“Oh,” she blurted, her free hand rising to her cheek. But then a heartbeat later, a bright, knowing smile lit up her face. His heart hit the top of his head. “I suppose you’d come and find me. And besides, there’s nothing to worry about now, is there? I am with you.” She gazed up at him from beneath the fan of her lashes, and he could see a blush rise into her cheeks despite the washed-out glow from the moon.
He listened to her words, but it took a moment to digest them; she was with him and she felt safe. The urge to crow into the night sky was surpassed only by the urge to stare down at her, taking in every feature of her face. With her, he was becoming a new man, a different man, a man who could be loved…no matter his breed.
“I suppose you’re right. I would track you down…no matter how far you go, thanáǧina.”
Right before his eyes, she shuddered. Was she cold…or was she as affected by him as he was by her?
“Should we sit?” she asked, using her free hand to rub at her shoulder. She was nervous. He ducked his head to hide the smile that split his face.
He began walking backward, toward the stump again, her hand still in his. Where it belonged. Shaking himself, he continued to stare down at her as she walked with him. He finally broke his trance, looking down at where their hands were entwined. Henrietta’s small, pale hand was swallowed up in his large, darker one. And it felt right. Beneath the rough skin of his fingers and palm, her skin felt like velvet; smooth, warm, soft. Perfect.
When his boot heels hit the crumbling bark of the stump, he stopped. And so did she, but her gaze never wavered from his.
“You can call me Rhetta,” she said, her voice almost too quiet to be heard over the owls and crickets. “Henrietta is just a boy’s name with a frilly twist. It isn’t me.”
“Rhetta?” Fighting the urge to pull her into him, he forced himself to let go of her hand so she could climb the roots and settle on the stump. Once she was seated, he moved to sit beside her. He hadn’t had the time or inclination to wonder if the stump would hold both of them. She was tiny, but he was a bulk of a man, broad of shoulder and long in stature. Now, sitting beside her, he was a giant compared to her. And he didn’t mind it. What better to protect her, to watch over her, than a giant of the earth?
Mahkah. It was his name, and his mother had told him it meant “earth” in Lakota. His father, ever worried about his son’s place in the white man’s world, had made her call him Mac when in town. She cringed whenever the name left her lips, but she understood that to spare her son even a drop of scorn, she’d say whatever her husband told her to say. And he, even as a child of barely five, understood what it meant when the people of Runner’s Creek, South Dakota, spit at them as they walked by. He was different, they were different, and when his father died of consumption when Mac was seven, Runner’s Creek became an even more hostile place. Without his white father to keep the uglier citizens at bay, he and his mother were nearly run out of their small cabin three miles outside of town four times. Each time, someone would try to burn them out, or poison their livestock, or lie about them to the army patrols so that his mother would be in constant fear of being arrested. Of leaving her son alone to die where no one would mourn him.
“Mr. Solomon,” Rhetta whispered, concern in her voice. “Are you all right?”
Mac blinked, suddenly realizing that he’d remembered himself right into a long moment of silence. Letting out a nervous laugh, he raked his fingers through his hair. He’d left his hat behind in the bunkhouse, and he was glad of it. He didn’t want to hide anything about himself from his hummingbird. He wanted her to see him for what he was, for who he was. So that when he finally made her his, there’d be no regrets.
“I’m fine…Rhetta. I guess I started thinking again,” he said, chuckling.
She smiled, and his heart stopped. She really was beautiful.
“Well, don’t stop on my account. Like I said, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“And as I said, it doesn’t bother me at all, because I was thinking about you,” he reminded her, feeling the heat of her gaze boring into him.
She bit her lip and, Lord help him, he wanted to kiss where her teeth had been. She turned to look at where she’d come from, but not before Mac caught a flush on her cheeks.
“Were you really thinking about me?” she asked, her tone timid yet laden with hope.
