Orlando chuckled next to her. She looked over at him, and he stared at her, a radiant smile on his face. The untroubled look made her realize how much weight he set upon his shoulders. How much concern and worry for others pulled his countenance into a somber pose. She wanted to cause the buoyant joy to appear on his face and in his soul, just as much as she wanted to have it for herself. But that wouldn’t line up with her plan, her need for self-preservation. Could she abandon her method of survival for a notion of hope? A chance to live within her parents’ legacy of love?
Samara smiled at Orlando as peace filled her. “They still have the US marshals, but it’s not that type of marshal. Though I guess if Chuck Norris used it, then there might be some who do. Anyway, it’s martial as in military, more specifically Asian military. It’s fighting techniques traditionally used by different Asian cultures. It’s used for close, hand-to-hand combat. Though I’m hoping I won’t need it as much now.”
Something in her tone must’ve sounded different, because Orlando looked at her with an intensity she couldn’t describe. “Why wouldn’t you need it?”
Samara shrugged and looked at the settlement they drew close to. She required more time to contemplate her thoughts, to decide if the risk of staying with Orlando would be worth it. She cut a quick look at Orlando. She didn’t doubt it would be worth it, at least temporarily, but happiness lasting was the question she couldn’t answer.
Samara shook her head at herself. She needed to remain focused and on alert. They were traveling into a situation that she knew was much tenser than anyone understood. She realized she couldn’t say anything specific to Orlando but wondered how she might help diffuse the situation.
Samara moved her horse closer as they started to arrive at the outskirts of the lodges. “Orlando, we need to try and talk both parties out of doing anything drastic. If they don’t learn to cooperate, maybe both adjusting some of their views, this situation is going to turn deadly.”
Orlando peered at her, determination in his gaze. “I’ll do what I can, but both sides can be stubborn. Anything we say may backfire on us.”
Samara nodded in understanding. She couldn’t come right out and say what would happen in the future. She still wasn’t sure what she said and did wouldn’t have drastic effects on the future. Though if she thought about it, when Hunter had transported back here last year, nothing changed in the future. Or would she even know if things changed? She shook her head in confusion. She couldn’t worry about that nonsense now. She was here, apparently for good. She wasn’t about to become a recluse in a cave somewhere, so she supposed interacting with the locals couldn’t hurt. If it did, she’d never know, butterfly effect or not, until the future unfolded as she lived out her life.
Samara focused her attention on the village as they ventured toward the center. Smoke thick with the scent of cooking meat filled the air. Children ran up to their horses, talking rapidly at Orlando in Ute with such joy at his arrival that Samara watched in awe. Orlando dismounted Loco and bent to be at their level to talk to them. He smiled at the children, asking each of them questions and ruffling hair and giving hugs to those that were brave enough to come close.
One young boy came barreling at Orlando so fast Orlando almost ended on his backside. Samara laughed, drawing the attention of both the man and the children that surrounded him. Some stood behind Orlando to hide. Some stared openly at her in question.
Orlando came up to her and helped her down, turning to face the crowd surrounding them. “Children, this is my friend, Samara. I’m wondering if you’ll show her around while I go tell Chief Johnson we have arrived?”
Samara’s eyes widened as enthusiastic yes’s rang around her. “They speak English?”
Orlando shrugged. “Not all of them, but my family has been teaching them for years. The ones who don’t are just excited to follow the crowd.”
Several children grabbed for her hand to pull her away. She’d never felt so wanted in her life, like a celebrity arriving on the red carpet. A young woman smiled at Samara, her round, inviting face beaming with beauty. Samara envied her long, dark hair and the way the deep, chestnut locks shone in the sun. The woman’s friendly eyes smiled at Samara before she turned to Orlando.
“I’ll stay with her and the children,” the woman offered.
“Thank you, Sparrow,” Orlando replied. “Samara, this is Sparrow, Chief Johnson’s niece. Sparrow, this is my friend Samara.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Samara smiled.
