Page 20 of Comanche Magic

  14

  Chase was in the barn oiling tack when Gus came bursting through the open doorway. Hair wind- whipped, eyes wide with fright, he was panting so hard it took him a moment to speak. Chase dropped the har­ness he held and pushed slowly to his feet, his heart slamming with dread.

  "Gus, what is it?"

  Still heaving for breath, the plump barkeep gulped and rubbed his mouth with the tail of his white apron. "May Belle. She says—it's Franny—you'd better come— quick."

  Franny. Chase had suspected it the moment he saw Gus. Without pausing even so much as to wipe his hands, he ran out of the barn. The Lucky Nugget was only a short distance up Main, but in that moment, it looked like a country mile to Chase. Lengthening his stride, he cut up the center of the thoroughfare, zigzag­ging to miss a wagon, then a horse. Franny. Something terrible had happened. May Belle would never have sent Gus to fetch him otherwise.

  Franny. Oh, God. Oh, God. A dozen possibilities raced through Chase's mind, each more awful than the last. That she'd fallen on the stairs. That a customer had gone berserk. He pictured her beaten and uncon­scious. Weeks ago, he had decided that he loved the girl. But it took the thought of losing her to make him realize just how much. Franny, his little green-eyed angel. Jesus. If someone had hurt her, he'd kill him. With his bare hands, he'd squeeze the life right out of the son of a bitch.

  Chase hit the boardwalk outside the saloon, his boots impacting on the wood, the sound a hollow res- onation. Shoulder first, he shoved through the swing­ing doors into the dimly lit saloon. At so early an hour in the afternoon, there was only one customer, a face­less miner who sat in the shadows, one hand curled around a whiskey jug. Chase barely spared him a glance. Veering right, he raced for the stairs, using the banister to swing his weight and lend himself impetus.

  "Franny!" He hit the landing. Her door stood open. "Franny."

  Chase wasn't sure what he expected to see as he plunged into the room. Chaotic disarray, perhaps. Instead everything appeared to be in perfect order. May Belle stood near the bed, her face white and hag­gard, her eyes dark with worry. Chase staggered to a halt.

  "Where is she?" he demanded.

  "I was hoping maybe you could tell me that. She isn't with Indigo, and I'm worried, Chase. Real worried."

  After the fright her summons had given him, Chase felt more than a little irritated. "You're worried because she went somewhere? She comes and goes all the time."

  May Belle gestured at the bed. Chase turned to look. The spread was a bit rumpled, as if Franny had been lying on it. But otherwise— His gaze landed on a long piece of wire. He stepped closer to get a better look and saw that it was a coat hanger someone had untwisted and straightened. Not understanding the sig­nificance, he glanced back at May Belle.

  May Belle's eyelashes fluttered to her cheeks. After drawing a tremulous breath, she said, "She saw Dr. Yost a couple of hours ago. He told her she's pregnant."

  Chase tried to assimilate the words. Pregnant. Understanding finally dawned, and he shot another look at the coat hanger. "Oh, my God."

  "She was going to accept your marriage proposal, you know," May Belle said with a wobble in her voice. "She was so happy." She raised her hands then slapped her ample hips. "And now this. I swear, that girl's never had a fair hand dealt to her in her whole life, and now this."

  Chase felt as if his legs might fold. From living in the logging camps, he'd come to know more about the shady side of life than he cared to. It wasn't necessary for May Belle to explain how Franny had intended to use the wire, or for what. The thought terrified him. Pray God Franny hadn't gone through with it. Women who did such things often ended up dead.

  "We have to find her," May Belle said shakily. "God knows where she might have gone or what condition she's in. If she used that hanger, she could be—" Her voice broke and she cupped a hand over her eyes. "I'll never forgive myself for leaving her alone. Never. I knew she was upset, that she didn't know what she was going to do. I just didn't realize how desperate she was feeling. Old fool that I am, I left her alone—only for a few minutes, mind—but when I came back, she was gone."

  Gone. Oh, sweet Jesus. Chase spun and ran from the room. When he exited the saloon onto the board­walk, he stopped to glance wildly in every direction. If not to Indigo's, where might Franny have headed? The possibilities were endless.

