Sacred Ground

by Rita Karnopp

  Now, he rested his head on the bare breast of an Indian woman. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. Willow was more woman than he deserved.

  He closed his eyes, allowing sleep to nurture his thoughts. He drew in a breath and found himself liking the smoky, sweetgrass scent. It pulled him to her, it offered comfort, and felt right.

  It seemed strange, he'd not made love to her, but now that his body had time to calm, he felt the contentment of a man satisfied. What was it about Willow that consumed him?

  In his mind's eye, he saw her smile. She came toward him with desire in her eyes, and a girlish tease washed across her face. She moved forward, and then back, taking several steps in rhythm with the drums.

  The deep, steady beats filled his senses, demanding he step, unknown, yet known steps to a dance that propelled him in a heated fury. As he moved he felt the feathers on the headdress and hanging from the arms and waist of his costume sway and whirl. Each step created a harmony of bells and clanking shells.

  His heart beat hard. His breath came labored. He made his way around Willow, and then danced at her side, their shoulders touching. He saw the love she felt for him reflected in her eyes.

  Another warrior stepped between them. He took Willow's hand and led her away. She glanced back over her shoulder. He read disappointment and fear in her expression.

  Without thinking, he grasped her arm, pulling her back to his side. The large warrior, his face painted black on one half and white the other, gripped her free arm. The pain he inflicted caused her to wince.

  Brett released a loud, violent yelp. The drums stopped. The dancing halted. Silence prevailed. In three fast, bold steps, he slammed his chest into that of the other warrior. The men and women watching hooted and cheered in approval.

  The warrior roughly pushed Willow away, causing her to fall to the ground. Without waiting for approval he charged Brett, causing him to land on his back, hard. Noticing a knife above his head, Brett turned his face. He felt the sting of a small cut on his jaw. He bucked hard with his knees, sending the warrior forward, headfirst into a boulder. In a swift effort, Brett scrambled to his feet, and then stood over the warrior, ready for more. His bloody forehead and motionless body explained his fate.

  Brett looked around the gathered crowd and met their looks of approval. Showing forceful attention to a woman, especially unwanted, was a breach of conduct and frowned on by the People.

  The drums beat a steady rhythm, and the festivities continued where they had left off. The body of the warrior remained in a disgraceful heap.

  Brett searched through the growing crowd of dancers until he met the gaze of Willow. She danced alone. Her steps and movements called out to her love. He felt the life of the rattles and bells. Once again his heart beat in time with the drums. As he moved, his body spoke of his love, his intentions, his devotion, and his abilities to protect the woman of his heart.

  The beats of the drum increased faster, faster, and still faster, as did his steps. He whirled, jumped, leaped, and ran, all in a fury of expression, striving to impress Willow's father.

  He moved across the camp area. Others stopped in an effort to watch. Now the drums slowed. Slower, slower, and still slower Brett approached her father. He burned sweetgrass and waved it to the spirits in each of the four directions,

  He stared into the dark eyes of her father, Antelope Tipi. "I offer you twenty fine horses for your daughter. My heart is empty without her." Brett heard the giggles of the onlookers, but chose to ignore them.

  Willow stood smiling, looking down at the ground. Her face showed her embarrassment and her smile betrayed her happiness.

  "You are not one of us. Your skin is that of the napi-kwan. Why would I give my daughter to a white man?"

  Brett’s throat tightened, feeling the stares of disgust. He wasn't worthy to marry one of their People. Fear set in. "But I love her."

  "I can get many horses in my lifetime, but I have only one daughter. Her husband becomes my son. There are many brave, strong warriors who are interested in making Willow their sits-beside-him wife. Why would I choose you?" Antelope Tipi asked.

  Brett felt his hopes and dreams, his future being challenged. His life would be empty without Willow. "My father was Blackfeet," he admitted, saying the words out loud for the first time in his life. They stuck on his tongue, but he spoke them. He would swallow his pride if it meant having Willow. He noticed her smile had faded.

  "You have proof of this?" her father asked.

