Comanche Temptation

By Sara Orwig

Fate unites a cowboy and a half-Indian woman in frontier Texas, in this “poignant, well-told tale of forbidden love” from a USA Today–bestselling author (Rendezous).
 
Honor Roth has spent her life dreaming of only one man, a handsome cowboy named Luke McCloud. It seems unlikely someone like him could ever belong to Honor, who has grown up taunted by other children and labeled a half-breed. But one day, as her father lies on his deathbed, he makes a final plea to save their family ranch: Honor and Luke must wed—in name only—to hold the property deed until her brother, Jed Roth, comes of age and can take over.
 
Now Honor, to her dismay, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage. Luke, meanwhile, is on the run for a crime he did not commit. But he intends to repay the debt to his wife’s father and then be gone.
 
But first he must survive the poachers and bounty hunters that are hot on his trail—and wrestle with the blazing yearning for Honor that is growing hotter in his heart . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Apr 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781626817708

Sara Orwig

Sara Orwig lives in Oklahoma and has a deep love of Texas. With a master’s degree in English, Sara taught high school English, was Writer-in-Residence at the University of Central Oklahoma and was one of the first inductees into the Oklahoma Professional Writers Hall of Fame. Sara has written mainstream fiction, historical and contemporary romance. Books are beloved treasures that take Sara to magical worlds. She loves both reading and writing them.

Book preview

One

March, 1867

Injun, Injun, little Redskin with a squaw mama! taunted a tall boy as he shoved a smaller boy on the wide dusty main street of the frontier town of Montello, Texas. A ring of boys drew closer around the younger one they had been pushing and shoving. He bounded to his feet, his straight black hair hanging over his eyes. He swung his fists and plowed into four older boys, who fended him off easily, laughing and pushing him down again, but not before he threw several swift, furious blows that made two of the boys yelp.

Tightening the cinch around his bay, Luke McCloud glanced across the street and felt a rising admiration for the little one. He wanted to go over and stop the fight, but wisdom held him back. He clenched his jaw, watching as the tallest boy kicked the little one while he was down. The object of the taunting grabbed the tall boy’s foot and twisted, causing a yelp.

Go get him, Luke cheered under his breath, feeling his pulse thud with anger. Two more boys pounced on the small one, pummeling him with their fists. Luke drew a deep breath and glared at them.

Stay out of it, he said to himself. The only way he had survived was by avoiding drawing attention to himself, yet the boys were bullies, and it irked him to watch the fight. Even though the scrappy little fellow was doing his best to defend himself, he was taking a beating. People walked past, men watching with amusement, women shaking their heads, but no one was doing anything to stop the fight.

Clenching his fist, Luke started toward them. Damn fool, he swore at himself, knowing he was going against good judgment by stepping into the fray. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A girl, dressed in denim pants and a chambray shirt and as tall as some of the bigger boys, raced toward them.

Get away from him, Thad Wilgert! she yelled. Black pigtails flew as she jumped on the biggest boy, clawing him and biting him. They both went down.

Leave him alone! Bullies! she screeched, while she and the tall boy rolled in the dirt until she broke free and jumped up.

As the boy came to his feet, her fist connected solidly with his nose. Blood spurted over his face and he yelped, swinging his fist and hitting her squarely on her jaw and knocking her flat.

She was on her feet in an instant, rolling up and throwing herself against one boy, knocking him into another, taking two down at once. Two jumped her and pinned her down, and Luke began to run. The tall boy shoved the two out of the way and leaned down over the girl, his fist doubled as he hauled back to hit her.

Luke grabbed the boy’s arm and spun him around. Blue eyes widened as the boy’s face drained of color and he dropped his hands to his sides. While the other boys scattered like quail in flight, Luke held the tall one firmly by the shoulders.

You want to know what it’s like to be hit and kicked by someone larger and older than you? Luke asked quietly, and he could see the tremor run through the boy, who licked his lips and wiped his bloody nose.

No, sir! She hit me!

Luke bent his knees so he could look the boy in the eye directly. The boy’s gaze slid away. Look at me, Luke ordered.

Yes, sir.

Don’t hit little boys who are half your size. Do you know what that makes you?

The boy shook his head.

