Mattie could barely keep up, and Sakote had to hook an arm around her waist to swing her up over one difficult pile of rocks. They rushed through the cedars and scrub oak at a hectic pace, skipping along a shallow stream, but the wasps swarmed after just as quickly, and Mattie wondered how they’d ever outdistance the vermin.
She was just about ready to surrender. Surely the wasps’ stings couldn’t be as painful as the knife-ache cramping her side from running.
But Sakote yelled, "Jump!"
And before she could even take a breath, they went plunging, hand in hand, over the crest of Sakote’s waterfall and into the deep pool below.
She hit the water with a smack. Her dress whipped instantly over her head as she sank beneath the frigid waves. She scrabbled at her skirts, trying to claw them away from her face, but they clung stubbornly, pulling her down with their weight.
She’d almost run out of breath when a strong arm wrapped around her, tugging her dress from her face and hauling her up to the surface.
She drew in a large gasp of air and shivered, half from the cold, half in fear. Through the soaking strands of her hair, she could see Sakote, his hair gleaming wetly, his teeth shining, his eyes bright with victory.
"Safe," he proclaimed.
Mattie gripped his broad shoulders, too afraid of drowning in her waterlogged garments to let go. He seemed to have no trouble supporting the both of them, even though the bottom of the pool lay far below, and she marveled at the strength in his body. She supposed it was from swimming so much. The muscles of his shoulders bunched as he made wide ripples through the water with his arms.
Safe, he’d said, and yet she didn’t feel safe at all, not with the way his eyes glistened and his arms flexed and his sumptuous mouth hovered only inches away. He was so near she could count the drops of water rolling down his chiseled cheek and whiff the faint scent of mint tea on his breath. Safe? On the contrary, she felt completely vulnerable.
"You weren’t stung?" His ebony brows curved upward in the most endearing way when he asked her a question. She wanted to reach up and touch one of them.
She shook her head. Then her eyes settled on his mouth again—his wide, wet, sensual mouth that slowly, languorously curved up into a delicious smile.
"You still want me to make the kiss with you," he accused.
She blinked, startled. Were her thoughts painted on her forehead? Sakote certainly didn’t waste his breath on coy flattery. No one would ever accuse him of mincing words. But somehow his manner was oddly refreshing, and she saw by his easy grin, there was no need for her to reply.
The world slowed as he inclined his head toward her. The water lapped gently at her skin, and the damselflies made lazy circles through the air. His breath felt warm upon her mouth, but as he pressed his lips to hers, she could taste the chill creek upon him. Their kiss was sweet, tender, innocent, and Mattie got the fleeting notion that perhaps Sakote had never kissed anyone before her.
That impression didn’t last long, or else he learned quickly. He captured her head in one hand, holding her still to slant his mouth across hers, deepening the kiss. Her lips softened beneath his, opening for him, and the shock of his warm tongue upon her cool flesh made her gasp with pleasure. His breath quickened upon her cheek as he feasted hungrily upon her.
A moan rasped across her throat, and he gentled his touch, nipping at his leisure, savoring each joining of their lips. Every fiber of her being centered on the fire they made with their mouths, and it wasn’t until icy water gurgled into her nose that she realized they were sinking.
He jerked, too, apparently as startled as she. Then he laughed lightly. It was a seductive sound, intimate, and it flowed over her like warm honey.
"We should climb out. I’d be happy to drown here in your arms," he murmured, "but my mother would mourn the loss of her favorite white woman."
Mattie swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say. She knew she must be troublesome to Sakote’s people, and yet, with a few words, Sakote made her feel so treasured.
He half-turned in the water, giving her his back, and looped her arms around his neck.
"Hold on."
Then he swam for shore, his muscular back twisting beneath her with powerful strokes, his legs kicking up a froth behind them.
Her garments as heavy as a wet carpet, Mattie attempted to climb from the pool. Sakote gave her his arm, but his drenched moccasins afforded little purchase on the slippery stone.
"This dress, it’s dangerous," he told her when he finally managed to pluck her from the water.
