by Rita Hestand
"I've read about him and his adventures. Do you think them all true?"
The dirt was hard, and Moon was having a hard time.
"I imagine some of it was exaggerated but he was quite an explorer and settled a whole colony of people in Kentucky. He was quite a hero. And he got along with whites and Indians which is a feat few can accomplish."
"I love to read, you can find almost any adventure in books." She smiled.
After an hour of digging, and not getting anywhere, Moon stopped. "I can't get it any deeper and this isn't deep enough to keep the animals out."
"Maybe that's a good thing."
"What do you mean?" he frowned.
"Maybe if the animals dig him up, no one will ever know what really killed him."
Moon stared for a moment at her, then thought about what she said. "My God, that's genius. You are right." He got her to help him roll the man over to the grave and they tossed him in, then Moon went about putting a few rocks up around it. He had to stop when his arm started bleeding again.
She had him sit and she sat beside him and bandaged it once more. "You shouldn't have been doing that."
He shot her a sexy grin, "Yes little mother."
He was staring at her again, but not saying a word. He realized how brave she was, as brave as any squaw. He felt proud of her, she would make someone a fine wife. And why that bothered him, he didn't know, or he wouldn't acknowledge.
She finished the bandage and moved away.
"Not the best of graves, but perhaps it will do the job for us." He told her, as she stared at it.
"We should say something over him." She told him.
"A prayer?"
"Yes, a prayer." She nodded.
She remembered one her mother used to say, and when she finished Moon nodded. "Good."
She laid down and watched him move about restlessly.
"How's your arm now?"
"Sore, but it will mend."
"How much further to this Jack's place."
"Another couple of days we should be there."
"Good." She replied.
He glanced at her, "Did it bother you to kill him?" He asked in a soft voice.
"Not as much as it should have!" she grimaced.
"You would make a fine Indian squaw." He told her.
"Would I?" she smiled.
"Get some sleep."
His way of shutting her up every night. She closed her eyes and he stared for a long time at her. She was like no one he'd ever known. Complicated and yet simple. Beautiful and yet unaware.
His loins tightened as he glanced from her head of beautiful dark red hair to her booted feet. If she were only Indian, he would take her and make her his. But she was white, and she didn't belong to him. And he had to quit thinking like a white man.
He would protect her, but he could not make love to her? And yet the very thought stirred something inside him. He must not think on it. It would do no good. Still, he wrested with the thought most of the night.
But how can I erase the memory of her kisses?
Chapter Six
The next morning though, Moon was running a fever. She saw the sweat dripping off his cheek and took the small canteen they had shared and wet a piece of her slip with it, then patted his face with the wet rag. Her eyes fell on the wound, which was puckered and oozing. It was swelling badly and very infected. She was afraid to touch the wound, she didn't want to contaminate it further.
As she looked into his face a feeling swept over her, more powerful than anything she'd ever experienced. The closeness she felt for this man, this Indian man, overpowered her. She realized he was the lifeline of her life at this moment. Everything depended on how they got through this ordeal together.
He had saved her from a fate she had feared for some time and admitting that, made her face a reality. Why had he protected her from Earl? Why had he let her follow him? Why had he kissed her so tenderly? And how could she possibly fall in love with an Indian? But that was the problem, she didn't see him as an Indian, she saw him as a man, a good man.
His arm was much worse than he had said. The infection was festering. They had to get to Jack's quickly.
She dabbed his face and smiled at him.
He was mumbling and none of it made any sense. She kept dabbing his face and chest with the rag, her heart seemed to skitter when her hands went to his chest, but she had to cool him down. He was so hot. She went to the small stream they had camped by and refilled the canteens. The crickets and grasshoppers were busy and buzzing about. She heard a frog and saw him from a rock in the water. After eating some jerky, she laid Moon's head in her lap and dabbed him with the rag every so often. As she dabbed his chest her eyes and hands landed against his nipple and she tingled from the hard nub of it as her hand fell against it. A strange and wonderous excitement surged through her mind. She tried to force her thoughts away, but it stirred her awareness. She couldn't tear her gaze from his chest as unwanted sensations crowded her better thinking. Her finger throbbed against his nipple. Her pulse quickened. Her eyes widened. She tried to move her finger away, but it wouldn't budge. It was an innocent gesture or was it? Just the tip of her finger had touched him there, but it was erotic somehow how, the nipple hardened at her touch. She'd never touched a man like this. But the curiosity of it, and the fact that he was feverish, he'd never know. She put the rag down and touched it once more, deliberately just barely grazing the tip of his nipple with her fingertip. It hardened instantly from her touch, and something inside her sparked. Even in his sleep, his body responded to her touch. She ached to explore him, she'd never been with a man before and this feeling took over better sense. Her hands traveled his entire chest, feeling the silkiness of him. It was a strange sensation to her, but wonderful too, and she sighed happily as her hands glided over him there. There wasn't a trace of hair on his chest, but it was warm, hard and silky to the touch. She absorbed the sensations of touching him. A light film of sweat peppered his body. But suddenly she heard a noise and she jumped. She swallowed hard when she saw it was only a squirrel jumping up a tree trunk.
