Page 4 of Comanche Magic

  The teasing glint in his eyes was different from the one she had noticed yesterday. Harder, somehow, and laced with carnality. He had learned the truth about her; it was written all over his face.

  Franny had an insane urge to run. But she couldn't. His gaze held her fast. As if he knew he had her help­lessly ensnared, he smiled slowly, his mouth quirking slightly at the corners in a way that made her heart skitter.

  "It sure is a beautiful morning, isn't it?" His tone was low and silken, not at all threatening or jarring, yet her nerves twanged with every inflection of his voice.

  As he stepped closer, his nearness made her feel dwarfed. She guessed him to be well over six feet tall, an extraordinary height, no doubt inherited from his father who stood head and shoulders above most of the men in the community. To amplify his stature, he had the powerful musculature of someone who constantly pitted himself against the elements. His scent, sharp­ened by the humidity of morning, moved around her. Her nostrils picked up traces of bergamot and soap, which she recognized as the ingredients in shaving compound, and bay rum mixed with glycerin, used in homemade liquid shampoo. On another man, the com­bination of smells might have seemed commonplace, perhaps even mundane, but on Chase Wolf, it seemed potently masculine.

  Not wishing to let him know his size intimidated her, Franny flattened herself against the house. As though he sensed her discomfiture and found it amus­ing, his smile deepened as he perused her. Those eyes. They were so intense and incredibly dark a blue, lined with thick, silken lashes the same shade as his hair. When she looked into them, she found it difficult to think clearly, let alone make intelligent responses.

  "You are a puzzle," he murmured. "And I never have been able to resist a puzzle."

  Franny tried to swallow but her throat refused to work. No matter, for her mouth had gone as dry as dust. "I. . . I have to go."

  "Don't run off."

  His expression still mischievous yet martially arro­gant, he reached toward her. She flinched as his leath­ery fingers grazed her ear. As he drew his hand back, she saw that he held a gleaming gold coin. With prac­ticed fingers he rolled it in a shimmering path over his palm, gave it a flip, and caught it within the circle of his thumb and forefinger.

  Flashing the money at her, he said in a silken voice, "Ten dollars. Fancy that, me plucking it out of thin air." His gaze trailed lazily to her bodice. "And there's more where that came from." His white teeth flashed as he spoke, and his eyes heated with blatant invitation. "How many ten-dollar gold pieces would I have to find behind that pretty little ear of yours to talk you into spending the morning with me?"

  Franny felt so humiliated she wanted to burrow into the dirt and disappear. "The morning?"

  "The morning," he repeated. Squinting, he glanced up through the pine boughs at the cloudless sky. "It's a perfect day to find a private place along the creek somewhere and while away the hours with a very pret­ty and accommodating young lady."

  She blinked, not at all certain how to handle this. Men sometimes tried to stop her on the street, but she had always managed to evade them. Chase Wolf stood so close she felt like a slab of meat sandwiched between two slices of bread, the house at her back, his chest blocking her escape.

  "I . . . um . . ." She searched frantically for some­thing to say. "I don't see gentlemen outside the saloon."

  "I'm no gentleman." He twisted the coin before her nose. "How much, Franny? How does fifteen strike you? If you prove to be talented at your trade, I'll kick in another five and make it an even twenty. I'd venture a guess that's twice what you usually make."

  "No, I—"

  With a flick of his broad wrist, he emptied the con­tents of his coffee mug onto the grass. Bracing an arm against the house, he leaned in close and caressed her bottom lip with the coin. The teasing lights disap­peared from his eyes to be replaced by a piercing glint.

  "What's your game?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  He laughed, the sound breathy and mocking. "Oh, you are good. Do you practice that thing you do with your eyes in front of a mirror, or does it come naturally?"

  Franny had no inkling of what he meant. "What thing? You're not making any sense, Mr. Wolf."

  "Let me put it a little plainer then. Why would a female of your persuasions want to spend so much time with a sweet young woman like my sister? What's in it for you? And please don't tell me you enjoy play­ing nursemaid to two children."

  A female of her persuasions? Franny had heard her­self described in far baser terms, but even so it hurt. "Indigo is my friend. I enjoy being with her, that's all."

