"Mrs. Wolf? Please, Franny. You make me feel as old as Methuselah. Call me Ma or, if not that, Loretta."
Ma? Franny couldn't feature herself being so bold. "Loretta, then. Thank you." She swallowed and took a deep breath. "Despite Chase's reassurances to the contrary, I'm sure you must feel some measure of resentment toward me. Thank you for not giving vent to it."
Loretta's blue eyes darkened. "Resentment, Franny? Why on earth would I resent you?"
"Well, because. You can't help but—" Franny lost her hold on the yarn tuft and bumped her saucer. China clattered, and both she and Loretta shot out a hand to steady her cup. Their fingers brushed, and at the contact, Loretta curled hers warmly over Franny's. Rushing to blurt out what she felt had to be said, Franny finished, "You know what I am. And that my child isn't your son's. You've been so very kind, and I just want you to know that—"
Loretta tightened her grip on Franny's fingers. "Shush," she said softly but with motherly imperativeness. "That's the last I want to hear of such talk." She released Franny's fingers to pick up the spilled pieces of crisp bread. Gentling her voice, she went on. "You're my son's wife. You're expecting my third grandchild. Don't say otherwise, not in my presence. That, my dear girl, I will resent, and heartily. When you gave your hand to my son in marriage, you put all that went before behind you."
"But I—"
"No buts."
"But you—"
"No buts!" Sparking with indignation, Loretta's large blue eyes met Franny's. "No one speaks badly about one of mine. That includes you. The instant you married Chase, you became my daughter, and anyone who says aught against you in my presence will be sorely aggrieved for his or her trouble."
Franny could only stare at her. But try as she might she could detect no pretense in her mother-in-law's expression. As impossible as it seemed, she truly meant it.
As quickly as she displayed anger, Loretta gentled her expression. "Now, you really should drink up that tea and eat your toast. If that baby proves to be anything like its daddy, you'll be needing something in your tummy before you get up and start moving about. When I was expecting, I found that it helped, at any rate."
Franny obediently picked up a slice of bread and took a nibble. To her surprise, her stomach, already somewhat soothed by the ginger, welcomed the bit of nourishment. "I believe I'm already feeling better," she admitted.
"You're looking better. Maybe later today, you'll feel up to studying some of my dress patterns. We need to decide on the style of your gown."
Franny nearly choked on her bread. "Gown?"
"For your wedding."
"But Chase and I—we aren't—I thought that—" Franny broke off, feeling helpless. "Franny, every young woman should have a beautiful wedding," Loretta reminded her kindly. "Chase expressed your concerns to us this morning. But Hunter feels very strongly that your fears are groundless. He . . . um . .." She waved a hand. "How can I explain Hunter? He's very big on ceremony, I guess because of his upbringing. And he absolutely insists there be a religious ceremony. Simple, if you prefer, but a ceremony to mark the day, nonetheless, in the church of your choice. Since he will have it no other way, we may as well make a dress. Don't you think?"
Franny wanted to scream that Hunter Wolf had nothing to say in the matter. It was hers and Chase's decision, their life. Evidently her thoughts must have shown on her face, for Loretta looked distressed. She gazed at the ceiling for a moment. "Oh, Franny. When Chase talked to us, I came to understand how you must feel. Truly. But—" She looked her in the eye. "Hunter simply can't conceive that kind of thinking. To him, there is no yesterday. Does that make any sense at all?"
If she heard that expression one more time, Franny thought she might screech. No yesterday. It was Chase's favorite saying, and he'd clearly come by it naturally.
"At any rate," Loretta went on, "in the Comanche family structure, the father has the final word. Hunter very seldom plays the autocrat, but he won't bend on this. Chase has no choice but to honor his edict, and as his wife, you must as well. It's just the way things are."
Franny gazed into her tea.
"Maybe if you discussed it with Hunter," Loretta suggested. "Just lay it on the line for him, and tell him you absolutely don't want a wedding? He might be swayed if he could better understand how you feel. As if is, Chase and I may as well be speaking Greek. He just looks at us as if—-well, he clearly can't see what the problem is."
