The silence that followed her admission resonated with shock. Billy studied her for a long moment, his consternation apparent. “Then you better go, too.”
“Billy…” She gave him a pleading look. “Please. We can’t leave just yet. We need to know what happened to Amelia.”
“We told you everything we know in the letter.”
“Then…perhaps we could speak to the child who survived, the little Grice girl.”
“They sent her back east to her kin.”
Summer looked at Lance, not certain what to do, but his face was as expressionless as a stone. She turned back to Billy. “I had hoped to stay here with you while Lance is searching for my sister.”
He frowned, considering. But then he slowly shook his head. “I don’t think that would be such a wise idea, ma’am, not if you’re…” He left the words unsaid, but his meaning was clear enough: Not if you’re a half-breed’s squaw. “Ma’s nerves are shaky at best—you saw what happened. She needs to try to forget about Mary, and havin’ you around…well…it would only remind her. Might even drive her over the edge. No, I’m sorry, Miss Weston…I mean Missus.... I know you came all this way, but I think it’d be best if you found some other place to stay. The hotel’s closed, but maybe somebody will put you up.”
Summer started to reply, but Lance raised his head. “Come on, let’s go.”
He turned his horse abruptly, leaving Summer no choice but to follow him.
“If you find Amelia,” Billy called after them, “she’s welcome to come back here…no matter what those red devils have done to her. We’ll take her in.”
Neither Summer nor Lance looked back.
They rode the two miles to the Grice ranch in silence. Summer accompanied Lance mechanically, paying no attention to her surroundings as her mind battled weariness, fear, outrage.
She hadn’t expected to be turned away from the Truesdale farm. She’d been prepared for discomfort on the part of her sisters-in-law, yes, perhaps even contempt. But not outright repudiation. Her instinctive ire at being judged so unfairly vied with her dismay at her own impotence—and neither surpassed her dread for Amelia.
No matter what those red devils have done to her. Billy’s words echoed in her ears with terrifying clarity. She had only been fooling herself, trying to pretend that Amelia would be all right. Even if he
r sister could be rescued quickly, even if she could be found, there was every likelihood she’d been subjected to the horrible ordeals Comanche captives usually suffered.
She had to prepare herself for that eventuality, Summer knew. Just as she had to brace herself for a future as Lance’s wife. People’s reaction when they learned the truth would be no different from Billy’s, or the Yarbys of the world: revulsion and contempt. She might have to face a lifetime of such rejection—but that wouldn’t matter if she could save Amelia. She could deal with rejection as long as Amelia was safe.
She had to find her sister.
She didn’t know what course to take now, though. She hadn’t thought that far ahead, couldn’t think that far. Her mind wouldn’t seem to function.
Lance watched Summer in smoldering silence, cursing himself as much as the circumstances. She looked numb, disoriented, as if she hadn’t recovered from a deep shock. And he was to blame.
He’d known he was making her life harder by forcing her to marry him, but he’d been wrong. He hadn’t only made her life harder. He’d branded her an outcast like him. And all the old rage came boiling to the surface, making him want to explode.
The Grice ranch had been burned to cinders. The gaunt, soot-scarred chimneys of the main house stood silhouetted against the sky, while the blackened stone walls bore silent testimony to the brutality of the attack. An acrid stench of fear and flames still hung in the air, as dense as the cloud of flies hovering over a grimy mat of chicken feathers and the carcass of a cow the buzzards had picked over.
Lance sat his horse for a long moment, grimly observing the devastation. Beside him, Summer stared in mute shock. When he dismounted, saying he wanted to have a look around, she nodded, yet she hardly noticed when he bent to inspect the ground.
She couldn’t stop imagining the horror of what had happened here. Three people had lost their lives, and she couldn’t help but picture it. She could almost hear the screams of the dying, the barbaric war cries of the Comanches as they circled ever closer, the crackling flames of fire as it licked the walls. Had Amelia suffered before being taken? Dear God…
Shuddering, Summer buried her face in her hands. Seeing this destruction made it harder to believe she would ever see Amelia alive.
She didn’t know how much time passed before Lance returned, didn’t hear his footsteps at all. She only became aware of his presence when he reached up and touched her arm.
Summer started, her gasp of alarm loud in the silence as she stared at the broken shaft of an arrow which he’d found during his search. Raising a hand to her pounding heart, she met his fierce gaze—and wished she hadn’t. His black eyes glittered as he looked up at her. His harshness frightened her, and yet not as much as the reflection that suddenly occurred to her. Lance had lived with the Comanches. Had he participated in such raids as this? Had he killed innocent settlers and their families? Had he butchered women and children and carried them off into captivity?
The thought made Summer recoil in horror, even though she instantly rejected the possibility. Of course he hadn’t partaken in such savagery. Surely not.
Lance noticed her reaction, the uncertain fear in her eyes, and his jaw clenched. He’d seen that look enough countless times before to recognize it—that combination of doubt and apprehension and accusation that whites often showed toward half-breeds.
His gut knotted with renewed wrath. Summer’s fear was probably only natural, instinctive for a lady of her class and upbringing. For sure her suspicion was no worse than most he’d been subjected to. But it galled him more than acid.
He expected such mistrust from well-bred women who didn’t know him. He’d just never thought to see it in his own wife.