White Dove

by Susan Edwards

  Dove sucked in her breath when his lips brushed against each eyelid. With her eyes closed, she listened to the soft timbre of his voice.

  “You need me to show you how to have fun and enjoy each day.” His lips touched hers gently. “You need passion in your life. Passion I can give you.” He stepped back.

  Shaking, Dove stared at Jeremy in awe. She couldn’t have put her needs better herself. With his sweet words and tender kisses, he’d driven out all desire to fight him. Right there, she longed to say yes. More than ever, she saw a different Jeremy than before, and not just because of his clothing—though seeing him dressed as a Lakota did strange things to her body. No, he’d changed inside, as if he truly had left the constraints of his former life behind him.

  Could he adapt to her life? Out here, would he be different? Or would he have regrets later? She drew a deep breath, struggled to regain control over her mind and heart. She didn’t dare get her hopes up, for if he failed or let her down, she knew her heart would pay a heavy price.

  Though she yearned to take what he offered, Dove backed away. “Be warned, Jeremy,” she whispered. “I will consider all warriors who come to court me, and I will only marry the bravest.”

  Jeremy folded his arms across his chest and smiled at her, making her legs shake.

  “Court the whole village, if you want. Your body tells you where your heart lies. We belong.”

  “My heart has no say in this matter,” Dove said. Then, with that, she turned and ran for the safety of the others, very much afraid her heart had already spoken.

  * * *

  Sighing, Jeremy concentrated on the rushing water to allow both his mind and body to calm. Belonging. That’s what he himself hungered for. Sometimes, even within his loving family, he’d felt the odd man out, a misfit, as though there was all this energy inside him screaming to be let loose, but no outlet. Don’t run in the house. Go do your chores. Study. Conform.

  He’d tried hard as a child to contain his exuberance, to do and be what everyone else wanted him to be, but he’d failed—not only them, but himself. Suddenly, doubt assailed him. What if he failed to become a warrior, as well? What if no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t belong here either?

  No, he belonged here. He felt it. Deep inside, he knew this was where he was meant to be. With these people. With Dove. The question was, could he succeed in proving that to them?

  He had to. But he had so much to learn. So much to prove. To Dove. And to himself. He already knew he could convince Dove that they belonged together, but he had to prove that he belonged with her tribe. He glanced around, noting the quiet beauty of the land. Up in a tree, a pair of birds snuggled, ruffling feathers. Higher up, he spotted an owl. It opened a sleepy eye but remained silent.

  Peace stole through him. He’d do anything Dove asked to prove to her that he would stay with her always and forever. For her. For him. For them. Hell, he’d walk over hot coals for her. Frowning, he picked up one foot and stared at his bare feet, at their tender soles, and prayed that it wouldn’t come to that. He’d be in deep trouble if it did.

  Suddenly, the cubs splashing in the water in front of him gave a frightened cry and scampered away. Above his head, the birds flew out of the tree. Jeremy whirled about in a half crouch, imitating the move he’d seen the boys at the school do when they practiced.

  Who had come looking for him?

  Chapter Eight

  Crouched a foot away, knife drawn, Waho spat on the ground between them. “Leave, wasicun, before you are hurt.”

  Furious to have been caught unaware not once but twice, Jeremy watched the Indian’s knife hand carefully. He didn’t believe the warrior could harm him, but staring into his hate-filled eyes, there was no doubt that Waho wanted to. “This white man is not going anywhere.” And he wasn’t going to go anywhere without his knife again. How stupid of him to think himself safe. Dove’s words echoed in his mind, mocking him. She was right: he was a fool.

  Waho’s hand twisted this way and that. Light glinted off his knife. “Dove is mine. I pay many horses and furs for her. You give nothing.”

  Jeremy stayed on the balls of his feet. “I offer love.” They circled one another.

  “It matters not what you offer. You are not Sioux. She will not have you.”

  Jeremy grinned. He refused to show either his fear or his anger. “Then what are you worried about?”

  Waho puffed out his chest. “This warrior is not worried. He simply warns the white man to stay away.”