A bully. And don’t hit little girls. Even ones who give you a bloody nose.

Yes, sir. Suddenly he lurched free of Luke’s grasp and jumped into the air. Yeow! Let me go!

The girl was on her knees, biting the tall boy’s leg and hanging on with bulldog tenaciousness.

Get her off! Help!

Luke grabbed her around the waist. Let him go, he said, trying to hold back his laughter as she grunted a protest. The little boy ran to stomp on the tall boy’s foot and jab him in the stomach with his fist.

Help! Yeow! The tall boy hopped on one foot and bent over.

Here, stop that! Luke ordered, and the girl released him, her arms flailing at Luke.

Let me go! Let me at him!

He pushed her back and caught up the little boy. The big one turned and ran, long legs flying as if demons were after him.

Scairdy cat, Thad Wilgert! taunted the little boy. Scairdy cat, Thad! Puddin’ liver, bones a-quiver!

Calm down, you two, Luke said, realizing people were watching. He led the children toward a watering trough and untied the red silk bandanna around his neck. Here, let’s get the blood wiped off.

The girl’s lip was split and her eye puffed, her cheek darkened with a bruise. Are you all right? she asked the little boy.

I’m fine, he lied, his jaw thrust out, one eye swollen shut, his mouth bleeding.

Pumping fresh water, Luke wrung out his bandanna and turned the girl to face him. He looked into the large, dark brown thickly lashed eyes of a girl he guessed to be about eleven years old. She had a fine bone structure with wide, prominent cheekbones that revealed her Indian heritage as much as her raven black hair. I hate Thad Wilgert!

You bloodied his nose, so his feelings toward you are probably the same, Luke remarked dryly. Do you have many fights like this? She flinched as Luke tried gently to wipe away the blood. Sorry, I’m trying not to hurt you, he said.

It’s all right, she answered, her voice still brimming with anger.

He glanced into her dark eyes again to see her studying him with an intent, unwavering stare. You’re very brave, he said.

Thad’s mean as a knotted snake. She looked beyond him. Oh, oh. Jeddy, here comes Pa.

Luke glanced around at a ruddy-faced, broad-shouldered scowling man whose blue eyes and blond hair surprised Luke.

What the devil have you two been doing? the man snapped, pushing open his black coat, tilting his broad-brimmed black hat back on his head and placing his hands on his hips. His gaze went from them to Luke. I saw you rescue my children. Thank you. Maybe I should say my ruffians. I’m Horace Roth.

Luke McCloud, Luke replied, shaking hands and thinking how easily the lie rolled off his tongue, yet there was always a twinge of guilt when he faced a man whose countenance was open and straightforward.

I’m indebted to you. And you two, Roth said sternly, looking at his daughter and son, we’ll discuss this at home. You know how I feel about fighting. This is my daughter, Honor Roth, and my son, Jeddy.

Glad to meet you, Honor and Jeddy, Luke said, offering his hand to Jeddy, who dutifully placed his small hand in Luke’s and shook hands. Luke looked at Honor, gazing into solemn dark eyes again.

You two get in the wagon, Horace Roth ordered.

Yes, sir, Honor answered. Jeddy’s lower lip thrust out, and he gazed up at his father solemnly.

Pa, they were talking about Mama, he said quietly, his eyes filling with tears. Luke felt a twist inside for the small child, and glanced at the father and hoped he wasn’t too harsh on them.

Horace Roth’s stern look melted away while pain filled his eyes. He leaned down to pick up Jeddy, and Luke’s concern about the man’s harshness vanished as he watched Horace Roth give his son a hug.

You did right, Jeddy. Sometimes you have to fight, Roth said hoarsely. Luke looked away, feeling as if he were intruding on a private family matter, realizing the mother was Indian and the children must have had battles before because of taunts. He glanced at Honor. She had a fierce scowl on her face, and her fists were clenched as she stared down the street as if looking for Thad Wilgert again.

Do you hurt badly? Roth asked his son gently.

No, sir.

All right. You two wait in the wagon, and I’ll be along in just a minute, he said, setting his son on his feet.

Here, Luke said, handing his cold, wet bandanna to the boy. Put this against your mouth; it might make it feel better.

