Page 25 of Comanche Magic

  Trying to conceal the trembling of his hands, Chase crossed his arms over her chest and rubbed her shoul­ders. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to make damned sure she never had to pretend away ugli­ness again.

  "Don't ever go away and leave me here," he whis­pered before he thought. Once the words were out, he realized he was afraid of her doing just that. He didn't like the idea that the meadow was reaching through and surrounding her when she hadn't conjured it up. "Promise me that, Franny? That you won't slip away from me into the meadow and not come back?"

  She rubbed her temple against his jaw. "It only hap­pened that once. I'd just been to see Dr. Yost and I was looking at the hangers, thinking of what I was going to have to do. I was scared. So awfully scared. And sad because I knew you wouldn't want me anymore when I told you about the baby. It was such a lonely, awful feeling. I looked at the wallpaper and just went in."

  "The wallpaper?" Chase didn't see how that related.

  "The daisy wallpaper in my room."

  "Oh." He tightened his hold on her. "If you ever feel lonely and afraid again, promise me something?"

  "What?"

  "That you'll find me so I can make you feel unafraid and unalone."

  "Oh, Chase," she said tremulously. "I never dreamed then that you'd marry me anyway. That's why I felt so alone. I thought you'd hate me."

  "Well, you were wrong. I could never hate you. No matter what."

  "There are some things a man can't overlook."

  "Where you're concerned, I'm blind in one eye and can't see out of the other. I can overlook anything."

  They fell silent for a time. While she gazed out at the stars, Chase tried to think of a way he could best broach the subject of her creating a dream place with him. She had described her meadow so clearly that he could almost see it. What broke his heart was that she had ever needed such a hiding place. He couldn't begin to imagine the horror her nights must have been if the only possible way she could survive them was to sepa­rate her mind from her body.

  "You know what I'd like?" he asked softly. "I'd like to create a new hiding place, one that belongs to both of us."

  She sniffed and rubbed her cheek on his shirt. He saw a bemused smile flit across her small mouth. "A meadow?"

  "No," he said with certainty. "The meadow is your special place. A new place, one that we'll make just for us. And for our baby."

  "It isn't really your baby, though."

  "Ah, but in our dream place, we can make our own rules, right? Everything can be just the way we want. And I want it to be my baby."

  She sighed. "Oh, Chase, I wish it were. While I'm wishing, I wish I weren't me, that we had met like reg­ular people and fallen in love and that I wasn't—"

  "In our dream place, we can make wishes come true. If not Franny, who would you want to be?"

  "You mean I can be whoever I want?"

  Chase smiled slightly. "Of course. It's a dream place."

  "Then I'd be—" She broke off to ponder the ques­tion. "I guess I'd keep the same name. But otherwise, I'd be totally different. I wouldn't have a past. There'd be no Lucky Nugget behind me. I'd have a clean slate and be able to start all over fresh."

  Shifting her weight onto his other arm, Chase rested his chin atop her head and gazed out at the stars. "Then we could have a proper wedding?"

  Warming to the game, she said, "Oh, yes, a glorious wedding. I'd even let your mother put seed pearls on my gown."

  "I take it you don't care for seed pearls."

  She laughed softly. "I hate them."

  "She'd be disappointed."

  "Well, we couldn't have that, not in a dream place."

  Chase turned his cheek against her hair, remember­ing how it had looked touched by sunlight. Gold shot through with silver, as brilliant as the stars, yet warm from her scalp and laced with a scent that was uniquely Franny, a blend of freshly scrubbed skin and lavender. "It'll be a place where we can do whatever we want."

  "Yes, anything," she agreed dreamily.

  "And we'll be untouchable? No one but us would matter." "Absolutely."

  "God, Franny, I wish we could really go there."

  For a moment, she was utterly silent. Then she said, "Me, too."

  Tension closed around Chase's throat. "Then let's do."

  She twisted to look up. He drew his head back to meet her puzzled gaze. "It's not a real place," she reminded him.

  "It's as real as your meadow."

  "But my-—" She gave her head a slight shake. "My meadow isn't real, either."

