Say You Love Me (34 page)

After what seemed forever, they arrived in Atlanta. Michael first made sure Jacie was comfortable in a hotel, and then he went with Pete to see his banker. Withdrawing the promised bonus, he handed over an extra portion, explaining, "I want you to give this to Joe Clyder's family, if he has any. If not, divide it among the three of you. It's not right that he should die for nothing."

"He has a mother in Gainesville. I'll see she gets it." Pete shook his hand, started to walk away, but then turned, yielding to the curiosity he and the others had harbored all the way back. "Call me a nosy son of a bitch, Blake, but me and the boys want to know what the real story is about your woman. Was she with them Indians 'cause she wanted to be? She sure as hell went all to pieces over that buck you shot. And what happened to the man you said she left with? There's just something funny about all this, and since we'll probably never see each other again, I figure there ain't no harm in asking."

"No harm. But I can't tell you, because I don't know myself, and I'd appreciate it if all of you would forget everything. Frankly, it doesn't make any difference to me. It's finished now. I love her, and I'm going to marry her, and the less people know about what went on, the better. Do I make myself clear?"

Pete respected Michael and would do as he asked. "Count on me. And I speak for the boys, too. We wish you well."

Michael hurried to the hotel. He had waited long enough to ask questions, and he intended to get some answers, because everything had to be settled before he and Jacie arrived home.

He knocked on her door, but when she did not respond, he let himself in, for he had no concern for propriety at the moment.

It was a pleasant room, the walls covered in a blue floral wallpaper, white chintz curtains at the windows and a pink woven rug covering the pine floor. The bed had a lace canopy, and there was a skirted dressing table and a carved armoire. He had asked the desk clerk to see if fresh flowers could be found, and a huge vase of chrysanthemums stood on the bedside table.

There was also a marble fireplace, and a warm, cozy fire burned in the grate. Jacie was sitting in front of it on a brocade divan, staring into the crackling flames with a haunted expression. She was wearing the blue silk dressing robe Michael had bought at the dress shop next to the hotel. He noted with relief that she had at last washed her hair and brushed it down about her face. Perhaps it was a sign that she was finally coming out of her doldrums.

He went around in front of her, then dropped to his knees. "Jacie, we have to talk," he said quietly.

She did not look at him or acknowledge his presence. He took her hands and squeezed them until she winced. "Stop. You're hurting me."

Dropping her hands, he leaned forward to put his head in her lap and murmur plaintively, "That's the last thing I want to do. You're my life. You're the reason for every beat of my heart. If I don't have you, I will die."

Jacie had tried throughout the journey home to hate Michael for killing the only man she would ever love. But she could not, forced to admit he had believed he was rescuing her. He'd had no way of knowing the truth. Neither would he ever have imagined she could have fallen in love with a Comanche and want to spend the rest of her life with him. So she could not despise him. His only sin was loving her too much.

When she did not respond and made no move to touch him, he straightened to stare at her miserably and cry, "My God, Jacie, talk to me. Tell me what went wrong. You don't know the hell I've been through, worrying about you. To think you'd run away with any man never entered my mind, much less that you'd take off with the likes of a scoundrel like Zach Newton—"

"Zach?" She did look at him then, in stunned wonder. "Why would you think I left with him?"

"Didn't you?"

"No. Who told you that I did?"

"Sudie. When you disappeared, I was out of my mind, but I finally managed to get enough out of her that I could figure out where you'd gone, and she said you left with someone."

"And you assumed it was Zach?"

"What else was I to think? There was gossip about the two of you, but I didn't hear about it till after you left. I came back from Charleston to find you had just dropped out of sight. Elyse went all to pieces, blaming herself. You don't know the hell you put all of us through, Jacie."

"What about my note? If you read that..." She fell silent to see his surprise, then realized what had happened. "You didn't find my note, did you? Sudie must have taken it when she took the necklace, because it was lying right next to it."

