Dear Reader,
Romances featuring Native American heroes and heroines have a long history at Silhouette Books, which is why we are delighted to bring you this special collection featuring three brand-new stories about a Native American legacy and the hope it brings to three different couples as they fall in love.
The legend begins with an historical romance set on the Western frontier, “Wolf Dreamer” by Madeline Baker. In this dramatic story, a woman’s spirit is restored by the proud Indian warrior who saves her life. And her happiness is secured by a cradleboard created to protect the lives of her future children.
The amulet from this cradleboard find its way into a cowboy’s hatband in the contemporary story “Cowboy Days and Indian Nights” by Kathleen Eagle. And it is this amulet that puts the rugged rodeo man in touch with his Native American roots as he finds his own future with a sweet woman looking to open her heart again to love.
The cradleboard itself is the only legacy the hero of “Seven Days” has left from his Native American parents. And the single mom he falls in love with helps restore his faith once more when she creates a new amulet and makes the heirloom—and her life—whole once more.
We hope you enjoy these wonderful stories!
All the best,
The Editors
Silhouette Books
MADELINE BAKER
has written over twenty historical novels, half a dozen short stories under her own name and over seventeen paranormal novels under the name Amanda Ashley as well as Madeline Baker. Born and raised in California, she admits balancing her love for historical romance and vampires isn’t easy—but she wouldn’t like to choose between them. The award-winning author has now found another outlet for her writing with Silhouette Romance. Readers can send a SASE to P.O. Box 1703, Whittier, CA 90609-1703 or visit her at her Web site http://madelinebaker.net.
KATHLEEN EAGLE
published her first book, an RWA Golden Heart Award winner, with Silhouette Books in 1984. Since then she has published more than thirty-five books, including historicals and contemporaries, series and single titles, earning her nearly every award in the industry, including the Lifetime Achievement Award from Romantic Times and RWA’s RITA®Award. Her books have consistently appeared on regional and national bestseller lists, including the New York Times extended bestseller list. Ms. Eagle live in Minnesota with her husband, who is Lakota Sioux and a public school teacher. They have three children.
RUTH WIND
is the award-winning author of both contemporary and historical romance novels. She lives in the mountains of the Southwest with her two growing sons and many animals in a hundred-year-old house the town blacksmith built. Her only hobby since she started writing is tending the ancient garden of irises, lilies and lavender beyond her office window, and she says she can think of no more satisfying way to spend a life than growing children, books and flowers. Ruth Wind also writes women’s fiction under the name Barbara Samuel. You can visit her Web site at www.barbarasamuel.com.
MADELINE BAKER
KATHLEEN EAGLE
RUTH WIND
Lakota Legacy
Contents
Wolf Dreamer
Madeline Baker
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Cowboy Days and Indian Nights
Kathleen Eagle
Dedication
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Seven Days
Ruth Wind
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
WOLF DREAMER
Madeline Baker
For Luke,
Because he always comes running to meet me;
His arms open wide to welcome me;
A smile on his face.
Dear Reader,
I was thrilled when I was asked to be a part of this anthology. Kathleen Eagle has long been one of my idols, and sharing a book with her and Ruth Wind is a dream come true.
As some of you may know, I’m always working on more than one story at a time because my Muse isn’t always reliable. Sometimes she takes a vacation, and sometimes she insists on doing things Her way! That’s what happened with “Wolf Dreamer.” Originally, this story was going to be a fantasy set in the mountains of a distant planet. However, my Muse didn’t like that idea, and the next thing I knew, my hero was no longer a wizard but a warrior. But as they say, all’s well that ends well.
Thanks to all of you who wrote to tell me how much you enjoyed Dude Ranch Bride, my very first Silhouette Romance novel. Thanks to my wonderful agent, that was another dream come true. My second Silhouette Romance book, West Texas Bride, will be out in November.
Best,
Madeline Baker
Prologue
She stood on the edge of a high mountain meadow, hiding behind a tree, captivated by the sight of a tall copper-skinned man dancing in the cool silver glow of a full moon, his waist-length hair his only covering. He chanted softly as he danced, his voice low, the words foreign to her ears, his steps graceful, elegant, intricate. She had watched him dance before. Always the same steps, always the same chant. He danced for what seemed like hours, untiring, his voice lifted toward heaven in what she was certain was a prayer.
She watched until her eyelids grew heavy and she sank down to the ground.
It was then that the mist came, rising from the earth, enveloping the dancer in a sparkling golden-brown haze.
It was then, between one breath and the next, that the miracle occurred. Copper-hued skin became thick black fur, his body changed, transformed, until the man was gone and in his place stood a huge wolf with golden-brown eyes. Lifting his head, he sniffed the air and then he turned, ever so slowly, toward her hiding place.
