Page 29 of Comanche Magic

  Franny touched a hand to her throat.

  "It was then I realized. Franny, Francine. Blond. Pretty. My sister, the whore." His voice started to shake. "There I was with my friends, praying they didn't realize. Lis­tening to them bemoan the fact that they'd rode all this way, not once but twice, and still hadn't got to fuck my sister!"

  Franny flinched and closed her eyes. She heard Gus slap down a glass.

  "See here, now, young fella. There's no call to get filthy-mouthed. She asked for a chance to explain. Maybe you'd best listen."

  Frankie swung to jab a finger at the saloon owner. "You just shut up!" he cried. "This is between her and me, no one else."

  "Then you keep a civil tongue," Gus shot back.

  Franny held up a quivering hand. "It's all right, Gus."

  Frankie spun back to glare at her. In that moment, Franny knew what it felt like to die inside. Frankie, her little brother. Oh, how she loved him. And now he was looking at her as if she were slime. She didn't think anything could hurt worse than that. Until he began to speak again.

  "I don't ever want to see you again," he said in a raspy voice. "Do you understand? Not ever. I won't have your kind near my mother or sisters. Step foot on our land again, and I'll—" He broke off and shook his head. "Don't try me. That's all. Because whatever I do, it'll be bad. Real bad. I might just pull out the rifle and shoot you."

  Franny knew better than that. But the hurt that had prompted him to say such a thing couldn't be ignored. "Frankie, sometimes we don't have choices." She stepped closer and reached to touch his sleeve. "I only did it because I loved all of you."

  He jerked his arm away. "Love? No choices?"

  "Frankie, whatever else I am, I'm also your sister."

  He retreated a step. "You're no sister of mine. And the rest of the family will feel the same when they hear what you've become."

  "Frankie, no!"

  As he strode from the saloon, Franny hurried after him. Outside on the boardwalk, she caught his arm. He flung her away with such force that she sprawled against the front of the building. "Don't put your vile hands on me."

  "You can't tell Mamma!" she cried. "You'll break her heart, and she has burdens enough."

  He turned, lunged off the boardwalk, and struck off up the street toward the livery. Franny ran after him. Passersby on the boardwalk turned to stare curiously, but this was one time she couldn't worry about being conspicuous. Clasping her brother's sleeve, she cried, "Frankie! Please. Just give me five minutes to explain. That's all I ask. I only did it for you and the others. The money I made, it all went to support the family!"

  He whirled to face her, his face contorted, his eyes filled with hurt and mindless anger. "Oh, yes, the money! Dear God, when I think of the times you hand­ed me money. I took it, never dreaming—" He broke off and grabbed her arm, his grip biting. "You whored to get it. You lay on your back, spread your legs, and whored for it. Then you brought it fresh from their filthy hands and put it into mine?"

  Franny winced as his fingers dug deep into her flesh. "Frankie, please."

  But he wasn't listening. Spying two men on the boardwalk, he jerked her a few steps toward them. "You gents want a whore? For ten dollars, you can have a poke. Line right up! She isn't particular."

  Shocked, Franny stared stupidly at the men. They stared back. Directly into her face.

  Wheeling back around, Frankie cried, "Did you lie to Chase Wolf as well? Does he know what kind of filth he married?"

  Franny bent her head, knowing even as she did that it was too late to hide her face. Even if she had been able to, Frankie had just called her a whore and said Chase's name in nearly the same breath.

  Within an hour, everyone in town would know.

  Franny, Chase Wolf's new wife, was the whore from the Lucky Nugget. After this, he'd never be able to hold his head up again. And the shame would extend to his family. To his parents, who had been nothing but kind to her. To Indigo and her husband and children, who had befriended her when no one else would.

  With her head bent, Franny's gaze was fixed on the ground. At the edge of the boardwalk, a stubborn, straggly dandelion thrust its tattered yellow face toward the sunlight. Dandelions, daisies. They weren't so very different. "Stay with me," Chase had whispered. But that wouldn't be his sentiment now.

  A dandelion. Trying to thrive where it didn't belong. Just like her. "Let Him lift the glass, Franny, and rear­range things. Let him pluck you up from one place where you never belonged and put you in another.

