Comanche Heart

  She clamped a hand over her diaphragm, struggling to breathe. She had to do something to make him back off, and she had to do it soon.

  Swift swung the ax, driving the blade through the log until it hit home on the block. Sweat trickled down his temples, yet he continued to work, so frustrated he had begun to doubt whether Hunter’s supply of unsplit logs would last through his temper.

  The little coward! She had gone off to school as if nothing had happened, never even glancing toward Hunter’s house. How far did he have to push her before she struck back? Swift clenched his teeth, swinging the ax again with a grunt of disgust. He had expected more from her. Some sort of confrontation, at the very least. Even if she quivered and shook while she faced him.

  Arms aching, lungs spent, Swift upended the ax and leaned on it, gazing toward the schoolhouse. What’s happened to you, Amy? She had hidden in her house for four days! It was as if something vital inside her had been snuffed out. He could understand her being intimidated by him, but not to this degree. Where was her fierce pride? And the glorious temper she had once had? Now her answer to everything was to turn pale and shake.

  A sad smile twisted his mouth. Admit it, Lopez. Deep down, you were hoping she might like the roses, that instead of a confrontation she might even say “thank you” and call a truce.

  “Mr. Lopez?”

  Swift whirled at the voice, unsettled because he had let someone sneak up on him. He’d be a dead man if he let that happen too often. He focused on the tall, hefty man who walked toward him, skirting Loretta’s chickens, which pecked the ground looking for seed. Sunlight glinted off the badge on the man’s shirt. Swift cursed under his breath.

  “You must be Marshal Hilton.”

  The lawman nodded and drew to a stop a few feet short of Swift, glancing uneasily at his guns. “I’m sorry to introduce myself this way. But there’s been a complaint lodged.”

  Swift swiped at the sweat on his jaw, glancing toward the school. “I figured that when I saw your badge. She threatened to go see you. I didn’t think she meant it.”

  “You thought wrong.” Marshal Hilton frowned. “I understand you entered Miss Amy’s house last night without her permission . . . twice. Do you deny that?”

  Swift tightened his grip on the ax handle. “No.”

  “Seems to me a man could find better things to do than torment a helpless woman.”

  Breakfast and roses were considered a torment? Swift shifted his weight. “Helpless? You don’t know Amy very well, Marshal. She’s hell in a tailspin when she gets riled.”

  The marshal scratched his chin. “I’m going to have to insist that you leave her be. Do I have your word on that?”

  Swift straightened his shoulders. “No, sir, you don’t.”

  The marshal slid another anxious glance at Swift’s guns. “I either get your word, or I lock you up. I know she’s a pretty little thing, but there are appropriate ways to court a lady. Entering her house isn’t one of them.” Pursing his lips, the man met Swift’s gaze. “I know your reputation.” His voice shook a little as he spoke. “I reckon you can kill me where I stand, ’cause I’m no fast draw. But I have to uphold the law. You can’t pester a helpless woman in my town and get away with it.”

  Swift respected that. “I’ve never shot a man yet who didn’t draw on me first,” he replied through clenched teeth.

  The marshal relaxed somewhat. “I’m no fool.”

  Furious, Swift buried the ax blade into the chopping block and reached for his shirt. “When Miss Amy lodged her complaint, did she happen to mention that she and I are betrothed?”

  The marshal’s eyes registered his surprise. “Be trothed?”

  Swift sauntered toward him, shoving his arms down the sleeves of his shirt and fastening the buttons. “Have been for fifteen years. According to Comanche law, she’s my woman.”

  “I don’t recall her mentioning that. Of course, Comanche law isn’t my concern, so it wouldn’t make much difference. White law forbids a man to terrorize a woman.”

  “Terrorize? I fixed her breakfast and left her red roses!”

  Looking confused, the marshal digested that bit of information and sighed. “There’s no figurin’ women sometimes.”

  Swift drew abreast of him. Pretending an indifference he was far from feeling, he said, “You can lock me up, I guess. But for how long? A day, maybe two?”

  “I reckon a day will cool your heels a bit. But it’d be a sight easier if you’d just agree to leave her alone.”