"Sudie took the necklace?"

"Yes, and she put it in the blanket with my other things. I guess she thought I might need it to sell for money to get home on."

Michael pulled himself up to sit beside her on the divan. "Maybe you'd better start at the beginning and tell me everything." He was not about to confide that if he had not believed she had taken his engagement gift, he would not have gone after her. "Please," he urged.

Finally, she began with Violet's deathbed confession and ended with how she had finally found her real mother. She described little of the events between.

Michael was stunned. After several moments of awkward silence, he was able to say, "God, I'm sorry. It had to have been awful for you. Oh, why didn't you come to me? How could you have gone off with that old fool Indian? I could wring his neck for deserting you," he added, furious.

"He didn't desert me. He saw to it that I got to Bird's Fort. What happened there was unfortunate, but it doesn't matter now. I found her. That's what's important. But tell me, what would you have done if I
had
come to you, Michael. Would you have encouraged me or told me to forget it?"

"Probably told you to forget it," he admitted. "There's been nothing but trouble. And I still don't believe that woman is your mother," he said crossly.

"She
is
my mother. Didn't you get a good look at her?"

"Frankly, I was too shocked by how you were crying over that savage Comanche." He was trying to hold his temper, because he was imagining all sorts of things. "Who was he, anyway?"

"He was my friend," she said coldly. That was all he needed to know.

"He must have been a
close
friend"—he sniffed with disdain—"the way you were carrying on."

"She was my mother," Jacie repeated, wanting to turn the conversation away from Luke. Thinking of him was agony beyond description. "I only wish I could have convinced her to come back with me."

"Come back to
what
?" Michael cried. "God forgive me for saying it, Jacie, but the truth is, she was wise not to want to. She's had over eighteen years of living with those savages, and she knows she could never fit into society again. She would be looked down on, resented. She'd live a miserable life, and so would you, because you'd be devastated by how others treated her."

"And how would you have treated her?" she challenged him.

Wearily, he said, "I would have tried my damnedest to accept her, because I love you. I would have done my best to make both of you happy, but it would have been extremely hard all the same, because people like my mother don't change. It would have been rough on all of us, so be glad she stayed where she is, and though I know it's difficult, you've got to make yourself try to forget she exists."

"At least she now has the necklace."

Michael shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I can always have another one made."

"It was in the blanket Violet kept all those years. I didn't have time to retrieve it. I didn't even think about it."

"And I told you it doesn't matter."

Jacie had only to look at him to know he spoke the truth. Money meant nothing to him. "Maybe she can sell it to buy food and things for her people. They want to move to Mexico in the spring and make a new life, find peace, and..." Her voice cracked as she thought of the dreams Luke had, dreams she had wanted to share with him.

Michael touched her shoulder hesitantly, and when she did not rebuke him, he put an arm around her. "I understand your pain, but you have to put it behind you. We can't mention any of this ever again. My mother doesn't know the real story. No one does. And we'll keep it that way. When we get to Red Oakes, we'll say you left with Mehlonga because you were upset with me for being jealous of Zach, and you were tired of all the lies and gossip about the two of you. But Mehlonga went off and left you, and you got lost. I went after you and found you, and you wanted to come back with me, because we love each other and refuse to let anyone or anything come between us."

Jacie doubted people would believe such a tale but did not really care. Luke was dead, and all the joy in her life had died with him. Nothing mattered anymore.

"Jacie, I want to marry you as soon as possible."

"It wouldn't be right. Not now. Not when—" She had been about to tell him that she did not love him and never would, that her heart belonged to another, and though he was gone forever, his spirit remained inside her to lock out any feelings she could ever have had for Michael.

But Michael would not let her speak, afraid of what she might say. "I won't take no for an answer. You are going to marry me, and even if you don't think you love me now, I swear before God Almighty that one day you will. You will realize how I adore you, and you'll see how happy I'm going to make you every day for the rest of your life, and sooner or later it will happen." He forced a smile he did not truly feel just then. "I'll hear you say you love me."