  Acting on instinct, Chase cut across the street and went down an alley. If he had just received devastating news and were feeling desperate, he would find a secluded, peaceful place to lick his wounds. In his esti­mation, there was nowhere more peaceful or secluded than the shady banks of Shallows Creek, one spot in particular. He was convinced Franny might have gone there.

  His heart slammed like a sledge as he raced through the maze of trees. Undergrowth loomed in his path. He didn't waste time trying to go around it. What he couldn't jump over, he plowed through. The pictures inside his head terrified him. Franny lying along the creek, her life seeping steadily from her body in a crim­son flow. Oh, God. And May Belle blamed herself? He was the one to be held accountable. He should have insisted Franny marry him weeks ago. Failing in that, he should have at least made sure she believed how much he loved her. Nothing could change his mind about that. Nothing. Certainly not a pregnancy. Loving Franny as he did, how could he fail to love her child?

  He found her sitting beneath the sprawling oak tree whereon he had once carved their names. It seemed to Chase that a lifetime had passed since that night. Arms encircling her ankles, she sat on the grass, her face pressed against her upraised knees. Beside her on the grass lay her sunbonnet. She wore a faded blue shirt­waist, which he quickly scanned for signs of blood. Nothing. Physically, she looked perfectly fine. As per­fectly fine as a person could be when her heart was breaking. Like a lost child, she rocked rhythmically back and forth. Above the rush of the water, Chase could hear her sobbing. Deep, tearing sobs.

  His first impulse was to rush over and gather her into his arms, to assure her that he would take care of every­thing and that she needn't worry, but the sound of her sobs, the utter hopelessness they expressed, held him back. No child, this, but a woman. Since the age of thir­teen, life had forced her along a path she never would have chosen for herself otherwise. Now Mother Nature had finally put her in checkmate. She could no longer continue in the way she had always gone, but neither could she retrace her footsteps, and for a woman in her profession, there were few detours.

  In that moment, Chase ached for her as he never had for anyone. Life had robbed her of so much. Not only of her girlhood, but all the other things people took for granted, not the least of which was a right to walk with her head held high. Now he was about to rob her yet again by rushing to her rescue and offering to make her his wife? His intentions were good, and God only knew he loved her. The problem was, did she know it?

  Franny. Tears stung Chase's throat as he regarded her. If any woman on earth deserved to be properly courted and wooed, she did. Flowers, an engagement ring, a romantic proposal on bended knee, a fancy wedding with all the trimmings. Other young women took those things for granted, expected and even demanded them. For Franny, those things were dreams that could never be.

  As Chase moved slowly toward her, he felt impo- tently angry. Not with her, of course, for none of this could be laid at her door. And certainly not with him­self. After seeing that wire hanger on her bed, the way he perceived it, he had one choice, and that was to marry the girl as quickly as he could. He didn't dare do otherwise. But damn if he didn't want to shake his fist, if not at God, then at fate, for pushing her into yet another situation over which she had no control.

  Granted, Chase had been hoping she would marry him for quite some time, and if left to his own devices, he might have pressed his suit by fair means or foul. But he never would have forced her. Now he had no alternative. If he had to, he'd use blackmail. If she detested him for that, so be it. Anything was better than what she obviously had in mind, which was to end
her pregnancy, consequences be damned.

  A baby. In all the rushing about, Chase hadn't spared more than a second to think about the child, and now he couldn't allow himself to. According to the beliefs of his father's people, if a man claimed a woman, he also claimed her children, and in the claim­ing, they became his as though by birth.

  As if she suddenly sensed his presence, Franny jerked her head up and fastened aching eyes on him. With trembling hands, she quickly wiped her cheeks. "Chase," she said weakly.

