Free Comanche Heart by Catherine Anderson Page A

. what I wouldn’t give to see him again, just for an hour. To this day, I can remember sitting in his lodge, smoking with him and turning green, too young and proud to admit his pipe made my stomach roll.”
    “He was very good at talking around.”
    Still smiling, Swift pulled his Bull Durham pouch and La Croix papers from his pocket, then deftly rolled a smoke. Picking up the stick Hunter had tossed on the fire, he lit up and inhaled deeply. “Well, I like straight talk. What I hear you saying is—” He spat a fleck of tobacco. “You think I should stay. Even though she hates everything I’ve become.”
    “Does she? Or is it that she knows you will break through the glass and claim her, when no other man has dared? I think she is very frightened to have her dream turn out to be a flesh-and-blood man, a man who may not run if she lifts her nose high and scorns him.” Hunter flashed an indulgent smile. “She is very good at lifting her nose. The men here try to impress her with their manners and end up tripping over their own feet.”
    “And you think I’ll succeed where they’ve failed?”
    “I don’t think you’ll approach her with a book of manners in one hand and your hat in the other.”
    “I couldn’t read a book of manners if I had one. Jesus, Hunter . . .” Swift shoved the stick deep into the ashes, his thrust hard and angry. “She looks at me, and all she sees is the past coming back to haunt her. And she’s right. I’ve seen things that haunt me ! I’ve done things I couldn’t forgive another man. She claims we no longer know one another, but the truth is, Amy knows me too well. If I stay here, I’ll rip her life apart. She made promises to me long ago that give me the right to do that, but if I care anything about her, should I?”
    “That is only for you to know.” Pausing, Hunter stared for a moment into the fire, then looked up. “What will she have if you disappear over the horizon, Swift?”
    “Her life here. Peace and quiet. Good friends. Teaching the children.”
    “Ah, yes. Like you, she walks her own way. But is it good?”
    “It may be a whole lot better than what I can give her.”
    “No, because her life here is nothing.” Hunter grew pensive again. “Chase found a wounded raccoon once, which he healed and raised to adulthood inside a cage.”
    Swift nearly groaned. “I hear one of your stories coming. How in hell can a raccoon possibly relate to this discussion?”
    Hunter held up a hand. “Perhaps if you open your ears, you will find out.” He smiled and settled back. “The raccoon—he always looked through the wire at the world, sniffing and yearning for freedom. Like Amy, he dreamed of yesterday and someday, but his todays were nothing. Chase decided it was cruel to keep him imprisoned, and he opened the cage door. The raccoon, who had been badly injured by another animal, was terrified and cowered in the back corner of his prison.”
    Swift set his jaw. “Amy isn’t a coon, Hunter.”
    “But she cowers in the back corner, all the same.” Hunter squinted against a trail of smoke. “The raccoon was a biter when he grew frightened, so instead of dragging him out of the cage, Chase prodded him with a stick, until the coon got so mad he forgot he was afraid and went out the door. Chase prodded him every day with that stick, and each time the coon left his cage, he stayed outside a little longer, until he finally lost his fear of the outdoors. It’s a story with a happy ending. The coon’s dreams of yesterday and someday became his today.”
    Swift snorted. “I can’t go poking Amy with a prod. Talk sense, if you’re gonna talk.”
    “I’m talking very good sense. I rescued Amy from Santos, yes? And I tended her wounds, just as Chase did the raccoon’s. And like Chase, I have made a very safe world here for Amy, where she can hide and dream.” Hunter swallowed, the muscles along his throat distended. When he resumed speaking, his voice rang taut.