Comanche Moon (21 page)

She’d been wrong. Hawk meant to attack the fort!

Her head whipped around, and she heard Judith’s strangled gasp, but Hawk remained still. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Just when she couldn’t stand the strain another moment, Hawk nudged the horse up the steep, rocky bank above them, and she had to grasp tightly to keep from falling. A few shots had been exchanged, but after the first spate, they’d stopped. Now she heard voices, and recognized familiar words being shouted back to the Comanche.

Hawk paused on the lip of the bank, jerking their mounts to a halt.

Deborah saw soldiers, most half-dressed, all carrying weapons, talking with two of the warriors. Her heart thumped.

“They’re discussing the terms of your return,” Hawk said when she flashed him a glance.

“You’re—
selling
—me?”

“Would you rather I risk them shooting you before they find out you’re a white woman?” he asked with an irritable grunt. “And I’m not selling you.

I’m trading you back to them.” He tossed her the reins to her mount, then did the same to Judith.

Deborah caught them. It was time. She would ride into Fort Richardson and never see him again.

Tears welled again, embarrassing and annoying, and she blinked them back. Fortunately, he didn’t notice.

“Then this is good-bye.” Hawk looked at her in the light. He nudged his stallion forward and leaned over to cup her chin in his palm. His hand was warm, and for some reason, she recalled that day under the pine trees when he had held her hand and examined it so gently. She closed her eyes when he kissed her, a light, feathery brush of his mouth across her parted lips.

He deepened the kiss when she leaned into him, and his arm went around her back to keep her from falling off her horse. There was a fierce urgency in the kiss, a desperation that tore at her soul and made her tremble.

Her arms wound around his neck, and she kissed him back.

A harsh groan sounded deep in his throat, and he jerked back, his eyes glittering in the press of moonlight.

“I will never forget you,” he rasped. “I will think of you always.
Usúni”
Wheeling his stallion around, Hawk reached out and slapped her mare on the rump, sending it bounding forward. She gave a startled, anguished cry that echoed in the night, but he was gone.

Dust boiled up behind his stallion’s hooves as Hawk rode in the opposite direction. Deborah caught a glimpse of him as she and Judith reached the soldiers, who were eagerly reaching up to grab their horses. He rode between the soldiers and his own men, whooping and yelling like a fiend, and before any of the soldiers could react, the Comanche were gone.

Deborah watched as the last of them were outlined on the rocky ridge.

Was it her imagination, or was that Hawk reining back his stallion to its haunches, and lifting his rifle over his head? Then a high-pitched howl rode the wind, and she knew. She knew.

Moonlight sprayed over the scene, a sight she thought she would never forget. Hawk—wild, free, long hair blowing in the wind and looking as if he were a part of his horse. It would be imprinted on her mind forever.

“Ma’am, ma’am,” someone was saying, and she looked down blindly. A kind-faced man wearing cavalry pants and a union shirt held her horse. “It’s all right, ma’am. They’re gone. They won’t be back now that they’ve got what they want.”

Her horse pranced nervously, and Deborah shifted to keep her balance.

“What did they want?”

“Damndest thing—a sack of hard candy. You ever heard of such? You two ladies are lucky, yessir, you are.” Deborah didn’t hear the rest of his words. A roar filled her ears, and through the pounding, she heard Hawk’s husky voice.

Usúni.
Forever.

Book II

Evil is wrought by want of Thought As well as want of Heart.

—Thomas Hood

Chapter 14

Sirocco, Texas

1872

“It’s been over six months for heaven’s sake,” Judith said irritably. “Are you still thinking about him?” Deborah turned from the window where she’d been gazing out at the courtyard garden. “About who?”

“About that handsome savage, that’s who.” Her voice softened. “Oh, Deborah, don’t look at me like that. You know I don’t mean to hurt you, but you’ve got to stop moping about like this.”

“And what else am I supposed to do?” she asked dryly, turning to face her cousin. “The Velazquez family was not exactly thrilled to have me back on their doorstep.”

Judith looked away from Deborah’s steady gaze. “I know. I can’t understand why Uncle John has not . . . didn’t . . .”

“Didn’t want me back, you mean?” Deborah laughed shortly. “He’s not the kind of man to want to invite a
well-used
woman, even his daughter, back into a society he’s trying to impress with his wealth and position. No, he’s quite satisfied to leave me to the Velazquez family and let them worry about public opinion.”

