Susan Johnson

by Susan Johnson

  Her eyes wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Look at me, pet. This one?” Hazard softly inquired, leaning over and touching one turgid tip with a light flick of his finger. Her breast stirred and Blaze moaned, shifting her hips to meet the spiraling urgent heat tumbling downward. “Or this one?” And Hazard’s mouth closed over her other swollen nipple and gently sucked. He slid one hand between her thighs and slowly explored while with the other he excited the nipple of her other breast. Playing and probing, he caressed her until, her mouth half open, she cried a small strangled sound deep in her throat and reached up to clutch his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. “Are you ready for me, love?” he murmured, gently easing her hands from his shoulders and placing them at her sides.

  She looked up at him with smoldering eyes.

  “Are you open for me? Slide your finger over your lush pink flesh and tell me.”

  She hesitated.

  “You must, darling, or I won’t know,” he said in a rough-soft voice.

  Closing her eyes, Blaze brushed her finger over the dewy sweetness and moaned at the shattering surge of desire it provoked.

  “Once more,” Hazard whispered, watching the creamy fluid drip languidly over her slender fingers. And when she did, she shuddered. “I think,” he said very softly, lifting her hand and sliding her drenched finger into his mouth, “… you’re ready.” She tasted like wild, pungent fruit, and he could no longer wait.

  He kissed her and she kissed him wildly, blind to everything but the feeling beyond bearing. Her tiny explosions began as he drove gently into her and he lay quiet and patient inside her until her last exquisite pleasure had drifted away. Then he kissed her gently as the spring sun kisses the new tender green shoots, and his strong heart, echoing his love and need, took them to paradise together.

  After, when all the games were over and all the delicious pleasures had hushed into sated calm, Hazard rolled away and sat up. Blaze lay beside him on her back in dreamy abandonment. Her hair had dried in loose and tumbled disarray. Her eyes were closed. He sat perfectly still and watched her, entranced by her, his feelings strangely imprecise—part sexual; part friendly affection; some oddly paternal as if in this simple setting her innocence struck him more strongly, and some still undefinable.

  Reaching out, he cupped a butterfly gently in his hands, remembering the endless youthful hours spent in practice until at last one could accomplish the quiet task of capturing a butterfly. He carried it over in his closed hands and delicately placed it on Blaze’s smooth white stomach. Her eyes opened at the feathery sensation and she saw the precious creature poised like a shimmer of gold. It was yellow and saffron and black with great fragile wings.

  “I’ll give you the treasures of the world, bia-cara, wife of mine,” Hazard whispered, stroking one flaring golden-striped gossamer wing so lightly the frail thing showed no fright. Those were the same hands that had hacked away at the buffalo short hours ago, with such power and strength, Blaze thought. The same hands that killed, the same hands that gave her indescribable pleasure.

  “I only want you,” she softly replied.

  Their eyes met. The butterfly flew away.

  “I’m yours,” he said quietly, his handsome face tender, “always.”

  Chapter 27

  By the time Hazard and Blaze returned to the village, the drums had begun beating, sunset colors streaked across the sky like flame on the distant grey mountains, and the smell of cooking buffalo from the fires made even the birds in the trees hungry.

  They dressed hurriedly since they were late, Hazard in feathered leather and Blaze in one of her new dresses ornamented with sea shells and beads. Hazard spent extra care on her hair, combing it into shiny waves. “You don’t have to do everything,” Blaze protested when he kneeled, lifted one of her feet, and slipped on a new beaded moccasin. Hazard looked up at her, remembering the silky pleasure of her at the pool that afternoon and, with the barest hint of all he wished to say and do for her, serenely noted, “You can tell how much a man loves his woman by how he cares for her; it’s the way of our nation. Look at any woman’s hair and you’ll know the extent of her husband’s love.”

  “It’s a very lovely custom, and astonishing in a nation of warriors. I can’t imagine a white man caring for his wife’s hair.”

  “A life of warfare doesn’t preclude sensitivity. And I can’t imagine a white man being other than the barbarian he is. You see,” he said with a faint smile, “we have our intolerant prejudices as well.” He slipped on her second moccasin, rose, and took her hand in his. “Come, we’re late. Half the village has preceded us by now, and as one of the chiefs, I should have been there early.”