  He knew she wished he'd go away, but he wasn't about to oblige her. Lowering himself to the ground beside her, he draped his arms over his upraised knees. To give her a moment to recover her composure, he pre­tended to be intensely interested in something at the opposite side of the creek. In his side vision, he saw her make a frantic attempt to straighten her hair. He knew it wasn't vanity that prompted her. Despite all the rotten hands life had dealt her, she still clung to her dignity. She didn't want him to see her like this. Beaten, with nowhere to turn. No, not Franny. If he allowed it, she'd try to put a bright face on things and finish shedding her tears after he was gone. Fat chance of that. From now on, he was sticking to this girl like a goddamned cocklebur.

  Because there was no way he could think of to ease into the subject, he decided to live up to his name and cut right to it. "May Belle found the wire hanger. Not knowing where you'd gone or what you might have done, she panicked and sent for me."

  Her voice thin and reedy, she said, "You mean she told you?"

  "That you're carrying a child?" He fixed her with a relentless gaze. "Yeah, she told me."

  Clearly ashamed, she averted her face. Plucking a handful of grass, she unfurled her slender fingers and stared at the green blades that striped her palm.

  "Franny . . ."

  Still not looking at him, she held up her other hand to silence him. "I know. Please don't say it. just go away. Okay?"

  Chase could only guess what she thought he meant to say. "Honey, I—"

  "I understand. Really, I do." She made another odd little sound and shrugged. "It never would've worked anyway, Chase. I was—" She gulped and strained to steady her voice. "I . .. um . . . think you're a fine fel­low for even trying to explain. Truly I do. Most men wouldn't have asked me in the first place, and they sure wouldn't bother to feel bad when something like this . . ." She gestured limply with her hand. "Anyhow, it's happened, and you don't have to say a word. I understand."

  "Maybe I want to say a word. If I can get one in edgewise."

  "Well, please don't." She scrubbed at her cheek with trembling fingers, then cut a glance at him. "Let's leave it unfinished. Okay?" She gave a breathy, tremulous little laugh. "I know it probably sounds silly coming from someone like me, but you're the only beau I've ever had. I'd like to keep the sweet memories and not end with sad ones."

  The only beau I've ever had. By his measuring stick, he'd given her damned few sweet memories. Yet the way she saw it, there had been a wealth of them. "Franny . . ."

  Her mouth quivered at the corners. Making a visible effort to fight back fresh tears, she said, "Before you came, I was sitting here wondering about—well, about dumb stuff, I guess. Like what color its eyes will be."

  That she would confess such a thing to him told Chase more than she could know, most importantly that all his efforts to woo her hadn't been in vain. If nothing else, she had at least come to trust him as her friend. He felt as if she'd just handed him a large chunk of her broken heart. And, oh, God, how he wished he could mend it.

  She lost the battle against the tears, and more welled over her lashes and onto her cheeks. Caught by a shaft of sunlight coming through the trees, they sparkled against her pale skin like diamonds. "Isn't that absurd? With everything else that I should be worrying about, all I can think of is the color of its eyes."

  Digging deep, Chase found his voice. "I don't think it's absurd at all."

  Her throat worked again as she struggled to swallow. "I . . . um . . ." She lifted one fragile shoulder. "Grow­ing up as I did in a large family, one of the things I dreamed about as a little girl was some day having a baby of my own. Now God has sent me one, and no matter how I circle it, I can't see a way to keep it." She sniffed and shivered. "I guess that's the way it goes for some people."

  "A wire hanger isn't a solution, Franny."

  "No," she admitted shakily. "I meant to go through with it. I truly did. But at the last second, I began to wonder—" Her voice cracked and she swallowed to regain it. "Silly things, like whether it was a boy or girl. And suddenly it was no longer just a problem I had to get rid of. I . . . um . . . couldn't do it. I just couldn't."

  When she glanced at him, her beautiful eyes were dark with shadows and struck a startling contrast to her pallor. Spiked like the points of a star and sable black with tears, her eyelashes enhanced their color, making them seem impossibly green. A shaft of sunlight cut through the trees behind her, creating a golden nimbus around her tousled hair. Never had she looked more like an angel to him. Chase wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms.

