Comanche Vow. Sheri WhiteFeather
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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.