Comanche Vow

Moonlight shone in her eyes, tiny flecks of gold in all that impossible blue. He imagined touching her cheek, her hair, the delicate column of her neck.

Nick frowned. If he lost himself in lust, in the heat she made him feel, this proposal would be even more difficult.

“Elaina, you know that my brother asked me to take care of Lexie, to teach her about being Comanche. But before he died, he talked to me about you, too. He wanted me to protect you.” Pausing to breathe, he let the words settle. “The way a Comanche brother would have done in another century.”

Her voice quavered. “I don't understand.”

Yes, you do, he thought. Deep down you do. You know what a Comanche marriage exchange means.

“I'm proposing, Elaina. In the name of my brother, I'm asking you to marry me.”

Comanche Vow

Sheri Whitefeather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SHERI WHITEFEATHER

Sheri WhiteFeather lives in a cowboy community in Central Valley, California. She loves being a writer and credits her husband, Dru, a tribally enrolled member of the Muscogee Creek Nation, for inspiring many of her stories.

Sheri and Dru have two beautiful grown children, a trio of cats and a border collie/queensland heeler that will jump straight into your arms.

Sheri's hobbies include decorating with antiques and shopping in thrift stores for jackets from the sixties and seventies, items that mark her interest in vintage Western wear and hippie fringe.

To contact Sheri, learn more about her books and see pictures of her family, visit her Web site at www.sheriwhitefeather.com.

To my sister, Elaine McCullogh.

I wished we lived closer. We're not twins,

but we could be. To my agent, Irene Goodman,

because you loved the premise of this story.

To my editor, Melissa Jeglinski, because every author

should be so lucky. And to the community members on

eHarlequin.com—thanks for the message board chats.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

One

Nick Bluestone waited at the airport, trying not to pace. He had four weeks to enforce his plan, the mission he’d agreed to carry out.

The mission? Nick frowned. This wasn’t a covert military operation. This was a heart-wrenching promise he’d made to his brother. A Comanche vow.

He took a rough breath and thought about Elaina, the woman he’d pledged to marry. He hadn’t seen her since the summer they’d buried Grant, the summer they’d stood side by side and mourned Nick’s twin. And now, two years later, she had finally agreed to visit him in Oklahoma, to bring his niece for Christmas.

Nick released the air in his lungs. A holiday visit. That wasn’t the half of it. Elaina had no idea that he intended to propose. But then, how could she? He’d been keeping the vow a secret, preparing himself for the right moment to tell her.

Scanning the passengers entering the terminal, he spotted her. Instantly his pulse quickened. He barely knew Elaina. Sure, he liked her, but he hadn’t allowed himself to look too closely, to admire her for anything other than being his brother’s devoted wife.

But damn it, there she was, tall and shapely, with a shoulder-length sweep of chestnut hair—a woman much too striking not to notice.

Even dressed in blue jeans, she reminded him of a lady, a true lady, the sort a noble knight would lose his heart to. Was that what had first attracted Grant to her? The graceful beauty? The whisper of sensuality?

I’m supposed to protect my brother’s ladylove, he thought nervously. Pledge my life, my tarnished honor to her. And seeing Elaina, watching her enter his rough-hewn world, made that vow seem more real.

More intense.

Shifting his focus, Nick schooled his anxiety and studied his twelve-year-old niece instead. Lexie was taller than the last time he’d seen her, but still small for her age. A baseball cap rode low on her forehead, shading big, dark eyes. With her baggy jeans and oversize T-shirt, she looked more like a brooding little boy than a troubled young girl.

She glanced up, and he smiled. Her face was lean and angular, her skin smooth and soft. Oh, yeah, he thought She was female, all right. Sweet, stubborn and confusing as hell.

He moved forward to greet her, keeping Elaina in his peripheral vision. “Hey, Lexie.”

“Uncle Nick.”

She reached out, and he hugged her naturally. Lexie was his godchild, the little girl who lived in his heart. She was all he had left of Grant, and he intended to keep her safe and warm.

