Comanche Vow

He opened his eyes and gazed at Elaina. She watched him, her heart on her sleeve. She was hurting, too. Trying to find a way to cope with being a widow, with raising a troubled daughter.

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t help. But it’s part of my culture. And I’ve always followed the early practices. The best I can, anyway. Sometimes it’s difficult living in modern times and adhering to the old ways.”

Elaina tilted her head. “Grant was concerned about being stereotyped, but other than that, he rarely talked about being Indian. It didn’t seem to be a major issue in his life.”

But it was, Nick thought. Grant had turned away from their heritage long ago. Yet on that dark summer night, he’d come back to his roots. He’d died in Nick’s arms, asking Nick to take his place the way a Comanche brother would have done centuries before.

He looked at Elaina, knowing how much Grant had loved her. And now it was Nick’s responsibility to keep her happy and safe, to provide for her well-being.

She was pretty. Nick couldn’t deny how soft her skin seemed or how daylight played upon her hair, intensifying subtle copper hues. What man wouldn’t find her attractive? She had long, lean curves, the kind of body that made a pair of blue jeans seem sleek yet sinful.

Was he supposed to sleep with her? Make love to her on their wedding night?

Nick jammed his hands in his pockets. Of course he was. Sex was part of the marriage tradition. A natural, normal, healthy physical release.

And one that made him nervous as hell. Elaina was his brother’s wife, the woman Grant had loved.

“Are you all right?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I just miss my brother.“

“Me, too.”

They stood in the middle of the yard, their gazes locked, the morning air scented with horses and hay. A loose strand of Elaina’s hair blew around her face, breaking free from the ladylike confinement.

Her eyes were so blue, so emotional, that Nick wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to kiss his brother’s wife.

Because the thought confused him, he stepped back. She was beautiful, and Grant had asked him to take care of her, but somehow she still seemed forbidden. A woman who was his, yet wasn’t.

He resumed walking. “We better get the horses watered and fed.”

She stayed beside him. “Just tell me what to do.”

They reached the barn, and he led her to the feed room. While loading a wheelbarrow, he explained that he kept a stockpile of hay for colder months.

“It doesn’t seem like winter,” she commented. “I was hoping for a little snow. You know, just enough to play in.”

He had to smile. A California girl imagining a white Christmas. “It might happen. Will Rogers used to say that if you don’t like the weather in Oklahoma, wait a minute and it’ll change.”

She chuckled, and he glanced up from his task. A few more strands of her hair had come loose. He had the notion to brush it away from her cheek, but proceeded to section the hay instead. He supposed the pinned-up style was her teacher hairdo—proper and pretty.

They approached the box stalls, and Elaina made a beeline for Nick’s moodiest mount, a gray he called Kid. The gelding tossed his head and stepped back warily, even if his breakfast was within sniffing distance.

“What’s the matter?” she asked the horse in a soft voice. “Are you bashful?”

Kid was more than head-shy. The three-year-old had acquired every leave-me-alone habit Nick could think of. “That’s Kid. I haven’t had him for very long. He’s a bit of a project.”

“You’re going to work with him?“

“Yeah.” And this was Nick’s first attempt to make a gentleman out of an ill-mannered mount. “I’m a saddle maker, not a trainer, but I’ve got plenty of patience.”

Elaina stepped back to view the horse. “I like him.” “Really?” Surprised, Nick entered the stall and pushed against the gelding’s rump when Kid tried to crowd him. They went through the same routine every morning. Kid was determined to jam Nick against the wall, and Nick was determined to make the horse behave. “Besides the fact that his stall manners are deplorable, he bites, kicks and pulls away while he’s being led. Oh, and he charges in pasture, too.”

Kid pinned his ears, and Elaina managed an amused look. “You must like him, too. After all, you did buy him.”

“He was cheap.” And Kid’s previous owners had given up on the feisty gelding, the way Nick’s mom had given up on him and Grant. She’d walked away, leaving behind a shabby old house and two confused boys.

He exited Kid’s stall and received a good-riddance sneer on his way out.

Elaina stifled a laugh. “He’s trying so hard to be a tough guy.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a pain in the ass.” Nick reached into the wheelbarrow and filled Kid’s hay crib. “And if he doesn’t shape up, he’s going to end up as some spoiled little poodle’s dinner.” He sent the gelding a pointed look. “They make dog food out of rotten horses, you know.”

