White Owl

by Veronica Blake

  “I’m better now,” Rose answered, but she heard the quiver in her voice when she spoke. She just hoped Donavan wouldn’t notice.

  “You sure? ’Cause you sound kinda funny, too.”

  She turned away as she tried to calm her racing heart. “Come with me to see what Ma needs,” she said. She began running to the house, hoping Donavan would follow.

  “Why?” he hollered.

  “Because I said so!”

  When Rose reached the front stoop, she turned around and sighed with relief to see that her little brother was ambling toward the house. His pout didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was safe. She just wished she could feel safe again.

  She ran her tongue along her swollen lips, which still clung to the taste of the Ute’s demanding mouth. The inferno that burned inside her body continued to rage out of control, and her mind was spinning with contradicting thoughts; she could not go meet the Indian at Milk Creek because she could not trust her own emotions around him. Yet for the sake of her family’s safety, she had no choice but to go. At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

  “Oh, dear Lord above,” Rose whispered to herself. “Please give me the strength to make up for my foolishness.” She gingerly touched her lips with the tips of her fingers, adding, “Whatever I might have to do.”

  Chapter Five

  She was shaking too hard to saddle Molly, so Rose just put a bridle and reins on the mare before she hoisted herself up and galloped away from the barn. It had been easier to get away than she thought it would be. Her mother had only needed her assistance for a few minutes and had seemed distracted when Rose told her that she was taking a short ride.

  Donavan had already forgotten about her strange behavior. She saw him heading into the field behind the barn with his shaggy black dog, Pepper.

  As she headed for Milk Creek, she realized she would be utterly at the mercy of the Ute warrior. So why did she feel so . . . so excited?

  Milk Creek was only half its normal depth at this time of year, but the water that did flow had a steady current. Heavy thickets of willows, an occasional oak tree, and almost impenetrable bushes lined the sides, but there were many places where sandy beaches edged the gently flowing water. Rose had also discovered hidden little areas in the dense trees where she and Molly could relax in the shade and listen to the lulling sounds of the creek nearby.

  Since she had no idea where the Ute would be, she rode to the closest point and figured she would wait until he found her. She had barely halted Molly when she heard him call to her.

  “You came—I was not sure you would.”

  Rose remained on her horse’s back and glanced over at the bushes where he had just emerged. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. “I didn’t have a choice, did I?”

  The Indian shrugged. “Yes, but you chose this one.”

  Rose held her breath as he walked toward her with a swagger that she thought was particularity arrogant. As she watched him approach, she could not help noticing once again what a handsome man he was. His raven hair was parted down the middle, and a folded black scarf was tied around his forehead—the ties hung halfway down his back and almost blended in with his thick waist-length hair. His chest was covered by a loose-fitting V-necked white tunic. A black belt hung low on his hips, and a fringed knife sheath hung along one of his thighs. High suede moccasins with long fringe were tied up to his knees, and his tan cloth leggings were tucked inside.

  Rose’s gaze moved back to his face when he was only a few steps away from her. She exhaled the breath she had been holding in one big rush. His eyes were the blackest black, and they were surrounded by thick, long lashes in the same midnight hue. Eyebrows equally as dark were perfectly shaped over his eyes, and his nose had a slightly regal hook, which, along with his high cheekbones and full lips, embodied his Indian ancestry. Her heart thudded wildly in her breast.

  “Do you like what you look at?” he said with a smug smile.

  Rose was snapped out of her daze immediately. He reached out to help her down from her horse. When she hesitated to take his hand, he grabbed her around the waist and stood her on the ground before him. Rose teetered for a moment and avoided looking up into his eyes again. She was so filled with conflicting emotions regarding this man that she could not trust herself to do anything.

  “Did I not just prove to you that I didn’t come here to hurt you or your family?” he asked in an irritated tone.

  “Yes, well, I suppose . . .” she said. The idea that he would try to kiss her again was turning her into a blubbering idiot. His hand cupped her chin and lifted her face up so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes again. Rose’s world beyond this moment ceased to exist.

  With his hand still gently holding her chin, he said, “I only come to see you. It’s time you start to believe me. I do not lie.”

  I do, Rose thought. Every time I try to tell myself that I don’t want to see you again. But she did not trust herself to speak. His words seemed so sincere, and she believed him, in spite of every thing her father constantly said about how evil the Ute Indians were.

  “Are you going to say something, or do I scare you so much that you have no voice?”

  Rose drew in a slow breath. His touch felt so gentle. How could that be? According to her father, his people were ruthless killers. She could not think straight.

  Finally she said the only thing that she could think of, “So why do you speak English so good?” she asked once again.

  He dropped his hand, releasing his hold on her chin, and to Rose’s surprise, he tossed his head back and laughed. It was not a cynical laugh, but one that sounded as if he really did find her question funny.

  “I think you are truly worried about that since you have asked me that question several times.” He shook his head and smiled down at her. “I will tell you more about me, if you tell me more about you.”

