Comanche Woman (51 page)

“No. We’re going to celebrate here. But, Sloan, why—”

“Merry Christmas, Bay. I’ll save your Christmas present till I see you in the New Year.” Sloan put her heels to her mount and left Bay standing alone.

Bay was stunned by Sloan’s decision, and confused because she couldn’t see a good reason for it. She pulled her shawl closer around her against the chilly air and returned to the adobe house.

She shared Sloan’s edict with Long Quiet when he came home that evening from working with his
vaqueros
.

“What I don’t understand is why she won’t see Cisco again,” Bay said as she cleared the supper plates from the table.

Long Quiet leaned back in his chair until it was balanced on two legs. “Maybe she’s afraid.”

“Sloan’s not afraid of anything.”

“Maybe she’s afraid the situation is getting out of hand.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sloan’s used to managing her own life and doing pretty much what she wants. She has no way of knowing whether something else will happen that might take Cisco away from her just when she’s let herself start caring for him. Stepping back from Cisco is one of the few things she can control.”

Bay forced Long Quiet’s chair forward until all four legs were on the dirt floor. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and laid her cheek against his. “Have you always been so wise?”

“I knew enough to marry you.”

The slight tension in his body led Bay to say, “You do believe now that I married you because I love you and for no other reason, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away, but took Bay’s hand from his shoulder and used it to draw her around to face him. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I have a present for my wife. Shall I give it to her now?”

So his present was the answer to her question, Bay thought. “Yes, she wants it now.”

Long Quiet left her to go outside to the shed and returned a few moments later with a large slatted packing crate.

“What is it?” Bay asked, as excited as a child.

“Open it and see.”

The crate had already been opened once, so all Bay needed to do was lift the lid again. She shoved aside the straw that had been used for packing and pulled out a delicate china plate with a silver rim.

“Why, it’s—”

“A set of china dishes. Now you won’t have to be embarrassed when we have company,” Long Quiet said with a grin. “And there’s silverware to go with it, but it hasn’t arrived yet. I ordered it too late to get it here for Christmas. Do you like it?”

“This is . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“I promised you’d have beautiful things to surround you,” he said, his face becoming serious. “I hope these are all right.”

“They’re . . . they’re beautiful,” Bay said with a brilliant smile. She loved him too much to tell him the gift was all wrong, that it proved he still thought she needed
things
in order to be happy living with him.

And then he gave her another gift.

“I know that having these things isn’t important to you,” he said. “I’m not sure when I figured that out, maybe as long ago as the first time Cruz came to dinner. But it’s important to me to give them to you. It was narrowhearted to think that because Comanches don’t own things, owning things isn’t a good idea. A Comanche moves his home, along with all his possessions, too often to be able to collect treasures of beauty. So he finds beauty in the land, in the changes of the seasons and the sky.

“But we’re going to be staying here a long time, Bay—long enough to have children and for our children to have children. Giving you china and silver is my way of saying there’s no reason why we can’t surround ourselves with beautiful treasures, no reason why we can’t enjoy what’s best about the Comanche way of life and life here in Texas, too.”

Bay threw her arms around Long Quiet and kissed him hard. She pulled herself from his grasp to say, “I have a gift for you, too.” She went to the trunk in the bedroom and took out a package wrapped in brown paper. “This is for you.”

Long Quiet took his time opening the present, because it was one of the few wrapped gifts he’d ever received in his life. When he had the package open, his eyes lit with the beauty of Bay’s handiwork.

“It’s a buckskin shirt and a pair of buckskin trousers,” she said. “Sloan provided the deerskin and I tanned it myself, pulling the skin through wooden rings to soften it, the way I learned from Cries at Night.”

“They’re magnificent.” Long Quiet’s fingers grazed the fringed trousers; he was awed at the effort it had taken to make the deerskin as soft and supple as it was. He unbuttoned his cotton shirt and ripped it off, replacing it with the buckskin. He crossed his arms to feel how the fringe along the sleeve flowed, then reached up to his breast to fondle the intricate pattern of beads.

“Cries at Night taught me how to do the beadwork. She said it would bring strong medicine to the warrior who wore it.”

Long Quiet grinned with pleasure. Because so many Texans also wore buckskins, he could easily wear the shirt and trousers while working on the ranch without anyone ever knowing they were intended for a Comanche brave.

Long Quiet pulled Bay into his arms and held her close for a moment, feeling their unborn babe nestled between them. He breathed the scent of Bay, felt the warmth of her. “I love you, Bay.”

“I love you, too, Long Quiet.”

He picked her up and carried her back to the huge bed. He laid her down and then joined her. The buckskin fringe of the shirt caressed Bay’s face as Long Quiet brushed her hair back from her forehead. And then his lips found hers with a gentle brush, a searching taste, and hungry possession. “I think I’ll need strong medicine to make it through the night,” he said, smiling.

Then there were no more words, only pleasure. Bay’s last thought before she couldn’t think at all was that she loved Long Quiet with all her heart and soul, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer. . . .

Bay felt a shiver of foreboding when she saw Sloan riding toward the adobe house. It had only been two days since she’d last seen her sister and the New Year hadn’t yet arrived. One look at Sloan’s face, and Bay knew her sister hadn’t come to chat.

“Rip had a stroke last night, Bay.”

“How is he? Is he going to be all right?”