He lifted the brim of her hat and grinned. Her hair, nearly as short as his, brushed her neck in a simple, blunt style. Apparently Lexie still didn’t fuss or frill over her hair, a fact that used to amuse her daddy. No ribbons and bows for Grant’s baby girl. She preferred baseball cards to Barbie dolls and barrettes.

And then there was Elaina, rife with feminine curves, in a champagne-colored sweater, slim-fitting jeans and a pair of sleek suede boots. And her eyes, he thought. They were as blue as the brightest lapis imaginable.

Elaina Bluestone.

Ironically, the name fit. Something he’d never noticed before.

“Hi,” Nick said to her. “How was your flight?” “Fine. A little tiring.” She met his gaze, and then shifted those blue eyes quickly away. “We had a layover in Texas.”

“Yeah. Traveling can wear a person out.” Since they didn’t embrace, he relieved her of a carry-on bag and tried to act casual. Apparently she didn’t like looking him in the eye, but he figured his resemblance to Grant unnerved her. These days, it unnerved him, too. “Let’s head over to baggage claim.”

They stood quietly with the other passengers and waited for the luggage to appear. And while Lexie adjusted her backpack and Elaina studied the empty turntable, Nick’s thoughts drifted back in time.

Two years before, he’d visited Grant in Los Angeles, a trip he rarely made. The Comanche brothers looked alike, but their lifestyles had been worlds apart. Grant had left home to pursue a successful corporate career in California, while Nick, a saddle maker, remained close to his roots.

So to celebrate Nick’s last night in the city, they’d eaten dinner at a steak house, then stopped by a sports bar to shoot a few rounds of pool. Although neither had consumed more than a few beers, they were still feeling boyish and rowdy, ribbing each other like a couple of kids.

“You miss this shot,” Nick had cajoled, “and I get to take that jet-propelled machine of yours for a spin. You know, the one masquerading as a car.”

Grant had flashed a roguish grin and eyed the eight ball, calling it in the corner pocket. “Then I don’t intend to miss, bro. Because I’ve seen the way you drive.”

He didn’t miss, and Nick didn’t end up piloting the Porsche. It was Grant who had driven later that night, Grant who had been gunned down in the midst of a carjacking.

As a familiar pain coiled in the pit of his stomach, Nick squinted at the baggage-claim ticket in Elaina’s hand.

He could still recall that moment, the instant his brother lay dying in his arms. He’d struggled to stem the wound, to stop the warm rush of blood that had flowed from Grant’s chest.

A part of him knew he couldn’t help the other man, but another part refused to give up. He couldn’t live without his brother. In spite of the choices that separated them, they still shared the same heart, the same soul. There were times they could read each other’s minds, feel each other’s emotions.

And on that dark summer night, Nick had felt his twin die. But not before Grant had whispered the words Nick would never forget.

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

The old way. A dying man’s last request. A living man’s biggest fear. Grant had asked Nick to take his place—become a husband and father to the woman and child he’d left behind.

“It’s here.”

Nick blinked at the sound of Elaina’s voice. “What?” “Our luggage.“

“Oh, sure. Just tell me which suitcases are yours.”

He squared his shoulders, his thoughts still spinning. arrying Elaina and raising Lexie was a responsibility he’d been battling for two years.

He lifted a leather satchel, wondering about the path that lay ahead. Would Elaina actually agree to marry him? And what about his involvement in Grant’s death? She didn’t know about the mistake Nick had made, the vital error that had ultimately cost Grant his life.

No one knew. Not even the L.A. cops who’d taken the report. Nick still kept the truth locked inside, the pain and guilt that followed him each day.

Nick’s house was one of those quaint country structures with an enormous porch, a graveled driveway and grass and trees everywhere. It was more or less what Elaina had expected, a little off the beaten path, with neighbors scattered here and there.

“Your dad and I grew up on this property,” Nick told Lexie as he unlocked the door. “But I tore down the old house and built a new one. It was pretty primitive before.”

Lexie only nodded. After hugging Nick at the airport, she’d withdrawn, reverting back to her detached self.

He carried the heavier luggage inside, with Elaina and Lexie carting smaller pieces.

“You brought a lot of stuff,” he commented.

