Startled and cursing, Jeremy stumbled back. Releasing his arrow, he tried to duck to avoid the sharp, deadly claws. A furious roar filled his ears, making them throb, and pain seared white-hot from a row of slashes across his shoulder.
Breathing hard, wondering if this would be the end of his life, he noted that his arrow had lodged deep in the bear’s shoulder. She’d risen up on her hind legs and was swiping at the imbedded shaft. Jeremy felt blood dripping down both his back and his front but didn’t dare take his eyes off the wounded animal to see how bad his injury was. Trying to ignore the pain, he whipped out another arrow—one of his own. He fired it off, but the pain in his left shoulder was so bad, he couldn’t hold the bow steady.
Not that it mattered. His badly made arrow curved and missed, the sound of it whistling through the brush bringing the bear’s attention back to him. Her bellow of rage sent birds skyward. She advanced, standing taller than Jeremy. Claws that could slice his head clean from his body slashed through the air.
His last arrow missed, flying over the bear’s head.
Horrified by his predicament, Jeremy began to sweat. Cold and clammy, it broke out on his palms and ran down the sides of his face. Tossing down his bow, he scooped Runs Slowly into his arms and ran for his life.
* * *
White Dove crossed the fast-moving stream by hopping from one rock to another. Water splashed onto her moccasins then beaded off the smoked leather. She jumped to the bank and spotted footprints in the damp soil. They led into the grove of trees a few feet away.
Hesitating on the bank, she searched the wooded area, wondering what Jeremy was up to. “Trouble, no doubt.” She’d spotted him sneaking away from the barn with Runs Slowly at his heels. Knowing Jeremy’s impulsive nature, and his aggravating habit of acting first, thinking later, she’d decided to follow. Someone had to look out for Runs Slowly; that boy was entirely too trusting.
Hurrying forward, Dove left the warmth of the afternoon sun and ducked beneath the branch of a cottonwood. Long clusters of small, greenish flowers brushed against the top of her head. If it had been just Jeremy, she’d have left him to his own devices, but she worried about Runs Slowly. The boy adored the youngest Jones brother, clung to him like a shadow. She smiled. In truth, though she worried, Jeremy had been good for the boy. His patience and his ability to treat him like the others made Runs Slowly feel important and wanted.
Even though the boy seemed to live in his own world most of the time, he’d been so eager to come to her middle brother’s school with the other children, none dared to deny him. And to Dove’s surprise, he’d done well. In fact, all of the children had done well over the winter. Her older brother Striking Thunder—the current chief of her tribe—along with the men on the council would be pleased.
Leaves crunched beneath her feet as she wended her way through the trees, still thinking of the future of her people. She’d never forgotten her visit to Fort Laramie nearly three years ago. She’d seen the many wagons heading west. So many wagons stretched out for miles and miles that the pale canvas covers of the wagons turned the land into a sea of white.
Would this ground upon which she walked someday be taken over by the white man and his wagons? She feared it would be so. Her people were wise. They believed you could not fight or defend yourself against an enemy unless you knew and understood them. Now that her brother and his wife had returned to open their boarding school, the council had decided just knowing the whites’ language was not enough. Each summer saw more immigrants moving across the land. In order to survive, their children needed to learn all they could about this new threat to their way of life.
The acrid scent of wood smoke stopped her musing. All was unnaturally silent but for a low hum coming from somewhere off to her left. The hum of angry bees, she realized, staring at her surroundings. She’d known about the hive here, but its location so far up in its tree made gathering honey too risky. Perhaps Jeremy had decided to make an attempt to gather it anyway.
Dove stopped. She had no desire to be stung, but someone had to make sure that Jeremy Jones didn’t fall from the tree and kill himself. Following the now audible sound of voices, she stepped between two towering trees. The sudden roar of a bear followed by a man’s shout chilled her soul.
“Oh, no,” she breathed, frozen by fear. A second roar spurred her into action. Her heart raced and blood pounded in her ears as she ran. Branches slapped her face as she dashed around thick trunks, but she didn’t dare slow down. With each furious bellow, she prayed for the loud report of Jeremy’s rifle. No sounds of gunshot came. Dove feared she was too late.