“I don’t think it’s quite that bad,” Judith said in a wretched voice that made Deborah sigh.

“Perhaps not. Maybe it just seems that way.” She turned back to gaze out at the flowering vines and lush garden shading the tiled patio.

Nothing had been as she had once envisioned it. The Velazquez family had politely accepted Deborah into their home, but it was plain that they did not want her. She had been Miguel’s wife so briefly, that she was of use only to tie them to American citizenship. If not for that, the embarrassment of her stay with the Comanche would have prompted her immediate return to John Hamilton whether he wanted her or not.

It was to be expected, she supposed. After all, the horror of the raid and Don Francisco’s slow recovery from the wounds he’d suffered during that horrible time had left marks on all of them. He was bound to be resentful.

So she remained, an unwanted guest, living on the fringes of life. But it was worse, she sometimes thought, for Judith. Her cousin had the same stigma, and no position to save her. At least, as Miguel’s widow, Deborah was entitled to a certain grudging respect.

“Why don’t we ride into town?” Judith suggested, her tone forced. “If we’re to be ostracized, we should at least be able to shop.” Deborah laughed. “There must be some benefits to this situation, is that it?” “Exactly.” Some of Judith’s former humor surfaced in her quick smile.

“My generous cousin will be more than glad to buy me some new cloth for a dress so that I can add it to my collection of other unused dresses.”

“Of course. And we can wear them when we sit on the patio at night with Don Francisco.”

Judith grimaced. “That charmer.”

“Isn’t he? And so delicate when he repeats that if not for the family, I would have met the fate of most women when captured by Comanche.”

“As if he personally was responsible for our return. I don’t think he bothered to look for us at all.” Deborah thought the same. Of course, after the brutal attack, there had been other worries. The army had been notified, and there had been a brief, cursory search. But the search had not continued after the first week.

She felt a pang. If not for her escape attempt, she and Judith would probably have remained with Hawk forever.
Usúni.

But she was being selfish. Judith had hated it there, and she had, too.

Only her love for Hawk had made it bearable, and that realization had come late, so late.

She thought of him often. And on the nights of a full moon, when it rode high in the sky and she could hear the lonely, distant wail of a coyote, she felt an unbearable loneliness that threatened to consume her.

Deborah turned abruptly, unable to bear her own thoughts any longer.

“Let’s go now. It’s still early, and I want to get out for a while.”

“Shall we check with our jailer first?” Judith asked with a slight lift of her brow. “Don Francisco has the notion that we should not breathe without his permission.”

“I refuse to be treated as a prisoner. Since he has what he needs by my presence here as Miguel’s widow, I should be allowed my freedom.”

“Let’s hope he remembers that.” Deborah didn’t reply. There had been a few sharp words with Don Francisco; the patriarch of the Velazquez family did not take kindly to her professed independence. She was a member of his family, and the women did not rebel. They obeyed. She would remember that or suffer the consequences.

If not for her experience in the Comanche village, Deborah would have quietly acquiesced to his demands. But her experience had strengthened her and given her a dislike of being forced to comply. She’d emerged from that ordeal a much stronger woman than before.

“Shall we ask Tía Dolores to accompany us?” Judith suggested. “For convention’s sake, of course.”

“And to appease Don Francisco.” Deborah smiled. “Of course. She is always agreeable to going into Sirocco.”
Green humps of mountain
fringed the horizon and made a stark contrast to the burning blue of the sky. Tucked in the shadow of a chewed gray line of ridge, Sirocco lay sleepy and quiet in the early spring sun.

A few soldiers from nearby Fort Bliss roamed the wooden walkways in front of weathered gray storefronts, and here and there a horse stood tied to a rail with head down and eyes closed. Music drifted on brisk wind currents, faint accompaniment from some off-key piano unable to drown out the warbling voice of a woman commonly known as a soiled dove.

Deborah, Judith, and Tía Dolores stepped up onto the safety of a wooden walkway outside a small store.

“Shocking,” Tía Dolores clucked. “They should not allow such women to sing.”

“Because of their voice, or their profession?” Deborah couldn’t help teasing, and smiled at Tía Dolores’s grimace.

