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Comanche Vow
Sheri WhiteFeather
Comanche Born…Comanche Bound Nick Bluestone had made a solemn vow to wed his twin brother's widow, raising their child the Comanche way. The desirable Elaina would be his wife, but Nick could never forget the decision had been his brother's, not hers. Elaina had convinced herself marrying Nick had nothing to do with their mutual attraction.What she felt for Nick was more intense…and much more dangerous. She'd lost her heart to a Bluestone once–did she dare allow her new Comanche husband entrance to her soul?
Nick knew he had to ask Elaina tonight. Two years had passed, more than enough time for him to fulfill his vow.
Moonlight shone in her eyes, tiny flecks of gold in all that impossible blue. He imagined touching her cheek, her hair, the delicate column of her neck.
Nick frowned. If he lost himself in lust, in the heat she made him feel, this proposal would be even more difficult.
“Elaina, you know that my brother asked me to take care of Lexie, to teach her about being Comanche. But before he died, he talked to me about you, too. He wanted me to protect you.” Pausing to breathe, he let the words settle. “The way a Comanche brother would have done in another century.”
Her voice quavered. “I don't understand.”
Yes, you do, he thought. Deep down you do. You know what a Comanche marriage exchange means.
“I'm proposing, Elaina. In the name of my brother, I'm asking you to marry me.”
Comanche Vow
Sheri Whitefeather
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SHERI WHITEFEATHER
Sheri WhiteFeather lives in a cowboy community in Central Valley, California. She loves being a writer and credits her husband, Dru, a tribally enrolled member of the Muscogee Creek Nation, for inspiring many of her stories.
Sheri and Dru have two beautiful grown children, a trio of cats and a border collie/queensland heeler that will jump straight into your arms.
Sheri's hobbies include decorating with antiques and shopping in thrift stores for jackets from the sixties and seventies, items that mark her interest in vintage Western wear and hippie fringe.
To contact Sheri, learn more about her books and see pictures of her family, visit her Web site at www.sheriwhitefeather.com.
To my sister, Elaine McCullogh.
I wished we lived closer. We're not twins,
but we could be. To my agent, Irene Goodman,
because you loved the premise of this story.
To my editor, Melissa Jeglinski, because every author
should be so lucky. And to the community members on
eHarlequin.com—thanks for the message board chats.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
One
Nick Bluestone waited at the airport, trying not to pace. He had four weeks to enforce his plan, the mission he’d agreed to carry out.
The mission? Nick frowned. This wasn’t a covert military operation. This was a heart-wrenching promise he’d made to his brother. A Comanche vow.
He took a rough breath and thought about Elaina, the woman he’d pledged to marry. He hadn’t seen her since the summer they’d buried Grant, the summer they’d stood side by side and mourned Nick’s twin. And now, two years later, she had finally agreed to visit him in Oklahoma, to bring his niece for Christmas.
Nick released the air in his lungs. A holiday visit. That wasn’t the half of it. Elaina had no idea that he intended to propose. But then, how could she? He’d been keeping the vow a secret, preparing himself for the right moment to tell her.
Scanning the passengers entering the terminal, he spotted her. Instantly his pulse quickened. He barely knew Elaina. Sure, he liked her, but he hadn’t allowed himself to look too closely, to admire her for anything other than being his brother’s devoted wife.
But damn it, there she was, tall and shapely, with a shoulder-length sweep of chestnut hair—a woman much too striking not to notice.
Even dressed in blue jeans, she reminded him of a lady, a true lady, the sort a noble knight would lose his heart to. Was that what had first attracted Grant to her? The graceful beauty? The whisper of sensuality?
I’m supposed to protect my brother’s ladylove, he thought nervously. Pledge my life, my tarnished honor to her. And seeing Elaina, watching her enter his rough-hewn world, made that vow seem more real.
More intense.
Shifting his focus, Nick schooled his anxiety and studied his twelve-year-old niece instead. Lexie was taller than the last time he’d seen her, but still small for her age. A baseball cap rode low on her forehead, shading big, dark eyes. With her baggy jeans and oversize T-shirt, she looked more like a brooding little boy than a troubled young girl.
She glanced up, and he smiled. Her face was lean and angular, her skin smooth and soft. Oh, yeah, he thought She was female, all right. Sweet, stubborn and confusing as hell.
He moved forward to greet her, keeping Elaina in his peripheral vision. “Hey, Lexie.”
“Uncle Nick.”
She reached out, and he hugged her naturally. Lexie was his godchild, the little girl who lived in his heart. She was all he had left of Grant, and he intended to keep her safe and warm.
He lifted the brim of her hat and grinned. Her hair, nearly as short as his, brushed her neck in a simple, blunt style. Apparently Lexie still didn’t fuss or frill over her hair, a fact that used to amuse her daddy. No ribbons and bows for Grant’s baby girl. She preferred baseball cards to Barbie dolls and barrettes.
And then there was Elaina, rife with feminine curves, in a champagne-colored sweater, slim-fitting jeans and a pair of sleek suede boots. And her eyes, he thought. They were as blue as the brightest lapis imaginable.
Elaina Bluestone.
Ironically, the name fit. Something he’d never noticed before.
“Hi,” Nick said to her. “How was your flight?” “Fine. A little tiring.” She met his gaze, and then shifted those blue eyes quickly away. “We had a layover in Texas.”
“Yeah. Traveling can wear a person out.” Since they didn’t embrace, he relieved her of a carry-on bag and tried to act casual. Apparently she didn’t like looking him in the eye, but he figured his resemblance to Grant unnerved her. These days, it unnerved him, too. “Let’s head over to baggage claim.”
They stood quietly with the other passengers and waited for the luggage to appear. And while Lexie adjusted her backpack and Elaina studied the empty turntable, Nick’s thoughts drifted back in time.
Two years before, he’d visited Grant in Los Angeles, a trip he rarely made. The Comanche brothers looked alike, but their lifestyles had been worlds apart. Grant had left home to pursue a successful corporate career in California, while Nick, a saddle maker, remained close to his roots.
So to celebrate Nick’s last night in the city, they’d eaten dinner at a steak house, then stopped by a sports bar to shoot a few rounds of pool. Although neither had consumed more than a few beers, they were still feeling boyish and rowdy, ribbing each other like a couple of kids.
“You miss this shot,” Nick had cajoled, “and I get to take that jet-propelled machine of yours for a spin. You know, the one masquerading as a car.”
Grant had flashed a roguish grin and eyed the eight ball, calling it in the corner pocket. “Then I don’t intend to miss, bro. Because I’ve seen the way you drive.”
He didn’t miss, and Nick didn’t end up piloting the Porsche. It was Grant who had driven later that night, Grant who had been gunned down in the midst of a carjacking.
