To Tame A Rebel

by Georgina Gentry

  From the back room, she heard the front door jangle. A customer. She straightened her apron so she would look presentable and started toward the door, but even as she did so, she heard heavy steps striding across the boards. Before she could move, Yellow Jacket came through the bedroom door and stood glaring at her. “What is it you do? Are you a spy?”

  “I beg your pardon?” She could only blink up at him in surprise at his anger.

  “Don’t play innocent with me.” He threw two half-eaten candy sticks at her. “You would stoop to learning things from children?”

  “I merely gave those children some candy—” Twilight protested.

  “We are not beggars, my people,” Yellow Jacket said, his rugged face grim with fury.

  Twilight backed away until she was stopped by the edge of the bed. She was abruptly aware that she was alone with this hostile man. “The—the children didn’t beg,” she gulped. “I gave them the candy—”

  “And tried to pry information out of them at the same time. You’re no better than your robber brother.”

  “He’s not here—” Twilight began, then almost bit her tongue at her own stupidity. Now this big savage knew she was alone. Anything could happen, and there was no one to help her.

  “I know he’s not here.” Yellow Jacket strode across the room and glared down at her. “You think white people are the only ones with spies?”

  She looked up at him, hardly daring to breathe. He was standing so close, she could smell the masculine scent of his skin and feel the heat from his muscular body. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And she didn’t.

  “Liar!” He reached out and caught her shoulder, pulling her closer.

  His hand was so strong, she flinched in his grip. He glanced behind her, and she realized he was looking at the bed. He could throw her down on it, put his hand over her mouth, and . . . The thought terrified her. “Let go of me,” she said, “or I will scream and the soldiers will come running.”

  He smiled without mirth. “I almost think it might be worth it,” he murmured, and then took a deep breath and stepped away from her. “I have orders to ask you to come out to see our old leader. He is not well.”

  Twilight drew a sigh of relief and brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face. “I—I’ll do what I can. It will take a few minutes to gather some medicines.”

  “Good.” Yellow Jacket almost smiled. He was handsome when he wasn’t scowling. “I’ll go harness your buggy.”

  “I—I don’t know whether there’s a patrol available to drive me.” She licked her dry lips.

  He leaned against the doorjamb, evidently enjoying her discomfort. “You don’t need soldiers, Mrs. Dumont. I’ll drive you myself.”

  She hesitated, looked away.

  “Are you afraid?” he jeered. “Do you think the big savage will scalp you along the road?”

  “No,” she said, and didn’t look at him. What she was really afraid of was the way he was looking at her as if he’d like to pull her into his arms and kiss her. The thought both horrified and excited her. The thought of his hot mouth covering hers, forcing her lips apart while his big, hard hand went down into the front of her bodice . . .

  “What’s the matter, Mrs. Dumont? Your face has flushed.”

  “Nothing.” She was desperate enough to brush past him as he stood in the doorway. She wanted to get out of that bedroom and into the front of the store. His body was hard and muscular, and she wondered suddenly how he would look naked. Her thought shocked her. Pierre’s skin had been as white and soft as any woman’s, and his lovemaking had been quick and disappointing.

  “Your face is redder still,” he said behind her, following her toward the store’s front.

  She hated him for possibly guessing her thoughts. “Just go hitch up my buggy and I’ll get my things together.”

  He nodded and went outside. Twilight stood there a moment, trying to decide what to do. Should she go alert the captain so he would provide a patrol? She felt uncomfortable doing that, because Yellow Jacket would think her a coward. What the hell did she care what the big savage thought? Her own mental cursing shocked her even more. She never cursed. In the meantime, there was a sick old man out at the Indian camp who needed her care.

  Twilight gathered up food and medical supplies and went to the back door. Yellow Jacket waited there with her buggy. He had tied his big pinto horse behind the buggy. “Are you ready?”

  “You’re going to drive me?”

  He nodded.

  She’d be sitting next to him on that small seat, his strong, warm thigh against hers. She hesitated. “I—I have some supplies.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” He got down off the buggy seat, came across the muddy yard to the door, and hefted the sack, looked at her with a question in his dark eyes.

  “My brother can spare the stuff,” she said. “I’ll just put it on the books.”

  Yellow Jacket took the sack and carried it to the buggy. “Harvey Leland cheats us regularly,” he said, “so I guess it is not charity to take these things.”

  It surprised her that he was so proud. She picked up her medical bag and lifted her skirts to walk across the muddy yard to the buggy.

  “Wait!” he commanded. “There’s no use getting your shoes ruined.”

  Before she could protest, he swung her up in his arms. For a split second they looked into each other’s eyes, and she was keenly aware of the heat and the strength of his big body. “Put me down!” she protested. “If the captain should see you . . .”

  “Are you going to tell him?” He carried her easily to the buggy, sat her on the seat.

  She didn’t answer. “I don’t like your familiarity.” She kept her voice cold, attempting to hide her shakiness, thinking about the heat and the strength of the man.

  “All right, white girl.” His voice was cold, too, as he climbed up on the seat and snapped the reins. “Next time I’ll let you ruin those little shoes in the mud.”