  Brett stared at a small stone on the ground. The more he stared at it, the more it looked the shape of a buffalo. "I have no proof, or I would surely tell you. I do not know who my father is. But if I were to reach down and pick up a stone the shape of a buffalo, would that convince you the Great Spirit believes she should be my wife?" he asked.

  The old man stood still and silent.

  Brett felt the old man's gaze stare right through him. Each second seemed like minutes. Brett realized he'd been looking at Antelope Tipi's hairless, bronze chest. Two ugly scars, just above his nipples, caused Brett to shudder. Even stranger, a small safety pin had been pierced through the inner side of the scar. A small feather and several small blue beads hung from it. It seemed gruesome, yet somehow powerful.

  "The I-nis'-kim is strong medicine," Antelope Tipi finally said.

  Switching his gaze from the man's chest to his face, Brett snapped alert.

  "It has been a long time since one of our People have found a buffalo stone. You would be very fortunate to possess such a powerful sign."

  Brett picked up the buffalo stone and showed it to Antelope Tipi. Great rejoicing and cheers deafened him. He looked at Willow and found she had the look of a very happy woman. "I give you twenty of my finest horses and this I-nis'-kim for Willow," he bargained. Holding the buffalo stone in his hand, he extended his palm toward the old man.

  "I will wear this around my neck as a sign of great power." Antelope Tipi reached for the I-nis'-kim. "It will give me wisdom to help the People."

  Brett jumped high, "Ayi Ayi!" he shouted. He'd never felt happier in his life. He took her hand in his and kissed her lips . . . a kiss that spoke from his soul.

  "You almost kiss better asleep," Willow said, laughing.

  Brett jumped, blinked, then realized Willow's warm breath was not a dream, but real and inviting beneath him. Without hesitating, he moved his mouth over hers, devouring its softness. His heart pounded like that of the drums in his dream. He kissed her again, and she returned his hunger.

  Kissing a hot trail down her neck, he reached for warm breasts that begged for his touch. As he kissed her nipples with tantalizing possessiveness, he pulled her against him. His body responded.

  "I thought it was morning, and you were waking me." A healthy fire lit the dark area, and he realized she must have added wood to it several times already. "Why did you wake me, I was at the best part of my dream."

  "I'm innocent. You woke me with that kiss." She threaded her fingers through his hair. "How cold do you think it is out there?"

  "A lot colder than it is in here." He captured a breast in his mouth. Hearing her gasp, he smiled. He could get lost in her soft, giving breasts. "They're beautiful," he mumbled, flicking his tongue over the hardened nipple. He pressed his palms down the side of her thighs. He longed for bare skin, instead of jeans, but the gesture still excited him.

  "We need sleep, remember?" she asked, offering him her other breast.

  He smiled, taking the sensitive, swollen nipple between his teeth, and then pulled the skin into his mouth. He nudged, excited by her response to his suckling. He wanted to be inside her, but knew he'd have to wait. She wasn't ready for that commitment; was he? His dream said he was. It also said Willow wanted him. Again he had dreamed of being Indian. Did it have meaning?

  "Does your father have two scars on his chest where he attached a feather and some blue beads?" he asked

  She looked at him with an expression of disbelief. "How did
you know that? You've never seen . . . how could you know?"

  "It's true, isn't it?" He was more puzzled than he could express.

  She nodded, slowly. "How?"

  "I don't know how to explain it. Would you believe I saw it in my dream just now?" He waited for her skepticism.

  "You had another dream? Tell me about it,"

  "Not much to tell. There were dancers and drums. I asked your father to let me marry you for twenty horses and a buffalo stone. Dumb, huh?" As he pressed his head into her breasts, she gave no resistance. His face belonged nuzzled against her warm softness.

  "Dreams hold great meaning to my People. Do you understand what a buffalo stone is?"

  "I didn't until my dream. Your father explained it. He seemed thrilled to have it." Brett wondered how he could be discussing a dream as though it had truly happened.

  "What was my father's answer?"

