Comanche Magic Page 3

  "He who preys upon the helpless and offers coin to salve his conscience will one day see the underside of a man's boots and find no solace in a dollar."

  As with many of his father's sayings, that one had left Chase pondering its meaning for nigh onto a year afterward. He didn't see how it had anything at all to do with his diddling a fat whore. Helpless? By his cal­culations, Clare had more money in her coffer than a collection basket on Sunday.

  Then one unforgettable night when he accompanied his father to Jacksonville to attend a miners' meeting, Chase learned what his father meant. After that meet­ing, all the men had come back to Wolf's Landing and congregated at the saloon. Several of them, married or not, had gone upstairs with a sad-eyed May Belle whose bright smile seemed pasted to her mouth. Chase was scandalized, for most of those who availed them­selves of her services were men who attended church regularly and wouldn't have nodded to the poor woman on the street. It was blatantly obvious to Chase that they didn't care a rap about May Belle's feelings, if indeed they believed she had any. Because she was growing older and less attractive, they didn't even pay her the going rate of ten dollars.

  When the aging whore worked her way down the counter to Chase and his father, Hunter Wolf placed four ten-dollar gold pieces in her hand, enough for eight visits, according to Chase's calculations. For a horrible moment, he thought that his father, whom he had always believed to be perfect, planned to betray his mother and go upstairs. But then Hunter Wolf had said something Chase would never forget.

  "My woman says her door is still open. You will find friends within our walls if your footsteps lead you there."

  Now, nine years later, Chase stared at the upper story windows of the Lucky Nugget and realized that the cir­cle was never-ending. May Belle's day as a marketable commodity was finished, and an angelic-looking young woman with startled green eyes had taken her place. "There but for the grace of God goes every woman in this town. You men haven't given us a lot of options."

  Chase leaned his head back against the porch post and closed his eyes, remembering the young whore who had fleeced him a few years back. The same old bitterness welled within him, but here in Wolf's Land­ing with the lessons of his childhood whispering to him at every turn, its effect on him was different. Instead of feeling justified, he felt guilty for thinking the way he did. Even so, he doubted he would ever change. Some of life's experiences left marks that ran so deep, one never escaped them.

  Franny with the green eyes had made her bed, and by God, she could sleep in it.

  Shadows . . . Franny felt them around her, shifting, whispering, touching. But they weren't real. Some­times, their whispers sounded like questions, and if the questions fit into the dialogue of her dreams, she replied. Otherwise, she didn't bother. Nobody paid her for talking, anyhow.

  She closed her eyes and lost herself in sunshine. She was in the buckboard on the way to church. The morn­ing breeze was sweet with the smell of wildflowers, and Ma was singing hymns. Franny pressed her little brother Jason's head to her breast and hugged him close, directing his unfocused gaze toward the field of daisies they were passing. His lax mouth spread in a silly grin. She borrowed Ma's handkerchief to wipe the drool from his bottom lip.

  "Say you love me. I wanna hear you say it."

  Franny's chest swelled with happiness at hearing Jason speak. "Oh, yes, I love you." She smoothed

  Jason's hair, wondering if he knew how very much she loved him, and how sorry she was for what had she had done to him. Ma's affliction was one thing. At least Franny could make her mother's burdens lighter and care for her. But Jason's life had been finished before it began; now he lived in a dim world from which he could never escape. And it was all her fault. "I love you . . . I truly do. I love you with all my heart."

  The shadow moved away, and Franny heard coins chink. She pressed her cheek against the chenille and smiled again. They were in church now, and the ushers were walking the aisles to pass the collection baskets for Pastor Elias. Franny leaned across her sister Alaina to press money into her ma's hand. Then she guided Ma's arm so she could drop their tithe into the basket. Though Franny earned whatever coin her family had, it seemed more fitting that her ma should be the one to make their donation, she being a widow and the head of their household.

  Another shadow moved over Franny. She heard a voice say, "We're gonna have a fine time, honey." She gave a dreamy smile and said, "Oh, yes, a fine time."

