In all fairness, she could see why he felt she should stay behind. He’d be living on the trail, constantly looking over his shoulder. That was no life for a married man. As much as she hated to admit it, her recent behavior indicated that the security of home and hearth were everything to her. Who could blame him for thinking she would be happier left behind in Wolf’s Landing? Even if the townspeople never forgave her, she would have the security of Hunter and Loretta here.
The problem was, she wouldn’t be happier. She wouldn’t be happy, period. Tonight’s lessons had been harsh, but Amy had learned them well. Swift was her cornerstone. Without him, all the security and material wealth in the world would mean nothing.
While he went to pour each of them a mug of coffee, Amy disregarded his adamant orders that she remain on the sofa and went to her bedroom. Moments later he came searching for her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She turned from her bureau, a pair of pantalets in hand. “Packing. I shouldn’t take more than two changes of clothing, should I? I’ve never lived on the trail before.”
His gaze dropped to the undergarment in her hand. His larynx bobbed, and he glanced away. She was relieved that he didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. “Amy, you don’t have any idea what you’re getting into. The gossip you stirred up tonight will surely die down. Here in Wolf’s Landing, you’ll have—” He broke off and waved a hand at the house. “With me, you’ll never know from one day to the next where your next meal is coming from. Or if you’ll even live to have another meal.”
The picture his words conjured filled Amy with a moment’s dread. Then her resolve swept it away. “Swift, understand something. One day with you is worth a lifetime without you.”
His gaze flew to hers. She saw hope flicker in the depths of his eyes. “Honey, I know you love me. I can’t ask you to run with me, though. There’s a limit to what you can do to prove your feelings. What if you get pregnant? Or sick?”
“We’ll lay over someplace.” She pursed her lips. “There’s nothing to say we can’t change your name from Lopez to something else, nothing to say we can’t eventually start over in a new place. I’ve always had a hankering to see California. The mining’s good there. Or maybe we could try Nevada.”
“You truly want to go with me? I thought—After everything you’ve said, I didn’t think you’d—”
Amy’s heart broke a little. Had her love up to now been so shallow? “You thought wrong, Swift. I’m going with you. Just try to leave me behind. We’re married, remember? Where you go, I go. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. You know how it goes. That means your troubles are mine, too.”
“But everything you valued—the safety here, having your own house. You’ll have none of that. If the thought of being totally dependent upon me here in Wolf’s Landing bothered you, how’re you going to feel a thousand miles from here, with no one but me to turn to?” He studied her for a long moment. “Think long and hard on that. If you go with me, I can’t guarantee I’ll be noble enough to bring you home if you decide to change your mind. I’d rather cut the ties now than go through the heartbreak of that.”
Tucking her pantalets under one arm, Amy whispered, “My home is where you are.”
Tears filled his eyes. She slowly crossed the room to him. “Please don’t leave me, Swift,” she said softly.
He groaned and grabbed her into his arms, hugging her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. The pantalets slipped to the floor. “Leave you? Amy, love, I thought that was what you’d want. Leave you? It’d be more like cutting out my heart.”
“Not to mention breaking mine,” she cried in a shaky voice. “Since I just got it back, I’d like to keep it in one piece for a while.”
She felt his lips curve in a smile and knew her meaning wasn’t lost on him. Comanche heart had nothing to do with fearlessness and everything to do with a person’s sense of self. The gifts Swift had given her could never be stolen from her unless she allowed it.
She rose up on her tiptoes. “I love you, Swift.”
“And I—” A sharp knock on the door interrupted him. He arched an eyebrow. “What now?”
Amy smiled. “Things can’t go downhill. It can only be good news.”
He relaxed slightly and drew away. “Not the way my luck runs.”
Together they went to answer the door and found Marshal Hilton standing on the porch. Nudging his hat back, the marshal flashed a slow grin. “I just thought I’d drop by and tell you the news.”
Swift pulled the door wider. “Come in out of the cold.”
“No, that’s okay. I can’t stay but a second. I’m kind of anxious to go up to the Crenton place and check on Alice and the kids.” He grinned again. “It’s a nasty job, but someone’s got to do it.”
Amy entwined her fingers with Swift’s. “You mentioned news, Marshal?”