  “I can’t do that.” Just the thought of being locked up made Swift’s belly lurch. “As for cooling my heels, you reckon wrong. The minute I get out, I’m going right to her house and shake her until her teeth rattle. She’s carried things too far by bringing you into this. Over roses! I can’t believe it.”

  The marshal cleared his throat. “Mr. Lopez, don’t threaten her in front of me. I’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”

  Swift struck off toward the jail, stabbing his fingers under his belt to tuck in his shirttails. “I’m not threatening, I’m promising.” He swung around, arching an imperious eyebrow at the lawman. “Well, are you coming or not?”

  Amy had never seen Hunter so angry. She scurried along beside him, trying to reason with him. “I can’t just leave my classroom. It won’t hurt Swift to wait until school is out.”

  “He’s waiting in a cell,” Hunter retorted. “You know how the People feel about bars, Amy! Indigo and Chase can handle the schoolchildren until you return.”

  Amy nearly tripped on her petticoats. “I never meant for him to get tossed in jail, Hunter. You have to believe that.”

  “You went to the marshal.”

  “Yes, but only to ask that he intervene. I figured once he talked to Swift that Swift would leave me be.” Amy lifted her gray-striped satin skirts to step up onto the boardwalk. “Dumb gunslinging comanchero, anyway,” she muttered under her breath. “Why wouldn’t he just promise to stay clear of my place? The marshal never would’ve done this if Swift would be reasonable.”

  “Reasonable?” Hunter shot her a glare. “It’s his house, too. The marshal doesn’t understand that, but you do.”

  “According to your beliefs,” she reminded him.

  Hunter came to a stop. His mouth white with rage, he pinioned her with glittering eyes. “Until now, you have honored my ways. When the day comes that you no longer do, then you are no longer part of our family. You understand?”

  Amy couldn’t believe she had heard him correctly. “Hunter,” she whispered, “you don’t mean that.”

  “I say what I mean,” he replied. “Swift is my friend. He’s living in my house. Because of you, he is in jail.”

  “What else could I do? I’m no match against him, and you know it. You’ve turned a blind eye and refuse to protect me.”

  Hunter’s jaw tightened. “Has he harmed you? Has he even so much as grabbed your arm and tightened his fingers until his grip caused you pain?” He paused, waiting. “Answer me. Yes or no?”

  Tears burned behind Amy’s eyelids. Her mouth dry, she managed a weak, “No.”

  “Louder!”

  “No!”

  Hunter nodded. “And he is in jail. Settle your differences between you. Never bring Marshal Hilton into it. Understand?”

  With that, he struck off up the boardwalk, his destination the jail. Amy followed, feeling more alone than she ever had. Hunter threw open the jailhouse door with such force it cracked into the wall. He stepped inside and boomed, “Marshal Hilton!”

  Stepping across the threshold, Amy peered through the gloom. At the rear of the small jail, she saw the marshal standing by the only cell, his shoulder pressed to the bars. Hunter didn’t speak, which led her to believe he was waiting for her to. Amy glanced past him at the dark man who reclined on the cot inside the cell. Every line of his body radiated how trapped he felt.

  Licking her lips, she said, “Marshal, it seems you misunderstood my intentions when I came to s
ee you this morning. I, um, never meant for Mr. Lopez to be incarcerated. I only wanted you to discourage him from pestering me.”

  “He didn’t discourage too good,” the marshal replied in an amused voice. “Fact is, he still hasn’t agreed to stay clear of you. To the contrary, he’s threatening worse.”

  Amy’s nape prickled. She glanced at Hunter to find him glaring at her expectantly. Her throat froze up. Eyes drawn to Swift, she clasped her hands. Swift’s eyes glittered at her, promising reprisal she couldn’t even contemplate.

  “Amy . . .” Hunter’s voice came out in a low growl.

  “I, um . . .” Amy looked into Swift’s eyes. There was no mistaking the message in them. Her legs quivered. “The way I see it, Mr. Lopez has no one but himself to blame. If h-he would just . . .” She hesitated, aware of Hunter beside her. “If he’d just promise to leave me alone, we could let him loose.”