As a familiar pain coiled in the pit of his stomach, Nick squinted at the baggage-claim ticket in Elaina’s hand.
He could still recall that moment, the instant his brother lay dying in his arms. He’d struggled to stem the wound, to stop the warm rush of blood that had flowed from Grant’s chest.
A part of him knew he couldn’t help the other man, but another part refused to give up. He couldn’t live without his brother. In spite of the choices that separated them, they still shared the same heart, the same soul. There were times they could read each other’s minds, feel each other’s emotions.
And on that dark summer night, Nick had felt his twin die. But not before Grant had whispered the words Nick would never forget.
“Take care of my family…the old way. Be the Comanche I should have been. Teach my daughter… protect my wife….”
The old way. A dying man’s last request. A living man’s biggest fear. Grant had asked Nick to take his place—become a husband and father to the woman and child he’d left behind.
“It’s here.”
Nick blinked at the sound of Elaina’s voice. “What?” “Our luggage.“
“Oh, sure. Just tell me which suitcases are yours.”
He squared his shoulders, his thoughts still spinning. arrying Elaina and raising Lexie was a responsibility he’d been battling for two years.
He lifted a leather satchel, wondering about the path that lay ahead. Would Elaina actually agree to marry him? And what about his involvement in Grant’s death? She didn’t know about the mistake Nick had made, the vital error that had ultimately cost Grant his life.
No one knew. Not even the L.A. cops who’d taken the report. Nick still kept the truth locked inside, the pain and guilt that followed him each day.
Nick’s house was one of those quaint country structures with an enormous porch, a graveled driveway and grass and trees everywhere. It was more or less what Elaina had expected, a little off the beaten path, with neighbors scattered here and there.
“Your dad and I grew up on this property,” Nick told Lexie as he unlocked the door. “But I tore down the old house and built a new one. It was pretty primitive before.”
Lexie only nodded. After hugging Nick at the airport, she’d withdrawn, reverting back to her detached self.
He carried the heavier luggage inside, with Elaina and Lexie carting smaller pieces.
“You brought a lot of stuff,” he commented.
“Four weeks is a lengthy vacation,” Elaina re sponded, worrying about what she’d gotten herself into. Lexie didn’t look any happier, even if she kept studying her uncle beneath her lashes.
Grant’s senseless murder had destroyed Lexie, each year going from bad to worse. And to top it off, her best friend had moved three months ago, leaving the young girl feeling lost and lonely. Elaina sighed. She was an elementary-school teacher, a woman experienced in meeting the needs of a wide range of children, yet she couldn’t help her own daughter. How ironic was that?
She had even taken a leave of absence from her job, but being a stay-at-home mom hadn’t made a difference. Then again, Lexie appeared to be craving a paternaltype attachment. Which was the reason Elaina had finally agreed to come to Oklahoma. Recently, Lexie had expressed an interest in visiting her uncle.
Elaina studied Nick, wondering what sort of person he really was. She didn’t know much about him. In truth, he’d always seemed a little wild—a man with a rough, frayed-denim edge.
She hoped they weren’t going to spend the next four weeks struggling to make conversation. Whenever Nick had visited them in L.A., Grant had been the one entertaining his brother. Aside from the days following Grant’s death, this was the first time Elaina or Lexie had ever been alone with Nick.
But Elaina had to give him credit for trying. He’d invited them to stay with him during summer and spring breaks, and since those attempts had failed, he’d resorted to Christmas.
He showed them to their rooms, and then motioned o the burgers they’d picked up at a drive-through on the way in. “Ready for dinner?” he asked.
She nodded. “Sure.“
“We can eat in here,” he said, indicating the living room. “I’m not fussy about stuff like that. But I guess that’s pretty obvious.”
Both Elaina and Lexie managed a smile. Remnants from Nick’s last meal sat on a plate above the television, as if he’d forgotten about it until now.
As they gathered around the coffee table, sipping sodas and dipping fries into pools of ketchup, Elaina assessed her surroundings.
The room was rough-hewn and masculine, with coarse furnishings and an Old West theme. A set of buckhorn candleholders sat on a sturdy oak bookcase, and a rope-and-rawhide chair was angled in the corner. A lambskin throw decorated the sofa, along with a few Western-printed pillows.
The end table was a bit cluttered, newspapers and magazines piled in an uneven stack. Elaina had the urge to tidy up. It was her nature, she supposed, the domestic side of herself she couldn’t deny.
Glancing out the window, she caught sight of a country setting, of dusk darkening a winter sky.
Grant and Nick had grown up on this rugged property, but Nick accepted it as his home. The man was a saddle maker, an Indian living like a cowboy. Grant had preferred designer suits, whereas Nick appeared to favor worn-out Wranglers. How could they look so much alike, yet be so different from each other?
Elaina reached for her burger, wishing Nick didn’t have Grant’s face. Here she was, two years after her husband’s death, comparing the brothers and imagining Grant as he had been.
She knew Lexie did that, too. And Nick, with his jetblack hair, determined jaw and strong cheekbones, was a reminder of what they had lost.
Was coming here a mistake? she asked herself. Was Lexie placing too much importance on her father’s twin?
Nick turned on the TV, and Elaina let out the breath she’d been holding. Hopefully, she and Lexie would get through this evening painlessly, watching cable for a while, then retreating to unpack and get a muchneeded night’s rest.
The following morning Elaina awakened feeling far from refreshed. She squinted at the clock and reached for her robe. They day seemed a little gray, but she supposed it matched her mood.
Oklahoma. Grant hadn’t liked living here, so what made her think four weeks in the Sooner State was going to cure Lexie’s depression?
Concerned about her daughter, she belted her robe and slipped into the hall. Opening the other guest-room door, she stepped inside, then stood near the bed.
Lexie slept in a tangle of blankets, her short black hair strewn across her face. She had Grant’s hair, rain straight, with a glossy sheen. Elaina’s unruly mane tended to curl far too much. If she didn’t style it with a blow dryer, each rebellious strand took on a mind of its own.
Lexie stirred, and Elaina sighed. Should she wake the young girl or let her sleep?
She touched her daughter’s cheek. She missed the closeness they’d once shared, the laughter that used to fill their home.
Three teenage boys had destroyed her family. They’d wanted Grant’s car badly enough to kill him for it, to shoot him in the chest and leave him bleeding on the side of the freeway.
She took a deep breath, but the image wouldn’t go away. Her husband shivering and helpless, a bullet lodged much too close to his heart. And what about Nick? She would never forget how he looked when a policeman brought him back to the condo that night. Her husband was dead, and his twin had blood on his sleeve, a tremor in his voice, a vacant stare in his dark eyes.
“Mom?”
