Again they circled. River moved in closer and tossed his knife to his left hand. While the Indian’s eyes followed the blade, River surprised him with a hard blow, low in his left side.
Running Elk staggered but recovered quickly. Angry now, he lunged. River sidestepped out of harm’s way. Running Elk turned and lunged again. This time, River caught his right hand and twisted. The knife fell, and River kicked it away.
Running Elk broke free and watched him warily. River grinned and threw his own knife after the Indian’s. He read surprise but no pleasure in the other’s face; Running Elk wasn’t happy about the prospect of a fist fight. Good! he thought. Let’s do this on my terms now.
River moved in, delivering several hard blows. Running Elk got in several hits himself. River knew he was trying to work his way toward the edge of the crowd where the knives lay. River hooked his leg around Running Elk’s again and tried to knock him off-balance. It didn’t work a second time; Running Elk twisted away and tried to edge around River, glancing at the knives.
River saw his eyes leave him for an instant and feinted with his right, then followed hard and fast with a left-handed blow to the man’s face. Running Elk fell backward, and River was on him, pinning his hands to the ground. While Running Elk tried to shake him loose, he planted his left knee on the warrior’s forearm. His free hand went to his boot and pulled out the smaller knife.
Running Elk paled when he saw the blade gleaming in the white man’s hand. He went still, gauging his chances. He saw none and decided to die bravely.
River read the decision on his face and brought the knife slowly toward his throat. He waited a moment, catching his breath, then spoke softly. “I think I can protect her.”
Running Elk only glared at him.
River let the tip of the knife touch the brown skin then drew it away. He came swiftly to his feet but kept the knife poised in case Running Elk doubted that the fight was over.
“Why do you not kill me?” Running Elk made no move to rise.
“Your people need you to protect them, to help feed them.”
Running Elk shook his head.
River slid the knife into his boot. He reached out to Running Elk to help him rise. “You saved my woman’s life. I have no wish to ride away to the sound of your women weeping.”
After a moment of hesitation, Running Elk clasped the offered arm just below the elbow and came to his feet. “Besides,” River said, “I may need you for a friend someday.”
Running Elk rose to his full height. “I will never be a white man’s friend.”
River grinned. “Suit yourself.” He walked to the knives, slipping his own into the sheath on his thigh and tossing the other to Running Elk. The villagers were talking and smiling, obviously pleased with the show. River supposed, however, that they would have been at least as happy to see Running Elk kill him.
He met Sarah coming slowly toward him. She touched a shaking finger to his bloody face. He gathered her into his arms and held her. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, not knowing Sarah had been about to whisper the same thing.
* * *
The sun was dipping low in the sky when River helped Sarah onto the pinto and mounted the black. Deer Tracks had invited them to eat and stay the night in the village, but River had declined, knowing Sarah would be happier away from the Indians. Besides, after three days and nights of constant worry, he felt a need to have his Sarah to himself.
The Sioux village was situated at a bend in a little creek, which River followed upstream, looking almost immediately for a place to camp. He watched Sarah as he rode, aware by now that the straight back and calm face could hide exhaustion. “We’ll stop soon,” he said softly.
Sarah nodded slightly. “I knew you would come.”
River was amazed at how good that simple statement made him feel. He couldn’t help but grin at her. “You did?”
Sarah turned to him. “I don’t know how I knew it when you didn’t come the last time.”
“Last time?” River prompted.
Sarah swallowed. She hadn’t meant to talk about the past. She didn’t want River upset with her, not now when she needed him so badly. When she spoke, she heard the tremor in her voice. “When I was in jail.”
“Sarah, you refused to see me. I went to that jail every day...” He froze as his memory revealed things he hadn’t understood at the time. “Father.”
Sarah watched him curiously. “You did come?” she whispered, almost afraid to believe it.
River let out a slow breath and mumbled, “I wonder what else the old man managed to interfere with.” He turned to her, studying the deep brown eyes that held a mixture of hope and bewilderment. “How did you know I would come this time?”
She shrugged, deciding not to answer directly. “I thought you would come, and die because of me.” She turned away as her eyes filled with tears.
River wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss away the tears. There would be time for that when they found a place to camp, he reminded himself. And serious conversation could wait until they had had a rest. He nodded his understanding. “Then I guess you would have made Running Elk a good second wife.”
“Second wife?”
River shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe third.”
Sarah remembered the two women in the lodge and wondered if either was Running Elk’s wife. Maybe both were! They hadn’t seemed jealous of her; in fact they had been quite kind. She decided River must be teasing her. At least her eyes were dry now.
When River found a spot to his liking, he dismounted and helped Sarah to the ground. His hands on her waist and the nearness of her body made him want to hold her again. He kept thinking about how close he had come to losing her, and holding her seemed the best way to chase away the awful feeling. Instead, he bent and placed a quick kiss on her lips before releasing her. She needed food and rest, and his own needs would have to wait. “Start a fire,” he said. “I’ll take care of the horses.”