  "Bullshit," he shot back. "I know your kind, don't think I don't, and you always have an ulterior motive. What is it, money? You hope to play on her sympathy and get into her pockets?"

  "No," Franny denied weakly. "I'd never—"

  He silenced her by pressing the coin firmly against her mouth. "Listen up, and listen good. You may fool some of the people some of the time, namely Indigo and Jake, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time, namely me. Stay away from my sister and her kids. The last thing she needs is a tarnished little whore playing on her sympathy and messing up her life."

  Outrage lent Franny a flash of courage. Freeing her mouth, she said, "I believe you're stepping beyond your bounds, Mr. Wolf. If and when Indigo asks me to stay away from her, I shall happily comply, but the likes of you certainly won't dictate to me."

  "Won't I? Let me list a couple of facts for you, sweet cheeks. Prostitution is on the real shady side of respectability. A word dropped here and there, and it wouldn't take much to get all the fine, highfalutin ladies in this town to heat up a caldron of tar and start pluck­ing their chickens. Do you get my drift?"

  Franny certainly didn't need him to paint her a pic­ture. More than one woman in her profession had been run out of a town on the rails. "What have I ever done to—"

  "Nothing," he said, cutting her off. "It's not person­al, honey. Just looking out for my own. The members of my family, from my father on down, are too naive to be a match for your sort. The same isn't true of me. Save yourself a lot of heartache, hm? Stay away from my sister, and you and I will get along just fine."

  Rather than meet his gaze, Franny looked down her nose at the coin. She realized now that he hadn't been serious about his proposition. He had only used it as an opening to warn her off. She didn't want any trouble, especially not from a man of Chase Wolf's ilk. Indigo's brother or no, he had a dangerous edge, and if he got it in for someone, she had a feeling he'd go for blood. She couldn't afford a scandal. Grants Pass was only forty miles away, enough of a distance to ensure none of her customers were likely to be men from her home­town, but not so far that news from Wolf's Landing never reached there.

  "Do we understand each other?" he asked softly.

  "Yes," she whispered, unable to say anything else. As bleak as the summer might be without Indigo's friend­ship, Franny figured she had best steer clear of her—at least until Chase went back to the logging camps.

  "I thought you looked like a smart girl."

  As he straightened and allowed her a little more room, Franny closed her eyes on a wave of nausea. She prayed she wouldn't embarrass herself by emptying her stomach all over his boots. When she felt a little more in control, she lifted her lashes to find him regarding her with an uncertain expression clouding his gaze. In that instant, she knew that under the sharp-edged steel Chase Wolf wore as armor, he had a compassionate side—a side that regretted being so cruel.

  Feeling suffocated by his nearness and masculine scent, Franny stepped around him. After all, he had said what he had come to say. He must have watched for her to leave the saloon this morning and followed her here, which explained their chance encounter. An ambush, more like.

  To her surprise and dismay, before she managed to get completely beyond his reach, he grasped her arm and drew her to a halt. The grip of his fingers burned through the cloth of her sleeve. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, and
she strove not to shiver. Throwing him a star­tled and questioning look, she waited for him to draw more blood with that razor tongue of his. Instead, he slipped the gold piece into her hand and folded her fin­gers around it. The minute he relaxed his grip, Franny did likewise and let the money fall soundlessly to the grass. She didn't mean to let him salve his conscience so easily.

  She met his gaze, hoping her contempt for him shone in her eyes. It was so easy for him condemn her. If he went looking for a job in Wolf's Landing, he could probably have his pick of a half dozen before noon, all offering a decent wage. Did he think she wouldn't hap­pily work alongside him in the timber if someone would hire her? Did he actually believe she liked the way she earned a living? God forgive him, if only he knew what it was like for her, he wouldn't be so self-righteous.

  The instant he released her arm, Franny gathered her skirts and stepped across the dewy grass, resisting the urge to run. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

  Chase stared after Franny's diminishing form, his throat tight with an emotion he couldn't name. That look in her eyes. He didn't think he'd ever be able to wipe it from his mind. Not just contempt, but a hurt that ran too deep for tears. Watching her, he couldn't help but draw a comparison between her and all the other pros­titutes he had ever known. There was no similarity. Franny whatever-her-last-name-was had the mark of a lady. Even the way she moved was prim and proper.