Elaina’s heart bumped against her breast, jarring her from the memory. “Hi, sweetheart.“
Lexie adjusted the covers. “What time is it?” “Seven.“
“Are we going somewhere with Uncle Nick?”
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Not that I know of. He’s probably working today.” Which meant he would still be close by. His workshop was located behind the house.
“Then can I go back to sleep?”
Elaina considered her daughter’s question. This was supposed to be a vacation, four weeks away from the pattern of their lives. There was no dreaded middle school for Lexie to tackle, no unhappy morning routine to adhere to. So if Lexie wanted to stay in bed, what was the harm? She was probably overtired, her body still trying to adjust to the time change.
“I’ll wake you up later, okay?“
“Okay.”
Lexie closed her eyes, big brown eyes that nearly swallowed her entire face. She was, Elaina thought, a petite and pretty tomboy, caught in the battle of puberty. An unwelcome battle, considering Lexie’s determination to defy her gender.
Elaina went back to her own room, choosing to wear jeans, a washable-silk T-shirt and a pair of lace-up boots. She styled her hair in a classic chignon, a look she had become accustomed to, even with casual clothes.
Ready for a cup of coffee, she headed for the kitchen, preparing to familiarize herself with someone else’s home. But when she got there, she came eye-to-eye with Nick.
He leaned against the counter, his raven hair combed away from his face, a well-worn denim shirt tucked into a pair of equally faded jeans. She had to tell herself to breathe, to accept his presence without losing her composure.
It was his hair, she realized, that unsettled her most. Nick had always kept it long, well past his shoulders. Yet the morning after Grant had died, he’d cut it.
But why? So he would look even more like his brother?
Grant had worn his hair in a shorter style because he was trying to present a non-Indian image. He’d wanted people to see him as the up-and-coming executive that he was. And stereotypes, he’d said, referring to his Comanche heritage, got in the way.
“Good morning,” Nick drawled in a slow, husky voice. “Did you sleep all right?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Unlike Grant, he was heavily involved in his culture, or that was the impression she got. He sported silver jewelry, a wide band on one wrist, a detailed watch and another wide bracelet on the other. His belt was adorned with sterling accents and an engraved buckle.
No one would mistake Nick for being anything other than Indian, and his denim-and-silver style intensified that image. Except for the hair. The slicked-back, GQ look belonged to Grant.
“Where’s Lexie?” he asked.
“Still asleep.“
“Oh.” He frowned. “I was wondering what everyone wanted to do about breakfast.”
“I’d rather wait for Lexie, but I’m not going to wake her for a while. So if you want to eat now, go ahead.”
“No. I can wait.”
She noticed the coffeepot was percolating. “May I have a cup?“
“Sure. It’s pretty strong, though.“
“I don’t mind.” Elaina wasn’t choosy about her coffee, and she’d lied about sleeping well. She’d tossed and turned most of the night. Of course, insomnia had become part of her widowed lifestyle.
She located a sturdy mug in the cupboard above her head, then turned back to him. “Do you have sugar?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He opened the cabinet near the stove and handed her a pink-and-white box.
She added the sweetener and found herself smiling in the process. This was typical of a bachelor, she supposed. A sugar bowl wouldn’t occur to a single man. And that’s what Nick had always been. Her bachelor brother-in-law.
She lifted the mug, curious if Nick had a significant other by now, an important girlfriend who kept him in line. Not likely, she thought. Hadn’t she stumbled upon a conversation between Grant and Nick on that very subject, just days before Grant’s murder?
“So, bro,” her husband had said, sinking into an Italian leather chair. “Have you met anyone special?”
Nick, looking a bit too rugged for the condo’s upscale interior, had kicked a pair of timeworn boots out in front of him. “Can’t say that I have.”
“I guess that means you’re still sampling the flavor of the month?”
“Yep. That’s me. Brunettes in May and redheads in June.” Nick had wagged his eyebrows, and they’d grinned at each other like a couple of naughty boys paging through their first girlie magazine. Elaina had wanted to throttle both of them, but instead she’d tossed a decorative pillow at Grant, warning him that she’d just entered the living room.
And even though Grant had charmed her into a playful, I’m-busted hug, and Nick had seemed thoroughly embarrassed that she’d heard his macho admission, that silly memory confirmed the unlikelihood of a significant other. Nick Bluestone wasn’t the commitment type.
“Elaina?”
She glanced up and realized he’d been watching her, probably wondering why she had zoned out. “Yes?”
He trapped her gaze, his stare intense. “Do you want to go for a walk? Maybe help feed the horses?”
With a sudden jump in her heartbeat, she told herself to relax, to not look away. She couldn’t continue to avoid him, and dancing around those dark, penetrating eyes was simply rude.
“Do you think I need a jacket?” she asked, deciding to walk with him.
“Maybe. I don’t think it’s cold out, but you might.” He sent her a boyish grin. “You’ve got that California blood.”
And he had a charming smile, a bit more crooked than Grant’s had been. “I’ll get a sweater.” She went to her room and returned with a lightweight wrap. She’d meant to smile back at him, but she couldn’t. Her attraction to Grant had started with his teasing grin.
The air was brisk and clean, with mountains in the distance. They passed Nick’s workshop and headed toward the barn. She noticed a fenced arena and a small, circular pen. Equestrian additions, she assumed, Nick had made to the property. Grant had described his childhood homestead as a wasteland, but Elaina thought it was pretty. The soil shimmered with flecks of gold, and a cluster of trees was shedding winter leaves. She could picture snow blanketing the earth, just enough to make the holidays come alive.
“Do you ride?” Nick asked.
“I used to rent horses in the Hollywood Hills, but it’s been ages. Since high school, I guess.“
“Somehow I can’t see connecting with nature in Hollywood. That place is weird.”
Elaina had to laugh. He sounded like a big, biased country boy. “It was near Griffith Park, so it’s nice up there. But I suppose your opinion of Tinseltown is accurate enough. Some people call it Hollyweird.”
This time he laughed, a rich, smooth baritone. She liked the friendly sound, but when he leaned closer and bumped her shoulder, her heart picked up speed. A slice of hair fell across his forehead, and she realized it wasn’t secured with gel. Nick’s hair was simply wet from a recent shower and drying naturally in the morning air.
Suddenly she couldn’t stop herself from asking the question that had plagued her for two years.
“Nick?” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Why did you cut your hair?”
He stared at her for a moment. “Because of Grant,” he said quietly.
She released a shaky breath. “Because that’s the way he wore his hair?”
“No. It’s a Comanche practice.” His eyes turned a darker shade of brown—a deeper, lonelier color. “My brother died. I’m mourning him.”