Mattie had to laugh at that. Dresses with plunging necklines and bare shoulders were dangerous. Her high-buttoned, prim, proper, practical frock was nothing but, well, frumpy. And at this moment, it was a bother. It would take hours to dry, but, thanks to Doc Jim’s brother, she owned no other garment.
Without a word, Sakote began unfastening the buttons at the back of her bodice, which were even more challenging when they were wet. She felt she should stop him, but there really was no other way. She certainly couldn’t manage them herself. And she had to get out of the dress to dry it.
After several long, silent minutes with little progress, Sakote finally spit out a phrase that sent Mattie into gales of laughter.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard and said "damn it" of late herself. It just sounded so comical coming from this noble savage. But before her laughter could die, she heard a rip, and the back of her dress fell forward in a spontaneous curtsey, revealing her chemise.
"What did you..?" she demanded.
He showed her his knife. "Later I’ll make laces for the dress," he explained. “Laces are better."
"Laces are not better," she argued. Although they might be more convenient, buttons were the hallmark of a civilized society. She certainly couldn’t walk around with rawhide laces running through her gown.
He didn’t bother to counter her. He knew he was right, and she’d learned he had the patience to wait days if necessary for her to admit the truth. With an exasperated sigh, she wiggled the dress down over her chemise and stepped from the pile of drenched fabric. Her irritation didn’t last long, especially when he beguiled her by sweeping the dress up and flinging it over a sunlit bush like some cavalier gentleman of old.
"Climb onto the rock, and I’ll take off your shoes."
His gaze skimmed her body as he spoke, and she suddenly felt naked despite her chemise. Still, she resisted the strong urge to cross her arms over her breasts. She knew her dip in the pool had reduced the linen to little more than a diaphanous mist covering her body. But she supposed Sakote was accustomed to seeing women’s breasts. Even his mother, with her sagging and wrinkled bosom, seemed to think nothing of roaming the camp without her deerskin cloak. And Mattie had to admit, it gave her a giddy, sensual freedom to flaunt society’s morals, feeling the warm breeze shiver across the cool, clinging fabric.
Using Sakote’s arm to steady her, Mattie took a step toward the rock.
"Wait!" he warned.
Mattie peered down. A salamander wriggled across the wet stones at her feet. "Don’t worry. I won’t step on it."
"You must hold one hand behind your back."
Mattie frowned. What did he mean?
"If you step over a salamander," he confided, "you must hold one hand behind you, or you’ll be cursed with back pains."
She glanced sharply at him, and she could tell at once that he only half believed what he said. It was a Konkow superstition then, like throwing salt over your shoulder.
She obliged him in exaggerated fashion, taking a giant step over the little creature and perching atop the granite boulder.
Sakote removed his own moccasins and hung them upside down on the maroon branches of a manzanita. Then he reached for her foot.
Her damp shoe squeaked as he tugged the laces apart and seesawed it from her foot. She wiggled her toes while he removed the second and placed the shoes alongside his on the bush. How small they looked besi
de the big moccasins, and how uncomfortable.
He guessed her thoughts. "Your toes are unhappy. When we return to the village, I’ll make moccasins to make your feet smile."
They were smiling now, she thought. He’d cupped one of them in his hand and he began to massage it, spreading her toes and running the wide pad of his thumb along the arch till she groaned in ecstasy. By the time he finished the other foot, she sagged on her elbows atop the rock, her eyes closed in pleasure, her head nodding back in the brindled sunlight, content as a well-scratched hound.
He was so quiet, she almost didn’t notice when he stretched out beside her on the boulder. She opened one eye to peek at him. He had such a noble profile, with his high cheekbones, his arched nose, and those deep-set eyes, now lidded as he basked sleepily in the sun. A half-smile touched his lips, and she wondered what amusing thoughts crept through his mind. He was Neptune, with his hair splayed across the rock and his skin adorned with crystal gems of dew. Now and then a silvery drop would roll off one of his splendid muscles to disappear into the black and white pattern of the granite or to join the tiny pool formed by the hollow of his navel.