“It is very nice to meet you, Samara,” Sparrow replied. “That is a beautiful name. What does it mean?”
“It’s Hebrew and means guardian or protected by God,” Samara answered, not wanting to dwell too much on it.
“What a strong name you have been given.” Sparrow laughed. “I, on the other hand, was named for a tiny bird, common in every way.”
“Perhaps, yet the sparrow always emerges after the storms, singing beautifully for all to hear. They are survivors known all over the world. I happen to like sparrows quite a lot,” Samara answered with a smile.
Sparrow’s smile stretched wide across her face with astonishment. Why would such a beautiful woman discount herself so easily? Was Samara guilty of the same? She pushed the thought away as she allowed the children to drag her away from Orlando.
Chapter 14
Orlando forced his thoughts away from the image of Samara being led through the village by tiny hands eager to be her guide. He couldn’t believe her explanation of her name, protected by God. Guardian. God surely had proved true to her name, protecting her through unimaginable pain and trials. He prayed she’d realize the love God had for her, the protection He sheltered her in.
Chief Johnson welcomed Orlando enthusiastically into his home, an actual house built by the agency that had shocked Orlando almost to the point of stumbling to a stop. Chief Johnson seemed to be embracing the expectations and lifestyle of the white man much better than Orlando had anticipated. In honesty, he didn’t understand why the chief had sent for him.
“Thank you for inviting me into your home, Chief Johnson,” Orlando said.
“Have you eaten?” Chief Johnson motioned Orlando to take a seat at the table.
“Yes, thank you.” Orlando looked around the house and suddenly missed the old tepee. He supposed the chief’s old tepee was the lodge set up next to the house, but he wondered how often Chief Johnson used it.
Knowing the chief would consider it rude to weigh Orlando down with the settlement’s troubles without first chatting for a bit, Orlando started right in. “Onootee tells me you are worried about the agency and Meeker.”
Chief Johnson nodded his head sagely. “It would be just like you to make beaver. You’re just like your father, ready to get to the bottom of a problem and figure it out. Never hesitating in times of trouble, always willing to lend a hand to friends. You have the hair of the bear, and I know your father was very proud of you.”
The chief’s words lodged within Orlando’s chest. That this man, the brother of the great Chief Ouray, the man trying to make the best of the situation forced upon him, would give Orlando the greatest honor among mountain men humbled him. The chief’s words about his father filled a bit of the emptiness left gaping since his death.
Muttering into the space between them, Orlando stared into Chief Johnson’s eyes. “I’ve always aimed to live up to the legacy, the legend, left behind by Pa. Always strived to leave the world a little bit better than how I found it.”
Chief Johnson shook his head and stared at Orlando in seriousness. “You, Orlando, have not met your father’s legacy… you have surpassed it.”
Orlando bowed his head to compose himself, his throat so thick he questioned if he could talk. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. How could this great man think Orlando had surpassed his father? His pa had been bigger than the mountains themselves.
Orlando looked up and smiled at the older man. “Thank you. Tell me, why are you worri
ed about Meeker? What has he done?”
Chief Johnson sighed so deeply it seemed to come all the way from his toes. “I’ve tried to do things the white man way. I plant my crops. I live in their house. And what does Nathan Meeker do? Spit in my face, that’s what.”
Chief Johnson spit off to the side, a look of disgust on his face. He had said the name with such contempt, Orlando worried things were too far gone for him to help. He took a deep breath, praying to God for wisdom.
“What did he do?” Orlando braced for the answer.
“He is determined to plow up our race track. He even warned he would get rid of all our horses, and that he could because he is the boss. Now he’s threatened to bring in the troops. They would send us into Indian country for sure,” Chief Johnson replied.
Orlando blew out the breath he’d been holding. Things had proved worse than he thought. Was this why Samara had sounded so anxious? The Utes had obtained horses hundreds of years before from the Spanish. It was what had given them the advantage over the other tribes. To take away their horses and plow up their racetrack would be akin to killing their very spirit.