Thank you, sir. His sister took his hand and the two crossed the wide street of Montello. Luke watched them as they walked away, thinking they looked much younger than they had during the scrappy fight.

A tall blond man approached, speaking to the children and frowning at Horace Roth as he walked up. You should keep your children with you, Horace, and they wouldn’t get into mischief so often.

Stanton, this is Luke McCloud. McCloud, this is Stanton Roth, my brother, Horace Roth said with a note of impatience as Stanton Roth’s gaze raked over Luke. They exchanged a brief handshake.

I’ll take care of my children, Stanton.

You didn’t do so well this morning. You should teach them to keep to themselves.

Stanton, one more suggestion like that and I’m going to teach you the results of a hard right, Roth said quietly. Stanton Roth paled and turned on his heel, hurrying away and disappearing inside the barbershop. Horace Roth faced Luke. My brother and I don’t agree on much of anything. You passing through? Roth asked, glancing at Luke’s frayed denim pants, his dusty boots, and the blue chambray shirt that had a rip in one shoulder.

Yes, sir. Heading west, Luke said uneasily.

I have a place outside of town. Ever worked cattle?

No, sir. Not on the scale I hear about in Texas. I’m from a farm in Kentucky, he said with another faint twinge of guilt as he looked into honest blue eyes.

I can use another hand if you want to sign on for a few days or longer. Just had two men quit and one got injured, so I’m short-handed.

Luke thought about his dwindling finances and the odd jobs he had done as he had worked his way west since the war: smithy, hired hand on farms, cotton picker, barkeep, bronc buster. He made a quick decision. I’d like a few days’ work.

Good. If you’re ready, you can follow the wagon home. We’re northwest of town.

Yes, sir, he said, nodding while Horace Roth thrust out his hand. Luke clasped it firmly, feeling the strength in the older man’s grip when they shook. The other man turned away.

Sir, Luke said, and Roth paused. Half a dozen boys twice your son’s age were bullying him. He held his own damn well, but he was outnumbered, and his sister came to his aid.

She always does. They’ve had to learn to defend themselves. Comanche blood isn’t accepted well on the frontier. See you at the place. He squared his hat on his head and strode away, his coat flapping open as he crossed the dusty street along the square and climbed up to the wagon seat. He released the brake, flicked the reins, and the matched sorrels moved forward. The two children sat in the back on sacks piled high. The rig was well-appointed, so Roth must be successful, and he had sounded fair and compassionate in his dealings with his children. Hopefully, a good man to work for.

Crossing the street to his tethered horse, Luke gathered the reins and swung up into the saddle. He urged the bay forward and rode behind the wagon. Jeddy waved at him, and Luke waved back, while Honor gazed solemnly at him.

Her stomach hurt where Thad had hit her, and her mouth hurt; her lip was swollen. But beneath the aches was a deeper one because she could remember her beautiful mother, whom she had loved deeply and still missed with a terrible longing. She stared at the man following them. Her gaze went over his brown mustache, the long wavy brown hair that showed beneath his broad-brimmed battered tan hat. His eyes were a strange color, like a stone she had that Pa had given her called jade. The stranger had come to their defense, and she liked him for that. And when she had looked into his strange-colored eyes, she had felt an awareness of him, a shyness around him that she didn’t usually feel.

It was nice of him to help them, but she wished he had just hit Thad and really taught him a lesson. If he had, maybe Thad would stop bullying Jeddy every time he had a chance. Yet if Thad didn’t, other boys would. She sighed, picking up one long pigtail and brushing the ends of her black hair across her fingers. The townspeople were at war now with the Comanche, so few people could tolerate her Comanche blood or Jeddy’s, and they let them know that anytime Pa wasn’t around. Some wouldn’t speak to them and there were storekeepers who wouldn’t allow them inside their businesses.

She thought about the women in town who so politely smiled and talked to Pa, but who were barely civil to her. There were some who were nice to her, yet she knew it was all because of Pa and their being sweet on him and hoping he would come courting, but she knew Pa had a woman friend—Miss Maizie, who owned the Bluebonnet Saloon. Her thoughts shifted back to the man following on the big bay horse. Pa said Mr. McCloud was going to work for him, and she was glad.