  "But you went there."

  "Well, yes, but that was—" She broke off and stared at him. "This conversation is totally insane. You do realize that. We're arguing about a place that doesn't exist."

  "But it could. In our minds. Franny, you've been slipping away to your meadow for nearly nine years. If you could do it alone, why can't we go to another place together that's just as beautiful?"

  Her troubled expression made him grin.

  "You're entirely too serious. Do you realize that?" he asked. "It's just a game. What harm can it do to imagine?"

  "None, I suppose."

  "Then imagine with me," he whispered. "Just for tonight." He grinned again and shrugged. "If it's won­derful, maybe we can do it again sometime."

  Her shimmering eyes were filled with wariness. "Is this a trick?"

  "My mother asked my father that question once. Do you know how he replied? He said that whatever he wanted from her, he could easily take. He had no need for tricks. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think I need them either." He touched a fingertip to the fragile bridge of her nose. "Point made?"

  "Yes," she replied softly. Her eyes took on a mis­chievous twinkle. "But to stay on the safe side, in our dream place, I want to be stronger than you are."

  At that, Chase barked with laughter. As his mirth subsided, he said, "No beating up on me?"

  "Only if you need it," she conceded.

  He leaned around to regard her. "Well?"

  "Well what?"

  "Let's go."

  She was clearly dubious. "We need to dream up a place to go first."

  He pretended to consider that problem. Then he shrugged. "Here will do." He indicated the room. "It's cozy. And look at those stars. Nothing we imagined could be as beautiful as that."

  Her gaze shifted to the heavens, and a beatific smile touched her mouth. "You're right. The sky is beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

  "Beautiful enough for a dream place?"

  "Mmm."

  "So, are we officially there?"

  She gave a soft laugh. "I've never tried to go into a dream place with someone. I'm not sure it'll work."

  "Sure it will." He snapped his fingers. "We're there."

  She smiled again. "All right. We're there."

  He set her gently off his lap. "Since you've only given me tonight, I want to enjoy every minute. My vote is that we lie down to gaze at the stars and talk until we fall asleep."

  She brushed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek. "That's all? Just talking?" she asked suspiciously.

  Chase held up his hands. "If I try any funny stuff, you can get the hell out of here and go to your meadow."

  She gave a startled laugh. "You're crazy, Chase Wolf."

  Chase braced a knee on the edge of the mattress and placed his other foot on the floor. She knelt there on the bed, looking wary and uncertain. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he reached for the button at her collar. "I'm crazy all right. Crazy about you," he admitted huskily. "How about going crazy with me?"

  "I think we've both already gone, what with all this foolishness about dream places."

  As he unbuttoned her dress, he bent to trail kisses over her small face. He loved her nose, so small and fragilely bridged. And her eyebrows. They were the color of honey and finely arched. He'd dreamed of tracing their shape a hundred times and did so now with the tip of his tongue. She tasted lightly of salt and feminine skin, so sweet he could h
ave happily sampled her from her hairline to her toes.

  As he slipped her shirtwaist off her shoulders, she shivered slightly, and given the warmth of the evening, he knew it wasn't from the cold. "I'll never hurt you, Franny, and if I do something you don't like, just tell me to stop."

  Lightly, ever so lightly, Chase trailed his fingertips down her arms as he peeled away her sleeves. She shiv­ered again, and he smiled, dipping his head to settle his mouth over the pulse point along her slender throat.

  Skirt, petticoat, bloomers. As he divested her of each and sent them in a downward slide over her hips, he nibbled lightly at her neck, seeking out all those places he instinctively knew would please her. She sighed and tipped her head back to accommodate his mouth. By that sigh, Chase knew she hadn't fled from him into her meadow yet.

  And despite his aching need of her, he was deter­mined not to give her any reason to do so. Especially not tonight. Tonight was for dreaming together. A time to hold her in his arms, to gaze at the stars with her, to show her that for short chunks of time, dreams could be the reality, and reality a dream.

  As far as tactical maneuvers went, it wasn't the best one he had ever come up with. But it was all he had. He could only pray God it worked.