“Do you think you can talk sense into him? I do not think I can keep Jack and Chief Douglas calm much longer. I don’t know if I can take these injustices much longer.” Chief Johnson’s voice ended on a whisper.
“I don’t know. I can tr—” Commotion from outside interrupted Orlando, causing him to bolt for the door.
Fury, hot and volatile, burned straight to his core as he saw Running Elk pulling Samara through the village with intent. He held her hat in one hand and her elbow so tightly in the other Orlando knew the grip would leave a bruise. Sparrow yelled at Running Elk, pulling at his arm to get him to let go. Running Elk pushed Sparrow to the ground, yelling in Ute that he was taking the white woman with the hair of fire as his bride.
The anger that had settled to molten lead within his stomach momentarily turned to surprise as he watched his tiny fairy queen break the strong hold upon her arm, punch Running Elk hard in the throat, toss him over her body, and slam her knee into his gut where he’d landed on the ground. Silence thick as smoke hovered over the village.
“Don’t you hurt my friend.” Samara’s voice seethed with anger as she swiped her hat up from where it fell on the ground. “And don’t you dare lay a finger on me again.”
Orlando reached her side just as Running Elk got to his knees. Orlando touched her on the elbow, running his hand down her arm to lace his fingers in hers. He pulled her to his side and turned to Running Elk.
“You dare touch my fiancée?” Orlando questioned Running Elk in Ute, the only phrase he knew could stop this situation from spiraling out of control.
If Running Elk determined Samara to be his, not much would stop him. But if Orlando already held that claim, he prayed Chief Johnson would honor their friendship by forcing Running Elk to relent. If not, Orlando would dig up the tomahawk to win her.
“You have a claim on her?” Running Elk said, his voice raspy and forced, dripping with doubt.
“I do. She has been at my place for the past month. We are to have someone marry us while we are here,” Orlando answered, still speaking in Ute and praying Samara would understand when he explained. “You dishonor me by treating her with such disrespect.”
Chief Johnson came beside Orlando. “Running Elk, you dishonor our guest and you dishonor me. Leave and don’t return until Orlando and his wife are gone.”
Running Elk glared at Orlando, hate burning deep in his eyes. Running Elk stomped past Orlando close to Samara. Orlando tensed as Running Elk stepped up to Samara and whispered something in her ear.
Before Orlando could react, Samara rammed the heel of her hand into Running Elk’s nose. A sickening crunch filled the air a split second before a howl of agony. Blood gushed from Running Elk’s nose. He moved to grab Samara, and Orlando pulled his revolver from its holster, cocking and pointing it at Running Elk’s head.
“Running Elk, go,” Chief Johnson said, his tone reminding them of the fierce warrior he was.
Running Elk turned and left. His feet stomped in his retreat, kicking chickens and dogs that dared stray within his path. Samara had severely wounded the cocky warrior’s pride today, multiple times. Orlando would have to be extra vigilant while they remained.
“Is that the marshal arts you were talking about?” Orlando asked in amazement.
Samara lifted her shoulder in a half shrug, her lips tweaking in the corners. He wanted to pull her to him and kiss where her lips lifted, follow his earlier claim with action. He rubbed her fingers with his thumb where they were still entwined with his.
“Are you okay?” Orlando’s heart still thundered from anger and fear.
“Yeah. I’ve been up against worse.” Samara shrugged with nonchalance. “Told you I can take care of myself.”
Chief Johnson came up to Orlando and clapped him on the shoulder. “So, today we have a wedding, yes?”
“Wedding?” Samara looked at him in confusion.
“Did I hear someone say something about a wedding?” A loud, boisterous voice boomed into the clearing.
Orlando turned to see his father’s best friend and Orlando’s adopted uncle, Trapper Dan, striding into the crowd. Dan’s red beard and hair hung long around his face. His jovial expression beamed at Orlando. Orlando embraced the good friend and thumped him on the back.
“Wedding?” Orlando heard Samara ask again behind him.
