White Owl

by Veronica Blake

  He had noticed her coming from the northeast, so she must have crossed Milk Creek. Obviously, she had ridden a long way to come here . . . perhaps she was as curious about him as he was about her.

  From his hiding spot, he could see her clearly. The other day her hair had been in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she had worn the same brown wide-brimmed hat that she wore today. But now, with her long red hair flowing freely around her face, she was even more beautiful than White Owl remembered. Last time, she had been dressed in a simple black riding skirt, red plaid shirt, and looked like a homesteader’s daughter. Now she wore a matching tan jacket and riding skirt that looked expensive. He was reminded of the rich women he had seen in Denver when he was young and had been sent there to learn the ways of the white man.

  He suspected that she would not hide in the same location as she had a few days ago, and his prediction had been correct. Since she had ridden her horse to the far end of the hillside, he was only a few yards away from her. He was certain that she could not see him, but he could watch every move she made, and she seemed confident that she had found a good hiding spot as she removed her riding jacket and pushed it into her saddlebags. White Owl noticed she moved cautiously so that she would not draw any attention to herself. Fascinated, he watched her roll up the sleeves of her fancy white top and remove her brown hat for a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow with the tips of her fingers. The sun was scorching on this summer afternoon, and White Owl was hoping she would remove more clothing. He was disappointed when her attention seemed to focus on the pony races in the meadow below them.

  Although he did not have a plan beyond waiting here in the bushes to see if the girl came back, White Owl now discovered that he was completely hypnotized by her. The bright afternoon sunlight glistened on her red hair and almost seemed to cast a mystical glow around her entire face. Her skin looked as creamy as milk and her eyes definitely were the most vibrant blue he had ever seen. He could do nothing other than stare at her.

  When he finally began to snap out of the spell that this enchanting girl was casting over him, White Owl realized that he wanted to do far more than watch her from this hiding place. The will-power that he had prayed to the bear to give him when he encountered this woman again was completely forgotten.

  He bounded up from the sagebrush that had been concealing him and lunged forward. He heard the girl’s terrified cry and saw her horse rear up in surprise, but before she could get her horse under control again, White Owl grabbed her foot and pulled her down from the animal’s back. They both tumbled to the ground, with White Owl landing first and the girl crashing down on top of him. For a moment, he could not catch his breath. But even as he gasped for air, he wrapped his arms tightly around his captive to keep her from getting away.

  Although he was expecting a fight, White Owl was not prepared for the wildcat he had just captured. He felt her fingernails rake through the skin on his shoulder, but the pain from that attack was lost to the rest of the battle he encountered as her kicks at his legs and the punches of her fists against his chest and face took him completely by surprise.

  Once White Owl was able to take a full breath, he regained his senses, along with his strength, and easily grasped the girl in a crushing embrace and rolled over with her until he was the one on top. He felt her body stiffen beneath him as she began to realize that he had her pinned so tightly between the ground and his body that she could not get away regardless of how hard she tried to fight him.

  She finally gave up her intense struggle. White Owl could feel the rapid rising and falling of her breasts pressing against his bare chest as she attempted to breathe. The realization that only a bit of material prevented their skin from touching made his manhood rise without warning. The swollen member pushed unmercifully against her hip bone.

  By the horrified look on her face, White Owl was certain that she was also aware of his desire. Her blue eyes went wide and her lips parted in a silent scream.

  Her stunned silence lasted for only a moment before she started kicking and struggling against him with even more determination. White Owl was certain that her main target was his most private area, which was completely deflated now, because that was where her knees seemed to be aimed as she struggled beneath him again with renewed vigor. And though he had her arms pinned firmly against the ground with his hands, he could not get her flailing legs under control.

  “Stop it, woman! I do not intend to hurt you.”

  Instantly, her struggles ceased. “You can speak English?”

  “Not with pride—only because I did not know any better as a child when I was forced to learn the ways of your people.”

  She continued to stare up at him, but she did not attempt to fight him again. He could feel the heat of her rapid breath against his face. He could steal a kiss from those pale pink lips, and she would not be able to prevent it—a thought that made him swell with desire again.

  “Oh, get off me now,” the girl gasped as she began to kick violently again. “Get off!” she screamed even louder.

  White Owl tried to put his hand over her mouth to silence her. There was no way he intended to share this beauty, and he had been lucky enough to avoid the other braves’ questions about his whereabouts the past few afternoons. Once he released his tight grip on her arms, however, she began pounding her fists against his chest and his face as hard as she could. But at least she was no longer yelling.

  Finally overpowering her once again, White Owl managed to pin her against the ground and put one hand over her mouth to muffle her protests. With as forceful a tone as he could evoke, he said, “You cannot scream or every one of those men down there will come, and they will not be as gentle as I am. Do you understand me?”

  The girl stared at him for an instant, then slowly nodded. White Owl hoped he could trust her as he began to pull his hand away from her mouth. He reminded himself that he must control his sexual desires if he didn’t want her screaming out in terror again. But the only way to do that was to remove himself from her luscious body right away.

