When her marriage had failed, she’d been drawn to Texas at least in part to see if there was any way at all to fulfill that old promise. Now, while it seemed likely there was much she could do to assist the scattered Native Americans still living in Texas, reality suggested there was little chance she could return their old lands to them. While principle dictated the claims of the tribe were valid, individually their legal rights were murky at best.

“Jenny, you know that’s what I want to do, but it’s complicated. I can’t just waltz into the courthouse and file a few briefs and expect a hundred years of wrongs to be righted. The system doesn’t work that way.”

“The system stinks,” Jenny retorted, thumping the plates onto the table. “And just remember, Mom, Mr. Adams is part of that system.”

Janet sighed. It wasn’t something she was likely to forget. If the twinkle in his eyes or the fire stirred by a casual touch distracted her, she had only to gaze around at his land to remember what had brought her to Texas.

Every acre of raw beauty reminded her of Lone Wolf’s broken father, forced to live as a farmer in an unfamiliar state when tradition and instinct made him a hunter.

In the abstract, it had been easy to hate the Texans who had made that happen. Now, faced with a man like Harlan Adams, who had shown her nothing but kindness, compassion and a hint of desire, it was awfully hard to think of him—or even his faceless ancestors—as the enemy.

So, what did she consider him to be? she wondered as she checked the cake she had baking. Her mother, a full-blooded Comanche, had barely survived a disastrous marriage to a white man. Janet was only half Comanche and her own marriage to a white man had been only minimally better. She’d convinced herself that returning to Texas to learn more about her Comanche heritage was the secret to happiness.

Was Jenny right? Was she selling out already by allowing Harlan Adams to assume such a significant role in their lives? It was not as if she’d had much choice, she consoled herself. Jenny had gotten their lives entwined from the moment she’d impulsively stolen that truck of his.

As for the way she responded to Harlan’s warm glances, that was just hormones talking. Her good sense could overrule that anytime she chose—or so she prayed.

She reached into the oven to remove the cake. The pot holder slipped. Her thumb landed squarely on the pan.

“Damn,” she muttered as the round pan clattered to the floor. A crack the size of the Grand Canyon appeared down the middle of the cake. Jenny appeared just in time to stare in dismay at the mess.

“Jeez, Mom, that cake was about the only thing this meal had going for it.”