Elaina felt instantly shamed. She should have figured it out on her own. She should have known. Hadn’t she seen something similar in movies? Indians maiming themselves when a loved one died—cutting their skin, their hair? She looked at Nick and wondered if he’d taken a knife to himself, as well. If there were scars somewhere on his body.
“Does it help?” she asked. “Does it take the pain away?”
He closed his eyes, and as the wind blew around him in a silent flutter, Elaina waited for him to answer.
But he didn’t. He just stood, with his eyes closed. Stood while her heart pounded in an unsteady rhythm.
“Nick?” she pressed. If there was a way to ease the pain that came with losing Grant, then Elaina needed to know.
Two
Nick didn’t know what to say. Nothing helped, nothing made living without his brother more bearable. Yes, he’d cut his hair, honoring the old way, but keeping it short was more than a mourning ritual. It was a daily reminder of what he’d done, of his involvement in Grant’s death. And so were the marks on his chest, the places where he’d shed his own blood. The wounds had long since healed, but the pain and guilt wouldn’t go away.
He opened his eyes and gazed at Elaina. She watched him, her heart on her sleeve. She was hurting, too. Trying to find a way to cope with being a widow, with raising a troubled daughter.
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t help. But it’s part of my culture. And I’ve always followed the early practices. The best I can, anyway. Sometimes it’s difficult living in modern times and adhering to the old ways.”
Elaina tilted her head. “Grant was concerned about being stereotyped, but other than that, he rarely talked about being Indian. It didn’t seem to be a major issue in his life.”
But it was, Nick thought. Grant had turned away from their heritage long ago. Yet on that dark summer night, he’d come back to his roots. He’d died in Nick’s arms, asking Nick to take his place the way a Comanche brother would have done centuries before.
He looked at Elaina, knowing how much Grant had loved her. And now it was Nick’s responsibility to keep her happy and safe, to provide for her well-being.
She was pretty. Nick couldn’t deny how soft her skin seemed or how daylight played upon her hair, intensifying subtle copper hues. What man wouldn’t find her attractive? She had long, lean curves, the kind of body that made a pair of blue jeans seem sleek yet sinful.
Was he supposed to sleep with her? Make love to her on their wedding night?
Nick jammed his hands in his pockets. Of course he was. Sex was part of the marriage tradition. A natural, normal, healthy physical release.
And one that made him nervous as hell. Elaina was his brother’s wife, the woman Grant had loved.
“Are you all right?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I just miss my brother.“
“Me, too.”
They stood in the middle of the yard, their gazes locked, the morning air scented with horses and hay. A loose strand of Elaina’s hair blew around her face, breaking free from the ladylike confinement.
Her eyes were so blue, so emotional, that Nick wanted to kiss her.
He wanted to kiss his brother’s wife.
Because the thought confused him, he stepped back. She was beautiful, and Grant had asked him to take care of her, but somehow she still seemed forbidden. A woman who was his, yet wasn’t.
He resumed walking. “We better get the horses watered and fed.”
She stayed beside him. “Just tell me what to do.”
They reached the barn, and he led her to the feed room. While loading a wheelbarrow, he explained that he kept a stockpile of hay for colder months.
“It doesn’t seem like winter,” she commented. “I was hoping for a little snow. You know, just enough to play in.”
He had to smile. A California girl imagining a white Christmas. “It might happen. Will Rogers used to say that if you don’t like the weather in Oklahoma, wait a minute and it’ll change.”
She chuckled, and he glanced up from his task. A few more strands of her hair had come loose. He had the notion to brush it away from her cheek, but proceeded to section the hay instead. He supposed the pinned-up style was her teacher hairdo—proper and pretty.
They approached the box stalls, and Elaina made a beeline for Nick’s moodiest mount, a gray he called Kid. The gelding tossed his head and stepped back warily, even if his breakfast was within sniffing distance.
“What’s the matter?” she asked the horse in a soft voice. “Are you bashful?”
Kid was more than head-shy. The three-year-old had acquired every leave-me-alone habit Nick could think of. “That’s Kid. I haven’t had him for very long. He’s a bit of a project.”
“You’re going to work with him?“
“Yeah.” And this was Nick’s first attempt to make a gentleman out of an ill-mannered mount. “I’m a saddle maker, not a trainer, but I’ve got plenty of patience.”
Elaina stepped back to view the horse. “I like him.” “Really?” Surprised, Nick entered the stall and pushed against the gelding’s rump when Kid tried to crowd him. They went through the same routine every morning. Kid was determined to jam Nick against the wall, and Nick was determined to make the horse behave. “Besides the fact that his stall manners are deplorable, he bites, kicks and pulls away while he’s being led. Oh, and he charges in pasture, too.”
Kid pinned his ears, and Elaina managed an amused look. “You must like him, too. After all, you did buy him.”
“He was cheap.” And Kid’s previous owners had given up on the feisty gelding, the way Nick’s mom had given up on him and Grant. She’d walked away, leaving behind a shabby old house and two confused boys.
He exited Kid’s stall and received a good-riddance sneer on his way out.
Elaina stifled a laugh. “He’s trying so hard to be a tough guy.”
“Yeah, well, he’s a pain in the ass.” Nick reached into the wheelbarrow and filled Kid’s hay crib. “And if he doesn’t shape up, he’s going to end up as some spoiled little poodle’s dinner.” He sent the gelding a pointed look. “They make dog food out of rotten horses, you know.”
Kid sneered again, and Elaina gave in to the urge to laugh. Nick turned to watch her, to see the light dancing in those incredible blue eyes.
“His name certainly suits him,” she said. “Every kid I know makes that face at one time or another.”
“Even Lexie?”
Her laughter faded. “Especially Lexie.”
They stood in silence then, looking at each other. Her breath hitched, and he ignored complaints from a row of hungry horses. Nick didn’t know what it felt like to be a parent, but he knew how it felt to honor his dying brother’s last request, to promise to devote the rest of his life to Grant’s family.
“Lexie’s really sad, isn’t she?”
Elaina nodded. “Sad, angry, confused. Her father was murdered, her best friend moved and she’s battling puberty. That’s enough to send anyone over the edge.”
“I guess you’ve gone the doctor route,” he said, feeling useless.
In an absent gesture, she lifted a blade of hay. “Yes, but Lexie wasn’t very receptive to therapy. Antidepressants didn’t help, either.”
Nick frowned. “They gave her drugs? That sounds so severe.”
“Antidepressants work for some people, but Lexie experienced too many side effects.” She dropped the hay, watched it drift to the ground. “I guess it was too much to hope for. A pill that would make her happy.”
“Yeah. That doesn’t sound realistic.” And the idea that a twelve-year-old needed a happy pill made his heart ache.
Maybe it was time to talk to Lexie, to tell her that she had been in her father’s thoughts before he died.
“I’m going to help you with Lexie,” Nick said. “Whatever I can do.”
