“I can’t, Swift,” she whispered to no one. “I can’t.”
Whirling from the window, Amy clamped a hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes closed. She wouldn’t watch. She’d pretend he had never come. She’d get on with her life. She wouldn’t wish for things she couldn’t have.
The world I belonged in is gone. You’re my last chance. Rigid, she stood there, the seconds measured by her slamming pulse, each one an agony because she knew he might have left by now, that if she turned and looked, the hilltop would be empty.
As empty as her life.
Swift nudged Diablo into a trot, tightening his hands on the reins. The wind whipped against his jaw, cut through his shirt. He reached behind him for the poncho, hesitated, then jerked it free from the ties. It didn’t matter now if he wore it. It never would again. Giving the stallion free lead, he took off his hat to shove his head through the slit in the wool. The protective layer of clothing didn’t warm him. But then, the chill he felt went deeper than the flesh.
Taking up the reins again, he settled his gaze on the skyline, an endless expanse of trees and mountains. A man with yesterdays on his horizon travels a great distance to nowhere.
Diablo snorted and pricked his ears. Swift listened, heard nothing. The stallion snorted again. Reining him to a walk, Swift twisted in the saddle to look back. Wishful thinking, he chided himself. Just keep riding. Don’t torture yourself. But he listened all the same. And then he heard it. A cry, carried on the wind, so faint he nearly missed it.
Then she appeared on the hilltop, gray skirts blowing, wisps of golden hair flying from her braid around her face. He focused, blinked, afraid he was imagining her. Amy. Gathering up her skirts, she came tearing down the rutted road at such a breakneck speed he feared she might lose her footing and fall.
About twenty feet away, she staggered to a stop. Tears streaked her face. Her eyes looked tortured, so blue against her pale skin they reached out and grabbed him. She clasped her hands over her waist, short of breath, sobbing.
“Swift . . .” She gasped and swallowed, struggling to speak. “Wait . . . until tomorrow. Please? Just one more day.”
His heart felt like a rag she was wringing out. “What difference will one more day make, Amy?”
Her face contorted, twisted. She cupped a shaking hand over her eyes. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”
Swift swung off the horse. The poncho caught in the wind, the fringe whipping up and lashing his cheek. He should take it off; he knew how she hated it. But, as she said, a man couldn’t outrun his yesterdays, no matter how he tried.
“Amy, look at me.”
She dropped her hand, focused on him through shimmering tears, her mouth atremble. “Won’t you stay with me one more day?”
Swift let his gaze trail off to the trees, steeling himself against the plea in her voice. “Why, Amy? So we can go through this again tomorrow? It’s better this way, quick and clean.”
“You’ll never come back.” She took several steps toward him. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“For one more day?”
“I don’t want you to leave at all.”
He leveled a gaze on her. “Why? Say it, Amy.”
She closed her eyes and braced herself. “You know why, damn you! You know why!”
“That’s not good enough. I want the words.”
“Because . . . I love you!”
Swift’s stomach twisted. “Look at me when you say it. I’m no sketch on the mantel. I can’t go back and become the boy you knew. You have to take me the way I am now. Look at me.”
She slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze traveled from his concha-banded hat to the poncho, touching on his guns, settling on his silver spurs. Then, her face draining of all color, she looked directly into his eyes. She swayed slightly, as if the wind might carry her with it.
“I love you.”
The words carried no conviction. He regarded her, acutely aware that their future, if they even had one, depended totally upon her and what pitiful measure of courage she had left.
“If you really love me, Amy, then take those three steps I asked you to take that first night. But understand that if you do, your freedom’s gone. You call it owning, but I call it loving. And I want it all, your love, your life, your body. I won’t settle for less.”
She wrung her hands, staring at him. “T-today, you mean?”
It was painfully obvious that her attention had centered on only a part of what he had said. Swift clenched his teeth. As frightened of lovemaking as she was, he couldn’t allow her to hold part of herself away from him. They’d end up right back where they started. He knew now that the thought of anyone having power over her terrified her. She might never move beyond that unless he forced her to surrender to him. Only then could he prove her fears were groundless.
With supreme effort, he finally managed to speak. “Maybe today. Maybe right now, right here. That isn’t the question. You know it isn’t. What difference does when make, Amy, if you trust me, if you truly believe I love you? When you love someone, you care about their feelings. If you don’t believe, with all your heart, that I care about yours, then do us both a favor and go home.”
“I believe it.”
“Then you know what you have to do.” He held her gaze, hating himself but convinced he had no options. “It’s your choice. I gave you your freedom. If that’s what you want, take it and run. If it’s not, you’ve got three steps to take, and I can’t help you take them.”
She just stood there, as if her feet were pinned to the dirt. Swift waited. It was the longest wait of his life. And she still didn’t move.
Turning toward his horse, he said, “Good-bye, Amy.”
“No!” she cried.
Swift glanced back to see her running toward him. He barely had time to turn before she catapulted. He caught her, staggering under the impact of her weight. Then he tightened his arms around her. She trembled, clinging to him. Tears burned behind his eyelids. He bent his head, pressing his face into the sweet curve of her neck, reveling in the feel of her against him, all reservations gone. He had yearned for this, dreamed of it, but nothing compared to the reality of Amy in his arms.