  Once he had her stripped to her chemise, Chase lowered her to the bed. She watched him nervously as he drew off his boots, then his shirt. Heeding the worry he saw in her expression, he opted to keep his jeans on. After flipping back the quilt and coaxing her between the sheets, he stretched out beside her on his back. She didn't resist when he gathered her close in the circle of his arm.

  For a moment, she seemed uncertain where she might rest her head. Then she found the hollow of his shoulder with her cheek. Chase's belly snapped taut when she placed a small hand on his bare chest. He closed his eyes against a wave of longing so intense he ached with it.

  "I thought we were going to gaze at the stars," she reminded him.

  He opened his eyes. "Yeah, the stars," he said tightly. "Chase? Is . . . something wrong?" Was something wrong? Everything was absolutely right. He gave a low laugh, focused on the stars, and prayed to become a eunuch.

  17

  When Franny woke up, it was late morning and Chase was gone. Touching the impression on the pillow where his dark head had lain beside her own, she gazed sleepily out the window at the sun. Its position in the bleached-denim sky told her it was nigh on ten o'clock, an unusually late hour to awaken, even for her.

  Her senses slowly sharpening, Franny looked around the room. The log walls emanated the essence of the boy who had slept within them for so many years; the clothing on the rod and possessions lining the shelves showed the man he had become. She studied the teal shirt that hung from the rod, recalling the night she'd seen him wear it. She had been so afraid of him then. Now he terrified her in a totally different way.

  On the shelf above the rod rested his black hat. Beneath his clothing sat his lumberman pacs. With a start, Franny noticed that feminine apparel hung at one end of the clothing rod. She blinked and pushed up on an elbow to stare at the assortment of shirtwaists. Looking utterly frivolous, her pink slippers sat beside his pacs, and next to those were her black kid boots. While she slept, he had unpacked her bundle of belong­ings and neatly organized them beside his own.

  As though they belonged there. As if they would always belong there. Silly though it was, Franny found herself wishing that would be the case. She wanted all of this. So badly.

  Hugging the quilt to her chest, Franny sat up and swung her feet to the floor. Her stomach gave a sicken­ing roll at the movement, and she swallowed convul­sively. Aside from a few bouts with childhood illnesses, she had always been in good health, and she was unac­customed to feeling poorly.

  Morning sickness.

  She pressed her hand over her middle and, despite the nausea, gave a weak smile. A baby. Did every woman feel so incredulous when she learned she was carrying a child? To Franny, it seemed impossible. A baby. Her very own baby. So many times she had lost count, she had jealously observed pregnant women walking along the boardwalk, convinced that mother­hood was something she would never be able to experi­ence. Now, she was not only pregnant but married.

  It was too good to be true.

  Franny's smile vanished, and her queasy stomach knotted with tension. She was afraid to let herself believe that any of this could last. The instant she started letting herself think Chase truly loved her—the very minute she began to think they might actually be able to build a life together—all of this would be snatched away from her. All of it. Something would go wrong. It always did.

  "Did I hear movement up there?" Loretta Wolf called softly.

  Franny jerked with a guilty start. "I. . . um . . . yes, I just woke up."

  "Sit tight, dear. I'll bring you some tea. Chase put a chamber pot under the bed for you. While I'm pouring, attend your morning appointments. I'll be up shortly."

  Still holding her stomach, Franny leaned over to fish for the chamber pot. Tea in bed? She wasn't an invalid. As quickly as she could, she tended to her business. When Loretta started up the loft ladder, Franny was sitting with her back supported by the pillows, the quilt tucked across her chest and caught beneath her arms. Giving her hair a pat, she pasted on a nervous smile to greet her new mother-in-law. From the sound of her feet on the ladder rungs, she was like her son, surefooted. Franny couldn't feature herself managing the steps with her hands full.

  Bustling with energy, Loretta swept around the dividing wall, her starched calico skirts awhirl, her glove-top button shoes flashing with each step. Before her, she balanced two delicate china cups on saucers, both wafting steam. Glancing at Franny, she drew her lips into a moue. "Ah, honey, you look green." Her blue eyes clouding with sympathy, she perched careful­ly on the edge of the bed. "Well, never you worry, we'll have you feeling right with the world here shortly."

