by Karen Kay
Briefly he wondered if she realized that she should start packing her equipment, get it into the wagon and speed out of the way. Glancing in her direction, what he saw there made the fire in his blood turn cold.
She was doing nothing to avert a disaster, not a single thing. In fact, instead of taking her gear down, she was setting it up for another shot.
Was she deaf? Where did she think she was? On a picnic? Didn’t she realize that she was in the middle of the most untamed stretches of this country?
Or childlike, did she expect him to provide her with a safe environment regardless of the circumstances?
He grimaced. Probably the latter. Well, this was no white man’s manicured lawn and he was no white man’s savior.
Still, he couldn’t leave her to her own devices. Regardless of the fact that she was probably the most annoying little creature he had yet to meet, it would be difficult to save himself and ignore her.
Where was Gilda? Surely she would recognize the danger? And if she did, why wasn’t she warning the white woman?
He scanned the countryside, his sights finally resting off to the north, on the guide, who was clearing away scrub brush. Probably she was making too much noise herself to hear the danger.
“Damn,” he swore to himself. How had he managed to bring this down on himself?
He cursed. He had to do something.
Waving at the white woman, he shouted, “Danger. You must leave at once. Danger.”
“What?” she called back, looking up at him.
“Quickly!” he cried. “Pack up your things.” He didn’t bother to elaborate. Instead, he reluctantly goaded his pony into a trot, spurring the animal toward her.
She watched his progress happily, he noted, even greeted him with a smile, as though the world were a sunny, bright place with no hint of peril. “Yes?”
“You must go at once,” he said, drawing rein and coming directly to the point. “Cattle coming—may be a stampede. Get in wagon and go. Now!”
She glanced around her surroundings. “I don’t see a thing.”
He drew in a breath, trying hard to keep hold of his temper. “Don’t need to see. Hear the hooves of many cattle. Coming this way.”
“This way? But this is reservation land. Now, look at it logically.”
“Do not stand there and argue with me,” he commanded. “Get camera onto wagon and go while you still can. If you wait much longer, you will lose your equipment. I would stay and help you, but I have to move my ponies to safer ground. Take heed. You must be quick. Do you understand?”
She grinned. “Fully, Mr. Eagle. Fully and completely,” she said, her look full of sweet sarcasm. “It’s obvious you haven’t wanted me here from the start, but honestly…”
He shook his head, drowning out the rest of whatever she was saying. Damn! He didn’t have time for this. Haiya. Let her think what she would; bring the wrath of hell down upon her, for all he cared. He had done what he could.
Giving rein to his mount, he turned back toward his herd. But before setting off, he called over his shoulder, “Do not tell me later that I didn’t warn you in time. If you stay, you have only yourself to blame.”
“Yes. Yes. I understand that perfectly well,” she said, a prim little smile on her face.
Terrific. He glanced at her scout, who had just joined them. “You,” he called to Gilda. “You know the danger. Ensure that you get her out of here.”
Gilda nodded and Soaring Eagle spun his pony around, heading back toward his own concern: his pony herd. There, on the right and some distance away, was a stand of trees which graced a section of high ground; it wasn’t far. It should serve as protection enough.
“Yah! Yah!” He sent his black pinto into the herd, there grabbing hold of the lead mare. “C’mon, girl,” he called to the animal, “let’s lead your friends to safety.”
Ugh! The task became a much harder chore than he had at first envisioned, mostly because the animals, alerted themselves to danger, were afraid. By the time he had completed the job, costly minutes had ticked away. He glanced back to see how the white woman was faring.
Groaning, he couldn’t believe what he saw. She had barely moved. Indeed, at this moment, she and her guide looked to be arguing.
Soaring Eagle rolled his eyes toward the heavens. What was wrong with the woman? Didn’t she know that she had lost precious time?
Still, it little mattered. He had already decided that, like it or not, he had a duty toward her. She had come here with him; that made him responsible for her, which meant he had best get down there.
“Damn!” He spit the word out to himself. What a nuisance. He was beginning to look forward to her departure from Indian country with greater and greater delight.
Nonetheless, he urged his pinto forward.
Keeping the women in sight, he saw Gilda point toward the horizon, observed the white woman turn her head, witnessed her eyes go wide; her fear, even from this distance, was a tangible thing.
Soka’pii. At last she understood.
Curious, he looked toward the horizon himself, gaining his first sighting of the cattle, recognizing the signs of what he had feared: a stampede. He compressed his lips together as the anger, which was never far from his mind, once more flamed to life within him.
He was tired of the struggle for dominance out here on the range; tired of white ranchers taking advantage of the Indians’ insecurity; tired of himself being labeled “stupid” simply because the color of his skin was a few shades darker than that of his neighbors’; tired of being thought of as having no rights, even to his own land, simply because his culture, even his beliefs, were different from theirs.
But at this moment, he was mostly tired of the woman; she, who had followed him; she, who did not recognize danger when it was pointed out to her; she, who might, because of her own ignorance, come to harm.