  She was in the parlor at home. It was Ellen's birth­day, and Franny had a grand surprise for her hidden behind the horsehair settee, a brand-new pair of spe­cial ordered high-heeled slippers from Montgomery Ward and Company, her very first ladylike shoes. Before opening presents, of course, they'd play games and have cake. Ma was nearly finished cranking the ice cream machine. That was something her ma could do without help once Franny got her started, and she seemed to enjoy it. Probably because she felt necessary.

  Too often, Ma sat on the sidelines wishing she could participate, her head tipped to hear better, her big gray eyes fixed straight ahead. Franny knew it wasn't easy on her, being trapped in darkness.

  But enough of sad thoughts. This was a time to cele­brate. Ellen's fourteenth birthday! Franny could scarcely believe her little sister had grown up so fast. Oh, what a fine day. The nine of them were going to have a grand time. Jason loved ice cream.

  "Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me how good it feels."

  Franny lifted her skirt and twirled around the parlor in her brother Frankie's embrace. She was teaching him to dance at the expense of her toes. At seventeen, he stood a head taller than she, and he had gigantic feet that went every direction but the way he wanted. He was quick to learn, though, and Franny was ever so proud of him. He looked so much like their pa.

  "Oh, that's perfect," she cried. "I feel like I'm float­ing on air."

  Frankie blushed and said that having her in his arms felt like heaven. Franny giggled. He said the silliest things sometimes.

  At last, the shadow moved away from Franny, and she heard the coins land on her dresser. Waiting to hear the door close, she kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut so she wouldn't glimpse the man's face in the brief spill of light that came into her room from the upstairs landing. To do otherwise would mean she'd have to face reality, and unless it was absolutely forced upon her, Franny avoiding doing that.

  The men who visited didn't seem to mind the unorthodox manner in which she provided her services. A female who could be rented, that was all any of them truly wanted, and in a place as small as Wolfs Landing, she had no competition to worry about and was allowed her idiosyncrasies. She was available from nightfall until one in the morning, no exceptions. Always in the dark, a time limit of thirty minutes, abso­lutely no extras. Most of her customers were regulars who accepted those stipulations without question, took a third of the time allotted, and could be trusted to leave her fee lying on the dresser. Sometimes, if a man was a little short, he'd leave extra after his next visit to cover the difference. On the rare occasion when strangers came into town and wanted female companionship, Gus, the saloon owner, explained the rules and collected her money for her downstairs. The arrangement saved Franny from having to deal with any business transactions.

  To distance herself still more, Franny conjured a picture of Shallows Creek, and with the ease of long practice, she slipped quickly into it. Sunshine. Indigo and her children. As the image came into sharper focus, she smiled slightly, watching herself in her mind's eye as she slogged through the water, laughing with little Hunter as they raced to catch the same water dog.

  Then her dream picture took on a chill. Someone was watching her. Franny glanced up at the tree-shaded bank. A dark-haired man sat with one muscular shoul­der pressed against an oak, his strong arms resting on a bent knee. The breeze ruffled his hair and draped it in unruly waves across his high forehead. His searing blue eyes held her transfixed. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

  The way he looked at her made he
r feel naked. And pretty. She guessed who he was, Indigo's brother, Chase. But from the admiration she saw glowing in his eyes, she knew she had him at a disadvantage. Without her face paint and wildly curled hair, he didn't recog­nize her.

  For a crazy instant, Franny wished he never would. He was incredibly handsome, dark and burnished, with an aura of leashed power emanating from his relaxed body. His mischievous grin flashed straight, white teeth and lent his blue eyes an irresistible twinkle. She had known lots of men, but none had made her feel like this, as if she had been waiting all her life to set eyes on him.

  No sooner than the feeling registered, Franny shoved it away. As handsome as he was, Chase Wolf wasn't for her. She didn't know why she even entertained such foolishness. The last thing she needed or wanted in her life was a man.