As they left town, they passed the small wooden building with the Lone Star flag and the Stars and Stripes flying. Beneath the overhanging tin roof, on the rough weathered wall near the open front door, were nailed wanted posters, some yellow with age. With a casual glance, Luke gazed at them and spotted his own likeness sporting a thick brown beard as well as his mustache. Wanted: Luther Webster $5,000 Reward, Saint Joseph, Missouri.

The price had gone up since the last poster. As Luke turned, meeting Honor’s steadfast gaze, he felt a chill run down his spine because children were far more sharp-eyed than many adults gave them credit for. A child might see beyond the beard and mustache quickly.

They passed a general store, a silversmith’s business, a bakery, a small gun shop, a wheelwright’s place, two saloons, and then they reached the livery stable and the smithy. Houses spread along the next few blocks, and Luke felt a mild surprise that the frontier town was so thriving. Twisting in the saddle, he glanced back over his shoulder and wondered how far he would have to run from Missouri and bounty hunters and how long he would have to wait before he could stop looking over his shoulder.

They left the road and headed west, taking a weed-filled trail of two wagon ruts. The brush-filled rolling country was lush and green in the springtime, with flowers spreading across the hills in deep blues and reds. Luke settled in the saddle, his uneasiness lifting and his spirits soaring like the hawks floating on wind currents overhead. He inhaled the clean, clear air and felt free, unencumbered with worry about a bounty hunter or the law. He could work a few weeks for Horace Roth and then move west, heading toward California. He thought about the law books he had abandoned in Missouri, along with his dream of becoming a lawyer. That was over forever. He moved his leg, feeling the bulge in the saddlebag of one law book he had found in an abandoned house during the last months of war in Tennessee.

His gaze shifted to the wagon ahead with the two children, and he felt a swift knot inside because of his drifting life, wondering if he would ever be able to have his own family. Almost as quickly as the notion came, it lifted. He felt a blessed freedom in Texas, and if he went farther west, maybe he could stop running altogether.

He glanced at the straight back of Horace Roth. Three or four weeks working for the man—Luke hoped he would learn something about cattle that he might use in the future.

After three hours Luke began to wonder how far they were going before they reached the Roth place. Townspeople said they were at the edge of the frontier, and Luke had heard tales about the Comanche and the lack of soldiers and men to patrol and keep the Indians under control. From what he had heard, they should be in danger now where they were traveling, yet Roth held no weapon, nor did he glance around as if he felt danger was lurking.

When one more hour passed and they were still heading west, Luke began to wonder about the man riding ahead of him. How far out was his place and what kind of place was it?

Two round slabs of granite lay on the ground ahead and wagon ruts turned between them. The wagon swung to the north, passing a large sandstone rock with H — R carved into it.

Instead of looking over his shoulder for bounty hunters, would he have to watch constantly for the Comanche he had heard so much about? The children’s mother must be Comanche. They didn’t inherit their dark looks from their blue-eyed Anglo father.

Roth drew rein on his team and they slowed to a halt. Puzzled, Luke glanced around at junipers, mesquite, and oaks, listening to a bird trill and watching the hawks circle above. Why had the man stopped? This surely wasn’t his home because there was nothing but wild country surrounding them.

Bushes rustled faintly; a horse snorted, and as if they had materialized out of the spring air, six warriors with painted faces and eagle feathers in their hair rode toward Luke and the Roths. Tips of arrows showed in quivers worn over the warriors’ shoulders, and their countenances were fierce.

A chill ran down Luke’s spine, yet he fought the urge to go for his gun, knowing they were outnumbered and to draw now would only invite instant death. And Roth seemed unconcerned.

Two

Luke’s gaze shifted from the warriors to Roth, who had turned and was watching him. He realized Roth was studying his reaction to the Indians.

Do what I do, Horace Roth said quietly. And keep your hand away from your pistol. Then he turned to them, saying words that Luke couldn’t understand and motioning with his hands, pointing his fingers and waving both hands. He pointed to Luke and held up two fingers.

Luke repeated the hand signs, mystified and still feeling little frissons of alarm. To his dismay the children gave exclamations of unmistakable joy and clambered over the sides of the wagon to run to the warriors.

Two Indians leaned down, lifting the children before them on the horses and laughing with them, conversing in a strange language.

