“Why? Because of your condition.”
Willow laughed softly. “I am not sick, only having a baby.”
“But you can’t be expected to do everything you would normally do. Why, the few women I have known who had babies wouldn’t leave their houses once they began to show their pregnancies. They took to their beds the last few months. My own mother insisted she be waited on hand and foot when she was expecting my sister.”
“Perhaps she was truly ill.”
“No, she bloomed with good health as I recall.” Sharisse frowned thoughtfully. “You mean it isn’t necessary to pamper yourself?”
“An Indian woman would be ridiculed if she let such a little inconvenience stop her from caring for herself and her family. To lie about, doing nothing, can only make the body weak, when strength is needed for the baby’s birth.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“When you have your own child, you will see that it is a pleasure, not a burden. There are herbs that will ease the sickness in the beginning, and after that it is only a joy, knowing you will bring new life into the world. The pain in the end is only a small sacrifice for the wonder of that life.”
How on earth did this subject get so out of hand? Her own baby indeed! That was something she had yet to think about, and she didn’t want to start now.
“Well, I’ll still make us lunch, but perhaps with your supervision. I suppose you’ve heard I can’t cook?”
Willow giggled, a delightful sound. “Billy thinks it is funny. He envisions Luke wasting away to nothing.”
“Does he?” Sharisse said tartly. “Well, perhaps I’ll fatten him up instead.”
Fifteen
It was a delightful week. With Lucas gone, Sharisse was able to relax. She found she was actually enjoying herself despite the work and the heat. Willow’s company was responsible. It was nice being friends with another woman without any rivalry involved. Rivalry, no matter how subtle, had always been present with her friends back home.
Once she got used to Willow’s open and frank nature, she began to realize what a prude she really was and to admire the Indians’ way of looking at life. Willow had never given birth, but she wasn’t worried, and her serene attitude put Sharisse’s fears to rest.
They spent a day making candles and soap, and another day making preserves. Sharisse learned how to can vegetables. She put away her cookbook, finding it easier to make her own notes from what Willow told her. The results were good. She surprised herself by having fun learning things, and she began to wish Lucas would just stay away. She wasn’t looking forward to a return of the tension his presence caused.
She tried not to think of him at all. That was easy while she was busy during the day. At night, however, when she was alone in the house, she was too aware of being alone. The slightest noise disturbed her. Then she wished Lucas would hurry back, but only then. Then, too, she could picture him clearly, and she was strangely disquieted by what she saw and the thoughts that followed. She found herself remembering the delicious sensations he had aroused in her.
One night Sharisse fell asleep with those thoughts moving through her mind. A pleasant dream followed. But when Charley yowled, she was instantly awake, sitting bolt upright.
“What is it, Charley?”
Then she saw the answer. With Lucas away, she had felt safe leaving her curtains open. The room was just light enough that she could make out the shape of a man standing near the foot of her bed. So Lucas was back. Well that was a fine way to let her know.
“I think I stepped on the cat.” He supplied the reason for Charley’s cry. Just then, Charley jumped into her arms for comfort. She held him protectively, enraged by Lucas’s boldness. “Just what do you mean by coming in here while I was asleep?”
A match flared, and Sharisse shielded her eyes against it. A moment later the candle on her bureau was lit and she was able to see Lucas staring at her, a strange look on his face.
“I think I should be asking what you’re doing here,” he said in a colorless voice.
A horrible foreboding crept over her. The heavy stubble on his chin, the wild disarray of his hair, even the coating of dust covering him, were all to be expected of him. But the clothes were so different from anything Lucas had worn before: black pants tucked into soft-soled moccasins that were fringed at the knee and dyed black. The navy blue shirt was worn outside the pants. A black hand-tooled holster slanted from his waist down his right hip. A shining pearl-handled gun was strapped to his thigh. A black silk bandanna knotted on the side of his neck completed the darkly menacing look.
It had to be Lucas, it had to be.
“Lucas?” Her voice was an embarrassing squeak.
He shook his head slowly back and forth, a corner of his mouth turning up in a caricature of a smile. He walked deliberately to the bed, his footsteps making no sound at all.
“You can’t belong to Luke, or you’d be in his bed, not here.” He was looking her over with interest. “So who are you?”
The color fled from her face. My God! My God! ItwasSlade! She was hypnotized by the eyes that locked with hers.
“No answer?” He unknotted the bandanna and let it drop to the bed, then reached for his gunbelt. All the while he kept his eyes fastened on hers. “Suit yourself. I don’t need to know your name to share a bed with you.”
