Comanche Woman

Chapter One The Republic of Texas 1843 The Comanche's eyes narrowed in speculation when he discovered the naked man and woman in the pond where he planned to water his pony. The white woman's belly was swollen with child and seemed to float on the sparkling surface of the pond. As he watched, the white man standing behind her splayed large, tanned hands across her overripe belly and pulled the woman back into his embrace. The Comanche crouched the instant before the man turned his head abruptly in his direction. He remained absolutely still, and though he was in plain sight, the man's eyes flicked past him, unseeing, and finally returned to the woman. The Co-manche smiled wolfishly. He could understand the man's distraction. The man sought out the soft skin of the woman's neck with his mouth. The Comanche tensed as she leaned her head back into the man's shoulder so his tongue was free to taste her skin. The Comanche closed his eyes when the man reached up with his strong hands to cup the woman's breasts, already full and heavy for the coming child. He imagined holding his own woman, imagined the saltiness of her skin in the heat of the day, imagined the feel of her nipples peaking at his touch. Disturbed by the sensual images he'd conjured, he blinked his eyes open. The white man reached for the single auburn braid down the woman's back and released the tie that bound her hair, spreading the silky mass with his fingers so it flowed like molten copper across his broad muscular chest and down his flat belly. Such hair! What a glorious prize! The Comanche remained still, caught up in the beauty of the woman, the strength of the man. The couple was totally absorbed in one another, touching, tasting. The Comanche's jaw tightened in anger. A man should not take such foolish chances with the woman who will bear his sons. He could have killed them both and taken the woman's copper-colored hair to hang from his war shield. He pulled his knife from its sheath and edged closer to the pond. He would teach this tabeboh, this foolish White-eyes, a lesson. The woman smiled teasingly and walked away from the man toward the opposite bank. She picked up his buckskin shirt and threw it to him as he stood in the water. Then she reached down and located a full, linsey-woolsey dress, which she pulled down to cover her nakedness. When the Comanche was close enough to launch his attack, he shrieked his fierce war cry, a haunting, horrifying sound intended to freeze his victim. Only this man did not freeze. He howled an equally fierce battle cry as he whirled to face his enemy. The Comanche found himself face to face with a Colt revolver. The white man grinned, a feral smile, full of satisfaction. The Comanche looked from the knife in his hand to the white man's gun--and smiled back. "Hihites, Wolf," the Comanche said. "Hihites, Long Quiet," the white man, also known as Jarrett Creed, replied. "I'm glad to see you haven't forgotten everything you learned during the years you spent as a captive in my village," Long Quiet said in perfect English. He'd learned the white man's language from his Comanchero father, a white man who'd traded with the Comanches and taken a Comanche bride. "I thought you unaware of anything except your wife, and I believed you unarmed. Where did you hide the gun?" "Cricket threw it to me with my shirt," Creed answered. He joined Long Quiet on the bank of the pond and pulled on his shirt and trousers. "You wooden-headed ninnyhammer!" Cricket chided Long Quiet, softening her words with a welcoming smile. "It's a wonder you didn't scare me into having this baby a month early." "My friendship won't always keep you safe from the threat of Comanche attack. You must always be vigilant." "I'm always careful," CrJohnston, Joan is the author of 'Comanche Woman' with ISBN 9780440236801 and ISBN 0440236800.