  “Do I have to dance?” This was her first mass social occasion, and she felt strangely insecure.

  “It’s easy,” Hazard casually replied. “You know how to dance. I saw you in Virginia City.”

  “That’s different.”

  “I’ll show you how,” he replied, pulling her out the door.

  SO UNDER the full moon suspended like a golden ornament in the blackness of the summer sky, Blaze Braddock, lately of Boston, put her hands on her lovers’ strong shoulders, felt his hands circle her waist, and, falteringly at first, followed the slow gliding movements of the pō’pate disú a (owl dance).

  Over Blaze’s head, Hazard occasionally caught a glimpse of Spirit Eagle, the brave of whom Little Moon had spoken. He wasn’t dancing but standing apart in the shadows, a few yards from the circle of dancers, his eyes trained on Blaze. Hazard understood youth was like fire, reckless and dangerous. He also understood Spirit Eagle was in competition for a chieftainship. He’d have to keep an eye on him—and on Blaze—in case Spirit Eagle was contemplating abduction.

  Then the drummers intensified their rhythm, deepened the base and heightened the natural trill of their smallest drums, signaling the introduction to a new dance only recently brought in from the Hidatsa. A ripple of excitement swept through the press of dancers. The River Absarokee had first witnessed the dance when visiting the Hidatsa, and the dance had been introduced to the Main Body only a few years ago. The Main Body had been surprised when they first saw it, for in it the men and women participants kissed each other publicly. But the dance was eagerly assimilated by the young women at the summer encampment, because there were many good-looking men among the Main Body. The bīra i gyé disú a procession, led by two chaste girls and made up of all the good-looking women—married and single—began forming when the drum beat accelerated.

  “What’s happening?” Blaze asked, seeing the procession begin to form, aware of the charged current sweeping the crowd.

  “It’s another dance, but stay here.”

  “All the women—”

  “You don’t know the steps,” he ambiguously replied and his hand slipped possessively around her waist. Turning his head briefly, he said to Rising Wolf beside him, “Watch Spirit Eagle; I want him waylaid if he starts in this direction.” The brisk order was murmured in Absarokee. Rising Wolf merely nodded in understanding.

  By this time, the women had forced a circle around a group of men and were dancing in a swaying clockwise movement around them. A herald walked into the center of the circle, crying, “Young men, give presents to the young women you like and kiss them. If your heart is greater, so that you want to marry them, give them a horse and none will run away.”

  A young warrior arrayed in a fine breechcloth having inspected the women, was the first to put his arm around a beautiful young girl. He gave her a beaded blanket and a kiss. Soon everyone was participating. Some men offered painted sticks, representing horses, and if the girl accepted they were married. Some women refused the offers of gifts, waiting for the men they wanted. Some of the old women went around whipping the young men and women who hadn’t risen to dance while a ring of spectators watched. Soon almost every young and comely person was dancing and kissing and all were enjoying themselves immensely.

  Hazard had been the
object of much intent inspection—he was famed for his beauty, and wasn’t dancing. Blaze, too, was thoughtfully regarded by more than one bold-eyed young buck, but Hazard’s arm firmly around her waist served as deterrent to further boldness. But before long, two old medicine women came up to Hazard and would not be gainsaid, although Hazard attempted to refuse. Blaze didn’t understand the words, but she understood the old women’s threatening gestures and Hazard’s polite opposition.

  Rising Wolf spoke rapidly to Hazard. Hazard shook his head and murmured a short reply but Blaze heard her name mentioned. “Go,” she said to him. “It’s your duty.” And she smiled at the two old women, who were still jabbering agitatedly before them. She was in a benevolent frame of mind, attuned to Hazard’s responsibilities as one of his clan’s leaders and still basking in the perfection of their afternoon in the secluded leafy dell. It all looked fairly innocuous anyway, she thought.

  “You don’t mind?” Hazard softly inquired, gazing down at Blaze with darkly serious eyes. Familiar with her reckless temper, he’d attempted prudence.

