by Jenna Kernan
Damn her.
Troy rolled from his sleeping skins before sunup and walked the river. Better to be away from camp before she emerged from her bed and stretched. Just the image of her silhouetted against the rising sun made sweat break out on his brow.
When he returned he found her still lying about like the lady of the castle. He sighed. That’s what she was, after all. A spoiled, pampered little miss on her first adventure. Despite his best intentions, he stalked over to her bedroll. All that was visible was a shocking wave of orange hair made brilliant in the early morning sunlight. The rest of her huddled beneath the dark fur of his buffalo robe.
What would she do if he slid under there with her?
He clenched his teeth and nudged her with his toe. She groaned and her hair slid across the fur as she curled farther down into her burrow.
“Breakfast in bed, my lady?” he asked, imitating her accent, then waited with his hands upon his hips for her appearance.
Instead, her muffled voice emerged from within. “Just leave it by the bed.”
Now he was frowning. Irritation prickled him like nettles as it dawned on him that she was so accustomed to breakfast in bed that she saw nothing out of the ordinary in his offer.
He lifted his foot to give her a hearty shove and then lowered it, stalking away. The robe fell back as she sat bolt upright and stared at him.
He glared from across the cold fire pit.
“Was that you speaking a moment ago?” she asked.
He nodded. “I thought I dreamed it.”
The hide lay at her waist and he noted she had released her bodice and loosened her corset in the night. The result was a beautiful view of the lush curve of her breast, bare at the top and contained only by a green ribbon and a thin veil of cotton.
Please God, don’t let her stretch.
As if hearing his prayer and ignoring it, she rose to her knees. His gaze devoured her, sweeping upward to fix on the perfect swell of her breast, now in profile. Stiffly she rose to her feet.
Oh, no. He told himself to look away, but his traitorous body wanted the image branded to his memories for all time.
She stretched her arms wide and the sheer fabric clung. Beads of sweat covered his brow as she finally noted her state.
“Oh, dear.” She whirled away, giving him her back too late. The damage was done.
He turned to the remains of last night’s duck, glancing up to note her lacing her boots before gliding across the yellow grass.
“Were you teasing me?” she giggled.
He glanced at the water, considering diving headfirst into the current to clear his senses. Removing her from his view did wonders for his equilibrium.
“Yup. I’ll have your tea ready as soon as I can find me my new silver teapot.”
“You left mine at the fort.”
He met her gaze and found an impish expression dancing in her eyes. She wanted to play—God help him.
She perched beside him as he sliced dark meat from the carcass. He didn’t have to look at her. He had the duck. Absorbed in the task, the tension in his body began to recede.
“Well, I best be about my morning ablutions,” she said.
He hoped that meant moving off, but he did not glance up to see. Finally the temptation grew too fierce. He found her standing behind her horse, which was the only cover for some miles. Her dress dropped to her feet followed by several white petticoats. He counted five, stunned at the number. Then he stared at pale ankles, trim calves and dimpled knees. Damn that horse’s barrel chest for blocking the most interesting part. He craned his neck, leaning forward so far that he fell onto the fire pit. Swearing, he rose to see ash now smeared his buckskin shirt.
He glanced back and found her watching him above the horse’s withers.
“Turn about, Mr. Price, if you please.”
He snorted, but did as instructed, then beat at his shirt, lifting a cloud of ash from his buckskin shirt. When he turned, he noted she was fully dressed in a pink outfit that matched her horse’s silly bridle. He sighed in regret. Perhaps he should keep them on the prairie.
There was little here but antelopes and she wanted to paint a variety of game.
After breakfast he headed south, following the Yellowstone as it snaked across the prairie. Over the next six days, he kept his distance, spending much of his time scouting game, for food or her paintings.
He brought her antelope, prairie dogs and a mule deer, but she was dissatisfied with the results, finally deciding that the method of positioning dead animals with wire did not create what she called “the desired effect” and hereafter got as close as possible to the live animals using her telescope.
They came upon a buffalo herd in the early afternoon of the sixth day. He made camp and left the mules hobbled and then took her toward the herd.
He kept them at a distance from the enormous creatures while she sketched from horseback, holding her paper tucked tight to her belly. Her pencil flew over the page. Buffalo were unpredictable and dumb as dirt. That paired with their size made them a considerable threat. He tried to watch the herd, but found his gaze straying back to Lena again and again, his interest held in particular by a curling lock of hair that danced in the breeze upon the long graceful slope of her neck.
“You’re getting sunburnt,” he said at last. The cocked hat she wore shaded her face, but not the pale column of her neck.
She lifted her head and gazed at him as if just remembering he was there. Her brief smile hit him in the chest like a barbed arrow.
“You are always looking out for me.” The soft velvet of her voice tickled his insides.
“Lord knows someone has to.” He gave a mock suffering tone to his words and was rewarded with the tinkling sound of her laughter. “How much longer, you figure?”