Kid sneered again, and Elaina gave in to the urge to laugh. Nick turned to watch her, to see the light dancing in those incredible blue eyes.

“His name certainly suits him,” she said. “Every kid I know makes that face at one time or another.”

“Even Lexie?”

Her laughter faded. “Especially Lexie.”

They stood in silence then, looking at each other. Her breath hitched, and he ignored complaints from a row of hungry horses. Nick didn’t know what it felt like to be a parent, but he knew how it felt to honor his dying brother’s last request, to promise to devote the rest of his life to Grant’s family.

“Lexie’s really sad, isn’t she?”

Elaina nodded. “Sad, angry, confused. Her father was murdered, her best friend moved and she’s battling puberty. That’s enough to send anyone over the edge.”

“I guess you’ve gone the doctor route,” he said, feeling useless.

In an absent gesture, she lifted a blade of hay. “Yes, but Lexie wasn’t very receptive to therapy. Antidepressants didn’t help, either.”

Nick frowned. “They gave her drugs? That sounds so severe.”

“Antidepressants work for some people, but Lexie experienced too many side effects.” She dropped the hay, watched it drift to the ground. “I guess it was too much to hope for. A pill that would make her happy.”

“Yeah. That doesn’t sound realistic.” And the idea that a twelve-year-old needed a happy pill made his heart ache.

Maybe it was time to talk to Lexie, to tell her that she had been in her father’s thoughts before he died.

“I’m going to help you with Lexie,” Nick said. “Whatever I can do.”

Her smile was soft, her voice a little broken. “Thank you.”

“Sure. No problem.” Feeling suddenly awkward, he reached for the wheelbarrow, sucked in a rough breath. “I guess we better get these animals fed.”

“I’ll fill the water buckets.”

She turned away, and he let out the breath he’d been holding.

So what about Elaina? When should he tell her about their pending marriage? Today? Tomorrow? Next week?

Take care of my family…the old way. Be the Comanche I should have been. Teach my daughter… protect my wife.

Your wife. Dear God, brother, you gave me your wife. The woman you held in your arms every night.

I can’t tell her today, Nick thought, catching sight of Elaina’s hair shimmering in the morning light. He could tackle only one obstacle at a time. And for now, he had a twelve-year-old girl to worry about.

Twenty minutes later, Nick and Elaina stood in the kitchen, discussing breakfast.

“We can have something here,” he said. “Unless you want to go out.”

“Here is fine.”

He opened the fridge. “I’ve got bacon and eggs.” Food he’d purchased with Elaina and Lexie in mind. Normally he started his day with a bowl of cereal and two cups of black coffee. “I’m not a great cook,” he admitted.

She turned to wash her hands. “I don’t mind fixing breakfast.”

“All right. Thanks.” He shifted his feet, feeling uncomfortable in his own kitchen. Nick wasn’t used to company, to having to consider someone else’s preference.

He pulled a hand through his shorn hair. This husband thing was going to take some adjustment.

“Are the pans in here?” she asked, pointing to the cabinet below the stove.

“Yeah.” He placed a carton of eggs and a pound of bacon on the counter, and found himself looking around, wondering if his house was too simple for Elaina. He’d designed the kitchen for practicality, but it wasn’t fancy. And neither was the rest of the place. The decor was sturdy, woodsy and Western. A far cry, he thought, from her city-slick condo with its creamy carpet and floor-to-ceiling windows.

Elaina set a pan on the stove. “Maybe I should wake Lexie first.”

“I can do that.” And it would give him an opportunity to talk to his niece in private. “I’d like to spend a few minutes alone with her.”

“That’s nice.” Elaina smiled. “She’d probably like that, too.”

“Okay. Good. Just call us when breakfast is ready.”

“No problem,” she responded, still smiling a little.

Elaina had a pretty smile, he thought as he turned and headed down the hall. A sexy mouth. Which, of course, wasn’t what a marriage was based on. Sometimes Nick wanted to forget the whole thing, convince himself that Grant had been in shock and didn’t know what he was saying.

But deep in his heart he knew that wasn’t true. Hadn’t they talked about it when they were kids? He could still hear their voices, two sixth-grade boys discussing their heritage, a year after their mother had left.

“All that old Comanche stuff is weird,” Grant had said.

“No, it’s not. I think it’s kinda cool that a man got to have more than one wife.”

