Comanche Heart

  Fiery heat flooded up her neck to her face, pooling in her cheeks. She stared at him, her eyes dry, her eyelids stuck open.

  “What can you do?” he countered. “Besides teaching children and scaring off men by spouting rules of etiquette, I mean.”

  Amy ran the tip of her tongue across her lip.

  “Do you make love good, Amy?” he asked softly. “I’ll bet you don’t know. I reckon there are lots of rules for courting, and I’d wager every piece of gold I own that you know them all by heart. I’ll bet any man who’s ever come close to you got so sidetracked trying to start off right, he never got past saying, ‘How do, Miss Amy.’ ” He turned to regard her. Because his hat shaded his eyes, she could only guess where his gaze might be lingering. “It’s too bad you were so young fifteen years ago. I’d have made love to you, and you wouldn’t be in this fix.”

  “Are you quite finished?”

  “I haven’t even started yet,” he came back with a low chuckle. He strode toward her, his feet touching the floor planks so lightly that she felt as if she were being stalked. “Lucky for you, no rule book about manners is going to muddy my waters.” He braced his hands on the far side of her desk, leaning toward her. “It’d be a shame, wouldn’t it, if you lived the rest of your days a starched virgin with her nose in the air?”

  “I’m no virgin, and you know it.”

  “Aren’t you? I’d say you’re about as untouched as a woman can get. You’ve never made love, Amy. You were used, and there’s a hell of a difference.”

  The blood drained from her face. The Swift she had known never would have taunted her about the comancheros. “Get out,” she whispered. “So help me, if you don’t leave, I’m going for Marshal Hilton.”

  He smiled and straightened. “So he can fight your battles for you? What’s happened to your backbone? The girl I knew would have spit in my eye. Or socked me. She gave as good as she got, to hell with the consequences. You called me a coward? Honey, you haven’t got enough guts left in you to make a smear if someone smashed you.”

  “I’m not the girl you knew. I told you that. Now please leave before you embroil us in a nasty and completely unnecessary confrontation with Marshal Hilton.”

  Moving toward the coatrack, he began to whistle. The tune came clear after a moment. Scarcely able to believe he still remembered it, she threw a glance at his broad back. After taking his gun belt and poncho off the hooks, he turned and looked at her again. His voice pitched low, he said, “How did that song go? ‘Up in the hayloft with a girl named Sue . . .’ ” His eyes met hers, alight with laughter. “You taught me the words, remember? Did you even know what they meant? You didn’t, did you?”

  “It—it was a song I’d heard my—my stepfather sing. At that age, it never occurred to me it might be—” She broke off and averted her gaze. “What’s the point in all this, Swift? To embarrass and humiliate me? If so, you’re doing a good job.”

  He hesitated at the door, looking back at her over his shoulder. “I’m just reminding you that there was a time when you laughed and sang and ran wild with me on the Texas plains. That chapter in your life isn’t closed. The last half hasn’t even been written yet. Like I said, I’ll give you some time to get used to the idea of marrying me. Make good use of it.”

  With that, he walked out the door.

  For the next several days, Amy expected Swift to sneak up on her at every turn. During school, the slightest sound outside made her whirl, heart slamming. En route home, she jumped every time a bush moved. At night, certain he would come and force a confrontation, she paced, ears pricked for footsteps on her porch. When he didn’t, instead of feeling relieved, she grew angry. He had turned her life into a living hell, and now he was off doing whatever it was men did, forgetting all about her.

  Was this what he meant about giving her time to get used to the idea of marrying him? This torturous waiting? Not knowing, from moment to moment, when she’d turn and find him there?

  She avoided Hunter and Loretta’s house as though the occupants were in quarantine, going directly from home to school, then back again, double-bolting her door against the night, only to pace until the wee hours, unable to sleep. She didn’t dare bring her tub inside and bathe, for fear he’d choose that moment to shoulder her door open. When she dressed, she did so with the speed of a harried actress changing costume backstage between scenes.