  With a weary sigh, she pulled herself from the pic­ture inside her head and forced her eyes open to search the shadows. She was alone, and by her inner clock, she guessed her shift was over. From downstairs came the sound of laughter and piano music. Tightening the sash of her wrapper, she slipped from the bed. After opening the door to flip the sign over to read Occupied, she closed it and ran the dead bolt home. Then she moved across the room to the washbasin. As was her habit, she washed away all trace of her professional encounters before lighting her lamp. It made it all seem less real that way.

  When the room was once again illuminated by the lantern, she pushed aside the privacy screen that con­cealed her hobby table. A smile touched her mouth as she lowered herself onto her sewing chair and lifted the dress she was making for Alaina, who was about to turn sixteen. Pink, her favorite color. Franny plucked a pin from the cushion and resumed the task of fastening the ruffle to the hem.

  Within seconds, the sounds coming from downstairs faded into the background, and she became aware of only those familiar things around her that constituted her reality. Her gaze shifted to the arrangement of pressed flowers under glass at her elbow—a gift she was making for Indigo. On the table by her rocker was her open Bible, the passage where she had stopped reading marked with a ribbon. Lying by her new sewing machine was the clown-face pillow she was embroidering for Jason.

  Franny searched with her foot for the sewing machine treadle. Her day's toil was done, and now she could work on her sister's new school dress without further interruption. This was what was real, she assured herself. And all that truly mattered. Her vague recollections of what had passed earlier were con­signed to that dark, secret corner of her mind where only nightmares lurked.

  3

  Sunlight slanted under the eave of the over­hang and dappled the planks of the boardwalk. Drawing the ruching of her sunbonnet forward, Franny kept her head bent as she hurried past the stores. On the morning breeze, the delicious smells of maple, cinnamon, and yeast drifted from the bakery. From the barbershop came the mingled scents of bay rum, razor strop paste, bergamot, and men's bath salts.

  As she passed the dress shop, she glimpsed a new display in the show window and slowed her footsteps to admire a lady's spring cape made of perforated black kersey and trimmed with black silk embroidery. It was just the sort of thing Franny had been thinking about making for her mother, fine enough for attend­ing church, but not so dressy it would be out of place around town. The high-standing collar was edged with delicate black lace, and a matching Venice hat was pinned to one shoulder.

  As much as she yearned to linger and study the wrap's pattern, she didn't dare. Perhaps when she vis­ited home next weekend, the dress shop in Grants Pass would have spring capes of a similar design in stock.

  As she hurried on her way, she heard voices coming through the open doorway of the general store. Sam and Elmira Jones had one-hundred pound sacks of spuds on special, and despite the early hour some of the local ladies were already out and about to do their daily shopping, probably in hopes of getting best pick of the potato shipment. Franny couldn't help but envy those women their casual friendships with one anoth­er. How nice it would be not to fear recognition, to be able to hold one's head high and greet passersby with a smile.

  Don't think about it. Casting glances right and left to make sure the way was clear, she stepped off the board­walk and into the street. As she ran across the packed dirt thoroughfare, she heard a low whistle and a man's voice. She didn't falter or look up. The man recognized her only because Franny, the whore, was known to dart furtively about town wearing a sunbonnet that con­cealed her face. If she were to doff the hat and turn to confront him, she would bear little similarity to the wildly coiffed and gaudily painted Franny from the Lucky Nugget, the woman he believed her to be.

  That Franny didn't exist, not really.

  As she neared Indigo's house, Franny slowed her footsteps. There were no other residences at the south end of town, only the schoolhouse, and it was empty now because of summer. There was little chance of bump­ing into someone unexpectedly here.

  Today she and Indigo planned to make saltwater taffy. An insane idea in this heat, Franny knew, but she still couldn't wait to get started. Hunter would have a grand time when it came time to butter their hands and begin the pulling. With a grin, Franny remembered the last time she'd pulled taffy. Her younger brother Frankie had lost his grip on the candy and landed flat on his backside.

