To one side stood tables groaning with dishes brought by the guests, and beyond, smoke rose from the cook fires, where whole steers were roasting on giant spits. Above the murmur of laughter and conversation, Summer heard someone warming up a fiddle in preparation for the dancing.
Parking the carriages, Dusty and Lance tied their teams to the temporary picket line and then helped the ladies down. Summer, collecting two pies and giving the others to Lance to carry, led the way toward the gathering, allowing Amelia to hang back with Reed.
Their hosts must have been watching for them, for as soon as they had deposited the pies on a table, Harlan and his plump wife, Becky, strolled over to meet them. Summer held her breath during the exchange of greetings, remembering Lance’s rudeness the last time the two men had met. But her husband seemed to be on his best behavior, or at least he allowed Harlan to pump his hand with no show of animosity.
“How do, Mr. Calder, sir. Glad you-all could come. You know my wife, Becky?”
Mrs. Fisk, although looking nervous, smiled and offered her fingers politely. Just as politely, Lance bowed over her hand. “Good evening,
ma’am. It’s kind of you to have us at your party.”
She looked a bit surprised by his polished manners, but after a courteous response, she seemed to forget Lance altogether. Brushing past him, her arms outstretched, she exclaimed in delight, “Amelia! Oh, dear Amelia, praise the Lord you’re safe. We were so worried about you.”
Summer watched in concern as Amelia momentarily seemed to shrink back, but Becky’s arms came around her in a motherly embrace, refusing to be denied, and her disarming chatter soon had Amelia responding with a tentative smile.
The warm welcome for her sister didn’t end there, either. Dozens more of their friends came over to greet Amelia, surrounding her and accepting her back into the community while Dusty hovered protectively nearby. Summer felt the tight knot in her stomach relax a degree. If Amelia could see that her life truly wasn’t ruined, then perhaps she would stop blaming Lance for the violence the Comanches had committed against her.
Summer was about to ask Lance if he wanted to join the crowd when Reed hobbled over to them. “Looks like she’s going to be okay.”
“Yes,” she murmured gratefully.
“That leaves the rest of us.” Reed gave Lance a friendly cuff on the shoulder. “You ready to beard the lions with me?”
Lance’s mouth curved in a wry grin. “I rather face a dozen real lions, but yeah, I guess I’m ready.”
They strolled toward the crowd, intent on mingling. They were met with looks of hostility and wariness, but also of curiosity and welcome. Some of the guests gave them a wide berth, but one by one, others—those willing to overlook Lance’s ancestry and forgive Reed’s political persuasions—began to gather around them. They were mostly young men, the boys Summer had known all her life, all eager to get back into her good graces, as well as a few older women, those who had known her mama and still felt a responsibility toward raising a motherless girl.
Lance watched in unwilling admiration as his beautiful young wife worked her magic, slowly gathering her court, charming and wooing them to her side. The males were like bees buzzing around a rose, unable to resist her alluring scent.
Only one man dared to challenge their presence, and then it was to hint that Reed should have stayed up north with the Yankees.
“Sounds like sour grapes to me, J.T.,” Reed retorted with an unapologetic smile. “But the war is over, and you lost.”
“Reed, shame on you!” Summer scolded gently, bestowing a bewitching smile on the unfortunate J.T. “I’m certain Mr. Wilkes didn’t mean to imply you had no right to come home. In any case, you should be more gracious in victory. J.T. fought just as bravely for the Confederacy. I’m sorry, Mr. Wilkes. You must forgive my brother. His missing leg pains him so that his temper gets the better of him.” She raised entreating eyes to him. “Can’t we forget that horrid war and be friends again?”
Lance shook his head with cynical amusement as the young man’s scowl faded under her appealing warmth. Summer’s wiles were still potent as ever, the hapless males who came within her sphere as defenseless as he had always been.
No one said a word about Lance himself. There was no doubt he was being shunned by many of the guests, but no one yet was willing to challenge him to his face. Summer introduced him to all and sundry as her husband and the courageous man who had rescued her poor sister. And from the grudging looks sent his way, it was clear that many of them were jealous of her praise.
When the music started and sets began forming in a clearing, she refused all invitations to join the dancing. “My husband doesn’t dance,” she said firmly, “and I plan to keep him company.”
Amazingly, her coterie of admirers were willing to stand on the sidelines with her. They obeyed slavishly when she suggested they ask her sister to dance, and scurried to fetch her cups of lemonade, returning to her side directly afterward.
When the fiddles struck up a lively reel, one of her former beaux cast a sour glance at Lance and muttered under cover of the music, “It isn’t fair, Miss Summer. We always thought you would marry one of us.”
Summer dimpled. “But I did, Paul. Lance belongs to Williamson County. His mama was one of the first settlers in Austin, and he came to live here when he was just a boy.”
“Drat it, Miss Summer! You know what I mean.”
Her smile turned cool. “Yes, I believe I do. Really, Paul, I expected better of you. If you judged a man by his character rather than his kin, Lance would come out miles ahead of any man here.”
Paul flushed resentfully and turned away.
Summer met Lance’s gaze. He was looking at her with grim humor—or was it loneliness?—in his eyes. It made her heart ache to see how he was being treated. People were being scrupulously polite to him for her sake, and yet no one had truly welcomed him or shown any pleasure at his company. And she doubted that her consequence was high enough to force his acceptance. Indeed, fully half of the guests had ignored her own presence, either avoiding her gaze or staring right through her, as if, by pretending she didn’t exist, they could delay dealing with her betrayal of their social creed. She could only hope that in time, with familiarity, that would change—that she would be forgiven and Lance would come to be tolerated. If not, they could contemplate a grim future.
At least it appeared her sister had been accepted back into the fold. Summer looked across the clearing where the dancers were engaged in violent foot stomping, to find Amelia conversing with a group of guests. Dusty Murdock stood near her, watching her out of distant, hungry eyes. Amelia had danced once with him, but seemed intent on ignoring him now.
Her distance seemed all the more strange when compared to the welcoming smile Amelia bestowed on Will Prewitt when he ambled up. Summer felt her stomach muscles tense as she watched. How could Melly show favor for the likes of Prewitt when Dusty was so much the better man?