Mattie bit her lip. She wanted to touch him. Her cheeks flamed as her thoughts flew on against her will. She longed to lick the droplets from his chest. She imagined the taste—the metallic tang of the water, the clean evergreen flavor of his skin. She wanted to nuzzle his wet hair, to feel the strands like watered silk upon her cheek. And she longed to follow the contours of his body with her palm, gliding over his wide chest, across the smooth plane of his belly, around the hipbones protruding above the edge of his low-slung loincloth.
If it was possible, her blush blushed then, for in the sopping state of his meager garment, his hipbones weren’t the only thing protruding. With an internal squeak of panic, Mattie slammed her eyes shut and lay back on the rock, knocking the back of her head on the hard granite. She tried to lay quiet, but her mind raced a mile a minute, and it was a long while before the sun lulled her out of her stiff posture into a light doze.
The sun had risen a full fist higher when she awakened to the skittering of something between Sakote and her, something that halted beside her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a gray lizard pushing up and down on its front limbs. She would have gasped and leaped to her feet, but Sakote’s hand snapped out like lightning, capturing the tiny dragon.
"Ah, Sister Lizard, have you come to visit the white woman?"
He braced up on one elbow and peered at the reptile, whose head peeked out from between his thumb and first finger. Mattie sat up cautiously, edging out of harm’s way. She wondered how long Sakote had been awake, how long he’d been watching her.
"I think you’ve frightened her," he murmured.
"How could I frighten her? I was sleeping," Mattie said defensively.
He smiled. "I was speaking to the lizard."
Mattie opened her mouth, then clapped it shut. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I’m not frightened."
He swung his hand toward her. "Do you wish to hold her then?"
"No!" she answered all too swiftly, earning a toothsome grin from Sakote.
"It’s all right, little sister," he soothed, stroking the head of the lizard, which now wriggled in his hand. "She means you no harm."
Mattie shuddered. She hoped Sakote wasn’t like the naughty schoolboys who liked to drop frogs onto girls’ laps.
He sat up, cross-legged, on the boulder. "I’ll tell you a story," he said, "to ease your heart."
She glanced up at those wickedly innocent brows. "All right, but I’m not sure..."
He chuckled softly.
"Don’t tell me," she said. "You were talking to the lizard."
He grinned. "Sister Lizard likes my stories."
She rolled her eyes, but settled herself, cross-legged like he was, on the rock, so that they sat almost knee to knee. She liked the Konkow stories, too. By the campfire, Sakote had translated for her, and she’d learned about the creation of the world by Wonomi and Turtle, who’d dug up the clay of the earth. She’d heard the legend of the first man, Kuksu, and his woman, the morning star, who was made of red earth and water. And she knew the way Oleli, Coyote, had introduced death to the Konkow. They were tales she would never forget.
"This is the story of how Oleli stole fire."
Mattie’s lips twitched. Sakote truly was speaking to the lizard, frowning intently down at the thing nestled in his hand.
"Oleli, in his travels to Histum Yani, the mountain of Wonomi’s sweat lodge, discovered there a people who had fire. They cooked with this fire, and kept warm by it, and the fire lit up the darkness of the night. Now Oleli knew how the Konkow, the people of the valley, suffered in the time of ko-meni, how they feared the cold and death of winter, so he told the Konkow he would bring the fire to them."
Sakote’s low voice was musical and breathy, like a wind blowing through the glade, part of nature, and Mattie sighed as his words wafted across her ears.
"Oleli waited until the Fire People were sleeping, and he stole a part of the flame. But the Fire People woke and chased Oleli to the bottom of the mountain. One of them reached for Oleli’s tail, and burned it. Today you can see that the tip of Coyote’s tail is still white."
Sakote glanced up to see what Mattie thought of this, and she gave him a dubious smile. Then he turned the lizard over in his hand so its pale belly lay exposed. As he spoke, he began to stroke the creature with his fingertip.