The stiffness went out of Luke’s shoulders, and he dismounted as Roth jumped down from the wagon and motioned to Luke.

Take this sack of flour. Smile and nod when you give it to the warrior with two feathers in his hair.

With ease Horace Roth swung a large sack of flour out of the wagon, giving it to Luke, who carried it to a man who held Honor before him. She sat sideways, and the warrior gazed at her solemnly as he touched her cheek lightly. He said something to her, and she answered, glancing at Luke. Luke placed the sack of flour behind the warrior on his pony and returned to the wagon.

He’s Tall Wind, my children’s uncle, Horace Roth said flatly, watching Luke intently.

He nodded his head. I don’t understand their language. If I’m to see them often, I need to learn some of the words.

"Start with Tugani, their name for me. They’re Comanche."

Luke glanced sharply at them and back at Roth. So you’re safe on the frontier then?

Horace Roth shrugged his shoulders. No one is safe on a frontier, but I don’t have to fear my Comanche in-laws. We get along. I give them supplies, horses, and cattle. They don’t raid, and we’re friends. They’re a part of my children’s heritage, and I want my children to know my wife’s people. Gazing beyond Luke, Roth raised his head. Texas is the land of opportunity. I came from nothing, but I’m building something here for my children, and they’ll have the best education money can buy. This land is changing rapidly, and now that the war is over, it’ll change faster. His gaze shifted to Luke. You could do worse than to stay here and grow with it. He handed Luke another sack. Give this to Gray Hawk, the man holding Jeddy.

Yes, sir. Luke took the sack of coffee beans to the warrior. When he returned to the wagon, Roth handed him another sack. They continued loading the horses until every animal was burdened with goods. Then the warriors set the children in the wagon and turned, vanishing as swiftly and as quietly as they had come.

Luke’s curiosity was rampant because all he had heard about Indians had been disparaging, but the men he had just encountered had been more civilized than some of the white men he had known at home for years.

Once Roth climbed into the wagon, they continued north. Finally, as they topped a rise in the distance they could see, on a level stretch of ground dotted with tall cottonwoods, a sprawling, whitewashed adobe house, a barn, a bunkhouse, outbuildings, and a corral. Men and horses milled around, and a shaggy dog turned, racing toward them. Luke’s gaze roamed over the land spread before him and once again he felt a sense of safety and freedom even as he thought about Horace Roth’s words, I came from nothing.

What kind of man was his employer? As they passed the house Luke gazed at the hanging pots filled with pink and purple impatiens, red begonias, and yellow bougainvillea. The pots dangled underneath the sloping roof that ran the length of the house. The road branched off, with a lane curving around the house to the front door while the main road ran past the back door of the house, between the house and the barn. The pale, whitewashed adobe house had thick green shutters that looked as if they could be closed to turn the house into a fortress. Beyond the weathered barn to the north was a bunkhouse and an attached cookhouse. As Luke gazed at all the H Bar R buildings, he realized the place was prosperous and thriving, and he was glad he had accepted Roth’s offer.

When the wagon reached the barn Roth halted the team. As Luke dismounted, an older man came toward them. He had a slight limp, a shaggy brown mustache, and a scar running down the right side of his face. Almost half a foot shorter than Luke, he looked wiry and as tough as the cactus growing around them. His blue eyes went to Luke in a quick assessing glance, and then he stopped in front of Horace Roth.

Glad you’re back. We’ve got strayed cows along Rim Creek.

Dusty, this is Luke McCloud. Luke, Dusty Shackleford is my foreman. He’ll show you where to bunk.

Glad to meet you, Luke said, thrusting out his hand to feel a firm shake.

Luke saved my kids from a scrap.

Seems like you came along at a good time, Dusty said dryly, glancing at the kids as Jeddy and Honor reluctantly climbed down from the wagon. Jeddy moved up close to Dusty, gazing up at him, while Honor petted the shaggy dog.

Looks like you tangled with an old mossy and lost, Dusty said, hunkering down to look Jeddy in the eye.

The child moved forward and Dusty hugged him while he glanced at Honor. I hope you gave as good as you got.

Dusty, I swear— Horace Roth declared with good-natured exasperation. Remember, I’m trying to teach them not to solve problems by fighting.

