Comanche Heart (24 page)

Black puffed up with pride. “I certainly am.” He placed a cold hand on Amy’s bare shoulder. “I’m quite an admirer of this little lady. She’s a fine teacher.”

Amy yearned to move away. He slid his fingertips across her skin—cold, clammy fingertips. Angling a peek at him, she wondered what he’d do if she swatted him a good one.

The fiddlers ceased playing, and all attention turned toward the front of the hall. Mr. Black got a little more bold with his finger gliding. Was she encouraging him by standing there? His hand on her shoulder was innocent enough, in itself.

Randall Hamstead, who owned the dry goods store, stepped up onto a box with a dinner basket held high.

Loretta leaned close. “I’ll bet next week’s egg money that
he
hasn’t been dosed with his mother’s sheep dung tea.”

Amy started to giggle, then froze, her gaze fixed on the blue wicker basket in Hamstead’s hand. She threw a horrified look at Loretta, then glanced toward the coatrack. Her basket wasn’t sitting where she had left it.

Noting where Amy’s attention had flown, Loretta made an exasperated little noise. “They should be here by now.”

“Loretta Jane . . .” Amy forgot all about Mr. Black’s fingers and jerked from under his grasp. “What in blazes have you gone and done?”

When Loretta got caught pulling a fast one, her eyes rivaled dinner plates. “I didn’t mean any harm, Amy. It’s all in fun. Swift said he’d be here.”

Amy had a good notion to give her cousin a kick. “Loretta Jane, how could you? Of all the sneaky, low-down, mean tricks!”

Loretta threw a look at the door. “Where is that man?”

“Attention, gentlemen,” Hamstead yelled. “We’re startin’ with a prize. Ham, potato salad, raised bread, and apple pie.”

“Get to the important part,” one man shouted. Several men near him laughed and slapped him on the back.

Mr. Hamstead chuckled. “This basket belongs to . . .” He checked the tag and winked. “Miss Amy, our schoolteacher.”

Since Amy had never attended a social, let alone participated in a basket auction, several of the bachelors hooted with enthusiasm and pushed closer to the table.

“Seven dollars,” someone yelled.

Amy’s stomach dropped. Seven dollars? That was outrageous.

“Eight,” another deep voice chimed in.

“Ten. A man can’t skimp on a lady who can teach him his p’s and q’s.”

Amy threw another horrified look at Loretta. Her cousin’s eyes grew even rounder. “It isn’t my fault. They should’ve been here by now.”

“Not your fault?” Amy cried. “You stole my basket and entered it in the auction, and it isn’t your fault?”

“Eleven dollars,” someone yelled.

Mr. Black roared, “Fifteen dollars. Let’s see ya top that.”

Amy slid her gaze to Mr. Black, resigned to her fate. Mr. Hamstead yelled, “Fifteen dollars. Fifteen. Going! Go—”

“One hundred dollars,” a deep voice called.

A gasp rose from the crowd. Amy felt as if she might faint. One hundred dollars? She turned toward the door to see Swift at the threshold, Hunter and Chase behind him. A light blue shirt hugged his broad shoulders and muscular arms, the color striking a marked contrast to his dark skin. Amy’s pulse accelerated just from looking at him. He stepped into the building, tall and confident, sweeping his black hat from his head with a flourish only Swift could manage. Hanging the hat beside her shawl on the coatrack, he paused to scan the room, settling his dark gaze on her. A mussed lock of damp black hair fell across his forehead.

“Pardon me, sir? Did you say a hundred dollars?”

“That’s right, a hundred.” Swift shouldered his way through the crowd and set a stack of gold pieces on the table. Then he turned and looked at Amy, as did everyone else in the hall. A hundred dollars wasn’t just an unheard of amount for a man to spend on a basket, it was crazy, insane, outrageous. Tongues would buzz for a year. If May Belle from the saloon had set up business in the street, she couldn’t have stirred more buzzing.

Mr. Hamstead seemed so taken aback that he didn’t bother saying, “Going, going, gone.” A man could attend every single social and buy baskets for five years with a hundred dollars. Hamstead handed the basket to Swift, the bid uncontested.

Loretta nudged Amy forward. “Go, you ninny. How long do you expect him to stand up there waiting for you?”