  He slid to the side and tried to keep his groin from touching any part of her. He did not release his tight hold on her arms until he was certain that she was not going to do anything rash. To his surprise, she remained unmoving and silent, but the frightened look on her face made her feelings toward him more than evident.

  “I will not hurt you,” White Owl said. “I only want to talk to you.”

  She did not reply and continued to stare at him as though she was about to pass out from fright.

  “I’ve seen you up here. You like to watch the pony races.” He gestured with a toss of his head toward the meadow down below.

  He noticed her throat move when she swallowed; she wore a delicate gold chain with a little golden heart hanging from it. The sunlight reflecting from the necklace was almost blinding.

  His attention was distracted from the shiny heart when she ran her tongue over her soft pink lips. White Owl was glad he was not still on top of her, because that one little swipe of her tongue sent his senses whirling and his manhood rising again.

  “I do enjoy the races,” she admitted.

  White Owl nodded, thankful that she had not noticed the swell in his buckskin pants. “We have fun. It is rare that we can have fun now that the white man has invaded our lands.”

  The expression on the girl’s face changed. She did not appear to be quite as frightened of him, and it almost seemed as if she agreed with him when she nodded her head slightly.

  “Where do you ride from?” he asked in an effort to change the subject. He decided to take a huge gamble and release her completely from his grip as he sat up. To his relief, she sat up, too, and made no effort to get away from him.

  She stared at him for a moment before she answered. “It’s a long way from here.”

  “I saw you ride in from the north, across Milk Creek.” Her frightened look returned. He added, “I do not plan to hunt you or your family down
, if that is your fear.”

  The girl continued to stare at him as if he had just guessed her exact thoughts. “I need to go now,” she said in a choked voice.

  “Will you come again?”

  “No—I-I shouldn’t, I can’t.”

  “There is no reason for you to be afraid of me,” he said. He noticed she glanced down at the other warriors around the racetrack.

  She scooted a couple of inches away from him. “It would be wrong for us to meet here again.”

  White Owl leaned forward. “Why? Because I am not a white man?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just, well, my father, he has told me that I’m not allowed to ride out here alone anymore because of the trouble between the Utes and the people over at the Indian agency.”

  “Why are you here today then?” White Owl asked bluntly.

  “Well, I . . . I just wanted to . . .” she started. “I’m not really sure why.”

  White Owl nodded, and a smug grin curved his mouth.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked in a defensive tone. She inched a little farther away from him.

  “Because I know why you are here—you came to see me again.”

  An indignant huff escaped from her. “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “What are you called?” he asked.

  “Rosali—Rose, my name is Rose.”

  “Rose,” White Owl repeated slowly. “Will you come back here tomorrow, Rose?”

  The girl gave her head a negative shake, then slowly pushed herself up from the ground. White Owl followed her. Standing beside her, he realized that he was nearly a head taller than she was.

  “I . . . no!” she retorted. Her gaze moved up to his face as if she was noticing how tall he was.

  White Owl straightened his stance even more and puffed out his chest. He was sure she was impressed.

  A blush colored her cheeks, and she quickly glanced away. She looked down at the racetrack again, then back at him. She shook her head as she added, “Coming here was a mistake. I—I cannot come back again.”

  White Owl watched with fascination as her shiny red curls swirled around her shoulders with the movement of her head. “I will come to see you then.”

  “No!” she gasped. “I thought you just said that you were not going to hunt for me or my family, and if you come to our ranch my father would kill you.”

  “Or I would kill him,” White Owl retorted. He tilted his chin up in an arrogant manner.

  The girl’s blue gaze widened again, and White Owl could see how fearful she still was of him. He used this to his advantage. “I will see you here tomorrow then.”

  Without further comment, he turned around and went into the thick bushes. He went back down the incline to where he had hidden his pony. He smiled as he mounted.

  Rose . . . with lips the same color as many of the delicate pink flowers that covered the hillsides and meadows. He would call her Wild Rose—his Wild Rose.

  White Owl’s smile widened. Tomorrow could not get here fast enough.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh my,” Rose whispered as she crumpled back down to the ground. As desperately as she wanted to get away, there was no way her shaky legs were strong enough to carry her the short distance to where Molly stood waiting.

  She swallowed the hard lump in the back of her throat. For three whole days she had been so good and fought the urge to go riding—even for a short distance. But today was such a perfect summer day. Not even the tiniest wisp of a cloud marred the vast expanse of blue overhead. Rose just had to go riding.

  She had told her mother—and herself—that she was just going to ride Molly down by Milk Creek, which bordered her parents’ property and served as an unofficial boundary line for the Ute lands. Once she had reached the creek, however, she had not even hesitated to nudge Molly into the gently flowing water. She had felt helpless to prevent herself from being drawn back to the Ute racetrack. Now look where it had gotten her!

  Rose leaned forward cautiously and glanced through the bushes. She could see the Indian riding his black pony toward the racetrack. Had he been hiding up here every day for the past three days waiting to see if she would come back? She groaned and sat back down on her heels. How could she have been so stupid?

