The soft drumming began again. Ethan’s gaze met Cindy’s and then he began to dance once more, always aware that she was watching. Did she know he danced just for her, that he had eyes only for her?
He finished the dance and then, needing to take a break, he sat down and waited for the applause to die away. When he again had the crowd’s attention, he began to speak.
“For hundreds of years, before my people learned to read and write, we handed our stories and legends down from father to son. The story I’m about to tell you is one I heard from my grandmother when I was a young boy on the reservation.
“Long, long ago, when the world was young and people had not come out yet, no flowers bloomed on the prairie. Only grasses and dull, greenish-gray shrubs grew there. Earth felt very sad because her robe lacked brightness and beauty.
“‘I have many beautiful flowers in my heart,’ Earth said to herself. ‘I wish they were on my robe. Blue flowers like the clear sky in fair weather, white flowers like the snow of winter, brilliant yellow ones like the sun at midday, pink ones like the dawn of a spring day—all these are in my heart. I am sad when I look at my dull robe, all gray and brown.’
“A sweet little pink flower heard Earth talking. ‘Do not be sad, Mother Earth. I will go upon your robe and beautify it.’
“So the little pink flower came up from the heart of the Earth Mother to beautify the prairies. But when the Wind Demon saw her, he growled, ‘I will not have that pretty flower on my playground.’
“He rushed at her, shouting and roaring, and blew out her life. But her spirit returned to the heart of Mother Earth.
“When other flowers gained courage to go forth, one after another, Wind Demon killed them also. And their spirits returned to the heart of Mother Earth.
“At last Prairie Rose offered to go. ‘Yes, sweet child, said Earth, ‘I will let you go. You are so lovely and your breath so fragrant that surely the Wind Demon will be charmed by you. Surely he will let you stay on the prairie.’
“So Prairie Rose made the long journey up through the dark ground and came out on the drab prairie. As she went, Mother Earth said in her heart, ‘Oh, I do hope that Wind Demon will let her live.’
“When Wind Demon saw her, he rushed toward her, shouting, ‘She is pretty, but I will not allow her on my playground. I will blow out her life.’
“So he rushed on, roaring and drawing his breath in strong gusts. As he came closer, he caught the fragrance of Prairie Rose. “Oh, how sweet!’ he said to himself. ‘I do not have it in my heart to blow out the life of such a beautiful maiden with so sweet a breath. She must stay here with me. I must make my voice gentle, and I must sing sweet songs. I must not frighten her away with my awful noise.’
“So Wind Demon changed. He became quiet. He sent gentle breezes over the prairie grasses. He whispered and hummed little songs of gladness. He was no longer a demon.
“Then other flowers came up from the heart of the Earth Mother, up through the dark ground. They made her robe, the prairie, bright and joyous. Even Wind came to love the blossoms growing among the grasses of the prairie. And so the robe of Mother Earth became beautiful because of the loveliness, the sweetness and the courage of the Prairie Rose.
“Sometimes Wind forgets his gentle songs and becomes loud and noisy. But his loudness does not last long. And he does not harm a person whose robe is the color of the Prairie Rose.”
Charmed by the tale, the audience applauded as Ethan gained his feet. He sent a last look in Cindy’s direction, and then he left the stage.
Cindy stared down at her dress. The color was the deep pink of a prairie rose. She frowned, wondering if there had been a hidden message in the story he had told.
Chapter Ten
Ethan paced the floor most of that night, trying to convince himself that he didn’t need Cynthia Wagner. He had survived the last five years without her; he could get through the next five just as well.
Going to the window, he stared out into the night. Who was he trying to kid? He had been trying to get over her for five years, three months and six days, and he hadn’t managed it yet. In all that time, not a day had gone by without him thinking about her, wondering where she was, what she was doing. Why the hell hadn’t she married Mr. Moneybags? Even though she would still be in Ethan’s thoughts, still a temptation, at least she would be untouchable. And even though it would hurt like the devil knowing she belonged to someone else, at least he would know she was out of reach. Maybe then he’d be able to move on. And maybe he’d win the lottery. And maybe the government would return the Black Hills to the Lakota.
Knowing he was never going to be able to get any sleep, he left the cabin. Wolf crawled out from under the porch and padded at Ethan’s heels as he walked to the corral. The stallion snorted softly at their approach.
“Wolf, down,” Ethan said quietly.
Whining softly, the dog dropped to his belly, his head resting on his paws.
Ethan draped his arms over the top rail. Sometimes, like now, he thought about just giving up and going back to the reservation, living from allotment check to allotment check. He had a lot of old friends there. They could go hunting and fishing, spend their evenings sitting outside chewing the fat. He could move in with his cousins. They’d be happy to see him, happy to put him up for as long as he wanted to stay. . . . Yet even as he considered it, he knew he wouldn’t go. Dorothea needed his help here, and he liked working on the ranch. He was his own boss, more or less. He had a place of his own, plenty of time off, the opportunity to dance as often or as little as he liked.