Amy couldn’t feel her feet. She walked toward Swift, the silk dress swishing with every step, her cheeks warm beneath his penetrating gaze. Unlike Mr. Black, Swift didn’t look at her chest. He never stopped looking into her eyes.

When Amy finally reached him, he crooked his arm, the possessive gleam in his gaze unmistakable. She knew everyone in the building was staring. Miss Amy and that man. She could almost hear them.

She curled her hand around Swift’s arm. They’d think she was cavorting. She’d lose her income, her independence. Where would that leave her? Looking for a man to take care of her, like every other dumb female in town, that’s where.

Swift’s arm felt rock hard, the cloth of his sleeve slightly damp and warm. She knew he had scrubbed up and thrown on his shirt while still dripping wet to get there. As he shouldered a path through the crowd, Amy bent her head, cheeks burning. “A hundred dollars, Swift? Why’d you do something so outlandish? My reputation will be ruined.”

“Ruined?” She felt him stiffen. “Ruined? I honored you, paying a hundred dollars. Hunter says no one’s ever paid that.”

It hit Amy then. Comanches showed regard for their brides by the bride price they paid. The more horses they left before a future father-in-law’s lodge, the greater the honor. Swift had seen the auction as a way to express his high regard for her. And he had. Irrevocably.

“Oh, Swift, you don’t understand. People will think something’s going on between us. They’re going to wonder what you’re going to get for your hundred dollars, don’t you see?”

He stopped at the rack for her shawl, draping it over her shoulders. His dark eyes twinkled at her. “What am I gonna get? A chewing? You’re the prettiest woman in town. If you don’t smile, I’m going to go put another hundred dollars on the table.”

“Where’d you get so much money?” she squeaked. “You didn’t steal it, did you?”

“I don’t steal money from people.” He clamped on his hat, took her arm, and drew her out the door. “I came by it honest.”

“How?”

“Selling horses and cows. When I left the reservation, I planned to start a spread. I worked and saved.” He glanced down. “The plan fell through. I never spent the money.”

As they stepped into the night, the chill air curled around Amy. She took a deep breath, glad to escape all the suspicious eyes. “Thank goodness for that much. I’d hate to think you bought my basket with ill-gotten gains.” She angled a glance at his dark profile, squinting to see as the light from the building fell behind them. “Where’d you get so many horses and cows?”

“Watch your step.”

Amy saw nothing in her path, but then in the dark she usually didn’t until she tripped. “Are you going to answer me?”

“Careful, Amy.” He drew her closer to his side.

“Hell and damnation! You stole them, didn’t you?”

“Don’t cuss. You want your mouth washed with lye soap?” He tipped his head, his face shadowed by his hat brim. “Where do you want to eat?”

Amy narrowed her eyes. “How much money do you have, Swift?”

“Amy, if you’re gonna hang me for stock stealing, you’d better hang every man in Texas. Those cows I sold had been across the Rio so many times, they didn’t need droving.”

“How’s that relate?”

“The Texans steal from the Mexicans, and vice versa. The cows learn the way real quick.” He led her to a sprawling oak. “Don’t be mad. They were stolen cows and horses before I stole them. This is a special evening. I even bought a new shirt.”

“How much ill-gotten money have you got, Swift?”

He set the basket down. In the moonlight, she saw a leaf flutter down and settle on his broad shoulder. He flicked it off. “Enough to keep you in lace drawers for a good long spell.”

Amy’s neck tingled. “I don’t wear lace drawers.”

“You ought to. That day when you fanned your underwear out the window, all I could think was that they should’ve been lace.” He nudged his hat back and grinned at her, moonlight gleaming on his teeth. “Would you stop glaring at me?”

“What am I going to do if I lose my job?”

“You can marry me and have babies.”

“I don’t want to. I want my teaching position, and my own life, with no man telling me what to do and when to do it.”

Swift folded his arms across his chest. “I won’t tell you what to do and when to do it. Sit down, Amy, so we can eat.” When she didn’t oblige him, he leaned toward her. “I won’t steal any more horses or cows. I promise.”

“Swift, I don’t care if you steal. It’s not my concern.”

“Then why are you mad?”

“Because you spent the money on my basket. Not to mention spending so much. If I don’t lose my job, it’ll be a miracle.”

“You worry about that job too much.”

“That job buys my bread and butter.”