  “No. Really, I don’t. Go. It’s expected of you.”

  A third old woman had joined the others, and they were all inciting Hazard now, with fierce gesticulation and high-pitched admonitions.

  “Sure?” Hazard repeated, aware of the obligations required of him but determined to avert any controversy with Blaze.

  “Go.”

  Rising Wolf spoke briefly and Hazard replied in a rush of soft Absarokee before allowing himself to be led away.

  “What was that about?” Blaze asked Rising Wolf.

  “I told him to avoid, well, er, old friends, and he said he was going to insist on kissing a virgin, to keep everything perfectly innocent.” Rising Wolf shrugged, like a nervous young boy explaining away some transgression. “He didn’t want to offend you, but, as you can see, he’s always been much in demand.”

  “I’m not offended, really. No more explanations are necessary.” Blaze felt a charitable glow of congenial tolerance. “Everyone wants to please him, don’t they?” she continued.

  “He’s the best,” Rising Wolf calmly replied. “Always has been.”

  And then her altruistic glance followed Hazard as he lifted an elaborate bear-claw necklace over his head and carefully placed it around the delicate neck of a spectacularly beautiful young girl. A small, slender girl who looked up at Hazard with radiant adoration and yearning. It was that hungry look that created the first fissure in Blaze’s liberal and benign tolerance. And she felt the first tiny stirring of temper growing like ripples in a pond.

  Hazard’s dark head bent low to kiss the girl, his hand gliding by habit around her waist while he held her head lightly in his palm. This second observation crumbled a larger portion of Blaze’s benevolent facade. And when the fragile girl threw her arm around Hazard’s neck and melted into his tall body, the smooth marble of Christian charity crashed to the ground. It was a long kiss, intolerably long, measured in Blaze’s hot flashes of resentment and the breath-holding gaze of hundreds of pairs of eyes. “Who’s that girl?” Blaze demanded, her eyes swinging around and impaling Rising Wolf’s nervous glance.

  “We don’t speak of the dead,” he equivocated.

  “Make an exception,” Blaze snapped, her tone unflinchingly imperious.

  Rising Wolf sighed. “That’s Raven Wing’s younger sister.”

  “Who’s Raven Wing?” she huffily inquired. “One of his old girlfriends?”

  “Hazard’s first wife.”

  Hot tears filled Blaze’s eyes, tears of frustration, rage and humiliation, and she could feel her throat closing with the pressure of the sobs she was trying to smother. Before she betrayed herself in front of all the curious eyes, Blaze spun away into the darkness surrounding the dance area. Rising Wolf snatched at her, but she slipped between two women and melted into the blackness. He couldn’t shout her name; he didn’t want to cause a scene. Shouldering the women aside, he raced into the darkness between two lodges, Hazard’s words echoing in his ears: “Watch Spirit Eagle.” Just before pushing the ladies aside, he’d searched the space where Spirit Eagle had stood all evening.

  It was empty.

  HAZARD managed to extricate himself from Blue Flower. He had only intended a platonic kiss, enough to satisfy the old ladies. Nothing more. Blue Flower, unfortunately, had other ideas. She was as ready as a woman could be, he observed, easing away with a polite smile and moving into the crowd. Relieved, he exhaled softly, his gaze automatically searching for Blaze. When he saw Rising Wolf pushing through the press of dancers, his pulse rate accelerated.

  “I lost her.” The words were curt and blunt and troubled.

  “How?” Hazard asked, already knowing why.

  “She ran off so fast I couldn’t stop her. That long kiss …” he obliquely noted, his eyebrows rising.

  “Damn hussy wouldn’t let go. Your style, not mine. Where’s Spirit Eagle?” he sharply inquired in almost the same breath, the girl dismissed, the kiss forgotten.

  “Gone.”

  “Damn, I could feel it coming.”

  “He’s been challenging you for a long time.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ve been gone so much in the past few years.”

  “Umm.” Hazard was only half listening, fully aware of Spirit Eagle’s preoccupation with a leadership position. The challenge had never worried him. Until now. Hazard didn’t want Blaze used as a pawn in a power struggle, although he acknowledged that she alone could be the motivation for the abduction. Any man would want her.

