Tales of Western Romance

by Baker, Madeline

  Gray Hair gestured for Blue Hawk to sit on one of the robes to the left of the fire pit. As he did so, Blue Hawk noticed the cook pots and waterskins located on one side of the doorway.

  A pretty woman smiled at Blue Hawk as she handed him a wooden bowl and spoon.

  He nodded his thanks as he accepted the bowl. The stew was good – venison flavored with sage and onions unless he was mistaken. Gray Hair took a seat across from Blue Hawk and the two men ate in silence.

  Blue Hawk felt a wave of excitement as he sat there, in the heart of a Cheyenne encampment. This was what he had always wanted, to shed the veneer of civilization and live in the old way. The myriad scents of the village surrounded him – the rich aroma wafting from the bowl in his hands, the acrid smell of smoke, the pungent scent of pine and bear grease, of earth untouched by the plow, of air unpolluted by the fumes of oil and gasoline.

  Gray Hair set his bowl aside and reached for his pipe. He plucked a stick from the fire and touched it to the bowl of the pipe. A curl of gray smoke rose from the pipe.

  From his father, Blue Hawk had learned that the first smoke went to Heammawihio, the Wise One above, who was the Supreme Being, the creator of all life. His name was the first invoked in prayer; the first smoke was offered to Him. The second smoke went to the god of the Underworld, Ahk tun o’wihio. Both Heammawihio and Ahk tun o’wihio were benevolent beings. There were gods of the Four Directions as well. To honor these Powers, the stem of the pipe was pointed upward first, then down to the earth, and then to the Four Directions, starting in the east.

  When that was done, Gray Hair offered the pipe to Blue Hawk, who took several puffs, then returned the pipe to Gray Hair. The warrior puffed on it twice, then put it aside.

  “Will you stay the night?” the warrior asked.

  “If it is no trouble.”

  “My brother has taken his family to visit his wife’s cousin. You may stay in their lodge.”

  “Thank you.”

  Gray Hair rose and Blue Hawk did likewise.

  When he stepped out of the lodge, Blue Hawk saw a tall, young warrior striding toward him. Lynnie trailed close behind. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes red, as if she’d been crying.

  A smile of relief lit her face when she saw him. “Daniel!”

  Hurrying toward her, he gathered her into his arms, felt her stiffen at his intimate embrace.

  Bending down, he whispered, “I told the Cheyenne that you’re my woman. We’ll be spending the night here, in the same lodge. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” Releasing her, he turned to look at Gray Hair. “This is my woman, Lynette.”

  Gray Hair nodded solemnly. “This is Ese’henahkohe,” he said, gesturing at the young warrior. “I am Ho’neeho’esta.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Lynnie said, speaking to the older man.

  Ho’neeho’esta spoke to Ese’henahkohe in rapid Cheyenne. From the expression on the younger man’s face, he wasn’t happy with what was being said. His reply was curt, then he turned on his heel and strode back to his lodge, anger evident in every line.

  Lynnie looked up at Daniel. “What was that all about?”

  “Ho’neeho’esta asked Ese’henahkohe if he would return your horses – he thinks they’re mine. He said he had stolen them honorably and they belong to him. Ho’neeho’esta reminded Ese’henahkohe that stealing from another Cheyenne was not the same as stealing from an enemy.”

  “How can stealing be honorable?” Lynnie exclaimed.

  “It was…it is a way of life for the Cheyenne. For all the Plains tribes.”

  “So, what’s he going to do?”

  “He agreed to return them.”

  “Not very willingly, judging by the look on his face.”

  “No,” Blue Hawk said. “He’s not happy about it at all.”

  Taking her by the hand. Blue Hawk followed Ho’neeho’esta to a lodge a short distance away.

  “I will see that food is provided for you,” Ho’neeho’esta said.

  “Thank you.”

  “And I will tell my warriors that you and your woman are here as my guests.”

  Blue Hawk nodded. “Lynnie, would you go inside, please? I want to speak with Ho’neeho’esta for a minute.”

  She looked at him askance, then ducked into the lodge.