She was guilty of touching him! My God, what had she been thinking? She'd never done such a thing in her life.
Still, her eyes strayed lower, to his breechcloth. She swallowed hard. Never had she looked upon a man like this. She could see part of his hip and all of his thigh. It was tan and lean and hard looking. He had beautiful skin. Just looking upon him like that made her weak. She'd never stared at a man's body before, especially one she could see part of. His skin was gloriously tan, and silky looking. My God, I'm twenty-two years old and never touched or looked at a man so! I have so much to learn about life. But why does this man intrigue me so? No, it wasn't entirely physical, she knew that. He was a kind man, gentle, and his fierce protection of her endeared him to her. Even though she couldn't really talk about it with him.
Perhaps she was evil. Perhaps killing a man so easily had made her evil. But the feelings of looking at him didn't feel evil. She had no evil purpose. It was simply an exploration of the male body, she told herself. Yet why did her heart hammer so loudly when she looked at him so? Why did the urge to kiss him tempt her? She looked at his lips. Soft, sweet tasting lips that moved instinctively against hers when they kissed. Didn't she after all this time have a right to know of these things? At twenty-two she had only a few kisses to go by. Her mind wandered. What would it be like to touch a man everywhere and make love? The sensation of touching his nipple, of it hardening against the tips of her finger, sent many different feeling through her. She'd probably never get to do this again in her lifetime. She'd probably never know what making love felt like, but just that small wonderous feeling she got from touching him there, made her realize that she was very normal, that she had urges just like any other woman, whether she was an old-maid or not.
She wanted to laugh at herself, for being so foolish, but she couldn't. She'd never forget that small tiny touch when her body responded to his
, and in turn, his to her, even in a fever!
The human body was a wonder! The human heart even more so!
When he woke up, he would not remember anything, but she would cherish this memory forever.
And why not, she'd probably never make love with a man, marry, or have children. It would be a secret she'd carry forever. She saw no future in her life. She was a fugitive. But that wasn't the only reason. Men were physically drawn to her, but she talked way too much, and she was over-educated than most.
She quickly reasoned that at her age, she had every right to wonder about such things. Even her best friend had called her an old-maid. Most women her age were married with several children. Out here in the west women married fairly early, most by the time they were eighteen. But life was certainly passing her by. She had no husband, no prospect of a husband, and certainly no children.
To have some experiences in life was better than none, she reasoned.
Then her eyes drifted over him, all of him. It wasn't just an experience, she knew that. It was Moon! She liked him, maybe too much for a white woman to ever admit. But the feeling in her heart told her, she could do nothing about it.
It was no compliment to be called an old maid. She didn't feel old, just terribly inexperienced. That thought had dominated her for some time. Had she merely wanted to touch and experiment, she could have done it with Earl. But Earl would have taken it to a level she wasn't ready for. She knew she couldn't have done this with Earl. Why was this Indian the one she chose to look at, to touch? Perhaps because there was no future in it. Perhaps because he was a fugitive too. Yes, that was it! They were in this together and whether they admitted it or not, they were bound to each other.
She still felt young and vibrant, and yet ignorant on the subject of sex or even love. At her age she shouldn't be totally ignorant. It was embarrassing being so shy about something she should know. Being a teacher, she should have all the answers. She knew human anatomy, from her science books. But first hand, she was a greenhorn. Oh, she'd seen animals do it. She knew a little, but just thinking on it, made her blush. And yet, when Moon kissed her, her response was completely natural. She didn't think about her inexperience, she responded to him. Is that what it was all about, giving back what was given?
When her mother died, she had shut out all thoughts of love. It was too painful. She knew then she could never love as to lose another loved one might kill her.
Now, Moon had opened up possibilities for her. Loving Moon would be difficult if not impossible. And yet he was the only man in all her lifetime to open her closed heart. He had opened it with a kiss, and instead of ignoring that one kiss, he gave her another. No man had done that but Earl, but Earl's kisses did nothing for her. Earl's kisses were not the same, in any way. He came at her with pure lust. Moon came at her with his heart and stole it with a kiss.
Dear God, she was falling in love with Moon!
She was learning, and at Moon's expense, which wasn't fair, she supposed.
And she was curious. Curious why when she looked at his thigh, she wanted to touch him there too. Curious why their kisses inflamed her insides. Curious why she wanted more. And what would more feel like? His kisses were wonderful, she wanted more of them. But she could only go so far with her curiosity.
If even Moon rejected her, she might just curl up and die.
All these feelings closing in on her never happened with Earl. Why this man, why an Indian. But then she counted him as a man and not just an Indian. She'd always kept her heart closed to opportunities with men. But Moon appealed to her in so many ways. She loved the bronze of his skin, the white of his teeth, the sleek, shining beauty of his black hair. Even his male scent was earthy and clean. She loved the strength in his arms, the way he held her when he kissed her. Even so, it wasn't all physical either. She enjoyed talking to him. She found very few men that would sit down and carry on an intelligent conversation with. In fact, she tended to bore most men, as not many listened to her rattling's.
