Comanche Magic

  "The fifty dollars you spent tonight is outrageous enough."

  Franny immediately wanted to call that back. But the words were out before she thought. Silence descended. A tense silence. For the night, she belonged to this man, and her thoughtless comment had remind­ed them both of that.

  Searching for something, anything, she might say to move beyond the moment, she rubbed her hands on her skirt. "Cross-legged. Is that the way all Comanche women sit?"

  "Sat," he corrected. Then he shrugged. "Not all, I guess, but a fair number. They seldom had chairs, you know, and sitting any other way would have gotten hard on the back."

  She couldn't help but note that he referred to his father's people in the past tense, and she wondered how he felt about that. An entire society, destroyed. Since taking up her profession, Franny had often found solace between the covers of a book, and because of her friendship with Indigo, reading about the Plains Indians had interested her for a short time. Only for a short time. It soon became apparent to her that most of the books in print about the Comanches or any other tribe had been written from an extremely biased point of view.

  "It must be very difficult for you and your father, knowing that those few of his people who survived are all on reservations now. The way of life he once loved no longer exists."

  "He doesn't look at it that way."

  Franny wondered how else one could look at it. Because his talking relieved her of the necessity, she decided to ask.

  "It's my father's belief that his people live on in us," he explained softly. "As long as we sing their songs, they will never die. The Comanches were a wonderful people, and wonderful people always leave a mark that can never be erased."

  It was a beautiful thought. Franny sighed and took another sip of wine. Following his example and bracing her elbows on her knees, she allowed herself to relax a little more, beginning to believe, even though it was against her better judgment, that perhaps all he truly did want from her was friendship. He had made no other move toward her.

  "The People maintained that there was no yesterday, only tomorrow," he went on, "so my father never allows himself to mourn what was. He keeps his gaze fixed always on the horizon. What happened a minute, or a day, or a year ago doesn't matter. Who he was then doesn't matter. Only now and the way he plans to go forward has importance."

  "That's very idealistic."

  "But true." In the moonlight, his eyes glittered like blue velvet studded with diamonds. "Think about it. Right now, try to concentrate on this very moment." He grew quiet for an instant then smiled at her. "You see? Before you could even capture it, the moment was gone. Forever lost to you, and you can never reclaim it.

  When you think of it like that, it's sort of ludicrous that so many people dwell on what happened to them yesterday. It's done, over, dust on the wind."

  "But a vivid memory, nonetheless."

  "If you let it be."

  "Sometimes our yesterdays control our todays and tomorrows, no matter how much we might wish other­wise."

  He shook his head. "The past counts for nothing because the moment something happens, it's behind you."

  It made a wonderful kind of sense. She smiled wist­fully. "If only life could truly be so simple."

  "Life is like a blanket you draw around yourself. You make your own weave."

  As he spoke, he chuckled as if at a private joke. Fas­cinated, Franny studied him. He was more like Indigo than she had first thought, she realized. As recently as yesterday morning, she could never have imagined his saying such lovely, profound things. But gazing into his eyes, she knew he sincerely meant them. Just as Indigo always did. She also knew his words were aimed directly at her, that he was trying to tell her she wasn't bound forever to be who and what she was right now, that she could change if she wished.

  If only it could be that easy.

  Wishing. Sometimes it seemed to her that she had spent her whole life wishing, and always for impossible things. No matter what he said, circumstances often created the weave of your life, and there was nothing one could do to alter that. "Leave here with me," he whispered.

  The words slipped softly into Franny's mind. For a moment, she thought she imagined them. But when she refocused on Chase's face, she could tell by his expression that she hadn't.

  "Leave here with me," he repeated. "When my ribs heal and I go, come with me. No obligations. Just as friends. I'll help you find a job somewhere. You can put all of this behind you and forget it ever happened. Wolf's Landing is a small place, and even if you run into familiar faces on down the line, yours will never be recognizable. With your face washed and your hair up, you look nothing like Franny from the Lucky Nugget."

  She knew she looked nothing like Franny from the Lucky Nugget; she had gone to great lengths to be cer­tain of that. Trying to think of a way she might explain her circumstances to him without giving too much away, she gazed off into the blackness of the woods that bordered the schoolyard. She realized now that she had sorely misjudged Chase. His relentless pursuit of her stemmed from philanthropic motives, not carnal ones. He sincerely wanted to help her, not as a hero who swept her off her feet and into his arms, but as a friend. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

  "If thinking about leaving here frightens you," he whispered, "don't let it. Until you're on your feet, I'll stay around. If things go wrong, you'll have me to lean on."

  Franny blinked. Oh, God. It was so unfair. To have someone offer such a thing and not be able to accept. The most awful part of it was, she doubted she could ever make him understand, not without revealing too many secrets.

  In a tight voice, she said, "I appreciate the offer, Chase, but there are reasons I can't accept."

  He studied her for a long moment. "What reasons? Maybe I can help."

  "No. Perhaps you'd try. But some difficulties can't be solved."

  "My family isn't like most. You know Indigo would be there for you. And my parents are exactly like her. Between them and me, somehow we can iron out the tangles for you."