  A brilliant flash caught Chase's eye, and he glanced down to see the gold piece lying in the grass at his feet where she had let it fall. So she scorned his money, did she? He toed the coin then flipped it across the ground, loath to pick it up. For all he cared, it could lay there and grow moss.

  "What did you say to her?"

  Indigo's accusing voice lashed through the morning air to bring Chase's head around. He stared at her, as reluctant to admit what he had said as he was to retrieve his money. "Nothing that didn't need saying."

  Her blue eyes stricken and giving him no quarter, Indigo hugged her waist and came toward him. "What do you mean? What needed saying, Chase?"

  It had been a spell since Chase had felt like a boy called onto the carpet. Angry that he should be made to feel guilty when his only crime had been to watch after his sister, he swallowed to moisten his throat. "A whore has no business being as thick as thieves with a decent young woman. You're too sweet for your own good, honey. What about your reputation? And if you don't give a flip about that, what about your kids? When they reach school age, do you want them humili­ated because the other children whisper about their mother and the company she keeps?"

  Indigo's eyes widened and her naturally burnished complexion went deathly pale. She glanced down, saw the gold piece lying at his feet, and moaned. "Oh, Chase, what have you done?"

  "What had to be done," he replied gently. "I know you care about her, Indigo. But you can't take the woes of the world on your shoulders. Franny has chosen her path. Don't walk it with her. You have your family to think about."

  Tears filled Indigo's eyes, and her mouth started to quiver.

  "Indigo," he started.

  "Don't," she said shakily. "Please don't say anything more. I think you've already said quite enough."

  Chase couldn't believe her reaction. True, he had expected her to be upset. But this? He had done what any concerned brother would do. Couldn't she see that?

  "I know you're angry at me right now," he put in gently, "but in time you'll see I only acted in your best interests."

  "And what of Franny's best interests? I'm the only friend she has, Chase."

  He gave a derisive snort. "Since when do whores expect to have friends? Jesus, Indigo, surely you can't be that naive."

  "Naive? Or compassionate. And while we're on the subject of not being able to believe, I can't believe how hard you've become."

  "Indigo . . ." he tried again.

  "Don't you Indigo me. I want you to go directly to the Lucky Nugget and apologize to Franny. I mean it, Chase Kelly. She won't come back to visit me anymore until you do."

  "Good."

  "Good? Chase, you're going to apologize to her, so help me."

  "Apologize?" he echoed. "For what?"

  Indigo averted her face. "Until you figure that out for yourself, maybe it would be better if you didn't come around here."

  "Excuse me?"

  She turned that accusing gaze on him again. "You heard me. If I'm going to shield my children from all the ugliness in this world, maybe I should start with you."

  "Are you serious?"

  "Dead serious."

  Chase could see that she was. Forgetting his ribs, he bent to pick up his mug and had difficulty straighten­ing. Indigo reached out to grasp his arm. He jerked away. "Don't touch me. My ugliness might rub off."

  "Oh, Chase," she said shakily. "I don't even know you anymore. Where has my brother gone?"

  "To hell and back," he bit out. "You live here in your sheltered little world and think you know it all. The truth is, Indigo, you don't know anything about women like Franny. None of you do. I was only trying to help. But, hey. If this is the thanks I'm going to get, why bother? Learn your lesson like I did, the hard way. Just don't come whining to me when her true colors start to show."

  With that, he strode away, so furious he shook with it. To hell with her. For someone so dead set against being judgmental, she sure didn't hesitate to judge him.

  4

  Crickets serenaded in the darkness, and mosquitoes buzzed around Chase's head. After taking another swig from the jug of bourbon he had pur­chased over at the saloon, he wiped his mouth and rested his back more heavily against the pine tree, his gaze fixed on the boughs silhouetted against the cobalt sky above him.