Finally, she stumbled out into a small clearing and leaped over a fallen log before skidding to a halt in time to see Jeremy fire off an arrow that lodged in the bear’s shoulder. Runs Slowly stood frozen in fear.
“Gnayan! Fool!” she whispered harshly, her heart racing, her skin clammy.
Horrified, she watched him fire off a second arrow that curved and flew over the bear’s head. Enraged, the animal advanced on its hind legs. Jeremy grabbed Runs Slowly and ran. Dove knew there was no time to get help. She had to do something. Lifting her head, she cupped her hands to her mouth and sent a shrill whistle up into the air.
Grabbing three arrows from the quiver slung across her back, she clenched one between her teeth, held one in her bow hand, and nocked the third, then she ran between the bear and its prey.
Jeremy spotted her and shouted, “Get out of here, Dove. We need a rifle, not arrows!” He stepped up behind her.
“Go!” Sparing him a quick glance, she noted his eyes had gone from their normally pale green to nearly colorless. More frightened than she’d ever been in her entire life, she turned her attention back to the bear.
Jeremy shook his head. “Not without you.” He set the boy down and ordered him to run as quickly as he could for help.
Dove didn’t have time to argue. The bear dropped down onto all fours and paced before them, glaring. With feet planted apart, White Dove drew back on the arrow and took aim. Despite her pounding heart and tight throat, her arms were steady. The bear paused to roar, rising to swipe at the air with its huge paws before dropping back down to resume pacing.
“Please, just go,” Dove pleaded. The animal hadn’t decided whether to charge or remain with her babies. “Stay with your children.” Please don’t come toward us.
“Come on, Dove. We can run for it. She won’t leave her cubs.”
“She’s wounded. That makes her even more dangerous.” Even as she backed away, Dove knew that even if the mother bear didn’t attack them, she had to be taken care of. Anyone coming in her path would be attacked, and with the school children playing just on the other side of the stream, Dove didn’t dare leave this unfinished.
Beside her, Jeremy paced, his breathing labored. Dove ignored him. The muscles of her arms strained painfully against her drawn bow but she resisted the frantic urge to release her arrow. Though she’d hunted game, big and small, successfully and countless times, she’d never faced Mato.
Dove tried to swallow past the lump of fear but couldn’t. Breathe. Her father’s instructions came to her, giving her the courage to stand her ground as the bear advanced. She’d never faced death.
Dove sent a desperate prayer to the spirit of the sun, asking that she command the lesser spirits to hear her. She then prayed to the spirit of Mato, the Bear, for bravery, to Wambli, the Eagle who presided over hunters, and to Keya, the Spirit of the Turtle, the guardian of life.
The bear charged, the wound in her left shoulder not slowing her a bit.
Dove’s mind went blank. She didn’t think about Jeremy, the blood or the fact that if she failed, all of them might die. Calmly and methodically, she released her first arrow. It flew straight and fast but missed its mark. It struck the bear in its right shoulder. The animal slowed and rose furiously back onto
its hind legs, screaming and rending the air with deadly claws. Gushing blood matted its fur.
Swiftly, Dove nocked her next arrow. It flew true, lodging in the bear’s throat. Still the animal advanced, its cries reduced to sickening gurgles, until it was so close the smell of blood and death mingled with its foul breath. Dove retreated just enough to avoid the lashing paws. Desperately afraid, yet strangely calm, she fired off her third and last arrow. It flew straight and true—finishing the bear off through one furiously glittering eye.
The slain animal teetered for long breathless moments, then Dove jumped back as it crashed to the ground a few feet in front of her. The body thrashed. Dropping her bow, Dove yanked her knife from the sheath tied around her thigh and crouched down to wait. At last, with one last grunt, the animal fell silent. In disbelief, Dove stared at the monstrous beast. It was dead. She’d killed it. It didn’t seem possible, but she, a woman, had killed a bear.