He shifted to face her completely, then he waited. As a tracker, he was used to taking his time, lying in wait for the hunted to make their move. And now, he waited for Rhetta to make her decision…run or stay.
It seemed an eternity had passed before she straightened her shoulders and turned back to him, lifting her face to meet his gaze.
She chose me?
Letting out the breath he’d been holding, he finally answered, “Yes, I was thinking about you.”
She flushed again, her face darkening slightly in the moonlight. “Why? What is there to think about?” she asked, but then her expression fell. “Are you worried about me because of what happened to Bernie?” Rhetta seemed to fold into herself, even as he watched. “You needn’t worry about me, Mr. Solomon. You should focus on Bernie—I mean, on finding her. I’m sure you miss her.”
He felt his brow dip nearly to the bridge of his nose. What was she talking about?
“Of course, I am worried about your sister. Everyone is. And we will do everything we can to get her back. The sheriff and Marshal Gregson are both committed to doing all they can, too. She’s got a lot of people thinking about her. But that’s not why I was thinking about you, Rhetta…”
Mac reached out, dredging up all his daring, and ran a finger down her cheek. Soft, warm…he let his finger roam from her cheek to the very edge of her mouth, and that’s where his gaze landed. Her lips were bow-shaped, kissable. In the moonlight, they were a pale pink, but he knew that in the light of day, they were a rose. What would she taste like? Would she be warm honey or sweet peaches? He nearly groaned for want of her lips against his. Forcing his thoughts away from such dangerous things, he slowly slid his finger under her chin, lifting her face just enough so that he could see right down into those wide, brilliant eyes of hers. And…he couldn’t look away.
“Why are you thinking about me?” she murmured on a single, soft breath.
He leaned in, watching the play of emotions on her upturned face; anxiousness, uncertainty…desire. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you, Rhetta.”
Her eyes turned into pools of surprise, ringed with disbelief, and that delicious-looking mouth of hers opened, just enough for her gasp to escape.
“I’ve been thinking of you since the moment I saw you racing down the hill toward the tree line, your autumn jasper hair flying out behind you, your face glowing with joy. At first, I mistook you for a forest spirit but, then, when you ran from me, and I caught you…”
“When you saved my life, you mean?” This time, her flush was one of shame. She tried to pull her chin from his grip, but he held her in place. She wouldn’t run from him, ever again.
“When I held you in my arms and I felt your heartbeat fluttering through you, I knew, then, that you weren’t a čhaŋnáǧi—a tree spirit, you were a thanáǧina…a hummingbird. Vibrant, delicate…easy to scare.”
He almost laughed out loud when her nose scrunched up and her eyes narrowed—she was downright adorable when she was annoyed.
“A hummingbird? Because I supposedly scare easy? Well, I’ll have you know, I wasn’t really scared of you…not really…” She finally succeeded in removing her chin from his grasp. She crossed her arms and turned up her nose. And again, he fought the urge to laugh. Warmth filled him…he hadn’t wanted to laugh so much in…well…ever. Rhetta, his hummingbird, his heartsong, was already bringing something into his life he never knew he needed.
“If you weren’t scared of me, why did you run from me? You ran right for the edge of a cliff…like a lemming.” It was Mac’s turn to cross his arms, and he couldn’t help but noti
ce how her gaze dropped to his chest and stayed there for a long moment, an appreciative light flickering to life in her eyes. She like what she saw, did she? He cleared his throat, and she clicked her tongue and looked away.
“If you must know, I ran because…well…because your eyes…” She trailed off, while staring off into the sky.
Taken aback, he wondered if he should cover his eyes to spare her. “What about my eyes?” he asked, more self-conscious than he had been since leaving Runner’s Creek.
She huffed, adorably, shrugged, adorably, then answered. “They were…intense. Like they could see right through me. Like you could see all my flaws and fears. Like you could…see how angry and lonely I was…” She tucked her arms in tighter around herself.