  Taking a deep breath, she tugged off her bonnet and lifted her face to the sunshine. The odors from town didn't reach this far, and the air smelled of pine and oak, a wonderfully earthy scent that beckoned to her as nothing else could. Until dusk when she would have to creep back to the Lucky Nugget and assume her other identity, this was her reality, Indigo and her children and the sunlit morning.

  It was enough for Franny because she knew it had to be. She would be forever grateful for Indigo's friend­ship. Without that distraction, Franny felt sure she would go stark raving mad. Finances made it impossi­ble for her to visit home more than one weekend a month. The twenty-eight days that stretched like an eternity in between would be unbearable if she were never able to escape the tawdry trappings of the saloon. She had an incurable case of insomnia that allowed her to sleep only a few hours a night, and her sewing and crafts took up only so much of her waking hours.

  Voices drifted to Franny through the open windows of Indigo's small house. She recognized Jake Rand's velvety tenor and deduced that he was late leaving for work. Wishing to avoid him, Franny crept around the corner of the house to wait until he left for the mine.

  Shade from a tall pine fell across her, and she pressed her back to the shake siding of the house. Withered lilac carpeted the ground, the parched and faded petals rustling under her shoes. Closing her eyes, she inhaled their faint perfume and listened to the Rand family laughing together. Amelia Rose squealed with delight, and Franny pictured her father tossing her into the air before kissing her good-bye. Hunter's husky giggles drifted to her.

  Once, so very long ago, Franny had had a loving father like Jake Rand. She could still remember how wonderful it had felt when he hugged her. Francie, he had called her, his little Francie girl. Though Frank Graham had been dead for nearly ten years, her memo­ries of him were so precious that she would carry them with her always.

  "Eavesdropping?"

  The question, uttered in a deep, teasing voice, made Franny jump. She turned to see Indigo's brother, Chase Wolf, walking toward her, gilded with morning sunlight one moment, bathed in shadows from the tree above him the next. He held a blue ceramic mug in one hand, a sturdy finger crooked through the handle, his calloused knuckles pressed against its base. She saw steam waft upward and guessed the mug held freshly brewed coffee.

  For a man with cracked ribs, he moved with unnerv­ing agility, long legs measuring off the distance between them, his broad shoulders shifting with the loose-hipped swing of his stride. Mahogany hair lay across his bronzed forehead in rebellious waves. His eyes were a startling dark blue in contrast to his Indian darkness, but even so it was all too easy to imagine him on the Texas plains, raiding and pillaging, perhaps eve
n kidnapping white women.

  Today he wore blue jeans and a collarless white shirt, the latter homemade and simply patterned, the cuffless sleeves turned back over his broad forearms, the front placket unbuttoned and hanging open to reveal the burnished planes of his chest and the strips of stark white muslin that bandaged his ribs. The shirt, soft from many washings, skimmed the muscular lines of his torso like a caress, the tails blousy at his lean waist and tucked loosely into his trousers. Franny dropped her gaze to his boots, heavy and thick-soled lumberman pacs with spiked soles, the type most log­gers wore. Yet he stepped with an eerie soundlessness, the inbred grace and wildness of his Comanche ances­tors evident in every movement.

  Because he had already seen her face yesterday, there was little point in putting her bonnet back on. He studied her as though he meant to sketch her, and an awful sense of foreboding washed over her. She avert­ed her gaze, afraid of him without knowing for certain why.

  Ridiculous. He was nothing to her, just Indigo's brother, home to recuperate from an injury. He wouldn't stay in Wolf's Landing long enough to be a threat to her. And by chance that he did, why would he wish her harm?

  Franny forced herself to look up at him again and

  then wished she hadn't. He didn't speak, but there wasn't a need. His eyes held hers in a relentless grip. She had the unsettling feeling that he could read far more from her gaze than she wished. Down at the creek yesterday, she hadn't sensed that about him, but now she realized he might be as intuitive about the feelings of others as his sister. Indigo's uncanny ability to strip away a person's layers didn't bother Franny because they were such good friends, and she trusted her.

  Chase Wolf was a horse of a different color.