  One arm draped over his upraised knee, he held the whiskey jug dangling by its handle from the crook of a finger. With his other hand, he patted his shirt pocket for the half-smoked cigarette he had rolled earlier. Striking a lucifer on the seam of his jeans, he squinted against the bright flare of the match and took a deep drag. As he exhaled smoke, he laughed, softly and bit­terly, while shaking his head.

  As his uncle Swift was so fond of saying, if this wasn't a hell of a note, he didn't know what was. Here he was, a grown man hiding from his parents in the backyard. All evening, his mother had been walking around looking as though she were sucking alum. His father had little if anything to say to him. Chase could scarcely stand to be in the same house with the two of them.

  All in the world he had done was proposition a pros­titute. If that was a criminal offense, add his name to a long list. Sex was the girl's business, for Christ's sake. It wasn't as if he had insulted a lady or something. Every time Chase thought about it, he did a slow burn.

  Though his folks hadn't said anything, he knew Indigo had told them about his talk with Franny. He supposed the whole lot of them expected him to go to the saloon, hat in hand, to apologize. To a whore, of all the crazy things, and for doing nothing more than offering her money for what she peddled every bloom­ing night of the week. He had done what needed doing—what Jake or his father should have done—and he didn't feel the least bit remorseful.

  Taking another belt of whiskey, Chase tried to esti­mate how much longer he might have to stay in Wolf's Landing. Too long, that was a certainty. The instant his ribs healed, he was making tracks. And if his family thought he'd be back to visit them again any time soon, they all had another think coming. He'd had enough of this bullshit.

  "Good whiskey?"

  The sudden sound of his father's voice startled Chase, which bore testimony to just how intoxicated he actually was. Trained in Indian warfare from the time he was knee-high, he usually sensed a person's presence before they got within twenty feet of him. He peered through the darkness, trying to focus. Not that Hunter Wolf's large frame was difficult to home in on. Tossing aside his cigarette, Chase proffered the bottle, not really expecting his father to accept. "It's fair to middling, I guess. Want a swig?"

  With the ease of a much yo
unger man, Hunter took the jug and sat Indian fashion beside him. Even in the dimness, Chase could see the stern set to his harshly carved features—features that he knew mirrored his own. Lecture time. Just the way he wanted to spend his evening.

  Because of the heat, his father wore no shirt. In the moonlight, his bare chest and shoulders gleamed like polished bronze, his long dark hair a silken curtain that shifted each time he moved. Even after living among the, whites for well over twenty years, there was a wild- ness about him that couldn't be ignored, a dangerous edge that, in Chase's opinion, made other men seem pallid in comparison. Comanche to his core, his father. Always had been, always would be. Not that he had a problem with that. He just felt it unfair that he should be expected to live by the same set of rules simply because he was his son and had inherited his Indian looks. In the logging camps, a man scrabbled just to survive, to hell with his heritage and all the rot that went along with it.

  His brain numbed by liquor, Chase found himself expressing those sentiments before he quite realized what he was saying. "You all find it so damnably easy to judge me, don't you? Ever since I've been home, all of you have been noting how much I've changed, all to the bad. But have any of you wasted a single minute wondering why?"

  Hunter swallowed a mouthful of bourbon and whis­tled through strong white teeth. Handing the jug back to Chase, he said, "That burns clear to the gut." He cleared his throat and shuddered. "And to answer your question, yes, I have wondered."

  "Well, you sure as hell couldn't prove it by me. And I'll tell you, I'm fed up with being criticized. As if the rest of you are so goddamned perfect you have room to talk."

  "Perhaps we only seek to understand you, Chase."

  "Right," he scoffed. "If you really wanted to under­stand me, you'd have tried talking to me about it instead of passing judgement."

  "I am here now to talk."

  Chase supposed that was true enough, albeit a little late. "Maybe Jake's right. Maybe none of you really know me anymore. I know I've changed. What pisses me off is that none of you give's a rat's ass why." He took another long pull at the bottle. "How could I keep from changing? That's the question. Things haven't exactly been a bed of roses for me, you know. For the last seven years, I've been living in the worst conditions you can imagine, working my ass off from first light until dark, saving every penny I could to invest in land. During the rainy season, I've seen the time I was wet to the skin for days on end, and at night, I crawled into an equally wet bed."