Franny had no intention of confronting her father-in- law about a wedding or anything else. For one, the man was intimidating. For another, it was Chase's place to make a stand, not hers. She intended to bring up that fact to him the moment she could find an opportunity. The very idea that a grown man like Chase had to obey his father? It was absurd.
"I'll speak to Chase," Franny said.
"And to Hunter?"
Never. But Franny wasn't about to say as much.
"Oh, Franny. A wedding won't be so bad. Truly. We could have it in Grants Pass, where there'll be less chance of anyone's recognizing you. And with only family there, what can go wrong?"
Everything. Everything could go wrong. But for the life of her, Franny couldn't put her fears into words.
Loretta gave Franny's leg a kindly pat as she stood up. "Finish your tea, love. I think Indigo's coming over in a few. We'll have a nice little brunch when you're up and dressed. Something suitably bland for your queasy tummy, yes?"
With that, she left the bedroom.
Franny sat there staring after her. A wedding. Deep down, the very thought that she might truly have a wedding filled her with a rush of pleasure. But she quickly returned to earth. Even though no one in Grants Pass suspected the truth about her profession and she could probably get away with having a fancy church wedding, complete with symbolic white, she would know the truth. She couldn't even contemplate walking down the aisle in a pure white gown. It would be a mockery and a lie. God would surely strike her dead if she dared.
Franny needed time alone. Despite the fact that Indigo was expected, she made her apologies to Loretta and escaped the house. Her footsteps led her to the creek. Instead of sitting in one place, she opted to walk off her nervousness and strolled along the bank, seeking out familiar places where she had come with Chase or Indigo.
The exercise didn't help calm her. Her skin felt prickly, and unexpected noises made her nerves leap. Behind her eyes, there was a dull ache that she couldn't soothe away, and there was a heaviness within her chest she knew was from unshed tears.
Why couldn't anyone understand how she felt?
The question made Franny increase her pace, for when she confronted it, she realized she wasn't sure she understood her feelings herself. Panicked. That's how she felt. Like an animal helplessly trapped in a cage while people poked sticks at it.
An insane comparison. But it was the way she felt. Jumpy. Afraid. Convinced something awful was going to happen. She wanted to run, only there was nowhere to go. She wanted to pray, but she could think of no words, and she wasn't sure God would be listening even if she could.
It wasn't just the wedding. Franny wasn't sure what all she was upset about. Just that she felt a sense of doom she couldn't shake.
It was all too neat and easy. Chase loved her. He had insisted they be married. His family was wonderful. She was going to have a baby. Yesterday was behind her, forever behind her. Her family would be well taken care of. It was like a perfect dream. And she knew it couldn't last.
The instant Chase learned that Franny had left the house, he went in search of her. Though she had kept to the rocky creek bank, his skill at tracking stood him in good stead. He fell in behind her, moving as quickly as his eye could lead the way. Worry dogged him. He knew his mother had told Franny that his father insisted there should be a church wedding. That was one of the problems in having a family, not being able to control their mouths. Franny wasn't ready to deal with all of this yet. Chase wanted to move slowly with her, but things seemed to be on a downhill track.
As he trailed her, he toyed with the thought of their leaving Wolfs Landing immediately. He had hoped to stay, if only for a few days, so Franny might come to realize that his mother and father truly did accept her and the baby. Chase couldn't help but feel that was vitally important to her eventual happiness. But away from here, he would have more control. No one would be telling his wife things that upset her.
Damn. Even in his frustration, Chase smiled slightly. His ma meant well. She had a heart the size of Texas. And so did his father. Both of them only wanted Franny to feel welcome and a part of their family. Chase knew that was the main reason his father insisted there should be a church wedding, because to make an exception in Franny's case was the same as saying she was different. His father was nothing if not perceptive. One look into someone's eyes and, like Chase and Indigo, he could see straight to the heart. Chase knew he had sensed Franny's feelings of unworthiness, and his stubbornness about the wedding was his way of making a statement.
