He gave her a sharp glance, but offered a gruff explanation as he grabbed a handful of mane and swung up on his horse’s back. “I hid them here when I left my people. I didn’t think the good citizens of Texas would take too well to me carrying Comanche weapons.”
She wanted to ask why he had left, but doubted he cared to discuss it. She bit her tongue as they set off again.
As the day wore on, they headed northwest across flat open prairie. Watching him mile after mile, Summer couldn’t help comparing this Lance to the one she’d been acquainted with most of her life. She wouldn’t have known him if she met him on the street. He looked every inch the fierce Comanche warrior, as if he belonged to the land and the wind. And she was too fiercely attracted to him for her peace of mind. All too frequently she found herself staring spellbound at his barbaric handsomeness, fascinated by his primal masculine beauty.
Late that afternoon, Lance found a place that offered shelter and fresh water and forage for the horses. A slight rise in the terrain had been hollowed out by a stream to form a gully and was protected by a cedar brake. He halted the horses, saying they would stop there for the night.
“You feel well enough to make yourself useful?” he asked as he dismounted.
Summer nodded. She had ridden just as hard today as yesterday, but surprisingly she didn’t feel quite so terribly exhausted.
“Good. I’m tired of pampering you.”
She might not be as physically drained as before, but three and a half difficult days of traveling in a stagecoach, and two harder days of riding horseback through wilderness, had made Summer’s temper raw. Her anger flared at his gibe. “I never asked you to pamper me!”
Lance snorted. “No, you just expect it as your due.”
Summer gritted her teeth as he came around to her side. “Just tell me how you want me to help.”
“You know how to cook?”
“Some. We have household servants at home—the vaqueros’ wives—so it isn’t often necessary.”
Lance’s mouth curled as he lifted her down from her horse. “When we reach my brother’s camp, you’re going to have to pitch in. Women perform all the work in a Comanche village, and they won’t understand if you don’t.”
“I’ll do my fair share.”
His gaze scornful, he lifted one of her hands and peeled back the glove to inspect it. The palm was soft and white and obviously unaccustomed to hard physical labor or anything but the light chores expected of a lady. “What do you do every day if you have all those servants? Play lady of the manor?”
Irritated by his smug look of triumph, Summer jerked her hand back—and saw a muscle in Lance’s jaw tighten. “Actually, I’ve spent the years since my father died running our ranch—which happens to entail more brains than brawn.”
“Fix us some supper while I see to the horses,” he said brusquely as he turned away.
“Should I make a fire?”
“No, I don’t want to risk it.”
Involuntarily Summer cast a worried glance around the small clearing. “Is it dangerous here?”
“No more dangerous than any place else, but there’s no need to advertise our whereabouts. I don’t believe in inviting trouble.”
They worked in silence for a time. Lance unloaded the supplies, then watered and hobbled the horses while Summer searched through the provisions. By the time he returned, she had arranged a blanket beside the stream and laid out a meal of dried beef and apples and the last of the cornbread Topusana had made them.
Lance settled himself cross-legged on the edge of the blanket, far enough away that Summer had to lean over to hand him his food. Just then the angle of the fading sun caught her face, highlighting the vivid bruise on her jaw. The sight sent fury streaking through Lance.
He’d vowed not to touch her, but he couldn’t stop himself. Raising his hand, he gently brushed the vicious mark with the pad of his thumb. “That bastard hurt you,” he breathed.
Wincing at the memory of Frank Yarby’s fist gripping her chin, Summer drew back abruptly. She saw the swift anger that claimed Lance’s features before a cold wall slammed down to shutter his expression.
Without comment he took a bite of the sandwich she’d made him, but he was seething inside. Every time she flinched from him, it made him madder than hell—and it was damn well time he put a stop to it.
“You better learn not to jump out of your skin every time I touch you, princess, or you won’t have any skin left.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Sure you do. You’re scared to death I’m going to do something to you that you won’t like. But you’d better get used to me touching you.”
His tone was so harsh, so threatening, that Summer had a hard time swallowing her food. The look she sent him was anxious, wary. “You wouldn’t…”