by Nan Ryan
He was self-reliant, highly intelligent, comfortable in his own skin, and perhaps more than a trifle cocky. She even liked his innate arrogance; liked the fact that he was strongly masculine and afraid of no one and nothing. She liked the way he walked down the streets as if he owned them, refusing to step aside when the troopers tried to crowd him off the sidewalks.
“Care to sample some more of my special beef broth?” Maggie asked early on that cold Saturday evening.
“Do I have a choice?” Shanaco gently teased.
“You do not,” she said, and went about dishing up a hot steaming bowl. Ignoring his statement that he could feed himself, she placed a tray across his lap, sat down on the bed facing him and ladled the broth to his split lips.
“How is it?” she asked after he had slowly swallowed a half-dozen spoonsful.
“Delicious,” he said, trying not to make a face.
“Liar,” she accused, and they both laughed. Then she said, “Tomorrow you can have solid food. Tonight, it’s this or nothing.”
Shanaco manfully finished the bowl of broth and drank down a cup of hot tea. Maggie took the tray away, then returned to the bed and asked, “Think you can sleep now?”
“Soon. Sit here with me awhile, please.” Maggie nodded and started to pull up the straight-back chair, but he stopped her. “No, here on the bed,” he said as he gingerly moved over to make room for her and patted the mattress.
Maggie shrugged, kicked off her slippers, climbed up onto the bed and seated herself cross-legged beside him, tucking her long skirts modestly around her feet.
“Just for a few minutes.”
A few minutes stretched into more than an hour. Maggie did most of the talking. She told Shanaco about her students and how she loved them and what a pleasure it was to teach them. She admitted that little Bright Feather was her favorite. She was passionate in declaring that Indians had to speak English in the world that awaited them. She then talked of her home in the Tidewater country of Virginia and of her family and friends.
Shanaco listened and smiled and longed to reach out and encircle a slender ankle that she’d carelessly exposed. That impulse must have shown on his face, because Maggie abruptly shoved her skirts down.
“I’ve gone on and on about myself,” she said. “Now tell me about you.”
“What would you like to hear?”
Maggie smiled. “Anything. Anything at all. Your favorite color. The season of the year you like most. Where you’ll go when you leave the fort. Whatever you’d like to tell me.”
Shanaco smiled, too. “The first thing I’d like you to know is that nothing, and I do mean nothing, happened between Lois Harkins and me.”
Maggie’s well-arched brows shot up and a slight smirk twisted her lips. “Nothing? You consider it nothing to…?”
“Lois came to my cottage uninvited,” he interrupted. “I was naked when she walked in the door.” Maggie screwed up her face. “I had just stepped out of a bath.”
“Did you cover yourself?” Maggie blurted out. Ignoring her question, he said, “She asked me to make love to her. I refused and she promised she would get even.” Shanaco paused, waiting for Maggie to speak. She remained silent, her brows furrowed, eyes flashing. Shanaco continued, “Obviously she went straight to Captain Wilde and accused me of raping her. You know the rest.”
“But you didn’t…you never…?”
“No, Maggie. If I had, none of this would have happened.”
Thinking aloud, Maggie murmured, “I’m so glad you didn’t make love to her.”
“Why?”
“Time you got some sleep,” Maggie announced, and jumped down off the bed.
“What about you? Where will you sleep?” he asked.
“On the horsehide sofa.”
“Let me sleep on the horsehide sofa.”
“No. This is my house and I make the rules.”
Shanaco smiled, sighed deeply and fell instantly to sleep.
Outside, the snow continued falling through the long winter night. Maggie slept on the sofa, or tried to sleep on the sofa. It wasn’t that she was terribly uncomfortable there, it was the fact that Shanaco was in bed not thirty feet away. His nearness kept her wide-eyed and restless.
More than once during the night she got up, stole across the room and looked down at Shanaco. She reasoned that she was doing it for his benefit. He was in her care and she needed to check periodically to make sure he was resting. And that his fever hadn’t returned.
