Nick knew he had to ask Elaina tonight. Two years had passed, more than enough time for him to fulfill his 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
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