Bitterness rose up in his throat; bitterness that might have resorted to unreasonable thought had he been a weaker man. But Soaring Eagle was no one’s fool.
Glancing back toward the women, he did his best to ignore the fresh wave of fury which raced over him.
It was her own fault, and within him, a nasty little impulse goaded him to leave her to her own devices. Yet he knew, even as he acknowledged the thought, that he could never stand idly by and watch her come to harm.
Gazing once more toward the horizon, then back at the woman, he felt his stomach tighten as though it were made of a series of twisting knots. But it wasn’t fear that he felt. He had been this close to danger too many times to fall victim to simple fright.
No, this was something else. Something more like…concern—as though he might actually care for the white woman.
Preposterous.
However, improbable or not, he bent over his pinto, muttering into the animal’s ear, “Looks like we’re gonna have to go and save her, boy. Do you think you can do it?”
The horse nickered.
“All right, then, let’s run like the wind and get this over with.” And making a clicking sound, Soaring Eagle gave the pony full rein.
Chapter Eight
Sensible people knew it would be wrong to take cattle land like ours and divide it up into little pieces—big enough for grazing rabbits, but not cattle…
—John Wooden Legs, “Back on the War Ponies”
Association of Indian Affairs Newsletter
The sound of the hooves was deafening when Soaring Eagle came back into sight. Seeing him, Kali let out a sigh of relief.
He had been right, of course. She should have listened to him. And now? Because of her inattention, was she going to lose her equipment, her precious pictures?
It made her want to cry. She had taken such pains to capture the beauty of the horses. Moreover she had been able to convince Soaring Eagle to let her snap his picture. There he’d been, sitting majestically in the middle of the horse herd, looking as though he were a princely lord rather than a cowboy—and what a photograph that
would be…if she could save it.
She gulped back tears. To lose it all?
Not if she could help it. True, she knew that her situation was less than advantageous. True, the wagon might be too slow to outrun a herd of cattle, possibly even to get her to safety.
But what other choice did she have?
And so it was that she was midaction—tossing gear into the back of the wagon—when Soaring Eagle sprinted to her side, vaulting from his horse as easily as if he were a circus performer. But his visage, as she caught sight of it, was hardly that of an entertainer. He hit the ground at a run, shouting, “Unhitch the horses.”
“What?” she called.
“Unhitch the horses,” he ordered again, and darted to one of the sorrels in the team, where he began the process of undoing its harness.
“Stop that.” Kali dropped what she was doing and, stamping up to him, jerked the reins out of his hands.
“Are you crazy?” he asked, little waiting for her response. He hollered, “Look behind you.”
She did. “I know. I’ve seen them.”
“You will never get this wagon to safe ground; there isn’t time. And there is no need to kill these animals.” He continued to work over the harnesses.
“No!” She tried to pull his hands away. “There is time; there has to be time, and I will not leave this wagon and my equipment behind. If it goes down, I do, too.”
At these words, Soaring Eagle’s fingers stilled; he turned toward her, a frown marring his face. “That is a foolish thing to say,” he said, catching hold of her hand and pulling her in close to him. He leered at her. “You can always buy another camera.”
“Not that easily.”
“Yes, you can,” he said. As if to convince her with the force of his presence, he leaned down and positioned his face mere inches away from her.
Kali stood her ground, however, meeting his determined glance with one of her own. She came up onto her tiptoes; indeed, their bodies were so close, they stood practically nose to nose.
And then he said, “I will not let you die here.”
Time seemed to stop as she felt the heat of his breath on her face, the force of his anger on her being, but she refused to be intimidated, and she said, “It’s my choice to make.”
“Not today it isn’t.”
And that’s when it happened.
He closed the distance between them, his head coming down to hers. And before Kali could utter a word of protest, he had taken her lips with his own, swept his arms around her waist and pulled her into his embrace. His tongue unerringly found her own, danced with it until a low groan escaped from his throat.
Or was that her own voice?
Lifting his head a little, his breathing was fast and hard when his lips moved against hers in a whisper. “It is easier to replace an object than it is a life. In comparison, your camera and your equipment are cheap.”
“But—”
“Why do you risk something so valuable?” he asked. “Why do you do this when…”
When what? she wanted to ask.
But he remained silent, an odd look coming over his face.
When we have finally found one another? Was that what he’d been about to say?
The thought was alien to her. Still, she opened her mouth, perhaps to utter the words herself, but the good Lord help her, she couldn’t articulate a thing. Not when his handsome face swam so closely to her own.
And taking advantage, he kissed her again.
Kali forgot to breathe, forgot to think, even about the impending disaster.
In truth, a lifetime might have passed in that short space of time from the moment when his lips touched hers. Chest to chest they stood, so very close that she could feel the imprint of his rigid muscles beneath her hands. And truth be told, with his lips, his tongue, his very breath, he adored her.
Their breath commingled, the clean scent of him intoxicating to her. In addition, he had brought up his hands to her face, where his fingers caressed her cheeks, making her feel as though she were as rare as a handful of jewels. She breathed in, and the essence of who and what he was filled her being.