He stood, drawing her up with him. "Now, I believe that dress shop also sent up a lovely gown that should fit you, and if it doesn't, you can send for the seamstress to come up and make alterations, because I'm taking you out to dinner tonight. We're going to celebrate a new beginning."

"Michael," she began in protest.

"You can, and you will. I've waited long enough." He cupped her chin in his hand, fervently avowing, "We're going to forget yesterday and think about today and tomorrow, because that's all that counts."

But she was not ready to put it aside, suddenly feeling disloyal to Luke's memory to hide what she had felt for him. "Michael, there's something else you should know, about that man you killed."

"He was going to kill me. I'm not apologizing for anything," he snapped defensively.

"Luke wouldn't have killed you. He was a wonderful man. My mother raised him. That's why the Indians took her in the first place. She had milk intended for me. His mother had just died."

"I don't care about that," he said irritably.

"He found me when I had escaped from the other Indians," she went on, ignoring his growing anger. "We were together, and Luke saved my life. Then later, I saved his, and—"

"Stop it, I say!" he exploded, covering his ears, for he could not bear to hear the tender way she spoke of the Comanche. Suspicion and jealousy slammed him in the gut, and he waved his hands wildly as he cried, "Why do you want to keep talking about it? We can't forget if you keep talking about it. Can't you just stop?"

He began to pace around the room, aware he was behaving like a child in the throes of a tantrum but unable to stop himself. He was no fool. He had already figured out during his miserable musings on the trip back that she had been romantically involved with the Indian. But as long as she did not put it into words, as long as she did not confirm it, then it would not be fact. They could pretend it was not so.

He whirled on her then to cry, "For God's sake, don't you know I don't want to hear you admit to anything? He's dead. And if you tell me you cared for him, if you dare admit it, I'm not sure I can forgive you. So let it go, Jacie. It's over."

Jacie knew he was right. It was over. With hands folded in her lap, she lowered her eyes and nodded her assent.

"Good." He let his breath out in a rush, unaware he'd even been holding it, in fear she would keep talking and ruin everything. "I'll leave you now, but I'll be back soon, and we will toast to the future, because as soon as we get home, we'll start making wedding plans."

When he was gone, Jacie remained before the fire to let the memories torture her one last time. Staring into the dancing red and golden flames, she lived again the glory of burning in Luke's strong arms.

All too soon, only embers remained. And as the last wisps of smoke disappeared up the soot-blackened chimney, Jacie closed her eyes and said good-bye to what was...and to what could never be.

* * *

Iris watched in torment as Luke tightened the cinches of the saddle. She had cried and begged, but he would not listen. His mind was made up. He was going to Georgia to find Jacie, and nothing Iris could say would change his mind. "You're too weak," she said, trying again to focus on his condition. "It's too soon for you to travel."

"I'm fine, and you know it. It was a clean flesh wound. It went straight through without hitting any bone. I've rested almost a week, and it's time for me to go. They've got a big head start on me, and I've got to do some hard riding; they'll probably still reach their destination before I can catch up with them." He patted the horse's rump and stood back to make sure he'd forgotten nothing. Saddlebags were in place with supplies of pemmican and jerky. He had his canteen. There was a blanket roll for what little sleep he would allow himself. He intended to ride as long as there was daylight and on into the night if there was a sufficient moon.

Iris blinked back tears. The only time an Indian woman was permitted to cry was when there was a death, but she had not quite learned to control her emotions so stoically especially where the man she loved as a son was concerned—and now her daughter as well. "Leave well enough alone, Luke. Let her go. She told me about this Michael Blake, how rich he is, how much he loves her."

"And she also told you how much she loves me, didn't she?" he challenged with a dark glare.

Iris could only nod.

"That's right," Luke said, as though that settled everything.

"But she would never be able to adjust to this way of life."