Only warriors who wanted to prove themselves sought out the large animal, and only the bravest succeeded. But even success had its price. Many hunters died during battle, some later from wounds suffered during the attack. Some survived with hideous maiming. She shuddered. She had been very lucky to escape unharmed.
“My God, Dove, are you all right? That was damn close.” Jeremy’s voice seemed to come from far away. He pulled her into his arms.
She went, stunned, shocked and shaking. Her knife fell from numb fingers.
Near her ear, a heart pounded. She couldn’t tell if it was his, or if it was the blood still rushing through her. Shivering, Dove burrowed close, needing Jeremy’s warmth. She lifted her head. They stared at each other, the knowledge of how close to death they’d all come in their eyes.
“You were magnificent,” he whispered. Suddenly, he spun her around in a circle, his voice giddy with excitement. “Coeeee! I can’t believe it. You killed it.” His loud whoops of joy rang through the trees.
Dove glanced up into his handsome face, the tension fleeing. She laughed. “I did it! I really did it!” Wait until her father and brothers learned of this! The world spun dizzily until, laughing so hard, she had tears flowing down her face. She gasped, her right hand going to his shoulder. His gasp and the warm wetness of his blood sobered her. “Stop, Jeremy. You’re hurt.”
Jeremy stopped but didn’t release her. He held her, her feet dangling several inches off the ground. “A scratch. I’m fine.”
She glanced at his shoulder. He was right. Nasty as they looked, the rows of scratches had mostly already stopped bleeding and didn’t look too deep. “You were lucky.” Her stomach lurched and she shuddered when she thought of how close to death he’d come. She dropped her head to his uninjured shoulder.
Jeremy’s arm tightened, holding her close. Slowly, Dove became aware of the man holding her so intimately. Her breasts were pressed against his heaving chest, her stomach scraped against the hard wall of his abdomen, and her lower body pressed intimately against his. Heat rushed through her. She lifted her head. Their breath mingled.
“Jeremy—” The words squeezed from her, the bear forgotten as she stared into eyes gone a smoky green with desire. Her heart continued to pound, and her mouth felt dry. But the strangest aftereffect of facing death seemed to be an inability to breathe in Jeremy’s strong embrace. Slowly, she slid down his body, inch by torturous inch, until she stood in the circle of his arms, the top of her head a few inches below his.
“Dove—” Jeremy’s voice dropped, became a husky plea. His face moved closer to hers. His hands slid around her waist, holding her snugly against him as he tilted his head to one side.
Realizing that he was about to kiss her, she held her breath. Though she’d spent the winter ignoring him, or challenging him—all to remind herself that he wasn’t the one for her—her body sang with the need to be kissed. Holding on to his strong shoulders, staring helplessly into his eyes, the truth slammed into Dove.
She wanted Jeremy to kiss her.
She cried out in surprise, but her throat had closed. The sound escaped as a soft, breathy moan. How could this be? How could she be attracted to Jeremy Jones?
He wasn’t Sioux. Wasn’t even a warrior.
He was a man who irritated her, one who had crazy beliefs that as a man he should be better than her. He infuriated her, drove her insane with his stupid stunts.
But he also made her laugh. And when he sat with the children reading in the evenings or teaching them some white child’s game, her heart saw more than her mind wanted to see.
He made her feel everything from anger to frustration but never had he made her body sing and hunger for his touch. Overcome by the promise of her first kiss, her head tipped back in invitation.
Jeremy’s lips parted over hers; soft as the whisper of wind, he teased her. Leaning in, lifting her face to his, Dove closed her eyes and breathed deeply, sharing his breath for a brief moment before their mouths touched.
Something deep inside her jolted to life. She felt an answering jerk in him as if some invisible thread had pulled taut and joined them. Then there was nothing but him and her, her hunger, his need.
Fueled by months of denied attraction, her body melded into his. Dove held on, her fingers tangling in thick wavy strands of silky-soft black hair that fell well below his shoulders. In all her twenty-two summers, nothing could have prepared her for this. She shivered, her emotions a whirl. Shocked by the sweeping eagerness coursing through her, she only knew that she craved—no—needed this. Her blood burned and a strange feeling raced along her body where their bodies touched.