  The first afternoon, she saw Swift at a distance when he came into town after working at the mine. A few minutes later, she saw him out riding his black stallion bareback, impressing Chase with his Comanche riding skills. On the second day, she spied him walking with Indigo along the boardwalk. He behaved like a man without a care, his hat low, his gait loose-hipped and lazy. He never spared a glance for the women who passed him on the street, apparently unaware that they made a cautious circle around him. Late the third evening, she saw him and Hunter in the woods at her end of town, throwing axes and knives at a stump. Having fun, damn him!

  By the fourth afternoon, necessity drove Amy up the street to the shops along the boardwalk. She was out of bread, low on eggs, and she needed kerosene, flour, sugar, and molasses. She hurried to get her shopping done, hoping to pick up a loaf of bread and eggs from Loretta’s before the men came in from work.

  Samuel Jones, at the general store, grinned broadly when he saw her. “Well, hello, Miss Amy. How are you this afternoon?”

  “Fine, and you?” she asked, moving toward him, her green muslin skirts swirling with each step.

  “Now that your smile is brightening the place, I couldn’t be finer,” he teased. “I just got a shipment of new threads. Care to look them over? Lots of tempting colors.”

  “I haven’t had much time for crocheting of late.”

  “Haven’t seen you out and about much. You been spending all your time visiting with Hunter and Loretta’s houseguest? I hear he’s been a friend of the family for years.”

  Amy stiffened. “Yes, he has. However, that isn’t what’s kept me at home. I’ve been occupied with lesson planning and such. The beginning of the school year is my busiest time.”

  She glanced at her shopping list and read off the items she needed. Sam quickly stacked her supplies on the counter, casting her curious glances while he worked. “Is it true he’s the Swift Lopez, the gunslinger we’ve been reading about?”

  Amy crumpled the list in her palm. “Yes.”

  Sam gave the sack of flour a pat. His face was pockmarked thanks to Jacksonville’s smallpox epidemic of 1869, but the scars enhanced his looks, lending him a rugged appeal.

  “People are fidgety about him being here. Even makes me nervous. If it wasn’t for Hunter being the founding father of our community, I think there’d be a petition circulating by now to have Mr. Lopez escorted out of town by the marshal.”

  Family loyalty prompted Amy to say, “You know Hunter would never countenance a troublemaker in our midst. As I understand it, Mr. Lopez has come here to make a new start. I’m sure he has no intention of using his guns again.”

  “He’d be wise not to. You know what they gave John Wesley Hardin, don’t you? Twenty-five years in the Texas State Prison. He’ll be an old man by the time he sees freedom.” He went to fetch her kerosene. As he sat the container of fuel on the counter, he shook his head. “Hard to believe we may see the day when lanterns will be outdated.”

  Amy forced a smile. It never ceased to amaze her how many topics of conversation Sam could dream up to keep her in his store. He was a nice man and more than passably handsome, but Amy wasn’t interested.

  “Lanterns, outdated? How so?”

  “The electric light.” Leaning forward at the waist, Samuel folded his muscular arms on the counter and flashed her a grin. His blondish brown hair gleamed as he bent his head. “They say Edison is inches away from developing a bulb that’ll burn for prolonged periods of time. Don’t you keep abreast of the news?”

  “I haven’t much time for reading the newspapers. As I said, m
y students keep me fairly busy.”

  His blue eyes warmed on hers. “You should make time. The way things are changing, you ladies need to be on top of things. Why, just this February, President Hayes signed a bill allowing female lawyers to argue cases before the Supreme Court.”

  “It’s high time, if you ask me.” Amy put the kerosene on top of her packages, gathered the lot into her arms, and turned to go. “Just put this on my account, would you, Mr. Jones?”

  “Sam,” he corrected. “As long as we’ve known each other, Miss Amy, I’d think you’d call me by my first name.”

  “That would be unseemly, Mr. Jones. I am the schoolteacher.”

  “The committee won’t terminate you for calling me Sam.”

  Still smiling, Amy wove her way between the floor displays toward the doorway. As she left the general store, she saw Swift standing outside, his back to her, a shoulder braced against the building. Amy froze. A woman stood on the other side of him.

