Comanche Woman (36 page)

Oh, Bay. What have you done?

Surely she could learn to love Jonas as a wife should love her husband. Bay straightened her spine in determination. She had no choice, for it was too late now to change her mind. Everyone who was anyone for miles around was here, and it would humiliate Jonas if she tried to back out of their engagement now.

But she needed a respite from the effort of appearing more happy than she was. Bay looked for someone she could be with and not have to keep up her smiling pretense.

She briefly considered Rip, but he was surrounded by planters, all talking about the poor cotton crop and how they’d manage if things were this bad again next year. Bay wasn’t willing to broach the crowd of men to reach Rip. She’d endured enough looks at her slightly exposed cleavage when she’d shaken hands with each of them as they arrived. She had no intention of submitting herself for further ogling.

She sought out Cricket. She found her sister sitting in a large wing chair in the corner of the parlor with Jesse, still clothed in her lacy white christening gown, lying in her arms. Creed stood behind Cricket, obviously a proud father. They’d been joined by Tom and Amy Creed, Luke Summers, and Cruz Guerrero, Antonio’s elder brother.

As Bay approached the group, she saw that Cruz’s gaze kept wandering to the other side of the room. She followed his glance and discovered that the object of his attention was Sloan. She wondered why Cruz was staring so intently at his brother’s lover. A second look at Sloan did much to explain Cruz’s interest.

Sloan’s normal attire around the plantation consisted of a red gingham shirt with a tan linsey waistcoat and dark brown fitted osnaburg trousers tucked into knee-high black Wellington boots—typical planter’s garb. Tonight, she wore a pale blue silk dress, piped in two complementing shades of darker blue, that emphasized the womanly curve from her shoulders to the point where the V-shaped bodice ended at her tiny waist.

Because of Sloan’s dominating presence, Bay sometimes forgot how much shorter Sloan was than herself or Cricket, who were both quite tall. In the powder-blue silk, Sloan appeared petite and delicate, characteristics Bay had never attributed to her sister. Sloan’s huge chocolate-brown eyes seemed vulnerable, almost frightened. Her sable hair was caught at the base of her neck with a pale blue ribbon, giving her a childlike innocence Bay found disconcerting, especially since Sloan was a woman of twenty-two who’d borne a child.

As Bay watched, she realized Cruz was trying to catch Sloan’s eye. Perhaps he wanted to talk to her about her son. Bay knew that even if Sloan wouldn’t admit it, she must wonder sometimes how Cisco was faring with the Guerreros at Rancho Dolorosa. The longer Bay watched, the more convinced she became that Sloan was purposely avoiding Cruz. How awkward she must be feeling, Bay thought. As though to confirm Bay’s conclusion, Sloan fled the parlor.

Bay forgot about seeking out Cricket’s company and followed Sloan from the parlor, intent on finding her older sister and comforting her. Bay hunted through the four downstairs rooms without any luck and decided Sloan must have gone outside. She walked out the back door, fully expecting to find Sloan sitting on the bench at the base of one of the three oaks. Sure enough, she saw some movement within the moss-laden branches.

“Sloan? Is that you?” Bay called out.

“No. It’s me,” a masculine voice responded.

Stunned, Bay halted where she was.

The man who stepped out of the shadows bore little resemblance to the man who’d presented Bay with 250 ponies as a wedding price. His long black braids, a Comanche’s pride, were gone, replaced by blue-black hair cut to the top of his collar. He drove his fingers through the wavy locks in agitation and succeeded in brushing them away from his face, except where a single black curl fell determinedly onto his forehead. He wore black boots, buff kerseymere trousers that fit him like a second skin, a black wool frock coat that ended just above his knees, an embroidered satin waistcoat, and a snowy-white tucked linen shirt with a stylish white silk cravat knotted at his tanned throat.

His voice when he spoke was low, husky with emotion. “I’ve been standing here trying to work up the courage to come inside and tell you how wrong I was ever to leave you, how nothing is more important to me than spending the rest of my life with you.”

Long Quiet didn’t give her a chance to speak, just swept her into his embrace, capturing her lips and searing her soul with the hot invasion of his tongue seeking the honeyed treasures he’d abandoned. One large hand threaded through her auburn curls and held her head still for his ravaging kiss while the other swept down her back and grasped her buttocks, pulling her tightly into the cradle of his thighs.

Bay was overwhelmed by sensation. Unable to resist Long Quiet’s sensual onslaught, she joined it, grasping his silky hair in her hands and holding his mouth to hers as she returned his kiss with all the love and longing she’d held in abeyance. Her hands slipped down to his broad shoulders, then to his chest, where she already had three buttons of his waistcoat undone before she realized what she was doing. She jerked her head away from Long Quiet’s kiss, her breathing so raspy it took a moment before she could say a word.

She used that moment to note Long Quiet’s avid gaze, his nostrils that flared for the scent of her, his lips swollen with the force of his kisses, the sensual movement of his tongue as he moistened his lips.

“We can’t . . . do this,” she panted.

“No one can see us,” he rasped in reply. “We’re well hidden here. Let me love you, Bay. It’s been so long.”

“I—”

His mouth cut off her protest as he sought her lips with all the hunger and need he felt for her. Bay resisted for only a moment before her fingers tangled in his silky hair again and she gave herself wholeheartedly to the kiss. She blossomed under his loving, like a petal exposed to the golden rays of the sun.

Her body molded to his hard male form as his hands caressed her shoulders, then skimmed across her breasts beneath the lavender dress. His mouth found her exposed neck and shoulders, and Bay’s head fell back to give him the access he demanded. Then his lips and tongue found the smooth swell of her breast above the lavender bodice and Bay felt the tips of her breasts tighten and swell with the fullness that heralded her need. If she didn’t stop him now, she wouldn’t have the will to stop him later.