  “Ai-ee!” Hunter exclaimed under his breath.

  Amy waited, imploring Swift with her gaze. His answer was to settle his head more comfortably on his arms and close his eyes, as if he were prepared to stay there until hell froze over.

  “I guess that—” Amy broke off, her mind racing frantically ahead to the inevitable moment when she would have to face him—alone. Yet she had no choice. Hunter had made his position clear, and he and Loretta were her only family. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “I g-guess you’d better just turn him loose, Marshal Hilton.” She turned an accusing glance on Hunter, then spun and left the jail.

  Swift opened his eyes and watched her leave, his jaw set. Keys jangled. The next instant the door swung open. Making an effort not to reveal how anxious he was to escape the enclosure, he rose, lifted his hat from the hook, and stepped out of the cell. The marshal handed over his knife and guns.

  Strapping on his gun belt, Swift said, “Nice meeting you, Hilton. Hope I don’t see you again any time soon.”

  With that, Swift clamped his hat on his head and followed Amy out the door, Hunter behind him.

  Chapter 7

  NERVES FRAZZLED BEYOND REPAIR, AMY DISMISSED school early and went home, bolting the door and making certain the windows were locked the moment she went inside. Swift would come; it was only a matter of time. She paced the floor, her body clammy with nervous sweat. He’d be angry—probably so angry he’d be livid. There was no telling what he might do.

  Time passed. Amy kept glancing at the clock, but from one time to the next she couldn’t recall where the hands had been a moment before and was therefore unable to guess how many minutes elapsed. Hunter had turned against her. She couldn’t believe it. Hunter and Loretta were her only family, the only support she had. Swift’s arrival had threatened that. She hated him.

  A soft knock on the door made Amy leap. She whirled, staring at the bolts. “Wh-who is it?”

  “One guess,” a deep voice replied.

  She pressed her palms against her middle, feeling as if she might vomit. “G-go away, Swift.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Amy. Open the door so we can talk. That’s all. Just talk.”

  His smooth, deceptively calm tone didn’t fool her. “You’re angry. I won’t talk to you when you’re angry.”

  “I’m going to stay angry until we talk,” he called back, his voice a little louder. “Unbolt the goddamn door!”

  She retreated a step, glancing around her wildly. “No. You go away and calm down. Then we’ll talk.”

  She heard him curse. After a long silence he yelled, “I’m not going to calm down. Not until we talk. You had me locked up. Do you know how bad I hate that? I can see you doing a lot of things, but going to the marshal, Amy?”

  “It was your own fault. Why couldn’t you be reasonable!”

  “Reasonable? You call going to the marshal reasonable?”

  “I—I didn’t mean to get you put in jail,” she called, her voice quavery. “I truly didn’t, Swift.”

  “Open the door and tell me that,” he replied not quite so loudly.

  She stood frozen.

  “Amy . . .” She heard him heave a sigh. “Listen real close, okay? I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

  “You’re furious. I know it,” she squeaked.

  “Yeah, I’m that all right.”

  “And you expect me to open the door?”

  “Let’s put it this way. If you don’t, I’m going to kick it down. And when I get in there, I’ll be a shade madder than I am right now. It’s what you call a bad hand, Amy, no matter how you call it. So throw it in now.”

  She closed her eyes, trying to stop shaking. “D-do you promise not to touch me?”

  “I promise not to hurt you. Isn’t that good enough?”

  She wrung her hands. “I want you to promise not to touch me.”

  “I’ll go to hell in a handbasket first.”

  “I knew it. How stupid do you think I am?”

  “Bright isn’t exactly your middle name. Come on, Amy. If I kick in this door, I’ll be all day tomorrow fixin’ the damn thing. What’s the point in that?”

  Amy retreated another step, listening. She heard his boots thudding and knew he was deliberately making the noise so she’d know he was backing up to get at a good kicking distance.

  “W-wait! I, um . . .” She clamped a hand over the coil of braid atop her head. She had to get out of there. Where could she go? Hunter wouldn’t help her. She’d have to hide. In the barn, maybe, or perhaps the woods. In the mood Swift was in now, there was no telling what he might do. “I’m not dressed!”

