems bad to you right now. But aren’t you jumping the gun just a little? Give Swift a chance, hm? What can it hurt?”

“What can it hurt? He’s going to hold me to the betrothal. You should have seen the look in his eye. You know that look they get when they’re bent on something.”

Loretta’s blue eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure you read him right? Swift always loved you so much. I can’t picture him riding roughshod over you. Maybe you took him off guard. Maybe he needs time to mull it over.”

Amy swiped at a wisp of hair on her forehead, struggling for calm. “I know him, I tell you. He means to marry me now that he’s found me. I just know it. And Hunter said it’s not his place to interfere. You have to do something.”

“What do you suggest?”

Amy gestured at the house. “Go in there and tell Hunter that . . .” Her voice trailed off. A feeling of unreality swamped her, and she focused on her surroundings, wondering how such an ordinary day had gone so impossibly awry. To her right she heard the creek rushing. Delilah, the cow, came ambling up to the fence and mooed, sending the chickens that scratched nearby into a flutter. “Surely you can reason with him.”

The tiny lines deepened at the corners of Loretta’s eyes. “The first thing Hunter said to me when he walked into the house was that this was none of our business. He meant just that. Oh, Amy, do you realize what you’re asking?” She stepped over to the fence and pulled a cloth sack of milk curd from the nail where she had hung it earlier to drain off the whey. “Hunter and I have spent our entire married life honoring both his ways and mine. How can I ask him to step into this and interfere when it’s against his beliefs?”

“What about our beliefs, white beliefs?”

Loretta gave the sack of curds a little shake to dislodge the remaining beads of whey clinging to its bottom. “I’m afraid you forfeited the right to those when you took part in a Comanche betrothal ceremony. It’d be different if you’d become affianced according to our ways. You could just say forget it. But, Amy, you made vows to Swift’s gods, before his people. And you knew it was for forever when you did it.”

“I was a child, an impulsive child.”

“Yes. And if you’ll remember, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when I discovered what you’d done. But by the time I learned of it, you’d already betrothed yourself to him. There wasn’t much I could do to rectify the situation then, and there isn’t now.”

“The man’s a gunslinger, a comanchero. Have you and Hunter both lost your minds? Having him show up here is a nightmare!”

Loretta went pale. “I know how you’re feeling, truly I do. I’m a little leery about having Swift here. More than you know. I have children in the house, and if he’s as bad as the stories say, he can’t be trusted.”

“Then how can you—”

“How can I not?” Loretta pinioned Amy with a pleading look. “Hunter’s my husband. Swift is his dear friend. Hunter thinks differently than we do, you know that. He looks forward, never back. No matter what Swift has done, all that counts to Hunter is what he does from today forward. Am I to go inside and tell him his friend isn’t welcome at my table? It’s Hunter’s table, too, Amy. And he puts the food there.”

“What are you saying, Loretta? That you won’t help me?”

“I’m saying I can’t—not until Swift does something to warrant it.”

A breeze picked up, whipping Amy’s skirts around her legs. She shivered and hugged herself. “He’s rumored to have killed over a hundred men, for God’s sake.”

“If he kills someone here in Wolf’s Landing, we can start counting,” Loretta replied gently. “Amy, love, have you tried just talking to Swift? Telling him how you feel? The Swift I remember would listen and weigh what you have to say. I’m sure he never intended to make your life a misery by coming here.”

Amy tipped her head back, gazing up at a lofty pine, her eyes narrowed against the sun. “Do you really think he might listen to me?”

“I think you must try.”

 

Swift ran the curry brush along his stallion’s shoulder, his thoughts on Amy and the harsh words that had passed between them. When the light in the barn dimmed, he knew someone stood in the doorway behind him. A sixth sense told him who. Pretending to be unaware, he spoke softly to his horse, continuing his chore, his body tensed as he waited for her to speak.

“Swift?”

She sounded like a frightened child. Memories swept over him, taking him back to that long-ago summer and those first weeks after the comancheros had stolen her from her family. He remembered how terrified she had been in his company. Back in the schoolhouse, he had seen that same panicked expression in her eyes, that of a trapped animal. He didn’t want that.