  She looked down at her dirty and torn clothes and felt a tear sting the corner of her eye. The riding outfit and frilly white blouse she wore were her best suit of clothes and only a few of the store-bought garments she owned. Her Aunt Maggie had purchased them for her as a going-away present when they had left Denver to homestead out here in western Colorado over a year and a half ago. She knew it had been foolish to wear these nice clothes today, but for some reason she had felt compelled to dress up. Now her beautiful outfit was probably ruined.

  In an effort to control the fierce tremors that continued to race through her body, Rose wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Somehow she had to gather her wits about her, get back home as quickly as possible, and pray that the Indian didn’t follow through with his threat to come for her.

  She peeked back through the bushes and could no longer see the Ute anywhere on the slope below. She hoped he had already rejoined the others and was now one of the many riders racing around the track in a veil of dust and rocks. Regardless of where he was, Rose knew she had to leave here now.

  She reached out and picked up her wide-brimmed hat. It was covered with dust, and the top was flattened out of shape. With a couple of shakes, the loose dust was easily removed. She pushed the crown back into shape before she placed the hat back on her head.

  Her shaky legs barely supported her as she made her way over to Molly. Her compliant mare had not moved one inch from where she had been standing when the Indian had pulled Rose from her back.

  “Thank the good Lord above, Molly, that Pa trained you so good,” Rose whispered as she led the horse away from the ridge and down the back side of the hill. Her legs still wobbled so much that she could barely stand up, let alone walk down the incline. Several times she slipped and slid a couple of feet down on her rear-end before she could regain her balance. Once they were on flat ground again, Rose attempted to climb back up into the saddle. Her arms felt as limp as a rag doll’s, and it took all of her strength to pull herself onto Molly’s back.

  “Take me home, girl,” Rose said with a trembling voice. The horse moved forward with cautious steps, as if she knew that her mistress was in a fragile state.

  Rose continued to glance back over her shoulder even though she knew it was a wasted effort. If the Ute wanted to follow her, she would probably not even be aware of it until he was dragging her off her horse again. There were heavy groves of aspens and tall clusters of sagebrush and cedars scattered throughout the countryside. She had no doubt the Indian could easily track her all the way back to her parents’ farm without ever showing himself. She shuddered and clasped the reins tighter as she urged Molly into a trot.

  The trip back home seemed to take longer than normal because she could not stop berating herself for going to the racetrack. Even worse, she could not quit thinking about the feel of the Indian’s rock-hard manhood against the side of her hip.

  She suddenly had to undo the top button of her blouse, but that did nothing to cool the burning sensation that raced through her entire body. Since she had two brothers, Rose was not ignorant of male anatomy. When she and her twin brother had turned sixteen two years ago, her dear mother—in a whispered voice when no one was around—had told her a bit about what a woman was expected to do with a man once they married. But never had Rose imagined that a man could be that large and—and to think what he did to a woman with that—oh!

  She wiped away the beads of sweat on her face. There was nothing she could do about the rivulets of perspiration that trailed between her breasts and down her body beneath her clothes.

  What is wrong with me? she wondered. The memory of him should be so frightening that she needed to erase it from her mind completely. But ra
ther than being scared stiff from the close call she had just had, her body seemed to act as if it had actually enjoyed the experience. Now, that was a terrifying thought.

  In spite of herself, Rose turned around in her saddle and looked behind her again. A sudden feeling of disappointment flooded through her. It was quickly followed by disgust and anger. There really must be something wrong with her. The Ute brave had as much as defiled her body and threatened to kill her father, yet she was still hoping to see him again?

  “Lord forgive me,” Rose cried out as she glanced up at the sky.

  With Milk Creek far behind her, Rose let Molly’s gallop slow to a steady trot. Although she attempted to convince herself that she should probably tell her father about the Ute’s threat, she also knew that she would not say a word to him unless it became absolutely necessary. Paddy Adair’s uncontrollable temper was something Rose preferred to avoid at all costs.

  As she rode up to the barn, Rose was amazed that neither of her brothers or her father was anywhere to be seen. To her relief, she realized that they must still be working in the hay fields or out on the range checking on the cattle. The extra time was more than she could have hoped for because it gave her a chance to compose herself a bit before she had to face any of them. She took her time to wipe down Molly, water her, and give her an extra pitchfork of hay. She also gave the mare a half a bucket of oats—a real treat that the horse only got occasionally.

  Once she had taken good care of her horse, Rose took a few more minutes to tidy herself up. She removed her hat and ran her fingers through her hair to untangle the long tendrils as best she could. Her riding skirt was dusty, but fortunately, there did not seem to be any tears. She brushed it off until there was not a trace of dust left. But her blouse was filthy and ripped in several places. She put her cropped jacket back on to cover up the tattered blouse. Would everything else that happened today be so easy to cover up?

  “Well, there you be. I was comin’ to check out in the barn to see if you were back yet. You were gone an awful long time again.”