Not entirely sure where the words came from, Franny blurted, "Oh, Chase, I'm so scared."
She half expected him to mock her for being so utterly absurd. She was a prostitute, and intimacy such as this should have been old hat for her. But instead of pointing that out, he smoothed the hair at her temples and said, "I know you are, sweetheart. I wish Ma had a cure. If she did, I'd brew it up myself and feed it to you by the spoonful."
The concern in his voice brought tears to Franny's eyes. "It won't work. I know it won't."
He leaned closer and held her gaze with his dark blue one. "Franny, have I ever lied to you?"
"No."
"Then believe me when I say it will work. You shouldn't be all upset like this. It isn't good for our baby. You should have happy thoughts, and you can if you'll only trust me."
"Do you have pockets full of magic or something?"
"Maybe," he said softly. "I'm a quarter Comanche, remember. We have spells and talismans and incantations. I'll fish around inside my pockets and see what I can come up with. The question is, if I work us up some magic, will you believe in it with me? I don't think it works otherwise."
Franny wanted to believe. With all her heart, she wanted to. But instead she was filled with dread. He had forced her to enter his world. And, oh, God, it was everything she had dreamed it might be. His mother was wonderful. His boyhood home had walls that emanated warmth. And when she looked into his eyes, she read a hundred promises she was terrified to believe in. A wonderfully handsome husband, a baby, a family of in-laws who welcomed her with open arms. It was the dream of her life. An impossible dream.
"Chase? The ginger tea is done!" his mother called from downstairs.
His eyes still holding hers, he straightened. "Be right back."
As he disappeared around the dividing wall, those three words rang in her ears, a simple assurance. She was afraid to believe even in that. Be right back. She knew in her heart that eventually he'd no longer want to come back, that the time would come when he left her and kept going.
The heartbreak of it was, she wouldn't blame him.
The ginger tea worked wonders. After drinking it, Franny felt worlds better and closed her eyes, aware that Chase held her hand and watched her, but too exhausted to care. It had been an endless day. Her world had been tipped upside down, then righted again, but nothing was the same. Nothing would ever be the same again. All she wanted was to slip away so she didn't have to deal with it all right now.
A meadow filled with daisies, sunlight, a sweet summer breeze, the sound of water gurgling over rocks. Reality or dream? The defining line between the two was becoming blurred, but Franny didn't care. She felt so safe in her meadow. Nothing could touch her there. Nothing bad could happen. Nothing could hurt her. It was a good place to fall asleep. A safe place.
When she awoke, the window above her looked out onto twilight. Startled, Franny shot up in bed and cocked an ear. The Wolfs' house was quiet. The appealing smells of their evening meal drifted upstairs to her from the kitchen, and in response, her stomach growled. Easing her legs over the side of the bed, Franny reached for her clothes.
After she had dressed, she crept down the loft ladder. The house was quiet and empty. The lanterns positioned strategically throughout the rooms to provide illumination after dark had not been lit as yet, and shadows fell across the polished wood floor. More at ease in darkness than light, Franny relaxed slightly as she drew to a stop in the center of the sitting room. Her gaze fell on a beautiful Chickering piano, its surface highly polished. Nearby, the horsehair sofa held court beneath an assembly of frames, some of which displayed pictures, some mementos. She stepped closer to study them, smiling slightly when she saw photographs of Chase as a boy. He had been good-looking even then, his eyes alight with mischief, his smile impish.
"My woman has all her memories on the wall," a deep voice commented from behind her. "This is because she believes she has a very small brain, yes? Most white people are the same. They think they have room in their heads for only the here and now."
Franny leaped and swung around. After peering through the shadows for a moment, she made out the dim shape of a large man sitting in an overstuffed chair near the hearth. Hunter Wolf. From her window above the Lucky Nugget, she had frequently watched him from afar as he walked about town. That was different from finding herself alone with him.