Each time she tiptoed close, she could hear her heart beating in her ears. Terrified he would wake up and catch her looming over him, Maggie stayed only a few seconds at his bedside. But every time she looked at him it was harder to turn and walk away. His midnight hair was fanned out on the snowy white pillow. His handsome face and bare shoulders were tinted a reddish orange from the flames of the dying fire in the grate.
It was during one of those moments that Maggie realized the elusive thing she had so often yearned for was now right here in her house, in her bed, in her heart.
Maggie turned and rushed anxiously back to the sofa. She lay awake for a long, long time. She was a fool. She was as silly as Lois Harkins. Didn’t have a brain in her head. But at least she had enough sense to keep her weakness to herself. Wild horses couldn’t pull it out of her. She would never let Shanaco know that she…
Maggie awakened Sunday morning, then stretched, sighed, sat up and peeked across the room.
And laughed.
Shanaco was wide-awake and half sitting up in bed. He had found a length of her hair ribbon on the night table and had tied back his loose raven hair.
Maggie grabbed her robe, slipped it on and hurried to build up the fire. When it was blazing brightly, she turned and approached the bed.
“Good morning,” she said, and hoped her guilty thoughts didn’t show on her face.
“It is now,” he replied in a low, well-modulated voice. Maggie felt her knees go weak.
“Let’s hope it will be a good day all day,” she said.
It was a good day.
While the storm raged outside and the troopers continued to search for the half-breed who had raped poor Lois Harkins, Shanaco and Maggie were safely ensconced inside her warm, cozy cottage. No one came by to question the respected reservation teacher.
For Maggie and Shanaco it was a long, lazy, pleasant day. Maggie fussed over Shanaco, bathed his wounds, fed him, read to him and skillfully drew him out, asking questions in a casual, diplomatic manner.
Soon he was speaking fondly of his brave Comanche chieftain father, Naco, and his beautiful white captive mother, Sky Eyes. He said they had been happily married and faithful to each other until death.
He told Maggie that his father had been just nineteen when he led a daring raid down into Wise County, Texas. Outside a farmhouse near the settlement of Decatur, he had caught sight of a pretty young girl with flaxen hair in an orchard picking peaches. He pulled the girl up onto his horse and carried her back to Palo Duro Canyon. Then he patiently waited until she turned eighteen to marry her—and during that time they had fallen in love.
Maggie listened, fascinated, as he talked of his life in the canyon, of his parents, of his grandfather. There were so many things she wanted to ask. When had his parents died? How had they died?
But when he paused, she couldn’t help herself; the question she asked was “And you, Shanaco? Do you have a Comanche wife?”
Shanaco just grinned wickedly and said, “I’m starving, Maggie. Have any more of that delicious beef broth?”
“Something even better,” she said.
“What could possibly be better?” he said with a smile and a wink that dramatically softened his features.
“Ham and mashed potatoes?”
“My mouth is already watering.”
Less than forty-eight hours after bringing him to her cottage, Maggie could tell that Shanaco was feeling much better. And she knew that he was enjoying her company, just as she wa
s enjoying his.
The weak winter sun was sinking on that bitter cold Sunday evening as Maggie sat on the bed feeding her patient small bites of cured ham and oversalted potatoes.
Grateful to her, Shanaco was thanking her for all she had done as she fed him a bite of ham.
A heavy lock of her unbound hair fell forward and grazed his cheek, tickling him.
Shanaco laughed.
So did Maggie.
They looked at each other. Their gazes met and held.
Their laughter subsided. It was a long, tense moment. And in that moment Maggie realized that more than anything in the world, she wanted to kiss Shanaco. She wanted Shanaco to kiss her. Wanted him to kiss her the way he had kissed her that afternoon at his cottage.
Maggie wondered if he felt the same. She swallowed with difficulty and carefully set the plate aside on the night table. She laid the silverware atop it. She slowly turned and looked at Shanaco.
And saw in the fathomless depths of his beautiful silver-gray eyes that he shared her feelings.
Without a word Shanaco reached for her and Maggie came into his arms as if she’d always belonged there.