  "Anyway," she continued in a wobbly voice, "I've decided I'll go ahead and have this baby. May Belle seems to think we can find adoptive parents, and she's offered to loan me some money to support myself and my family until I get through the pregnancy. I'm handy at sewing and good at crafts. I've been thinking that I might earn the wages to pay her back by putting things on consignment in stores. Not just here, but maybe in Jacksonville and Grants Pass as well. Do you think people would buy my stuff?"

  Her resilience amazed Chase. But only for a moment. One of the things that had made him love Franny in the first place was that she had found a way to survive. She wasn't a very large woman, and her fragile features and large eyes made her seem all the more delicate. Think­ing back to the first time he had clapped eyes on her, he recalled wanting to fight mountain lions for her and win. What he hadn't realized then and was just coming to accept now was that Franny didn't need anyone to fight her battles for her. It didn't necessarily take strength of arm to stand up against adversity.

  "Well," she pressed. "What do you think?"

  "I think," he replied slowly, "that you are the most amazing woman I've ever met."

  She turned incredulous eyes on him. "Pardon?"

  "You heard me."

  A blush flagged her pale cheeks. "Oh, go on."

  "No, seriously." She clearly didn't believe herself to be admirable, or anything close to it, which was all the more reason he felt he had to tell her. "You are one in a million. Beautiful, sweet, desirable. Being with you makes me feel ten feet tall."

  He trailed a finger along the hollow of her tear- streaked cheek. The bone there felt incredibly fragile beneath his blunt fingertip, and he yearned to explore further, to feel the delicate structure of her jaw, the V of her collarbone. Loving her as he did, he cringed every time he remembered that wire hanger on her bed and what might have happened had she used it. As courageous as she obviously was, there were still no guarantees that she wouldn't do something desperate in a moment of panic. All it would take was for her to think her family might be left destitute, and she would probably risk anything to prevent it, including her life. As much as he hated to force her into anything, that was a chance he wasn't willing to take.

  "Franny, what would you say if I asked you to marry me and let me be this baby's father?" he asked softly.

  She threw him another incredulous glance.

  "Please think about it before you answer. I love you, you know. That has to count for something."

  "You're having me on, right?"

  "Lord, no. This is nothing to joke about." Chase looked deeply into her eyes, trying to convey the depth of his regard for her. In his heart, he prayed, "Please, God, let her believe me and say yes. Don't make me do something that'll make her despise me." Aloud he said, "I love you, Franny. Make me the happiest man alive and say you'll marry me."

  What little color remained in her face drained
away. "You can't marry me."

  "Oh, yes."

  She shook her head vehemently. "Have you lost your mind? You can't marry a pregnant prostitute."

  God, how he detested that word. Prostitute. She referred to herself as though she were a scrap of excre­ment in a dung heap. It made him angry, impotently angry. She was so incredibly lovely, so infinitely pre­cious to him. How could she look in a mirror and not see herself as he did? "The instant you agree to be my wife, you won't be a pregnant prostitute," he whis­pered. "You'll be my woman." Reaching to lay his hand over her waist, he added, "And this child will be mine."

  She jerked at his touch as though he had burned her. Shoving at his arm almost frantically, she cried, "Don't be absurd. I don't even know who fathered this baby."

  Seeing her panic, Chase drew his arm back, allowing her the space because he sensed she desperately needed it. "It doesn't matter."

  "Yes! It does matter. It matters immensely!" She lifted her hands. "I can't even guess who the father was, Chase."

  "Then my claim will be uncontested."

  She stared at him as though he were insane. "If we sat in front of the general store and watched the men in this town walk by, I couldn't point to a single one and swear he had been to my room. I kept the lights out. Talking wasn't—"

  "I know all about your rules, Franny," he inserted gently. "I understand you weren't familiar with the men, that they . . ." It was his turn to gesture with his hands. "Jesus Christ. What difference does it make whether you know or not? The truth is, I prefer you don't. I want it to be my child. Only mine."

  "Oh, Chase." Her chin started to quiver, and in an effort to control it, her lips drew down at the corners. "Don't do this to me."

  He could tell by her shattered look that the plea was heartfelt. "Do what to you, sweetheart? Ask you to be my woman? To be at my side for the rest of your life? It's where you belong. Don't you see that?"