Dusty grunted, staring at Honor. Did you?

She lifted her chin and Luke saw a faint hint of a smile tug at her swollen mouth. I might have.

Enough of that, Horace Roth said. His children glanced up at him, and he jerked his head toward the house. Both of them turned to run to the back door.

You know what started the fight, Horace Roth said quietly and with such bitterness that Luke looked at him. Roth was gazing beyond him, watching his children disappear into the house. I’ll be back in a few minutes, Dusty, and ride out to the creek with you.

Sure, boss. This way, he said to Luke, who followed the short man with legs so widely bowed he looked as if he had grown up on a horse.

They walked in silence toward a long low, frame building and stepped inside. Pictures of women were pinned to the walls, clothing was strewn on the floor by iron beds that lined the room. Dusty pointed to one. Third bed from the right is yours. After you put your things away, you can ride with us to the creek. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to our cook.

With their boots scraping the cottonwood plank floor, they walked through an open breezeway into a kitchen and large dining room. Smells of chili made Luke’s mouth water, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten anything except jerky for two days. A short, dark-skinned, black-haired man with a cigarillo dangling from his mouth turned to look at Luke.

Diego, we have a new hand. Meet Luke McCloud. McCloud, this is Diego Padilla.

Luke shook hands with him and eyed the huge pot of chili bubbling on the stove before he and Dusty left.

As they went back through the bunkhouse and stepped outside, Dusty glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen. Diego’s older sister is widowed and cooks for Boss in the big house. She’s Dolorita Castaneda, and she lost her husband and child to smallpox over fifteen years ago. Diego brought her here to cook for Boss. She’s a second mother to Boss’s kids.

They stopped at Luke’s horse and Dusty waved his hand. You’ll get line duty after you’re accustomed to the work. There are line shacks out on the ranch’s boundaries where men stay and keep the beeves from wandering off our place. Rim Creek is the southern boundary and Owl Creek is the northern boundary. Eastern and western boundaries aren’t so damned clear.

Luke nodded and reached up to untie his bedroll and few belongings, taking them back to the bunkhouse. He led his horse back to Dusty, who had returned to the barn and was unhitching the team. As Luke began to help, Dusty glanced at him. You don’t have many questions. Ever worked cattle before?

Luke shook his head. No, sir. I grew up on a farm in the hills of Kentucky.

Dusty nodded. Looks like it was a good thing you stepped in and stopped the fight. Jeddy took a beating.

He got in some good blows. They were twice his size. Probably twice his age.

He’s eight, and Honor is twelve. Their mother was full-blood Comanche, Dusty said casually, squinting at Luke. She died when Jeddy was about three years old, so he doesn’t remember her too well.

Luke glanced at the house, wondering about Horace Roth and his children.

You don’t seem to mind their Comanche blood, Dusty commented.

Should I?

No, but some folks do.

That’s what caused the fight in town.

It always does. They get tormented about their Comanche blood and about their ma. Boss called her Ila, Eyes That Laugh. She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Dusty added quietly.

I didn’t know the Comanche would marry out of their own people.

They seldom do. Comanche and Kiowa won’t let a white man live among them, but Boss won the Comanche over like he does most everyone when he sets his mind to it. He knows a little of their language, so when he moved out here, he settled down and made friends from the first, and pretty soon he was courting the chief’s daughter. He gave them thirty fine horses and a dozen head of cattle for her, plus some good rifles.

I suppose thirty horses and rifles would charm a lot of men, Luke said with amusement, and Dusty shrugged.

You’re safe from the Comanche while you work here. We’re far enough out that we get travelers, some good, some wanted by the law. We get renegades who think we’re easy prey, occasionally hostile Apache warriors. There’s an abundance of rattlers, a few wolves, and panthers, but if you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone—just keep your pistol handy and don’t work alone until you get accustomed to the land.

I don’t plan to stay that long, Luke said, gazing at the trail they had followed up to the house. I’m moving west. I’ve never had much of anything in my life, and I want to change that. Men say opportunity is out this way and in California.

There’s plenty right here. Here comes Boss.