Her smile was soft, her voice a little broken. “Thank you.”
“Sure. No problem.” Feeling suddenly awkward, he reached for the wheelbarrow, sucked in a rough breath. “I guess we better get these animals fed.”
“I’ll fill the water buckets.”
She turned away, and he let out the breath he’d been holding.
So what about Elaina? When should he tell her about their pending marriage? Today? Tomorrow? Next week?
Take care of my family…the old way. Be the Comanche I should have been. Teach my daughter… protect my wife.
Your wife. Dear God, brother, you gave me your wife. The woman you held in your arms every night.
I can’t tell her today, Nick thought, catching sight of Elaina’s hair shimmering in the morning light. He could tackle only one obstacle at a time. And for now, he had a twelve-year-old girl to worry about.
Twenty minutes later, Nick and Elaina stood in the kitchen, discussing breakfast.
“We can have something here,” he said. “Unless you want to go out.”
“Here is fine.”
He opened the fridge. “I’ve got bacon and eggs.” Food he’d purchased with Elaina and Lexie in mind. Normally he started his day with a bowl of cereal and two cups of black coffee. “I’m not a great cook,” he admitted.
She turned to wash her hands. “I don’t mind fixing breakfast.”
“All right. Thanks.” He shifted his feet, feeling uncomfortable in his own kitchen. Nick wasn’t used to company, to having to consider someone else’s preference.
He pulled a hand through his shorn hair. This husband thing was going to take some adjustment.
“Are the pans in here?” she asked, pointing to the cabinet below the stove.
“Yeah.” He placed a carton of eggs and a pound of bacon on the counter, and found himself looking around, wondering if his house was too simple for Elaina. He’d designed the kitchen for practicality, but it wasn’t fancy. And neither was the rest of the place. The decor was sturdy, woodsy and Western. A far cry, he thought, from her city-slick condo with its creamy carpet and floor-to-ceiling windows.
Elaina set a pan on the stove. “Maybe I should wake Lexie first.”
“I can do that.” And it would give him an opportunity to talk to his niece in private. “I’d like to spend a few minutes alone with her.”
“That’s nice.” Elaina smiled. “She’d probably like that, too.”
“Okay. Good. Just call us when breakfast is ready.”
“No problem,” she responded, still smiling a little.
Elaina had a pretty smile, he thought as he turned and headed down the hall. A sexy mouth. Which, of course, wasn’t what a marriage was based on. Sometimes Nick wanted to forget the whole thing, convince himself that Grant had been in shock and didn’t know what he was saying.
But deep in his heart he knew that wasn’t true. Hadn’t they talked about it when they were kids? He could still hear their voices, two sixth-grade boys discussing their heritage, a year after their mother had left.
“All that old Comanche stuff is weird,” Grant had said.
“No, it’s not. I think it’s kinda cool that a man got to have more than one wife.”
“You would, Nicky. You’re a pervert.”
They both laughed. Nick had already kissed a girl. Not a wet kiss, but a lip lock just the same.
“I wish we could have lived back then,” he said, picturing his ancestors riding across the plains. “We would have been awesome warriors.”
Grant rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I can see it now. You’d die in battle, and I’d end up having to marry all your wives and raise all your goofy kids.”
Nick frowned. “I’d do that for you.“
“Really?“
“Yeah.“
“Okay, but my kids aren’t gonna be goofy,” Grant said, punching his twin’s shoulder. “My kids are gonna be cool.”
Nick punched him back, and they laughed again, brothers who loved each other more than anything.
The memory faded, and Nick swallowed the lump in his throat.
He knocked on Lexie’s door, waited a beat and heard a muffled, groggy-sounding “It’s okay, Mom. I’m awake.”
“I’m not your mom. It’s Uncle Nick. Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
She was sitting up in bed, the blanket bunched around her hips. Her sweats were a standard shade of gray, and her sleepy eyes were the shape of her mother’s and the color of her father’s. Lexie Bluestone was a youthful combination of Elaina and Grant. Her size was a bit puzzling, though, considering how tall her parents were.
Maybe Elaina had been a late bloomer. Nick didn’t know much about his future wife.
His possible future wife, he amended. She might not agree to marry him. Asking a white woman to adhere to an old Comanche practice was asking a lot.
“Morning, Lexie,” Nick said, his heart hammering in his chest.
“Hi.” She reached for a pillow and hugged it.
She looked like a lost soul, a little girl with big, sad eyes. I’m sorry, he thought. So sorry I took your father away.
Nick moved forward, then sat on the edge of the bed. “I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes.”
“About what?“
“Your dad.”
Lexie’s eyes got bigger, and he realized he’d caught her off guard. Smooth move, Bluestone. Just sock her in the gut with it. “There’s just something I wanted to tell you.”
She hugged the pillow a little tighter. “About my dad?”
Nick nodded. “About the night he died.“
“You were there,” she said, her hair falling across her face in a sleek black line. “You were with him.”
“Your dad talked to me before he died.” Although Nick wanted to brush the hair from her cheek, he kept his hands clasped in his lap. “Some of his last words were about you.”
Lexie didn’t respond. She just watched him with those luminous eyes.
“He asked me to look after you. And to teach you about being Comanche.”
She blinked, and he saw a shimmer of tears. “Is that what you’re going to do?” she asked.
“Yes, I am. Is that okay with you?”
When she nodded, her chin bumped the pillow. “I guess so. I mean, if that’s what my dad wanted.”
They both fell silent. The room was still dim, vertical blinds shutting out the morning light. Nick remembered holding Lexie at her christening, a tiny babe draped in white lace. Grant had been so proud.
“Uncle Nick?“
“Yes?” He met her watery gaze, wishing he knew how to comfort her.
“Did you like being a twin?
He pictured his brother’s face. “Sure. I liked it a lot. Your dad was my best friend. Sometimes we could read each other’s minds. Or we’d say the same thing at the same time.”
“You look so much like him. Even your voices sound alike. But your hair used to be longer than his, so I guess nobody ever mixed you up.”
“We both had long hair when we were kids.” He smiled a little, enjoying the memory. “So you see, people confused us all the time. Especially our teachers. Of course, we drove them crazy on purpose. Twins get to play all kinds of games in school.”
Lexie drew her knees up, a child keen with interest. “What about your mom? Could she tell you apart?”
“Yeah, she knew who was who.” And she’d left both of them behind. “Did your dad mention her?”
Lexie nodded. “He said that the man she was going to marry was a jerk, so you guys stayed with your grandma instead of going with your mom when she moved.”
Nick glanced up at the ceiling. That wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was a hell of a lot better than saying their mom had abandoned them. “Our grandma was a great lady.”
“Do you have any pictures of her?” she asked, scooting forward a little.