“D-don’t leave me,” she cried. “Please, don’t, Swift. I’ll take the risks. I’ll change. I will, I truly will. If you’ll only give me a chance. Just one more?”
Freeing a hand, he pulled the folds of his poncho around her to protect her from the wind, then hugged her close again. She pressed nearer, if that was possible. Swift ached for her, wishing he could undo all that had been done. But he couldn’t.
“Oh, Amy, love, I don’t want you to change. I don’t care if you come to me afraid,” he whispered gruffly. “I don’t care if it takes us years to make things right between us when we make love. The only thing I care about is that you come to me freely.” He swallowed back a rush of fear, afraid to press her, yet knowing he must. “Say you’re mine, Amy. I want your betrothal promise. Not one from fifteen years ago, but now, from the bottom of your heart. Can you do that?”
The tension in her body told him what it cost her to say the words. “I’m yours. I’ll marry you. I—I promise.”
“And if I choose to make love to you right now, under one of those trees over there? Does the promise still hold?”
A shudder shook her. “Y-yes.”
Swift’s arms convulsed, tightening around her. In the back of his mind, a warning went off. She was delicately built. He might be hurting her. But, damn, he loved her so. To hear her say yes, even with trepidation, was such a joy he wanted to hug the breath right out of her, to meld their bodies into one, so he’d never have to fear losing her again. He struggled for control, forcing his arms to relax. Placing one hand on her hair, one on her back, he swayed with her in the wind, soothing her with his touch, receiving solace himself when the tension eased out of her and she relaxed against him.
“You’ll never regret this, Amy. Never.”
He swep
t her up into his arms and carried her to his horse. Swinging her into the saddle, he arranged her skirts around her, then mounted behind her, encircling her waist with his arm. She threw a dread-filled glance toward the trees but didn’t ask his intentions. He knew the silence didn’t come easily for her.
He drew her snugly against him and bent his head to hers. The brim of his hat cut the wind. “Do you remember my saying that you used to have Comanche heart?”
She nodded, saying nothing. Swift brushed his lips along her temple. “You still have Comanche heart, Amy. More so, I think, than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“No,” she said in a hollow voice. “Not anymore.”
Tears turned to ice on his cheeks. “Oh, yes. Do you think courage means being fearless? Or daring? Courage, real courage, is taking three steps when it terrifies you.”
Firelight played upon their faces. Stretched out on the rug before the hearth, Swift held Amy in the crook of his body, one arm at her waist, a hand splayed over her midriff, his fingertips inches below her breasts. The silence between them made room for inconsequential sound, the wind whistling along the eaves of her little house, the tree limb outside her bedroom window squeaking forlornly on the glass, their hearts beating, their lungs drawing breath, the clock ticking away the minutes of their future, which yawned before them now, an unfulfilled promise.
Swift ran his fingers over the cloth of her dress, touching the tiny buttons that ran so primly to her high collar. She didn’t flinch away, and that pleased him. It also forestalled him from touching anything other than the buttons.
“I’m going to have to go see Hunter, tell him I’m not leaving,” he whispered.
She stirred slightly. Swift guessed she was probably drained after last night and this morning, that numbness had set in. He had stayed; evidently that had become her one reality, the only thing she could deal with, for now. This time together, with the firelight and the silence, was their lull before the storm. She had to realize he wanted more, that he would eventually demand more, but for now he allowed her the moment.
Memories drifted through Swift’s mind. He sensed that she remembered, too. With the firelight and the wind outside, it was easy to believe the walls around them were leather, that the whistling wind came from the north, sweeping across grassy plains. Children, huddled by an evening fire, bellies full, limbs tired and relaxed from running all day under an endless summer sky, laughing and playing. It was that long-ago bond of friendship, of trust, that held them together now. Such a precious gift, that friendship, and they had nearly lost it.
Swift realized that he had to reach back through the years and recapture more than just memories, that somehow he had to bring laughter and magic back into their relationship. For Amy’s sake. And maybe for his own.
He sat up slowly, careful in his every movement, so as not to startle her. Drawing her up before him, he studied her blue eyes. Mostly she looked bewildered and wary, as if she weren’t quite sure how she had come to this pass and was dreading what came next. Reading those emotions, Swift knew how dearly she must love him. She had thrown caution aside to keep him here, and Amy had far more reason than most people to be cautious.
Sitting on her heels, her skirts fanned around them, she looked very like the child she had once been. He ran a finger along the shadowy contour of her cheek, uncertain what to say.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?”
Her gaze fell to his mouth. She clearly expected him to make a move, and she was braced. He sighed and trailed his hand to her braid, slowly pulling the combs, unwinding the heavy length of gold, loosening it into a shimmering curtain with his fingertips. His gut contracted as the strands slid across his arm, warm and silken, as he imagined her skin. To finally have inalienable rights and not exercise them was sheer torture.
“Someday you’re going to come to me wearing nothing but your beautiful hair,” he whispered huskily.