  "Answer to what?" he asked, pretending not to understand.

  "Did he say yes or no to accept your offer for me?"

  He kissed her, tasting her sweetness. "You don't honestly believe his answer in my dream has anything to do with us now, do you?"

  "Don't dismiss a dream as though it's nothing. It holds great meaning and power. What was father's answer?"

  "I think it'd be wrong to tell you," he said, noticing a slight pout form. "Does it mean that much to you? What if he turned down my offer?" Brett felt her withdraw slightly, and it surprised him.

  "Did he turn you down?"

  "He took the stone and my offer. We shared an incredible celebration and just when I was about to make you my wife, you woke me."

  A stain crept across her cheeks. She acted like a virgin, embarrassed by his comments and compliments.

  "Where did you get that cut?" She wiped at the dried blood on his jaw.

  He rubbed at the spot, knowing full well he got it in his dream, but he couldn't tell her that. "You must have sharpened that hook on your bra," he teased.

  "You're impossible. We should get some sleep," she whispered, pulling his head back to nestle against her breasts.

  Brett kissed each soft breast, and then adjusted his weight alongside her, drawing her into his warmth. He fit her head into his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her. He gently held a breast in his palm and it felt right.

  * * *

  Willow woke. Brett's warmth wrapped around her like a secure blanket. The fire had gone out, and her cold nose told her the temperatures had dipped low. She thought about the boys. Worry and fear filtered into her motherly instincts.

  "Brett," she said, wiggling against him. She quickly realized her mistake, feeling his hardness against her. It amazed her how quickly he became aroused. She couldn't help wondering what kind of lover he'd be. His tenderness last night had left her wanting more. She'd never wanted any part of Gordon. His actions hurt and left her feeling degraded. Somehow it didn't seem possible to feel that way with Brett.

  "Brett," she repeated, turning in his arms. She glanced up to find drowsy eyes looking back at her. "It's morning. We need to . . ." she paused, feeling the warmth of his hand on her breast. "We need to get up and go after the boys. It got terribly cold last night. I'm worried."

  "I agree." He sat and grabbed their shirts. "Here, put this on," he said, pulling his on in a quick motion.

  "I'll get some food and you can get that fire going.” She tugged on first one boot, then the other. “It's freezing in here."

  "We'd be smarter not making a fire. It'll be colder outside if we don't acclimate in here first."

  She knew he was right. Hurrying to the supplies, she pulled on her jacket and threw Brett his. "I wouldn't mind a hot cup of coffee. But with no pot we'll have to make do with water and the last of the chicken."

  "Roll up the bags and I'll go out and check on the horses and scout the area. I don't expect to find any sign of the boys, but who knows, they might have had their fill of spring camping and are heading back already."

  "It worked."

  "What worked?"

  "The boys' reason for leading us on this crazy trip. It would have served them right if we'd fought worse than ever. As angry as I'm with them, in a small way I'm grateful.”

  "Yeah, me too. Would serve them right to think we're at odds."

  She thought about it and laughed. "I agree. Can you imagine their reaction if we appear not to be talking to each other?"

  "Might be worth considering," he said, chuckling as he left.

  In haste she rolled the bags and packed their gear. She scooped up several hands full of dirt and poured it over their already cold fire, just in case. Pulling on her gloves, she headed toward the mining entrance and was nearly blinded by the winter wonderland spread out before her. "Good, Lord, how will we ever find the boys in this? It must have snowed a good eight inches, and it's still coming down."

  "Don't panic. I doubt Lance or Sean would consider moving out in this. We shouldn't have any trouble spotting smoke from their campfire."

  "Actually, it should be easier to find them this way, shouldn't it?" she asked, hope filling her. "I think I'll tie a bundle of our dry wood and take it along. If they didn't pile enough for an extra day, they might be out by the time we find them." Without waiting for an answer, she hurried back into the mine, fighting to adjust her eyes to the sudden darkness.

  "I'll saddle the animals," Brett called out to her.