“Sure. I’ve got a box of old photos. There’s some of your dad and me when we were kids, too.”
Her eyes were still watery, but she smiled. “Can we look through them later?”
“You bet.” Nick knew Grant had left home without any childhood mementos, so Nick had saved pictures and report cards and scraps of paper with adolescent notes scribbled on them. Just in case, he’d always told himself. Just in case Grant stopped being ashamed of who they were and where they’d come from.
Lexie lowered her head. “I wish people didn’t have to die. I miss Daddy so much.”
“I know, baby. Me, too.”
She looked up, her voice quavering. “Do you ever think about the boys who killed him?”
A blast of pain exploded in Nick’s chest. When the bullet had struck Grant, he’d fallen, too. He’d dropped to his knees to cradle his twin. “Sometimes.”
“Do you still remember what they look like?”
“Yes.” He would never forget their faces, teenagers who were monsters deep inside. “I gave the police a description.” And he’d spent hours paging through mug shots, studying gangbangers, murders, drug addicts and thieves. “They’ll get caught someday.”
She adjusted the blanket. “I hope so. It isn’t fair that they got away.”
He frowned, the impact of her words constricting his heart. “I know.” If only he could go back in time, if only there was a way to change what he’d done that night. He reached for Lexie’s hand, skimming her fingers with his.
But there was nothing Nick could do but fulfill the promise he’d made to Grant. His brother was gone, and Lexie needed a father.
Three
At nine that evening the wind blew furiously, but inside Nick’s house the air was calm and warm. An orangeand-gold flame danced in the fireplace, scenting the living room with a woodsy aroma.
Lexie was perched on the edge of the sofa in youthful anticipation, waiting for Nick. Elaina sat next to her, watching Lexie through the corner of her eye. She hadn’t realized how important Grant’s deceased relatives would be to her daughter.
Grant hadn’t liked talking about his childhood, and Elaina had never pressed the issue. She preferred not to dwell on her childhood, either. And most of her relatives were still alive.
“Here it is.” Nick entered the room carrying a card board box. He placed it on the coffee table, and Lexie got up and knelt on the floor. Elaina leaned in, too. She couldn’t help being curious about her husband’s past, about all the things he didn’t like to talk about. But then his family had been struggling-to-survive poor, and Grant had valued the finer things in life.
“I meant to put all of this stuff in photo albums,” Nick said, removing three vinyl-covered albums. “But I never got around to it.” Shoving them aside, he grabbed a stack of loose photos. “Everything’s kind of mixed up. We’ll just have to sort through it.”
“I don’t mind.” Lexie lifted the picture on top. “Oh. Wow. It’s you and Daddy, isn’t it?”
He rested his chin on the child’s narrow shoulder. “Yep. That’s us. Holey jeans and all.”
“Who’s who?”
He chuckled. “Hell if I know.“
“Come on, Uncle Nick.” Lexie brought the picture closer. “You have to know.“
“Maybe, but I’m not telling.”
Lexie rolled her eyes. “Then we’ll figure it out. Won’t we, Mom?” She handed the photo to Elaina. The teasing banter between uncle and niece surprised her, and so did the snapshot.
Two adolescent boys mugged for the camera, straight black hair falling to their shoulders. Their plaid shirts were frayed, their jeans torn in the same spot, as if they’d skinned the same knee. Elaina examined each face, each identical feature, and when she compared their smiles, she knew. The difference was subtle, barely there, but she still knew. Nick was on the left, his grin just a little more crooked.
“I can’t tell,” she said, unable to admit the truth. She didn’t want Nick to know she had studied him so closely. Besides, it should have been Grant’s boyish smile that struck familiarity, not Nick’s.
Lexie peered at the photograph again, and Nick flashed the giveaway grin. “Your dad’s the cute one,” he told his niece.
They were both heartbreakers, Elaina thought. Lean, lanky boys standing in front of a tree they had probably climbed a thousand times.
“Look at this, Mom.”
The next snapshot made Elaina’s heart thump. It was
Grant posing during his early college days. She could see the California campus behind him. The university where they’d met just a few years later.
Nick glanced up, and the moment turned strangely quiet. Firelight played upon his features, making his cheekbones more prominent, his skin a liquid shade of bronze. She actually wanted to touch him, to see if his face would feel as compelling as Grant’s.
“My brother thought you were the most beautiful woman on earth.”
She blinked, trying to keep herself from crying in front of her daughter. “He told you that?”
“Yeah. He called me after your first date. ’I just kissed the most gorgeous girl in the world,’ he said. ’And someday I’m going to marry her.’”
“And what did you say?” This came from Lexie, her youthful voice surprisingly romantic.
Nick continued to stare at Elaina. “That she must be something special.”
Her husband. Her brother-in-law. Their faces were blurring, and it scared her. She needed to remember Grant’s features, his smile, his slow, sexy drawl. And she couldn’t bear to have Nick watching her with those stirring dark eyes, reminiscing about things that made her ache.
Elaina wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. She placed the picture back on the table and picked up a different one.
Immediately the image of a young Indian woman caught her attention. Her trendy clothes and retro hair-style depicted the mod era of the sixties. She sat on a worn-out sofa, a colorful miniskirt revealing shapely legs and chunky-heeled boots. Her eyes were heavily lined and her lipstick a bit too frosted, but she was still stunning.
“Who’s this?” Elaina asked, passing the photograph to Nick.
He gazed at it for a moment. “My mom.”
Lexie leaned over, bumping Elaina’s shoulder. “Wow. She looks like a model or something. How did she make her hair have that little bubble on top?”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of hair spray, I guess.”
“She’s pretty. Isn’t she, Mom?“
“Yes, she is.” The young woman in the picture was fashionably slim, with a rebellious tilt to her frosted lips. Between the tastefully teased hair, the vinyl go-go boots and the fishnet stockings, Lexie couldn’t take her eyes from the photograph.
And neither could Elaina. “She must have gotten a lot of attention.” Especially, she thought, in a quiet Oklahoma town.
“Yeah,” Nick said. “She always fixed herself up.”
His voice sounded a little too casual, a little too un affected, like the tone of someone feigning nonchalance.
“Now let me see if I can find a picture of Grandma.” He scoured the pile, and even though he didn’t bury the image of his miniskirted mother, he managed to steer the conversation away from it. “Here she is. Her name was Delores, but most people called her Dee.”
Contrary to her striking daughter, whose name Nick had yet to mention, Dee Bluestone exhibited homespun qualities. Her black hair was streaked with gray, her dress an old-fashioned housecoat. And although she smiled for the camera, she seemed tired, aging and overworked.
Now Elaina wanted to know everything Grant hadn’t told her. Every detail that had shaped his life, but she wasn’t comfortable asking Nick about it.
