Say You Love Me (22 page)

Luke did not know what to say. If the two were actually mother and daughter, he knew he had a lot of thinking to do before deciding to allow them to meet.

"Have you heard of a woman like that?" Jacie prodded.

"I hear many things, but there is nothing I can tell you." He reined in his horse. "We will camp here for a while."

She wanted to ask him more, but he was dismounting, and she quickly did the same. There was scant light, but she could see yet another rushing stream with rocky banks. He pointed to a screen of scrub brush. "There is a hollow in the rocks beyond those bushes with room for the horses. We will take them there with us to sleep for the night after they've had water and grazed a bit. You go and tend to your personal needs while I make a fire." He took her knife from where he had tucked it into his belt and held it out to her. "There are snakes around that give no warning before they strike. Take this—though I doubt you know how to use it."

"Keep believing that," she muttered under her breath as she went into the bushes.

When she returned, a fire was burning. He had taken a pan from his saddlebag, and the smell of bacon sizzling made her mouth water.

She sat down but kept her distance. "I want you to know I'm grateful to you for helping me hide from Black Serpent and feeding me but I have to say you seem to enjoy making me miserable by not helping me."

"Maybe I am helping you avoid more misery."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"If I did know of a white woman who fit your description of your mother and I took you to her, it might only cause both of you grief."

"But you'd have to give us a chance to find out. You would have to."

"I did not say I knew of such a woman for sure," he hedged. "I only said
if
I did, it would be cruel to get both your hopes up for nothing."

There were no plates, and Luke took his time laying the bacon on a rock to cool. "Eat. Then we will sleep. We are both tired."

Jacie bit back the urge to beg him to tell her more, positive that he knew something he was not telling her but felt it best to bide her time and coax it from him bit by bit.

She ate ravenously, and so did he. Then he left and returned with her satchel. "In case you need anything inside," he said, setting it at her feet.

"As a matter of fact I do." Jacie opened it, reached inside for the baby blanket, and took out the locket and handed it to him. "Look at this and tell me if there is a resemblance to any white woman that you know."

Curiously, Luke stared at the locket. He had never seen anything like it. Jacie opened it for him. Then, seeing what she explained was called a daguerreotype, he had to admit to himself it did look something like Sunstar and definitely resembled Jacie.

"That is my mother. Her name is Iris Banner. She looks like me, doesn't she?"

"I suppose." He closed the locket with an angry snap and gave it back to her. Sunstar's name had once been Iris, and now he felt a burning pain inside to realize he might lose her. And it was not fair. She'd had a chance at freedom once and refused. Now this upstart of a girl was going to tear her life apart, tear apart the lives of all his people. They loved Sunstar, and they needed her. If she left with Jacie, it would be like going to live with a stranger. And she would go, Luke was certain of that. She would feel bound to do so, because Jacie was her own flesh and blood. He would just have to protect her from herself, he decided fiercely. He would not let her make such a fatal mistake as to try and return to the white man's world now. She had been Comanche too long.

He started to turn away, but Jacie reached out and caught his arm. "Listen to me, please," she said in desperation. "Awhile ago you said
if
you knew a white woman. I think you do know one. Please tell me about her. We have a right to know each other, Luke—"

"Yellow hair," he cut her off. "The white woman I have heard of has yellow hair. Not black. And she is too young to be this woman." He nodded at the locket, which Jacie clutched with trembling fingers. "So there is no need to take you to her. Now make your bed and sleep."

Jacie stared after him as he disappeared into the shadows. She was disappointed the woman he knew did not fit her mother's description but relieved and grateful to realize he had no illicit intentions toward her. Perhaps he had a bit of gentleman in him after all, which gave her hope she might eventually persuade him to take her where she wanted to go.

Curling up on her blanket, she tried to dream of Michael... but thoughts of the Comanche known as Luke kept getting in the way.

Chapter 18

Jacie's first thought on waking was that she had been deserted. Luke was nowhere to be seen. The campfire was a pit of cold black ashes. Her pony was still tethered nearby, but not the stallion. Suddenly she felt more helpless than when she had escaped Black Serpent. At least then she could hope to eventually stumble onto the river and follow it back, but now she had no idea where she was.

Wilderness surrounded with sandy ridges and rock formations amidst clumps of sagebrush, cactus, and stretches of saw grass, some of it knee-high. It was early morning, with not a cloud in the dazzling blue sky, which meant the heat would be unbearable by midday. She wondered which direction to take, all the while fearing the same thing would happen—she would succumb to exhaustion and faint, only this time there might not be anyone to find her before the vultures did. She also had nothing in which to carry a supply of water, no canteen, as Luke had.

The more she aimlessly walked about stewing over her plight, the angrier she became. If he had planned to desert her, why had he brought her so far from where he found her? Why didn't he just leave her be? He could claim to be civilized all he wanted, but to forsake a woman in the wilderness was cold and remorseless.

"Savage," she muttered, pounding the air with clenched fists as she circled about the clearing. "No better than a wild animal. Dirty, rotten savage. I hope the vultures get him."

"They won't."

She whirled about to see him crouched on a rock above her, dark eyes twinkling, his face spread in a wide grin of amusement.

"Unlike some people I know, I don't get lost." He dropped to land flat-footed in front of her.

Flustered, Jacie covered her embarrassment with indignity. "You scared me to death. I thought..." She trailed off as she realized he was no longer dressed in army trousers and boots. Instead, he wore the garment known as a breechclout and nothing else. His legs were bare and so were his buttocks, and the sight of his hard, corded thighs and the firm, sculpted flesh of his hips made her ill at ease. "You... you changed clothes," she managed to say, instinctively retreating a step. She had never seen a man so nearly naked.