“Oh good, you are here, Trapper Dan. You can perform the ceremony to marry Orlando with his bride,” Chief Johnson announced.
“Wedding?” Samara repeated, her tone no longer laced with confusion but crisp and sharp as a tomahawk.
“Can I speak with you?” Orlando pulled Samara away from the excited crowd.
Samara followed but sent him a glare so intense he was surprised he still had hair. He pulled her to the river and traipsed along it until he found a place among the shade of the trees, the water bubbling happily behind them. He prayed the romantic spot would inspire a change of her mood as he tried to persuade her to marry him.
Samara had relished the moment of smug pride as she’d looked upon Running Elk where he had lain, grasping his throat in agony. A gleeful joy she probably should be ashamed of had rushed through her when she’d broken her attacker’s nose with one jab of her hand. But the moment of glory was cut short by one dangerous word. One dangerous and tempting word. Wedding.
One minute she stood watching Orlando argue ferociously with the man she effectively crumpled to the ground, defending her honor as no one had done before. The next, the warrior was stomping off and that treacherous, enticing word flew through the air.
Samara figured she should be embarrassed by the way she’d stood there repeating that surprising expression like a record stuck skipping. She should be furious her fumbling speech overrode her victorious defeat of that overgrown bully. Yet, she still grappled with why those beguiling little seven letters twisted her heart with hope and dread in one.
She followed as Orlando led her out of the village and toward the river. She allowed him to hold tight to her hand and drag her along the bank, well away from any ears or eyes that wished to pry. He pulled her under a weeping willow that stretched its body high into the sky before draping its leaves down to brush the ground. Samara wondered what secret meeting this tree had been a sanctuary for, how many stolen kisses it’d witnessed. Realizing the dangerous direction of her thoughts, she crossed her arms with a huff and tapped her foot in impatience. Orlando dropped her hand and paced the small distance under the protection of the summer leaves.
“Well?” Samara asked sharply, after she counted ten lengths of pacing.
Orlando gave her a look of caution. “Samara.”
He stepped closer. She backed up only to run into the trunk of the willow. Her breathing hitched with the intensity burning the caution out from Orlando’s eyes. She pressed her hands into the tree for support.
“Sama
ra, you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.” Orlando stopped a foot away.
“You haven’t met many.” Samara wasn’t sure where the comment came from.
Orlando looked at her, his eyebrow lifting in censure as he stepped closer. “Enough to know you are unique among all others. Your strength and courage put me to shame. Your ability to handle anything that’s sent your way astounds me. You’re…”
Orlando moved in closer, bringing his hand up to trail through her hair that had fallen around her face. He didn’t speak of what others expected like she thought he would. Didn’t speak of the fact that simply them being together for so long by themselves would force a marriage or leave both their reputations in tatters. Instead, he talked of a vision of her she never glimpsed when she looked in the mirror. A vision she desperately wanted to cling to. Her chest constricted, air stopped flowing. The sounds of the river, Orlando’s breathing, her heart beating wildly in her ears magnified until she thought she’d go deaf from it.
“I’m what?” she asked, hoping he saw more to her than barbs and prickles but dreading he’d realize the taint of her.
Orlando leaned closer, lifting her hair to his nose and inhaling. “You’re breathtaking. When I’m with you, I feel as if my world is finally right. As if I can finally shed this shadow that weighs down upon my shoulders. With you I can truly become the man I pretend to be, that I can step into the legacy left to me with confidence.”
Samara closed the distance between them, capturing his lips with hers. His hands threaded into her hair, rough and hard and full of desperation. She spread her hands onto his chest, tightening her fingers around his shirt and pulling him to her. The bark of the tree pushing through her clothes and the roughness of Orlando’s beard against her face intensified on her skin like lightning zapping her nerves. He slowed their kiss, trailing tender caresses along her cheek and down her neck before returning to her mouth to softly claim it. A sense of something more, something bigger than she’d experienced in a long time, filled her.
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