Her birthday festivities had ended an hour ago, the well-wishers returning to their farms and stock ranches. This morning Summer had promised to save Lance a piece of birthday cake if he would come up to the house after the party, yet she hadn’t known if he would. She’d waited anxiously throughout the interminable day and evening, hoping fervently that he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of the sweet confection she’d promised, not daring to believe that her own allure might draw him.
Whatever his reason, he had come.
Still, he had barely glanced at the napkin-wrapped package before putting it in his vest side pocket and, with a quiet “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” turning to go. That was when she had made her scandalous suggestion—that he grant her birthday wish and kiss her. He had looked at her long and hard before pulling her into his arms and complying.
“You never did answer my question, ma’am,” he said, interrupting her thoughts as she swayed absently in the swing.
“W-What question?”
“About my kiss. You never said how it was different from all your other gents’.”
Without volition, Summer loosened her grip on the rope and edged her fingers to her lips. They were tender from Lance’s passion, still dewy from his mouth. The taste of him still lingered on her tongue. He should know the answer to his question. His kiss was nothing like the chaste, gentlemanly pecks she had sometimes allowed her suitors. He was nothing like them. Lance Calder had fascinated her from the moment he’d arrived in Sky Valley this past spring.
She couldn’t explain her enthrallment with him, unless it was the allure of danger he represented. It most certainly was not his charming personality that attracted her. He was as friendly as a wounded wolf, and twice as wary. He was quite obviously sensitive about being thought of as a savage. Yet he made no apologies for his mixed blood. Indeed, he wore his defiance like a shield, his smoldering look daring anyone to call him a breed.
Add to that his knack for making her feel young and naive and absurdly awkward, and she couldn’t understand her attraction for him. He didn’t even seem to like her. She always wondered if he could see right through her with his sharp ebony eyes. He was watching her now with that piercing gaze, his look hard and intense. Or rather he was watching her mouth, as if he would like to kiss her again but wouldn’t let himself.
“I really couldn’t say,” she replied unsteadily, remembering the taste of his kiss, the powerful feel of his lips moving over hers. “I don’t have the experience to compare.”
His soft huff of laughter was more like a snort. “You collect men’s hearts for the sheer challenge of it, Miss Weston, ma’am. You won’t make me believe that whopper about no experience.”
“Will you please quit calling me ma’am in that odious tone of voice?” she demanded, thoroughly unsettled now by the brooding way he was looking at her.
“Yes, indeed. Whatever you say, Miss Weston.”
Humility did not become him, Summer decided with asperity.
Clenching her teeth, she turned her head and lifted her gaze, looking beyond the canopy of pecan leaves. It was a beautiful night, with myriad stars blazing overhead in the vast black-velvet sky. She could hear the low chorus of chirruping crickets, the mating song of bullfrogs down by the creek. A perfect setting for her plan—except that this interview was not going at all as she’d intended. Lance’s kiss had overwhelmed her, making her feel like a naive child playing with fire. And now he seemed intent on picking a fight. She didn’t know why, except that maybe he was mad at her for winning their months-long battle of wills, for finally proving her power over him.
“Maybe you’re right, Miss Summer. ‘Ma’am’ doesn’t s
uit you. How about ‘princess’?”
She gave him a sharp glance, certain that he was scoffing at her. “I’m not a princess.”
“Sure you are.” He waved a hand expansively, indicating their surroundings. “You live here in your ivory tower, sheltered and protected, showered with luxuries. Never known a real hard knock in your life.”
“If you only meant to insult me, then why did you come here tonight?”
“Like I said, I’m a damned fool.”
With one silk-slippered foot, she gave herself an abrupt push on the swing. It was true that she’d been spoiled and petted by her father and her three adoring older brothers, as well as courted and admired by the single gentlemen in three counties. She even admitted to behaving a bit wildly of late, since the one steadying influence in her life was gone: her older sister, Amelia, who had raised her from a baby. Amelia had married a farmer last year and moved to a new settlement in north Texas with her husband’s family. Summer missed her sister dreadfully. Without her, growing up was harder, lonelier. But it was more than that. Now she had no one to ease her restlessness, her fears.
Lance was right. She had lived a sheltered life, pampered and loved and indulged. But her safe world was changing before her eyes. All during the long, hot summer there had been rumblings of war and talk of secession by the southern states, accompanied by vigorous debates on whether Texas should join in. Her own brothers were bitterly divided on the subject. The political tension straining her family was being played out all over the state, and seemed to be gathering momentum like a runaway team. Truthfully, her pursuit of Lance had begun merely as a way to forget her worries, to give herself something else to dwell on other than her fears. Once she’d started, though, she hadn’t been able to stop.
She wondered what Lance thought about the possibility of war. He was as much a true Texan as anyone—more so, actually. She’d heard his story from her brother Reed. Lance was originally from Austin; his mama had been one of the first American settlers in the area before being taken captive by the Comanche and suffering untold degradations. They’d been rescued when Lance was just a baby, but even though it had outraged their neighbors, Charlotte Calder wouldn’t give up her child.
It must have been a hard life for a single woman trying to raise a child of mixed blood born out of wedlock, especially in Austin, which had been a bastion of rectitude back then. It must have been harder for Lance, a defenseless child, growing up in the face of all that hostility. Texans never did anything by half measures, and they hated the Comanches with a passion. And Lance, with his rebellious nature, only made matters worse. When he was twelve, his mama had died and he’d run away to live with the Comanches for several years—his father’s people, Summer understood—and some whites never forgave him for that, either. Afterward he’d lived in Round Rock, five miles or so from the Westons’ Sky Valley Ranch, with Tom Peace, the Texan Ranger who’d offered Lance a job when he’d returned to civilization. The past several years Lance had spent catching and breaking wild mustangs farther west—an experience that made him an extremely valuable hand on a stock ranch.
“I would never have taken you for a fool,” she replied with certainty.
“Well, fool or no, I don’t aim to act like all the other infatuated males, fawning all over you.”
Summer tossed her head, making her glossy dark ringlets sway. She was young, but not so young as to be unaware of her effect on men. She was the Belle of Williamson County, and as such, she deserved the respect due a lady. At least she’d always thought so until tonight, when Lance had confused her with his fierce kisses and made mock of her attempts to charm him.
“Do you mean to say you don’t find me attractive?”
He shrugged a lean shoulder. “I don’t mean any such thing. But you don’t need me to tell you how beautiful you are. Or to feed your vanity.”