Marshal Hilton scratched his chin and frowned. “Well, the damnedest thing happened tonight. You remember those two Lowdry brothers? The rough-looking pair you were worried about a few days back?”
Swift wondered if the marshal had suffered a memory lapse. He tightened his grip on Amy’s hand. “Of course, I remember them. What—”
“Well,” the marshal went on, interrupting him, “it seems they were part of a small gang. Five of them in all. Real rough characters. They’re the ones who killed Abe Crenton. God only knows why, but you can’t always figure fellows like that. Abe must have got on their bad side somehow.”
He paused and slid twinkling eyes to Amy. “I guess they got to fighting among themselves tonight. That’s how it looked, anyway. Had a big shoot-out up at the Geunther place. Not a one of them lived to tell about it. I’ve gotten a group of men together to go up and get the bodies. Hunter rode up ahead of them to—”
He scratched his head again. “He said something about an arrow he had to dispose of. Anyway, he’s going to organize everything. Which leaves me with the rest of the evening off to check on Alice and the kids.”
It took Amy only a minute to grasp the marshal’s meaning. A surge of happiness shot through her. She glanced up at Swift’s puzzled face and pressed closer to his side. “Thank you, Marshal Hilton,” she said softly. “That’s a fine thing for you to do. We’ll be forever grateful.”
The marshal nodded and winked. As he turned to leave, he called, “I told you, Lopez. If you planned to put your back to the wall in my town, you had a friend.” Lifting his hand in farewell, he quickened his stride. “Welcome to Wolf’s Landing. I wish you and your lady happy.”
Swift narrowed his eyes, watching Hilton’s silhouette merge with the darkness. “Is he serious? He’s going to cover it up?”
Amy nodded. “It certainly sounds that way.”
“Do you realize what that means?” He let out a joyful whoop and swirled her around the room. “I’m free! We don’t have to leave Wolf’s Landing! No one’s going to know about the gunfight!” He lifted her off her feet and did another spin. “It’s a miracle.”
Amy let her head fall back so she could look up at his wonderfully dear face. In that instant it seemed to her that her life flashed before her eyes, a long and trying journey that had led her inexorably to this moment.
Keep your eyes always on the horizon, golden one. What lies behind you is for yesterday.
She smiled, keeping her gaze on his beloved face. Was the horizon a distant line of purple over snowcapped mountain peaks? Amy didn’t believe so.
Swift tightened his arm around her waist and swept her in another circle around the room. A waltz step. Still looking up at him, she floated to the imaginary music that seemed to thrum inside her. Swift Lopez, her horizon and all her tomorrows. At long last, what lay behind her had become a yesterday she could no longer see.
Signet is pleased to reissue another
long-out-of-print
historical romance by Catherine Anderson
Indigo Blue
Available Spring 2010.
Turn the page for a brief excerpt. . . .
Oregon, 1866
RAIN LASHED JACOB RAND’S FACE, THE streaming rivulets on his cheeks blending with his tears to puddle in a salty pool in the cleft of his upper lip. A soppy hank of black hair dangled in his eyes. His vision blurred so that he could no longer clearly see his mother’s grave. Not that it mattered. The downpour had made fast work of flattening the freshly mounded dirt. If not for the rock he had used to mark the spot, her burial place would have looked no different than the other churned-up mud. He wished his pa had taken time to whittle a cross, but as always, there was work to be done. Pa had helped with the digging, stayed to get Ma laid out right, and said some prayers. But cross whittling had to come later, after the daylight ran out. Times were hard, and it was up to Pa to feed them all.
Doubling one fist, Jacob scrubbed at his eyes, determined not to cry in front of his sisters. Now that Ma was gone, looking after the girls was up to him, the eldest. He had promised to do a good job, and he knew Ma was counting on him.
He glanced down at three-year-old Sarah, who stood beside him sniveling. He wished he could switch places with his younger brother, Jeremy, and be down at the creek working. Why did he have to be the one to finish up and say the final words? He didn’t shine much to talking. He had already said the Lord’s Prayer. Most of it anyways. He didn’t know any others except for the supper blessing, and that didn’t seem fitting. He reckoned he ought to finish up by saying something nice over Ma, but he couldn’t think what. If only Jeremy was there. Right now, his gift for tonguing a subject to death would come in handy.