  That would have cost a fortune, not to mention that it would take a miracle. "My tangles are a bit worse than most, I'm afraid."

  "Tell me."

  He looked so earnest that for the first time in nine years, she was tempted. But common sense returned before she gave in to the urge. Even with the best of intentions, Chase might accidentally repeat something she told him. If the truth of her identity ever became public knowledge, it would be disastrous. As far as that went, it would cause irreversible harm even if people only suspected who she really was. Grants Pass, her hometown, was far enough to provide a buffer as long as she was careful, but not far enough to guarantee against gossip if she let her guard down. There were too many people she loved who could be badly hurt.

  "Please don't misunderstand," she said shakily. "I'll always be grateful that you've offered to help me." She managed a smile. "I've had offers before, of course, but always with strings attached. You're the first man ever who didn't want something out of it for himself."

  His mouth tightened. "That's not exactly true. There is something in it for me."

  "Oh."

  He grimaced. "Nothing like you're thinking. And don't take that to mean I don't find you extremely attractive. I do. It's just that—" He took a deep breath. "I'd like to help you start over without anything like that entering into it. You understand? No obligations, nothing messy. Just as a friend. I need to do that."

  Franny frowned slightly. "You need to? I'm afraid I don't understand."

  He scratched his nose and gazed into his mug of wine. In the darkness, Franny knew he couldn't see anything, that he was focusing on the contents of the cup only because he found looking at her unsettling. "Once, a long time ago, I could have helped someone, but in the end I turned my back and didn't. Since meet­ing you, I've realized how wrong that was." He finally glanced up. "I can't go back and change the past. I can only go forward. But if I can help you, maybe I can at least stop feeling guilty
."

  "I see."

  "Probably not. It's a poor explanation, I know. But about the best I can do."

  "If rescuing a soiled dove is your plan, I'm afraid you've chosen the wrong woman. There is no way out for me. In several years—" She waved her hand. "I'm hoping that in time my circumstances may become a bit more manageable, that perhaps then I can choose another means of making a living, but until then, I have no choice but to keep doing what I do."

  "Everyone has a choice, Franny."

  "No," she said simply. "Some of us don't."

  His frustration was evident in his expression.

  "This has been lovely," she told him. "But now I think I should go back. If you'll walk with me, I'll return that fifty dollars. There's still plenty of my shift left. I can make up for the lost time."

  "You're backing me up against a wall here. I can't leave you in that hellhole. If I can't get you out of there one way, I'll do it another."

  "You may need a stick of dynamite and several pry bars," she said lightly.

  He shook his head. "I won't walk away this time. Make up your mind to that."

  That determined glint was back in his eyes. He was dead serious, she realized. Come what may, he intended to get her away from here. If he had been any other man, Franny might have been amused. But from the first she had sensed Chase Wolf had a dangerous edge. He wasn't a man to take lightly, and she had a feeling he seldom failed to accomplish something he set out to do.

  "If I have to, I'll take a page out of my father's book and kidnap you," he said teasingly.

  Despite the levity in his voice, Franny couldn't dis­count the threat. Like everyone else in town, she had heard the rumors about Chase Wolf. He was a rebel, no question of it. If he decided to kidnap a woman, he'd probably do it, the devil take the consequences. It wouldn't be the first time he had thumbed his nose at authority.

  Something in her expression must have told him what she was thinking, for his own softened. "Don't start feel­ing afraid of me again, Franny. I'm harmless, really."

  Steel wrapped in velvet, she thought nonsensically. Not exactly what she would term harmless. She threw the remainder of her wine away and stowed her mug in the basket. As she rose, she said, "It really is time I was getting back."

  She expected him to argue. Instead, he pushed to his feet, put his mug and the bottle inside the basket, and then helped her to fold the blanket. Stepping close to even the edges, Franny accidentally brushed her knuck­les against his. The contact electrified her, and she glanced up only to find herself unable to look away. For an awful moment, she thought he might kiss her. And what was worse, she wanted him to. So badly that she ached.

  There was no question; Chase Wolf was dangerous.

  9

  Long after Chase escorted Franny back to the saloon and went home to seek his own bed, he lay awake remembering the incredulous expression in her eyes when she realized he had no intention of accom­panying her back upstairs to get his money's worth out of her in the traditional way by making love to her.

  Not that he believed for a minute that Franny thought of the sexual act as making love. If indeed she thought about it at all.

  A sad smile settled on his mouth as he recalled her hobby area, separated and hidden from the rest of the room by a screen. Franny, with her true self walled off and hidden from prying eyes.

  One question ate at Chase. Why? What string of events had led Franny to her present life, and what pre­vented her from putting it behind her? He recalled the

  whimsical clown face she had embroidered on the pil­low, the lacy dress on her sewing table, the collection of sketches and flower art upon her walls, and her well-read Bible, left open at the story of Mary Magda­lene. A young woman like her didn't belong in the Lucky Nugget. She should be married and embroider­ing pillows for her own babies. She should have a man to love her, shield her and provide for her.