  “Nice try, Jug-head. Fact is, Dove doesn’t want you. She’s looking for a great warrior.” He smirked. “Apparently you are not that person or she’d have accepted your many offers a long time ago.”

  With a low cry of fury, Waho lunged, his knife pointed at Jeremy blade side up. Jeremy sucked in his gut and jumped back. “You’re a sore loser, Jug-head. Dove doesn’t want you.” Jeremy might not be a warrior, but no one threatened a Jones.

  Waho narrowed his eyes. “You think to become the warrior of her heart?” Scorn laced the question.

  Jeremy watched Waho carefully, noted the signs that showed how angry the warrior was. Facing him was not much different than fighting a brawl in a bar, and Waho’s anger would only lead him to be careless. Deliberately, Jeremy taunted the warrior, digging at his weak spot. “I already hold Dove’s heart. She loves me and soon she will agree to be my wife.”

  “You lie, White Man. Touch her again and I will kill you.” His voice was fraught with promise and menace.

  Jeremy pushed, keeping his own anger in check. No one bullied a Jones. He might not be a Lakota warrior, but he could take care of himself when push came to shove. “Know what your problem is? You’re jealous because she kissed me.”

  With another cry of rage, Waho charged, holding his knife high over his head. In a move that would have made his brothers proud, Jeremy ducked to the side, stuck his foot out, hooked his ankle around the back of the other man’s and spun around.

  Waho landed on his back, his weapon flying from his hand.

  Jeremy clenched his hands into tight fists and waited for him to get to his feet. “You want to fight, Jug-head? Fine. But make it a fair one.”

  Waho rolled to his feet. Each breath sounded like a hiss of fury. “You will die, wasicun!” Waho picked up his knife, his black eyes glittering with hatred as he turned and strode away without a backward glance.

  Jeremy waited until the Sioux was out of sight before he relaxed. Even then he felt on edge, his blood flowing with the need to fight and establish his territory—which was stupid because Dove didn’t belong to him any more than she did to Waho. But there was something between him and Dove, and it was worth fighting for. In the meantime, he knew he’d best be on his guard, for he surely had an enemy in Waho.

  It was time to return to camp. For the first time, he appreciated his new clothing. It removed an outward barrier of the differences between him and the other warriors.

  Sweating from the confrontation, he discarded the bulky leggings. It still felt strange to be wearing next to nothing, but if he was going to do this, he might as well do it right and do it immediately. He folded his leggings, then rolled his flannel shirt and homespun trousers into a tight bundle. He wouldn’t need them for a while, and perhaps not ever again.

  * * *

  Dove returned to the safety of her people. Being alone with Jeremy was dangerous to her heart. She stared around, her gaze flitting from one eligible warrior to another. Most had at one time offered for her, but none had stirred her heart. Not like Jeremy. He had been right. She wanted passion, needed a mate whose own passion for living matched hers. But she also wanted to retain control, and she feared she’d lost that. When she was with Jeremy, nothing mattered but being with him. He made her feel vulnerable, held a power over her that she resented as much as she feared and n
eeded it.

  As much as she loved being around him, she despised the feeling as well. Control meant everything to her, and in desiring Jeremy, she had none. Restless, having to be alone to sort her thoughts and regain her sense of balance, she hurried to her mother’s tipi, then stopped. Her mother, along with Jessie and Sofia, was outside preparing dinner.

  While on the move, her mother had suggested that Jessie and Sofia should join them for meals; it would mean less work for all. Feeling guilty for forgetting, Dove joined the three women. Her ride and time to reflect would have to come later. Across from her, Jessie set her knife down and rubbed her lower back. Seeing how tired her sister-in-law looked, Dove took the knife and the hunk of venison. “I’ll finish. You can go rest.”

  “Thanks. I need to see where the twins are.”

  While Sofia mixed flour for some sort of pasta, Dove sliced the freshly killed deer meat into small hunks and added them to a cast-iron pot of boiling water. Most women of her tribe now owned at least one large cooking pot and one for coffee. More and more, the Sioux women were acquiring the white man’s cooking utensils.