  Rose still did not move. She continued to stare up at him. His long, thick hair was hanging over his shoulders on both sides of his face, reminding her that he really was supposed to be a savage. Yet his sparkling eyes and jovial smile made her realize that he was just a man . . . a handsome, intriguing, maybe even tenderhearted man, who made her insides smolder with unknown longings and left her lips yearning for another kiss.

  He tilted his head slightly. “As a child, I was taken to Denver to live with a Christian family so that I could learn the ways of the white man. I went to their school and attended their church, and learned as much as I could so that I could return to my homeland as fast as possible.” His tone grew gruff as he added, “I am a Ute, and no matter how much they tried to make me white, I will never forget who, or what, I am.”

  His expression had grown hard, and the glint in his eyes no longer looked happy. Rose swallowed over the heavy lump in her throat. She wished she had not pushed the issue. “I am from Denver,” she said, trying to change the subject. “Before that we lived in New York for a few years, but I was born in Ireland.” She added, “Then we homesteaded here, and I hope I never have to leave. I love it here.”

  Unconsciously, her gaze roamed out over the landscape and a smile touched her lips. Her nervousness made her babble on. “My father’s family still lives in Ireland, though. But my mother’s family moved to America with us, and they stayed in Denver when we moved here. My aunt is a school-teacher, and my grandparents own a general store.”

  She drew a deep breath and paused. Although she knew the Ute was watching her intently, Rose was unable to decipher his mood.

  “Tell me more about you—just you?” he said, obviously not wanting to talk about the people she had just mentioned.

  “How many summers—I mean, years—are you?”

  “Eighteen,” Rose answered, then added, “I have a twin brother. We’ll be nineteen in December.”

  His smile returned. He remembered the two men he had observed earlier. No wonder the younger one had looked so much like his Wild Rose. “And Donavan, he
is your little brother?”

  “Yes,” Rose said.

  “Are there others here?”

  “Just my parents,” she replied. An uneasy flutter developed in the pit of her stomach. Why was he so interested in her family? As if he sensed her thoughts, his next words helped to calm her growing fear.

  “I only ask because I want to know more about you, so you can stop worrying—again.”

  Rose attempted a weak smile. “Well, you did threaten to kill my father that first day.”

  White Owl emitted an aggravated grunt. “Will you remind me of that for the rest of our lives?” he asked.

  His question made Rose feel weak-kneed and shaky. The rest of their lives? They had barely met, and he was making reference to the rest of their lives?

  “I-I don’t even know your name,” she said in voice that was hoarse.

  A smile reclaimed his lips. “I am called White Owl.”

  “White Owl,” Rose repeated. “That is a noble name.”

  That strange yearning erupted inside her again. They were close enough to kiss . . . again. She cleared her throat and attempted to turn away from his piercing gaze.

  “I am a noble man,” he said. “And I have named you Wild Rose.” He tenderly took her chin in his hand once again and turned her face back toward him. “Your lips are the color of the sweet pink wildflowers that grow in the meadows.”

  Rose swallowed hard again, and looked into his dark gaze. “W-well, Rose is my . . . I mean—Rosaline is . . .” Her words faded away as White Owl dipped his head, bringing his lips toward hers.

  “My Wild Rose,” he whispered as his mouth claimed hers once more.

  Although she had waited for this kiss, there was no way Rose could even begin to imagine how deeply his touch would affect her. She became lost in these new emotions. Her lips responded as though they were insatiable. She returned his kiss with no thought of the consequences; that is, until a tiny bit of reality seeped into her spinning thoughts. She pulled back slightly, and with a trembling breath, whispered, “I shouldn’t be—we shouldn’t be doing this a-again.”

  White Owl’s fingertips gently traipsed along the outline of her kiss-swollen lips. “It is what a man and woman do,” he said softly.

  “But it’s not right for us to be doing this,” Rose responded in a raspy voice. The way he was touching her mouth was almost as sensuous as his kiss, and it was making her entire body grow weak with desires that she had never known before.

  “If you want it, Wild Rose, it is right,” he said as his fingers slid up the side of her face and into her hair, pulling out the two hairpins that held the bun at the back of her head. The long red tresses tumbled down her back in reckless abandon.

  Rose gasped. His touch was so gentle. Everything she’d ever heard about Utes told her she should run. Yet it was impossible to pull away. “Even if I did want this,” Rose said in a shaky voice, “it is not possible for us to be together, not now, not ever.”

  “Why? Because I am an Indian?”

  Rose heard the cold edge of his voice, and the gentleness of his touch hardened as he gripped the long hair that hung down her back. “Because you, a white woman, are too good to be with an Indian?” he spat gruffly.

  “No, no! That has nothing to do with it,” Rose gasped. “I do not care that you are an Indian, but my father—”

  “Him again,” White Owl said through gritted teeth. He started to say more, but instead, he released his tight hold on Rose’s hair and stepped away.

  His unexpected retreat left Rose more confused than relieved. She watched him mutely when he turned away from her. Presented with his back—and his silence—Rose knew that she should be worried that her words would make his threats to kill her father even more of a reality.

  “Please don’t hate my father. He doesn’t understand that we are all the same, Indians and whites alike.”

