by Ana Leigh
“You sound like my husband,” she said.
“Fraser Man has said this, too?”
“Yes. We just had a great war among my people.”
“What is your tribe?”
She was about to say they didn’t have tribes, and then thought differently. “We are all of the American tribe, but those in the South, were of the Confederacy and warred with those in the North called Yankees.”
“There are many different Sioux tribes, too. Our brothers stretch far toward the rising sun.”
“The Confederacy tribe felt that Washington was forcing them to live by laws they did not agree with.”
“Washington is the village where the white man’s great chief lives.”
“Yes, that is right. That is where our tribe’s laws are made for both North and South, East and West. For all the Americans to obey.”
“But not the law of the Sioux, Arapaho, Cheyenne. We have our own tribal laws. Fraser Man was right to fight for the laws of his people. Did he win?”
“No. The South lost the war.”
“That is bad to hear. Then they are still enemies with this Yankee tribe.”
“No, we are all united Americans again.”
Eagle Claw shook his head. “That is not the way of the Sioux. Your enemy is always your enemy.”
He dug into a pouch and handed her a piece of jerky. “You eat.”
Rebecca began to chew on the jerky. It tasted like buffalo and was very tough. She had to soften it with her teeth before attempting to even chew it well enough to swallow it.
His gaze never wavered. Fearing he might attempt to molest her now, she knew she had to do something more to try and convince him she was insane. She spied a grasshopper nearby.
Desperate times calls for desperate measures, Rebecca.
Rallying her courage, she spit out the jerky in a show of distaste and picked up the insect and put it into her mouth. Rebecca forced herself not to cringe when she crushed it between her teeth and swallowed it.
“You eat the creatures that crawl?” he asked scornfully.
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“Eagle Claw is a Sioux warrior. He does not eat the dregs that crawl the earth. He hunts the mighty mato. Stalks the noble deer.”
“And the frightened rabbit and tiny squirrel,” she added.
“Do not scorn me, Yellow Hair Woman.”
“Well, grasshoppers taste better than your buffalo jerky,” she said. “I think you would like them. I’ll catch you some for breakfast.”
Rebecca started to crawl around on her hands and knees searching for more. “I wish I could find some grubs. I know you would like them. They’re delicious. They’re easier to chew than your jerky, and taste much sweeter.”
He strode over to her and tossed down a blanket. “You sleep now.” Then he turned away in disgust.
Rebecca crossed her legs and sat down. In a singsong, childlike voice, she recited a bedtime prayer, bobbing her head back and forth with every word.
“ ‘Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.’ ” Then she smiled at him and wiggled her fingers in a wave. “Nighty-night.”
Eagle Claw’s expression remained inscrutable.
Rebecca lay down as close to the fire as she could, in the hopes of staying warm. Her ploy had seemed to work, at least for that night. The Lord only knew what she’d have to come up with tomorrow.
As she feared what might lie ahead, she thought about Clay and wished she’d shown him more gratitude for all he’d done for her. Now it was too late.
Eagle Claw shook her awake. The sun had risen, but she could tell from the feel of it on her body that it was still early. “You come.” He handed her the pouch to take a drink.
She gasped with alarm when three Sioux warriors suddenly appeared. The four men spoke together in low tones, then the three slipped back into the trees and Eagle Claw came over to her. “Come.”
Unsuspecting, she stood up and was unprepared when he suddenly put the gag around her mouth. After tying her hands behind her back again, he forced her to sit down by the campfire. Confused, she watched him build it up, and then stand up with his arms folded across his chest. Soon the reason became clear: she was a decoy.
Rebecca began to squirm, trying to loosen the gag or her hands, but to no avail. Her heart leaped to her throat in a silent scream of warning when Clay rode into sight.
He saw her at once and slowly rode up to the fire before dismounting. He made no attempt to reach for his rifle or the gun in his holster at his hip.
“I came for my wife, Eagle Claw.”
“You know Eagle Claw can kill you, Fraser Man.”
“Yes, I know that. You or those three bucks among the trees. You might as well tell them to come out, because I know they are there.”
“And still you come with your weapon sheathed.”
“I don’t think you’ll shoot me in the back, Eagle Claw. I think you are one who faces your enemy and doesn’t have others do it for you.”
“You speak the words of a warrior, Fraser Man.”
“I have been,” Clay said. “In the recent war.”
“Yellow Hair Woman told me your tribe is like the Sioux; they do not want to live by the laws of your great chief in Washington.”
“That is true, Eagle Claw.”
“You are a brave man, Fraser Man. And you have much courage and much heart. It was Eagle Claw’s intent to kill you, but he has changed his mind. Eagle Claw holds great respect for you. Give me your hand, Fraser Man.”
Thinking Eagle Claw intended to shake it, Clay extended his hand. The Indian drew his knife, nipped Clay in the thumb, and then cut his own. He rubbed their two thumbs together.
“We are now blood brothers, and you shall be known as Gray Pants, blood brother of Eagle Claw. From this day on you and members of your gray pants tribe can pass safely through the land of the Sioux.”
