Comanche Heart Read Online Free PDF

dreams of finer places, but now . . . A lump rose in his throat. With his life a living nightmare, a dream, even if it had no more substance than a wisp of smoke, had to be sought.
    Swift had no idea what kind of a place Oregon might be, but three things recommended it highly: it was a far piece from Texas, the Gabriel brothers, and the legend of Swift Lopez. The minute he got this girl delivered to that ranch house, he was heading west.

Chapter 2
    October 1879
     
    NOON SUNSHINE WARMED SWIFT’S SHOULDERS as he guided his black stallion up the steep, rutted road to Wolf’s Landing. After six months of traveling, some through desert, some through barren high plains, his senses felt bombarded by the sheer lush-ness of Oregon’s vibrant display of autumn. He took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air and feasted his eyes on the colorful hillsides, which ranged from bright orange to dark rust and varying shades of green. Never had he seen so many species of trees in one place, oak, fir, pine, maple, and a beautiful evergreen he couldn’t identify, with peeling trunks that twisted through the surrounding growth like gnarled fingers.
    Children’s voices drifted to him on the breeze as he crested the hill. He reined in his horse and sat a moment, taking in his first sight of Wolf’s Landing, a bustling little mining town ten miles from Jacksonville, the county seat. The main street looked like any in a white community, with colorfully advertised shops lining the boardwalks. On the left, three two-story buildings loomed above the others, a saloon, a hotel, and a restaurant.
    Up on the hillside, nestled behind a sprawling log house, Swift spotted two tepees. Judging from the smoke that trailed above the lodge poles, someone here clung to the Indian ways. He grinned as the words of the ancient Comanche prophecy ran through his mind: A new place, where the Comanche and tosi tivo will live as one.
    The wonderful smell of baked bread floated on the air. Houses of varying size and structure, some impressive, some one-room shanties with bare dirt yards, peppered the thick woodland. In the distance Swift saw a woman hanging up clothes behind a squat log cabin. Farther up the hill from her, two cows ambled through the brush, one bawling, the other stopping to graze.
    He relaxed in the saddle, a feeling of peace washing over him. It had been three years since he had escaped the Indian reservation—three long, restless years—and in all his wanderings he’d never come upon a place that spoke to him as this one did. Home. Maybe, just maybe, if he waited and lay low, he could escape his reputation here and hang up his guns.
    A squeal of laughter caught Swift’s attention, and he nudged his hat back to survey the schoolyard to his right. A small girl raced from the playground toward the schoolhouse, her gingham skirts flying as she tried to evade the boy who chased her. The next instant someone began beating a triangle with a steel bar, raising such a din that Swift’s gaze shifted to the porch. He glimpsed a flash of golden hair, then heard a sweet, hauntingly familiar voice. “Time to come in, children. Recess is over.”
    Swift stared at the slender woman who stood on the schoolhouse steps, a vision in dark blue muslin. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Amy! Surely it couldn’t be. Yet it sounded like her. The hair color was right, a rich honey gold. Could it be Loretta, Amy’s older cousin? With her golden hair, fine features, and blue eyes, Loretta always had resembled Amy. If not for the difference in their ages, the two might have passed for twins.
    The children raced for the schoolhouse. Their feet slapped the wood as they ran up the steps and went inside. Swift, drawn by the faint sound of the woman’s voice, reined Diablo around and rode toward the schoolyard. He pulled up by the stoop, swung out of the saddle, and draped the reins over the hitching post. For an instant he stood frozen and listened, afraid to