Startled, frightened beyond words, she leaped to her feet and began to run, her heart pounding, her pulse racing.
He was behind her. She knew it without looking, knew if she dared glance over her shoulder, she would see the wolf chasing her, gaining on her. She ran and ran. Ran until her sides ached, until her legs were weak and she couldn’t run any more. With a sob, she fell face down in the tall grass, her heart roaring like thunder in her ears as she felt the wolf’s hot breath blow across her cheek like the hot breath of a desert wind. She tried to tell herself there was nothing to fear, that wolves did not attack humans, but she knew, deep in her heart, that his teeth would soon rend her flesh.
She opened her mouth to scream….
And that was when she always woke up.
Chapter 1
He watched her as he did every day, drawn to her, to this place, without knowing why. Crouched behind a screen of tangled vines and wild blackberry bushes, he watched the white woman make her way down to the river. Her name was Rebecca Hathaway and she came here each day just before dusk. Sometimes she swam in the slow current, sometimes she just sat on the grassy bank and gazed
into the clear water, her expression pensive, often sad.
He had watched her off and on since she had come here five summers ago as a new bride. He had seen her eyes light with joy as she watched a brown-and-white calf struggle to take its first step, heard her laughter as she danced in the rain, listened to her sing, her voice soft and sweet, as she worked in the vegetable garden that grew behind the house.
He had watched her belly grow round with child, had listened to her tears when she stood over her husband’s grave. He did not know why the man had died and though it grieved him to see her in tears, he was pleased that she no longer shared her bed or her body with another.
This evening she had again come down to the river to bathe. A low growl rose in his throat as she stripped off her dress and petticoat and stepped into the water.
It pleased him to watch her.
It pained him to watch her.
The setting sun caressed her skin, making it glow like pale gold. Her eyes were the bright green of new grass in the springtime. Her hair, which was the color of the rich dark red earth of his homeland, caught the fading light, emphasizing the red highlights, turning the long silky strands to burnished copper.
She reached for the chunk of homemade hard yellow soap and began to wash. The soap smelled of flowers. The lather slid down her arms, down the valley between her breasts. Watching her, he was sorely tempted to join her there in the river, to feel her skin against his own, to lick the drops of water sliding down her slender neck and rounded belly…
He lifted his head and sniffed the wind, then slowly eased back into the shadows, his nostrils filling with the stink of unwashed bodies.
Strangers were coming.
Rebecca’s first warning that she was no longer alone was the jangle of horse harness, a sound she would forever associate with the day her husband had been killed, and with the army deserters who had killed him. Fear rose up within her, hot and swift and overpowering.
Scrambling out of the water, she grabbed her clothes and ran for the house, her heart pounding with fear. Fear for her own life. Fear for the life of her unborn child.
She screamed as three men on horseback rode into view, blocking her path.
Breathless, she stared up at them, covering her nudity as best she could with her crumpled dress and petticoat.
One of the men crossed his arms on the pommel of his saddle and leaned forward. He leered down at her, exposing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth.
The second man nudged his horse up beside her and dragged a hand through her wet hair. He was young, even younger than she was, with wavy brown hair and blue eyes. She thought he might help her, until he smiled. It was a cold, cruel smile.
The third man laughed as he dismounted. It was a sound filled with menace, not humor. “Told you, I did, that this would be our lucky day.”
Rebecca shook her head and backed away. “No. Don’t.” She placed her arm over her swollen belly in an age-old gesture of protection. “Please.”
“I like a woman what says please,” the third man said. He winked at his companions, then reached out to grab her arm.
With a strangled cry, Rebecca twisted out of his grasp. Throwing her dress and petticoat in his face, she turned and began to run back toward the river. And even as she ran, she knew she would never get away. She heard one of the men shout, heard the sound of running feet behind her as all three men gave chase.
Please, oh please, oh please…
The cry echoed silently in her mind as she raced toward the river. A large flat rock jutted out over the deepest part of the water. If she could just make it to the rock…it would all be over. She would hurl herself into the river. Better to drown than be at the mercy of these barbarians.
I’m sorry, so sorry… Unspoken words, meant for her unborn child.
She wasn’t going to make it. She could feel the earth vibrate beneath her bare feet as the three men drew closer. Almost, she could feel their breath on her back…
She screamed as another man burst out of the cover of the trees. They had her surrounded!
Images planted themselves in her mind—lean copper-hued flesh, long black hair, piercing golden brown eyes.
In movements that were almost too fast for the eye to follow, he nocked an arrow to his bow and let it fly. Once, twice, and two of the men chasing her were dead. The last man managed to fire his rifle before her rescuer let a third arrow fly. With a sharp cry of pain, the man fell backward to lie motionless in the dirt. For a moment, she stared at the bodies, astonished, as always, at how quickly lives could be snuffed out.
