After a long moment his sister spoke, the anguish in her quiet voice clear. “We are leaving tomorrow for Fort Belknap. I can only ask that some of you will find it in your hearts to join with us.”
Slowly, pointedly, Summer searched the individual faces of the crowd, moving from one to another to another, focusing on men who abruptly lowered their eyes, apparently uncomfortable with meeting her green gaze.
Lance’s mouth twisted sardonically as he watched. Some of these men were the same ones Summer used to lead around by the nose as boys, the ones who used to pant after her, eager to do her bidding. Lance had little doubt that she could persuade them to help her now if she put her mind to it.
Beside him, Dusty muttered an oath. “Miss Summer was going to ask you to lead the posse, but at this rate, it doesn’t look like they’ll be able to raise much of one.”
Lance didn’t answer, for Summer had suddenly caught sight of him. He saw her give a slight start—and then recover—before her gaze moved on. But her action caused some of the others to finally notice his presence.
“Well, if it ain’t our resident Injun,” a sneering voice remarked.
All eyes turned in Lance’s direction.
“Yep, sure is,” he drawled in return. “You gonna make something of it, Prewitt?”
The man he’d recognized as Will Prewitt glared back at him.
Harlan Fisk was the first to interrupt the suddenly tense silence. “You should ask Calder to go after your sister, Reed. He’s likely to have better luck than the rest of us, what with it being his people who took Amelia.”
“I intend to,” Reed replied slowly, evidently choosing his words with care. “I appreciate the fact that Mr. Calder was kind enough to respond to our invitation to come here today. Welcome, Mr. Calder.”
“So it’s Mister Calder now, is it?” Will Prewitt jeered. “You making deals with savages now, huh, Reed?”
“Shut up, Prewitt!” Reed snapped back. “I’d deal with the Devil himself if I thought it could help get Amelia back.”
Prewitt gave a harsh laugh. “Well, maybe it ain’t such a stupid notion after all. Only an Injun would be crazy enough to ride into Injun Territory an’ face them Comanche devils.”
Lance felt his fact stiffen, drain of all expression. As usual, the sting of the slur wasn’t as bad as hearing them talk about him as if he weren’t there, but both made the lifelong resentment flare in his gut.
He surveyed the crowd with a cold stare, returning the same contempt they’d offered him. “You let me know when you’re ready to deal with the Devil.”
Picking up his reins, he backed the sorrel a few steps, then turned abruptly, riding away without another glance. He heard Dusty utter another oath, thought he heard Summer cry out his name, but at the moment he didn’t give a damn. Let Weston and his ilk figure out how to solve their problems, and leave him out of it. Sister Amelia could rot in captivity for all he cared. At the moment he just didn’t give a fucking damn.
Summer went after Lance; she had to make amends for the inexcusable way he had been treated, especially if she had any hope at all of persuading him to help her. Instead of taking the long route around back, however, she cut through the house, hoping to intercept Lance on the main road.
Picking up her crinolined skirts, she raced down the front steps and across the overgrown lawn of bluestem prairie grass. She could see his retreating figure on horseback disappearing around the line of post oaks that flanked the road.
“Lance! Wait! Please…”
At first she thought he meant to ignore her, but when she cried his name again, he tugged on the reins and halted his horse.
He didn’t turn, though. He sat rigidly in the saddle, his back to her. From the looks of it, he was in no mood to listen—or to forgive.
She was panting for breath by the time she reached him; her corset was too tight for such exertions. She stood there beside his horse, one hand held to her heart as she tried to catch her breath.
“Lance…please…I’m sorry…” she managed to get out. “Will Prewitt had no right…to say those hateful things.”
He turned the full force of those black eyes on her, and she could see the smoldering anger there. It was the same look he’d given her five years ago, the same anger. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten what she’d done—luring him into a reckless embrace and then getting him fired for it.
She winced at the impact of that fierce gaze. He had every right to be angry with her. Her father had been justifiably incensed at him for pulling a knife on Reed, but it was her fault Lance had done it. She had caused the fight, and then hadn’t defended him. She hadn’t stood up for him with enough fervor, hadn’t protested his dismissal strongly enough. She had tried later to find Lance and apologize, but by then he had left town for good. She’d asked both Reed and Dusty to let her know if they discovered where Lance had gone, but it was nearly a year later before she learned he’d taken up driving stages again somewhere out West.
She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She had wanted to bring him to his knees, yes, but not that way.
“You interested in making a deal with the Devil, too, princess?”
His handsome face was dark, hard, unsmiling. Harder than she remembered, but just as compelling. The coal black hair beneath his hat was a bit shorter, more civilized, but he still looked at her in that same intense, brooding way: part resentment, part contempt, part desire for her as a woman.
She was feminine enough to recognize that desire. And respond to it. No man but Lance had ever made her knees go weak with merely a look. She still felt the pull of sexual attraction between them.