“Feel better?”
She laughed. “Immensely. You have my undying gratitude.”
“That so?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and suddenly the air was charged with a subtle tension. She could see desire in Lance’s eyes, hot and smoldering, and the sight heartened her. For the past several days he had pretended total indifference, but he wanted her now; she knew it with every womanly instinct she possessed.
The knowledge soothed pride that had been stung by his previous rejection. She wasn’t the only one so strongly affected. Yet she also saw the sudden hard clench of his jaw as Lance clamped down on his urges.
Self-consciously Summer picked up the hairbrush he’d brought. When she sta
rted to use it on her wet hair, though, Lance startled her by taking the brush from her.
“Turn around. I’ll do that.”
Tensely she did as he asked, presenting her back to him. She felt his fingers gently arranging her wet locks, felt the careful stroke of the brush as he pulled the quill bristles through her tangles. It was soothing and yet disturbingly arousing. His slow, sensuous ministrations reminded her far too much of their wedding night.
The silence between them grew. After a moment, Summer decided it might be wise to break it—before she did something foolish like testing Lance’s restraint.
“Amelia used to brush my hair like this,” she said tentatively.
She winced at the sudden, sharp tug on her scalp as the brush caught on a snarl. Perhaps Amelia wasn’t the safest subject after all. Biting her lip, she tried again.
“Short Dress told me how you acquired the name of Sharp Lance—because you performed a great act of courage in battle—but she never said what you were called before then.”
A moment went by before Lance answered. “It was White Woman’s Son.”
“That sounds like a Comanche name. Didn’t you have a white name? One your mother gave you?”
“Yes, but I quit using it when she died.”
“What was it?”
“It doesn’t matter. That part of my life is over.”
Summer hesitated, not wanting to pry, yet wanting to discover more about her husband and his complex past. “Was that part so painful, then?”
Lance gave a curt laugh. “You might say that. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to live through it again.”
“You were twelve when you went in search of your father, weren’t you?”
“So what?” His tone suggested wariness.
“My brother Reed once told me what he knew about you. He said that when your mother died, you ran away to find your Comanche father.”
“That’s about right.” She could almost feel Lance shrug. “When Ma died, there wasn’t any reason for me to stick around Austin.”
“You rode all the way to Indian Territory alone?”
“No. The Comanche still lived in Texas then. They hadn’t been run out of the state yet. But I didn’t know where to start looking for my father’s band. Didn’t know anything about him except for what little my mother had told me. But I’d heard talk about a man named McTavish who’d spent time with the Comanche, so I headed north to find him.”
“Your friend at the trading post…Deek?”
“Yes, only he wasn’t my friend at the time. I stopped there for supplies, but I didn’t have any money to pay for them. I’d stolen a horse just to get that far.” Lance chuckled as if remembering something amusing. “I made the mistake of trying to lift a gun off Deek, and he caught me at it. Nearly skinned me alive.”
“He didn’t hurt you?” Summer asked, concerned.
“Not really. Tore a strip off my hide, that was all. Then he found out what I meant to do and put a stop to it fast. Wouldn’t let me set out on my own to find my father. He even offered to help.”