Golden Eagle’s hands tangled in Sarah’s hair. “I need you.” He groaned, unable to remain passive any longer. His hands lifted her face to his as he pressed his lips to her closed eyes, then down the slender bridge of her nose to its slightly upturned point. Past her mouth, panting for him, to seek the soft pulsing hollow below.
Sarah felt his hands on the leather thong around her waist. With one quick pull, the belt landed in the thick carpet of grass at their feet. Slowly, he reached down and grabbed the fringed hem in his hands. Lifting the garment, he explored the exposed flesh. The backs of his fingers stroked and caressed her inner thighs, his gaze never leaving hers.
Up past silky thighs, over smooth firm twin cheeks he traveled. Sarah moaned and sucked in her breath as his fingers grazed sensitive skin.
Feeling drugged, she lifted her hands over her head. She waited long agonizing seconds before the dress slid up and over her bared breasts, catching on the hardened points. Slowly, ever so slowly, he drew the offending garment over her head, leaving her writhing with longing.
Placing her hands upon broad golden shoulders, Sarah lolled her head back to give Golden Eagle access as his lips and tongue blazed a trail of fire down her throat.
Fingers splayed across her spine as his lips found one breast. Her belly clenched as his mouth claimed the rosy flesh. Sarah whimpered.
Moving to the other waiting mound, Golden Eagle lightly flicked the aroused nipple with his tongue. Back and forth, suckling here, teasing there, until Sarah felt as if she would collapse on legs that shook with need. “Please, Golden Eagle. You’re torturing me,” she gasped, the deep ache in her belly spreading outward, her hips moving restlessly. Seeking. Wanting. Needing.
Moving his hands to her small bottom, Golden Eagle kneaded the soft rounded flesh before pulling her questing hips tightly against his throbbing manhood, letting her feel the evidence of his strong need for her.
Sarah felt him suck in his breath as she thrust wildly against him, seeking a release only he could give.
“Shh, love. Be patient,” he whispered in her ear as he explored the pink swirls with his moist tongue.
Crying out as shivers of desire flowed through her, Sarah let her weight fall against Golden Eagle in weakness and allowed him to lower her to the cool grassy bed beneath them.
Claiming her mouth in a consuming kiss, Golden Eagle slowly stroked his hand downward, letting it rest at the junction between her legs before he gently parted her quivering thighs and stroked her.
Sarah’s hips jerked against the heel of his hand, grinding against him. “Please, Golden Eagle. Do not tease me any longer.”
Groaning, he slipped a finger within her hidden cavern, inch by tormenting inch, dipping deeper. Finding her hot, moist and alive, Golden Eagle removed his finger and moved over her trembling body.
Her thighs parted wide, legs latching on to him as he thrust deep within her. Cupping her head with his hands, he looked into smoky blue orbs, checking for pain, as she was still so tight that she fit him like a second skin.
Sarah saw his concern. “There is no pain. It feels so good. Please, Golden Eagle, let me fly with you,” she cried urgently, pushing her woman’s softness against his male hardness.
With a gasp of sheer pleasure, he moved within her, riding her faster, harder as they soared among the clouds, achieving a height of passion neither had thought possible, shuddering as bright flicks of light exploded around them. Two cries rose to mingle with the sounds of nature.
Long afterward, they lay locked tightly in a lovers’ embrace. Golden Eagle lifted his torso off her chest, still encased within her pulsing body. Sarah smiled, eyes filled with awe and passion. Golden Eagle moved lightly within her, and Sarah’s eyes widened in wonder. He grinned.
“Golden Eagle, you cannot be serious. Again? So soon? Is it possible?” Sarah asked in disbelief.
“Yes, my pale-haired beauty, again, so soon and it’s very possible.” And with that, Golden Eagle proceeded to show Sarah the truth of his words.
Chapter Sixteen
Tom shoved his way through low-growing brown underbrush. Holding several willow-thin branches overhead, he stopped and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt before pushing on. He flinched from a sharp sting across the side of his bare neck when one of the branches whipped back before he could get out from under it.