“Ah, Maggie, Maggie,” he murmured, and kissed her.
His kiss was slow, gentle, tender. At least in the beginning. Purposely giving her every opportunity to pull away from him, Shanaco brushed kiss after kiss to her lips, teasing her, tasting her, carefully seeking permission.
But as he kissed her, his powerful arms began to tighten possessively around her. Maggie made no move to free herself. Instead, she lifted her arms, slipped them around his neck and clutched a handful of his blue-black hair.
Shanaco shuddered and his kiss swiftly changed. His heated mouth opened on Maggie’s and he coaxed her lips apart. She sighed when she felt his sleek tongue slip between her teeth as he deepened the kiss.
It was a prolonged, invasive kiss and even more thrilling than the kiss in his cottage. Shanaco’s mouth was masterful and Maggie eagerly responded, her head falling back, her fingers clasping the strong column of his neck.
Breathless and excited when at last he tore his burning lips from hers, Maggie trembled in his arms when Shanaco said, “I warned you, Maggie.”
“You did?”
He nodded, and his nimble fingers went to the buttons going down the bodice of her dress. He leaned her back on his supporting arm, lowered his head and pressed an openmouthed kiss to the gentle swell of her breasts.
His lips against her tingling flesh, he said, “I told you once that if I ever came inside, I might never want to leave.” He lifted his head, raised a hand, captured her chin and made her look directly into his eyes.
He said, “I have no wife, Maggie. Have never had a wife.”
“You haven’t?” she choked, her breath short, heart pounding.
“Let me love you, Maggie,” he said in a voice that was a caress. “Let me show you how I feel about you.”
Maggie shivered but said, “Shanaco, we can’t. We mustn’t. You’re not…you aren’t well.”
“Make me well, Maggie.”
Thirty
Maggie didn’t hesitate.
She rose from the bed, crossed the room, snapped her fingers at Pistol and sent the surprised wolfhound out the door and into the snow. She locked up behind him, turned and hurried back to the bed.
Wordlessly she began undressing. She was neither reluctant nor doubtful. Nor did she concern herself with the inevitable consequences of her impulsive actions. There would, she knew, be plenty of time for regrets later.
But not now.
Now was a night meant for the kind of passion and pleasure that she would remember for the rest of her life. All the exquisite physical joy and unequaled sensual delight to be found on this earth was surely right here waiting for her. And she was going to reach out and take it without a backward glance.
On this cold, snowy Sunday night she wanted nothing more than to feel this magnificent man’s arms around her, his lean, naked body pressed against hers, conquering her, making her his own.
Maggie felt an electric tingling in her arms and legs as she drew her dress up over her head and dropped it to the floor. Her pulse pounding, she knew that Shanaco was observing every move she made. She found it incredibly exciting to have him watch as she disrobed. She did not feel the least bit shy or reticent, despite the fact she had never before undressed in the presence of a man.
She wanted to undress for Shanaco—she could hardly wait to get her clothes off. Her only concern was would he find her pleasing?
She needn’t have worried.
When her clothes had been discarded and she was as naked as he, Maggie watched Shanaco’s eyes take on a glittering hotness that made her bare belly contract sharply. At once she felt warm and cold and half dizzy with growing excitement.
Shanaco was dazzled by her startling naked beauty; his erection was swift and sudden and huge. He was grateful for the concealing bedcovers. His only fear was that he couldn’t restrain the strong animal hunger she aroused in him. He was afraid he would shock or repel her and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Shanaco relished the way Maggie proudly stood there before him, inviting him to examine her, challenging him to find fault. He found none. He gazed with wonder on the slender, undraped female form and thought he’d never seen such perfection. Her shoulders were nicely rounded, her skin like fine alabaster. Her breasts, while not large, were high and full, the nipples a shy, virginal pink. She was long-waisted and so slim her delicate ribs showed through the pale, taut flesh. Her waist was so small he could easily scan it with his hands. Her stomach was totally flat and her hips flared with just the right amount of curvature.
