“Go tell my aunt we’re back safe,” Ethan told Rudy. “I’ll see Miss Wagner to her cabin and look after her horse.”
With a nod, Rudy rode toward the office.
When they reached her place, Ethan dismounted and lifted Cindy from the saddle. “You all right?” he asked.
“Yes, fine.”
“Go get cleaned up and get some rest.”
“Ethan. . .”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
She wasn’t up to arguing with him. Right now, all she wanted was a hot bath, a good meal and a good night’s sleep, in that order. “Thanks for coming after me.”
With a nod, he swung onto his horse’s back, then gathered up her horse’s reins. “Stay off that ankle,” he said. “I’ll have one of the girls bring you a tray.”
She smiled her thanks, watched him ride away until he was out of sight.
Compared to the shack, her cabin looked like a room at the Ritz. She filled the tub with hot water, added a generous amount of the vanilla-scented bubble bath she had picked up at the gift shop, and sank into a pool of liquid heaven.
Closing her eyes, she replayed the conversation she’d had with Ethan. How could her father have done such a despicable thing? All these years she might have spent with Ethan, wasted. She had compared every man she had dated to Ethan, and they had all come up short. Even Paul, though she had refused to admit it to herself until the moment she’d found herself standing beside him at the altar. Thank goodness she had come to her senses before it was too late!
Lying there immersed in bubbles, she searched her heart and knew she was perilously close to falling in love with Ethan Stormwalker all over again.
The next morning, Ethan stood in front of the buckskin’s corral, his arms draped over the top rail, his thoughts not on breaking the stallion to ride, but on a black-haired girl with eyes as blue as a high country lake. Cindy. She had been young and immature when he first met her. Perhaps he’d known, even then, that their relationship was doomed to fail. But now . . . oh, Lord, she was a woman now, fully grown, beautiful and every bit as sweet as he remembered. Just thinking of her made his jeans feel two sizes too small.
And if she was telling the truth, her fiancé was out of the picture. Permanently. Damn. Ethan had resigned himself to living without her and now . . . now she was here, within reach. But nothing had really changed, he thought. Not one damn thing. He was still dirt poor with nothing to offer her, and she was still a rich girl who had everything she could ever want or need.
He slammed his fist against the rail. The noise sent the stallion running to the far side of the corral. The horse stood there staring at him, eyes wide, nostrils flared.
Muttering an oath, Ethan slipped through the corral rails. “Easy, fella.” He pulled a carrot out of his pocket and held it out. “Come here, boy.”
The stallion watched him for several moments, ears twitching, and then moved cautiously toward him.
Ethan scratched the stallion’s ears while the horse munched the carrot, then he dropped a bridle over the animal’s head and led him around the corral. The buckskin followed docilely enough. In a day or two, Ethan would let him get used to the weight of a saddle on his back, and then the real job of breaking him to ride would begin.
But even as he put the horse through his paces, he was thinking of Cindy. He was going to dance tonight. Would she be in the audience? What more might have been said between them if Rudy hadn’t burst into the cabin when he had? Ethan shook his head. Maybe he was reading more into what she had said than was there. He tried to tell himself that just because she hadn’t meant to break up with him five years ago didn’t mean she wanted him now. But she had sure kissed him like she meant it.
That thought stuck in his mind like a burr to a saddle blanket the rest of the day.
Ethan was dancing. Cindy told herself that wasn’t the reason she had stopped at the lodge to look at the bulletin board, even though she knew it was. She had thought of him all last night, remembering the time they had spent together in the shack, wondering what might have happened between them if Rudy hadn’t barged in when he did. She hadn’t seen Ethan since this morning, when he’d stopped by to make sure she was all right. Now she had to decide whether to follow her heart and go watch him dance, or hide in her cabin and see if he would come looking for her.
Little tremors of excitement skittered through her every time she thought of what he had told her. He had called. He had sent her letters. He had asked Sally about her. But all that was in the past. How did he feel now? Did he still care, or was she reading more into his words and kisses than were really there?
She dressed with care that evening, donning a pair of black jeans and a short-sleeved black-and-white sweater she had picked up at the gift shop earlier that day. She applied her makeup with equal care, dabbed perfume behind her ears, on her wrists, in the cleft of her breasts. She brushed her hair until it gleamed like polished ebony, then let it fall loose down her back, because Ethan liked it that way.
She fidgeted all through dinner, too keyed up to eat much, too nervous to sit still.
Flo noticed it, of course.
“You all right, honey?” she asked, her voice filled with motherly concern.
“I’m fine,” Cindy replied.
“We heard about your little ordeal. You’re lucky you weren’t badly hurt.”
“Yes, very.” She smiled, thinking of the time she had spent in the cabin with Ethan.
“Are you going to watch the dancing tonight?” Linda asked, her voice dreamy.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Isn’t he just too much?” the girl asked. “I mean, he’s so sexy.”
“Linda!” Flo exclaimed.
“Oh, Mom, get over it. You know it’s true.”
Flo looked at Cindy and they both laughed.