“You would, Nicky. You’re a pervert.”

They both laughed. Nick had already kissed a girl. Not a wet kiss, but a lip lock just the same.

“I wish we could have lived back then,” he said, picturing his ancestors riding across the plains. “We would have been awesome warriors.”

Grant rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I can see it now. You’d die in battle, and I’d end up having to marry all your wives and raise all your goofy kids.”

Nick frowned. “I’d do that for you.“

“Really?“

“Yeah.“

“Okay, but my kids aren’t gonna be goofy,” Grant said, punching his twin’s shoulder. “My kids are gonna be cool.”

Nick punched him back, and they laughed again, brothers who loved each other more than anything.

The memory faded, and Nick swallowed the lump in his throat.

He knocked on Lexie’s door, waited a beat and heard a muffled, groggy-sounding “It’s okay, Mom. I’m awake.”

“I’m not your mom. It’s Uncle Nick. Can I come in?”

“Yes.”

She was sitting up in bed, the blanket bunched around her hips. Her sweats were a standard shade of gray, and her sleepy eyes were the shape of her mother’s and the color of her father’s. Lexie Bluestone was a youthful combination of Elaina and Grant. Her size was a bit puzzling, though, considering how tall her parents were.

Maybe Elaina had been a late bloomer. Nick didn’t know much about his future wife.

His possible future wife, he amended. She might not agree to marry him. Asking a white woman to adhere to an old Comanche practice was asking a lot.

“Morning, Lexie,” Nick said, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Hi.” She reached for a pillow and hugged it.

She looked like a lost soul, a little girl with big, sad eyes. I’m sorry, he thought. So sorry I took your father away.

Nick moved forward, then sat on the edge of the bed. “I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes.”

“About what?“

“Your dad.”

Lexie’s eyes got bigger, and he realized he’d caught her off guard. Smooth move, Bluestone. Just sock her in the gut with it. “There’s just something I wanted to tell you.”

She hugged the pillow a little tighter. “About my dad?”

Nick nodded. “About the night he died.“

“You were there,” she said, her hair falling across her face in a sleek black line. “You were with him.”

“Your dad talked to me before he died.” Although Nick wanted to brush the hair from her cheek, he kept his hands clasped in his lap. “Some of his last words were about you.”

Lexie didn’t respond. She just watched him with those luminous eyes.

“He asked me to look after you. And to teach you about being Comanche.”

She blinked, and he saw a shimmer of tears. “Is that what you’re going to do?” she asked.

“Yes, I am. Is that okay with you?”

When she nodded, her chin bumped the pillow. “I guess so. I mean, if that’s what my dad wanted.”

They both fell silent. The room was still dim, vertical blinds shutting out the morning light. Nick remembered holding Lexie at her christening, a tiny babe draped in white lace. Grant had been so proud.

“Uncle Nick?“

“Yes?” He met her watery gaze, wishing he knew how to comfort her.

“Did you like being a twin?

He pictured his brother’s face. “Sure. I liked it a lot. Your dad was my best friend. Sometimes we could read each other’s minds. Or we’d say the same thing at the same time.”

“You look so much like him. Even your voices sound alike. But your hair used to be longer than his, so I guess nobody ever mixed you up.”

“We both had long hair when we were kids.” He smiled a little, enjoying the memory. “So you see, people confused us all the time. Especially our teachers. Of course, we drove them crazy on purpose. Twins get to play all kinds of games in school.”

Lexie drew her knees up, a child keen with interest. “What about your mom? Could she tell you apart?”

“Yeah, she knew who was who.” And she’d left both of them behind. “Did your dad mention her?”

Lexie nodded. “He said that the man she was going to marry was a jerk, so you guys stayed with your grandma instead of going with your mom when she moved.”

Nick glanced up at the ceiling. That wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was a hell of a lot better than saying their mom had abandoned them. “Our grandma was a great lady.”

“Do you have any pictures of her?” she asked, scooting forward a little.

“Sure. I’ve got a box of old photos. There’s some of your dad and me when we were kids, too.”

Her eyes were still watery, but she smiled. “Can we look through them later?”

“You bet.” Nick knew Grant had left home without any childhood mementos, so Nick had saved pictures and report cards and scraps of paper with adolescent notes scribbled on them. Just in case, he’d always told himself. Just in case Grant stopped being ashamed of who they were and where they’d come from.