He stopped and rubbed the painful raised welt, spewing a string of curses as he dodged on. He mumbled more oaths into the silent air when his foot caught on an exposed root and sent him sprawling head-first into thorny greenery.
Untangling himself, Tom slowed his pace as he continued to pick his way through dense stands of dark pines. Dusk settled, casting grotesque shadows that seemed to move and follow him his every step. As if all this weren’t enough to set one’s nerves on edge, dozens of buzzing hungry insects seemed to have marked him as their meal.
Finally, and none too soon, he shoved his way past the last barrier, yelling out to the man bent over the small smoking fire, “Hey, Willy, I’m back.”
Willy grabbed his rifle, spun around and aimed the loaded weapon. A look of disgust pulled his lips apart as he put the rifle down and waited until Tom joined him beside the fire.
Tom found himself yanked forward, held off the ground by his already torn shirt front, inches from Willy’s furious rage-reddened and whiskered face.
“Shut up, ya goddamned fool. We’re hidin’, remember? You go shoutin’ like that and us bein’ here ain’t gonna be no secret,” Willy’s voice rasped.
Tom’s dull eyes widened, his face turning purple as he gasped for air. Willy tossed Tom aside in disgust.
Rising quickly to his feet, Tom stepped back and warily eyed the older man from a safe distance. Damn, Willy was touchy as of late. Tom didn’t dare point out that the fire and smell of cooking food was risky as well. Besides, he was starved and thirsty. He eyed the meat roasting on sticks. He was sick of dried meat and stale bread.
“Sorry, Will. I wasn’t thinkin’. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s yer problem, boy. Ya never thinks. You’d be picked clean, hangin’ from the boughs of an old oak tree, if it weren’t for me,” Willy jeered as he shot a stream of spit across the dry, dusty ground.
“Did ya do it?” Willy asked, tired of baiting the sorry figure before him. Squatting, he helped himself to a hunk of overcooked meat.
Tom decided not to mention that if it hadn’t been for Willy, he’d be with his brothers now and one brother would still be alive. Eb had gotten himself killed by a mere girl, and his eldest brother had run, not trusting Willy.
Tom watched the older man bite into the tough meat and tear off a huge hunk. His belly rumbled, but he didn’t have the courage to help himself. His mouth watered as Willy stuffed his mouth full. With a grimace, Tom thought to himself that Willy looked like a squirrel with his cheeks stuffed full.
Forgetting food for a moment as Willy eyed him impatiently, Tom answered, “Yeah, I did what you said. The boys will meet us tomorrow night as planned.”
“Ya weren’t followed back here, were ya?” Willy asked through a mouthful of meat. He reached for his flask and took a long swallow of tepid water. A look of disgust flashed across his heavy features as he stared at the container of brackish water.
“Nah. I weren’t followed. I was real careful,” Tom answered, licking his lips hungrily.
Willy stared at Tom intently for a moment, then motioned toward the burned meat with a flick of his wrist. Leaning back against the trunk of a large tree, he tilted his dirty hat down over his eyes. With a loud smack of his lips, he was asleep.
It was late when Willy and Tom reached their destination. The clouds high overhead cloaked the moon’s glow, casting the night into welcomed blackness. Jumping from his horse, Willy grabbed his rifle and circled the small run-down shack.
Satisfied there was no evidence of human habitation or sign that someone had been there recently, he pushed opened the door and thor
oughly inspected the inside. Motioning to Tom, he instructed the boy to hide their horses and return quickly.
Peering through a small hole in the side of the rotting logs, Willy watched for the expected arrivals. Then he turned his head and took in his surroundings with a contemptuous glance. The dim lantern light confirmed that there was just a bare room. The only furniture sat in the middle of the room: a table with a broken leg and a couple of rickety chairs lying on their sides. The bed in the corner had long ago rotted and provided nesting material for the many small rodents that had scurried out into the night with Willy’s intrusive arrival.
He compared this run-down hovel with John’s homey cabin. No, not dear cousin John’s any longer, but Sarah’s. How he wished he were back there, sitting in the soft cushioned chair with the caressing warmth of the fire that kept the cold nights at bay.
Stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his tattered jacket, he shivered with cold. He shook his head when he remembered how Ben had ordered him from Sarah’s property. He would get his revenge. He’d make them all pay.
He and Tom had been in hiding for a couple weeks when they’d returned to learn the fate of Sarah and her precious cabin. It had surprised Willy to see everything looking normal. They’d watched for several hours before riding into the open, rifles ready. Cautiously, they’d entered the quiet log cabin and discovered it empty.
Turning to search for Sarah, he’d found himself looking down the barrel of Ben’s shotgun. Several trappers, also armed, surrounded him. “Get your sorry hide outta here, Willy. You ain’t welcome here no more,” Ben ordered. “Walk away, or be carried out. Dead or alive, it’s your choice.”
Willy’s hands clenched, his rifle already taken away. “Don’t you be forgettin’ who is guardian of that there girl now, Ben. I’m due my share of this here place.”
Not backing down, Ben informed him that Sarah was no longer there. “It’s your abuse that caused that poor child to leave. Your fault she’s been captured by Indians. Far as I’m concerned, you have no more business here. Cabins ain’t yours. Horses ain’t yours. No Sarah, no guardian. You gets nothin’. You just remove your filthy presence and don’t never show your mangy face round here again.”
Now Willy shook his head and turned back to stare out the small hole in the wall. The shack boasted only one door. The holes that at one time were windows had long since been nailed shut in a futile attempt to keep animals out.
But now the nails had rusted, the shutters so rotted they barely kept the wind out. The place used to be a small trading post but now served as an emergency shelter. Glancing around, Willy realized it wouldn’t even be good for that much longer. One big storm would probably bring it down, allowing nature to completely reclaim the land.
Straining, he heard a faint whistle. Standing by the door, he peered cautiously into the inky blackness. Softly, he returned the signal. Soon, three men rode up. Motioning to Tom, Willy ordered the boy to take care of the horses.
Single file, the three approached. A tall thin man who went by the name of Hank came first, slapping Willy hard on the back as he passed him. “Missed yer ugly mug hangin’ round. Card games just not the same without ya, Will. Too tame.” He chuckled, his voice low and rough in the quiet night air.
Hank was followed by his brother, equally tall, but with more flesh on his bones. Dick was commonly known as Red, due to the red hair covering his head and face. Gingerly, he pulled up a chair, rocking back and forth on the uneven legs at the small table while waiting expectantly.
Last, in shuffled a dirty, scruffy, old-looking trapper. Thick layers of bundled clothing and unkempt matted hair made it difficult to tell anything about him. He took his stand by the door. Crossing arms across what appeared to be a massive chest, he stood in silence as his host shut the flimsy wooden door. His bushy gray eyebrows and scraggly beard hid most of his face and all of his thoughts.
Willy moved into the room and sat, stretching his feet out before him as if he were hosting a fancy party, not a clandestine meeting.
Hank spoke at last. “Whatcha want, Will? Why’ve you sent for us? This ain’t the usual meetin’ place.” His cold, calculating gleam rested on Willy.
Rubbing his hands, Willy stalled. “All in good time, boys. How ’bout some brew first. Ya bring any?” His eyes gleamed in anticipation as they rested on the bulging pack that Red had dropped in a heap on the dirt-covered floor.
Red reached down, snatched the pack and tossed it toward Willy. Catching it, Willy eagerly searched the contents. Feeling a smooth cool surface, he grabbed and pulled the flask out. Yanking off the lid, he swallowed a mouthful and smacked his lips. “Ahh, that’s better. Now listen close, boys, I gots a job for you. I needs your help.”
“Wait a minute. First, we wanna know the payment. What’s in it for us, Willy? Ya ain’t got no money,” Hank said, distrust lining his thin face. He knew Willy far too well.
Red chimed in. “Yeah, Will, if you’s in hidin’ way out here, what’s we gonna get in return? What happened to that nice pouch of money you was gonna get your hands on?”
Not noticing the cold stillness that overcame Willy, Red gleefully continued. “Did that young beauty wise up to yore dirty tricks and kick yore hairy butt out?”