The problem was, there seemed to be more going on inside Franny's head than even Chase could read. Something—and he wasn't certain what—was eating her little heart out. When he looked into her eyes, he tapped into her fear. But for some reason he couldn't get a fix on the cause. It was as if Franny was running scared and wasn't sure why.
Chase caught up with her at a bend in the creek. She had stopped to throw rocks into the water and, he noted, with no little amount of anger. He had never seen Franny in a high temper before, and the sight gave him a moment's pause. After watching her chunk the rocks for a moment, he waded into the fray, deciding that the worst she could do was clobber him. At best she might reveal what was bothering her.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked and stooped to pick up a rock.
She turned toward him, her green eyes fiery. "You!"
Chase nearly looked over his shoulder. As he recalled, they had drifted off to sleep last night with peace in full reign. "Have I done something to get on your bad side that I don't know about?"
She hefted her rock, giving him cause to wonder if she wouldn't throw it at him after all. "It's what you haven't done. When I married you, I didn't realize I was tying up with someone so spineless he still does everything his father tells him."
"Ah." Chase took aim at a tree across the stream and let fly. The stone hit its mark with a satisfying thunk. "So that's what has you frothing at the lips."
"You're a grown man. You know I don't want a church wedding! How your father figures into the decision, I can't fathom."
Chase bent to choose another stone, a flat one this time so he could skip it across the water. "Franny, Comanche customs are a little different than white. That doesn't make them bad. It isn't a question of spinelessness but respect." He shot her a look. "He's my father. About once every ten years or so, he insists on something, and somehow, I can't bring myself to quarrel with him when he does. Can you understand that?"
"No." She threw a rather large rock into the water near the bank.
The upshot of spray splattered Chase's pants. He slanted her a glance. "Did you do that on purpose?"
"And if I did?"
He grinned. He couldn't help himself. He'd never seen Franny so angry. Her cheeks flamed. Her eyes shot sparks at him.
Her eyes. Chase looked deeply into them, and what he saw behind the flare of brilliance wasn't anger, but pain. And a crawling fear. His heart caught. "Franny, honey, can't you talk to me? This isn't really about the wedding at all, is it?"
She knotted her hands, and in her frustration, she brought them down hard against her thighs. "Yes! I won't walk down the aisle pregnant. I won't. Get it through your head! And once you do, make it clear to your father."
"All right."
She was about to say something more, but his reply forestalled her. "What?"
"You heard me. We'll hold off on the wedding until after the baby's born. Then we'll talk about it again and plan a ceremony. Will that satisfy you?"
He could tell by her expression that she figured he'd never bring it up again if they waited so long. The girl had a lot to learn about his father's people, namely that they were the most stubborn that had ever walked.
"You'll inform your father?"
Chase didn't look forward to doing so. But the way he saw it, there wasn't a choice. His first loyalty lay with his wife, and if that meant bucking Hunter, he'd have to do it. "Yes, I'll tell him. But understand that once the baby's born, there will be a church wedding. Your church or mine, I don't care. But in a church it will be, with you wearing white. Is that clear?"
She gave a reluctant nod, and her high color began to fade. Looking into her eyes, Chase knew the anger she had felt was the least of his worries. Regardless, he wasn't sure discussing her feelings with her was the answer. He sensed confusion. He wasn't at all sure Franny knew why she was so upset. If she did, she wasn't prepared to vocalize it as yet. He'd have to be patient. She was strung as taut as a piano wire. He doubted it'd be long before she snapped.
"So . . . is that issue settled?"
She nodded, looking like a rebel who'd just lost her cause. "I guess."
Chase smiled slightly. "Good, because I've got a bone to pick now."
Her eyes widened. "What's that?"
"A little matter of your splashing me on purpose."
Her gaze shot to his wet pants. "Oh, that."
He took a threatening step toward her. "Yes, that. Do you know what I do to females who splash me?"
Her eyes went even wider, and she retreated a pace. "No, what?"
There was more than one way to take a woman's mind off her woes, Chase thought, and until Franny was ready to address hers, he could be as inventive as the next man. Spreading his hands and keeping them in constant motion, he assumed a predatory stance. "I throw them in the creek, clothes and all."