  Weightless. She felt weightless. Like dandelion fluff blowing on the wind. It was so easy to let go and float away. So easy.

  Chase had finished fixing the buckboard and was in the house impatiently awaiting Franny's return when a knock came at the door. He wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him when he opened it. Flanked by Gus and May Belle, Franny stood on the porch, her head bent, her shoulders slumped.

  Before he ever glimpsed her face, Chase knew some­thing was horribly wrong. He grasped her by the upper arms. "Franny?" No response. He glanced at Gus, then at May Belle. "For God's sake, what happened?"

  "Her brother," Gus replied hoarsely. "He was wait-ng for her over at the saloon. I didn't know who he was, Chase. I'd've stopped him if I'd known."

  "Frankie?" Chase asked.

  He drew his wife across the threshold. She moved under his direction, but with the same limpness with which she stood, as if there was no life left in her. Fear clutched Chase, an awful fear. He had never seen any­one behave this way.

  "Yes, Frankie," May Belle confirmed. "I had my win­dow open, and I heard him carrying on out in the street. It was pretty bad, Chase. Pretty bad. Franny trying to make him listen, begging him. He called her a whore and offered to sell her to some men on the boardwalk."

  "Oh, Jesus."

  Imagining the things Frankie might have said to her, Chase was filled with rage. His first thought was to find the little bastard and stomp the fire out of him. But he quickly set aside the urge. Frankie could go straight to hell, for all Chase cared. Franny was all that mattered.

  He drew her into the circle of his arm and led her toward the settee. Loretta came bustling from the kitchen. When she saw May Belle, she missed a step. Then her gaze turned to Chase and her new daughter-in-law.

  "Oh, lands. Another attack of the nausea. Shall I put on some tea?"

  Chase carefully lowered his wife to the cushion and crouched before her so he might see her face. Blank. He searched her eyes for any trace of expression, and there was nothing.

  She was gone. Only a shell remained of the girl he loved so much. Chase caught her face between his hands. "Franny?" he said gently.

  When his mother saw Franny's eyes, she crossed herself. "Sweet mother of God. Chase, what's wrong with her?"

  His voice strung taut, Chase said, "She's just slipped away for a little while, Ma. It'll be okay."

  Chase had to believe that. To think otherwise was inconceivable. Clinging to his composure, he pushed to his feet. "May Belle, Gus, thank you for bringing her home. I appreciate it."

  "No trouble." Gus dragged his gaze from Franny to look at Chase. "I'm sorry. I started to give the boy what for, but she asked me to stay out of it."

  "I understand. She's real protective of her family."

  May Belle's lips were quivering uncontrollably. She clamped them together and drew a sharp breath through her nose. "I saw it happening," she said softly, "but I couldn't get down there quick enough to stop it."

  "It's not your fault," Chase assured her. "One of them was bound to find out sooner or later."

  Chase felt as if he was talking from deep within a barrel. A sense of unreality surrounded him as he saw Gus and May Belle to the door. When they had gone, he went back to Franny, sat beside her, gathered her onto his lap. Like a sleepy child, she pressed her head against his shoulder. Limp, lifeless. Nothing he said seemed to reach her. Every time he looked into her eyes, he wanted to scream. He was vaguely aware of his mo
ther hovering over them, offering water, tea, a cool cloth, anything she could think of that might help.

  Time dragged by on leaden feet. With each minute that passed, Chase felt more afraid. She was gone. He couldn't believe it. People didn't just slip away.

  Here in a minute, she'd blink and come back.

  Here in just a minute . . .

  When an hour had passed, Chase began to feel pan­icky. He tried talking to her, calling to her, but she didn't respond.

  "Ma, can you go for Dr. Yost?" he finally asked. "Maybe he'll know something we can do for her."

  Getting her medical care. It was all he could think of to do.

  "Bed rest," Dr. Yost advised gruffly after examining Franny. "Lots of peace and quiet. Get what food and water you can down her. Probably be best to stick with liquids so she won't strangle."