What was happening to her? To him? To them? What was happening to the world as she knew it? It was as though she and Soaring Eagle were a part of it, as they had always been, yet not. For in this moment, time ceased to rule their existence. There was no space, no discord, no prejudice, no distance, not even the span between his thoughts and hers. She knew him as easily, as surely and as logically as he must know her. And he was, she thought, beautiful…
At last he lifted his head, his dark eyes filled with unrest, with questions. Still, he smiled down at her before saying, “Do you see? You cannot give up so easily. Not now.”
Now? She opened her mouth to utter a word or two, but he was continuing, murmuring softly, “Believe me when I tell you that you have no choice but to let your horses go, if you wish them to live. Do not choose death for them, for yourself.”
Death? What was he talking about? All she could think of at this moment was life; wonderful, fascinating life…with him.
With him?
Suddenly the bubble burst; time once again intruded. It all came back to her. She was in danger. He was in danger. How could she have forgotten? Wasn’t the roar of the hooves enough to remind her of the impossibility of their situation? The need for quick action?
And he was in the way.
As though she had been jerked unwillingly back into the throb of present time, she awoke, remembering exactly who she was and worse, who he was. She gave him a push. “No,” she stated firmly, “you are wrong. I do not have to choose anything. And though I don’t intend to die, I will not lose my equipment.”
Not giving him a chance to answer, she broke out of his arms and ran as fast as she could back to the wagon, where, rounding it, she heaved the remaining pieces of her tools into the carryall. Then she sprinted toward the front of the wagon, where she jumped up onto the seat and, taking hold of the reins, gave them a jerk and cried, “Yah!”
But it was pointless; the team was already loose. Soaring Eagle had unhitched them.
“No!” she screamed. “What have you done?”
But Soaring Eagle, still on the ground, ignored her. Instead of speaking, he sent her a glance so full of raw heat, Kali was taken aback. There was no denying it: whatever he felt for her, it was strong. But what was it? Passion or hate?
She had no time, however, in which to debate the matter philosophically, since he had turned and was racing toward her, his movements so agile and quick, she was barely able to scoot an inch away before he had reached her. And without another minute passing, he had picked her up from the seat as though she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.
She kicked out at him. “Let me down.”
“Haiya, what trouble you are. Listen with your ears instead of your white man’s pocketbook. Do you know that you could die here?” He tramped quickly toward one of the team horses. “You are to get on this animal, do you understand? You are to ride him to the rise over there where I led my other horses.” He pointed. “You will be safe there.”
Oh no, she wouldn’t.
She kicked out at him again, not that it did her any good. Failing this, she screamed at him, “I will not.”
“You will too.”
“Will not!” She gave a jerk of her foot toward that portion of his anatomy she knew might be vulnerable. It was a low blow and she knew it. However…
“Haiya!” He held her at arm’s length. “You do not play fair.”
“Neither do you, using your brute strength on me.”
“I am trying to save you.” As if to give emphasis to the fact, he heaved her up onto the back of the animal, but in doing so, she came free from him, and like a small child, squirmed through his arms, jumping to the ground and shooting back to the wagon as fast as she could go.
He followed her, catching her before she reached it. “What great, terrible trouble you are,�
�� he repeated himself, picking her up and holding her under the crook of his arm, her feet at his back, where she could do little damage.
“Then don’t bother with me,” she hollered, struggling.
“At this moment, I would like nothing better than to see you never again,” he agreed. “But because you followed me here, I am responsible for you, and I will not let you die.”
She looked up to catch a range of emotions—anger, fear, annoyance—warring across the battlefield of his features. But something else was there, too. What? Concern, surely. But also another emotion—anxiety? Anxiety and…passion…for her? She stared hard at him, hoping to capture that look again and commit it to memory. But too quickly, it was gone.
So she reverted to her tongue, spitting out again, “You won’t get me on that horse, I promise you.”
“Annisa. Fine,” he acknowledged at last, drawing in a deep breath. With barely a pause, he motioned to Gilda, bringing her to his side while he took giant steps to his horse. Keeping Kali tucked under his arm, he drew out his rifle. “You take the horses to the rise over there and stay put,” he said to Gilda. “Do not return once you get to safety, no matter what this one says.” He sent Kali a sharp glare. “Do you understand?”
It was Gilda who nodded.
“Soka’pii,” he said to the other woman. “Now go.”
“No!” Kali wiggled, kicked, then wiggled some more until she found herself dropping free. She hit the ground with an oomph. But this was no deterrent to her. “Soaring Eagle, please,” she shouted, coming to her feet, “the wagon’s our only escape.”
“Are you batty? Look behind you.”
She did. In the heat of their escapades, she had failed to notice how close the danger was. Alas, if the dust in the air and the commotion all around them were an indicator, they had only a few moments left before…
“Come,” he said, and he swept Kali once more into his arms.
She glanced up at him, wide-eyed. “We’re not leaving?”
“No.”
“Then…you’re going to stay with me?” Awed, she couldn’t keep the relief from her tone. She added, “We’re going to die together?”