  Dove had to admit it was much simpler and faster to cook stew in a pot over the fire than to use the lining of a buffalo stomach filled with water, meat and greens and hung from a tripod. Once they had added hot stones to cook the meal, but no longer. The only good thing about the old way was that, when done, the cooking pot became part of the meal. No cleanup.

  Jessie, with Sarah in her arms, hurried back to them. “Take a look at this. I don’t believe what I’m seeing.”

  Dove glanced over her shoulder to see what was wrong. She saw only Jeremy returning from the stream. Noting the look on her sister-in-law’s face, she chuckled. Her humor quickly died when she got a good look at him. Her heart skipped a beat. He’d taken off his leggings and, though he stood out among her people with his pale skin, she couldn’t take her eyes away from all that male flesh. When she saw him coming toward her, she ducked her head, not wanting him to know how much she wanted him, or how much his words had touched her.

  “Jeremy, look at you!” Jessie’s voice ended on a shocked squeak.

  He joined them, looking embarrassed. He winced when his sister clapped a hand over her mouth. “Uh, hi, Jess.”

  “I don’t believe it. You look—um, well—holy cow!” Her voice trailed off as she walked around him.

  “Damn it, Jess! You don’t have to go looking.” He tried turning to keep her facing him.

  Dove tried to bite back a giggle but failed. Jeremy glared at her. She shrugged. “You wanted to be Sioux.” His obvious discomfort pleased her.

  Jessie took her hand from her mouth to say, “Uh, Jeremy, one can’t help but notice.” Her dark green eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “Look, don’t say anything, all right? This is hard enough.” Jeremy groaned when White Wind and Sofia joined Jessie.

  “Geez, does everyone have to look?” His neck and face reddened when the older women circled him as his sister had done.

  “What do you think, Hawk-Nose Woman? Does he look Sioux?” Dove asked, her voice strained as she tried to swallow her laughter. The look Jeremy shot her made her burst out into full laughter.

  Sofia’s dark eyes gleamed. She patted Jeremy’s shoulder in a motherly fashion. “Mighty fine. Mighty fine. Might have to see about getting Rook into some Indian garb.”

  Dove, Jessie and Jeremy stared at her in horror.

  “I don’t think I want to even think about that,” Jessie muttered, her face flushing.

  Dove silently agreed.

  Sofia gave them all an evil grin. “In private, of course.”

  Jeremy gulped, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

  Jessie slid Dove a knowing look. “Those breechclouts are sure revealing, aren’t they? I love it when Wolf wears his.”

  Jeremy folded his arms across his chest. “Aw, come on, Jess. Enough. I don’t think I can take any more of this.”

  White Wind patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it. No one will take notice—” she hesitated “—at least, not once the sun has turned your skin brown.”

  “That’s it,” Jeremy muttered. “I’m getting my things.”

  Dove watched him go to a pile of belongings still strapped to a travois, and squat to sort through to find his belongings. The long line of his spine curved, and the muscles across his back bunched and stretched as he moved. When he leaned forward, the pale skin not concealed by the breechclout tightened. Her pulse raced, and her fingers yearned to explore his exposed flesh.

  As if he felt her gaze, he glanced over his shoulder. The look in his eyes made her go weak. Excitement sparked deep in their depths, giving her a glimpse of a different man, one with purpose. One with a goal.

  She tried to tear her gaze from his, to show unconcern, indifference even, but instead, he held her prisoner and she drank in his dark beauty. Jeremy’s face was now as brown as any of the warriors’ from days spent outdoors. Along with his dark hair, the shadow along his jawline added a wild beauty to his already handsome features.

  Used to seeing the men in her tribe dressed in just a breechclout, she didn’t understand why his body made her mouth go dry, her heart race, or that place between her legs ache. He stood, then walked away, the flap of hide swishing back and forth, revealing glimpses of bare flesh.

  Around her, the women continued to banter and discuss the clothing, or lack of clothing, the men of her people wore. Jessie sat back down and groaned. “I don’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

  Sofia’s black eyes twinkled. “Nothing wrong with looking at what a man has.”