“Four weeks is a lengthy vacation,” Elaina re sponded, worrying about what she’d gotten herself into. Lexie didn’t look any happier, even if she kept studying her uncle beneath her lashes.

Grant’s senseless murder had destroyed Lexie, each year going from bad to worse. And to top it off, her best friend had moved three months ago, leaving the young girl feeling lost and lonely. Elaina sighed. She was an elementary-school teacher, a woman experienced in meeting the needs of a wide range of children, yet she couldn’t help her own daughter. How ironic was that?

She had even taken a leave of absence from her job, but being a stay-at-home mom hadn’t made a difference. Then again, Lexie appeared to be craving a paternaltype attachment. Which was the reason Elaina had finally agreed to come to Oklahoma. Recently, Lexie had expressed an interest in visiting her uncle.

Elaina studied Nick, wondering what sort of person he really was. She didn’t know much about him. In truth, he’d always seemed a little wild—a man with a rough, frayed-denim edge.

She hoped they weren’t going to spend the next four weeks struggling to make conversation. Whenever Nick had visited them in L.A., Grant had been the one entertaining his brother. Aside from the days following Grant’s death, this was the first time Elaina or Lexie had ever been alone with Nick.

But Elaina had to give him credit for trying. He’d invited them to stay with him during summer and spring breaks, and since those attempts had failed, he’d resorted to Christmas.

He showed them to their rooms, and then motioned o the burgers they’d picked up at a drive-through on the way in. “Ready for dinner?” he asked.

She nodded. “Sure.“

“We can eat in here,” he said, indicating the living room. “I’m not fussy about stuff like that. But I guess that’s pretty obvious.”

Both Elaina and Lexie managed a smile. Remnants from Nick’s last meal sat on a plate above the television, as if he’d forgotten about it until now.

As they gathered around the coffee table, sipping sodas and dipping fries into pools of ketchup, Elaina assessed her surroundings.

The room was rough-hewn and masculine, with coarse furnishings and an Old West theme. A set of buckhorn candleholders sat on a sturdy oak bookcase, and a rope-and-rawhide chair was angled in the corner. A lambskin throw decorated the sofa, along with a few Western-printed pillows.

The end table was a bit cluttered, newspapers and magazines piled in an uneven stack. Elaina had the urge to tidy up. It was her nature, she supposed, the domestic side of herself she couldn’t deny.

Glancing out the window, she caught sight of a country setting, of dusk darkening a winter sky.

Grant and Nick had grown up on this rugged property, but Nick accepted it as his home. The man was a saddle maker, an Indian living like a cowboy. Grant had preferred designer suits, whereas Nick appeared to favor worn-out Wranglers. How could they look so much alike, yet be so different from each other?

Elaina reached for her burger, wishing Nick didn’t have Grant’s face. Here she was, two years after her husband’s death, comparing the brothers and imagining Grant as he had been.

She knew Lexie did that, too. And Nick, with his jetblack hair, determined jaw and strong cheekbones, was a reminder of what they had lost.

Was coming here a mistake? she asked herself. Was Lexie placing too much importance on her father’s twin?

Nick turned on the TV, and Elaina let out the breath she’d been holding. Hopefully, she and Lexie would get through this evening painlessly, watching cable for a while, then retreating to unpack and get a muchneeded night’s rest.

The following morning Elaina awakened feeling far from refreshed. She squinted at the clock and reached for her robe. They day seemed a little gray, but she supposed it matched her mood.

Oklahoma. Grant hadn’t liked living here, so what made her think four weeks in the Sooner State was going to cure Lexie’s depression?

Concerned about her daughter, she belted her robe and slipped into the hall. Opening the other guest-room door, she stepped inside, then stood near the bed.

Lexie slept in a tangle of blankets, her short black hair strewn across her face. She had Grant’s hair, rain straight, with a glossy sheen. Elaina’s unruly mane tended to curl far too much. If she didn’t style it with a blow dryer, each rebellious strand took on a mind of its own.

Lexie stirred, and Elaina sighed. Should she wake the young girl or let her sleep?

She touched her daughter’s cheek. She missed the closeness they’d once shared, the laughter that used to fill their home.

