The Savage

She wished she were safely at home with Amelia. The dry, dusty landscape of north Texas held little of the raw beauty that typified the Hill Country of Sky Valley, while the jolt and sway of the stagecoach only made her head ache.

She had never been this far north before, but because of her sister’s letters over the years, she knew something of the area. Fort Belknap had once been a thriving military post and a hub for travelers and settlers. Before the war, the Butterfield Overland Mail had passed through there on its way west, connecting St. Louis and San Francisco. While the war raged, the governor of Texas had billeted a civil force there—two companies of Frontier Regiment Riders—to protect settlers against Indian depredations, but when the Confederacy fell, Fort Belknap was abandoned, leaving the settlers to fend for themselves.

The stage trail, after crossing the Brazos River at Miller’s Crossing, passed close enough to the actual fort for Summer to see that it had already begun falling into decay.

A quarter of a mile farther on, the road widened into the main street of Belknap, the frontier town that had sprung up near the fort. The stage station, with its corral fence of stacked stone, resembled the ones where they’d stopped previously, except that this one enjoyed the company of other buildings, including a courthouse and a church and a small hotel.

All of which, Summer noted with dismay, were boarded up and deserted.

Still, she was grateful when the stage rumbled to a halt with a creak of leather and jingle of harness. She would be glad to reach the Truesdale ranch and take refuge with Amelia’s inlaws. Lance’s cold silence this morning had been almost hostile.

He had good reason to be angry with her, she knew; he had only tried to comfort her, and she had pushed him away. Yet she hadn’t known how to apologize to him for last night, or to make him understand that she had been rejecting his sexual advances and not Lance himself.

How could she explain that she’d been frightened—she, who’d never been frightened by any man but him? That when the consoling brush of his mouth had changed to raw hunger, she had panicked? His voice afterward had held withering scorn, and yet she’d clearly heard the raw wounded edge. She had hurt Lance without ever intending to.

Summer bit her lower lip. The idea that she still had the power to hurt Lance Calder was distinctly unsettling, but even more unnerving was the power he’d begun to wield over her. Lance had only to touch her and she lost control. She would be vastly relieved when he rode away in search of her sister. Perhaps a separation would give her time to accustom herself to their new relationship, to determine just how to handle the complicated, dangerous man who was her husband and the disturbing, helpless way he made her feel.

She would also be glad to see the last of Mr. Yarby. His bold stares had degenerated into outright leers, and worn on her already shaken nerves.

Yarby managed to be the first to dismount and, to Summer’s dismay, insisted on helping her down. His hands squeezed her waist with insulting familiarity and held her far longer than necessary, while his tall body crowded her menacingly.

“Sorry our pleasant little trip’s gotta end,” he whispered, his breath hot on her face.

Breaking away, Summer drew a deep breath and moved close to her husband, seeking his protection. Lance’s black eyes flickered over her, then narrowed on Yarby, but he didn’t say a word as he took her elbow and shepherded her to the rear of the stagecoach.

While Lance retrieved her bag and his gear from the boot, Summer watched the other passengers disperse. Yarby was greeted by another tall, lean man whose features were so similar, they might be brothers or cousins.

The newcomer was dressed as a rancher but wore a saber and six-shooter, as well as a gray forage cap of the Confederate Army. Looking over Yarby’s shoulder at Lance, he elevated his nose and grimaced. “I smell Injun.”

Beside her, Summer felt Lance stiffen, but he held his tongue, not taking the bait.

“Yep, wind’s in the right direction, I can smell a stinkin’ Injun a mile off.”

“Now, Frank,” she heard Yarby say good-humoredly, “don’t be rude. That pretty lady’s married to that stinkin’ Injun.”

“You got to be shittin’ me.”

She felt both pairs of leering eyes focus on her, felt her own face flame with color.

“Hey, Pale Face,” Frank called to Lance. “Who the hell do you think you are, puttin’ your hands on a white woman?”

Seeming to ignore them

both, Lance hefted one of his Henry repeating rifles and held it out to Summer. “Carry this for me?”

She forced a smile. “Certainly,” she agreed with gratitude. Not only did she feel better being armed in the presence of those two crude men, but relieving Lance of some of his burden would give him a free hand to carry the second rifle unencumbered.

They waited inside while the station master changed the team and sent the stage on its way. It was the first time Summer had been alone with Lance since last night, and yet whatever he felt toward her wasn’t showing on his hard features. He was all business when he questioned the station master about the raid on the Grice ranch and Amelia’s capture.

Jeb Burkett knew Lance from his Butterfield days and was more than willing to share what sketchy information he had. He had known Amelia and liked her, and thought her capture “a terrible shame.” She had been visiting the Grice ranch when it was attacked and burned to the ground. The Grices were all killed except for two children, one of whom had supposedly been taken with Amelia. Martha Truesdale, Amelia’s mother-in-law, had hoped Summer would bring some able-bodied men to add to a rescue party she was arranging.

“Thing is,” Burkett said, “folks around here are pretty worn-out, fighting the Comanches and Kiowa, and they could use some help. You going after Amelia, Lance?”

“Yeah. But alone.”

Burkett nodded slowly. “Well, if anybody can do it, you can. What can I do to help?”

“I’d like to hire some saddle horses to visit the Truesdale farm. And I’ll want a good mount to take me into Indian Territory. Later I may need you to supply some horses for trade. If I find Miss Amelia, the Comanches will probably want payment in horses.”