“So sweet. Sweeter than honey,” he whispered into her mouth, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips.
Honey.
As if she’d been tossed into the nearby cold, snow-fed stream, the reality of nearly being killed jerked Dove out of Jeremy’s arms. Passion fled so abruptly that it left her weak-kneed, shaking and sick to her stomach.
Jeremy’s breath came as rapidly as hers, and Dove stared into eyes that had teased and challenged her for months. Now they tempted her with what could never be. For a brief moment, she’d forgotten: Jeremy Jones was not Lakota.
The cozy feelings of warmth fled. She blamed her moment of weakness on the heightened emotions that came from staring death in the eye.
“Dove—” Jeremy reached for her.
“No. No.” She stumbled back, tripped over one enormous bear paw and went sprawling. Landing beside it, she stared at the bloodied carcass. Proof that Jeremy Jones wasn’t the man for her lay dead beside her.
She might have died. Runs Slowly and Jeremy could have been killed, too. She stared at Jeremy’s shoulder—he had nearly been killed. Nausea welled within her.
Jeremy rushed forward and held out his hand. “You all right?”
Breathing hard, fighting the storm of emotions chasing round and round inside her, Dove knocked his hand away, then stood unaided.
“I’m sorry, Dove. I shouldn’t have kissed you. Not after—” He broke off and shoved one hand through his black hair.
Dove didn’t want to discuss that kiss, wasn’t ready to examine how Jeremy made her feel. She grasped anger, allowed it to override the jumble of emotions clawing for release. Swooping down, she picked up her fallen knife. “What did you think you were doing?”
Resentment flared in Jeremy’s eyes. He scowled at her. “Jess said she was out of honey. I was just trying to help.”
“Help? By getting yourself killed?” She glanced over at the pail with the smashed hive where the angry bees swarmed like a dark cloud. The smoking branches Runs Slowly and Jeremy had dropped smoldered on the damp ground between the hive and them.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal. I found the hive and thought—”
“Thought what?” She watched him rub the back of his neck with his right hand, a sure sign that he felt guilty.
Jeremy’s jaw set in a stubborn line. “It was easy. You should have seen it. A perfect shot. One arrow and it came down, right into the pail. Right as I planned.”
Despite the grave situation, the pride in his voice leaked out—the same tone he used whenever he managed to best her in any test of skill. Incredulous at his inability to grasp the seriousness of the situation, she shook her head. Though they were of the same age, there were times when she felt so much older. And wiser.
“You’re trying to impress me.” During the long winter, and even before, starting when they’d first met three years ago, they’d competed with one another. He was always trying to prove himself better than she was, but she’d always come out on top. And up until now, it’d been harmless. There’d been games to see who returned from a hunt with meat first, who had the truest aim with rifle or bow. Though their competitive spirits drove each to win, she’d seen the rivalry as a harmless bit of entertainment. It was amusing to watch Jeremy try to prove that just because he was a man, he was better.
Looking at him now, she saw hot color creep up his neck. Jeremy stared down at the dead bear. “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”
Fury engulfed her. She slapped the flat part of her knife blade against his chest, forcing him to take a step back. “You nearly got all of us killed!” she shouted.
Jeremy swallowed hard. “Hey, uh, Dove, think you could put the knife away before you start in on me?” His hand closed gently over her wrist, but he froze when with a quick flick of her hand she turned the blade so its tip pressed against his shirt front.
“Look, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t know those bears were around. Jess needed more honey. I knew where this hive was. I thought it would be easy.”
Disgusted with this latest act of foolishness, Dove spun around, sheathing her knife before she gave in to temptation and used it on him. Ignorance wasn’t a crime. But it still infuriated her that he hadn’t bothered to learn the proper method to harvest the honey. If he’d bothered to ask her, she’d have told of another place less than a mile from here, one in the trunk of a tree and much easier to access without destroying the entire hive.
White Dove Page 2