The Savage

The first sign of real trouble came the following morning, when Lance’s livery stable in Round Rock was vandalized. The boy who looked after the livery, Nate Jenkins, galloped up to the cabin after Lance had already left for the range, almost beside himself with distress. Summer sent Nate after her husband while she conferred with Reed and had the buggy harnessed.

By the time she and her brother arrived in Round Rock, Lance was already there, and Nate was showing him the damage. The vandals had cut the leathers on all the harnesses and broken the backs of the riding saddles, scattering them in the yard, as well as driving the stage horses out of the corral. The carcass of one of the animals lay in a pool of blood, a hundred yards from the gate, its throat slit, the wound covered with feasting flies.

Summer stared in horror as Lance hunkered down beside the dead horse. From his expressionless features, she couldn’t guess what he was thinking, and yet she knew him well enough now to sense his rage. And for a moment, when he looked up and met her gaze, she thought she could read grief in his eyes over the senseless loss.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Calder,” Nate Jenkins said for perhaps the twentieth time. “I don’t know how they could have done this without waking me. I was here all night—”

“I don’t hold you to blame, son,” Lance assured him grimly. “You can’t stop people determined on destruction. The last time they stole all the horses instead of turning them loose.”

“You mean this has happened before?” Summer asked in outrage.

Lance gave her a sardonic glance. “You sound surprised, princess. This is white Texas, remember? Somebody thinks this the best way to run me out of the county.”

“What are you going to do?” Reed asked quietly.

With a sigh, he stood up, looking around him at the destruction. “Clean up this place and get on with my work.” He glanced at his wife. “Go on home, Summer. There’s nothing you can do here.”

“But I could help clean—”

“I don’t want you involved.”

She would have protested further, but Reed placed a restraining hand on her arm. “Lance is right—you should stay out of it. It might even be dangerous. He’ll deal with it better if he doesn’t have to worry about you.”

Reluctantly Summer allowed Reed to escort her back to the ranch, and yet she saw her retreat as cowardly. The monstrous warning had been directed at Lance, but he was her husband, and she should stand by him, despite the danger. Besides, she didn’t think anyone would actually hurt her. On the other hand, she couldn’t dismiss the possibility. The Weston name no longer provided her much protection, now that she was Lance’s wife. She could become the target of viciousness, just as Lance was.

The knowledge left her furious and more shaken than she cared to admit. She would never forget the ghastly, pitiful sight of that dead horse. And nothing could have driven home to her more thoroughly the ugly hatred Lance had faced all his life. She felt so helpless. So impotent. As if she were fighting a foe she couldn’t see, against whom she could never win.

Lance wouldn’t discuss the incident with her, she discovered to her frustration. He seemed intent on pretending it had never happened, or at least shielding her from the ugliness. Summer couldn’t be so sanguine.

For a few days, however, life seemed to return to normal. Reed started work on the plans for the new house, and Lance, after discussing the design and material construction with him, rode the twenty miles to Austin to order building supplies. While he was gone, Summer made another attempt to mend her relationship with her sister, or at least persuade her to attend the barbecue.

Amelia rebuffed both. When Summer knocked on the open door to her sister’s bedchamber, Amelia stiffened in her rocking chair and told her tightly to go away. Summer remained out in the hallway, but refused to be driven away.

“Melly, you don’t have to speak to me if you don’t wish to, but please…for your own sake, you have to stop doing this to yourself. You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding in your room.”

“Can’t I?”

“It isn’t healthy to sit here day after day, dwelling on the past.”

“Do you expect me to forget what happened to me?” Her tone was cold, angry.

“No, of course not. But it would be good for you to get out some. I think you should go to the barbecue Saturday night.”

“No.”

“Why not? You know you’ve always enjoyed a party. And Harlan says you are to be the guest of honor.”

She made a contemptuous sound deep in her throat. Summer bit her lip. Amelia had always loved parties, because they were the only times she could shirk the heavy duties thrust upon her at their mother’s death. It grieved Summer to see even that small pleasure denied her. She tried again.

“All your friends are anxious to see you and welcome you home.”

“Th-They won’t.”

“I think they will, if you give them a chance. And there will be lots of gentlemen there who want to dance with a pretty widow.”

A bitter silence greeted her speculation.

“Melly, I know you think your life is over, but it isn’t, not at all. You’re still young. You could marry again, have children.”