“Half-Indian—who was raised white.”
“Dammit, you’re splitting hairs!”
“Five years ago you weren’t so troubled about his race,” she pointed out reasonably. “You were the one who convinced Papa to hire Lance in the first place.”
“Only because I thought he got a raw deal. I took him in because I felt sorry for him.”
“You took him in because he was the best mustanger in Texas, and because he saved your life.”
“That debt’s paid now,” Reed snapped. “And just because I might hire him as a ranch hand doesn’t mean I want him marrying my sister!”
Summer took a calming breath, striving to present an argument that would persuade her brother as well as herself. “What choice do we have? How many volunteers did you get to help us search for Amelia? Three. That isn’t nearly enough, Reed, and you know it.”
“With the vaqueros who offered, we’ll have eleven,” he muttered.
She shook her head. “Eleven hundred wouldn’t be enough if we don’t know where to look. Lance said he would ask his Comanche relatives for help if he were to take on the job.”
“But…marriage…It’s absurd, impossible! The whole notion is scandalous.”
She tried to smile. She’d had five hours to accustom herself to the notion, while Reed had only had five minutes. “It isn’t as if we would be living in sin. He offered to marry me.”
Reed clenched his teeth at her failed attempt at humor, as if not trusting himself to speak.
“Perhaps it won’t be so bad.”
“Not bad? You’ll be shunned by everyone we know. No one will receive you—”
“No one receives us now,” Summer interrupted him tiredly. “They can’t forgive you for your political persuasions. Besides,” she added doggedly, her voice suddenly unsteady, “I hardly think our social calendar should concern us more than Amelia’s safe return. In any case, if—when—we find her, her reception is likely to be far worse than mine. What kind of treatment do you think she’ll get from our neighbors? Have you thought of that? Have you thought of what she might be suffering at this very moment?”
The agonized look in her brother’s blue eyes told her that her shaft had struck home. “That isn’t fair,” Reed retorted hoarsely. “I’ve though of nothing else for the past two days.”
He turned abruptly to resume his pacing, but his right crutch caught on the edge of the carpet, causing him to stumble and swear foully. He righted himself before he fell, and Summer stopped herself from going to his aid. Reed hated to be made to feel like a cripple, and he wouldn’t take help from her unless he was in the direst pain.
“Damnation, if only I weren’t a cripple!”
She saw the frustration, the fury, on his face, and her throat closed over the ache of tears. If only. How many times had she voiced those same helpless, hopeless words since the war began? But she fought down the urge to say them again. She couldn’t afford to dwell on wistful “what ifs,” or indulge in the luxury of tears.
She watched silently as Reed gave up pacing and sank onto the velvet settee, his head bowed.
His voice, when he finally spoke, held a wealth of quiet anguish. “I’m your brother…a man. I’m supposed to be able to protect my sisters.”
“Reed…you can’t blame yourself for what happened to Amelia.”
“Perhaps not. But I would blame myself if I stood idly by while you made such a sacrifice and married Calder.”
For a moment Summer didn’t answer. Then she asked in a low tone, “Do you remember Bart Mobly?”
“The fellow who moved to Austin a while back? Amelia’s beau?”
“Yes, him. Amelia could have been his wife, Reed, but she wouldn’t leave me, so he found someone else. She gave up her future to help raise me—and I was too young and spoiled even to realize it, much less appreciate it. But I understand her sacrifice now. How can I ever forget what Amelia did for me? How can I not try to repay her? How could I possibly consider my future more important than her life?”
“I…I know.” Reed rubbed his hand roughly down his face. “I just…can’t bear the thought of Calder touching you. If he’s your husband—You’re still an innocent, Summer. You don’t know about the things that go on between a man and a woman. It isn’t like the stolen kisses you used to give your flirts. It’s more…physical. Sometimes it’s…painful for a woman. I wouldn’t want to think what a man like that might do to you.”
She didn’t want to think of it, either. Involuntarily her hand went to the hollow between her breasts. She could feel the constricting press of whalebone beneath her bodice, reminding her of what had happened this afternoon by the creek. She’d replaced the corset laces Lance had cut, but she hadn’t forgotten the primal look in his eyes. That heated look alone had told her there was more to carnal relations than chaste kisses and gentle petting. Indeed, his kiss five years ago had told her that much. She might stil
l be an innocent, but she was less naive than her brother gave her credit for.
“He said he wouldn’t hurt me,” she answered finally, her tone less certain than she would have liked.