But that wasn’t the only reason. Visiting at Pine Ridge Reservation always filled him with a sense of despair. Jobs were scarce. A high percentage of kids were high school dropouts. The suicide rate was high, as was the rate of infant mortality and diabetes. There were few paved roads, few businesses; there were still conflicts between the mixed bloods and the full-bloods, between progressive Indians who wanted to embrace the ways of the white man, and traditional Indians who wanted to preserve and emphasize the old ways. Back in the mid-seventies, those tensions had erupted in a bloody battle at Wounded Knee, where another bloody battle had taken place over a hundred years ago.
His cousin, Joseph Little Eagle, likened living on the reservation to living in a concentration camp.
With a sigh of exasperation, Ethan grabbed the hackamore off the post where he had left it the day before. There was no point in lamenting the past or thinking about Cindy and what might have been.
Ducking inside the corral, he dropped the hackamore over the stallion’s head, then swung onto his bare back. He spent an hour teaching the horse to rein right and left, make flying lead changes, to back up. To Ethan’s delight, the animal was smart and quick.
Finally reining the stallion to a halt, he leaned forward to stroke his neck. They had both had a good workout, he thought. Maybe now he could get some sleep.
Dismounting, he slipped the hackamore off the buckskin’s head. Snorting softly, the horse trotted to the far side of the corral. Hanging the hackamore over the post again, Ethan ducked through the rails.
Wolf stood up, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he stared into the darkness.
“Something out there, boy?” Ethan asked.
“You’re up late.”
Cindy’s voice impaled him with a shaft of sweet hot desire. Taking a deep breath, he turned slowly to face her. “So are you.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Try a glass of warm milk.”
She glanced at the stallion. “It doesn’t seem to work for you.”
“I don’t like milk. What do you want, Cindy?”
“The same thing I’ve always wanted.” Her gaze met his. “You.”
“It’s never going to work. Why can’t you accept that?”
“Because I’m nothing but a spoiled rich girl used to getting her own way.”
He flinched as she tossed his own words back at him. “Even spoiled rich gir
ls have to learn to accept defeat.”
“I’m not defeated.”
“Well, I am.”
“Damn you, Ethan Stormwalker. I know you still care for me. Why won’t you fight for me?”
“Honey, I don’t have any ammunition.”
“Tell me you don’t care.” She took a step toward him. “Tell me that I don’t mean anything to you, that you haven’t missed me as much as I’ve missed you.” Another step. “Tell me I’m not the reason you’re out here, unable to sleep.”
“Dammit, Cindy. . .”
Closing the distance between them, she placed her hand on his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and his skin was warm beneath her fingertips. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart, feel his breath on her face.
“Tell me, Ethan, and I’ll go away and you’ll never have to see me again.”
She was close. Too close. And he wanted her more than he wanted to see another sunrise.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” he said, his voice rough as sandpaper, and then he dragged her body up against his and kissed her. There was no tenderness in his kiss, no softness in his caress. His mouth plundered hers boldly, his tongue dueling with hers. He kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, until her body was on fire and there was nothing in the world but Ethan, his arms locked around her, his body rigid and pulsing with desire.
He released her abruptly and took a step backward. “Go home, Cindy. You don’t belong here. You never will.”
She looked up at him, her eyes like dark bruises in her face, and then she turned and walked away.
She had tried and she had failed. Blinded by her tears, Cindy made her way back to her cabin. Inside, she hit her knee against a chair while she fumbled for the light switch, but the pain in her leg was nothing compared to the ache in her heart.
He said he didn’t want her, but she couldn’t believe it. Refused to believe it. He hadn’t kissed her like he didn’t want her.
She sank down on the sofa and closed her eyes. Why did she have to come here and see him again? Why did it have to hurt so badly? Maybe her father was right. Maybe she should marry Paul. They came from the same background. They were comfortable with each other. He was at ease at the opera and the ballet. He had an M.B.A. from the Wharton School of Business. His parents liked her; her parents liked him. He would never dance just for her, or walk barefoot with her along the beach at night. He would never give her an eagle feather. He would never break her heart. . . .
Anger surged up within her. Why was she sitting here feeling sorry for herself? She was young. She was single. She was smart. She wasn’t bad looking. If Ethan was too blind to realize it, that was his loss! She didn’t need him. . .! But she did. And that quickly, her anger withered and died. She was one other thing, she thought, grinning. She was tenacious and stubborn and used to getting what she wanted. And she wanted Ethan Stormwalker. And she meant to have him. She had told Ethan she wasn’t defeated, and she wasn’t.
“I’ll get him back,” she said, and then grinned again, thinking she sounded just like Scarlett O’Hara talking about Rhett Butler. “You and me, Scarlett,” she murmured, “Only I intend to win!”
Paul was at her door bright and early the next morning. Dressed in a crisp plaid shirt, a string tie, a pair of Levi’s and boots so shiny she could see her face in them, he looked exactly like the greenhorn he was.
“Hi, Cyn,” he said with a smile. “Ready for breakfast?”
There was no point in refusing to go with him. She was hungry and she had to eat. She brightened a little, thinking there was a good chance they might bump into Ethan up at the lodge.
And bump into him was just what she did. He was coming out of the dining room as they were going in, only Cindy was looking at Paul and didn’t see him.