Straightening, Swift turned to look at her. Sunshine slanted through the doorway behind her and ignited the coronet of braid at the crown of her head to a blinding gold. Because he looked against the light, he couldn’t see her expression, but from the taut way she held herself, he knew what it had cost her to approach him alone, out here in the barn.

“I see y-you found everything—the feed and all.”

“Chase showed me.”

One of Hunter’s horses neighed; Diablo nickered in answer, shifting sideways.

“That’s a beautiful stallion. Have you had him long?”

He doubted she was sincerely interested in his horse. But if she needed to circle him for a bit before she got to her point, he had no objections.

“I raised him from a colt. He’s not as ornery as he looks. If you’d like to pet him, he’s pretty gentle with the ladies.”

“Maybe later. Right now, I, um, need to talk to you.”

He walked to the wall, spurs chinking, to rehang the brush on its nail. “I’m listening,” he replied softly.

She surprised him by taking another step farther into the barn. Once out of the sun, her face became visible—a face so lovely and sweet it made his heart catch. Wiping her hands on her blue skirt, she glanced around uneasily, as if she expected ghosts to jump out at her. Swift indicated a bale of straw perched by the stall, but she shook her head, clearly too nervous to sit. Interlacing her fingers and bending her knuckles backward, she finally managed to drag her gaze up to his.

“I, um . . . first of all, I’d like to apologize. I didn’t give you a very warm welcome. It’s wonderful seeing you again.”

Swift bit back a smile. Amy had never been an accomplished liar. “Maybe we can start over, hm?” He held her gaze with his, wishing he knew a way to ease her fears. “Hello, Amy.”

She licked her lips. “You used to call me
Aye-mee.
”

He grinned. “Which sounded like a sick sheep. You have a beautiful name when it’s said correctly.”

“You’ve mastered English well,” she said lamely.

“I didn’t have a choice. I had enough counts against me without talking strange. If you practice hard enough, you can master anything.”

Amy mourned the change. Swift’s ineptness at expressing himself in English had often led him to say things that had seemed profound to her.
Wherever you put your face, Amy, your eyes see the horizon and your tomorrows, never yesterday. The sadness in your heart is a yesterday you can no longer see, so put it behind you and walk always forward.

A lock of black hair curled across his forehead. She recalled touching his hair years ago, tugging his braids, repositioning the feathers he wore. Her gaze shifted from his dark face to the silver-studded gun belt that rode his narrow hips. Rawhide strings anchored the holsters to his muscular thighs. Though his stance seemed relaxed, she sensed a readiness about him, an alertness, as if even now he registered every sound around him. The black shirt and pants heightened the effect, making him seem all the more sinister. She wondered if he had chosen the color to intimidate his opponents.

“Swift . . . I have a request to make of you.”

He glanced at her hands and saw that she had her fingers bent so far backward that they were in danger of breaking, her knuckles a painful white. “And what might that be?”

“Do you promise to consider carefully before answering?”

“If it’s something I feel deserves consideration.” Swift hooked his thumbs over his gun belt, waiting, knowing before she spoke what she meant to ask.

“I—would you—” She broke off and looked up at him with her heart in her eyes. “I want to be set free from the betrothal promises I made to you.”

He turned back toward his horse and deftly unfastened the animal’s bridle.

“You promised to consider.”

“Do I take this to mean that Hunter still honors the customs of the People?”

“You know he does!”

Swift smiled. “And he suggested you ask me to set you free? How quickly he forgets.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t you remember his marriage to Loretta?” He tossed the bridle onto the straw bale and turned back to face her. “He practically dragged her to the priest.”

“It was different for them.” In her agitation she came several steps closer, so close Swift could have touched her. “They loved each other, Swift.”

“Do you think I don’t love you, Amy?” He couldn’t resist the urge. Lifting a hand, he brushed his fingertips along her pale cheek. She felt as soft as velvet. “Have you any idea how many times I dreamed of you these last fifteen years? How many times I wept because the great fight for my people kept me from being with you?”

Amy stared up at him, trying to imagine him with tears in his eyes. “You love a memory. I’m not the girl you knew.”