She glanced about seemingly surprised to see the sun well on its way toward setting. If they were in the mountains it would be long gone.
“My goodness, where did the day go?”
He noticed that when she was painting or drawing she disappeared into a private place and all concept of time vanished. She needed to be reminded to eat and only quit when the light grew too poor to work. The results astonished him. He knew little about such things, but her paintings seemed to depict more than an animal’s likeness. He had to agree with Wind Dancer. These were indeed spirit paintings.
“I’m sorry,” she said closing the leather flap protecting her paper and capping her water bottle. “You must be famished.”
He nodded and watched her gaze sweep the meadow before them, drawing pleasure from her expression of contentment.
“I read accounts of herds that stretched for miles in all directions. I didn’t credit them until now.” Her gaze returned to his. “If I live to be a hundred, I shall never forget this sight.”
He kept his gaze on Lena and had to agree. If he lived to be a hundred…
Lena put away her gear and he led them from the buffalo.
“You like traveling about, Lena?”
“Mr. Price, you cannot imagine the sense of freedom. After spending my entire life shut up in one place or another. To finally see what so few have witnessed, it is a gift from God above.” The look of exhilaration flickered and then her expression changed. The corners of her mouth slipped downward and her brow lowered over her blue eyes.
“What?”
She met his gaze. “I just wondered, after seeing all this, how I shall return home?”
He watched her carefully as he asked the next question. “Well, you can’t stay out here forever, can you?”
Her gaze swept the lush valley. She drew a great breath as if to capture the day inside her.
The longing echoing in her voice made his jaw tighten.
“No, of course I cannot.”
It seemed she was convincing herself more than him, for she never glanced his way and her words came harsher than necessary.
Of course she could not. What had he expected her to say? Still h
er reply put him in a sour mood. He said little as they returned toward camp and Lena seemed to be brooding in her own thoughts as well.
“We’ll be coming to Pompey’s Pillar tomorrow.”
“What is that?”
“Big tower of rock. See it for miles. Be in the mountains soon after that. Might see elk or even a grizzly.”
She shivered as if afraid, but her smile returned. The woman loved adventure nearly as much as he did.
“The prairie is lovely in a lonely sort of way, but I shall be glad to leave this incessant wind,” she said, returning a wisp of hair to its proper place. “How does anyone live out here? My hair is a ruin. I have rarely had such trouble.”
He made no comment, thinking the tendrils of hair playing about her neck were as sensual as a kiss.
“How do the Indian women keep their hair in place? Do they wear hats?”
“Hats?” He laughed. “Only on Sundays.”
She blinked. “Are you teasing me?”
He nodded and found her smile captivating.
“Some tribes on the plains use oils and grease.”
“You have a fascinating knowledge of the people here.”
“Comes from living with them, I guess.”
Her mood seemed to darken as they returned to the mules. He tried to think of some way to cheer her as he drew out his fire-starting stone and iron. Fingering his assortment of stones he came upon a notion.
“Ever seen one of these?” he asked.
She set aside her sketches and an eyebrow lifted in interest.
“What is that?”
Her gaze seemed stuck on one particular stone. He’d found it two years before in the Big Belt Mountains near the head-waters of the Missouri River.
Her eyes twinkled with excitement as she held it to the light.
“Don’t know. Found it in a stream.”
Her voice came breathless with her enthusiasm. “It looks like glass. I’d say an emerald or peridot.”
He achieved his aim. Lena no longer looked downcast. He rummaged in his pouch until his fingers touched the stone he sought, recognizing it by its sharp point. He drew out the blue one that reminded him of glacial ice.
“Got another.”
Her gaze lifted from her treasure.
He handed her the second stone and Lena turned it in her hand then smiled at him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her smile until he saw it once more. He thanked the Lord he’d scooped up the bright pebbles that day.
“Have you shown this to anyone else?”
“Just you.”
“These could be worth a great deal of money. Are there more?”
Troy scratched his neck. Money again. Her world turned on it. “I never liked digging in the dirt like a hog in autumn. Spotted these in the gravel by a stream after a rain. I thought they might work for starting fires, but they don’t throw a spark. Pretty though.”
She handed them back. He smiled at her reluctance to release them.
“Keep them. Make a fine souvenir.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. They might be valuable.”
“Do you like them?”
“Of course.”
“Then they’re valuable.”
She stared down at the pebbles.
“I’ll accept the green, to remember you by.”
That thought made him sad, but he accepted the blue, tucking the clear pebble back in his fire-starting bag.
She sighed and glanced skyward. “What a lovely day.”
“Nearly done now.”
He set his fire and readied the meal. The silence was back. Not the comfortable one he’d grown used to but the sorrowful one that came from Lena, as she stared at the flames.
At last, she leveled her gaze upon him, while her teeth worried her bottom lip. He lifted a brow in silent question.
“What’s wrong, Princess?”