Nick continued to dig through the pile, handing Lexie his favorite pictures as they surfaced.
“Uncle Nick?“
“Hmm?“
“Can I work on the photo albums?“
“Sure. If you don’t mind going through this mess.” He retrieved a manila envelope. “There’s lots of junk here.” He opened the clasp, removed some crumpled papers. “I even saved report cards. Of course, your dad always got better grades than me.”
Lexie took the envelope. “Did you go to Indian schools?”
“No. They were public.”
The girl turned to Elaina. “Daddy asked Uncle Nick to teach me about being Comanche.“
“He did?” Stunned, she glanced at Nick. Grant had never mentioned educating Lexie about her heritage. He was Comanche, and Elaina was French and English, with a splash of Gypsy blood. The world was a melting pot of race, religion and color, he used to say. So why make an issue out of your child’s ethnicity?
“When did he ask you to do that?” she asked.
“On the night he died,” Nick answered, meeting her gaze with a haunted yet tender look.
The following morning Elaina and Lexie gathered in Nick’s workshop for a leather-craft lesson. Nick taught classes at the youth center, something that surprised Elaina. She hadn’t known he had experience as a teacher.
Elaina glanced around, assessing the man and his workspace. His bench was a little messy, but his tools lined a backboard, each one easily accessible. Knives were protected in sheaths, and awls and punches rested in leather loops.
The air smelled of beeswax and mink oil. A cutting table and two sewing machines dominated a large portion of the room, shelves and benches occupying the rest. Leather ranged from vegetable-tanned hides to soft, furry skins. Trays of beads, hair-bone pipe and feathers reflected Nick’s roots—a Comanche skilled in the art of cowboy crafts.
Elaina and Lexie sat at separate benches. While Lexie worked, Elaina marveled at her daughter’s Christmas project. She was decorating holiday stockings Nick had designed. The pieces weren’t sewn, but the patterns were cut, awaiting Lexie’s imagination.
Elaina’s and Nick’s stockings were made from tooling leather, each in the shape of a cowboy boot, one smaller and slightly feminine, and the other bolder, with strong, masculine lines. Lexie’s stocking was constructed similar to a knee-high moccasin, fringed at the edges and tall enough for an abundance of elf-inspired goodies.
The girl lifted the front piece of the larger cowboy boot. “Should I stamp your name on it, Uncle Nick?”
Gathering supplies for Elaina’s project, he looked up. “Sure.”
“Uncle? Nick? Or both?“
“How about ahpi? It means uncle in Comanche.”
“Ahpi.” Lexie tested the word the way he had pronounced it. “That’s cool. How do you spell it?“
“A. P.” He smiled at her. “That’s easy. Not too many letters.“
“Yes.” She was still holding the boot, watching him with awe. “Can I call you that?“
“Of course you can.” He stood near his workstation, his expression mirroring hers.
Elaina sat quietly. This was only their third day in Oklahoma, yet Lexie’s relationship with Nick was blossoming already.
“Ap means father, too,” he said.
“Really?” Intrigued, Lexie scooted to the end of her chair. “So a Comanche kid called their dad and their uncles ap?”
Nick nodded. “Let me see if I can explain why.” He glanced at Elaina, then back at his niece. “It had to do with a marriage exchange. In the old days, brothers were potential mates to each other’s wives.”
“I don’t understand.” Lexie turned to Elaina. “Do you, Mom?”
“I’m not sure.” She had an idea what potential mate meant, but she didn’t want to say it out loud, not with her husband’s twin just a few feet away.
Nick settled onto a chair, and Elaina’s skin warmed. His legs were spread, his hands resting on his thighs. Typical male posture, she thought nervously, as a silver buckle glinted at his waist. He was going to detail the marriage exchange, something Elaina wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.
“In the old days, brothers lent each other their wives,” Nick said. “The gesture was considered a gift from one to the other. But there wasn’t supposed to be any jealousy between them. And the wife couldn’t go to the other man on her own. Her loyalty remained with her husband.”
Lexie made a face. “That’s weird. I’d be mad at my husband if he did that. Especially if he had like ten brothers or something.”
Nick chuckled, and Elaina sat like a pillar of salt, her heart banging against her breast. If she had been Grant’s wife in an earlier century, would he have lent her to his twin? Would she have become Nick’s gift? His occasional lover?
“I doubt they were that free with this exchange,” he said to Lexie, addressing her comment. “And sure, it sounds strange, but it wasn’t meant to dishonor the woman. One of the brothers might become her husband someday.”
“How?” the young girl asked.
“If her husband died, a brother would take his place. He would protect her and the children.”
Children who might have been his, Elaina noted. The wife could have borne the brother’s babies as easily as those of her husband.
Nick left his chair and brought a box of supplies to Elaina, placing it on her bench. He was standing too close, she thought. She could smell his cologne—a deep, rich spice. Now the image wouldn’t go away, the forbidden curiosity about making love with her husband’s brother, of being given to him as a gift.
Nick bumped her arm as he leaned over, and she kept her eyes on her lap, on the wedding ring that shone on her finger. Shame coiled its way into her belly. How could she even think such immoral thoughts?
“In a sense, the Comanche used to form a marriage group,” he said, still talking to Lexie about their ancestors. “Sisters were often married to the same man. It wasn’t uncommon for a warrior to have more than one wife. So a child’s mother and her sisters were all called pia. There’s no separate word for aunt in the Comanche dialect. At least, not within a marriage group.”
“Just like there’s no separate word for uncle.” Lexie searched through the alphabet stamps, setting aside an A and a P. She dampened the leather with a sponge, then picked up her mallet. “And that’s why Daddy asked you to teach me about my heritage. Because you’re my other ap.”
Ap, Elaina thought. Her daughter was accepting Nick as a second father, but Lexie craved a paternal bond. She still cried for her daddy, still fell asleep with tears in her eyes.
Emotion swirled around the room, the only sound the gentle tap of Lexie’s hammer. Elaina glanced at Nick and saw that he watched her.
“We should get some work done, too,” he said. Unable to draw herself from his gaze, she studied him. Brothers lent each other their wives; they became fathers to each other’s children. But that was in another century, she told herself as he brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.
His eyes had gone from brown to black, the pupils catching a glimmer of light. Elaina took an unsteady breath. He looked dark and erotic, a man who would kiss a woman in soft, secret places.
Why are you doing this to me? she wanted to ask. Why are you slipping into my subconscious? You’re my brother-in-law, and I shouldn’t be attracted to you.
“Elaina?“
“Yes?“
“Are you up for this?”
No, she thought, staring at the scatter of leather stars on her bench.