  “Why are you undressed at this time of evening?”

  “I, um . . .” She backed up another step. “A bath, I was taking a bath.”

  “Amy, if you’re lying, I’ll skin you alive.”

  “No. No, I’m not. Give me two minutes. Just two, and I’ll open the door. Please?”

  “All right. Two minutes, but not a second more.”

  Whirling, Amy ran toward the kitchen. Approaching the window, she rose up on her toes to unfasten its latch and swing it wide. Staring upward, she wondered if the hole was large enough. Not that she had much choice. All the other windows faced the front of the house. Heart in throat, trying her best to be silent, she dragged a kitchen chair over to the opening and climbed up on it.

  With her full skirts to hinder her, she nearly lost her balance trying to get one leg high enough to push it over the sill. Getting a grip on the frame, she hauled herself upward. Finally she sat astraddle the sill. She curled into a ball and tucked her head, trying to fit her shoulders through the tiny opening. Wincing, she drew up her other knee. After straining and twisting, she managed to get her bent leg wedged. Now, all she need do was get turned around enough so she could jump.

  “Just one more minute, Swift.”

  “You’d better count on five,” a voice said from outside in the yard behind her. “I think you’re stuck.”

  Amy started and nearly fell through the window backward. A large hand, planted firmly on her left buttock, righted her again. “Swift?” she squeaked, straining her neck to see over her arm, which was looped around her knee.

  “Who the hell do you think?”

  “Oh, God . . .”

  Hands grasped her waist to pull her on through the window. Pain shot from her knee to her hip and across her shoulders. If she hadn’t been wedged into the opening before, she was now. She cried out.

  “Goddamn, you are stuck,” he said from below her. “Amy, why in hell did you choose this window? It isn’t big enough to spit through.”

  “It was the only one you couldn’t see.”

  “I didn’t need to see. With all the racket, I knew what you were doing. And now look at the fix you’re in. It’s a wonder you didn’t fall out and break your fool neck.” He tugged on her again. “Well, if this isn’t a hell of a mess, I don’t know what is. Can you stick that leg back inside?”

  With her head bent to her chest, she could scarcely breathe. “It’s stuck.”

&nb
sp; His hands fell from her waist. “You know, I oughta just leave you there.”

  “Go, then. I don’t need or want your help.”

  “You’re a fine-looking sight, waving your drawers at the world. What would little Peter Crenton think if he could see you now? I bet a proper lady doesn’t climb through windows.”

  Amy squeezed her eyes closed. “Oh, God, are my drawers truly showing? Pull my skirt down.”

  “Not on your life.” He laughed softly. “Prettiest damn drawers I ever saw.”

  Amy clenched her teeth. “I hate your guts. I detest you. You’re turning my life into a nightmare! How can you stand there when a woman’s underwear is showing and—and just look!”

  “You’re right. That’s plain disgusting. I’ll have me a smoke while I’m at it.”

  Seething, Amy strained and shoved to dislodge her foot so she could get her leg inside. A sob of frustration crawled up her throat. “You slimy bastard! Just stand there, why don’t you?”

  Swift made no reply. She tried to twist her neck to see him, couldn’t. “Swift?”

  Nothing. She grew still a moment to listen. He had left her! She jerked furiously on her foot. The window frame dug painfully into her shoulders, bringing tears to her eyes.

  “Be still. You’re gonna keep on till you pop through like a grape out of its skin, and I’m not out there to catch you.”

  She started at the sound of his voice coming from inside the house, to her right. “Scare me to death! I thought you left.”

  “I’m not quite as slimy as that,” he said with a chuckle. She heard the chair scrape the floor. “It was tempting, though. If I wasn’t scared you’d break that spindly little neck of yours, I’d do it.” He grasped her ankle and tugged. “Relax, Amy. You’re stiff as a board. If I’m going to get you out, you’ll have to loosen up.”

  “It’s easy for you to say. It’s my hind portion planted up here.”

  “Hind portion? Sounds like a slab of beef. How about behind? Or fanny? Or—”