Three teenage boys had destroyed her family. They’d wanted Grant’s car badly enough to kill him for it, to shoot him in the chest and leave him bleeding on the side of the freeway.

She took a deep breath, but the image wouldn’t go away. Her husband shivering and helpless, a bullet lodged much too close to his heart. And what about Nick? She would never forget how he looked when a policeman brought him back to the condo that night. Her husband was dead, and his twin had blood on his sleeve, a tremor in his voice, a vacant stare in his dark eyes.

“Mom?”

Elaina’s heart bumped against her breast, jarring her from the memory. “Hi, sweetheart.“

Lexie adjusted the covers. “What time is it?” “Seven.“

“Are we going somewhere with Uncle Nick?”

She sat on the edge of the bed. “Not that I know of. He’s probably working today.” Which meant he would still be close by. His workshop was located behind the house.

“Then can I go back to sleep?”

Elaina considered her daughter’s question. This was supposed to be a vacation, four weeks away from the pattern of their lives. There was no dreaded middle school for Lexie to tackle, no unhappy morning routine to adhere to. So if Lexie wanted to stay in bed, what was the harm? She was probably overtired, her body still trying to adjust to the time change.

“I’ll wake you up later, okay?“

“Okay.”

Lexie closed her eyes, big brown eyes that nearly swallowed her entire face. She was, Elaina thought, a petite and pretty tomboy, caught in the battle of puberty. An unwelcome battle, considering Lexie’s determination to defy her gender.

Elaina went back to her own room, choosing to wear jeans, a washable-silk T-shirt and a pair of lace-up boots. She styled her hair in a classic chignon, a look she had become accustomed to, even with casual clothes.

Ready for a cup of coffee, she headed for the kitchen, preparing to familiarize herself with someone else’s home. But when she got there, she came eye-to-eye with Nick.

He leaned against the counter, his raven hair combed away from his face, a well-worn denim shirt tucked into a pair of equally faded jeans. She had to tell herself to breathe, to accept his presence without losing her composure.

It was his hair, she realized, that unsettled her most. Nick had always kept it long, well past his shoulders. Yet the morning after Grant had died, he’d cut it.

But why? So he would look even more like his brother?

Grant had worn his hair in a shorter style because he was trying to present a non-Indian image. He’d wanted people to see him as the up-and-coming executive that he was. And stereotypes, he’d said, referring to his Comanche heritage, got in the way.

“Good morning,” Nick drawled in a slow, husky voice. “Did you sleep all right?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Unlike Grant, he was heavily involved in his culture, or that was the impression she got. He sported silver jewelry, a wide band on one wrist, a detailed watch and another wide bracelet on the other. His belt was adorned with sterling accents and an engraved buckle.

No one would mistake Nick for being anything other than Indian, and his denim-and-silver style intensified that image. Except for the hair. The slicked-back, GQ look belonged to Grant.

“Where’s Lexie?” he asked.

“Still asleep.“

“Oh.” He frowned. “I was wondering what everyone wanted to do about breakfast.”

“I’d rather wait for Lexie, but I’m not going to wake her for a while. So if you want to eat now, go ahead.”

“No. I can wait.”

She noticed the coffeepot was percolating. “May I have a cup?“

“Sure. It’s pretty strong, though.“

“I don’t mind.” Elaina wasn’t choosy about her coffee, and she’d lied about sleeping well. She’d tossed and turned most of the night. Of course, insomnia had become part of her widowed lifestyle.

She located a sturdy mug in the cupboard above her head, then turned back to him. “Do you have sugar?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He opened the cabinet near the stove and handed her a pink-and-white box.

She added the sweetener and found herself smiling in the process. This was typical of a bachelor, she supposed. A sugar bowl wouldn’t occur to a single man. And that’s what Nick had always been. Her bachelor brother-in-law.

She lifted the mug, curious if Nick had a significant other by now, an important girlfriend who kept him in line. Not likely, she thought. Hadn’t she stumbled upon a conversation between Grant and Nick on that very subject, just days before Grant’s murder?

“So, bro,” her husband had said, sinking into an Italian leather chair. “Have you met anyone special?”