“If you get the boot, I’ll bring you more bread and butter than you can eat. You’ll get fat eating it all. And I won’t tell you what to do and when to do it, I promise. Now, sit down. I didn’t buy your basket to fight. Do you like my shirt?”

She studied him for a moment, unhappily aware that he vowed not to order her around, then commanded her to sit, all in the same breath. “Yes, I like it. You look very nice.”

He grinned again. “You look so beautiful in that dress, I almost forgot to bid when I heard your name called. Who was that man standing with you?”

“Thank you for the compliment, and his name is Mr. Black. He’s on the school committee.”

“Well, I can forget you winding up without a job and needing me to take care of you then. I’d say he’s stuck on you.”

Some other couples came from the hall, finding spots beneath the trees to eat. Following their example, Amy sat on the grass, taking care not to soil Loretta’s dress. Swift sat beside her. She gnawed her lip. “Oh, Swift, I’m sorry for being sharp. I know you didn’t mean any harm, paying so much for my basket.”

“Of course I didn’t. Is it my fault white people think crazy?” He braced an arm behind him and lifted the towel from the basket. “Mm, Amy, this looks good.”

She leaned over, eyes narrowed to see. Laughter floated through the moon-touched darkness, a woman’s laughter. Amy’s throat tightened. It was a sure bet no man had spent a hundred dollars on her basket. Poor Swift had spent a fortune and got scowls. “I made apple pie. Do you like apple pie?”

“I love apple pie.” He glanced up. “Especially yours.”

“You’ve never tasted mine.”

“I don’t need to.”

Feeling dull and horribly inadequate, Amy began setting out the food, acutely conscious that Swift watched her every movement. They ate in silence. To Amy it seemed an uncomfortable one, especially when she heard other ladies all around her giggling and talking. The potato salad grew to gigantic proportions in her mouth.

She heard Elmira Johnson say, “Oh, Samuel!”
Teehee.
“Get away with you!” Swift glanced up from his plate. “Amy, would you relax?”

She gulped the salad down, wondering if he thought it tasted dry, too. “I’ve never come to a dance social before. You should have bought Elmira’s basket so you could be with someone fun.”

“She sounds like a duck.”

Before she caught herself, Amy giggled.

“What’s worse, she looks kind of like a duck. You ever noticed how her skirts poke out behind her when she walks?”

“That’s a bustle, Swift, the absolute latest in fashion. I’ve heard tell that everyone will wear them in a year or so. Elmira has an aunt who travels abroad.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You’re not wearing one. When she walks down the boardwalk, her bottom sticks out so far behind her, you could set a plate on it.” He angled her a rakish grin, “And who says you’re not fun? I kind of like being chewed out if it’s the right lady doing the chewing.”

He served himself a huge piece of apple pie and made an appreciative noise. “Amy, you’ve got to marry me and make me apple pie every week. Where’d you learn to make this crust?”

“My ma.” Sadness cut through Amy. She shoved the memories away. “She was quite a hand at cooking and baking.”

He cleaned his plate in record time, then stretched out on the grass. One by one, the other couples began drifting back to the hall and the music. Amy finished her meal and put away the food, placing the soiled dishes on top so she could wash them later. She wished some of the other couples had remained outdoors. Any moment now Swift might suggest they go inside, too. Then he might expect her to dance with him.

Swift watched Amy from the corner of his eye. Moonbeams touched her small face, turning her eyes to shimmering spheres, making her mouth glisten. The coronet atop her head shone like silver, the curls above her ears and at her nape tempting him to touch them. Her hand rested on her skirt, her slender fingers keeping time to the fiddler’s beat. She looked so beautiful in the shifting moonlight that he yearned to move closer, to feel her warmth, to have the sweet scent of her in his nostrils.

“Shall we go in and dance?” he asked, gesturing toward the brightly lit hall. A line of dancers swept past the door, boots stomping, skirts aswirl. “Sure looks like they’re having fun.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Even in the dim light, he saw the flush on her cheeks. “I enjoy just listening.” She settled her gaze on a nearby wagon and team of horses. “Look at that old fellow. I swear he’s got that front hoof tapping to the rhythm.”

Swift shifted onto his side, propping his head on his hand. He had a feeling Amy had spent all her life just listening. From the way she fidgeted, he suspected she would love to do a whole lot more. He supposed, at her age, it would be awfully embarrassing to dance her first dance in front of half the town.