Comanche Woman (29 page)

“The changes are inside,” Bay snapped. “They can’t all be seen.”

“You’re certainly more testy,” Sloan observed with a wry smile. “But I guess that’s to be expected. Things must seem pretty strange to you right now.”

That bit of understatement made Bay burst out in hysterical laughter. Sloan and Cricket looked at each other in confusion, which quickly turned to worry as Bay’s laughter became gasping sobs.

Bay quickly found herself surrounded by love, awkwardly offered by two people who hadn’t had much practice at demonstrating their feelings. Cricket hugged her tight. Sloan put an arm around her shoulder. Both murmured soothing words of comfort, which were equally awkward for Bay to accept, because receiving comfort wasn’t something with which she had much experience, either. For the moment, it was simply enough that she knew she was welcome here.

At last Cricket released Bay and said, “You don’t have to take a bath if you don’t want to. I only thought—”

“Oh, I do want a bath,” Bay interrupted. “But I haven’t had one in so long that—”

“We can give you privacy if you’d rather,” Sloan offered. “We just didn’t think you’d want—”

Cricket interrupted her to suggest, “I could wash your hair for you if you like, Bay, and—”

“I could scrub your back while you tell us all about Your Life Among the Indians,” Sloan finished for her, as though she were reading the title to an exciting new novel.

Bay burst out laughing, but this time with happiness. “You two haven’t changed a bit,” she said. “Getting a word in edgewise when you’re around isn’t any easier now than it was before I left.”

“Then you’ll let us help?” Cricket asked.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be glad if you stay,” Bay said. In fact, it was wonderful to be able to talk and talk and talk. She was sure she wasn’t going to get tired of their company anytime soon.

But Bay had overestimated her tolerance for the excitement of having two such inquisitive sisters, after such a long period of being so much alone. Long before the bath was over, Bay was wishing for the privacy she’d so readily abandoned at their pleading. She found that many of the things they wanted to know about were things she’d rather forget. She found herself avoiding direct answers to their questions and telling them about humorous incidents, distracting them from the more unhappy aspects of her life among the Comanches.

“I’ve got some muslin underdrawers for you,” Cricket said as Sloan wrapped Bay in a large towel. “I can’t believe you didn’t wear anything under your buckskins.”

“It really was fine,” Bay insisted. Except the first time she’d had to bare herself to Long Quiet, she thought.

“If you say so,” Cricket replied skeptically. “Now let me slip this gown over your head, and you’ll be ready for bed.”

Bay frowned. “Bed? It’s the middle of the day.”

“But you look exhausted,” Sloan said. “Why not take a nap before supper?”

Cricket was already turning down the covers of a maple four-poster with two thick feather mattresses. Bay eyed the mattresses with longing. The bed looked tremendously inviting. “All right,” she agreed. “I’ll take a nap. But be sure to wake me up for supper.”

Bay was already yawning by the time Sloan had adjusted the curtains in the room to shut out the bright sunlight. Bay climbed into the bed, thinking it felt heavenly. So soft. So utterly soft. Like Little Deer’s skin. Or a pony’s nose. Bay curled into a ball in the center of the bed and hugged herself, effectively shutting out the other two people in the room.

Enough. She’d told them enough. She’d shared enough. She needed to be alone now to give all those jumbled-up, confused feelings a chance to settle down.

“Get some sleep, Bay,” Sloan said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Cricket smoothed back the wispy tendrils of hair that had dried around Bay’s face, then leaned over to drop a kiss on her sister’s cheek. “Rest now. Don’t worry about anything. Now that you’re home, everything will be fine.”

The sound of a man’s angry voice startled Bay awake. Her dream of dancing in Jonas Harper’s arms rapidly faded, leaving her confused and disoriented. As her fingertips grazed the soft feather mattress beneath her, she realized she wasn’t in Many Horses’ tipi. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. No slanting tipi walls pressed down upon her. No smell of rancid meat and woodsmoke burned her nose. Bay pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle her cry. Where was she?

All too soon, the reality of her situation became plain. Shadow, Long Quiet’s wife, was no more. She was Bayleigh Falkirk Stewart. And she was home at Three Oaks.

She couldn’t face the thought of sitting at a table eating supper with her father and sisters, smiling and pretending everything was fine. Nothing was fine. The rough chambray gown grated on her skin. The muslin drawers were too constricting. The bed was too soft. And she grieved for those she’d left behind, especially Long Quiet.

Bay rose from the feather mattress and stripped off the clothes she wore. She wrapped her naked body in a cotton sheet and sought out the braided rug on the hard floor. She would lose herself in sleep. Perhaps in the morning everything would look brighter.

Only moments later the door was thrown open and a huge shadow spilled across her. Bay held her breath.

“Bay?”

That was the angry voice she’d heard, the one that had awakened her, the voice of her father. She kept her eyes closed, hoping he’d go away.

But he didn’t.

He lifted her up into his arms, and she prepared herself to be put back into the too-soft bed. Instead, Rip sat down on the bed and settled her into his lap, one arm around her shoulders to support her. She heard his breath catch as his other hand roamed the scars on her back as though to erase them, to erase her pain. He huffed out the breath of air he’d been holding, then trailed his hand across her face, marveling at her cheekbones, tracing her eyebrows. His hand smoothed the hair from her forehead, and she could feel his breath fan her face, as he leaned down to press a fatherly kiss on her forehead.