After dinner, Earl took Mary and Nancy up to the lodge to watch a movie. Cindy, Flo and Linda hurried toward the amphitheater.
They were early and got seats in the front row. Cindy wasn’t sure if that was a good idea. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to be there. What if she was just building herself up for another letdown? Five years was a long time to be apart. Just because they’d shared a few kisses didn’t mean he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
Her whole body was singing with anticipation when the drummers took their places around the big drum. Ethan had told her that, before they were played, drums were sometimes warmed over a fire to give them a richer, deeper tone.
He had told her much of the old ways of his people. She had often heard a note of regret in his voice, as if he wished he had lived in those days, when the Indians roamed the prairies and there were no white men west of the Missouri. It had been easy to imagine him as a warrior, wild and free on the plains, unfettered by the constraints of civilization, a stranger to clocks and conformity.
And it was easy to imagine it now as he took his place on the stage, tall and lithe, an eagle feather in his long black hair, zigzag streaks of black and white paint on his chest.
“My first dance tonight is the scalp dance,” Ethan said. He spoke to the crowd, but he had eyes only for Cindy. “Scalping was not done merely out of cruelty or savagery or a need for vengeance. A scalp was a badge of honor, a tangible symbol of victory and of life itself. My people believed that the human spirit was somehow embodied in human hair. When a shaman wore human hair on his shirt, it represented all the people of his tribe. Parents who lost a child sometimes kept a lock of that child’s hair. A warrior often presented a scalp to the relative of a man who had been killed in battle.
“In the old days, warriors danced to celebrate their victories. In those days, the men were joined by their mothers and sisters, who held the scalps aloft on a scalp pole.”
The drummers had been drumming softly in the background, but now the sound and the tempo increased.
“In the old days, black face paint was worn by all who participated in the dance.”
And now he began to dance, his body dropping into a crouch, his knees bent, his head high, his movements quick and warlike.
The rest of the dances—war dance, grass dance, traditional dance—blurred in Cindy’s mind. She was aware of Ethan, only Ethan, his body moving, swaying, twisting and turning. She remembered once, long ago, when he had asked her to dance for him. She had been intrigued by the idea, but far too self-conscious to do what he asked.
His gaze rested on her face time and again and she knew he was dancing only for her, as he had once asked her to dance for him. Someday, he had said, someday when you ‘re secure in my love, you’ll dance, just for me.
Her body grew warm under his regard. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she watched him, imagining herself entwined in his arms, their bodies writhing together in a dance all their own.
Just before the last dance, Flo leaned over and whispered, “Are you all right? You look a little flushed.”
“I’m fine,” Cindy replied, her voice husky.
She was feeling a little unsteady on her feet when Ethan left the stage. The beating of the drum followed her out of the amphitheater, dogged her steps toward her cabin. And with every passing moment, she wondered if he would follow her. And what it would mean if he did.
Chapter Eight
Ethan gathered his gear and left the amphitheater, bound for his cabin. When he had first started dancing at the ranch, he had expressed his doubts to his aunt about performing for those who had no understanding or appreciation of the dances or what they meant. It had almost felt like selling out. But she had reminded him that it was an opportunity for him to share their beliefs with the whites, to help outsiders understand their customs, a way to narrow the gap between their two peoples. And she’d been right. Children often came up to him, wanting to know more about Native ways. Teenagers who had Indian blood but knew nothing of their heritage had told him that watching him dance filled them with a sense of pride in their ancestry. He had taken the time to teach some of them basic steps for some of the easier dances.
Wolf growled a soft welcome as he climbed the stairs to the porch. Hunkering down on his heels, Ethan spent a few moments scratching the dog’s ears before going into the house to change clothes and wash the paint off his face and chest.
“So,” he said, staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, “what now?”
Cindy had been there, front row center. Whenever he had looked her way, she had been watching him, her gaze seemingly riveted on him, her eyes alight. Her admiration filled him with a sense of exultation and he had poured his heart and soul into the steps. He had drawn upon the strength of his ancestors, asking them to infuse him with power, and had sensed their spirits hovering nearby. The drum had come alive for him then. He had felt its beat rise up through the soles of his moccasins, had heard the voice of the drum speaking to him as he danced. It had been, he mused, almost a spiritual experience, dancing for the only woman he had ever loved.
“What now?” he repeated.
He had never thought of himself as a coward. He had sought a vision. He had endured the sun dance. But this one small woman had the power to make him feel weak, helpless. He wasn’t sure he had the fortitude to put his heart on the line a second time.
And yet even as doubts filled his mind, he was washing up, changing into a pair of jeans, shrugging into a clean T-shirt, running a comb through his hair.
Feeling like a still-wet-behind-the-ears sixteen-year-old boy about to embark on his first date, he left the cabin.
Cindy glanced out the window, then turned back to the book she was reading. Or trying to read, she thought, since she forgot the words as soon as she read them. She was waiting, she realized, waiting for Ethan to come calling.