A tiny muscle at the corner of her mouth twitched as he lifted a palm of the gold ripples and touched them to his cheek.
“I promised to be yours, Swift. That’s all I promised. Don’t expect more than I can give.”
“That’s just it, Amy. I don’t want what you can’t give.”
Her eyes darkened. “Wh-what are you saying?”
Swift sighed. He wasn’t sure what the hell he was saying. “I just don’t want you to be frightened.”
“I can’t help that.”
“But I can. Do you really believe I would rape you?” He caught her chin so she couldn’t look away. “Do you?”
She regarded him like a trembling rabbit might a hungry hawk. He realized that a loving physical relationship was beyond her scope and totally at odds with her memories. She saw sex as one-sided, a dirty thing that men demanded and women were forced to render.
Her voice rang thin and thready, like an off-key note on a reed flute. “But I—there’s no question of that now.”
That fact clearly terrified her. Swift nearly smiled, not because he found her fear amusing, but because he knew how unnecessary it was. If Texas hadn’t been so far away, he would have paid a call on Henry Masters.
Forcing away his anger, Swift studied her small face. “Do you know what I want more than anything? I want to laugh with you—like we used to.”
Her eyes clouded with memories. “We did laugh a lot, didn’t we? I think—” She broke off and studied him, her expression melancholy. “Do you know that you were my one and only best friend? I never had another, growing up so far away from neighbors as I did. Sometimes, while I was still on the farm in Texas, when I grew lonely, I’d sit under the pecan tree and pretend you were there with me.”
An ache crawled up his throat. “I wish I had been.”
“I’d remember things that we did together.” She smiled slightly, her eyes shimmering up at him. “It was almost as good as actually doing them again. Or I’d tell you my troubles and imagine what you’d say. You gave me some very good advice.”
“What did I tell you?”
“To look at the horizon.” Tears filled her eyes. “You’d say, ‘Look into tomorrow, Amy. Yesterday is over.’ And I’d find the courage to go on, just one more day, because tomorrow might be the day you’d come for me.” She sighed and lifted her hands in a little shrug. “I couldn’t give up, you see, because tomorrow was only one night away.”
It pained Swift to think what troubles she might have had and that he hadn’t been there to do anything about them. Perhaps someday she would share those experiences with him and purge herself. He knew how it felt to hang on for just one more day. He also knew how bad things had to be for a person to live beyond the present, his only hope an elusive tomorrow that never came.
“We have a second chance, you and I,” he whispered. “A chance to be best friends again.”
“We’re no longer children,” she reminded him. “We can’t go back.”
“Can’t we? That’s what I want—what we used to have. Making love together will just happen, when it feels right.”
She drew herself up, lifting her chin a notch. “Swift, I have to tell you that I don’t believe it’ll ever feel right to me. You have to understand that.”
Appreciating her honesty, knowing how difficult it must be for her to dispense with subterfuge, especially when she risked so much, he said, “I’ll know when the time is right. It isn’t now. So relax and just enjoy being with me.”
“But—” She caught her lower lip between her teeth, worrying it for a moment. “Don’t you see? I can’t relax when I know that—that it might happen.”
“Then I’ll warn you first. How’s that sound?”
“You’ll warn me?”
“Yes. And until I do, there’s nothing to worry about. So there’s no need to feel frightened if I touch you or kiss you.”
A glimmer of hope shone in her eyes, along with a great deal of doubt. “You promise?”
Swift had a feeling this was a vow he might have to repeat again and a
gain until she began to believe him. “I swear it, Amy.”
Chapter 15
THAT EVENING, THE WOLFS HAD A HUGE SUNDAY dinner in celebration of Swift’s decision to stay. Amy attended, as she always had their Sunday meal before Swift’s arrival in Wolf’s Landing. And for the first time since his coming she could be herself, embraced by those she loved, laughing and talking and teasing. Acutely aware of how his presence there had stripped her already lonely life, robbing her of her family and their support, Swift felt his throat tightening more than once.
Toward the end of the meal, Amy surprised even Swift when she suddenly stood and said she had an announcement to make. Everyone looked up at her. As she met Swift’s gaze across the table, her cheeks turned a shy pink, her eyes a brilliant blue. She clearly had reservations about whatever it was she planned to say. His body drew taut. Before she spoke, he guessed her intent, and he could scarcely believe she had worked up the courage to take such an irrevocable step so quickly.
“I know Swift may not tell you this, out of regard for me,” she said in a shaky little voice. She swallowed, looking nervous. “After all the fuss I’ve made since his arrival here, I think it’s only fair I tell you that I renewed my betrothal promises to him today.”
Silence descended, a rigid, breathless silence, as if everyone at the table had frozen in place. The muscles in Amy’s thighs knotted. She pressed a hand to her skirt. There, she had said it. No turning back now. Calling on all her courage, she looked into Swift’s eyes. He looked like a man who had just drawn four aces in a high-stakes poker game.
After a long while Hunter said, “I hope the sun shines upon you both.”
With a little cry, Loretta leaped from her chair and gave Amy a heartfelt hug. “I knew it would work out. I knew it.”