Sarah nodded, watching him go, relieved that he didn’t go far. There was plenty of wood, and she had it arranged inside a circle of rocks in short order. River was still rubbing down the horses, and she went to join him. She glanced at the packs on the ground before speaking. “I’m not going to look for flint and steel when I know you carry matches in your pocket.”
River found the match and held it out to her. “Before you start supper, how about a swim?”
The suggestion made Sarah feel too shy to take the match from his fingers. A bath would feel wonderful, and it wasn’t as if their bodies were strangers. But it had always been dark before.
The heat in River’s eyes brought a warm glow to Sarah’s face. She took the match, nodding slowly, and River grinned. “There’s soap in that smaller pack. Feel free to start without me.”
Sarah took the pack he had indicated and returned to start the fire, knowing the heat would be welcome after a swim in the cold stream. She found the soap and glanced toward River. He seemed to be more interested in the pinto than in her.
At the bank, she removed her dress. Kneeling in her chemise at the edge of the stream, she wet the old dress and rubbed it with soap. She discovered several small tears and one large one. It wouldn’t take much more mending; sun and soap had faded most of the print from its original blue to a dull white.
She was hanging it on a pine branch near the fire when River joined her. He brought the other packs with him and, rummaging through one, came up with blankets and two clean shirts. “I personally would prefer that you wear only a blanket,” he said. “But there’s a shirt if you’d like.”
She smiled her thanks, leaning toward him invitingly.
River chuckled. “Don’t tempt me, Prairie Fire.” Her eyes narrowed at the use of the Indian name, and he laughed, turning her toward the stream. “The cool water’ll be good for your sunburn and cuts and bruises, not to mention mine.” He touched his cheekbone where a cut had swollen enough to keep it from closing. His fingers came away
sticky. “But let’s do it before it gets too cool.”
Sarah turned her back on River, removed her shoes and stockings and finally the chemise. She picked up the soap and self-consciously waded into the water. It was cool as River had predicted, but it felt good to her feet, sore from days of walking. In a moment, River was behind her, the warmth of his body contrasting sharply with the chill of the water.
“We can’t exactly swim,” he said, noting how the water barely came to his knees.
“It’s too cold, anyway.” Sarah knew there was more than one reason for the quiver in her voice.
“At least it’s clear.” River bent and dipped a small square of cloth in the water and held it out to her. “I thought you might not be too eager to lie here and soak.”
She reached for the cloth, recognizing it as a piece of one of the rough gray blankets.
“On second thought,” he said, pulling it away, “I’ll keep this so I can wash your back.” He bent to kiss her lips as he took the soap from her hand.
She laughed and turned around, holding her chestnut hair off her shoulders with both hands. The shock of the water made her gasp. The cold, rough cloth and his strong, gentle hands seemed to be two kinds of torture.
And he didn’t stop with her back. She protested once that she could manage, but he ignored her, planting occasional kisses that made her knees tremble. Finally he stood in front of her and lifted her chin. He worked the cloth carefully over the sunburned face. He noticed the rope burns on her neck and planted a soft kiss there.
“The Indians?” he questioned gently.
“Gaines.”
His eyes narrowed, but she shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about any of it. She could feel a warmth reach across the space between her chilled body and his still-dry frame. She rested her hands against his chest as he washed her face. He felt warm, strong and safe. In a moment her head was against his chest and his arms were wrapped protectively around her.
He kissed the top of her head. “You better get back to the fire before you freeze.”
She nodded, feeling slightly disappointed. River had left a blanket near the bank, and she dried herself quickly, leaving it for him to use. She scurried to the fire and donned one of the clean shirts before wrapping another blanket around her shoulders.
She added more wood to the fire and tried to warm her feet, hopping from one to the other while she clutched the blanket around her. She heard River laugh and turned to scowl at him. He had obviously been less hesitant to submerse himself in the cold stream. Water dripped from his hair to his sleek shoulders, and the last of the sunlight glistened in the hair on his body. He walked out of the water, and Sarah thought she shouldn’t look but did anyway. He picked up the damp blanket, and she realized he was watching her with that easy grin of his.
“See if you can find something for us to eat,” he said. She turned away but knew he was still grinning at her.
She rigged the blanket around her waist to serve as a skirt and knelt by the packs. Two canteens were lying nearby, their wet leather coverings indicating they had been recently filled. She found the utensils first and put water on to boil. In the packs she found coffee, salt pork, rice, beans and a variety of staples. There was even one of Eli’s precious cans of peaches.
“How long did you expect to be looking for me?” she asked over her shoulder. “There’s a lot of food here.”
It was a moment before River spoke. “Eli believes in being prepared.”
She didn’t know what was taking him so long to dress and come to the fire, but she was afraid to look and see. She knew she was being foolish, but it embarrassed her when he caught her watching him. Her feet were cold, and she wished she had her shoes and stockings, but they were by the stream with her chemise—with River.
She busied herself with supper preparations. Finally she heard him approaching and looked up. And swallowed. He was dry now but still naked. In his hands he carried a bundle of wet clothes, which he proceeded to hang on branches near her dress. She was staring again, watching the muscles play across his shoulders, his legs, his buttocks.