His fingertips slid to cup her chin, the rasp of his callused skin warming her from the inside out like a gulp of medicinal whiskey. Amy shrank back, but his hand followed. He trailed his knuckles lightly along her throat, his gaze resting on her face, alert to every change in her expression.

“Aren’t you the same girl?” he asked huskily.

“How could I be? You’re not a foolish man. Why marry an unwilling woman when you could find someone else?”

“Are you unwilling, or only frightened?” His mouth twisted in a wry grin, and he closed the remaining distance between them. “You ever stumbled across a snake and thought it was a rattler? The first thing you think of is getting bit, and that scares you so bad you can’t see past it. You don’t look to see if it’s really a rattler or if it’s coiled. If you’ve got something in your hand to kill it with, you strike without thinking.”

To her eyes, he seemed a yard wide at the shoulders. He smelled of leather and horse and gunpowder, distinctly masculine, a strangely heady combination in the close confines of the barn. Crooking a finger beneath her chin, he tipped her head back.

“I’m not a rattler, Amy, and I’m not fixin’ to bite. Give me a chance to wash the trail dust off and have a cup of coffee.”

“Then I have nothing to worry about?” Her voice shook. “I’m misreading you. Is that what you’re saying? You have no intention of holding me to promises made fifteen years ago?”

“I’d like to discuss it later, that’s what I’m saying. You need some time to walk a circle around me. And I need time to come to grips with the reality that you’re alive. I have no intentions of making any announcements of marriage today, so you can relax on that score.” He turned her face to regard her, his eyes smiling. “As for you not being the same girl I knew? You look like her, speak like her, smell like her . . .” He slowly bent his head toward hers. “Ask me to cut off my right arm for you, and I’ll do it. Ask me to lay down my life for you, and I’ll do it. But, please, don’t ask me to give you up now that I’ve found you again. Don’t ask that, Amy.”

“But—I
am
asking it of you, Swift.” She drew her head back as his advanced. “I’m begging it of you. If you truly love me, don’t destroy my life like this.”

Bent on kissing her, Swift tightened his hold on her chin. At the last possible second, she wrenched her face aside. With a broken sob, she whirled away from him and ran from the barn. Swift stared after her, his hand still uplifted.

After a moment, he stepped to the barn door and watched her fleeing down the center of the street. She bypassed Hunter and Loretta’s house, heading for a small clapboard dwelling set among a cluster of tall pines at the other end of town.

Don’t destroy my life like this.
The words whispered in Swift’s mind, a heartbreak he didn’t want to face, but one he couldn’t ignore.

 

After spending the afternoon and early evening catching up on old times with Loretta and getting to know the children, Swift accompanied Hunter to his lodge, where they sought privacy to talk. Hunter laid a log across the fire, then lowered himself cross-legged to the ground, eyeing Swift across the flames. Night wind slapped against the taut leather walls of the lodge, making a hollow, soft drumming sound that carried Swift back through the years. In the firelight, the age lines stamped upon Hunter’s handsome face were invisible. Dressed in buckskin, with his mahogany hair still long, he looked just as Swift remembered him, a tall, lithe warrior with piercing indigo eyes.

“I can’t believe you’ve kept your lodge all these years, Hunter. With a fine house like you’ve built, what’s the point?”

Hunter glanced around them. “This is where I find myself. I live in one world, but my heart yearns for another sometimes.”

His voice reed thin, Swift replied, “It’s a world that no longer exists.” As gently as he could, he told Hunter about the deaths of all his relatives. Tears filled Hunter’s eyes, but Swift continued, knowing these things had to be said and that Hunter had brought him to the lodge to hear them. “At least they died free and proud, my friend,” Swift finished carefully. “Their world no longer existed, so perhaps it was best they passed on to a better place.”

Hunter swept his hand toward the lodge walls. “Ah, but it does exist, and as long as my children live, it will continue to exist, because I sing my people’s songs and teach my children their ways.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “The People are here, forever, until I am dust in the wind. It was my brother’s last request of me, yes? And I have honored it. It was my mother’s dream, and I have made it come true.” He let out a ragged sigh. “I have known of their parting for a long time. My brother’s spirit walks beside me. I feel the sunshine of my mother’s love upon my shoulders. When I listen, I can hear them whispering gladness to me.”