"I'm more comfortable this way when I'm hunting bison."

"Bison?" she echoed. "Around here?"

"Or buffalo. Whichever you want to call them, and yes, around here. My people rely on them, not only for food but for other essentials, like clothing, weapons, tools, tepees. Normally a hunt is a big task, with a lot of men involved, but then buffalo usually travel in large herds, around fifty in number. I was out scouting for some food this morning and saw only a few grazing together. I came back to change and get ready to go after them."

"That sounds dangerous," she said uneasily.

"I don't have any choice. I couldn't find any other game or berries. You ate the last of my pemmican and jerky yesterday. There's no more bacon. I didn't take time to pack enough supplies, so Buffalo steaks will make a nice meal." He was not about to confide that he welcomed the time-consuming task, for it would give him a chance to try and figure out what to do with her.

She pointed at the stream. "We can catch fish, maybe birds." She did not like the idea of helping clean the carcass of a huge animal and knew it would be expected. Maybe he even thought she would do it all. From what Mehlonga had told her about how hard Indian women worked, Jacie was of the opinion they did the dirty tasks while the men gloried in the kill.

"The Comanche do not eat fish or wild fowl. Neither do we eat dogs," he added, "in case you think otherwise."

"Well, I never said you did." The idea was revolting.

"Some Indians do. Not my people."

"I still don't think we need a whole buffalo. I'm not that hungry. Besides, when we get to Fort Worth—"

"I am hungry now, and what we don't eat, I will take to my people."

She followed after him as he walked back around the rock and saw he had left his horse there. The saddle was on the ground nearby. A trailing rawhide thong was tied around the stallion's neck.

He saw her looking at it and explained, "That's all I need, so I can grab hold if I fall and slow him down by dragging my body and then pull back up. I need both hands free for these." He held up a three-foot bow and a quiver of iron-tipped arrows and pointed to a sheath knife tucked in his belt.

"Why not a gun?" Jacie asked, still dubious over what seemed a formidable task.

"I prefer these. All I have to do is single a buffalo out and hit him three times just behind his last rib to make his lungs collapse."

He swung himself up on the horse's back, and Jacie was helplessly rocked once more by the sight of hard muscles and bare flesh. Glancing away self-consciously, she said, "I wish you'd forget about this."

"You can watch."

Jacie looked in the direction he pointed and saw the great hulking beasts framed against the horizon.

"Climb up on the rocks and I'll run them in this direction so you can see."

Jacie did not share his optimism that bringing down a buffalo single-handed would be an easy task. "Maybe you'd better point me in the direction of Fort Worth in case you get killed. There's no need in both of us feeding the vultures."

"You'd never make it, little one." The horse was pawing the ground, anxious for the chase to begin. "But don't worry. I've done this many times."

She clambered up the rocks to watch him ride slowly toward the distant buffalo.

Luke glanced back, and she waved. He felt only a mild twinge of guilt over the decision not to take her to Sunstar. He had lived in the white man's world after attending the mission school. He had worked with vaqueros in Mexico, then drifted for a time, taking odd jobs on farms and ranches, and he had learned how cruelly some whites treated Indians, the contempt and scorn they inflicted. He had no doubt that Sunstar would be looked down on after living so many years among the Comanche, and her suffering would be far too deep for the love of her daughter to heal.

Sunstar's welfare was his only concern, and he knew she was looking forward to the move to Mexico in the spring. The white man was taking over the west, coming in great numbers, and no matter how many were killed, more would take their place. Nothing could stop them. And if the Indians did not bow down to them, then the Indians would be destroyed. Sunstar knew that, as Luke did, and while they urged peace, more and more hotheaded young bucks like Black Serpent were taking off to form renegade bands. So it was time to make a new life somewhere else.

Now the young woman had arrived to complicate things. He had watched her for a long time last night as she slept and could not deny the deep stirring in his loins that she provoked. But it was not altogether physical, this drawing he felt. Something was tugging in his heart, a feeling he'd not had since those wandering days after mission school when he had been sorely tempted not to return to his people at all. He had never told anyone about it, but Sunstar, in her uncanny way, had suspected something had happened and that it had to do with a woman. That was when she had begun to urge him to take a wife, as though she feared he would return to the white man's world—and the woman he would not talk about, who'd stolen part of his heart and torn it to shreds.

Her name was Amelia Prescott, and Luke had been dazzled by her heart-shaped face, her hair the color of a sunrise. When she smiled, she had dimples in her cheeks, and when she laughed it was like hearing little silver bells ringing in the breeze. Her father, Will Prescott, was a wealthy ship owner in Galveston, and the family home was situated right on the bay. Luke had taken work at the docks, and from the very first day he was aware of how she watched him from her front porch. She became bolder and at the end of a week had sauntered down to the dock, saucily twirling a lace parasol and wearing a fetching blue gingham gown with a tight bodice and a dipping neckline that accentuated her breasts.

Luke had been instantly taken by her beauty as well as her coquetry, and it was not long before her delicate subtlety gave way to brazen intent. She asked him to meet her for a moonlight walk, and he was waiting at midnight when she sneaked out of her house to meet him on the sandy beach. Before the sunrise began to bleed onto the waters of the quiet, silent bay, Luke had discovered new ways to please a woman, because Amelia was only too eager to teach him.

But he made a mistake. He foolishly let himself fall in love with her. Other men working with him, who were not blind and knew what was happening, warned that she was poison. She would never marry a lowly dockman, much less an Indian, and if her pa found out, Luke would be a
dead
Indian, they grimly predicted.