He shook out one of her stockings. The intimacy of him washing her stocking was almost as startling as his nakedness. “I about lost one of these little bitty things,” he said. “It would have washed right down to the Indian village. Wonder what they’d make of that.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, grinning. “What’s the matter? Don’t you strip down naked to wash your clothes?”
All she could do was stare.
“There’s a certain efficiency to it,” he concluded, turning back to his work.
Sarah tried to return her attention to supper but failed. The rice was going to stick if she didn’t stir it. She realized she was staring at River again when she felt the edge of the pot burn her hand. She jerked away, nearly knocking the rice into the fire. She brought the wound to her mouth and hoped River hadn’t seen her. It did at least give her the determination to stop watching him.
After a few minutes he dropped her shoes near her and strolled to the packs. She set the rice and pork off the fire, near the plates, before reaching for the shoes.
She was pulling them on when he spoke. “In the morning we ought to go back to the Indian village and see what we can trade for a pair of moccasins for you.”
Sarah gave him a withering look, and he laughed. He had pulled on a pair of clean pants and was sliding his arms into the sleeves of a shirt. “We’ll be in Fort Laramie soon.”
Then what? she thought.
She watched him search the pockets of his jacket. He withdrew an envelope and something that looked like a wad of paper. He uttered a surprised laugh and turned to watch her a moment before approaching the fire. “This belongs to you,” he said, holding out the envelope. “Bull must have taken the jewelry box. I found it near...” He didn’t finish.
She set the envelope aside as if it were unimportant, brushing away the memory of Bull and Herman. She was relieved River had seen the clippings. It had been foolish not to show them to him in the beginning. Wanting him to believe her, trust her, not some newspaper, had been a childish dream. “The box?” she asked, trying to sound unconcerned.
“Broken to splinters.” He saw the disappointment in her eyes before she turned away. Did his gift from so long ago mean something to her? He found himself wanting to grin.
Sarah reached for a plate to fill, but he stopped her. “This is yours, too.”
The tiny paper-wrapped parcel didn’t seem familiar. She looked into his eyes as she took it from his outstretched hand. A gift, she realized. In a moment, she lifted the red satin ribbon from its wrappings and eyed him curiously.
“I got it for you at the Hollenberg Ranch.” At her startled look he nodded. “Yeah, way back then. I didn’t get around to giving it to you and forgot about it.”
Sarah smiled. Now that he knew the truth, perhaps it was safe to recall the old days. “Red, Daniel?”
River looked at her sharply as his memory flashed a picture of the younger Sarah holding the red dress he had just given her. “Of course, red,” he said softly.
Their eyes held each other’s for a long moment. It was River who broke the spell. “Is that food for us?”
Sarah laughed, dropping the ribbon in her lap. She dipped up his supper and handed him his plate. Before she dipped up her own, she used the ribbon to tie her hair at the back of her neck.
“Thank you, River,” she said.
River found himself disappointed she hadn’t called him Daniel. He was sure she had deliberately reminded him of the past. He had hoped it meant she was beginning to trust him, but now he wasn’t sure. She had known he would come for her; surely that was a good sign.
He set his empty plate on the ground and cleared his throat. It was now or never. “Sarah, what do you plan to do?”
Sarah started to shrug, then squared her shoulders. “I plan to open a dressmaker’s shop. I can take in mending and laundry until it gets going.” She had
a feeling her words sounded rehearsed.
“Does it matter where you do that?”
Sarah looked up from the plate she had been carefully studying. “What do you mean?”
River leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Do you remember what we used to talk about doing?”
Sarah laughed. “You mean the branch of your father’s store we were going to set up somewhere that would include gambling tables and a dance floor?”
River acknowledged the description with a rueful grin but turned serious quickly. “It wasn’t all crazy, Sarah. There are little mining towns all over California where folks’ll pay a lot for the simplest supplies. We won’t be in partnership with my father, of course, but I remember some of what he tried to teach me, and I know how to get the supplies across the mountains.”
Sarah wasn’t sure what he was saying. He was looking at her expectantly, as if her approval were somehow important. “We?” was all she could manage to ask.
“I wouldn’t expect you to go back east for supplies every year. You could mind the store and sew your dresses. Rice could drive a wagon, and we could hire the rest. Maybe Nathan will stick around.”
“We?”
River stopped. His plans had come so far in his own mind that he was springing them all on Sarah too quickly. “Do you think you might want to cast your lot in with me?”
Sarah didn’t know what to make of the things he was saying. Part of her was screaming, You won’t have to leave him! But he had said nothing of marriage. This was a partnership he was discussing. “You could mind the store,” he had said.
At her hesitation, he spoke again, afraid to hear her objections. “It wouldn’t have to be California, Sarah. I’d go anywhere you wanted.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “River—” she started.
He interrupted. “Sarah, I love you. I’m sure you love me. I can’t lose you again.”
She stared at him, her plate forgotten on her lap. Was he only offering this because he knew he had made a mistake six years ago? Was he suggesting this partnership out of guilt? She had decided she would take whatever he offered, but somehow this hurt too much. She started to shake her head, but he raised his hands to stop her.
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