She practically jumped out of her seat when she heard a rap on the door. It was him, she thought. It had to be him.
Taking a deep breath, she put the book aside, ran a hand over her hair, stood up and went to the door.
It was Ethan, looking more handsome than ever. Her heart seemed to turn over in her chest as she invited him in.
“It’s a nice night,” he said. “How would you like to take a walk?”
She agreed quickly, thinking it probably wasn’t smart to be alone with him in her cabin.
They strolled along the riverbank, the tension high between them. She was acutely conscious of his nearness. He was very tall and very male and, as always, being with him made her feel deliciously female. Excitement rippled through her when his hand brushed against hers.
“You came to watch me tonight,” he remarked after a while.
Cindy nodded. “I’ve always loved to watch you dance. You know that.” She looked up at him. “Tonight was different somehow.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. It just felt different. I don’t know how to explain it. It seemed more powerful, almost as if. . .”
He looked at her sharply. “Go on.”
“As if you weren’t alone up there.”
Ethan came to an abrupt halt. Was it possible she had sensed the power of the Old Ones, felt their presence lingering nearby, as he had?
She stopped beside him, smiling sheepishly. “I guess that sounds silly.”
“No.” He took a deep breath, knowing his tongue would wither like a dead leaf if he didn’t tell her how he felt.
“Ethan. . .” She reached out, her hand trembling as she laid it on his arm. “Is there any chance for us?”
“Cindy!”
“You don’t know how sorry I am for what happened.” The words poured out of her, as if she was afraid that, if she didn’t say them quickly, they would not get said. “I was so young. So foolish. I didn’t mean what I said, but I was too proud to take it back and I . . . I guess I wanted to make you come to me and ask for my forgiveness. I realize now how wrong I was. I would have written back if I’d received your letters. I would have answered your phone calls. You have to believe me. . . .”
“Shh, it’s all right now. I believe you.”
“Do you think we can try again?”
It was a chance he’d never thought to have. Life had been hell without her. Could he stand it if he lost her again? Could he live with himself if he didn’t take the chance?
He ran his knuckles over her cheek.
“Ethan?” She looked up at him, waiting for his answer.
He whispered her name as he drew her into his arms, hugging her so tightly she thought her ribs might break. “You’re sure,” he said, “sure it’s over between you and that bean counter?”
“I’m sure.” She looked up at him, her gaze searching his. “Does that mean . . . is there hope for us then?” she asked tremulously.
“I’ve been living on it for the last five years,” he replied, his voice gruff. “I don’t ever want to lose you again.”
With a sigh, she rested her cheek against his chest. “We’ll make it work this time,” she murmured.
He hadn’t told her he loved her, but he would, she thought. He would. The words had never come easy to him; she couldn’t blame him for being cautious now. But, oh, how she longed to hear them.
He kissed her and then took her hand in his and they walked in the moonlight, pausing now and then to share a kiss. There was so much to say, so much that needed to be said, but for now, it was enough that they were together.
Later that night, lying in bed unable to sleep, she thought about her life. It was nice having rich parents, never having to do without, never having to worry about a place to sleep or food to eat. And yet the money, the cars, the college education, the trip to Europe, all the things her father’s money had bought her, had never really made Cindy happy. That fact had been brought home to her in a very real way when she broke up with Ethan. She had looked around her room, at all the expensive things in it, and realized how little it all meant if she didn’t have Ethan to share it with.
When they had dated before, she had known Ethan had fe
lt she was out of his league. On more than one occasion he had worried aloud that he would never be able to support her the way her father did. He had asked her time and again how she was going to feel if they got married and she could buy only what she needed and not everything she wanted. She had told him that wouldn’t be a problem, but he had never truly believed her, and at that time, she wasn’t sure she believed it, either.
Paul had given her things, too, but they had never made her happy, and it suddenly occurred to her that maybe that was what her mother had meant when she’d warned that Paul would never make her happy. No sooner had that thought crossed Cindy’s mind than she found herself wondering if her mother was really happy with her father. Looking back, she remembered little comments her mom had made, times when she had wanted Jordan to come home from work early to spend more time with them. Time, she thought. It was the best gift of all, the one thing money couldn’t buy.
With a sigh, she turned onto her side. She was here and Ethan was here, and they had all the time in the world to work things out.
Cindy pulled the covers over her head, but the knocking at the door went on and on. Groaning softly, she got out of bed, slipped on her robe and padded across the floor in her bare feet. Who on earth would be calling on her at this hour? Who but Ethan? she thought. Just thinking of him put a smile on her face as she opened the door.
“Good morning, Cyn.”
She stared at the man on the stoop. He was clad in a long-sleeved Western shirt, jeans with a crease sharp enough to cut through timber, and a pair of squeaky clean boots. She closed her eyes a moment, certain she was dreaming, but when she opened them again, he was still there.
“Paul! What on earth are you doing here, of all places?”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“What? Oh, of course.” She took a step back. “Come in.”
Closing the door, she took a deep breath, then sat down on the sofa, gesturing for him to join her. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
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