Kaylynn laughed out loud as Jesse loosed another war cry. At last, she thought, she had found her prince, and although he had come to her in the guise of a Cheyenne warrior, she knew that this time she would live happily ever after.
Epilogue
Two years later
Kaylynn smiled at Regina. “They’re at it again.”
Regina nodded. “Shall we go see what they’re arguing about this time, or just let them kill each other?”
Kaylynn laughed. “Do you think they’ll ever see eye to eye on anything?”
“I doubt it.”
“Come on,” Kaylynn said, hauling herself to her feet, “we’d better go referee.”
“I suppose.” With an effort, Regina stood up. Her baby was due in a few weeks, and she was finding it harder and harder to get up and down.
She looked over at Kaylynn and grinned. They were both pregnant and both due within a few weeks of each other.
They found the men in the kitchen. Jesse was standing beside the table, his son in his arms. Ravenhawk was sitting down. They were glaring at each other.
“What are you two fighting about now?” Kaylynn asked. Crossing the floor, she took her son from his father’s arms. “I don’t know how this child sleeps through all your bellowing.”
Jesse jerked a thumb in Ravenhawk’s direction. “This fool thinks we ought to start raising buffalo.”
Ravenhawk surged to his feet. “Who are you calling a fool?”
“You see any other fools in the room?” Jesse retorted.
“Boys, boys,” Regina said. “If you can’t play nice, we’ll have to send you to your rooms.”
Jesse and Ravenhawk both glared at her, glared at each other, and then burst out laughing.
Kaylynn laughed, too, happier than she had ever been in her life.
“Let’s go watch the sun set,” Jesse said. “I can argue with that idiot any time. Besides, I’ve got something to give you.”
“A present?”
Jesse shrugged. “Sort of.”
“Here,” Regina said, “I’ll put your son to bed.”
“Thanks, Reggie,” Kaylynn said.
She placed her son in Regina’s arms, then followed Jesse out onto the porch.
“Well, what is it?” Kaylynn asked.
“I…”
“You what?” she asked, intrigued.
“You like poetry so much, I…” He took a deep breath, then pulled a sheet of paper out of his back pocket and thrust it in her hand. “I wrote you one.”
“You wrote me a poem?” She unfolded the paper, more touched than she could say as she began to read.
What do you give someone who has given their all to you?
What do you give to a heart so true?
Do you give love?
Yes, unfeigned.
Do you give joy?
Yes, unrestrained.
And what do you say to a love that’s true?
What do you say when she gives it to you?
Do you speak of love?
Yes, many times.
Do you speak of joy?
Yes, with reasons and rhymes.
What do you think of one so dear?
What do you feel when her love is near?
Do you think of love?
Yes, in my dreams.
Do you feel joy?
Yes, deeper now, it seems.
Where will this lead when our journey’s o’er?
Where will it be and will there be more?
Will there be love?
Yes, deep and strong.
Will there be joy?
Forever, my Spirit’s Song.
“Oh, Jesse,” she murmured. “I love it.”
“Ever since that day, when you recited that poem by the lake, I’ve thought of you as my Spirit’s Song.” He smiled at her. “It fits you, you know.”
“Thank you, Jesse.”
“I love you, Spirit’s Song.”
“And I love you, Jesse Yellow Thunder.”
Jesse drew her into his arms, content to hold her. He was the luckiest man in the world, he mused, and knew he could ask nothing more of Maheo than to spend the rest of his life with the woman in his arms.
“Pretty sunset,” he mused, thinking it shone over the ranch like a benediction from the Great Spirit.
“Yes,” Kaylynn replied.
“We’ve got company coming,” Jesse remarked.
“Really? Who?” She followed his gaze, frowning as she saw a man walking toward the house. “I don’t recognize him.”
“I do,” Jesse muttered.
“What are you doing?” Kaylynn asked, her eyes widening as Jesse drew his gun and held it behind his back.
“Excuse me,” the man said as he approached the porch. “I lost my horse a few miles back and I was wondering…” The words died in his throat as he recognized Jesse. “Damn,” he muttered. “Of all the rotten luck.”
With a grin, Jesse leveled his pistol at Phil Barnett.
Barnett shook his head, his expression glum. “Damn!” he exclaimed ruefully. “This is where I came in.”
The End
About Madeline Baker
Madeline Baker started writing simply for the fun of it. Now she is the award-winning author of more than thirty historical romances and one of the most popular writers of Native American romance. She lives in California, where she was born and raised.
Spirit’s Song Copyright © 1985, 2014, 2016 Madeline Baker
Published by Butterfly Kisses Press
Cover design by Cindy Lucas
Spirit's Song Page 29