“Yes, of course,” she responded. Her involvement in this project was important to Lexie. It was Christmastime, and the stars were for the tree Nick had promised Lexie they would buy tomorrow. “Just tell me what to do.”
As he moved closer, his shoulder brushed hers. “There are a lot of different ways to decorate them.”
He reached into the box and withdrew samples of completed ornaments. Some were stamped with traditional Western patterns, and others displayed vibrant Native American designs, the points trimmed in suede lace. No two were alike. Instead, each creation reflected the level and skill of the artist. She didn’t have to ask if his students had made them.
Reaching for one that caught her eye, she held it up to the light. An intricate beaded design covered the entire star, shimmering as if it had just fallen from the sky.
“This is beautiful,” she said, looking from the ornament to Nick.
He looked back at her, and an unwelcome, unnamed heat filled her veins. He was beautiful, too. But unlike the glittering star, her brother-in-law was dark and dangerously forbidden.
Later that night, Nick couldn’t sleep. He got out of bed, slipped on a pair of jeans and boots, then shoved his arms into a jacket. Nothing calmed a restless night like the outdoors. Humidity, rain, snow, brisk winds. Nick didn’t care. No matter what mood Mother Earth was in, she managed to soothe him.
He made it as far as the living room before he saw Elaina. She sat on a sturdy recliner, her feet tucked beneath her. The television flickered with black-andwhite images, the volume barely audible.
Her hair cascaded in loose waves, and she wore silky white pajamas. In profile, her features were classically feminine, with a sweep of dark lashes and a slim nose. Her lips were neither strained nor relaxed. She stared at the TV in an almost trancelike state.
“Elaina?” He said her name, knowing he couldn’t slip out the front door unnoticed.
She turned, and then blinked when she saw him. “Nick.”
They gazed at each other for a moment, and he realized how often they got caught in one of those quiet, awkward stares.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No.” He shifted his stance. She looked ghostlike in the flickering light, her pajamas shimmering against creamy skin.
“The horses aren’t sick?“
“No.” He glanced at the scuffed, turned-up tips of his boots. He was dressed to go out, yet he hadn’t told her why. But running into Elaina at this hour stunned his senses, dulling his brain. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he could see the faint outline of her nipples. He hadn’t meant to look, but his eyes had strayed in that direction. And now he was examining his feet like a tongue-tied teenager.
“I’m having trouble falling asleep,” he said finally, lifting his gaze. “So I’m going to sit on the porch awhile.”
“Can I join you?” She pushed a wave of hair off her shoulder. “I can’t sleep, either.”
He wanted to say no, that he preferred to be alone. She was an elegant, silk-clad distraction. He was sexually attracted to his brother’s wife, and that made him uncomfortable, even though he had vowed to marry her.
“It’s been cold at night,” he warned. “And windy.”
“I don’t mind. I brought a winter coat.“
“All right.” Why argue the point? She must need a gust of fresh air, too.
He leaned against the wall while she darted into her room. When she returned, her silky pajamas were covered with a big, bulky sheepskin coat. Nick couldn’t hide an amused smile.
“You expecting a blizzard?“
“You said it was cold.“
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
Once outside, they sat in weathered pine chairs, the sky a vast shade of midnight. A maze of trees landscaped the yard. Some were shedding leaves and others were bare, tall and gray in the moonlight. The porch light cast a shallow glow, and Nick turned to look at Elaina.
Her collar was turned up, and her hands were tucked snugly in her pockets. The wind blew with a furious howl, tousling her copper-tinted hair.
Nick inhaled the chilly December air, and to keep himself from staring at Elaina, he focused on the sky. “There’s a few stars out.”
“Yes, just a scatter.” She angled her chair toward his with the scrape of wood against wood. “Do you do this often?”
He shrugged. “Often enough, I suppose. Sometimes my mind just won’t shut down, and that makes sleeping impossible.”
“I know the feeling.”
Her face was a blend of shadow and light, her voice quiet. She removed her hands from her pockets, and he glanced down and saw the diamond on her finger. Was he supposed to buy her a new ring or suggest she continue to wear the one Grant had given her? There were no rules to follow. Nothing he could count on to make this situation easier.
But Nick realized he had to do it tonight. He had to ask Elaina to marry him. Two years had passed, more than enough time for him to fulfill his vow.
They gazed at each other in the silence, and the moment turned soft and quiet. Moonlight shone in her eyes, tiny flecks of gold in all that impossible blue. He imagined touching her cheek, her hair, the delicate column of her neck.
Nick frowned. If he lost himself in lust, in the heat she made him feel, this proposal would be even more difficult.
“Elaina, there’s something important I need to discuss with you.”
She watched him, waiting for him to continue.
He did, after another second of nervous silence. “You know that my brother asked me to take care of Lexie, to teach her about being Comanche. But before he died, he talked to me about you, too.”
The light in her eyes flickered, and Nick saw a flash of pain, a woman missing the man she had loved. “What did he say?”
“Grant wanted me to protect you.” Pausing to breathe, he let the words settle. “The way a Comanche brother would have done in another century.”
Her voice quavered. “I don’t understand.”
Yes, you do, he thought. Deep down you do. You know what a Comanche marriage exchange means.
Nick glanced at the sky, at the scatter of stars. “When Grant was dying in my arms, I vowed to take his place, to become your husband and Lexie’s father.” Shifting his gaze, he looked directly into her eyes, felt his own sting with the memory. “I’m proposing, Elaina. In the name of my brother, I’m asking you to marry me.”
Four
Elaina couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get air into her lungs, couldn’t still her runaway heart. “I…” She twisted her wedding ring, felt her fingers tremble. “Are you sure that’s what Grant meant? I can’t believe he would…” Expect me to marry his brother, she thought, live with a man I barely know.
“He was dying, but he knew what he was saying.” Nick leaned forward. “I vowed to follow the old way, and that means you’re my potential mate. You were my brother’s wife, and now he’s gone. It’s my responsibility to take his place.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” she said, fighting the confusion. “I thought Grant loved me.”
“He did. And that’s exactly why he couldn’t bear for you to be alone. He needed to know that there would be someone in your life after he was gone. Someone he trusted.”
Battling the heaviness in her chest, Elaina couldn’t grasp a response. She couldn’t think clearly.
As she twisted her ring again, Nick continued. “Our union won’t be based on love. I don’t expect you to love me. That’s not what this is about.”
“It’s based on an ancient tradition that doesn’t fit into a modern world,” she countered, struggling with the idea that her husband had given her to his twin. “Marriage is sacred.”
“And so is this vow. I promise to treat you with kindness and respect. And that’s all I expect in return. That’s all Grant was asking of us.”
She moistened her lips, wishing she had a glass of water. Suddenly her mouth had gone dry.
“I can’t force you to marry me, but I implore you to consider it,” he said.
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