Comanche Heart by Catherine Anderson Page A

do the dishes,” Loretta offered. “You have to teach school in the morning. Why don’t you go on home?”
    Eager to jump at any excuse to leave, Amy pulled her shawl off the door hook and draped it around her shoulders. “It was a lovely dinner, Loretta Jane. Good night, Hunter.” Her tongue turned cottony. “It’s been nice seeing you again, Swift.”
    Indigo ran over to give Amy a farewell hug. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, she whispered, “No wonder you pined for him all these years, Aunt Amy. He’s so handsome.”
    Amy drew back, meeting Indigo’s guileless gaze, astounded that the child had said such a thing. It occurred to her that the little girl she had loved so well was approaching womanhood.
    Swift rose from the table. With a lazy stride, spurs chinking, he approached the coatrack, pulled his gun belt from its hook, and strapped it around his hips. Next, he reached for his hat. Indigo dimpled one cheek in a mischievous grin and darted past Swift to help her mother clear the table. Amy was left standing there alone with him, horrified because he acted as if he intended to accompany her. A picture flashed in her mind of her and him, alone in the darkness.
    “I’ll see you home,” he said softly.
    “Th-that really isn’t necessary. I walk home alone all the time. Don’t I, Hunter?”
    Hunter’s only response was to smile.
    “I’ll walk with you anyway. It’s bound to be a nice evening after all that sunshine we had today.”
    Amy clutched her shawl closer, searching wildly for some reason to forestall him. She settled for un-embellished honesty. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”
    His mouth quirked at one corner as he settled his hat on his head. Tipping the brim down over his eyes, he replied in a dangerously silken voice, “And I’d really rather I did.”
    After casting Hunter a pleading look, which availed her naught, Amy jerked the door open and stepped out onto the wide porch. Determined to set a breakneck pace, she darted down the steps and across the yard, keeping a step ahead of the tapping boots and chinking spurs behind her. The crisp night air chilled her cheeks. She hugged her shawl more tightly.
    “What’s it say in that manners book of yours about ladies who run off and leave their escorts eating dust?”
    She swung to a stop, peering at him through the moonlit gloom. “You’re an uninvited escort, Mr. Lopez.” His new name felt odd rolling off her tongue, yet she used it, a reminder to herself and him of who he was and what he had become. “A gentleman wouldn’t force his company on a lady.”
    Farther down, a man staggered out of the Lucky Nugget. Swift came abreast of her, took her arm, and guided her to the far side of the street. As their feet touched the boardwalk, he said, “Even if I wanted to be a gentleman, I’ve never had proper manners taught to me. The closest thing I had to a teacher was a rancher I worked for named Rowlins, and all he knew was shootin’ and spittin’. He was pretty good at both, and he taught me all he knew, but he wasn’t and never claimed to be a gentleman.”
    “Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn’t be walking on the street side of the boardwalk.”
    He laughed softly and, putting a hand at her waist, pulled her across his path so she walked next to the shop windows. He loomed beside her, a menacing shadow, the silver conchae on his hat and the studs on his gun belt gleaming in the moonlight. She flinched when she felt his palm touch the small of her back, then slip around to claim a resting place just above her left hip. The easy familiarity with which he touched her sent her heart into a skitter. The men in Wolf’s Landing wouldn’t dream of taking such a liberty.
    “I haven’t had much occasion to walk a lady down the street. Am I doing it right now?” He drawled the question, his tone amused. Then he tensed, as if to brace her. “Watch your step.”
    “I know this boardwalk like the back of my hand,” she replied in a