The Savage

Summer swallowed, trying to keep the revulsion from her voice. “Short Dress…said your grandmother gave you her blessing when you left.”

“Only because I’d had a vision. The Comanche put great store in such things, and she knew I couldn’t go against it.”

“And your brother? What did Fights Bear do?”

“He tried to persuade me to reconsider, but he couldn’t change my mind. He felt betrayed when I left. He only had hatred for a Comanche who would fight with the white man against other Comanches. I promised him I wouldn’t, though. I couldn’t choose sides, anyway. I was too much a part of both.”

And not enough of either, Summer thought silently. “What did you do then?”

“I took the job Peace had offered me, working at his livery.”

“You had forgiven him by then?”

“No, I still hated him, but I figured he owed me for what he had done to my mother. I worked for him for three years—you saw me when you used to come to town, remember?” Lance laughed humorlessly. “It didn’t go so well. Peace and I still had bad blood between us, and the good citizens of Round Rock didn’t care too much for having a half-breed in their midst, you may recall. I got out of there as soon as I could. Went west and broke mustangs…used the skills I’d learned from the Comanche. I did that for a few years, until I hired on at your ranch.”

Summer shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to say.

“After your pa kicked me off his place, I swore I’d never return to Round Rock.”

“But you did. You came back after Tom Peace was killed in the war.”

“Yes. Peace left me his livery in his will. Just to spite me, I’ll bet. I’d told him often enough I didn’t want his damned charity.”

“If you considered it charity, then why did you accept it?”

Lance gazed out at the horizon. “I guess I’d smartened up some by then. Enough to swallow my pride, at least. And it didn’t look so much like charity by then. I’d always wanted a place to sink down roots, a place to call home. I’d never really had anything I could call my own. And I thought…maybe it would help me become part of the white world.”

“Yet it didn’t, did it? You weren’t really accepted by the white world, either.”

“No.”

There was a wealth of pain in that single word; she could hear it—although she doubted Lance was aware of it, or that he would be pleased to know she’d noticed. Summer glanced over her shoulder at him, fighting the urge to touch him, to offer comfort for his nameless hurts, knowing that he wouldn’t accept comfort from her.

How long had it been since anyone had touched him with kindness? He’d had to make his own way in a tough, unforgiving world, enduring experiences that had scarred him deeply. His past had left him hard and bitter to his very soul. But he was a survivor. He’d lived through trials that would have broken lesser men.

“It must have been lonely for you,” she observed quietly.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He was silent for a moment. “Do you know”—his voice dropped, becoming so low, she could scarcely hear him over the ripple of the creek—“what it’s like, always being dirt beneath a man’s boots? Being spit on and shunned by folks because of who you are, no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try? Can you imagine what it feels like?” He suddenly looked at her and laughed softly. “No, of course you can’t, princess. You’ve always had everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“Not…everything.”

“Close enough. Your pa always shielded his little princess from the darker sides of life. You never had to hear your ma crying because she had to lie beneath some rutting bastard in order to put food in your belly.”

Summer knew he had a right to criticize the proud, pampered belle she’d once been, but her life hadn’t been all roses, either. At least not since the war began.

She raised her chin. “No, I don’t recall ever hearing my mother cry at all. She was killed by the Comanches before I was old enough to remember such things. Your mother paid a terrible price, but at least she lived to do it. Mine paid with her life.”

She regretted the words as soon as she uttered them. A shuttered look slammed down over Lance’s features, abruptly ending the quiet intimacy between them. Even befor

e he looked up at the sky, measuring the position of the sun, and announced tersely that it was time to go, Summer knew the interlude of sharing confidences was over. What she’d said wasn’t really so bad, yet she hadn’t needed to remind Lance of the vast gulf between them, or to say it in that accusing tone, as if he’d been responsible for her mother’s death.

Suspecting he might throw an apology, no matter how heartfelt, back in her face, though, Summer did as she was told and finished braiding her hair while she watched Lance gather up their things.

Yet she wished she could take back her thoughtless comment. This afternoon she had felt closer to Lance than she’d ever dreamed possible. He had shown her more openness than she’d ever expected, telling her things about himself and his past that she never could have learned from anyone else. He was unlikely to share more of himself anytime soon, she knew. And he probably thought she didn’t fully appreciate what he was doing for her sister. She was grateful to him, more than she could ever say.

Summer gazed wistfully after him, her thoughts full of regret.

Lance felt similar regrets as he collected their gear and tied it on his pinto. He’d been a damn fool, baring his soul to her—even though that was mainly the reason he’d brought her out here. Summer had begun to relax around him the past few days, and he’d thought maybe it would help the process along if they could have some time alone together, if they could become better acquainted. He knew it would take her time to get used to the idea of being his wife, and she never would as long as she saw him as a stranger.