"At the bottom of the mountain, Oleli flung the fire away from him. But the other animals had come to help, and so Squirrel caught the flame and carried it on her back, fleeing from the Fire People by leaping through the trees. After a while, the flame burned her back, too, so that her tail curled up. And so it has been ever since."
All the while he told the tale, he kept stroking the lizard, which lay blissfully on its back.
"Squirrel then threw the flame to Chipmunk, but Chipmunk was too frightened to run. The Fire People reached out for him and clawed at his back just before he could escape. And to this day you can see Chipmunk’s stripes from their claws."
Mattie felt hypnotized herself, watching Sakote work his magic on the lizard. Before, the reptile had twitched and wiggled in his hand, but now it lay docile, as if it were perfectly natural to bask in the palm of a man’s hand.
"Chipmunk tossed the flame to Frog, but the Fire People grabbed Frog by the tail. With a great leap, Frog tore himself free, but he left his tail behind. And so it is that Frog has no tail."
Mattie watched Sakote’s finger, stroking so lightly, so carefully along the belly of the little creature, and she suddenly yearned to feel that touch upon her own skin. Her eyes grew strangely heavy, and she squirmed at the disquieting bent of her thoughts.
"Finally, Frog cast the flame onto Wood, and Wood swallowed it. But no matter how they tried, how much they sang and shouted and struck it, Wood would not give the flame back to the Fire People. And so the Fire People returned to Histum Yani."
She wasn’t listening to the story anymore. All she could think about was the brush of Sakote’s fingers and how she wanted them upon her lips, on her cheek, caressing her throat, and, God help her, slipping lower.
"Now Oleli knew how to get the flame out, and so he returned to the Konkows and showed them how to do it—by rubbing two sticks of Wood together. And that is how Oleli stole fire. Akina."
Mattie blinked as if coming out of a dream. Akina. That meant the story was done. Sakote had stopped petting the lizard, and it lay quiet in his hand now.
"Sister Lizard likes my touch," he murmured.
Mattie’s tongue felt brandy-thick. Sister Lizard wasn’t the only one, she thought. Mattie stared at the beautiful savage, at the fall of his silken hair about his shoulders, the golden angles of his face, the soft sparkle of his eyes, and felt a rush of undeniable desire.
He held her gaze for a moment, amusement smoldering into something else, something dangerous and unpredi
ctable, before he looked away. He carefully set the lizard upon a small rock, then returned his attention to Mattie.
"Did you like the story?" he breathed.
She nodded, but she was too full of longing to smile.
He leaned forward, his knee touching hers, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she shivered at the intimate gesture. He left his palm upon her cheek and gently but willfully commanded her gaze.
"You wish you were Sister Lizard," he whispered.
Mattie’s face flushed, and she gulped.
His thumb traced her trembling lips. "Don’t be afraid."
She wasn’t afraid. At least not of him. She was more frightened by her own feelings. She felt as if she was about to render the most wondrous portrait, and she didn’t know where to begin.
Sakote wanted to make a kiss with Mati. Her mouth was as warm and sweet as the honey of kawkati, summer, and he thought he’d never fill his hunger for that taste. But Mati was afraid, quaking under his palm even more than the lizard. He must be patient.
"Your skin is smooth and pale like the white deer," he told her, brushing his knuckles over her cheek, letting the soothing music of his voice work its enchantment. "And your hair, it catches the colors of the sun." He rubbed a strand of it between his fingers, and then he circled the rim of her ear with the tip of his finger. Her eyelids flagged, and her soft sigh sent an unexpected bolt of desire through him. He raked both hands through her hair, capturing the damp tresses, smoothing her forehead with his thumbs, watching the fluttering of her nose and the parting of her lips. By Wonomi, he wanted to make a kiss with her. Now.
His breath came heavy in his chest. Mati’s eyes drifted close, and he pulled her closer, inclining toward her until he felt her breath upon his mouth. This kiss was warm with sun and as sense-stealing as the white man’s whiskey. Sakote felt the world slide and tilt as he closed his eyes to savor the nectar of her lips.
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 120