  Closing his eyes, Chase tried to imagine himself fill­ing that role, and the image took shape in his mind all too easily. The pictures filled him with a sense of right­ness and contentment. Recalling her innocent-looking green eyes and the way her mouth dimpled at the cor­ners when he wrung a smile from her, he couldn't shake the feeling that his footsteps had been leading him toward her all of his life.

  Crazy, so crazy. Or was it? According to his father, every man had his own personal destiny, a purpose he was born to fulfill, and until he found it, he wandered through life, always searching, never satisfied. Chase had experienced that feeling, but now that he'd stum­bled upon Franny, it was gone. Maybe he was destined by fate to be the man who plucked her out of her pre­sent circumstances to give her the home she deserved.

  The yearning within him to do just that was undeni­able, and as he drifted to sleep, a tiny seed of determi­nation found fertile ground. During the course of the night while he slept, that seed took root, and by morn­ing when he awakened, he was filled with purpose. Immediately upon opening his eyes, he began planning his strategy.

  That evening, the moment it turned dark, he went back to the Lucky Nugget with another fifty dollars in hand. Within thirty minutes, he had spirited Franny away from the saloon to go walking with him in the moonlight again.

  "Are we returning to the playground?" she asked a bit nervously.

  "Not tonight." Glancing down at her, Chase couldn't miss the way she gnawed at her lower lip, and he smiled in spite of himself. "There's nothing to worry about, Franny. Gus knows you left the saloon in my company. My ass'll be grass and he'll be a hungry goat if anything happens to you."

  She shook her head. "It's not that. After last night, I'm convinced you're harmless."

  "Harmless, am I?" He couldn't resist teasing her. "Never tell a man he's harmless. He'll set out to prove you wrong every time. Trustworthy, maybe."

  She made an exasperated little sound. "This is no laughing matter."

  "What isn't?"

  "This entire situation."

  "And what situation is that?"

  "You paying such an outlandish amount of money two nights running to monopolize my time. You can't continue to do this, you know."

  "Do what?"

  Her voice rose an octave. "Waste your money this way."

  "Care to see me for free?"

  She rolled her eyes. "I have to make a living."

  "Then I'll keep wasting my money. Not that I think it's a waste."

  "At this rate, you'll soon go broke."

  Despite the sharpness of her tone, Chase saw the genuine concern in her eyes. He couldn't help recalling how convinced he'd been that she was a gold digger. How wrong he had been. "Why don't you let me worry about my money," he told her gently. "I won't spend more than I can afford."

  In truth, every cent Chase had in the bank was already targeted, and if he meant to attain his goals on schedule, he could ill afford to spend much more see­ing Franny. But, the way he saw it, it was a matter of priorities. He already had one sizable tract of timber- land, and if he couldn't afford to purchase more right away, he was still young. Franny needed him now.

  Lost in thought, it took Chase a moment to notice that she was nervously wringing her hands, a habit that he found endearing because it was something his mother often did when she was upset. It was a purely feminine gesture, he thought, one that conveyed anxi­ety far more eloquently than words.

  He leaned forward slightly to see her face as they walked. "A penny for them?"

  "You can't afford to give me a penny for them."

  Chase laughed in spite of himself. Then he sobered because he could see that she was truly distressed. "Franny, I wouldn't spend the money if I didn't have it to spare."

  "No one has that much to spare." She came to a stop and took a deep breath. "We must have a talk about this, Chase."

  "All right. So talk."

  "I've been friends with Indigo for a number of years.

  I know all about your aspirations to be a timber baron one day."

  "So?"

&nbs
p; She lifted her hands. "So? If you spend money high, wide, and handsome, you'll never accomplish your goals. I know you must be dipping into your savings. You worked very hard for every cent of that money, and I don't want to be responsible for your spending any of it frivolously."

  "I'll bear that in mind."

  "Then take me back to my room. I'll return the fifty dollars you gave me tonight, and you can stop this fool­ishness before you've piddled a large sum away on nothing."

  "On nothing?"

  "Whatever it is you want from me, I can't give it to you. Don't you see? Your bringing me out here, push­ing me on the swing last night and holding my hand! And tonight, taking me for a stroll in the moonlight." She touched her throat, her gaze fixed on one of his shirt buttons. "What point is there in it? You're behav­ing as if you're . . . as if you're courting me."

  "And what's wrong with that?"

  "There's no future in it, for one thing. And for another, why would any man want to? Find yourself some nice girl, Chase. Take her for walks in the moon­light. It won't cost you a penny."

  "Maybe I don't want to be with another girl."

  "That's silly." With an obvious effort, she raised her eyes to his. By her expression, he knew what it cost her to say what she did next. "I'm a . . . a prostitute. Brush­ing the starch out of my hair and washing my face doesn't change that. I don't know why you're doing this, but whatever your reason, it's useless. I am what I am, and that can never change."

  "Why can't it?"

  "It just can't, that's all. If you have some crazy notion of saving me from myself and turning my life around, forget it. I'm a lost cause."

  "Franny, no one is a lost cause." As he said the words, Chase realized how sincerely he meant them. "And there's always a way out. For you, maybe it's me. Let's at least give this a chance, hm?"

  "No." She gave her head an emphatic shake. "I don't want to see you again. I mean it. Take me back to the saloon, get your money, and smarten up."