She walked into the small bedroom in the back of the house and glanced at the bed.
Roman was gone. Missing him would not bring him back.
He’d reach his dreams. Soon. She had all the faith in the world that he would.
And she would attain hers as well.
She peered up at Hammond, who had followed her into the bedroom and now stood beside her. He was the perfect sire, and so she would lie with him as quickly and frequently as possible until she conceived. Then she would bear the child and get on with her life, which had been her plan all along.
She looked at the bed again. “Tonight, Hammond,” she murmured. “When darkness has fallen, I will lie with you.”
Roman kickeddirt over theremaining embers of the campfire he’d made a few miles outside Enchanted Hill. By his best estimation, it was around noon. He’d meant to be long gone by now, but had not found the will or the effort to hurry. Instead, he’d cleaned his weapons and tack, groomed Secret, washed his clothes, and polished his boots.
He kicked more dirt over the dead campfire and noticed an oak sapling growing nearby. Someday the tiny tree would be huge. And perhaps a man would climb it and carve a woman’s name into one of the branches.
He looked into the woods, in the direction where Enchanted Hill lay. Had she gone through with it and let Hammond Llewellyn into her bed?
Pain radiated from his chest like streaks of poison from an infected wound. He raked his fingers through his hair, then mounted Secret.
No job had actually existed in Morgan’s Grove. With no specific place to go, he allowed Secret to choose the way. The stallion tossed his head and ambled down a woodsy path that led south.
Before long, the path gave way to a long stretch of rocky dirt. A green lizard slithered off the warm dirt and into a mass of thorny vines. Roman paid no attention to the reptile.
Why? he asked himself for the thousandth time since last night. Why had she discussed him with Hammond Llewellyn? The question swarmed through his mind just as a cloud of gnats swarmed around his face.
Several hours passed. The buzz of the gnats grew louder, sounding more like bumblebees. Roman took off his hat, rubbed the back of his hand over his sweating forehead, and breathed air saturated with sharp odors.
He stopped Secret and sat straight and still in the saddle.
A powerful storm was brewing.
Hammond Llewellyn was a highly educated British nobleman, but he had no knowledge of Theodosia’s terror of lightning.
Roman did.
Hammond countedthe hours fornighttime to arrive. As he and Theodosia strolled away from the cabin and through the windswept meadow, he glanced at the bright sky. Would the merciless Texas sun never set?
“Here we are,” he said when they finally reached the huge oak tree that grew in the same field that featured the famous wishing hill. “Would you care to dine now, Theodosia? I’m sure the lady from town packed a delicious supper for us. I instructed her to prepare only the finest meals.” He held up the picnic basket the townswoman had brought to the cabin a short while ago.
Theodosia sat down on the ground beneath the shelter of the oak branches. Fondling the heart-shaped ruby brooch nestled amidst the froth of lace at her throat, she remembered that the last time she’d eaten near an oak tree, she’d been upinit, not below it.
Hammond sat down beside her and handed her a plate of thinly sliced roast beef, tiny new potatoes, tender green beans, and fluffy biscuits.
She accepted the plate but remembered raisin sandwiches. A strong force pulled at her heart, drawing forth tender emotions that almost made her weep.
“My fellow companions departed Enchanted Hill this morning,” Hammond said, and took a bite of his biscuit. “I am to join them in a small town by the name of Rolling Ridge, whereupon we shall prepare for our return to London. But do not fret, my dear. My companions will not reach Rolling Ridge for another month, so you and I have ample time together.”
When Theodosia remained silent, Hammond became more determined to draw her into conversation. If he couldn’t make love to her yet, he could at least fill the hours with lively discourse. “I saw a smattering of Comanche Indians recently, Theodosia. My companions and I were visiting a town by the name of King’s Cove when a group of soldiers passed through with their Comanche captives. As I recall, there were five or six warriors and one squaw with a baby. The red-skinned devils were almost dead, but do you know their black eyes continued to smolder with the promise of violence? The soldiers executed them that very night, but from what I understand two escaped, a warrior and his son.”
At that, Theodosia gave him her undivided attention, her heart thrashing against her ribs and spine as thoughts of Mamante and his child returned to her memory. “A warrior and his son?”
Made smug by the fact that his conversation had so seized her interest, Hammond ate another bite of biscuit, took his time chewing, and nodded. “The soldiers hunted everywhere, but failed to find the brave who escaped with the child. The warrior might have been able to fashion some sort of crude weapon after he escaped, but he’d been beaten severely. And without food or a mount, he and his child most likely perished. Their deaths are a blessing, as I see it. Anyone with a jot of intelligence comprehends the fact that this country can never live up to its full potential while there is a single one of those horrible Indians alive, and I, for one, fully support their eradication.”
Theodosia recalled Roman’s deep compassion and gentle understanding toward Mamante. The Comanche warrior of whom Hammond spoke might not have been Mamante, but it didn’t matter.
Hammond’s insensitive views repulsed her.
“Don’t you agree, Theodosia?” Smiling, Hammond dabbed the corners of his mouth with a red-and-white-checkered napkin.