The fact that Moon relented in letting her come with him, endeared him to her too. She trusted him, and it stunned her, but she felt safe with Moon. And being safe was something she had come to cherish.
Strange yes.
Wrong, she wasn't sure.
It didn't feel wrong looking at him so. It felt good, natural even. God made woman for man. Where was her man?
She looked down at Moon again, and her heart turned over. This was the only man that had opened her heart to the possibilities of love. And he opened it with a kiss.
Still, if he'd been awake, she'd never taken such privileges. It was only that he slept, that made her naturally curious about making love with a man. He had stirred to life something she thought long put away.
Love? Could it be?
And somehow, this man, Moon, had unlocked her heart without even trying.
She stared at him in his sleep. He was a handsome, man's kind of man. He was older, wise, strong, and intelligent. And there was this bond that kept growing between them.
What on earth had she been thinking? Touching him like that. She had no right to explore his body because he had a fever and would never remember it.
Something inside her ached to know more of him. Why? A relationship with an Indian was impossible, wasn't it? But he wasn't an Indian to her, he was a man. That was the difference. And that could obviously be a problem, she reasoned. Not all people thought that way. Not many at all.
She stared now from a distance at him. He had strong male features, a body that was lean, and tempting. So strong, such a good person. She liked him. Her feelings for him were stronger than any she'd had for any white man. She'd known a few white men, kissed a few, but nothing had ever come of it. She compared the kisses she had to Moon's and none of them were as mind boggling as his. None of them stirred her to a passion. None of them had made her curious about the male body before. Why? What was the difference? And this feeling that took her over now, had moved her. She'd couldn't explain it. She couldn't forgive her own boldness, nor resist it either.
She didn't understand. She was intelligent enough to know it would never work and she could not stop herself from touching his cheek. "You can't die on me," she whispered softly.
Suddenly an eye popped open and he stared at her for a long moment. He jerked himself up and put distance between them. "What were you doing?"
She stood up and came toward him, willing her guilty heart not to make itself known. "Trying to get your fever down. What do you think I was doing?"
He felt his cheek, it was hot. "Oh," he nodded.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"I will be fine," he told her, standing tall.
"You're not fine yet. You'll keel over if you try to walk far." She told him. "That arm is infected."
"I will not!" he told her firmly.
"Fine," she huffed, "then let's go."
He took the blanket and bow and arrows and slung them across his shoulder. Then he took her hand and led the way. She carried the canteens on her shoulder. But they only got a mile or so down the pathway and he was weak and sweating.
"That arm isn't better," she told him. "You aren't better. You need to rest. And then we need to get to Jack's quickly."
"I will be fine."
Then he keeled over. "No, my sweet friend, you will not."
She rebandaged the wound, then dabbed his face again to bring the fever down. He called a woman's name out in his sleep and she heard it. Wondering who the woman was.
Was it the girl he had loved, long ago? She wished she knew. It made her uneasy and restless thinking on it. If his heart truly belonged to another, she had no right to touch him as she did. Guilt riddled her.
She was bad about keeping secrets, and even worse about telling on herself when she did something she shouldn't have. Moon didn't belong to her. A relationship with an Indian was futile, she told herself.
What had she been thinking, touching him like that?
Still
, she did no real harm, and she had been so curious. She had to forgive herself for touching him so.
Way into the night she awoke seeing him stirring the fire.
"You are better?" she asked as she sat up.
"I am." He smiled from the distance, a warm and friendly smile.
She sighed, "Good, the fever must have broken."
"You are a good healer"
"I didn't do much, your arm is probably infected. It is swollen."
"We'll let Jack fix it up when we get there," he told her.
His mood had changed, he was happy it seemed.
"What do we need to do."
"Never mind, he can tend it."
"You don't like me tending to you, do you?" she questioned with a pout.
"It is not that. But there are some things a woman should not have to do." He told her.
"Fine." She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Have it your way."
He came closer now and bent down to sit beside her. "I appreciate what you did for me. You must know this, but some things are difficult for a woman. Especially white women."
"Especially white women… " She frowned, and he stared.
"You are angry?" He asked.
"Yes, I am." Her heart was filled with frustration. She glanced at him, her eyes full of something he couldn't define. "When I look at you, I see a man, not an Indian, but a man. It's the way I was raised. I fully realize that others do not believe this way. That I'm different in my thinking. When you look at me, you see a white woman. I guess that is the way you should see me. But you find white women so different, don't you?" She huffed. She whipped about to stare into his face, "It is not fair. And you think white women are so different from Indian women. We do the same, we wash, cook, scrub, mend, and tend to our menfolk. We shoot, and load guns for them when they are attacked. We resist, we fight too, so what is so different with your women. So, because I am white, I am unable to handle things, is that it?"