She shook her head, denying any worries. That night he lay still listening to her toss. He nearly called out to her. Just ’cause she had something on her mind didn’t mean she wanted to talk to him about it.
The next morning she was still chewing her lip as if it was breakfast. He broke camp and headed them downriver across a flat expanse of sand.
He’d decided he’d be damned if he’d ask her again and then went ahead and asked. Guess I’m already damned, anyways.
“Want to talk about it?”
“What?”
He lifted his eyebrows.
“Is it so obvious?”
He nodded.
“Might I trust you with a revelation that weighs heavily upon me of late?”
Uncertainty made his skin itch. He didn’t know what she was fixing to unload, but from her furrowed brow and the restless motion of her hands, he’d bet nothing he wanted to hear.
“Go ahead.” He felt nowhere near as relaxed as he sounded.
She drew in a deep breath as if about to plunge into cold water. He braced himself for what came next.
“My father agreed to this excursion and to present my work only if, upon my return, I conceded to marry a man of his choosing.”
His insides went cold and his breath caught. “He picks your husband?”
She nodded.
“Why did you agree to that?”
“A woman must marry.”
“Not to just anyone.”
“No, of course not. My mother favors an English lord. A title is the only advantage she could not obtain for herself, so she seeks it for me. I would be Lady Eleanor, a member of nobility. Won’t that be grand?” Her voice rang hollow with none of the enthusiasm or excitement of a bride.
“They’re just going to pack you off to England with some stranger?”
“Perhaps I shall be permitted to travel the continent and see the great museums.”
“That what you want?”
She fisted her reins, sending her knuckles in sharp relief against the kid gloves.
“What does it matter? English, American, they are all birds of a feather.” Her eyes sparkled dangerously. “For now I will stretch my wings.” She tapped her riding crop against her horse’s side and the little mare cantered off. She urged more speed and the horse complied, issuing into a full gallop so smooth Troy thought she could tip a jug while riding and not spill a drop.
He imagined her stepping in a ’chuck hole and apprehension tore through him. He followed, kicking Dahlonega to a gallop. She glanced back and her laughter urged him on. He grinned, accepting the challenge.
Her horse was as fast as the wind. Dahlonega was half race-horse and still he did not close the gap. Finally, she stopped, turned the horse, and damned if the animal didn’t bow to him. He pulled up on the reins and watched as her mare danced sideways, crossing one dainty foot before the next. Never in his life had he witnessed a horse do something so unnatural.
Next, her mount reared up. He lunged toward Lena, knowing he’d never reach her before she fell, but she did not fall. Instead, she leaned forward as the horse rose. Damned if the animal didn’t hop on his back legs like a dancing bear as Lena rode along, perched sideways, like a monkey on its back.
He drew off his hat and gaped. She laughed as her horse came down upon all fours and then spun in tight circles upon a fixed front leg, first one way and then the next. Lena gave a slight tug and the horse stilled. She stroked the fine arched neck of the horse and then lifted her gaze to him. He noted the smug little smile and the expectation in her eyes.
Troy kicked his horse forward. “Damn!”
Her smile showed pride. “Isn’t she grand?”
He never took his eyes off Lena. “Sure is.”
“I told you she was fast.”
“Like greased lightning.” Finally he glanced at the horse. “What was them moves you was throwing?”
“Dressage—invented for war. That last one is designed to knock attackers away from the rider. I told you, she’s a champion.”
“I seen Sioux jump off a galloping horse and bounce back on l
ike a rubber ball. I seen Crow fire arrows from a horse while riding backwards. But I never, in my born days, seen a horse hop up and down like she done.”
Lena leaned forward and hugged the horse’s neck, dropping a kiss to the white mane. “She’s a wonder.”
“I finally see why you brung her.”
She smiled.
“She’s kinda like you.”
Lena straightened, blue eyes intent. “In what way?”
“First time I seen that little filly, I thought her too pretty to be of any use. I didn’t think either one of you were strong enough to last a week out here.”
She lowered her chin. “And now?”
“Seems I misjudged you both.”
“I’ve never been expected to be anything but vapid and useless.”
“Well, you’ll be quite a surprise when you get back, I imagine.”
Her sad smile tore him up. With her wild ride finished, her troubles overtook her once more. His attempt at bolstering her spirits failed.
The approach of sunset made him blue. Another day gone and one closer to the day he’d have to turn her loose. Lena felt it, too. Her unnatural quiet drew over her like a cloak.
They reached camp and built a fire against the approaching dark. Soon the yip and yap of coyotes filled the air and they settled before a fire.
He wished she’d never told him. It would be easier to let her go if he thought she was willing. Instead she faced her future like a brave soldier, ready to sacrifice herself.
“You can’t save me,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.
“I know.”
“Where will you take me tomorrow?”
It was all they had, he realized, this journey, her work and their longing.
Troy always preferred the mountains to prairie. They reminded him of his home. The air, though dry, smelled of lodge pole pine here. He breathed deep.