  Drawing the quilt over his wife, Chase sank onto the edge of the bed and looked up at the doctor. "That's all you can do? Prescribe bed rest? Isn't there an elixir or some kind of—" He gestured wordlessly with his hand. "Something. There has to be something you can do besides prescribe bed rest!"

  Behind Dr. Yost stood his parents. Chase glanced at his father and saw the sadness in his eyes. He closed his own, struggling to keep his fear at bay. This couldn't be happening.

  "Son," Yost said kindly, "I've seen cases like this in the sanitariums, but damned few. I'm not up on all the treatments, so I have to go on common sense. The girl's been through a traumatic experience. It seems to me that peace and quiet should be the best thing for her. If we're lucky, this is just a result of shock, and she'll be right as rain come morning."

  "You sound dubious."

  The doctor looked uncomfortable. "It isn't that I'm dubious, exactly. I've just never seen shock have this effect on a patient. All the folks I've seen in this condi­tion were—well, they were in what I call a stupor."

  "A stupor. And what, exactly, is that?"

  "It's a different kettle of fish from shock, by far."

  "How so?"

  The doctor tugged on his ear. "I'm sure this is prob­ably just shock, Chase. So why get into that? No point in crossing bridges before we get to them. Right?"

  A chill washed down Chase's spine. "In other words, you don't want to worry me."

  Dr. Yost sighed. "It would be more accurate to say I don't want to worry you needlessly. Let's see how she is come morning. I lay odds she'll be fine."

  "And if she isn't?"

  "Then we could be dealing with something more serious."

  "A stupor," Chase supplied.

  Yost tugged on his ear again, which was obviously a habit of his when he was put on the spot. "I didn't say that."

  "But you're thinking it."

  "Damn it, boy. You're asking me to diagnose some­thing I know nothing about. I haven't been trained to treat crazy folks."

  Chase shot up from the bed. "She isn't crazy!"

  "Chase Kelly," his mother intervened. "Calm down. Dr. Yost meant no offense, I'm sure."

  "How in hell did he mean it then?"

  Looking decidedly wary, Yost glanced at Franny.

  "I'm not saying she's crazy. I'm just saying I don't know much about stupors." He rested a kindly hand on Chase's shoulder. "I'm almost sure this isn't a stupor, son. She'll be fine in the morning, mark my words."

  "And if she's not? How long do these stupor spells generally last?"

  Yost shrugged. "Different lengths of time, I reckon, depending on the patient."

  "On an average?" Chase pressed. "A few hours, a few days? How long?"

  The doctor drew back his hand. "I can only go by the patients I saw in sanitariums, Chase, and they were serious cases."

  "And?"

  "Well," he said hesitantly, "some of those folks never snapped out of it."

  "Never?" Chase's heartbeat escalated. "Are you say­ing that if she's not better by morning, that she might never get better?"

  Yost pursed his lips. "If she's not better by morning, there's a good chance she's a lot sicker than I hope. I just told you, I'm no expert on this sort of thing, and if she doesn't snap out of it, I'd be overstepping my bounds to say what's wrong with her or how long it might last."

  Chase had the unholy urge to grab the doctor by his shirt and shake answers out of him. He barely restrained himself. This wasn't the doctor's fault, and losing his temper wouldn't help Franny.

  Sinking back onto the bed, he braced his arm on his knee and dropped his head onto his hand. He said nothing more. There was nothing to say.

  * * *

  Chase refused to leave her. His mother brought lunch upstairs, a sandwich for him, broth for Franny. Not wanting anyone to care for his wife but him, Chase held her in the circle of one arm and coaxed the liquid into her mouth. She didn't swallow, and the broth ran back out at the corners of her lax lips. He tried again, and again. Loretta finally assisted him, holding Fran­ny's head and massaging her throat to make her swal­low, while Chase tipped bits of liquid into her mouth.

  Looking down into Franny's expressionless eyes, Chase finally realized why Dr. Yost had looked so bleak. Most patients in a stupor probably didn't last long. Even if he got a rubber tube to feed Franny, broth wouldn't be enough to sustain her indefinitely. .

  "She'll snap out of this," Loretta assured him. "Just you watch. She'll be all right."

