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Authors: Catherine Anderson
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expression.
“Aren’t you the same girl?” he asked huskily.
“How could I be? You’re not a foolish man. Why marry an unwilling woman when you could find someone else?”
“Are you unwilling, or only frightened?” His mouth twisted in a wry grin, and he closed the remaining distance between them. “You ever stumbled across a snake and thought it was a rattler? The first thing you think of is getting bit, and that scares you so bad you can’t see past it. You don’t look to see if it’s really a rattler or if it’s coiled. If you’ve got something in your hand to kill it with, you strike without thinking.”
To her eyes, he seemed a yard wide at the shoulders. He smelled of leather and horse and gunpowder, distinctly masculine, a strangely heady combination in the close confines of the barn. Crooking a finger beneath her chin, he tipped her head back.
“I’m not a rattler, Amy, and I’m not fixin’ to bite. Give me a chance to wash the trail dust off and have a cup of coffee.”
“Then I have nothing to worry about?” Her voice shook. “I’m misreading you. Is that what you’re saying? You have no intention of holding me to promises made fifteen years ago?”
“I’d like to discuss it later, that’s what I’m saying. You need some time to walk a circle around me. And I need time to come to grips with the reality that you’re alive. I have no intentions of making any announcements of marriage today, so you can relax on that score.” He turned her face to regard her, his eyes smiling. “As for you not being the same girl I knew? You look like her, speak like her, smell like her . . .” He slowly bent his head toward hers. “Ask me to cut off my right arm for you, and I’ll do it. Ask me to lay down my life for you, and I’ll do it. But, please, don’t ask me to give you up now that I’ve found you again. Don’t ask that, Amy.”
“But—I am asking it of you, Swift.” She drew her head back as his advanced. “I’m begging it of you. If you truly love me, don’t destroy my life like this.”
Bent on kissing her, Swift tightened his hold on her chin. At the last possible second, she wrenched her face aside. With a broken sob, she whirled away from him and ran from the barn. Swift stared after her, his hand still uplifted.
After a moment, he stepped to the barn door and watched her fleeing down the center of the street. She bypassed Hunter and Loretta’s house, heading for a small clapboard dwelling set among a cluster of tall pines at the other end of town.
Don’t destroy my life like this. The words whispered in Swift’s mind, a heartbreak he didn’t want to face, but one he couldn’t ignore.
After spending the afternoon and early evening catching up on old times with Loretta and getting to know the children, Swift accompanied Hunter to his lodge, where they sought privacy to talk. Hunter laid a log across the fire, then lowered himself cross-legged to the ground, eyeing Swift across the flames. Night wind slapped against the taut leather walls of the lodge, making a hollow, soft drumming sound that carried Swift back through the years. In the firelight, the age lines stamped upon Hunter’s handsome face were invisible. Dressed in buckskin, with his mahogany hair still long, he looked just as Swift remembered him, a tall, lithe warrior with piercing indigo eyes.
“I can’t believe you’ve kept your lodge all these years, Hunter. With a fine house like you’ve built, what’s the point?”
Hunter glanced around them. “This is where I find myself. I live in one world, but my heart yearns for another sometimes.”
His voice reed thin, Swift replied, “It’s a world that no longer exists.” As gently as he could, he told Hunter about the deaths of all his relatives. Tears filled Hunter’s eyes, but Swift continued, knowing these things had to be said and that Hunter had brought him to the lodge to hear them. “At least they died free and proud, my friend,”
“Aren’t you the same girl?” he asked huskily.
“How could I be? You’re not a foolish man. Why marry an unwilling woman when you could find someone else?”
“Are you unwilling, or only frightened?” His mouth twisted in a wry grin, and he closed the remaining distance between them. “You ever stumbled across a snake and thought it was a rattler? The first thing you think of is getting bit, and that scares you so bad you can’t see past it. You don’t look to see if it’s really a rattler or if it’s coiled. If you’ve got something in your hand to kill it with, you strike without thinking.”
To her eyes, he seemed a yard wide at the shoulders. He smelled of leather and horse and gunpowder, distinctly masculine, a strangely heady combination in the close confines of the barn. Crooking a finger beneath her chin, he tipped her head back.
“I’m not a rattler, Amy, and I’m not fixin’ to bite. Give me a chance to wash the trail dust off and have a cup of coffee.”
“Then I have nothing to worry about?” Her voice shook. “I’m misreading you. Is that what you’re saying? You have no intention of holding me to promises made fifteen years ago?”
“I’d like to discuss it later, that’s what I’m saying. You need some time to walk a circle around me. And I need time to come to grips with the reality that you’re alive. I have no intentions of making any announcements of marriage today, so you can relax on that score.” He turned her face to regard her, his eyes smiling. “As for you not being the same girl I knew? You look like her, speak like her, smell like her . . .” He slowly bent his head toward hers. “Ask me to cut off my right arm for you, and I’ll do it. Ask me to lay down my life for you, and I’ll do it. But, please, don’t ask me to give you up now that I’ve found you again. Don’t ask that, Amy.”
“But—I am asking it of you, Swift.” She drew her head back as his advanced. “I’m begging it of you. If you truly love me, don’t destroy my life like this.”
Bent on kissing her, Swift tightened his hold on her chin. At the last possible second, she wrenched her face aside. With a broken sob, she whirled away from him and ran from the barn. Swift stared after her, his hand still uplifted.
After a moment, he stepped to the barn door and watched her fleeing down the center of the street. She bypassed Hunter and Loretta’s house, heading for a small clapboard dwelling set among a cluster of tall pines at the other end of town.
Don’t destroy my life like this. The words whispered in Swift’s mind, a heartbreak he didn’t want to face, but one he couldn’t ignore.
After spending the afternoon and early evening catching up on old times with Loretta and getting to know the children, Swift accompanied Hunter to his lodge, where they sought privacy to talk. Hunter laid a log across the fire, then lowered himself cross-legged to the ground, eyeing Swift across the flames. Night wind slapped against the taut leather walls of the lodge, making a hollow, soft drumming sound that carried Swift back through the years. In the firelight, the age lines stamped upon Hunter’s handsome face were invisible. Dressed in buckskin, with his mahogany hair still long, he looked just as Swift remembered him, a tall, lithe warrior with piercing indigo eyes.
“I can’t believe you’ve kept your lodge all these years, Hunter. With a fine house like you’ve built, what’s the point?”
Hunter glanced around them. “This is where I find myself. I live in one world, but my heart yearns for another sometimes.”
His voice reed thin, Swift replied, “It’s a world that no longer exists.” As gently as he could, he told Hunter about the deaths of all his relatives. Tears filled Hunter’s eyes, but Swift continued, knowing these things had to be said and that Hunter had brought him to the lodge to hear them. “At least they died free and proud, my friend,”
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