He’d heard about the “strangeness” of his eyes his whole life—being red-skinned and dark-haired with eyes as blue as indigo wasn’t often seen. But never had anyone said he could see through someone. But that’s not what he was doing when he looked at her.
“Rhetta…when I looked at you, standing there, in this clearing…I wasn’t looking through you. I was looking at you, at how beautiful you were, how stunning and vibrant you were. You took my breath away, Rhetta, and I couldn’t help but look at you,” he confessed, his heart in his throat, waiting for her to run again.
She surprised him by jumping to her feet and throwing her hands into the air. “You must be crazy,” she began, and he slowly came to his feet. “It’s Bernie you should be thinking about…she’d prettier, more refined, and she’s got her heart set on making you her husband.”
“What?” Shocked, he nearly fell back onto the stump. “You can’t be serious.”
She crossed her arms again, pinning him to the spot with a glare. “It’s one of the things we were arguing about before…before those men came and…took her.” Her voice trembled, and he stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t shrug him away, which he took as a good sign.
“Rhetta, thanáǧina, I will do everything I can to get your sister back.”
She shuddered, then nodded. “I believe you,” she said, placing a hand over his where it was now rubbing slow circles with his thumb.
“Then why can’t you believe that it isn’t your sister that interests me?” He knew he was stomping out onto a frail limb, but he had to see this to the end. If he could get Rhetta to understand why his eyes looked upon her with such…intensity…then maybe she’d let him spend more time with her. Then maybe he could figure out why she had such a hold on him.
Pulling him from his thoughts, she reached up and tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “Bernie wouldn’t like this. She was adamant about getting you to propose before we left to go home to Dry Bayou.”
He ignored the fact that she mentioned “going home” and focused on the fact that her sister was planning on getting him to the altar without warning him first!
“Rhetta, once we find your sister, will you…will you let me court you?”
She seemed to freeze in place, her mouth opening and closing in silence.
“Rhetta?” he coaxed, hoping he hadn’t stepped over some invisible line.
Shaking herself, she offered him a ghost of a smile. “Yes. I’d like that...”
Chapter 11
For the second time that night, Rhetta didn’t know how much time passed. Between when she stumbled upon Mac in the clearing and when he stood and said “I think we should be getting back. It’s late, and I need to be up early” it could have been hours, but it only felt like a few stolen moments.
Sucking in a breath, she realized how easy it was for her to forget her troubles when Mac was near. After Mac had asked to court her, their conversation had become comfortable, teasing…fun. She couldn’t remember a time when speaking with someone had felt so natural. And, during their time together, her worries about her sister had seemed to float away on the wind. Was that Mac? Did he somehow have the power to soothe her fears? Was that what it meant to find peace in love?
But she didn’t love him. It was ridiculous to even think it possible. She glanced up at him, his handsome face cloaked in the shadows of the canopy as they walked back down the path through the forest. In silence. Certainly, Mac was gorgeous, his build large, masculine, and thrilling to someone as small as she was. But there was more to love than just being attracted to someone. She’d known that in the way JoJo and Timmy were around one another. And she could remember many times when her own mother was less than appealing—covered in sick from Bernie’s belly trouble—and her father still called her, “my lovely Sally.”
But what did that all mean? He’d asked her if he could court her, which meant he at least found her attractive. It was difficult to believe that he preferred her over the more vivacious Bernie, but…he had asked. Maybe she wasn’t a little, brown mole as her sister suggested. Maybe, to Mac, she really was a…hummingbird. A thanáǧina. She sighed; even the word was beautiful.
The thought made her giggle, which made Mac stop in his tracks and turn to her. She stopped walking, having nearly collided with the expanse of his chest, and craned her neck to look up into his eyes.
She almost laughed again at the look of stark awe on his face. Why did he always look as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing? Was she so different? She didn’t know whether that made her special or odd. Or both.
“Why do you look so…perplexed? Surely, you’ve heard a woman laugh before, Mr. Solomon,” she teased him, enjoying how wonderful it felt to be so comfortable with him.