  Leaning out to see around him, Amy identified Elmira Johnson, one of the unmarried girls in town. She stood with her head back, batting her eyelashes and giggling. The silly twit. Naturally a mysterious man like Swift Lopez would fascinate her. At eighteen Elmira was foolhardy and naive enough to be tantalized by danger. If her father, a burly miner, caught her flirting with trouble, he’d have her hide.

  Amy gathered her packages close and stepped off the boardwalk, hoping to cross the street and reach Loretta’s while Swift was preoccupied. Unfortunately he didn’t seem too interested in what Elmira was saying and glanced around when Amy moved away from the building. Amy increased her pace. From the corner of her eye, she saw him straighten. She felt clumsy and awkward. Trying to walk gracefully while loaded down with packages was no easy feat.

  “Amy! Wait!”

  His deep voice had the same effect as a leash around her neck. He strode into the street and, without another word, took the packages from her.

  “I’ve been doing for myself for five years, Swift—ever since I moved into my own place.”

  Somehow he managed the load with one arm so he could take her elbow. The grip of his fingers burned through the sleeve of her dress. “You don’t have to do for yourself anymore,” he replied, steering her up the street toward Loretta’s. “I’m glad you finally came out of hiding, by the way. I was starting to worry, and so was the rest of the family.”

  “The children see me every day, and I wasn’t hiding.”

  “Keeping to yourself, then.”

  “I always keep to myself.”

  “Not according to Loretta. She says you usually come by every day after school. I don’t bite, Amy.” His eyes twinkling with mischief, he slid his gaze to her neck. “Not hard, anyway.”

  She jerked her arm from his grasp and hurried ahead, taking the steps of Loretta’s porch at such a speed that she nearly tripped on her skirts. Swift followed her inside, set her packages on the table, and lowered himself onto a straight-backed chair. Stretching out his long legs, he crossed his boots at the ankle and clasped his hands behind his neck, his mouth sporting a half grin.

  “Amy!” Loretta cried with delight. Abandoning the dumplings she was making, she came across the room, flour-covered hands held out to her sides, cheek turned for a kiss. “I’ve missed you so. Why haven’t you been coming by to see me after school?”

  Amy felt Swift’s amused gaze on her. While giving Loretta a hug, she said, “I’ve just been busy.”

  “I’ve extra bread made up for you. And I’ll wager you’re low on eggs.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” Amy fetched the egg basket off the drain. “I’ll go gather my own. Don’t fuss, Loretta. Finish the dumplings. I can get everything myself.”

  Loretta gave her a concerned look. “Can’t you take a moment for coffee? It seems like forever since we chatted.”

  Amy couldn’t see herself chatting with Loretta while Swift looked on. She toyed with the rust-colored grosgrain ribbon on her bodice. “I, um, actually, Loretta Jane, I’ve a busy evening planned.” She searched wildly for an excuse and seized upon the one she had just given Samuel Jones. “Lessons, you know.”

  “I thought you had those done already, from prior years.”

  Amy licked her lips. “Yes, well, I still have to go over them.”

  Loretta didn’t look as if she believed that. With Swift sitting there, it would be unforgivably rude to admit the real reason for her prolonged absence. Perhaps Loretta would figure it out on her own, if she hadn’t already.

  “Well.” Amy turned toward the back door. “I’m off to rob the hens. Be right back.”

  After leaving the house, she tucked the ends of her shawl under her sash. When she reached the hen-house, she gathered her green muslin skirts into a loose knot just below the knees to prevent her hem from trailing in the filth. Collecting some eggs took only a few minutes. When she emerged from the pen, she wiped her shoes clean on a clump of grass. As she straightened, she spied a pair of black boots a few feet away.

  “Swift! You startled me.”

  He stood with his back against a nearby madrona. “It doesn’t take much to startle you. Sometimes I think breathing wrong might do it.”

  His gaze fell to her exposed petticoat and he stepped forward, extending a hand for the egg basket. Flustered and horribly embarrassed because she had forgotten she had her skirts hiked up, she relinquished her hold on the basket handle and bent to untie the knot in her skirts.