Taking a deep breath, she turned around to thank the man who had come to her rescue, but he was gone, leaving nothing behind but a faint trail of blood. Had he been wounded? Was he dead, too?
Concern for his welfare overcame her fear of what she might find and she followed the blood droplets until they disappeared.
It was only when she turned for home that she remembered that she was naked. Retracing her footsteps, she picked up her dress. She shook out the dirt before slipping it over her head, then stepped into her petticoat, smoothed her skirts, and took a deep breath. She would have to dispose of the bodies. But how? And where?
Walking up the path to the house, she was surprised to see the horses of the three men gathered in the yard. They had run away when the fighting started; now they were back, standing close together, ears twitching as they watched her.
Speaking softly, she walked toward them. Her own horse had died not long ago. Taking up the reins of the three horses, she led them into the small corral behind the house. The pen was in need of repair, but it was the only one she had. One of the horses, a pretty little bay with a star on its forehead, nuzzled her arm as she removed the saddle. She stood there a moment, scratching the bay’s ears. It calmed her somehow, and for a few minutes it kept her from thinking of what had almost happened.
Leading the bay out of the corral, she closed the gate. Going to the barn, she found a shovel and a pair of heavy work gloves. She would bury the bodies in the woods where the dirt was soft, where she could cover the graves with pine needles and deadfall.
The bay shied at the scent of blood and death, but Rebecca finally coaxed the mare to drag the bodies into the woods, one by one.
It was dark by the time she managed to dig a grave large enough for all three of the men. She covered the shallow hole with pine needles and branches and rocks, then stood back, her hands resting on her belly. She knew she should offer a prayer for their souls, but she simply couldn’t do it. Rot in hell, she thought. I’ve buried you, and that’s enough.
Later, lying in her lonely bed, her back and shoulders aching, she wondered what had happened to the mysterious man who had saved her life.
He crawled toward the river on his hands and knees. His body burned with fever; the bullet lodged in his side throbbed with every movement, every breath. He had tried to remove it with his knife, but to no avail. It was lodged under a rib and he hadn’t been able to pry it out.
He sighed as he slid into the water. It felt like winter rain against his heated skin. He drank deeply, hoping to cool the fire raging within him, clawed at the shore as his empty belly rebelled and he began to vomit up the cold water.
He felt a faint vibration in the earth beneath his hands, looked up to see the woman walking toward him. He crawled out of the river, head hanging as he tried to gather his strength to rise, to run, but his legs refused to hold him and he pitched forward, a wave of dizziness sucking him down, down, into darkness…
Rebecca stared at the man sprawled face down on the riverbank. The early-morning sunlight glistened on his broad back and shoulders and long, long legs. His hair gleamed wetly, a mane of thick black that fell almost to his waist.
Curious, she took a step forward, and then another. Who was he? What was he doing here? And where were his clothes?
He groaned softly as she rolled him over. Ribbons of bright crimson oozed from a ragged hole in his side.
> She recognized him instantly. It was the man from her nightmares. The man who had come to her aid the day before.
His eyelids fluttered open, and she found herself staring into a pair of golden brown eyes clouded with pain.
“Can you stand up?” she asked. “I can’t lift you.”
He stared at her for a moment, his gaze unfocused, and then he nodded.
Rebecca slid her arm under his shoulders and after several false starts, managed to get him to his feet. He swayed unsteadily and then, step by slow step, they walked toward the house. He towered over her. Heat radiated from his skin. She managed to get him inside the door before he collapsed.
Rebecca stared down at him, watching as blood pooled beneath him, staining the raw plank floor.
With a sigh, she went into her small kitchen, wondering if she wouldn’t have been better off to leave him where he was. For all she knew, he could be one of the men who had killed her husband. She shook the thought aside. Had he been one of those men, he would not have aided her yesterday.
She gathered the items she needed, tied an apron around her waist, filled a bowl with water. Moments later, she knelt at his side. Taking a deep breath, she washed the area around the wound, then picked up a slender-bladed knife and began to probe the area.
At her touch, the man growled low in his throat and began to thrash about.
“Don’t.” She placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been hurt. I’m trying to help you.”
His eyes opened at the sound of her voice.
“It will be all right,” she said soothingly. “Don’t move. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
He continued to thrash about, reminding her of a wild animal trying to bite the hand that wanted only to help.
Removing the sash from her robe, she drew his hands up over his head, bound his wrists together with the sash and secured them to the leg of the heavy wooden table her husband had made.
The man stared at her, his eyes narrowed with anger and pain, as she straddled his legs and bent her head to her task.
Lakota Legacy: Wolf DreamerCowboy Days and Indian NightsSeven Days Page 1