He tipped his head to the side as if in thought, and then he smiled. Rhetta felt a heat, unlike any other, blast through her, scorching her insides. She nearly took a step back, away from the center of the blaze. But the warmth of his smile and the humor in his expression made her plant her feet. She wanted to stay right where she was. With him.
“I’m not perplexed. I’m just…glad to hear you laugh. After what you’ve been through today, I was scared you would…” his voice drifted off.
“Fold into myself? Forget how to be myself?” she offered, realizing that she very well could have done those things if Mac hadn’t been there.
“Yes,” he replied simply.
“Mr. Solomon, I’m tougher than I look.” She forced a laugh, but it sounded forced, and she cringed.
He didn’t seem to notice though, because he sighed and said, “Rhetta, please, call me Mac,” he began, his tone pleading. “As I said before, Mr. Solomon was my father, and he’s been dead many years.” That tone was surprisingly…blank. Rhetta, never one to leave her curiosity lie, dug her bare toe into the loose dirt. Wringing her hands, she peered up at Mac from beneath her lashes.
“Mac…what about your mother?” she asked, then held her breath, hoping she didn’t open up a jar of bothersome lice.
His impressive dark slashes for brows dipped into a deep V, and his eyes lost their luster. “She died, too. Long time ago.” This time, when he answered, his voice was filled with heavy emotions, emotions that stole into her chest and pricked at her heart. Her own parents were alive and well, she couldn’t imagine living as an orphan. She glanced up at Mac, who was now stiff, his form tense in the darkness.
“I’m sorry,” she replied, her heart aching for the giant before her. What was it like to grow into a man without the love of a mother?
He gave a curt nod. “I am, too. She was a good woman. A strong woman. A woman of beauty and spirit…” His gaze dropped to her, and her belly quivered at the look in his eyes. “You remind me of her.”
That surprised her. “Really? How so?” she asked, suddenly desperate to hear more about his mother.
As she asked the question, he began walking again. She rushed to catch up to him, only because his stride was so long. Once beside him again, she waited for him to answer her question. How was she like Mac’s mother? And just hearing the comparison made Rhetta’s mind whirl. For years, she’d been a nothing, someone to be forgotten when other people were around. But to know sh
e was actually on someone’s mind, that she conjured memories of someone Mac loved…it made her…happy.
Mac was quiet until they left the cover of the forest and reached the top of the hill overlooking the back of the house. When they crested hill, he stopped. There, standing, bathing in swathes of brilliant moonlight, he turned and met her gaze.
“When I was young, around twelve, she told me the story of how she and my father met. She told me that she’d been picking herbs in the forest when my father came upon her. He was dashing in his army uniform, but he was also terrifying. Her people weren’t exactly friends with the white man’s army.”
She could understand that, but she didn’t speak. Rhetta watched him as the play of expressions flittered over his hard face. Joy, sadness, humor, sorrow…they were all there on his handsome face.
“Instead of shooting her or arresting her, my father sat and spoke with her. That day, my mother and father fell in love. My father asked to be reassigned to be closer to my mother’s tribe, and my mother asked her father if she could marry the white army officer.”
His expression turned to stone.
Startled, she asked, “What happened?”
“My grandfather said ‘no’, but my mother was determined to follow her heartsong, to marry the man who made her heart beat in rhythm with his. So, despite how heartbreaking it was to leave all she knew, she snuck away to my father in the woods where they’d first met. They were married a week later, and I was born ten months after that.”
Warmth filled her, his tale as romantic as she’d ever heard. “Were they happy?”
He offered a smile, his gaze faraway. “I believe they were.”
A slight smile tipped her mouth, and she turned to look down at the back of the house. All the windows were dark; the paddock, corral, stable, and acres of land were draped in shadows. The breeze had become steadily colder, but she didn’t mind the cold. She enjoyed how invigorating it was when the chilly air kissed her cheeks.
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