“Both. It is bad, I tell you.” Deborah and Judith exchanged amused glances at the stout, good-natured disapproval of the chaperon. Tía Dolores made life more bearable at the sprawling Velazquez hacienda, her simple approach to life a mixture of strict discipline and generous spirit. Today, in spite of the warm sun, Tía Dolores wore a high-necked black dress, lacy veil, and long sleeves.

Her gray-streaked dark hair was pulled back in a severe style from her face, somehow making her austere features softer instead of harsh.

Now, her mouth pursed with disapproval. “A woman who sings so badly should be stopped.”

“Shall we go tell her?” Judith asked with an innocent smile.

Tía Dolores shook her head. “No, no, of course not. We can do nothing like that.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “You are teasing me again,
niña.
I shall reprimand you.”

Judith laughed and tucked her hand into the older woman’s bent arm.

“Yes, I admit it. But you are so easy to tease.” A faint, reluctant smile curved Tía Dolores’s mouth, and she patted Judith’s hand. “It is good to see you smile so .often now. I will suffer gladly.” 

The three women paused in the shade of an overhanging porch. Dust blew down the middle of the street like a small storm cloud, stinging their eyes and making them cough.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the constant wind,” Deborah remarked. “Or the dust.”

“Sí, you will,” Dolores assured them. “One can adjust to anything.” She looked up the street, where the music had gotten louder. “There are too many cantinas here, too many lawless men.” Deborah followed her glance. In the small town, there were more than a dozen saloons. And armed men lounged in shady doorways and strutted the walkways at leisure. They looked dangerous, with low-slung pistols and an air of restless menace.

That much was true, Deborah thought. She shifted from one foot to the other, then glanced at the storefront window behind them. “Shall we go in and see what Mr. Potter has in that’s new?” The store held a delicious variety of fragrances, all tempting. There was the sharp smell of spices, the rich scent of tobacco, and the pungent odor of newly-cured hides. A little of everything lined Mr. Potter’s shelves and filled glass-topped cases scattered over the floor and filling the aisles so that it was difficult to move without bumping into something or someone.

Deborah moved down an aisle, engrossed in the prettily-arranged knick knacks in a glass case, and did not see the man blocking her progress. She bumped into him and startled them both.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Excuse me, please, sir.” The man turned, a tall, blond, muscular man in a dark frock coat and starched white shirt. He smiled slowly, and his lazy drawl was appreciative.

“Any time you want to bump into me, ma’am, feel free,” he said, grinning down at her.

Deborah flushed. “I apologize, sir.”

“No need, ma’am. I kinda liked it.” Brown eyes narrowed on her. “I don’t think I know you, ma’am. Have we met before?”

“No,” Deborah said stiffly, “we have not. Now, if you will please excuse me, I must join my companions.”

“Wee—oo! I can feel the ice from here,” the man said with an unabashed grin.

Deborah could not push past without rubbing up against him, so she turned and marched back down the way she had come. She didn’t like the way his eyes followed her, or the frank speculation she’d seen in his gaze.

And when he approached the three women, Deborah didn’t like the way he kept his gaze on her while he engaged Tía Dolores in conversation.

“Señora Velazquez,” he said easily, “it is good to see you again.”

“And you also, Señor Diamond,” she replied courteously. “I trust you have been well.”

“Well enough.” His gaze remained on Deborah. “Is this a friend of yours, señora? I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” There was a brief, noticeable hesitation, then Tía Dolores said politely,

“This is Señorita Hamilton, our houseguest. And this is my poor nephew’s widow, Doña Velazquez.”

The brown gaze sharpened slightly. “Ah, I had heard she was rescued.” Deborah’s cheeks flamed, but she refused to act ashamed or embarrassed. Her chin tilted higher, and she met his gaze with a steady regard that made him smile.

“I am very pleased to make your acquaintances, ladies,” he said politely.

“I hope I have not intruded. I’m not known for my manners, I’m afraid.”

“So I see,” she replied icily. Her chilly reply only seemed to delight him instead of quell his overtures, and Deborah felt a rising sense of dismay as he turned to Tía Dolores and began asking questions about the Velazquez family. It was obvious that this man knew them well, and was on a familiar enough basis to be treated as a neighbor instead of a stranger.