“And what about my wife, Eagle Claw?”
“Eagle Claw would not dishonor his blood brother. Yellow Hair Woman may leave with you. Eagle Claw fears that his brother’s squaw has tasted too much juice of the mescal.” He made a circling motion with his finger and pointed to her head. “Eagle Claw will now go to the mountain and thank the Great Spirit for his deliverance.”
Mescal juice? Deliverance? Eagle Claw had been obsessed with Becky; now he appeared to be relieved at getting rid of her. But Clay wasn’t going to argue, he just wanted to get out of there before the Indian had a change of heart.
Clay cut Rebecca’s bonds and removed the gag. Unable to resist, he took her in his arms and just held her, needing to feel her safely in his arms. She clung to him and he held her closely until she ceased to tremble, then he lifted her onto his saddle and climbed up behind her. Enfolding her in his arms, Clay reached for the reins and they rode away.
What had made the Indian chief give her up without one shot being fired? Those questions and the answers could come later; for now he just held her.
A few hours later the sky opened up with a downfall. Streaks of lightning in the distance indicated the storm was approaching fast and would get a lot worse before it got better. Clay goaded the horse to a faster gait, hoping to reach the abandoned cabin before the worst of it hit.
Rebecca was too relieved to let the rain bother her. Clay halted long enough to slip a poncho around her, then they continued on their way. She leaned back against him, and her tears of joy mingled with the raindrops running down her cheeks.
She had learned another lesson today, one she would carry with her as long as she lived. She snuggled deeper against Clay, and his arms tightened around her.
Life, miraculously, had become so good. So very good.
23
It was a miracle they even found the cabin, in the downpour and darkness. Clay dismounted, went inside to check it out, then came back to the horse and lifted her down.
“Get inside while I
get the saddlebags,” he said.
Rebecca stepped inside. It was too dark to see anything, but at least she was out of the storm. Within a minute Clay followed her inside, forced the door shut against the fury of the pelting rain, then tossed a blanket and his saddlebags on the floor.
“You’d better get those wet clothes off, while I get a fire going.”
When the door suddenly swung open, Rebecca screamed and spun around in alarm.
Clay slammed it shut and slipped the bolt in place. “It’s just the wind.”
“I guess my nerves are on edge,” she said.
“Rightly so, but you’ve got nothing to worry about now. Eagle Claw won’t go back on his word.”
She picked up the blanket and moved to a dark corner. By the time she’d undressed, he had a fire started.
“In another half hour this place should be warmed up,” he said, riffling through the saddlebags. “I’ve got jerky and the makings for coffee, so at least we won’t go hungry tonight.” He dug out a coffeepot. “I’m going out to take care of the horse.”
The light from the fire gave her a chance to look around at the tiny, one-room cabin. The room had a sod floor and was bare except for a huge pile of wood stacked up against the wall. Rain dripped through a hole in a far corner.
Rebecca dried her dripping hair with her skirt and then spread out her clothing to dry in front of the fireplace. By the time Clay came back inside, the room had taken on a pleasant warmth. He handed her the coffeepot filled with rainwater, then shook out his dripping Stetson and hung it on a wall peg.
“Whoever built this shack had the good sense to put up a lean-to for stock. At least the horse will be out of the storm.”
Rebecca added coffee to the water and put the pot on the hearth. “I wonder why anyone would build a cabin up here.”
“Probably somebody who got caught in the snow, and put it up to sit out the winter.” He glanced around.
“All in all, he did a pretty good job; cabin’s pretty airtight except for the leak in that far corner.”
“It seems like a palace to me. It feels so good just to be under a roof again. Funny, what you take for granted when you live in a city.”
“Yeah, I spent most of the war sleeping outside or in tents. Guess I’ve kind of gotten used to it.”
“You’d better get out of your wet clothes, too, Clay. You’re dripping all over the place.”
He sat down, pulled off his wet boots, and poured them out on the sod floor. His socks and shirt followed. Rebecca turned her head away while he shucked his pants and drawers, then slipped on a dry pair of pants he had in his saddlebags. He remained bare-chested.
She felt a flush of excitement as she waited for the coffee to perk. He has such a beautifully proportioned body, she thought, stealing glances at him. Broad shoulders, muscled chest, slim hips, and long legs. She’d noticed it before, but in the intimacy of the cabin, she was more aware of it than ever.
Later, as they sat by the fire eating jerky and sipping coffee from the same tin cup, Rebecca told him about the grasshopper incident and her pretended insanity. They shared their laughter.
“I can’t believe you fooled that old war horse,” Clay said. Then the laughter left his eyes, and he reached out and caressed her cheek. “It must have been hell for you,” he said soberly. “You’re a very courageous woman, Becky.”
Rebecca suddenly felt very warm. She lowered the blanket off her shoulders and tucked in the edges at the cleavage of her breasts.
“If that blanket’s too bulky, I can give you a shirt to put on,” he said.
“No, the blanket’s fine. Between the hot coffee and the fire, I was beginning to feel too warm.”