  They started out of the ragged settlement and up a back road. It was a cold day, and there was no one in sight. She really should let someone know she was in the Indian camp. If no one knew . . . She looked about frantically.

  “What’s wrong?” he growled.

  “Nothing,” she lied. “I just thought someone should know where I am.”

  He laughed bitterly. “You’re safe enough. I’ll see the savages don’t scalp you and burn you at the stake.”

  She felt the hot blood rush to her face and fell silent, too embarrassed to protest again. You’re being a little fool, she told herself. These Indians are hungry, pitiful, and hemmed in by a large Confederate force. They aren’t going to do anything to harm you. Then she remembered Yellow Jacket’s hand on her shoulder and how it had trembled almost as if he were fighting to keep from pulling her into his embrace . . . or had she only imagined that because, at that moment, she had wondered how it would feel to be in his arms?

  They drove silently and in a few minutes were at the Creek camp.

  This time Yellow Jacket reached up to help her out of the buggy, and Twilight said, “I can get down by myself, thank you.”

  Then she promptly caught her foot in one of her skirt hoops and almost fell. The big Indian caught her arm and assisted her to her feet without speaking. Twilight felt like a fool, but said nothing as she gathered up her doctor bag and was led to the ancient one’s tent, where a bunch of stoney-faced warriors stood guard.

  “I have come to help,” she said. The other warriors looked at her with silent hostility, but Yellow Jacket motioned them away. “She will do well,” he insisted.

  Twilight relaxed at his good words and almost—but not quite—smiled at him. Then she turned to her patient. The old man seemed weary and listless. She had a bottle of bitters. She didn’t know if it would help, but she hadn’t much to offer. “Eat better food and stay out of the cold,” she told him. He nodded, but she was not sure he was listening.

  When she left the ten
t, accompanied by Yellow Jacket, he caught her arm. “It is well for you to say, ‘Eat better food.’ You know how shoddy the rations are that your brother gets for us?”

  “I—I’m sure Harvey is doing the best he can under the circumstances.”

  “For himself, maybe,” the man grunted. “And it’s impossible to stay out of the cold in our flimsy tents and makeshift shelters.”

  She turned on him. “Don’t you people have permanent homes somewhere here in the Territory?”

  He laughed without mirth. “Certainly, but they have been overrun by rebel troops. Their officers stay in our warm log cabins and eat our beef.”

  She suspected that he spoke the truth. “What do you want from me?” she asked in frustration.

  Yellow Jacket towered over her. “He is our leader, and if he dies, the people will scatter, uncertain what to do. He must live to get us through . . .”

  She waited, but he stumbled to a halt, obviously having said more than he intended.

  “Get your people through what?”

  “Never mind,” he snapped. “Here, I will return you to the white camp.”

  She didn’t argue with him this time as his big hands encased her small waist and he lifted her to the buggy seat. The other Indians were still glaring at her in silent hostility as the pair drove away. She was glad then that she had Yellow Jacket on the seat beside her. She had a feeling that no Indian would challenge her or threaten her with a leading warrior like Yellow Jacket accompanying her.

  Back at the fort, Yellow Jacket helped her from the buggy. “Thank you for coming,” he said, and his tone was almost warm.

  “I’m sorry I can’t do more,” she answered, looking up at him.

  “I will put your buggy away and feed the horse,” Yellow Jacket said. He hesitated, then ventured, “You are nicer than most Southerners—very different from your brother.”

  “You don’t understand Harvey,” she blurted, not quite certain what to say.

  “Mrs. Dumont, you are terribly naive,” the Indian snorted. Then he climbed up on the seat and drove the buggy over to the small barn. She stood there in the cold, watching as he put it away, mounted his own great stallion and rode out of the settlement.

  Twilight had barely gotten inside when the bell rang, announcing an arrival. She turned to see the captain, red-faced and blinking rapidly. He took off his hat. “Mrs. Dumont, did I just see you return unescorted with that—that savage?”

  She winced at the term. Somehow, Yellow Jacket no longer seemed like the war-painted, scalp-lifting demon she had seen in books. “It couldn’t be helped. Old Opothleyahola was ailing, and as you well know, my stepbrother is out of town.”

  “You could have called on me for assistance.” The muscles worked in the man’s pale jaw.

  She wanted to say that her goings and comings were none of the captain’s business, but she hesitated. “I’m sorry if you were concerned. Next time I’ll be more cautious.”

  That seemed to mollify him. “I apologize if I sounded harsh, Mrs. Dumont; it’s just that, well . . .” He hesitated and played with his hat like a small boy. “I’ve begun to take a more-than-casual interest in you since you’ve arrived.”

  She hesitated, uncertain what to say. She tried to picture herself as Mrs. Franklin Wellsley. She would be wealthy, comfortable, and answering to his very bossy mother. On the other hand, she was obligated to Harvey for taking her in and he had implored her to be polite to the young man for Harvey’s benefit. “That’s very kind of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’ve got a lot to do.”

  “Oh.” He turned back toward the door but paused as if loath to leave. “Perhaps some time in the next several days before your stepbrother returns, we might get together for a cup of tea. Mother will be leaving soon.”

