Velvet Thunder (40 page)

 

 

Six months later Heath received a telegram.

It read:

 

Hungrily, Heath reached for Stevie. “Alone at last.” Clutching a child's pale pink frock in her hand, she leaned against her husband. “I swear and declare that daughter of yours will be the death of me.”

There was no doubt in Heath's mind which of their children she meant. His lips twitched. “What's she done this time?”

“She absolutely refuses to wear a dress.”

He pulled her closer against him. “Now, I wonder who she gets that from.”

As always, her heartrate accelerated at the nearness of her husband. At forty-five, Harrington Heath Turner still had more than a few women panting after him, especially his wife.

For the past ten years he had run Turner Incorporated expertly, wheeling and dealing on Wall Street. She had half expected him to get a little soft around the middle, sitting behind a desk in his plush Manhattan office. But not her husband. No sir. If possible, he was even harder and more muscled now than the day she married him.

He took the garment from her and dropped it at their feet. “Why does she have to wear a dress anyway, sugar? It's just a family get together.”

They were leaving Manhattan on the noon train, their ultimate destination, Adobe Wells. It would be the first family reunion they had attended in two years. And being the doting mother that she was, Stevie wanted her children to make a good impression. And that meant the boys impeccably turned out like their father and the girls clothed in feminine attire.

Even she wore nothing but women's clothes now, ever since the day she married Heath. Absently running her hands down the elegant traveling suit she had donned earlier, she regarded her bemused husband. “You know you've spoiled her rotten.”

He took her hands and cradled them against his chest. Dipping his head, he nipped at her bottom lip.

“Don't think you can distract me by getting me all hot and bothered.”

He rubbed against her suggestively.

“Well, maybe you can.” She smiled seductively, causing the breath to catch in his throat. She was thrilled to her toes when his eyes darkened with desire. “Two can play this game, husband,” she whispered against his lips.

“I'm not playin', wife,” he growled, and kissed her deeply.

“Oh, yuck. Is that all you two ever do?” the hellion in question wanted to know.

Heath held Stevie even tighter as he smiled at Heather, their nine-year-old daughter, standing just inside the door to their suite. “Would be if I had my way, puddin'.”

“Yuck,” Heather declared again.

“One of these days you'll meet someone wonderful like your daddy and you'll want to attract his attention.” Stevie bent to pick up Heather's frock. She gasped when Heath pinched her fanny—hidden from Heather's view, of course.

“If it means dressing like a girl, forget it.” Heather crossed her arms across her chest.

Stevie looked to Heath for moral support. He just grinned and shrugged. There was no help coming from that corner. “I give up.”

Summer ran into the room, resembling a lightly bronzed porcelain doll. While Heather looked the ruffian in jeans and a flannel shirt, Summer was an angelic vision in a mint-green pinafore. No two children could be any different. But they were both incredibly beautiful.

Winter entered next, towering at his sisters' backs. His voice was very deep. “What's this, Dad? A family meeting?”

Stevie smiled with pride. Her first child was a handsome lad, almost seventeen now. His Comanche ancestry was evident in his dusky complexion. His hair was neat, as shiny and black as a raven's wing, not unlike his adoptive father's. He was dressed like a true Turner gentleman and he carried himself with a sense of self-pride, just like Heath.

Close on his heels, Winter's shadows—as Heath and Stevie called their six-year-old twin boys—followed. “What's going on?” they asked in unison. The twins often spoke in unison.

Heath regarded his brood and grinned like a self-satisfied fool. They were a good-looking bunch of kids even if they were his. “I was just telling your mother that our family isn't large enough. We get lonesome with only the five of you to keep us company.”

Blushing, Stevie regarded her husband as if he had turnips growing out his ears. Winter, old enough to get his dad's meaning, chuckled.

In case there was any question, Heath's next remark confirmed Winter's suspicions. “Who thinks it's time your mother had another baby? Raise your hands.”

“Heath!” Stevie was stunned. Six hands—including the wide one of the husband she was going to strangle at her first opportunity—shot into the air.

“That settles it. Nine months from today your mother will present us with a new baby.”

“Or two,” the twins speculated in tandem.

“Boy or girl?” Summer wanted to know.

Heath spread his arms expansively. “Maybe both.”

Stevie stifled a groan.

Heath gave Winter a man-to-man wink. “Son, I have something to discuss with your mother. Would you see to your brothers and sisters for a bit?”

Winter blushed as furiously as Stevie had earlier. Nodding, he ushered his siblings out and closed the door firmly behind him.

A wise man, Heath didn't give Stevie an opportunity to speak. He sealed her lips with his own. By the time they came up for air, she had forgotten why she was so outraged.

Nodding toward Heather's pink frock, she asked, “What about the dress?”

He purposefully misunderstood. With deft fingers he attacked the pearl buttons of her bodice. “Just hold on, sugar. I'll have you out of it in a second.”