  A cynical chuckle was White Owl’s reply as he continued to stare off in the distance. Even as Rose stepped closer to him, he did not turn around to look at her again.

  “I will make him understand,” Rose added as she put her hand up on his shoulder. Even as she said the words, her mind was in turmoil over how she could ever hope to achieve this impossible task. Paddy Adair was not going to understand any of this . . . Rose didn’t even understand any of it herself. She should be scared out of her wits to be here alone with this dangerous man, but all she really wanted to do was feel his gentle touch again.

  White Owl turned slowly around to face her again. “I do not know this man—your father, but I have known enough white men to know that he will never understand why we are together.”

  “Together?” Rose asked. “Are we—together?”

  He took one of her hands—it seemed so small and fragile in his own large, rough hand. Her porcelain skin looked even paler against his. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I knew that I had to make you my woman. It was a feeling that was stronger than anything I have ever known before, and I am a man who goes after what he wants.” He pulled her close to him and let his gaze meet hers, as he added, “And, my Wild Rose, I want you.”

  Chapter Six

  Rose’s thoughts were spinning nearly as frantically as her heart was pounding in her breast. This was happening so fast. She still had to come to terms with all that it would mean to her and to her entire family if she and White Owl were truly going to be together. And what did “being together” even mean? She leaned back before he had a chance to kiss her again. “We need to talk more about this. My father, he—”

  “That man again!” White Owl interrupted with clenched teeth. His anger glistened in his raven eyes. He pulled his arms from around her waist and dropped them down at his sides.

  “Please try to understand why we have to take this slow,” Rose pleaded. “You’re saying things like ‘the rest of our lives’ and that you are going to make me your woman, but—”

  White Owl turned away from her. “I understand enough,” he answered. He started to walk to his horse.

  As Rose watched him grab his reins, her uncertainties continued to race through her mind. “Wait,” she called out. “Don’t go—please?”

  White Owl was about to climb on the back of his horse, but now he stopped and turned slowly around to face her again. “Don’t tease me, woman,” he said flatly.

  Rose attempted to ignore his arrogant attitude and reminded herself that she should be counting her lucky stars that he hadn’t acted like the savage that he was supposed to be—a thought that made her lips throb with the memory of his kiss and her knees grow weak and shaky again. She drew a deep breath as she tried to calm the racing of her heart. She wished he would leave; she wished he would stay; she wished he would kiss her again. “I want you, too, but—,” she shrugged and exhaled sharply.

  White Owl’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not speak for a few seconds. Then he turned and pulled himself onto the back of his horse. He urged his mount forward. As he passed Rose, he said in a nonchalant tone, “You will come to me next time.”

  His smug smile made her want to scream, but her voice came out hoarse and shaky when she called out after him, “I won’t come.” She cleared her throat gruffly, and yelled out louder, “I won’t come to you.”

  But he was already halfway across the creek.

  “I won’t,” Rose repeated in barely more than a whisper.

  She watched him ride away. His long hair flowed away from his back in the gentle breeze, and his muscled body moved gracefully with his horse as though they were one unit. An odd feeling overcame Rose as she watched him disappear from view, a strange tightness in her stomach that seemed to grow more intense once she realized that he truly was gone.

  Unconsciously, Rose rubbed her stomach and exhaled the breath that she hadn’t even known she had been holding. She swiped angrily at a teardrop rolling down the side of her face. She had no intention of going to him as he had so boldly predicted. But now, a crushing feeling of sadness washed over
her at the idea that she might never see him again.

  “Rosaline! What the dickens are you doing way out here?”

  Spinning around at the sound of her father’s booming voice, Rose almost lost her footing and fell over. At the last instant, she was able to steady herself and stay upright. She glanced at her father and twin brother riding toward her, then back over her shoulder. Thank the Lord above, White Owl was nowhere to be seen.

  “I swear, girlie, you are just lookin’ for trouble,” Paddy Adair yelled as he and Tate rode up to her. He did not give her a chance to say a word before he slid down to the ground to stand in front of her and began to shake his finger in her face. “I’ve told you again and again how dangerous it is out here with them savages still thinkin’ they own this entire country.”

  “Father, I was just going for a ride.” Rose stole a quick glance up at her brother and noticed the smirk on his lips. She quickly looked back at her father. His pale complexion was flushed dark red.

  “You just don’t understand, do you?” Paddy said in a voice that barely controlled his fury. “I am trying to save your hide, and if you keep defying me every chance you get, you’re gonna end up being kidnapped and . . .” Paddy shook his head vigorously and added, “I don’t even want to say the words out loud.”

  Rose lifted the long skirt of her dress and took a step closer to her father. “I am not in any danger here. The Utes are not violent peop—”

  “You really are crazy if you believe that,” Paddy interrupted. “They’d rather slit your throat than look at you, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.” Paddy glared down at his daughter.

  Rose opened her mouth to disagree, but the expression on his face convinced her to remain silent. She lowered her head down and gave a weak nod. If they had ridden over the ridge just a few seconds sooner they would had seen her talking to the Ute warrior. A shudder shook through her body. This time she had been so lucky, but she could never let it happen again.