“R-Reed, stop!” she cried breathlessly, finally finding her voice. “Don’t! I can explain—”
“Summer, get inside the house! Now.”
“No! You don’t understand—”
“Stay out of this, Summer,” Lance interrupted, just as her brother retorted, “I understand plenty. He put his hands on you.”
“No—” Her denial turned into a gasp as Reed took a step toward the wicked knife—but then the sound of the back door slamming open made them both fall silent. Frantic, Summer glanced back to find her father standing at the head of the porch steps, her two other brothers, Jamison and Tyler, directly behind him.
John Weston took one look at the combatants, at the knife in Lance’s hand, and stiffened with rage. “I should have known better than to trust you, you devil. I want you to clear out, do you hear me?”
She saw Lance go rigid, saw his fingers clench as he gripped the knife more tightly.
“Papa, no!”
“Be quiet, Summer. You have ten minutes, Calder. Get your gear and get off my land, or I’ll haul out the bullwhip and give you the thrashing of your life.”
“Papa—” Summer started to protest, but felt her brother’s fingers dig into her arm in warning as he hissed in her ear, “Shut up, Summer! Pa’s mad enough as it is. If he finds out Lance touched you, he’ll kill him.”
That made her hesitate. Another look at the irrational fury on her father’s face made her realize the danger. Papa had an insane hatred of Indians after what they had done to his wife, and he wouldn’t stop at a simple whipping if she told him that Lance had kissed her, even if it was at her request. “Dammit, did you hear me, you red bastard?” John Weston demanded.
Lance slowly straightened, any hint of emotion wiped from his copper-hued features. His face looked as if it had been carved from stone.
“You’re finished here. And I’ll make sure you don’t work anywhere in this part of Texas.”
Summer turned pleading eyes on her brother. “Reed, you have to do something!”
Looking uncomfortable, Reed spoke up. “Pa, maybe you’re being hasty. We just had a difference of opinion—”
“He pulled a knife on you. That’s reason enough to fire him.”
“But maybe it—”
“Shut up, son!” John Weston snapped. “I won’t have a murdering savage threatening to slit our throats whenever he takes a notion. Get going, Calder. You have nine minutes left.”
Recognizing the finality in her father’s tone, Summer knew she was powerless to change his mind. It would be futile to try. At least right now, when he was in such a towering rage. Perhaps tomorrow she might be able to persuade him…She sent Lance an agonized look. He stood alone, apart, in the darkness, his fists clenched in defiance.
It was all her fault, she knew. She hadn’t considered the consequences of her actions. Her vanity, her selfishness, her blind pursuit of her own desires, had led to this. She’d cost Lance his job, his pride, had hurt him dreadfully. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. She couldn’t blame him if he hated her. She held out her hand in a helpless little gesture of pleading.
He was watching her, his expression shuttered. Abruptly he turned and headed for the bunkhouse.
“Lance, please!” she cried after him.
He stiffened at the sound of her voice, halting in his tracks.
“I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry…”
He glanced back briefly, and his eyes could have chipped flint. “Don’t bother with your pity, princess. I should have known better than to play your little games.”
“Summer, get inside!”
She ignored her father’s order. In turmoil, she stood staring after Lance as he walked away, her fingers held to her lips, remembering the taste of his kiss and the bitter hatred in his eyes before he turned from her in anger.
Chapter 1
Texas, 1865
Dreams had a hard way of dying, no matter how impossible.