He deliberately drew a fierce scowl so she'd know he was teasing her. He saw a tiny smile flit across her mouth, and that was enough to make Chase warm to the game. He growled. She squeaked, retreated another step and held up her hands. "You wouldn't!"
"Oh, but I would."
"But your parents. What will they think if I go back drenched?"
He advanced another pace. "I don't give a rat's ass what they think."
She whirled to run, and the chase was on. He let her get a head start, then leveled out, lengthening his strides. Squealing and laughing, she cut up the bank into the woods. Putting a tree between him and her, she danced about, managing to stay beyond his reach. For a few minutes, Chase was content to allow her to evade him. She was giggling like a young girl. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. He had a feeling Franny had romped and played all too infrequently in her young life.
Feinting to the left, Chase lunged right to intercept her as she fled. She shrieked when he caught her around the waist and lifted her against him. Pumping her feet, she tried to twist free. He spied a grassy spot under a tree, carried her there, and, taking care not to hurt her, lowered her to the ground.
"This isn't the creek!" she cried breathlessly.
Following her down, Chase captured her arms and manacled both her wrists with one hand. Drawing her arms above her head, he slanted a thigh across hers. "Before I drown my victims, I nibble on them a little first."
She gave one last giggle, then sobered, her beautiful eyes searching his. Tears sprang to the pools of green so quickly that Chase was caught off guard. For a moment, he thought she was frightened. But then she sobbed and whispered his name as if her heart was breaking.
Chase released her wrists to cup her face between his hands. He wanted to look into her eyes, but she forestalled him by fiercely hugging his neck and burying her face against his shoulder.
"Hold me," she cried raggedly. "Oh, please, Chase, hold me. Don't ever let go."
He was happy to oblige her. Drawing her tightly against him, he rolled onto his side, carrying her slighter weight along. He felt a shudder go through her. And then, as though the dam burst, she bega
n to weep. Running a hand into her hair, Chase whispered, "Franny, honey . . . what is it? Tell me."
"I'm afraid. I'm so afraid."
She said the words over and over again, a pleading litany. He knew she sought comfort from him, but God help him, he didn't know how to soothe her. She clearly wasn't afraid of him. Yet she was terrified of something. The violent trembling of her body told him that.
Chase tightened his arms around uer. "What is it you're afraid of? Tell me, and I'll take care of it. I won't let anything hurt you. I swear it."
At that proclamation, she wailed. "You can't stop it. No one can. It'll be just like Toodles. I know it! I loved him, don't you see? Just like Toodles, only worse, so much worse. I don't think I can bear it."
Completely baffled, Chase ran a hand up and down her back, massaging the knotted muscles in her shoulders and along each side of her spine. "Toodles? Franny, who is Toodles?"
"He's dead." Her sobs gained force after she made that admission. "He died."
Chase closed his eyes, feeling her pain as intensely as if it were his own. Toodles? Pressing kisses against her hair, he whispered, "Who was Toodles, sweetheart? Tell me."
"A kitty. Just a straggly old cat."
Chase cracked open an eye. "A what?"
"A cat. My cat. I tried not to love him. I truly did. But he was just like you!"
"Like me?"
"Yes. No matter what I did, he wouldn't stay away. I even kicked him once. He was so—" She sputtered as she searched for an appropriate word. "Stupid. He was stupid. I didn't want him. I never wanted him. But he wouldn't stay away."
Chase wasn't sure if he appreciated being compared to a cat, much less a stupid one, but she was so upset, he let it pass.
"He kept coming around." Her voice went shrill. "He just kept coming, no matter what I did. And I started to love him."
His stomach dropped as understanding started to dawn.
"He was all mine. Don't you see? Somebody of my very own who stayed with me all the time. Somebody who knew all about me and loved me anyway. And one night they"— she knotted her hands in his shirt — "shot h-him. He jumped up on the bar. Gus didn't care. The regulars bought him b-bowls of milk. But two strangers—they got mad and shot him before Gus could st-stop them."