Lexie lowered her head. “I wish people didn’t have to die. I miss Daddy so much.”

“I know, baby. Me, too.”

She looked up, her voice quavering. “Do you ever think about the boys who killed him?”

A blast of pain exploded in Nick’s chest. When the bullet had struck Grant, he’d fallen, too. He’d dropped to his knees to cradle his twin. “Sometimes.”

“Do you still remember what they look like?”

“Yes.” He would never forget their faces, teenagers who were monsters deep inside. “I gave the police a description.” And he’d spent hours paging through mug shots, studying gangbangers, murders, drug addicts and thieves. “They’ll get caught someday.”

She adjusted the blanket. “I hope so. It isn’t fair that they got away.”

He frowned, the impact of her words constricting his heart. “I know.” If only he could go back in time, if only there was a way to change what he’d done that night. He reached for Lexie’s hand, skimming her fingers with his.

But there was nothing Nick could do but fulfill the promise he’d made to Grant. His brother was gone, and Lexie needed a father.

Three

At nine that evening the wind blew furiously, but inside Nick’s house the air was calm and warm. An orangeand-gold flame danced in the fireplace, scenting the living room with a woodsy aroma.

Lexie was perched on the edge of the sofa in youthful anticipation, waiting for Nick. Elaina sat next to her, watching Lexie through the corner of her eye. She hadn’t realized how important Grant’s deceased relatives would be to her daughter.

Grant hadn’t liked talking about his childhood, and Elaina had never pressed the issue. She preferred not to dwell on her childhood, either. And most of her relatives were still alive.

“Here it is.” Nick entered the room carrying a card board box. He placed it on the coffee table, and Lexie got up and knelt on the floor. Elaina leaned in, too. She couldn’t help being curious about her husband’s past, about all the things he didn’t like to talk about. But then his family had been struggling-to-survive poor, and Grant had valued the finer things in life.

“I meant to put all of this stuff in photo albums,” Nick said, removing three vinyl-covered albums. “But I never got around to it.” Shoving them aside, he grabbed a stack of loose photos. “Everything’s kind of mixed up. We’ll just have to sort through it.”

“I don’t mind.” Lexie lifted the picture on top. “Oh. Wow. It’s you and Daddy, isn’t it?”

He rested his chin on the child’s narrow shoulder. “Yep. That’s us. Holey jeans and all.”

“Who’s who?”

He chuckled. “Hell if I know.“

“Come on, Uncle Nick.” Lexie brought the picture closer. “You have to know.“

“Maybe, but I’m not telling.”

Lexie rolled her eyes. “Then we’ll figure it out. Won’t we, Mom?” She handed the photo to Elaina. The teasing banter between uncle and niece surprised her, and so did the snapshot.

Two adolescent boys mugged for the camera, straight black hair falling to their shoulders. Their plaid shirts were frayed, their jeans torn in the same spot, as if they’d skinned the same knee. Elaina examined each face, each identical feature, and when she compared their smiles, she knew. The difference was subtle, barely there, but she still knew. Nick was on the left, his grin just a little more crooked.

“I can’t tell,” she said, unable to admit the truth. She didn’t want Nick to know she had studied him so closely. Besides, it should have been Grant’s boyish smile that struck familiarity, not Nick’s.

Lexie peered at the photograph again, and Nick flashed the giveaway grin. “Your dad’s the cute one,” he told his niece.

They were both heartbreakers, Elaina thought. Lean, lanky boys standing in front of a tree they had probably climbed a thousand times.

“Look at this, Mom.”

The next snapshot made Elaina’s heart thump. It was

Grant posing during his early college days. She could see the California campus behind him. The university where they’d met just a few years later.

Nick glanced up, and the moment turned strangely quiet. Firelight played upon his features, making his cheekbones more prominent, his skin a liquid shade of bronze. She actually wanted to touch him, to see if his face would feel as compelling as Grant’s.

“My brother thought you were the most beautiful woman on earth.”

She blinked, trying to keep herself from crying in front of her daughter. “He told you that?”

“Yeah. He called me after your first date. ’I just kissed the most gorgeous girl in the world,’ he said. ’And someday I’m going to marry her.’”

“And what did you say?” This came from Lexie, her youthful voice surprisingly romantic.

Nick continued to stare at Elaina. “That she must be something special.”