Her thighs were firm and well shaped, and between them a riot of blazing red curls guarded the slick feminine flesh he longed to uncover and explore. Shanaco felt his heavy flesh involuntarily stir beneath the covers and he bit the inside of his jaw until he tasted blood.
His intense gaze finally lifted to Maggie’s flushed face. He caught the quickening tempo of her breathing and glimpsed the swift pulse at the base of her throat. But her eyes revealed no fear, only anticipation. That pleased him no end.
Maggie was not afraid of him now, had never been afraid of him. Nor was she sexually aroused because he was an Indian and therefore taboo and dangerous. She didn’t think of him that way, didn’t treat him as if he were a novelty. And that made her incredibly alluring to him.
Warning himself to take it slow and easy, Shanaco turned back the covers, extended his hand and said softly, “Come into my arms, Maggie. Let me hold you.”
Her heart now racing, Maggie got into the soft, warm bed with him. Shanaco quickly drew the covers up over her. She lay on her back, her hair fanned out on the pillow. Shanaco lay on his side against her, his weight supported on an elbow.
He gazed down at her face with his hypnotic eyes, and Maggie found herself lifting her head off the pillow, longing for him to kiss her, feeling as if she couldn’t wait one more second to have his lips on hers again.
Shanaco laid the back of his hand on her cheek, let his knuckles slip slowly down to the side of her throat. He turned his hand over, curled lean fingers around the side of her neck and placed the tip of his thumb in the sensitive hollow of her throat. He slowly rubbed his thumb up to her chin and back down again. He continued to gently stroke her throat, her chin, her cheek as he told her how beautiful she was, how sweet, how much he wanted her, how much he wanted to please her.
And then at last he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “Kiss me, Maggie. Kiss me like you’ve never kissed any other man.”
Before she could reply, his mouth came down on hers and he kissed her for a long, long time, each kiss growing hotter, longer, more stirring. As his tongue urgently searched the insides of her mouth, Shanaco slowly eased the covers down until they rested around Maggie’s waist. She hardly realized that the covering sheet and blanket had moved.
His heated mouth so dazzle
d her, it was a minute or two before Maggie became aware that Shanaco’s smooth, hard chest was now pressing down on her bare breasts as he kissed her. She emitted a little strangled cry of pleasure at the electrifying contact of skin on skin. Suddenly she felt as if her nipples were on fire. Anxiously she clasped Shanaco’s biceps and rubbed her aching breasts against the muscled wall of his naked chest.
Maggie moaned her protest when Shanaco moved and the thrilling contact was lost. His heated lips left hers and he raised his head. She gave him a questioning look. Then her breath erupted in a rush when, gazing into her eyes, Shanaco put a warm hand on her right breast and cupped it gently. He rubbed the pad of his thumb back and forth over the nipple and watched the changing emotions march across her beautiful face.
She sighed heavily.
Shanaco whispered her name and plucked at the nipple with all five fingers, gently molding it into a temptingly rigid point of passion. Again he said her name, took his hand away, lowered his head and kissed the peaking nipple. Maggie gasped, closed her eyes, clutched at the mattress and held her breath as his tongue circled the nipple teasingly and then leisurely licked it as one might lick a delicious piece of hard candy.
“Shanaco, Shanaco,” she breathed, squirming, sighing with rising pleasure.
Her eyes opened and widened when Shanaco began to suck on the sensitive nipple. She could feel his lips tugging forcefully, could see his jaws flexing. She was glad that his eyes were closed and that his long hair was tied back with one of her hair ribbons so she could see his handsome face bent to her. She liked watching him love her like this, liked seeing his mouth enclosing her nipple, liked watching the firm pull of his lips on her responsive flesh.
Hot and happy, Maggie lay there on her back watching the handsome Shanaco suckle her breasts. She sighed and stretched and found it curious and wonderful that she could feel the tugging of his lips not just on her nipples but in her lower belly and even between her tightly squeezed legs.
Immediately a forbidden vision flashed through her racing brain; the sight of Shanaco kissing her all over. Everywhere. Her hands. Her feet. Her knees. Her stomach. Her thighs. Even…even….