  "I'll get the supplies," she threw back. When they found the boys she would first hug Lance, then Sean. As soon as she let them know how happy she was to see them, she would give them a lashing they'd never forget. Worry couldn't begin to express how she felt. No doubt Brett has similar feelings. To think she'd uttered the phrase boys will be boys.

  * * *

  Brett leaned back in the saddle. "How are you doing?"

  Willow felt nothing short of ridiculous. Snow blindness. How could she have allowed herself to fall victim to the oldest killer in snow country? "Just fine," she said with a cheeriness she didn't feel.

  "You don't like having to rely on me, do you?" he asked, pressing them forward.

  He was right, she did hate it. "I don't like slowing us down. Any sign of smoke yet? They couldn't have gone much further than―"

  "I'll be damned! They must have hiked until their legs ached."

  She heard relief and lightheartedness in his voice. “Did you find them?” She hated asking, since Brett sounded so excited. She took his silence to mean he agreed to the possibility. Feeling the pace increase, she clung to the saddle horn. "Remember, we're not speaking."

  He chuckled under his breath. "Better not look so content, then."

  She realized it wasn't going to be all that easy to hide how she felt about Brett.

  "Dad!" The high-pitched, young voice called out and echoed toward them.

  "Did you hear that? Can you see them?" She strained to hear more. "I don't hear Lance, is he there?" She tensed in the saddle, frustrated by the blindfold that kept her from being a part of it all.

  "Mom! We're up here," Lance shouted.

  "Well," Brett said, "Looks like they're in top shape. More than I can say for . . . well, we're fine.

  They do look happy to see us."

  "Don't patronize me, Brett Turner. I had no idea snow blindness could attack that fast," she said, then thought of the boys, and raised her voice several tones, "Besides, if it wasn't for your pushing us so fast, I would have been more aware of what was happening. Of course, you know everything!"

  Chapter Eight

  Not bad, love" he whispered. "I wasn't pushing," he shouted. “But it's a fact; women can't travel as well as men. They aren't as hardy" He dropped his voice again. “You ought to see their faces.”

  "They lose their excitement?" she asked, anxious for his answer.

  "You might say they're looking at us as though we both have two heads."

  "Good, they deserve it after what they've put us through." Raising her voice, she said, "Why are we going so slow now? I'm freezing
half to death, I can't see, and you've decided to slow up. Damn, I'll never figure men out. I'll never figure you out."

  "Is there anything you won't complain about? I've listened to just about all I can take. Too fast; too slow. Damn, you ever happy?" He turned toward Willow and murmured, "Boy, you should see them now. They could step on each other's lower lip.”

  "You think we're overdoing it? I mean―"

  "Don't go getting soft on me now," Brett interrupted. "They deserve a good jolt of reality. I don't think I've worried this much over anything, and that includes the bastard who’s trying to sabotage me."

  "I had nothing to do with putting rocks in your well," she shouted. "Why would I? As for bleach in your water, at this moment it sounds like a good idea!"

  "Boys," Brett shouted, "Are we glad to see you. Looks like you did okay last night."

  "Wasn't that snow great? We had a snowball fight this morning," Lance said, then added, "What's wrong with Mom?"

  "She's fine, a little snow blindness," Brett answered.

  "A little snow blindness? Do you have any idea how miserable this is? It burns and hurts. A little snow blindness! I think I've had about enough of your male-ego comments. You want to talk to me, do it through Lance. I've had enough." She swung her leg over her horse and paused when she felt Brett's large, warm hands grasp her waist and lift her into his arms. She wanted to wrap her palms around his neck. She wanted to taste his mouth on hers.

  "Put me down, my legs aren't broken," she snapped.

  "If I put you down, they more than likely will be. I thought you weren't talking to me.”

  "You guys are still arguing?" Sean sounded unhappy.

  Willow wished she could share that they were more than getting along, but controlled the urge. They deserved the deception. "It's too bad your father isn't more like you, Sean." Feeling a slight pinch in her waist through her jacket she wanted to giggle, but didn't let the boys off so easily.