“Long Quiet, stop,” she protested weakly.

He nipped with his teeth at her breast through the dress.

Then, breathily, “Please stop.”

His tongue laved her throat. His moist breath rasped in her ear.

“Oh, God, please,” Bay begged. With her last bit of willpower, she stiffened against his caress.

Long Quiet responded instantly to Bay’s rigidity. He lifted his head and searched her eyes. He saw pain and confusion in the violet depths. He stepped back and reached for her hands, taking them in his. “What’s wrong, Bay?”

Then he detected the ring on her hand. He lowered his eyes and felt his stomach churn at the sight of the huge ruby. He raised his gaze again and saw in Bay’s eyes the answer to his unspoken question.

He cleared his throat over the lump that had grown there and asked, “Who?”

“Jonas Harper.”

He didn’t bother to ask her if she loved Jonas. It had been Jonas’s name she’d cried out the first time he’d made love to her. How could he have been such a fool as to let her go!

At the tortured look in Long Quiet’s eyes, Bay felt a desperate need to explain. “We got engaged today. I . . . I thought I’d never see you again. I was sure you’d never come back for me.”

Long Quiet released Bay’s hands and dropped his arms to his sides. His hands balled into fists as his flinty eyes narrowed. “I nearly didn’t come back, until I had a talk with Many Horses.”

“Many Horses? Is he well? Has he recovered?”

“He’s well enough to seek revenge from the Tonkawas. That’s where I’ve been.”

“Raiding the Tonkawas?”

“Come. Sit down with me,” he said, “and I’ll explain everything.”

When Long Quiet reached out a hand to her, Bay stepped forward and took it. The frisson of sexual tension that arced between them from even this simple touch told Bay nothing had changed in the time they’d been separated. If only Long Quiet had come a few hours earlier!

Bay could feel the suppressed urgency in Long Quiet’s grasp as he escorted her to the ornately carved wooden bench at the base of the live oak. Once they were seated, he asked, “How have things been for you since you came home?”

“Better than you’d expect,” Bay replied. “Rip told everyone I’ve been touring the Continent.”

Long Quiet shook his head in disbelief. “So none of the celebrants know that you’re my wife.”

Bay’s tone was sharp with the hurt she’d endured during Long Quiet’s absence as she said, “Am I your wife? We’re not in
Comanchería
now, we’re in Texas. A Comanche marriage means nothing here.”

“You’re my wife,” Long Quiet said. “We don’t need the white man’s words to know what is in our hearts.”

Anger and frustration that he’d come only a few hours too late to stop her engagement to Jonas spilled into Bay’s voice. “You left me here and told me to forget about you. What was I supposed to think?”

Long Quiet’s lips compressed. “I’ve admitted I was wrong to leave you. I believed it was the right decision at the time.”

“And now?”

“Since I left you I’ve spent a lot of hours thinking about exactly why I’d chosen to stay and live among the Comanches. I didn’t like the answer I kept getting. Then Many Horses painted a picture of my future without you in words so vivid they cried to be heard.”

“What did he say?”

“That I’d end up a lonely old man with no woman to love or to love me, and no children to carry on my seed.”

“I see.”

“Do you, Bay?”

She avoided answering him, saying instead, “You’ve cut off your braids. Yet you told me you couldn’t live in the white man’s world. What will you do here in Texas?”

“I don’t think I could work the land,” Long Quiet admitted. “I’m not cut out for it.”

“No, I suppose not. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“I thought I’d raise horses. That’s a respectable occupation even for a Comanche. I may even run a few cattle. I’ve been busy making plans. That’s why I’ve been so long coming back to you. I went to my grandfather’s village for my herd of horses, then drove them to Houston and sold them. I have enough money now to buy a piece of land where I can build a house for us.”

“Take your hands off my fiancée!”

Bay’s heart started beating double time as she realized what was about to happen. As she opened her mouth to explain things to Jonas, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “You’re too innocent for your own good, darling. Couldn’t you see this gentleman was taking advantage of you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jonas.”

“I’ll take care of this, Bay. Why don’t you go into the house?”

“I’d rather stay here.”

Jonas looked annoyed, but Bay wasn’t about to leave the two men alone.

Long Quiet had come to his feet in the same instant Jonas grabbed Bay, and it was only because Bay had quickly shaken her head that he hadn’t already laid Jonas low. He stood tall and menacing, waiting for Bay to explain to Jonas that their engagement was off and that she’d be coming with him.

“Who are you?” Jonas demanded of the stranger. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“My name is Walker Coburn. Bay Stewart is my—”

“Friend,” Bay interrupted, certain Long Quiet was about to identify her as his wife. He became tight-lipped with rage, but he held his tongue. “He’s a very good friend,” Bay said in an attempt to ease the tension between the two men. Bay could tell Jonas was making all the wrong assumptions about who and what Long Quiet was to her. But there was no way she could correct his mistaken assumptions without revealing the truth.

“I thought I knew all your male friends,” Jonas said, never taking his eyes from Long Quiet. “Where did you meet Bay?” he demanded of Long Quiet.

“In Boston.”

Jonas tightened his hold on Bay and asked, “What are you doing here at Three Oaks?”

“I came to make Bay my wife.”

Jonas’s whole body tensed. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. Bay is engaged to me.”

“But she’s going to marry me.”

“The hell she is!” Jonas’s fingers squeezed Bay’s arm possessively until she cried out in pain.