  “How long is this going to continue, Amy?” he asked softly.

  She glanced up. “How long is what going to continue?”

  “You holing up over there and peering out your window at me. I meant to give you some time to circle me, but you’re cutting a mighty wide berth. If I hadn’t knocked off work early today, you’d have come and gone without seeing me.”

  “There’s always Elmira.”

  “Jealous?”

  She gave a little snort of derision.

  When she headed for the house, he stood his ground. “You’re forgetting the eggs.”

  She turned back, clenching her teeth and avoiding his gaze as she extended her hand. He didn’t offer to relinquish the basket. Left with no choice, she finally looked up at him. The creases that bracketed his mouth deepened, his lips pursing slightly as he regarded her.

  “It’s up to you how we go about this.”

  “Go about what?”

  He ignored the question. “The hard way or the easy way, it’s up to you. If you go on hiding out over there, I’ll take matters in hand. And you may not like my methods.”

  It took all her strength of will to keep her voice steady. “Don’t threaten me, Swift.”

  He handed her the basket. “I’m not threatening. I’m promising. You can’t run from this, Amy. You can’t pretend I don’t exist. I won’t let you.”

  “What, exactly, are you saying?”

  “I wanted to give you a chance to get to know me again—here, with your family around. You haven’t made any attempt.”

  “Because I don’t want to know you again.”

  A glint crept into his eyes. He took a deep breath, exhaling with exaggerated slowness. “Fair warning. Make hay while the sun’s shining. If you don’t, the first thing you know, I’ll cloud up and rain all over you.”

  Amy’s legs felt suddenly weak. She licked her lips, glancing off into the trees.

  “I’m going to be bagging gold dust this afternoon, getting it ready for Hunter to take to Jacksonville.” His voice turned low and husky. “Why don’t you help me? Chase and Indigo will be there. We’ll get a big fire going, and Loretta says she’ll make hot chocolate. You can stay for supper. It’ll be fun. Who knows, you might find out I’m not so terrifying after all.”

  All Amy wanted to do was run. “I’m busy tonight.”

  He sighed. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  She tightened her grip on the wire handle of the basket. He stood there a moment, studying her, then inclined his head at the ho
use. She spun on her heel and hurried ahead of him. When she burst inside, she grabbed some towels off a shelf to wrap her eggs and bread, acutely conscious of Swift’s entrance behind her.

  “Did you get plenty?” Loretta asked.

  “Enough for a few days.” Amy gathered her packages together, placing her eggs and bread on top.

  “I could help you carry that,” Swift inserted.

  “Thank you for offering, but I can manage fine.”

  Their gazes locked. With a forefinger he touched the brim of his hat, inching it back so he could capture her gaze with his. His eyes had a mischievous glint in them that made her spine tingle. “Don’t be such a stranger from now on.”

  Amy’s throat tightened. Though he had said it teasingly, they both knew he meant it as a warning.

  “Thank you for the bread and eggs, Loretta.”

  Loretta rolled her eyes. “It’s part of your teaching contract. If you need more, there’s always plenty. I’ll have Hunter bring you a fryer. How’s your ham and bacon holding up?”

  “Fine.”

  Amy said her good-byes. Because her arms were full, Swift opened the front door for her, then followed her onto the porch. As she descended the steps, he called, “If you don’t show up here tomorrow, it’ll be a hard row to hoe from here on out.”

  Amy glanced back. Four levels above her, he seemed to loom, broad of shoulder, lean of hip, long legs stretching forever. His gaze held hers for an instant, relentless and piercing.

  “It’s your choice,” he added. “One more day, Amy. Then we do things my way.”

  She struck off up the street. Damn him. She felt as if he had a noose around her throat and was slowly tightening it.

  Furious that he had that kind of power over her, Amy rebelled by dragging her bathtub into the kitchen the moment she got home. She wouldn’t let him rule her every waking moment. After hauling in water and setting it on the stove to heat, she made certain all the windows were securely fastened and barricaded the front door with sitting room furniture. Only then could she find the courage to undress. It was the most miserable bath she had ever taken in her life.