Willy seethed, the raucous laughter of the two brothers echoing in the near-empty room. He tipped his head back and took another healthy swig of fiery liquid. Carefully he recapped the flask and stuck it in his shirt pocket.
Catching Hank and Red off guard, he lunged forward, his rickety chair flying out from beneath him as he tipped the table and two pairs of booted feet into the air. Standing with hands fisted in front of him, he watched the two brothers, each of whom had been sitting with his feet propped on the table. The chairs, with only two legs on the ground, teetered and fell, tipping their occupants onto the hard cold floor.
Silence thick as morning fog filled the tense room. Hank and Red scrambled to their feet, faces red with anger. Tom stood to one side, nervously fidgeting.
Through the loud angry buzzing in his head, Willy heard harsh chuckles. Turning toward the sound, he saw the old man watching with undisguised amusement. The red haze cleared.
Motioning for Tom to pick up the table, he righted his own chair and sat.
He calmly waited until everyone was reseated at the damaged but still-standing table. “Ya know, boys, one of these days yore flappen’ tongues is gonna get you killed. Best watch who yore messin’ with. Now do you want to listen to my proposal or not?” Willy asked, taking another drink from his flask while fingering his gun.
Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Hank nodded. “Let’s hear what ya got,” he agreed, glaring at his brother.
Pleased that he had regained control, Willy announced, “I need you boys to help me track down and locate my ward. Yer payment will be part of the ransom money I’ll get from them ol’ folks. Ben will give me whatever I wants to get her back,” Willy sneered.
Leaning back, he waited for the reactions to his proposal. Harry, the trapper, whom everyone referred to as Old Timer, looked around and asked scornfully, “Where’s the girl? Why do ya need help findin’ her if you’s her guardian?”
“That’s right,” Red asked, wincing as a sharp-booted toe made contact with his shin.
Leaning his thick arms on the table, Willy explained that Sarah had been taken by Indians when she’d run away.
“I want proof that she be alive or not. You, Ol’ Timer, you’s a trapper, see if you can learn anything from your Indian friends. If some filthy tribe of Indians has her, I want her back. You know the tribes in these here parts and their heathen ways. You can deal with them.”
Receiving a small nod of agreement, Willy turned to the others.
“You two—” Willy nodded first at one, then the other “—will travel with him. When he nears a tribe, you stay back. Also, stop at all the tradin’ posts. See if anyone has seen her. Find the girl and report back to me. If you can nab her do so.”
> Seeing agreements all around, Willy stood and warned, “Sarah is mine. Bring her here, unharmed—” he paused, giving each man a fierce glare “—and untouched. If one of you touches her, you’re dead…understand?”
“Hey, Willy, what if we can’t find her? Then how’s you gonna get the money?”
All movement stopped, each concerned with his own profit. Willy scowled. “Then we nab the old woman. Her husband’ll pay to get her back.”
Red scratched his head. “Wouldn’t it be easier to go for her then?”
“Listen, fools. I want the girl. I don’t need you to grab an old woman. I can do that myself. I’m payin’ you to bring me Sarah. I gots a score to settle with that bitch.”
Looking at each other, Hank and Red both gave their verbal agreements, followed by the silent acceptance of the old man.
“All right, let’s get outta here,” Willy said. “You know where to leave messages.” Quietly, the group of men filtered out into the pitch-black night.
Three men headed off in one direction, while Willy and Tom headed back to their hiding place in the dense woods. Spurring his mount in the dark, Willy was eager to get back in front of a warm fire to warm his outside—and with the burning spirits in his pocket, warm his innards.
Uncaring of the cold, a lone figure wept. Kneeling beside a grass-covered grave, Mary ran her fingers over the rough wooden cross. A beam of light spilled across her as Ben came to stand behind her, holding a lantern high. She rose, laid her head upon his shoulder and cried. “Oh, Ben, I’ve failed John. It’s been so long and still no clues to her whereabouts. I’m so worried about her.”
“Come now, Mary, there was naught you could have done. That devil was her guardian. Our hands were tied outta loyalty to John. You know we had to go along with his wishes. Short of killing the bastard, we could have prevented none of this.”
White Wind Page 14