  “Do you think she can find her way back to your lodge?” Rising Wolf asked.

  “Not at night. There’s too much sameness. I’d say we check Spirit Eagle’s lodge first.”

  “That sure?”

  “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

  “Maybe he joined the dancers,” Rising Wolf hopefully suggested.

  “My roan against your sorrel says he didn’t.” Hazard’s terse voice was as sure as Rising Wolf’s was uncertain. He was already twenty yards away and sprinting when Rising Wolf shouted, “Only if you give me odds,” and charged after him.

  BLAZE knew she was lost almost immediately. She’d run into the darkness with no destination in mind, only a driving need to escape the lurid spectacle of Hazard and that woman. After racing blindly between rows of lodges, she stopped, panting, and glanced around. Nothing looked familiar. Only row upon row of deserted tepees, all their inhabitants participating in the dances and merrymaking down by the river.

  How would she ever find her way back to Hazard’s lodge? Not that it mattered anyway, she testily decided. He’d probably be too busy for the next few hours with the little beauty he was eating up in front of hundreds of interested spectators. It would serve him right if she didn’t go back there tonight. And she wondered for a moment, turning slowly around in an attempt to get her bearings, whether she’d be able to find the willow bower near the river. That would make a comfortable bed.

  The valley basin was mainly flat, so it was hard to know which direction to take, but the blaze of fires at the dance area at least indicated the general direction of the river. Turning toward the lighted glow in the sky, she intended to skirt the dancers and hopefully find the willows. With Hazard as guide, she’d never paid much attention to directions, and he’d always carried her. Those memories only rekindled the flames of her temper. Damn his libertine soul; all the stories in Virginia City were true. He’d never turned down a woman in his life. And she, it seemed, had as little sense as the rest, no more immune to his soft endearments and sensual expertise than any of the others.

  Anger at herself, at him, at the hussy kissing him, along with nascent urges for vengeance, all tumbled around in her mind in confusion. Inhaling a deep breath of clear night air to steady the tumble and dull the rancor, Blaze determined to first find the bower. A night alone would give her the opportunity to decide what she wanted to do regarding Jon Hazard Black and his abominable
predisposition for females of every persuasion.

  She’d taken no more than five steps in the direction of the bonfires when a young warrior, richly dressed, his long hair gleaming in the moonlight, walked toward her. He smiled and held out his hand, making the sign for friendship. Blaze didn’t recognize the word in hand sign, but she understood the message. She smiled back, and Spirit Eagle thought Hazard a foolish man for letting her out of his sight. He spoke softly in Absarokee, telling her she was beautiful.

  Blaze shook her head, indicating she didn’t understand, but when he held his hand out again, an idea was born on her rankling resentment. Why not dance with this beautiful young warrior? If Hazard, however reluctant he pretended to be, could dance and kiss the pretty young women, why couldn’t she kiss the handsome young men? After all, that’s what the dance taking place down by the river was all about. Everyone was having a good time. Why let futile rage and envy ruin a pleasant evening? She’d simply follow his example and participate in the crush of sweethearts enjoying themselves under the mountain stars.

  Blaze placed her fingers in the hand extended to her and returned his smile. “Dance,” she said, swaying in pantomime. Spirit Eagle’s arousal ignited and he pulled her closer. “No,” Blaze softly retorted, tugging back a little. “Dance … down by the river. Dance.” And she made a small gliding motion.

  “Ah,” Spirit Eagle responded, smiling. “Disék,” and he moved gracefully in a repetition of Blaze’s step.

  “Yes, yes … dance,” Blaze agreed, anger at Hazard urging her on. “Let’s go down to the river and dance.” She pointed in the direction of the fires.

  “Hú kawe,” he said, and Blaze recognized the word for “come.” His fingers laced more comfortably in hers, and when he gently drew her, she followed. As they walked through the camp, she cast small sidelong glances at him. He was younger than Hazard, but he carried his lithe body with the sureness of a proven warrior. His hair was long, much longer than Hazard’s, and when he turned and smiled at her, she decided the Absarokee men deserved their reputation for physical perfection. He was starkly handsome.