  Ho’neeho’esta looked at Blue Hawk curiously.

  “I have a favor to ask,” Blue Hawk explained. “I would like to stay here for a few days, if that is all right.”

  “If you wish,” Ho’neeho’esta said.

  “That’s great.” Grinning, Blue Hawk shook the warrior’s hand. “Just great.”

  Startled by Blue Hawk’s exuberance, Ho’neeho’esta lifted one brow.

  “I…that is, I’ve been away for a long time,” Blue Hawk said. “I’m glad to be with my people.”

  “Stay as long as you wish,” Ho’neeho’esta said.

  Blue Hawk watched the warrior return to his own lodge; then, taking a deep breath, he went into the tipi to tell Lynnie that they’d be staying for a while.

  Lynnie stared at him, her eyes wide. “Are you out of your mind? I don’t want to stay here! I want to go home. Now!”

  “I know, just calm down.”

  “I am calm!”

  “Yeah, right,” Blue Hawk muttered. “Just listen a minute, will you?”

  She folded her arms across her breasts, her expression mutinous. “I’m listening.”

  He made a gesture that encompassed the lodge and, by extension, the camp beyond. “This is the reason I wanted to come to the past, what I prayed for. I wanted to experience what life was like when my people lived the way Heammawihio intended. Can you understand that?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” She tilted her head to the side. “Were you so unhappy where you came from?”

  “Unhappy?” He shook his head. “No. But I had grown up on stories of what it was like in the old days. The Shining Times, my father called them, before our people were locked up on reservations.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Is that what happens to your people in the future?”

  He nodded. “There’s going to be several battles between now and then. The beginning of the end comes when the whites discover gold in the Black Hills. The Indians hold that land sacred, believing all life started there. There will be many battles over the land after gold is discovered. One of the deciding battles will come in 1876. They called it the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Our people will win that fight, but it will be the beginning of the end of life as they knew it.” He grunted softly. “The old ones say that the Sioux got the glory, the Crow got the land, but the Cheyenne did the fighting.”

  “I’m sorry.” She sank down on a pile of furs. “We’ve always gotten along with the Indians, until now. Oh, they’ve stolen a few horses now and then, sometimes a few cattle…” She blew out a sigh. “You’ll take me home in a few days? Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “And then you’ll come back here, won’t you?”

  “Maybe. If they’ll have me.”

  She nodded, her gaze sliding away from his.

  “Lynnie?”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t want you to go back to your own time,” she said, her voice so quiet he could hardly hear her. “I want you to stay. Here. With me.”

  Dropping to his knees beside her, Blue Hawk put his hand beneath her chin and lifted her head. She refused to meet his gaze.

  “Lynnie, look at me.”

  She shook her head, the color rising in her cheeks.

  “Lynnie, I don’t want to leave you, either. I know we just met a little while ago and…” He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, maybe you’re the reason I’m here. All I know is I can’t stop thinking about you, or wanting you.”

  “Daniel…” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shining with unshed te
ars.

  “Hey, don’t cry.” Sitting cross-legged beside her, he put his arms around her and drew her close. “We’ll work something out, somehow.”

  “Tell me about your people. About your parents. How did they meet?”

  “My folks met when they were young. My mother was just eight or nine, as I recall, out picking flowers, when she met my dad. He was twelve or so at the time. They grew up together, fell in love. They went through a lot of rough times together. It wasn’t easy for the two of them, her being white and him Cheyenne. But they made it work. As for my people…” He shrugged. “Before the whites came, they had a good life. They followed the buffalo in the summer and the sun in the winter.”

  “I don’t think I’d like that, always being on the move,” Lynnie said, snuggling against him. “I like having a home, a place to put down roots.”

  “The Indians don’t believe you can own the land.”

  “No? How odd. Do they believe in God?”

  “They believe in many gods.”

  “Really? How many?”

  Blue Hawk laughed softly. “Heammawihio is the supreme being, the creator of all life. Those who die, good or bad, go to live with Him, except for those who commit suicide. To reach the Place of the Dead, a man’s spirit follows E kut si him mi yo, the Hanging Road, what your people call the Milky Way, where they live pretty much the same way they lived on Earth.”