Ethan grabbed her by the arm to steady her. “Excuse me, Miss Wagner.” His voice was cool, but she saw the heat in his eyes when he looked at her.
“My fault,” she replied, her voice equally cool. “Mr. Stormwalker, I don’t believe you’ve met my friend, Paul VanDerHyde.” She emphasized the word friend. “Paul, this is Ethan. You remember him? He was our guide on the trail ride the other day.”
“Yes, of course,” Paul said. He did not offer his hand to the other man.
Ethan nodded in acknowledgment, his own hands clenched at his sides.
Cindy glanced from one man to the other. They were sizing each other up like two dogs about to fight over a bone. The silence built until it was uncomfortable.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stormwalker. Come along, Cyn,” Paul said, and taking her by the arm, he led her past Ethan into the dining room.
They found a table beside a window and sat down. The waitress brought coffee and took their order.
“Who is that man?” Paul asked when the waitress had moved away from the table.
“He works here. You know that.”
“Yes, but who is he? What is he to you?”
Her senses went on red alert. “What do you mean?”
“You know him, don’t you?” He held up his hand, cutting her off. “And I don’t mean because he works here.”
“I met him before, yes.”
“Stop being so damned evasive. Who is he, Cyn? What does he mean to you?”
“Everything,” she replied quietly. “He means everything to me.”
Paul stared at her as if she had just grown another head. “You’re in love with him? An Indian trail guide?” He shook his head and then laughed. “Dammit, Cyn, you had me going for a minute there!”
“It’s true, Paul. I’m in love with him.”
“I see.” His eyes grew cold and hard. “So, he’s the reason you left me looking like a fool at the altar?”
“I’m sorry.”
“And how does he feel about you?”
“That’s none of your business. In fact, none of this is any of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t! I can’t believe you left me for some . . . some cowboy!”
Cindy glanced around the dining room. Several of the diners at nearby tables were looking in their direction.
Paul noticed it, too, and immediately lowered his voice. “I asked you a question, and I want an answer. How does he feel about you?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” she replied. Rising, she tossed her napkin on the table and walked out of the dining room.
Afraid that Paul might follow her, Cindy began to run as soon as she got outside. Ducking around the side of the lodge, she headed for the stream and splashed across to the other side. She ran until her sides ached and her lungs burned, and then she sank down under a tree and fell back on the grass to catch her breath.
Men! She remembered a greeting card she had read that said, if they could put one man on the moon, why couldn’t they put them all there? At times like these, she agreed wholeheartedly! One good thing might have come out of it, though. She didn’t think Paul would bother her anymore.
Lying there in the shade, she felt strangely detached from everything and everyone. The sky was a clear azure blue, the air was warm, fragrant with the scents of grass and trees and wildflowers. High overhead, an eagle made lazy circles.
Lakota country, she thought. She had studied the Plains tribes in college, fascinated by their beliefs and customs, always thinking of Ethan, always imagining him living in the Old West. She closed her eyes. It was so easy to picture him there. . . .
She was riding across a vast prairie under an endlessly blue summer sky. There was nothing to be seen in any direction for miles and miles, yet she wasn’t afraid. She rode on, enjoying the touch of the sun on her face, her gaze searching, endlessly searching.
The day wore on, the shadows lengthened, and still she rode onward, ignoring her growing weariness, the hunger and thirst that were making themselves known. She couldn’t stop. She had to find him.
And then he was there, riding over the crest of a hill, his skin the color of sun-warmed copper, his long black h
air shining in the silver light of a lover’s moon.
She drew her horse to a halt, watching as he rode toward her, tall and proud, a warrior without equal.
With a joyous cry, she fell into his arms, sobbing his name as he held her close, promising that she would never leave him again. Never. . .
Cindy woke with a smile on her face. It was a sign, she thought, a sign that he would be hers.
Paul was waiting for her when she returned to her cabin.
Cindy took a deep breath, prepared to do battle. “What do you want?”
He had been standing with one arm behind his back. Now he brought it forward and handed her a bouquet of yellow daisies. “I brought you a peace offering.”
She hesitated a moment before accepting them. “Thank you, but this doesn’t change anything. It’s over between us, Paul.”
He nodded. “I understand, but there’s no reason we can’t be friends, is there?” He smiled disarmingly. “No reason why we can’t spend a few days together as long as I’m here.”
“Paul. . .”
“I think you owe it to me, don’t you?” As though sensing she was about to argue, he said, “One day and one night,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking for. Starting tomorrow.”
“And then what?”
“And then I’m gone.”
She looked down at the flowers in her hands. She didn’t feel she owed him anything, but he wasn’t asking for much, just one day. And maybe she did owe him something for the way she had treated him. And what could one day hurt, as long as he knew it was over between them? “All right.”
“Good. Oh, there’s a dance tonight up at the lodge. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
“Maybe.”
He started to say something and apparently thought better of it.
“Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely.”
“They pale next to you.”
“Paul. . .”
Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss across her cheek. “A day and a night,” he reminded her. “I’ll come by for you tomorrow morning.”
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