“He’s resting. The doctor doesn’t know how serious it is. He’s lost the use of his right arm and leg, and he can barely talk.”

“I want to see him. I want to be with him.”

“He doesn’t want to see you, Bay. He didn’t even want me to tell you what happened. But I thought you should know.”

“I’m coming to see him anyway,” Bay said, “whether he wants me there or not.”

Bay left a note for Long Quiet and rode back to Three Oaks with Sloan. Even though Sloan had warned her, she wasn’t prepared for Rip’s appearance. One side of his face sagged, and his eyes were dull and lifeless. His skin was pasty white, and perspiration dotted his forehead despite the coolness of the air.

Bay sat in the ladder-back chair beside Rip’s bed and took her father’s right hand in hers. The once-powerful fist felt like a heavy lump of clay. “I’m here,” she whispered.

Suddenly, the fears she’d carried with her on the trip to Three Oaks came spilling out. “This is my fault, isn’t it? Because you don’t have the money to cover the loan to Jonas. That’s why this happened, isn’t it?”

Rip struggled to speak and after much effort managed a garbled, “Want Cricket.”

“Sloan sent a message to her. I’m sure she’ll be here as soon as she can.”

“Want Sloan,” he mumbled.

“She had some business to attend to, but she should be back soon. Rest now.”

“Go away.”

Bay had expected his request for Cricket. After all, she was his favorite daughter. And of course he would want to talk with Sloan, because she could tell him what was happening around Three Oaks now that he was confined to his bed. But she couldn’t pretend his order for her to go away was anything less than what it was. Especially when he turned his head away from her and closed his eyes to shut her out.

She sat with him through the rest of the afternoon. Perhaps if she hadn’t feared Rip’s death, she would never have spoken. But there was the look of death upon him, and so when he woke again, the bitter feelings she’d carried inside for so many years came pouring out.

“Why don’t you ever ask for me? It’s always Sloan and Cricket, never Bay. You don’t want anything to do with me. You never have.” She held on to Rip’s hand despite the irritated look on his face. “Why can’t you love me, too?”

Confusion registered in his eyes. “Love you?”

“Yes, love me. I know I disappointed you, but I tried to be what you wanted me to be. Truly I did. Couldn’t you at least have tried to love me in return? Would that have been asking so much?”

His mouth worked, but no sound came out. The tears forming in Rip’s eyes frightened Bay because they were another sign of his weakened condition. As far as she knew, Rip Stewart had never cried in his life.

“Shhh. Don’t try to talk. It’s all right. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

The more she tried to soothe him, the more upset he got.

“Please, stay quiet. You’ll only hurt yourself more,” Bay pleaded.

When Rip raised his left hand, Bay grabbed it with hers. “Be still. I won’t say anything more.”

At that moment Sloan joined them, bringing Long Quiet with her. Sloan saw immediately that something was wrong. “Did he have another attack? What happened?”

“It’s my fault,” Bay said quickly. “I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“No!”
Rip’s outburst silenced both women. They waited because it was plain he was trying to speak. It took a few moments for him to be able to say, “Not your fault.”

“What does he mean?” Sloan demanded. “What’s not your fault?”

“The stroke. But he’s only saying that to ease my conscience. It
is
my fault.”

Long Quiet came up behind Bay and put his hand on her shoulder. “This wasn’t your fault, Bay.”

“You don’t know all the facts. If you did, you’d understand that I caused this tragedy.”

“All what facts?” Long Quiet questioned.

“When Three Oaks burned down, my father borrowed the money he needed to rebuild and refurbish the house. He mortgaged Three Oaks to do it. The past two years the cotton crop has failed, and last year the gin had to be replaced as well. Now Rip doesn’t have the money to repay the loan, and Jonas has threatened to foreclose.”

Long Quiet stopped her with the pressure of his hand on her shoulder. “How come Jonas Harper holds the note on Three Oaks?”

“He bought it from the banker in Houston who made the loan to Rip,” Sloan explained.

Bay continued, “When you returned from
Comanchería
and wanted me to be your wife, I tried to get out of my engagement to Jonas. But he said he wouldn’t—couldn’t extend the note unless I married him.”

“So you agreed to marry Jonas to keep him from foreclosing on Three Oaks?”

Bay met Long Quiet’s gaze and said, “I wouldn’t have married him for any other reason. If I hadn’t gotten involved with Jonas, he might have extended the note for Rip. But once I was . . . I would have gone through with the marriage, but Jonas wanted me to give up my baby—our baby—and I couldn’t do it.”

Long Quiet pulled her into his embrace, his heart lighter than it had been since he’d come to Texas from
Comanchería
. Here was the confirmation of what he’d come to accept on faith—that Bay loved him and their child above all else.

“So you can see this is all my fault. . . . The strain on my father, the threat of losing Three Oaks—it all must have been too much.”

“If what you say is true, then this is as much my fault as it is yours,” Long Quiet said.

“It’s true, all right,” Sloan admitted with a sigh. “If we don’t come up with the balance due by the end of the week, Jonas Harper will own Three Oaks.”

“How much money do you need?” Long Quiet asked.

“Thousands of dollars,” Sloan replied.

“How much, exactly?”

“Six thousand.”

“I’ll have my banker in Houston write a draft to Jonas for the full amount,” Long Quiet said.

Three sets of stunned eyes settled on Long Quiet.