  “That doesn’t sound too different from what I believe,” Lynnie said, “although I’m not sure about the Milky Way part. But there’s only one God.”

  “Perhaps for the white man. For the Cheyenne, there are many. There are the gods of the four directions, and Ahk tun o’wihio, god of the underworld, and many others. Our people believe that every living thing has a spirit of its own. Rocks, trees, mountains, grass, animals, everything.”

  “Rocks?” Lynnie asked with a grin. “Really?”

  Blue Hawk nodded.

  “Do you believe all that?”

  “I do. The Cheyenne revere the land and everything on it.” He stroked her hair, then brushed his lips across her cheek. “Lynnie…”

  She turned in his arms, lifting her face for his kiss, her eyelids fluttering down as he covered her mouth with his.

  Blue Hawk crushed her body to his, all thought of right and wrong, red and white, forgotten as he fell back on the furs, drawing her with him.

  He had meant only to hold her, to comfort her, but thoughts of solace fled in the weight of her body pressing down on his, the softness of her breasts against his chest, the warmth of her lips as she kissed him.

  He had never been intimate with a woman. The full extent of his sexual knowledge came from a few hugs and kisses he had shared with some of the girls back in Bear Valley, and playing doctor with one of Jeremy Brown’s daughters when he was six and she was five. All his inexperience aside, his body knew instinctively what to do.

  “Lynnie?” He cupped her face in his hands, his throat tight, his body throbbing with need.

  She gazed down at him, her eyes smoky with desire. “Daniel.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve never…”

  “Me, either.” Clearing his throat, he said, “We could find our way together.”

  Turning her head, she kissed his palm.

  “I’ll take that for a yes,” he said, and rolled over so that he was now on top.

  He kissed her then, all uncertainty erased when she twined her arms around his neck and drew him closer.

  “There’s no lock on the tipi door,” she said, breathless. “What if someone comes in?”

  “The flap is closed,” he replied. “No one will come in.”

  Grinning, she slipped her hands under his shirt, her fingertips running over his chest, his shoulders, his belly.

  Blue Hawk sucked in a breath, and then he began a slow exploration of his own, marveling at the softness of her skin, her lush curves, the way she trembled in his arms.

  They undressed each other slowly, taking time to look and touch and taste, remarking on and admiring the differences between them. There was a moment when he paused, his gaze moving over her, as if to memorize every inch of her from top to bottom. Impatient for his touch, she drew him closer, lifting her hips to receive him, moaning softly as his body merged effortlessly with hers.

  Blue Hawk sank into her, oblivious to everything but the silky heat that surrounded him, the overpowering need that drove him. Lynnie’s nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders, her moans of pleasure driving him on, until, at last, she shuddered beneath him. His own climax came quickly after that and then he held her close in a heated tangle of arms and legs, while their breathing returned to normal and the sweat cooled on their bodies.

  Chapter 10

  I stood outside the corral, my arms resting on the rail, watching the clouds move slowly across the night sky, blinking back my tears as I wondered where my baby was. Daniel had been gone for days. Gone into the past, I wondered bleakly? Or just gone? Maybe he was in limbo, lost somewhere between this world and the next, never to return. If he never came back to us, I would never know his fate. How could I live with that?

  I closed my eyes as Shadow came up behind me. Slipping his arms around my waist, he drew me back against him.

  “I can’t stand it,” I said. “Not knowing.”

  He leaned forward, his lips brushing my cheek. “It is late. Come to bed.”

  I spent a restless night and woke to find Shadow’s side of the bed empty. Grabbing my robe, I went outside.

  As I had many times before, I found Shadow standing near the lodge behind our house. A small fire burned at his feet. Though the morning was chilly, he wore only a breechclout. Seeing him sent a thrill of feminine appreciation through me. Though he was no longer a young warrior, age had not diminished him. He was still tall and strong. Still a man to be reckoned with.