Bare-chested and sinister-looking with his long, dark hair, he seemed to loom as he rose and moved soundlessly toward her. She saw that he wore leather pants, fringed along the outer seams and tucked into knee-high moccasins.
"I frightened you. I'm sorry."
He halted within arm's reach of her. Looking up at him, she guessed he was about Chase's height, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip. Franny could see where her husband had gotten his dark good looks and air of wildness. At Hunter Wolf's hip rode a huge knife, its hilt worn smooth and darkened with age. She couldn't help but wonder how many people he might have scalped with it years ago.
"So . . ." His dark blue eyes slid slowly over her. "You are Franny. I have seen you, of course." He made a circular motion near his temple that made her wonder momentarily if he questioned her intelligence. "Always with the hat and—what are the wide ruffles called?"
Relieved that he had been referring to her bonnet, she said, "Ruching?"
"Ah, yes, ruching." He nodded thoughtfully. "I saw you many times, but didn't. Yes? The small woman with no face." He studied her for a long moment. "Now that the ruching no longer hides you, I can see why my son's footsteps led him always to the saloon."
Franny felt a burning flush creep up her neck. Bending her head, she stared blindly at the floor. "I'm sorry for inflicting myself on you and your wife like this. I know how you must—"
"Inflict?" he cut in.
She was so startled when he cupped her chin in his hand that she nearly parted company with her shoes. Before she recovered, he was lifting her face. "In this house, you will always look up, never down."
"But I—"
He slanted a thumb across her mouth to silence her, which was just as well, for Franny had no idea what she intended to say. "No buts." A slow smile crossed his firm lips. In that instant, he reminded her very much of Chase. "Around here, no one will trip you, so you need not watch your feet. If you stumble, one of us will catch you from falling. So look up, yes? The best things in life are ahead of you, daughter. If you hang your head, you may miss them."
With that, he released her and settled his gaze upon the wall. Inclining his head at the family portrait, he said, "I'm sure you know most of those homely people. The one standing behind Chase is my woman's sister, Amy."
Franny smiled to herself, for the Wolfs were a handsome lot, not a homely countenance among them. "Amy looks very like your wife."
"Yes. And some say my son is like me." He seemed to consider that for a moment. "I think I'm much better looking."
Franny gave a startled laugh. He chuckled with her. Then, catching her completely off guard, he draped a strong arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. There wasn't time for her to feel trapped or suffocated. Before she could completely register the sudden closeness, he pressed a fatherly kiss to her forehead and released her.
"Welcome, Franny. Into my house and into my heart."
With that, he turned away. Franny stood there rooted, her startled gaze fixed on his muscular back as he moved into the kitchen. "Chase has gone to collect your things," he called over his shoulder. "My woman is at Indigo's making woman talk. You slept through supper, and she left strict orders that I was to feed you if you woke up. Are you hungry?"
Franny pressed a hand to her rumbling stomach. "A little."
He arched a questioning glance her way. "And the sickness in your gut? It is gone?"
She gave another startled laugh. "Gone, yes."
He struck a match and lit a lantern on the dish board. The sudden flare of light played across his dark, sharply chisel
ed features. He looked even more like Chase under close scrutiny. His teeth flashed white as he smiled. "I go backward with my tongue sometimes. You will soon get used to it."
Franny hadn't meant to offend him. "I don't think you talk funny."
He narrowed an eye. "We don't speak untruths in this house, not even to be polite." His fleeting smile told her he was only teasing, but Franny had the distinct impression there was also an underlying note of seriousness. "I have odd expressions. Mostly I talk like everyone else, but my strange way of putting things has never completely gone away." He shrugged a shoulder. "Perhaps it is because I cling to my own ways, yes? To remain one of the People and not become one with the whites?"
Franny sat at the table and nervously folded her hands atop it. "Are you prejudiced?"
He narrowed an eye again. "You tell me."
"Considering the company you keep, I would guess not."
"That is good. It sounds like an awful thing to be."