She tried to hide her smile. “This really isn't necessary, you know.”

Moving his lower body against her, he whispered, “Honey, I find it very necessary. Besides, I really do want another baby.”

She smiled up into his face. “But, darling, I'm already pregnant.”

Whooping like a Comanche on the warpath, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. “Then this time we'll do it just for pure pleasure.”

 

 

The solitary figure high atop Mustang Mesa drew Heath by invisible cords.

Stevie stood looking out on the land that had belonged to the Comanche for as long as anyone could remember, the land that belonged to them no more. She closed her eyes and allowed the spirit of her ancestors to wash over her. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks. They'd been there for only a week, yet it still seemed like home. And though they lived in the East, and followed the path of the white man, she had infused pride of their Indian heritage in her children.

Winter, Summer, Heather, and the twins were accepted by most of their white acquaintances. Those who didn't, the men, women, and children who disdained the Indian blood flowing through their veins, found themselves being pitied by the Turners. Heath and Stevie's family believed that one day all races would live together peacefully, in full acceptance, if not appreciation of their varied ancestry. Until that day, they took pride in all that they were, Indian and white.

“I thought I'd find you here,” a deep, familiar voice spoke from behind her.

She turned and smiled shakily at her husband.

Instinctively, he closed the distance between them and wrapped her in his arms. He dropped a kiss on the tracks of her tears. “Please don't cry, sugar.”

She shook her head and leaned heavily against his strong, warm body.

A band tightened around his chest. “I have to go back to New York tomorrow, but you and the children could stay and visit with your father for a while.”

Her head fell back on her shoulders. “Are you getting tired of me?” Her voice was thick, betraying emotions that she allowed no one but Heath to see.

He tapped her nose. “I won't dignify that with an answer, wife.” Raising his eyes to the horizon, he could only imagine what she must be feeling. “I know how much this all means to you. If you want to stay home awhile, I'm a big enough man to understand.”

She stepped back, too close to the edge for Heath's peace of mind. He grabbed her and pulled her against him again. They stood like that for a long time, embraced, rocking gently as the late afternoon breeze flowed over them.

“Heath,” she said finally.

“Hmmm?”

“I love this land. I love my mother's people. I miss Pa and Jeff. But this isn't my home. Where you are is home.”

A strangled sound came from deep inside his chest; a knot formed in his throat. Gazing down into ebony eyes filled with tears and love, he whispered roughly, “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“I think I do. And it fills my heart until I can barely catch my breath.”

“Ah, sweetheart, let me help.” He dropped his head and kissed her ravenously, thrillingly, stealing her life's breath and returning it to her, sweetly mingled with his own.

Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished.

The very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Even the little children who live here and rejoice here for a brief season love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits.

And when the last redmen shall have perished and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the white man, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe and when your children's children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highways or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone.

 

—Chief Seattle

 

 

This book is set slightly earlier than the glory days of such colorful historical characters as John Chisum, Alexander McSween, J. H. Tunstall, Pat Garrett, and Billy the Kid. These larger-than-life men did live and wage their own private wars in New Mexico, however. I appreciate your indulgence in my manipulation of the timeline, for I couldn't resist using them in
Velvet Thunder.

Like her heroine, Teresa Howard boasts a proud Native American heritage, having both Cherokee and Creek Indian ancestors. She is also a descendant of Cynthia Ann Parker, the white mother of the last free Comanche war chief, Quannah Parker.

Teresa lives in north Georgia with her husband, George. Her hobbies include reading, watching old movies, adding to her hat collection, and spending time with her family in their cabin in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains.

In addition to
Velvet Thunder,
Teresa is the author of three previous Zebra Heartfire Historicals.
Cherokee Embrace,
January 1992,
Desire's Bride,
November 1992, and
Confederate Vixen,
October 1993.

She is hard at work on two upcoming Time Travel Romances to be released by Pinnacle Books under the pseudonym Teresa George. The first, tentatively entitled,
Yesterday's Promise,
a November 1994 release, is set during the American Civil War in Richmond, Virginia, the cradle of the Confederacy. The heroine, Serena Gray Brooks, is a 1990s woman swept back in time, inhabiting the body of her great-great-great-grandmother. A handsome ghost charms and bedevils Serena during her sojourn in the past. A Confederate surgeon steals her heart.

Teresa's second Time Travel, tentatively entitled,
The Times of Her Life,
will be released in 1995.

She enjoys hearing from her readers. If you wish to receive an autographed bookmark and updated newsletter, please send a legal-size SASE to Teresa Howard, c/o Zebra Books, 475 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016.

Available wherever paperbacks are sold, or order direct from
the
Publisher. Send cover price plus 50¢ per copy for mailing and handling to Penguin USA, P.O. Box 999, c/o Dept. 17109, Bergenfield, NJ 07621.Residents of New York and Tennessee must include sales tax. DO NOT SEND CASH.