He didn’t kiss her. If he had, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. Instead Lance flashed her a faint smile in return and swung up on his horse.
He could feel her watching him as he rode away, and his pulse rate quickened to a gallop. His heart felt absurdly light, soaring like a hawk over the mountains, even though his loins burned with the sweet ache of need. She had cared about his feelings. Summer had defended her sister’s actions, not only for Amelia’s sake, but because she hadn’t wanted him to feel hurt.
Lance closed his eyes, remembering that tender, pleading smile Summer had given him. She was concerned for him, he would swear it. Was it possible she felt something more for him than gratitude?
He knew better than to let himself get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe Summer might really be coming to care for him a little bit, after all.
Two days later they left for Texas, escorted by several of the band’s warriors. Fights Bear sent them as protection, and to collect the thirty horses Lance still owed his brother—twenty for assisting in Amelia’s rescue, ten for not sleeping with Summer. The Comanches would accompany them to the edge of Indian Territory, as far as the Red River, and then wait at Deek’s Trading Post for Lance to return with the horses.
Summer said farewell to Lance’s family with a genuine sense of regret. She had grown especially fond of Short Dress, who had been a tower of strength during the recent weeks of fear and uncertainty. And she would always feel a profound gratitude toward Fights Bear for the tremendous effort he’d made to save her sister.
The journey south was far more difficult than the one north had been, because of Amelia. They rode in easy stages with frequent rests, and even then she collapsed in exhaustion at the end of each day. She couldn’t stand the company, either. The Comanches mainly kept out of sight, but she started crying whenever one of them came near to speak to Lance.
She would only ride double with her sister. After her experience, she couldn’t bear being touched by a man. The first day when Lance tried to help Amelia down from her horse, she began screaming, “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”
“Melly!” Summer exclaimed, trying awkwardly to turn in the saddle and put her arms around her quaking sister. “He was only trying to help.”
“I don’t want his help! I can’t stand him—”
“Melly, listen to me,” Summer replied more harshly than she should have, given her sister’s shattered nerves. “Lance risked his life for you. He killed a man for you.”
Amelia burst into tears.
Immediately contrite, Summer gave in. “I’m sorry, Melly,” she murmured soothingly, gently rubbing her back. “Don’t cry, please.”
“I can’t stand him to touch me.”
“He won’t touch you, I promise. Now, come, you have to lie down. You need to rest.”
She helped Amelia slide down from the horse, and with an impotent glance at Lance, dismounted herself. He didn’t offer to assist her. Instead he stood watching her with hooded eyes. When she handed him the reins, he took the horses down to the creek to water them.
Summer put an arm around Amelia and led her out of the October sun, beneath the shade of a cottonwood tree. When she had settled her sister on a blanket and given her some water, though, Summer followed Lance.
He was immediately aware of her, she could tell by the subtle tightening of his body. He still wore his Indian garb, and his bare back looked darkly bronzed in the morning sunlight, except for the strip of sinew holding the bandage in place against his wounded ribs.
“I’m sorry about Amelia, Lance. You don’t deserve to be treated that way.”
He shrugged without looking at her. “Don’t worry about it.”
Doubtless he was used to it, Summer thought sorrowfully. This was how he’d been treated all his life, with rejection and scorn and fear. “It isn’t fair,” she murmured rather helplessly.
His short laugh was m
ore of a grunt. “Life isn’t, most of the time.”
“I just want you to know…I appreciate everything you’ve done for me…your patience, especially.”
He wondered if she meant his patience about their marital relations. As hard as it had been, he’d left her alone the past week. Even though Summer was his wife, he hadn’t forced her to share his bed or accept his lovemaking, allowing her instead to spend all her time caring for her injured sister. “Sure,” he said finally.
He thought she would go, but her next remark surprised him. “When you’re finished here, I would like to look at your wounds.”
Lance turned his head to eye her skeptically over his shoulder. “Why?”
“To make sure they’re healing properly.”
“They are.”
“I want to see for myself.”