  When Chase looked into his mother's eyes, he knew that despite her confident air, she was as frightened as he was.

  In the late afternoon, May Belle came by to check on Franny. Loretta showed her up the ladder into the loft. At the unfamiliar swish of silk skirts, Chase looked up, identified the caller, then bent his head again, all his concentration focused on the girl he held in his arms. Braced against the wall, he felt as though the logs had made permanent trenches across his back.

  May Belle sat down on the edge of the bed. "I hope it's all right, my coming over and all. I figured what with everything else, I couldn't do much more damage."

  Chase frowned slightly. "Of course it's all right,

  May Belle. You know my father welcomes you here."

  She smoothed her skirts. "Yes, well. Your father is a little too kind for his own good sometimes."

  Chase was too worried about his wife to take issue with that.

  "What did Dr. Yost have to say?" she asked.

  Numbly, Chase recounted his exchange with the doc­tor. Clearly distressed, May Belle took hold of Franny's hand. "She'll get better, Chase. I've no doubt."

  Chase wished he felt as positive of that.

  "And when she does?" May Belle finally asked. "What're you going to do then, Chase? Have you had time to think about that?"

  "I'll get on my knees and thank God."

  "No, I meant—" She broke off and swung a hand. "Well, you know, about the marriage, and all. Can you still have it annulled?"

  Chase jerked his head up. "Pardon?"

  May Belle stared at him for a long moment. "You aren't planning to, are you?"

  "Planning to what?"

  "Back out."

  Chase had the feeling he had missed something somewhere in their exchange. "Back out?"

  The older woman's eyes filled with incredulity. "You plan to stay married to her?"

  "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Well, because. Frankie—the things he said. Him bringing up your name. The gossip will never quit. Those men on the boardwalk, they saw Franny's face, plain as day. Folks suspecting she might be the upstairs girl from the saloon, that was one thing. But them knowing it for sure? Your family has to live in this town. A scandal like that—well, it's no small thing."

  Chase's pulse quickened, and in a flash, by listening to May Belle, it hit him. "My God." He curled his hand over Franny's silken head and pressed his lips against the backs of his knuckles. "Oh, God. She thought I wouldn't want her anymore."

  Silence fell. May Belle finally broke it by saying, "No matter how much you love her, Chase, you have to think of your family."

  He had a hyste
rical urge to laugh. All afternoon, he'd been thinking that the hurtful things Frankie had said had caused all of this. "Oh, May Belle. Thank you."

  "Thank you?"

  Chase looked up at her, his eyes flaring with hope. "Yes. I'm so incredibly dense sometimes. She thought I wouldn't love her after Frankie exposed her publicly. Don't you see?" Tears burned under his eyelids. "She didn't think I'd love her anyway."

  The aging prostitute searched his face for several seconds. "But you do," she finally said softly, her gaze softening. "Regardless of the consequences for your family. Regardless of everything, you love her anyway."

  Chase swallowed. "God, yes. I just wish I could con­vince her of that. What can I do, May Belle? You understand how she thinks better than anyone. How can I prove to her that she's worth loving? Nothing I've said seems to have gotten through to her."

  Her eyes swimming with tears, May Belle said, "Be patient. You have to understand that things have been different for you, Chase. Your ma and pa. You grew up knowing you'd be loved, no matter what. Gals like me and Franny are lucky even to have friends. Our families turn away. The rare man who shows an interest usually turns tail in the end. Feeling worthy of love—well, that's something we learn when we're kids, isn't it? From our families."

  "I never thought about it."

  "Because you never had to. Your family has always loved you. For us whores—well, it doesn't always hap­pen that way. Fact is, most times it doesn't."

  "Which is why Franny went to such lengths to keep her secret from her family," Chase whispered.

  "Of course. She feared they'd turn away. And, bless her heart, that's exactly what happened. It'll take time for you to heal that wound. Loving her through thick and thin will do it eventually. But don't think it'll hap­pen overnight. The people who should have loved her, no matter what—well, we know how that went. Her own brother, and he tried to sell her to strangers. To shame her. That kind of hurt can't be erased, not unless Frankie should come crawling back, asking for forgiveness. And that isn't likely."