Sarah mewled again. He wished she’d hush. Fat chance. She looked like she was sucking alum. A string of snot dripped from her nose to her upper lip. He didn’t have a handkerchief, so he made a quick swipe with his sleeve. Sarah snuffled, then sobbed, which made air erupt from her nostrils. He made another swipe.
Poor Sarah. Her black high-tops were clumped with red mud. Her tattered shirt, a castoff of Jacob’s, clung like a sodden second skin to her bony shoulders. Beneath the hem, her knobbly little knees were as red as apples from the cold. She gulped and shuddered, her tiny face twisting.
Jacob drew her close. Ma claimed a hug spoke a thousand words. The smell of urine floated up to him, and he realized she must have wet herself last night. Guilt washed over him. He had promised to take care of her and here she was, soaked, freezing, and as smelly as a cow pen in August. A fine job he was doing so far. She nuzzled her face against his side. He knew she was wiping her nose on him. Ma always scolded her for doing such, but he didn’t have the heart.
Fresh tears burned behind his eyelids, and he dragged in a breath. He remembered quarreling with Mary Beth yesterday, right before Ma started feeling poorly. Then he recalled how he had played with Jeremy up on the hill, putting off his chores until later. Now Ma was gone, and there was nothing he could do to bring her back. Nothing. He couldn’t even say how sorry he was.
His stomach churned with hunger, and his knees knocked with weakness. It didn’t seem right, feeling hungry, but he hadn’t eaten since yesterday at noon, and grave digging was hard work.
Almost as hard as mining for gold . . .
“It’s muddy down there.” Sarah gazed at the grave, then looked up, imploring him with her big brown eyes to set her world aright. Dripping strands of black hair stuck to her cheeks. She shivered so hard her teeth clacked. “Why do we gots to put her in the mud?”
Jacob had no answers. If there was a God, he was a far piece from here. Somewhere in California, more than likely, where the sun never stopped shining. If Jacob was God, that’s where he would be.
From the far side of the grave, eight-year-old Mary Beth said, “Ma ain’t here anymore, kitten. She’s gone away to heaven to live with angels.”
Jacob watched Mary Beth, willing her to say more. Something about harps and gowns and streets paved in gold. If Sarah kept picturing Ma with mud all over her face, she’d be plagued by nightmares for a year. As always, Mary Beth did just the opposite of what Jacob wished. Her mouth settled into a grim line, and she said no more. Still hopeful, he slid his gaze to six-year-old Rebecca, but she stood as still as a statue, gaze fixed, face white, her black hair hanging in wet streams.
It looked as if it was up to him. He gave Sarah’s shoulder a pat. “Heaven’s a fine place. There’s nothin’ but white horses up there, and the angels are all gussied up in fancy dresses the likes of which you ain’t never seen.”
“What kinda dresses?”
Jacob hesitated. The entire scope of his existence was mining towns, but once a long time ago, he’d gone looking for Pa at the saloon. “I reckon they’re red with black lace.”
Mary Beth, face mud-smeared and swollen from bawling, puffed up like a toad eyeing a fly. “They ain’t neither! Angels wear white, Jacob Nathaniel! Don’t go tellin’ lies as gospel.”
“What difference does it make, Mary Beth?”
“It just does, that’s all. Red’s one of Satan’s colors, and only bad women wear it.”
“White then. And quit flarin’ up over the top of Ma’s grave. You might as well walk on it.”
Sarah, apparently oblivious to their bickering, was still stuck on heaven. “Why didn’t Ma take us with her?” she demanded in a shrill voice. “She taked the baby! Don’t she love us no more? I wanna red dress with black grace.”
“Lace,” Jacob inserted. “Someday when I’m rich, I’ll buy you one, kitten. An angel dress, any color you want.”
Jacob’s throat ached. The raindrops felt like pin-pricks on his face. Angels? All he could see was mud, and more mud. And when he closed he eyes, all he saw was his mother’s blood.
“Someday when you’re rich,” Mary Beth scoffed. “You’re startin’ to sound just like Pa. We ain’t never gonna strike it rich, Jacob, and you know it.”
“Then I’ll get rich doin’ something else. Hush yourself, Mary Beth. You’ll make Sarah start takin’ on again.”
“Better that than makin’ her promises you can’t keep. She don’t even got a coat.”