  Twilight thought about spending another afternoon with the sour old harridan and winced. But she said, “That might be nice, Captain. I’ll see if I can manage it.”

  The captain blinked again. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just remembered that we are leaving on patrol tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Perhaps we can have tea when you return.” Twilight heaved a sigh of relief.

  “We’ll be gone for several days. Do you think you will be all right?”

  “I think I can manage until you or Harvey return.”

  He smiled. “Mother liked you. You’re the first woman that my mother has thought might be suitable.”

  What was she expected to say? Mother probably liked her because she was so mild and meek. “That was kind of her. She—she is a lovely lady.”

  “She was sure that you could fit into our household back in Texas. She’s a Forrester, you know, one of the best and most prominent families in Texas. Of course, being from the South, you understand how important that is.”

  “How nice,” Twilight said noncommittally. She had found the social structure of Southern aristocracy a heavy load to carry when she had been an elite belle from Alabama. “Now, if you don’t mind, Captain . . .”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m letting in the cold. Well, tah tah.” He put his hat back on and stepped out the door, nodding to her as he went.

  What kind of man said ‘tah tah’? His mother probably said it. Twilight suspected that Captain Wellsley didn’t make a move without consulting his mother, and that his mother had liked Twilight because maybe she saw her as a perfect daughter-in-law—a spineless ninny who could be ordered about without complaining. She wished she could be different, one of those spunky, strong women who made their own way in life, but she had been brought up to believe that real Southern ladies were pliant and mild. That was the kind a Southern gentleman preferred.

  It was almost dusk. With a sigh of relief, Twilight stepped to the door and locked it behind the departed captain, hung the Closed sign on the window, then began to prepare herself a bite of supper.

  Mrs. Franklin Wellsley. She would be respected and comfortable. She would also have a weakling husband and a dragon of a mother-in-law. Her thoughts went to the more intimate part of marriage as she poked up the fire and put a kettle of water on to make coffee. Pierre had been unfeeling and mechanical in bed. She remembered her disappointment on her wedding night, wondering if there couldn’t be more to it. She thought about sharing a bed with the captain and winced. It probably wouldn’t be any better than it had been with Pierre. She didn’t mean to, but now her thoughts went to Yellow Jacket and the way his powerful arms had lifted her easily to the buggy. He was all raw, virile power and rippling muscle—a true stallion of a man. But of course, he was a savage, and there was no telling what he would expect from a woman. Her face burned at the unbidden thoughts.

  That night she dreamed he came to her, took her in his arms, and made passionate love to her. His hot mouth sought her breasts as she spread herself for him, and he drove deep into her most secret place while she gasped and pulled him deeper still.

  Twilight woke suddenly and sat up in bed, gasping and covered with a sheen of perspiration, even though the room had cooled. She was horrified at her dream. Never had she had such thoughts before. But then, neither had she ever met a man like Yellow Jacket before. He was both dangerous and forbidding. Like playing with fire, she thought—and mild, obedient Southern ladies never did that . . . or did they?

  Chapter 6

  It was now the middle of Ehole, the frost month that the whites called November. Winter would be fierce this year, Yellow Jacket thought as he joined the council sitting around the fire in the drafty tent. The white rebels seemed to be slowly encircling them, and they dare not meet openly for fear of a rebel patrol arriving unexpectedly.

  Yellow Jacket stared into the flames, and his mind went to the white girl with the smoky-colored eyes and the sun-streaked hair. She had a soft, wet mouth. He imagined himself taking her in his arms, holding her close against him while his mouth covered hers, his tongue going deep to explore and excite, his fingers stroking up and down her back as he put his big hand in her bodice . . .


  “. . . so what do you think, Yellow Jacket?” Opothleyahola asked.

  “What?” He came back to reality with a start, ashamed that he had let his mind drift.

  The old man frowned at him and broke into a spasm of coughing. “I have almost given up hope that Big Chief Lincoln is going to send us help as he promised. Did the officer in Kansas say he would send him the message over the singing wires?”

  Yellow Jacket nodded, then shrugged. “I am past expecting anything from whites, no matter which side.”

  Smoke, the Seminole leader Alligator, and some of the others sitting in the circle nodded agreement.

  “In that case,” the withered old leader sighed, “we are going to have to help ourselves. Hundreds of people are gathering, and we don’t have the food for them and grass for all their animals. Besides, storms will come soon, and the rebels are tired of my stalling. The Confederate major grows impatient for an answer. They may decide to attack.”

  “Our people have few weapons and supplies.” Yellow Jacket accepted the pipe that was making the rounds, and took a puff of the fragrant tobacco. “If we sit like ducks on a pond and wait for their attack, we will be slaughtered.”

  “Exactly,” the old man nodded, “so I have met with all the tribal leaders. Shall we do the unexpected? Shall we pull out tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Smoke exclaimed. “We cannot get six or seven thousand people ready to pull out tonight.”

  Yellow Jacket considered. “Will they be any more ready tomorrow or the next day?”

  “I agree with Yellow Jacket,” Billy Bowlegs grunted. “It will be like moving the people of Moses in the white man’s Good Book. There is no good way to organize that which is too sprawling to be organized.”