  “Not when it’s my brother!”

  Watching Jeremy, Dove only half listened to them. Without thinking, she blurted out, “He’s not my brother.” Horrified to have revealed her thoughts, she clamped her mouth shut and applied herself to finishing cutting the last of the meat.

  “You know, I don’t think I can get used to seeing my own brother going around like that.” Dismay filled Jessie’s voice. “It’s one thing to see men I don’t know dressed—or rather undressed—in this manner, but my brother? It feels unnatural.”

  Dove’s gaze followed Jeremy as he walked off, the flap of trade cloth swaying to the side with each step. Her body ached and felt unsatisfied. Hunger left her shaking with need and it scared her knowing that only Jeremy made her feel this way. Before his, a man’s body hadn’t held much appeal. But Jessica Jones’s brother tempted Dove far more than she cared to admit.

  That night, after the evening meal, she took a soft blanket made of rabbit pelts sewn together and as usual sat in the shadows of her parents’ tipi to wait for Jeremy. Each evening she instructed him in Lakota. At first she’d resented being forced to spend her evenings in the wasted exercise but to her surprise, he really seemed to enjoy the stories that taught of the past and explained her people’s present-day beliefs. He listened intently, asked questions and had proven to be an apt pupil. His insight into their way of life continued to surprise her and forced her to seek out from others stories she’d long forgotten.

  She glanced around. As was the Lakota way when a young unmarried couple was together, they were supervised. Tonight, her mother and Sofia were seated in front of the small fire. Dove rolled her eyes. Over the last few months, she’d been alone with Jeremy countless times. Now everyone thought she needed to be supervised?

  Remembering the kiss she and Jeremy had shared down by the river, she realized it was probably a good thing to be chaperoned. Closing her eyes, she relived the feel of his mouth: firm, warm and so incredibly tempting as he kissed her, evoking responses from deep within her that she’d never known existed. And if she thought his kisses wonderful, his touch, the feel of his hands stroking her breast through the material of her dress, had been glorious. Her pulse jumped an
d her blood raced a bit faster.

  Opening her eyes, Dove wanted to be alone with Jeremy. But she dared not. She longed to experience more of the passion that had exploded between them. Her gaze shifted to the dark shadows beyond the flickering light of the camp. How easy it would be to slip out of her tipi late at night and meet him in a secluded place where they could be alone. The thought of kissing him, touching him, warmed her from the inside out.

  Realizing where her thoughts were leading, Dove strove to put such yearnings from her mind. A good warrior retained control of her body and mind at all times. Emotions clouded one’s judgment. Sitting tall, with her hands resting lightly on her knees, palms up, she tried to clear her mind. Instructing Jeremy was a task she’d been given. Nothing more. And as for him courting her, he, like any other male, had to prove himself. Her heart, as she’d told Jeremy earlier, had no say in the matter.

  Across the way, she spied him walking toward her. Shadows and firelight fell across his wide shoulders, bare chest and narrow hips. His leather thong rode low on his hips. Her heart urged her to run to him and beg him to take her in his arms, but her mind prevailed over the rampant emotion. If Jeremy was the one, the spirits would reveal it when the time was right.

  Jeremy stopped before her, giving her a close-up view of his legs and strong thighs. Biting her lower lip, she wondered what it would feel like to reach out and run her fingers over the black hair that started at his ankles, ran up and over his calves, past his knees and thinned over his thighs.

  Unlike a Sioux warrior, Jeremy had a dark dusting of black hair on his legs, but rather than finding it repulsive, Dove found it oddly attractive. She found this odd trait in all white men fascinating. Of course, her brother Wolf had also inherited body hair, but his was a golden brown, not as noticeable.

  Her gaze moved to Jeremy’s face. The one white habit he would retain was shaving his face each morning. She was glad. He had nice, strong lines and planes that added strength to his features. It would be a shame to hide them behind a bushy beard like the trappers they occasionally traded with. Of course, the trappers were usually old, smelled like sweat and dead animals, and wore clothes that looked as if they’d never been washed.