  Franny accepted her cup, noticing as she did that two thin slices of crisp bread sat on the saucer's fluted rim. "I'm sorry I slept so late."

  "Nonsense. I'm sure you're accustomed to keeping late hours. It follows that you're used to rising later than most. As time wears on, you'll readjust."

  Franny flashed her a startled glance, but Loretta was busy tipping a bit of coffee into her saucer and didn't notice. "Chase and Hunter went over to the saloon to get the rest of your belongings." She smiled conspiratorially as she held her cup aloft and blew on the hot cof­fee in her saucer before taking a dainty sip. "You never saw me do this, you hear?"

  Franny smiled in spite of herself. Saucering one's coffee wasn't exactly the height of scandalous behavior. "Your secret is safe," she said softly as she took a sip of tea. Secretly she wished for coffee herself but doubted it would settle well on her queasy stomach. "Your china is lovely."

  "Straight from Boston," she said proudly. "So is my piano. Shipped around the Horn, special order." Her eyes warmed with memories. "Right after his first gold strike, Hunter bought me the Chickering, a whole set of dishes, and glass panes for all my windows. That's been—dear, me—well over twenty years ago, now. Goodness, how the time does fly." She settled her gaze on the window. "Hunter brought everything here from Jacksonville in a wide-tread wagon. All but the sugar bowl arrived unchipped."

  The love that softened Loretta's features when she spoke of her husband was unmistakable. Franny's throat tightened with an indefinable emotion. She suspected it was envy. How wonderful it must be to love and be loved by a man like Hunter Wolf, to have borne two of his children and raised them to adulthood in this cozy log house. Her thoughts shifted instantly to Chase, who was the image of his father. Oh, how Franny wished this child she carried were his, that one day everyone would comment on its striking resemblance to its father.

  "We no sooner got the dishes unpacked than Chase Kelly shattered a plate," Loretta added with a chuckle. "To this day, I wish I could have captured the expres­sion that crossed Hunter's face. After all his care, and there was china scattered all a
round his feet."

  "I’m surprised Chase survived that with his hide intact," Franny murmured.

  Loretta smiled. "Oh, Hunter never punished the children—not physically, at any rate."

  Franny couldn't conceal her incredulity. "Never? Then how did he discipline them?"

  "The same way Chase will discipline this one." Returning her cup to its saucer, Loretta leaned forward to pat the quilt over Franny's middle. "With a look, nothing more." She shrugged. "Well, sometimes he fol­lowed up with a lecture. Hunter has always been one to pontificate."

  "A look and a lecture? That can't have been very effective with toddlers."

  "Very effective, actually." Loretta met Franny's gaze. "Children are more perceptive than we think. Chase and Indigo always knew when their father was disappointed in them, and that was punishment enough. Even when they were tiny." She let loose with a tinkling laugh. "I don't suppose they understood much of Hunter's elo­quent lectures. But they seemed to get the message. One nice thing about the Comanches is that they tend to communicate with their hands and facial expressions as much as with words. Watch all of them while they're talking sometime. You'll see what I mean."

  Thinking back, Franny recalled instances when Chase and Indigo had conveyed their emotions to her with gestures as well as speech. "I think I know what you mean."

  Loretta made a fist of one hand and pressed it against her bosom. Imitating her husband, she said, "My heart is laid upon the ground."

  Franny giggled.

  Laughing with her, Loretta said, "You see? Say that to a naughty child, and they understand they've done something that"—she pitched her voice to a more mas­culine tone—"makes you 'very big sad.'"

  Franny giggled again. In all her imaginings, she hadn't expected her mother-in-law to be so warm and friendly toward her. The thought sobered her. Balancing her cup and saucer with one hand, she plucked self­consciously at a tuft of yarn. A long silence fell over them. Glancing up, Franny said, "Mrs. Wolf, I want to thank you for making me feel so welcome."