She could not remember the last time he’d touched her with such tenderness. Why hadn’t he reached out to her like this when she’d first arrived? Why wait until now, when he thought her asleep? She felt his thigh muscles tighten when the tear leaked from beneath her eyelash. She was sure he would speak then, was sure he would bluff and bluster as he usually did when caught off guard.

But he didn’t.

He caught the tear with his thumb and wiped it away. Then he rose, lifting her tall woman’s body as though she were but a child. He turned and placed her in the bed, covering her with the quilt and tucking it in around her chin.

Bay’s throat was swollen so thick she thought she might choke. She wished for the courage to ask him if he’d missed her. She wished for the courage to tell him that she loved him.

“Stay in bed,” he ordered, his voice brusque. “There’s no reason to be sleeping on the floor. By the way, I’ve invited someone to come over for supper tomorrow, someone I know you’ll want to see. I expect you’ll be feeling better by then. Good night, Bay.”

Then he was gone, without a word of explanation for what he’d done, without a word of love for his disappointing daughter.

Bay climbed out of bed and curled up on the braided rug. It was a small defiance, but defiance all the same. If he’d just look at her, he’d see the difference.

She wasn’t his disappointing daughter anymore.

Chapter 15

R
ISE AND SHINE!
”

Bay came abruptly awake at Sloan’s cheerful greeting, then realized she was sitting in the middle of her bedroom floor draped in nothing more than a sheet. “Hello. Good morning,” she said, awkwardly pulling the sheet around her as she stood up. She mentally prepared a suitable explanation for Sloan as to why she’d slept on the floor and felt let down when Sloan didn’t ask. Actually, Sloan seemed as uncomfortable as Bay felt, and busied herself spreading up the four-poster.

Despite being only a year apart in age, Sloan and Bay had never been good friends. Bay’s interests had been too different from Sloan’s, and Sloan’s strong personality was a better match for Cricket’s. So Bay wasn’t sure what to think of Sloan’s unexpected appearance this morning. When she heard a baby crying, she used it as an excuse to break the uncomfortable silence. “Is that Jesse?”

Sloan smiled and said, “Yes. She’s quite a handful, even though all she does is eat and sleep.”

“Where’s your child?” Bay asked, returning Sloan’s friendly smile. “Your son or daughter must be quite a handful, too.”

Sloan’s face paled and her lips flattened into a straight line. She took a deep breath and said, “He doesn’t live here. I gave him to the Guerrero family two years ago.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Sloan said, yanking the bedcovers viciously. “I gave him away.”

“Your son? You gave your own son away?”

Bay was dumbstruck. She’d known that the father of Sloan’s child, the younger son of a wealthy Castilian Spanish
hacendado
, had been killed before he could marry her. But as of the day of Bay’s capture by the Comanches, Sloan had intended to raise her child at Three Oaks. Having been forced to give up Little Deer, and knowing firsthand the agony of such a separation, Bay couldn’t understand why Sloan would willingly have agreed to give up her child. But perhaps she hadn’t been willing.

“Did Rip force you to give up your son?”

Sloan’s bitter laugh didn’t answer Bay’s question as much as it raised others. “Rip didn’t have anything to do with my decision. If he’d had his way, the child would be trailing around underfoot right now. Look, all this was settled years ago. I don’t think about it anymore, and I certainly don’t want to talk about it now.”

“How could you do such a thing?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about this,” Sloan warned.

“Well I do!” Bay snapped. “What were you thinking? How could you give away your own flesh and blood?”

“My
bastard
son.”

“Bastard?” Bay couldn’t believe Sloan could apply such a word, and with such contempt, to her own flesh and blood.

“Yes, bastard,” Sloan retorted. She turned angrily to confront Bay. “Antonio Guerrero never married me.”

“I know that,” Bay snapped, “but—”

“Did you know he never intended to marry me? Ah! I see that’s news to you. Well, before you judge me, why don’t you hear all the facts. Antonio duped me into carrying messages for him while he plotted to help the Mexican government invade Texas.”

Bay gasped at the intense pain underlying the fury in Sloan’s voice.

“He betrayed the Republic and he betrayed my trust in him. He was killed by one of his own men, who wanted to surrender to the Rangers when they were caught rather than fight to the death as Antonio intended to do. Do you wonder that I didn’t want his son around reminding me every day how gullible, how stupidly trusting, I was? Yes, I gave the
bastard
to Antonio’s family. The Guerreros were glad to have him.”

“How could you give away an innocent baby?”

“Look who’s accusing me of giving away my child! Didn’t I hear you say yesterday that you had a child as well? Where’s your child, Bay? Decided not to bring your Comanche bastard home with you?”

The flat of Bay’s hand met Sloan’s cheek with a loud
thwack
. Sloan’s skin flamed red.

“Did I hit too close to the truth?” Sloan taunted.

Bay fought to hold on to her temper, appalled that she’d resorted to violence. “You couldn’t be farther from it. I would
never
have left Little Deer if I’d been given the choice.”