Her husband. Her brother-in-law. Their faces were blurring, and it scared her. She needed to remember Grant’s features, his smile, his slow, sexy drawl. And she couldn’t bear to have Nick watching her with those stirring dark eyes, reminiscing about things that made her ache.

Elaina wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. She placed the picture back on the table and picked up a different one.

Immediately the image of a young Indian woman caught her attention. Her trendy clothes and retro hair-style depicted the mod era of the sixties. She sat on a worn-out sofa, a colorful miniskirt revealing shapely legs and chunky-heeled boots. Her eyes were heavily lined and her lipstick a bit too frosted, but she was still stunning.

“Who’s this?” Elaina asked, passing the photograph to Nick.

He gazed at it for a moment. “My mom.”

Lexie leaned over, bumping Elaina’s shoulder. “Wow. She looks like a model or something. How did she make her hair have that little bubble on top?”

Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of hair spray, I guess.”

“She’s pretty. Isn’t she, Mom?“

“Yes, she is.” The young woman in the picture was fashionably slim, with a rebellious tilt to her frosted lips. Between the tastefully teased hair, the vinyl go-go boots and the fishnet stockings, Lexie couldn’t take her eyes from the photograph.

And neither could Elaina. “She must have gotten a lot of attention.” Especially, she thought, in a quiet Oklahoma town.

“Yeah,” Nick said. “She always fixed herself up.”

His voice sounded a little too casual, a little too un affected, like the tone of someone feigning nonchalance.

“Now let me see if I can find a picture of Grandma.” He scoured the pile, and even though he didn’t bury the image of his miniskirted mother, he managed to steer the conversation away from it. “Here she is. Her name was Delores, but most people called her Dee.”

Contrary to her striking daughter, whose name Nick had yet to mention, Dee Bluestone exhibited homespun qualities. Her black hair was streaked with gray, her dress an old-fashioned housecoat. And although she smiled for the camera, she seemed tired, aging and overworked.

Now Elaina wanted to know everything Grant hadn’t told her. Every detail that had shaped his life, but she wasn’t comfortable asking Nick about it.

Nick continued to dig through the pile, handing Lexie his favorite pictures as they surfaced.

“Uncle Nick?“

“Hmm?“

“Can I work on the photo albums?“

“Sure. If you don’t mind going through this mess.” He retrieved a manila envelope. “There’s lots of junk here.” He opened the clasp, removed some crumpled papers. “I even saved report cards. Of course, your dad always got better grades than me.”

Lexie took the envelope. “Did you go to Indian schools?”

“No. They were public.”

The girl turned to Elaina. “Daddy asked Uncle Nick to teach me about being Comanche.“

“He did?” Stunned, she glanced at Nick. Grant had never mentioned educating Lexie about her heritage. He was Comanche, and Elaina was French and English, with a splash of Gypsy blood. The world was a melting pot of race, religion and color, he used to say. So why make an issue out of your child’s ethnicity?

“When did he ask you to do that?” she asked.

“On the night he died,” Nick answered, meeting her gaze with a haunted yet tender look.

The following morning Elaina and Lexie gathered in Nick’s workshop for a leather-craft lesson. Nick taught classes at the youth center, something that surprised Elaina. She hadn’t known he had experience as a teacher.

Elaina glanced around, assessing the man and his workspace. His bench was a little messy, but his tools lined a backboard, each one easily accessible. Knives were protected in sheaths, and awls and punches rested in leather loops.

The air smelled of beeswax and mink oil. A cutting table and two sewing machines dominated a large portion of the room, shelves and benches occupying the rest. Leather ranged from vegetable-tanned hides to soft, furry skins. Trays of beads, hair-bone pipe and feathers reflected Nick’s roots—a Comanche skilled in the art of cowboy crafts.

Elaina and Lexie sat at separate benches. While Lexie worked, Elaina marveled at her daughter’s Christmas project. She was decorating holiday stockings Nick had designed. The pieces weren’t sewn, but the patterns were cut, awaiting Lexie’s imagination.

Elaina’s and Nick’s stockings were made from tooling leather, each in the shape of a cowboy boot, one smaller and slightly feminine, and the other bolder, with strong, masculine lines. Lexie’s stocking was constructed similar to a knee-high moccasin, fringed at the edges and tall enough for an abundance of elf-inspired goodies.