The gleam of arrogance in his eyes mellowed into a soft shine of gratitude then. Smiling broadly, he took the rifle and ammunition and quickly sent the mustang cantering into the field.
In moments, he disappeared.
“Why, Roman?” Theodosia demanded. She took tight hold of his upper arm and tried to shake him. “Didn’t you see his bruises? Didn’t you notice he was weak with hunger and fatigue?Whydid you have to fight him?”
Roman turned to her and drew his fingers down the sticky trail her tears had left upon her cheeks. “No man, white or Indian, wants to beg, Theodosia. When Mamante—a Comanche warrior—didn’t try to steal the supplies he needed but came and begged for them instead, I knew he’d lost all self-respect, all strength of heart. Making him fight me for the things he needed was the only way I could think of to give him back his pride.”
His explanation humbled her. For all her years of studying the workings of the human mind, she’d failed to understand that Mamante’s most serious affliction was not his hunger or bruises but his loss of self-esteem. Roman had not only sensed the Comanche’s deepest misery but had effectively soothed it.
“Roman?”
Without answering, Roman walked swiftly into the distance and retrieved John the Baptist. When he returned to Theodosia, he handed the parrot to her.
She caressed her pet with the back of her hand and caressed Roman with her eyes. “You let Mamante win the fight, didn’t you, Roman?” she asked softly.
He didn’t answer, but she knew his silence meant yes. “I am impressed beyond measure by the extent of your abilities. Your physical skills, your understanding of the human spirit, your compassion…you are a remarkable man, Roman, and I am fortunate to know you.”
He waited for the tenderness he knew her words would awaken. As soon as the gentle feelings began whispering through him, he thought about how accustomed he’d become to anticipating and experiencing them.
He would miss the emotions when they came no more. After he and Theodosia parted for their separate ways, there would be no one in his life to make him feel the way he did now.
He raked his fingers through his hair, pondering the fact that he’d always believed his ranch and horses would fulfill every longing he had.
He wasn’t so sure anymore.
Sittingon the soft bed Romanhad made for her, Theodosia sorted through her belongings. She’d packed with such haste in Singing Creek that her gowns were quite wrinkled, her gloves were crushed, her underthings were wadded into tight balls, and her jewelry had spilled all through her various bags.
She made a glittering pile of her jewelry, then looked up to watch Roman groom Secret. His guns gleamed faintly in the firelight, as did the metal buckle on his belt. Twigs, dead leaves, and brittle pecan shells crunched beneath his boot heels, and moonbeams glinted off his hair as he walked around his stallion.
Memories of the afternoon came back to her. Closing her eyes, she relived the events in her mind and smiled faintly as she recalled the skills Roman had demonstrated while tracking John the Baptist, and the wisdom he’d shown in his dealings with the Comanche warrior.
She felt a pull at her heart, a gentle tug that released a flood of affection into every part of her. Opening her eyes, she saw Roman watching her. His bold and steady stare made her blush. “Is your wound troubling you at all?”
He patted the bandage beneath his breeches. “I imagine I’ll live. How about you?”
She realized he thought the knife wound nothing but a scratch. His unconcerned attitude relieved her of all worry. Gingerly, she touched her temple. “I’ll be fine.”
“Playing with your wealth?” Roman teased, noticing the mound of her shining jewelry.
She picked up her ruby brooch. As she held the pin up for Roman to see, firelight twinkled through the bloodred stone and over the delicate gold chains that hung from the bottom. “Have you ever heard the termheartstrings,Roman?”
“Have you ever heard the termheartstrings,Roman?” John the Baptist repeated, and splashed water out of his cage.
Roman leaned against Secret’s barrel. “Heartstrings? Yeah, I’ve heard of heartstrings. Are they real?”
“It is only an expression.” Theodosia shook the brooch, watching as the dangling gold chains swayed. “This pin belonged to my mother, and I have treasured it all these years. It’s a ruby heart, and attached to its bottom are tiny gold chains. They’re the heartstrings.”
Roman looked at the gleaming heart-shaped pin.
“Heartstringsis an interesting term,” Theodosia murmured, still watching firelight burn within the facets of the ruby brooch. “Back in the fifteenth century, the heartstring was believed to be a nerve that sustained the heart. Presently the expression is used to describe deep emotion and affection, and one is said to feel a tug at the heart when so touched. I am charmed by both the beauty of the word and the definition.”
Roman ran his hand over the currycomb he held. Was it only the brooch that had prompted Theodosia to talk about heartstrings, or had she been thinking about her own feelings? Her own affection? If so, was her fondness for him?
HowdidTheodosia feel about him? She spoke of her sexual attraction, her gratitude, and her admiration, but did she harbor any other emotions toward him?
He longed to ask.
But he didn’t. If he prompted her to discuss her feelings, she would prompt him to do the same.
