“A baby?” She stared unseeingly at the woman. “You mean I am pregnant?”
“That is usual when these signs come to a woman. I myself was very sick when I carried my first son. The next two were not so difficult.” Her smile faded. “Are you not glad about el niño?”
“I…yes…I’m just…surprised, that’s all. I haven’t been married very long.”
Consuala laughed. “You should not be surprised with such a magnificent hombre as Señor Lance. He is one lusty lover, I would guess. This baby will have a fine padre, no?”
Summer felt color flood her cheeks at the woman’s frank supposition.
“It is warm in here, señora,” Maritza observed. “Perhaps you should go outside where it is cool. I will make you a cup of tea to ease your stomach. You will be all right once you grow accustomed to the idea of bearing a baby.”
“Yes…thank you…” Summer said distractedly.
She let herself out of the kitchen onto the back porch, hardly knowing where she was going. Apprehension, shock, joy, wonder, all warred inside her.
A baby. Lance’s child. A child of mixed blood. White and Comanche.
Blindly she sank into a wicker rocking chair, her hand pressed uncertainly to her stomach. Was there truly a new life growing inside her? If so, it would only compound a complex situation.
And yet she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. She wanted this child. Even knowing the difficulties she would face bringing a mixed-breed baby into the world. Even knowing the trials a young child would suffer as an innocent victim of bigotry and hatred. She would have to shield him, teach him to defend himself against the slurs and innuendos, the baiting and physical assaults, to hold his head proudly, without shame…
At the thought, Summer felt a surge of protectiveness rip through her, an instinct so fierce, it took her breath away. No one, no one, would ever harm this child as long as she had a breath left in her body. She pressed her hand possessively over her abdomen. She knew, in that moment, what a mother lion felt defending her cub. She thought she understood what Lance’s mother must have felt when she’d chosen a life of shame and poverty as the price of keeping her infant son.
She herself would be willing to pay that price, Summer thought. As long as she had Lance, she could face anything a hostile world threw at her. Love engendered strength, and she loved him deeply, irrevocably—more than enough to brave whatever future lay before them. As long as she had Lance—if she still had Lance. Which really was not so certain at the moment.
Remembering his painful departure yesterday, how terribly she had wounded him with her suspicions, Summer gazed blindly out over the buildings of the ranch.
She wouldn’t allow herself to believe she had lost him for good. She owed him an abject, humble apology, yes, but she would make him accept it. She would admit how wrong she’d been, how weak and foolish she’d been to be swayed for one instant by the arguments against him. She would make Lance see how much she loved him, that she believed in him.
And she would make him love her in return. She had never met a man yet who could resist her charms when she truly put her mind to it. Not even Lance, as fiercely proud and unyielding and defensive as he was.
How would he react about the baby? Should she even tell him yet? With such flimsy evidence as two instances of a sick stomach? No, she could be mistaken. She didn’t think so; in her heart she knew it was true. She was carrying Lance’s child. But she would wait for a time. For the moment she would hug the secret to herself, at least until she was certain.
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts about the baby that at first her consciousness didn’t register what her eyes were seeing. In the distance, near one of the barns, a man and a woman stood engaged in intent conversation.
Summer had no trouble recognizing her sister, but the man was more difficult to place. It looked like one of their young ranch hands, Calvin Stapp. But whatever would Amelia be doing talking to him? For that matter, why was Calvin here, instead of out riding the range?
A chill swept Summer as a suspicion struck her. Amelia had spoken secretly with Will Prewitt shortly before he began his campaign to discredit Lance. Could this be connected somehow? Could Calvin be in league with them? Could, perhaps, they be plotting a further offense against Lance?
Summer’s fingers clenched into a fist, but she willed her heart to settle down. There was an innocent explanation, surely. Amelia couldn’t hate Lance that much. All the same, it would be wise to warn Dusty about this rendezvous, to ask him to keep an eye on Calvin.
Her sister was too far away for Summer to hear what was being said, but she appeared upset about something. When Calvin spoke to her earnestly, gesturing, Amelia shook her head once, twice, then took a step back, as if trying to distance herself from him. He seemed intent on arguing a point, or perhaps persuading her to do something she wasn’t eager to do.
A moment later, he left her, heading toward the hitching rail and his horse, while Amelia stood watching. He had mounted and ridden away, toward the range, before she finally turned and moved slowly toward the house, her head lowered as if deep in troubled thought.
She had climbed the porch steps and was about to enter the back door when she saw Summer sitting in the rocker. Giving a start, Amelia came to an abrupt halt.
“Is everything all right, Melly?” Summer asked in a cool tone.
“Y-Yes…of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I thought you could tell me. I
’d say you’ve been acting rather secretive of late.”
Amelia gave a small laugh, which sounded a bit forced. “That’s absurd.”
“Why were you talking to Calvin Stapp just now?”