She giggled again. The sound just burst out before she could stifle it. "You don't know what prejudiced means?"
"I know many twenty-dollar words, but not that one."
Trying to think of a simple way to put it, she explained, "It means to dislike a person because of his color or race."
"Ah. You are right. I am not prejudiced. My woman has pale skin, and I like her very much."
Franny smiled. "She's a very warm, lovely person."
"You have not felt her feet."
Franny gulped down another startled laugh. His twinkling eyes sought hers.
"That is why she keeps me, yes. To keep her warm? And I do not mind, for as you say, she is lovely. With her, I am like the bear to a honey tree, drawn by her sweetness."
"Chase says you took her captive," Franny blurted. "That isn't true, is it?"
"Ah, yes. Many winters ago, I stole her away from her wooden walls."
"And kept her against her will?"
"For a little bit of time."
He didn't seem in the least remorseful. Franny studied him, not at all envious of Loretta Wolf for having found herself at the mercy of all that muscled power. "It seems an odd way to begin a marriage."
"What begins very badly can only get better." He finished adjusting the lantern wick and fitted the globe into its base. He turned to regard her with suddenly solemn eyes. "Do I hear alarm in your voice? Do you fear that my son walks in his father's footsteps?"
Franny bit down on her inner cheek. Her first impulse was to lie, but Hunter Wolf's gaze was too compelling. "He's very determined to have his way in certain matters. I find that a bit unsettling."
"His way, or the way? He is my son. He stands tall above his brothers and sees into tomorrow with eyes like the midnight sky. Trust him to know where he is going, Franny. And to get you both there safely. He will find a path wide enough for you to walk beside him."
Franny lowered her eyes. Hunter Wolf made this situation sound like poetry. In truth, it was a tangled mess. And she was mightily afraid she and her baby would be the ones who suffered for it.
The front door swung open. With a bundled sheet slung over his shoulder, Chase elbowed his way inside. Upon seeing Franny, he said, "Oh, good. You're awake. I was starting to worry that you'd sleep through our whole wedding night."
Hunter winked at Franny. "Why should she not? You run off and leave her with only an old man to keep her company."
"I was only gone a half hour, and knowing you, you kept her entertained." Setting the bundle near the loft ladder, Chase raked a hand through his wind-tossed hair as he strode toward the table. Like his father's, his feet made little sound, even encased in boots. "Don't believe any of the lies he tells you about me. It was Indigo who filled the sugar bowl with salt and put the frog in Ma's water pitcher." He leaned over Franny and kissed her cheek. "Feeling better?" he asked softly.
"Much."
To Franny, the small house suddenly seemed overly full of masculine presence and she felt a little breathless. She was relieved when Chase moved past her into the kitchen. He investigated the pot on the stove. "Plenty of stew left. You want some?"
"I. . . um . . . yes, that would be nice."
Chase plucked a bowl from off the shelf and began ladling. His father stood beside him, slicing cornbread inside its pan. Lifting out a piece, he plopped it on the edge of the filled bowl. Grabbing a spoon out of a drawer, Chase came toward her. With a flourish, he plunked the offering on the table in front of her. "Lay back your ears and dig in."
Franny picked up the spoon. Both men watched her expectantly. She hoped they didn't plan to stare at her as she ate. She took a bite. Chase seemed to be counting how many times she chewed.
"Would you like some milk?" he asked.
"No, thank you."
"Some butter for your bread?" Hunter offered.
Franny's mouth was full again, so she mutely shook her head.
"Jelly?" Chase asked. "Raspberry preserves!" He swept by her to investigate the cupboards along the wall behind her. "I remember Ma saying raspberries are good for morning sickness." Jars clanked. "Here we go."
Coming to the table, he sat the jar near her elbow and began working out the paraffin with the tip of his knife. Franny could only smile at the solicitous behavior. They clearly wanted her to feel at ease and in their eagerness were accomplishing just the opposite. Her throat tightened as her gaze shifted from one man's dark face to the other's. Like father, like son. Now she knew where that expression had originated. Chase piled preserves onto her square of cornbread. Apparently satisfied on that score, he stepped to the sink and wiped his blade clean.