He got up and moved to the fireplace. “And otherwise, are you fine?”
Surprised, she looked up at him. “Why do you ask?”
“I just wonder if Eagle Claw… I mean, did he harm you in any way?”
“No, Clay. He didn’t harm me in any way.”
Relief flashed in his eyes. “He’s a strange man. I know he’s probably killed his share of white settlers, and will continue to do so. But I’d trust his word over that of many who condemn him.”
“Why did you do it, Clay?”
“Do what?” he asked, tossing another log on the fire.
“Risk your life to come after me.”
“I think you know why. It’s a question—”
“Of honor,” she said. “And honor comes ahead of anything, doesn’t it? Even risking your life.” How she wished he’d said he’d done it because he loved her.
Whatever put such a ridiculous thought in her mind? She didn’t want him to love her.
Clay raised his head and the intensity in his eyes matched that of his words. “There’s a lot more between us than just honor, Becky.”
“I know. I discovered something about myself in these past couple of days. When I thought Tom would die, I sank to the pit of despair. I didn’t care whether I lived or died.”
“That’s a common reaction when you believe someone you care for is dying.”
“But that wasn’t the only reason for my despair. I felt life was hopeless—that no matter how you strive to accomplish a dream, the outcome is out of our hands. No one could have prevented the deaths of the Ryans or of those massacred, or saved Tom. And I knew that nothing you or the whole U.S. cavalry could have done would’ve prevented Eagle Claw from taking me, if it was meant to be.”
“I believe that death is certainly inevitable, but what you make of your life is your own choosing. We don’t all take the path of a Jake Fallon.”
She raised her head and smiled. “I agree. But it doesn’t change my belief in destiny.”
“So what are you trying to say, Becky?”
“I realized that it’s natural to grieve over the loss of those we love, but we can’t feel guilty that we’re alive and they aren’t. Guilt was really what I’ve been feeling, Clay. I was well and alive; Etta and Tom were hurt. But nothing I thought or did caused it, or could have prevented it.
“And that’s why I no longer carry guilt over Charley’s death, either. No matter how much I resented him for what was between us, I wasn’t responsible for his dying. In the total scheme of things, we play a very small part in the events surrounding us.”
“And you came to this realization just because I caught up with you and Eagle Claw?”
“Yes. When you caught up with us and Eagle Claw didn’t kill you—and he could have so easily—I knew it wasn’t your destiny to die there. Any more than I was destined to live whatever life remained for me in an Indian camp.”
“Sounds like you’ve got everything all figured out,” he said.
“Not everything,” she said.
“What’s left,” he asked, “ when you meet your Maker?”
“No. The why you? of it. There were many available bachelors in Independence. I know my reason for choosing you, but what was destiny’s reason?”
Clay broke into laughter. “I’ve asked myself that same question from the time I woke up with that marriage license.”
Rebecca smiled and shrugged. Destiny, Clay.
Something in that mysterious smile made Clay burningly aware of the intimacy of the moment—the beauty of the woman across from him, and her nakedness beneath that blanket. He’d never wanted any other woman as much as he wanted her.
“Here we are, just the two of us in this remote cabin,” he said huskily. “Reunited after a harrowing separation. Any other married couple would seize the moment.”
“Surely every event of the past months has brought us to this time, this place. Do we seize the moment or let it slip away?” she sked softly.
Clay moved to her and lightly grazed her cheek with his knuckles, then gently tipped up her chin with a finger. “What do you think we should do with this moment, Becky?”
Their gazes met in man’s message to woman, and woman’s response, as ageless as Eden.
Shifting closer, she said, “
Let’s seize the moment.”
Lowering his head, he drew her into his arms, claiming the lips she had parted in anticipation. Gentle at first, the kiss deepened until breathlessness forced them apart.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he murmured.
“I don’t want to stop this time, so be sure this is what you really want.”
She slipped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. “I do, Clay. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.”
The throaty passion in her voice stoked the fire in his loins, and he flared to flame. Despite her reassurance, he vowed to raise her passion to a height beyond the point of no return.
The blanket slid off her as he lowered her on it to the floor. Under his hungry gaze, her naked flesh shimmered like ivory in the fire’s glow.
As he quickly shed his pants, his gaze remained on the sensuous beauty of her body, stretched out in wanton anticipation. His hope of any sustained foreplay was diminishing as rapidly as his control; her body was a magnet that drew his to it.
Clay stretched out on top of her. Driven by the erotic feel of flesh against flesh, the peaks of her breasts pressing against his chest, he rubbed against her in a sensuous friction, drinking in her gasps of pleasure with drugging kisses.
Raising his head, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Becky, what do you want me to do with you?”
Darkened with aroused passion, her eyes gleamed like emeralds. “Anything. Everything,” she murmured in a throaty whisper, and squirmed against him.
“Isn’t there one thing you’ve fantasized about more than any other?”
“It’s happening right now.”
“Oh, God, Becky!” He could feel her trembling, and knew it was from anticipation, not fear. She was so eager, so incredibly trusting.
“Don’t stop, Clay. Please don’t stop.”