Eight weeks later Luke rode with Dusty and three other men. Honor and Jeddy both rode nearby as they herded wild horses toward a brush corral in a canyon. A mustang shook its head, veering toward the west, and Honor turned her horse quickly to head the mare back with the herd. She waved her arms and the horse changed course, falling back with the others.

Honor glanced at Luke, and he winked at her. He liked the kids and realized that he had won their friendship. Both of them followed him around if they weren’t tagging after Dusty or their pa. Horace seemed particularly close to Honor, and Dusty close to Jeddy.

Luke stretched, realizing his muscles had toughened with the digging, hard riding, and bronc busting he had done. He had intended moving on west after a few weeks, but the first two weeks’ pay had surprised him because it had been more than he had expected. He hadn’t asked what he would get, so he stared at the money Dusty handed him.

Something wrong, son?

He glanced at Dusty. No, sir. I didn’t know anyone paid this much to ride herd on stray cattle and help birth calves.

Boss tries to be fair. He expects good work from you; you can expect a good wage from him.

Now as Luke watched the horses, he felt a growing reluctance to move on west. He was safe here—as free from the law as he could hope to be. The money was good, and Dusty and Roth were good men to work for.

That night, when they were back at the corral, after feeding and watering his horse, Luke cleaned out a stall in the barn and glanced at Dusty, who was putting away a saddle.

Dusty, what’s Boss going to do with the cattle? Gather them and sell them in San Antonio or take them to a hide-and-tallow factory on the coast?

Dusty shook his head. Neither one. Last year two men, Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving drove a herd south out of Texas, over a stretch of dry land, across the Pecos, and up north to sell to a government agent at the Fort Sumner reserve for Mescaleros. In Texas a steer brings two cents a pound. At Fort Sumner they paid eight cents. Last summer Boss took eleven hundred head, and we drove them to Santa Fe and sold them to a government contractor for nine cents a pound.

Astounded, Luke stared at him. I knew the market was good up north, but I didn’t know you could take a herd from here to the north and sell them there.

Boss says he’s going to make a drive late this summer. You can see for yourself. That’s why we’re doing all the cow-hunts and branding. Dusty wiped his hands on his pants and looked at Luke. During the war the men left Texas to fight. Beeves ranged all over this land and herds grew. All we have to do is gather them in and drive them north, and now there’s a trail.

Luke barely heard the last. Figures danced in his mind and he thought of the steers roaming the land, the rangy longhorns that were as plentiful as the scrub oak. He multiplied out a year’s wages working for Horace Roth. Will you sell beeves in Santa Fe again?

Yes. Boss expects to take more this year and do better. We’ll be more experienced at what we’re doing. Dusty glanced at Luke as he rolled the cheroot to the corner of his mouth and squinted against the smoke drifting up before his face. Sounds more tempting than California, don’t it?

Yes, it does. Luke glanced around him. What’s land cost?

It’s cheap enough, but you don’t have to own land to let cattle graze. Just pay tax on it and get the grazing rights.

Mr. Roth doesn’t own all this?

Yes, he does because he thinks the day’ll come when men will want to own their land. Mrs. Roth never did like owning land. Not the Indians’ way. They fit in with the land like they’re part of it; they don’t try to hoard it or change it.

Luke was lost in thoughts about the cattle again, realizing opportunity was all around him. Staying on the H Bar R, out of saloons, and away from gambling, he could take his money and buy land, a bit at a time. The thought made him draw a sharp breath, and he glanced at Dusty and beyond him at the rolling land. Water was vital, but grass was abundant and a small start of cattle could build swiftly. Thoughts of California faded from mind as he turned his bay to follow Dusty.

Luke’s life settled more than it had been in the past six years, and he felt an ease he hadn’t known in a long time. Only when he left to go into town did the past return to haunt him, every stranger a potential threat because of the possibility of bounty hunters searching the frontier towns. Most of the time Luke stayed at the H Bar R, going into town on Saturday nights twice a month, trying to stay out of fights and avoid trouble. Like other frontier towns he had traveled through, Montello had almost a dozen saloons and half of those had women to accommodate the male customers. On his second trip to town, Luke met Miss Maizie at the Bluebonnet Saloon. Short, blond, and as good at cards as many men, Maizie had a dry wit

Reviews for Comanche Temptation

[benn9314 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A great love story about the settling of the west