"You should probably have some more ginger tea."
Franny nodded and sank her teeth into the slathered bread. It was delicious. So delicious that it caught her off guard and momentarily made her forget her self- consciousness. "Mmm."
"Good, huh? Ma's preserves are fantastic. She took the blue ribbon three years running at the fair."
"Really?" Franny took another bite. "I can see why. I truly don't think I've ever tasted preserves to compare."
The door to the firebox creaked as Hunter opened it to stir the fire. Chase moved the pot of ginger tea over the heat.
"It doesn't have to be piping hot," Franny offered. "It's so warm an evening. I wouldn't want everyone to suffocate for the sake of tea."
"We get a nice breeze from off the creek," Chase assured her. "At night I open the window over my bed, and the draft keeps me as cool as a long, tall drink."
Because she supposed she would be sharing his bed later, Franny could think of no polite rejoinder. A sudden panic welled within her. Bed. Wedding night. She filled her mouth and immediately regretted having done so. The chunk of stew meat became larger and larger as she chewed. In Chase's loft bedroom there was no daisy wallpaper to stimulate her imagination. When he came to her, there would be no posted rules he'd be obliged to follow. Gus wouldn't be downstairs if she needed him. And worst of all, there'd be no limit to the time Chase could spend with her. At one o'clock, her shift wouldn't be over.
She was in up to her neck, and the shift would last a lifetime.
Franny shot to her feet. The bench scraped loudly across the floor at her sudden lurch. Chase and his father both turned to stare at her in puzzlement. "I . . . um . . . need a breath of air."
With that, Franny made her way blindly out of the house. Once on the front porch, she gulped greedily at the coolness, feeling dizzy and clammy. On legs that felt none too sturdy, she moved to a porch rail and grasped it for support. She wasn't afraid of Chase. She truly wasn't. So why did the thought of being intimate with him panic her so?
"You okay?"
The sound of his voice startled her. Between him and his father, she would be lucky if she didn't die of heart failure. She shot a frustrated glance over her shoulder. "Must you sneak up on me?"
"I didn't sneak. I just—" He broke off and sighed. Moving to stand beside her, he bent and braced his arms on the rail. Gazing
off into the shadows of early evening, he said nothing for several seconds. To the east, the moon hovered, shimmering like a silver dollar against dark denim blue. Lofty pine trees stood in silhouettes of charcoal against the sky. "I'm sorry, Franny. I guess in our eagerness to make you feel at home, we did just the opposite."
His apology caught at her heart. No one could have been made to feel more welcome. "Oh, Chase, it isn't your fault. I'm just tense, that's all."
"I know, and we just made it worse." He laughed softly. "I hate it when people watch me while I eat. I don't know what I was thinking. We ran you off before you got much of anything down."
Franny dragged in another deep breath. "I'll eat more. I just needed a breath of air, that's all. Truly."
He shifted his weight and bent the opposite knee. After studying the palms of his hands a moment, he sighed. "I can understand your being a little nervous. About tonight and all. Especially after the way I railroaded you into it. My father believes you're feeling a little apprehensive about what I may pull next."
Franny started to feel breathless again. "Yes, well. . . I am, just a little."
He turned his hands and hooked his thumbs. Regarding his spread fingers, which suddenly appeared enormous to Franny, he said, "I'd never hurt you. You do know that?"
"Of course."
"And rabid dogs don't bite, either. Correct?"
She gave him a startled look. "Chase, I don't—"
"Let's not circle this, Franny. You're nervous. Because you're nervous, I'm nervous." He straightened and leaned a hip against the rail. "I know the few times with men that you didn't blank out weren't pleasant, and I don't blame you for feeling apprehensive. Really. It doesn't offend me."