  As I watched, he lifted his arms above his head, his face turned up to the sky. How many times had I seen him standing like that?

  He tossed a pinch of tobacco into the fire, then offered tobacco to the gods of the four directions, to Mother Earth, and to the sky above.

  Chanting softly, he drew a knife from his belt. It was the same one he had carried for years. Knowing what was coming next, I bit down on my lower lip, then wrapped my arms around my waist as he dragged the blade across his chest.

  “Hear me, Man Above, my woman grieves for our son, who has traveled the spirit road.” He dragged the blade down his left arm. “Her pain is mine. Maheo, give me a sign. Let me know that our son is well.” He raked the blade down his right arm, then tossed a handful of white sage into the fire. Sparks exploded from the flames.

  I watched, speechless, as the image of a blue hawk rose up from the center of the fire. It hovered in the air for a timeless moment, then rose up, up, disappearing into the glare of the rising sun. I blinked, and it was gone, and a pair of red-tailed hawks appeared in its place.

  Tears ran, unchecked, down my cheeks as I watched the hawks soar upward.

  Shadow wiped the blood from his arms and chest with a bit of old toweling before taking me into his arms.

  “All is well, Hannah,” he said, his voice husky.

  I nodded. The red-tailed hawks had appeared to us many times. Always, they were a sign of peace and happiness.

  Blinking back my tears, I pressed my cheek to Shadow’s chest. There was nothing to worry about. Our son was all right.

  Chapter 11

  Lynnie stretched her arms over her head. Opening her eyes, she stared at the patch of light blue sky visible through the hole in the roof. She frowned, wondering why there was a hole in the roof, and why the roof was pointy. She smiled as it all came back to her. She was in a Cheyenne tipi with Daniel. Daniel, who was sleeping peacefully beside her, one arm thrown over his eyes. Daniel, who had made love to her yesterday afternoon, and again before they went to bed last night.

  Turning on her side, she let her gaze move over him. Tall, dark, and incredibly handsome. She curled her han
ds into fists to keep from reaching for him, from running her fingers over his chest, along his lower lip. Was it wrong of her to want him to make love to her again?

  The thought sobered her and she sat up. He had told her about his parents, the bad times they’d had because his father was an Indian and his mother was a white woman. Lynnie chewed on her thumbnail. She lived in a small town; if she married Daniel, she would face the same censure as his mother. Was what she felt for Daniel strong enough to ignore what her friends and neighbors would think? What they would say about her behind closed doors? To her face?

  Of course, Daniel had said nothing of marriage. Had she been foolish to give away her virginity to a man she hardly knew? And yet, deep down, she felt as if she had known him forever, as if she had been waiting for him all her life.

  Excitement fluttered in the pit of her stomach when he reached for her. Drawing her down beside him, he murmured, “Good morning, Lynnie girl,” and kissed her, soft and sweet, making her heart race and her toes curl with pleasure.

  He was kissing her again when there was a sharp rap on the flap of the tipi.

  “That’ll be Ho’neeho’esta’s wife, bringing us breakfast,” he said. Rising, he went to the door of the lodge.

  Lynnie sat up, listening as he spoke to the Indian woman. He returned a moment later carrying two bowls of what looked like beef broth.

  He handed her one of the bowls, then drank from the one in his hand. “It’s buffalo stew.”

  It was, she thought, surprisingly good, or maybe she was just hungry.

  After breakfast, they went for a walk through the village. Lynnie’s gaze moved from side to side as they strolled along. She had always thought of the Cheyenne as savages, yet that didn’t seem to be the case. True, they dressed differently than she did and they didn’t have any book learning, and yet they were just people. Women chatted as they watched their children at play. She saw women sewing and cooking, some were shaking out blankets, others were hanging long strips of meat on wooden racks. Across the river, young boys watched over the horse herd. Men strolled through the camp, pausing to talk to their friends. Some sat outside their lodges repairing weapons or fletching arrows, or simply enjoying the early morning sun. Little girls played with dolls fashioned from cornhusks or strips of buckskin, the boys played with small bows and arrows or spears made of wood.