Nick, looking a bit too rugged for the condo’s upscale interior, had kicked a pair of timeworn boots out in front of him. “Can’t say that I have.”

“I guess that means you’re still sampling the flavor of the month?”

“Yep. That’s me. Brunettes in May and redheads in June.” Nick had wagged his eyebrows, and they’d grinned at each other like a couple of naughty boys paging through their first girlie magazine. Elaina had wanted to throttle both of them, but instead she’d tossed a decorative pillow at Grant, warning him that she’d just entered the living room.

And even though Grant had charmed her into a playful, I’m-busted hug, and Nick had seemed thoroughly embarrassed that she’d heard his macho admission, that silly memory confirmed the unlikelihood of a significant other. Nick Bluestone wasn’t the commitment type.

“Elaina?”

She glanced up and realized he’d been watching her, probably wondering why she had zoned out. “Yes?”

He trapped her gaze, his stare intense. “Do you want to go for a walk? Maybe help feed the horses?”

With a sudden jump in her heartbeat, she told herself to relax, to not look away. She couldn’t continue to avoid him, and dancing around those dark, penetrating eyes was simply rude.

“Do you think I need a jacket?” she asked, deciding to walk with him.

“Maybe. I don’t think it’s cold out, but you might.” He sent her a boyish grin. “You’ve got that California blood.”

And he had a charming smile, a bit more crooked than Grant’s had been. “I’ll get a sweater.” She went to her room and returned with a lightweight wrap. She’d meant to smile back at him, but she couldn’t. Her attraction to Grant had started with his teasing grin.

The air was brisk and clean, with mountains in the distance. They passed Nick’s workshop and headed toward the barn. She noticed a fenced arena and a small, circular pen. Equestrian additions, she assumed, Nick had made to the property. Grant had described his childhood homestead as a wasteland, but Elaina thought it was pretty. The soil shimmered with flecks of gold, and a cluster of trees was shedding winter leaves. She could picture snow blanketing the earth, just enough to make the holidays come alive.

“Do you ride?” Nick asked.

“I used to rent horses in the Hollywood Hills, but it’s been ages. Since high school, I guess.“

“Somehow I can’t see connecting with nature in Hollywood. That place is weird.”

Elaina had to laugh. He sounded like a big, biased country boy. “It was near Griffith Park, so it’s nice up there. But I suppose your opinion of Tinseltown is accurate enough. Some people call it Hollyweird.”

This time he laughed, a rich, smooth baritone. She liked the friendly sound, but when he leaned closer and bumped her shoulder, her heart picked up speed. A slice of hair fell across his forehead, and she realized it wasn’t secured with gel. Nick’s hair was simply wet from a recent shower and drying naturally in the morning air.

Suddenly she couldn’t stop herself from asking the question that had plagued her for two years.

“Nick?” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Why did you cut your hair?”

He stared at her for a moment. “Because of Grant,” he said quietly.

She released a shaky breath. “Because that’s the way he wore his hair?”

“No. It’s a Comanche practice.” His eyes turned a darker shade of brown—a deeper, lonelier color. “My brother died. I’m mourning him.”

Elaina felt instantly shamed. She should have figured it out on her own. She should have known. Hadn’t she seen something similar in movies? Indians maiming themselves when a loved one died—cutting their skin, their hair? She looked at Nick and wondered if he’d taken a knife to himself, as well. If there were scars somewhere on his body.

“Does it help?” she asked. “Does it take the pain away?”

He closed his eyes, and as the wind blew around him in a silent flutter, Elaina waited for him to answer.

But he didn’t. He just stood, with his eyes closed. Stood while her heart pounded in an unsteady rhythm.

“Nick?” she pressed. If there was a way to ease the pain that came with losing Grant, then Elaina needed to know.

Two

Nick didn’t know what to say. Nothing helped, nothing made living without his brother more bearable. Yes, he’d cut his hair, honoring the old way, but keeping it short was more than a mourning ritual. It was a daily reminder of what he’d done, of his involvement in Grant’s death. And so were the marks on his chest, the places where he’d shed his own blood. The wounds had long since healed, but the pain and guilt wouldn’t go away.