Dream Warrior: His Savage Kiss

by Bobbi Smith

  Ben gave Tall Shadow an uncertain look. He wasn't thinking about marrying this girl. He just wanted to talk to her. Ben almost laughed out loud at the idea of singing outside her tipi. He knew it was a good thing he wasn't a Cheyenne warrior, for if his state of wedlock depended on singing ability, he'd probably be a bachelor to the end of his days.

  Tall Shadow called out to one of the women nearby to ask where Star Blossom had gone. When the woman told him that she'd returned to the creek, he showed Ben which path would lead him to her.

  Ben moved slowly down the path. He wanted to talk to Star Blossom, but he was unsure how she would react to seeing him again. Certainly, when he'd smiled at her earlier, she hadn't seemed overly receptive. He stopped halfway to his destination to debate with himself. He argued that the smart thing to do would be to forget the whole thing. Finally, though, he decided to brave it out. The worst thing that could happen, he reasoned, would be that she'd refuse to speak to him, and she'd already done that once.

  Ben moved down the narrow trek that would lead him to her. A pretty flower blooming along the side of the walkway caught his eye. He picked it and hurried on. As he neared the water, the sound of feminine voices came to him. Moving closer, he saw her, standing with several other young women. Suddenly, he felt a little foolish holding the flower, and he hid it behind his back.

  "Star Blossom . . ." He called her name.

  Star Blossom was startled by this unexpected intrusion. The girls who were with her giggled nervously as they saw the white man, and they quickly disappeared, leaving the two of them alone.

  Star Blossom watched Ben coming toward her and wondered why she hadn't noticed before just how very handsome he was. His shoulders were broad and strong, his waist was trim, his legs long and hard-muscled. It was his eyes that mesmerized her, though, for in their emerald depths she saw a gentleness that soothed her tortured soul. "What do you want, Ben Douglas?"

  At the sound of his name on her lips, he grinned, feeling pleased that she knew who he was. "You know my name."

  "The women at the cookfire were speaking of you."

  "And what were they saying?" he urged.

  She tried to reply indifferently. "Only that you were Silver Wolf's friend, and they wondered why you had come to the village without him."

  "I came looking for him, but he's not here. The trip wasn't a total waste of time, though, for I found you."

  "I was not lost," she said with a haughty lift of her chin.

  "You were lost to me. I'd been hoping to see you again ever since that day in town," he said softly as he slowly closed the distance between them.

  As he drew near, a part of her wanted to bolt and run, yet another stronger part of her said to stay. She remained, but she watched him warily.

  Ben saw the edge of fear in her eyes, and he wanted to do something that would put her at ease. "I've brought you a present," he said, and in a most gallant move, he presented her with the wildflower. "I hope you like flowers."

  She looked from the flower to Ben and then back again. "I am named for a flower," she answered, and then she smiled in spite of herself as she reached out to take it from him.

  "It must have been a very beautiful blossom," he told her in a low voice.

  Their hands touched as she took his gift, and it almost seemed as if a current passed between them. She lifted her startled gaze to his as she cupped the delicate flower in her hands. The expression in her dark eyes took his breath away. It was a look of longing and desire, tinged with fearful apprehension. Suddenly, he wanted to take her in his arms, hold her close, and promise her that no one would ever hurt her again.

  Ben had never known such a strong, urgent need to protect anyone before, and the power of it surprised him. He ached to hold her, but a last thread of sanity warned him to stop and think before he acted. Such a move on his part would frighten her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

  Ben remained where he was, his common sense holding him at bay, while he let his gaze feast upon her. She was so beautiful . . . so delicate . . . He felt awkward and more than a little silly as he wondered what to do next. He certainly didn't want to leave her so soon, and yet there wasn't a lot he could say without blurting out the truth of what he was feeling. Confusion filled him.

  "Why did you follow me here to the creek?" she asked, trying to understand why her heart was pounding so wildly. She told herself it was fear making her feel this way, but a little, taunting voice in the back of her mind teased her with the knowledge that it was excitement and not fear that was causing her heart to beat in this frantic rhythm. She glanced away from him, afraid of her own feelings.

  "I needed to speak with you again," Ben replied honestly.

  "There is nothing more to be said between us," she told him, reminding herself firmly that he was a white man and she knew what they were like—mean, vicious killers. But then as she lifted her gaze and looked into Ben's eyes again, all the firmly held beliefs she had about white men suddenly seemed wrong. She saw no ugliness in him. She saw only warmth and kindness, and she knew a great urge to reach out to him, to touch him . . .

  "I think there is. I've been worried about you, and I wanted to be sure that you'd made it back to the village without any more trouble," he explained. He knew he couldn't tell her that he'd wanted to see her again because he couldn't get her out of his mind. True though it was, he doubted she'd believe him.

  "It is because of you that I am safely here now," she admitted, lifting the flower to her nose to smell of its delicate scent.

  "I'm glad." His eyes were warm upon her, and he smiled crookedly as he had a sudden mental image of sitting outside her tipi tonight, singing to her. Sit outside her tipi and sing? The thought was ridiculous. Ben gave himself a furious mental shake, wondering at his own sanity to even think such a thing.

  Ben suddenly realized that his crazy musings had distracted him from his real reason for coming there in the first place. He had to find Daniel. The memory of James's death and his friend's peril intruded, and with great regret he knew he had to leave. Ben was disappointed that Star Blossom still seemed indifferent to him, but he had no time to stay and court her. He glanced back up the path.

  "Now that you have seen that I am safe, you will go?" she asked, sensing his sudden uneasiness.

  Ben wasn't sure if she was trying to get rid of him or if she understood the urgency of his mission. "I have to find Daniel. It's very important." Unable to stop himself, he lifted one hand to tenderly caress her cheek.

  "I hope you find him soon." Star Blossom knew he was going to touch her and yet she did not try to avoid it. She held herself rigidly as his hand gently caressed her cheek, then dropped away.

  Ben was disappointed by her stiff carriage, but he didn't let it show. Knowing now what he did about her, he understood her fear and her reluctance to trust him. It would take time, but he fully intended to prove to her that not all white men were as evil as the ones from her past.

  "I'll miss you while I'm gone, Star Blossom. Will you think of me, even a little?" His question was daring, but he thought he had nothing to lose.

  Her gaze dropped to the flower she held as she said in a soft voice, "Good-bye, Ben Douglas."

  "This is not good-bye." His eyes were warm upon her, preserving in his memory the sight of her holding his gift. "You will see me again."

  His gently voiced declaration sent a thrill through her, but she was still too unsure to say anything. She watched him walk away, tall and handsome, confident and proud. She warned herself again that he was white and that she shouldn't have these feelings for him, but even as she cursed her attraction to him, she looked down at the flower she still held and smiled. She whispered, "I will think of you, Ben Douglas."

  Elizabeth's expression was haunted as she sat, dry-eyed, staring out her bedroom window. "I drove him away from me, Cari."

  "I'm sure you didn't mean to, Mother," Cari reassured her. It was late morning, and she was exhausted. She'd been
up all night, trying to comfort her distraught mother, but it seemed a hopeless task.

  "At the time, maybe I did, but after I'd thought about it, I realized your father was right. I shouldn't have been so selfish. I should have believed in him more." She lifted her troubled, burning gaze to her daughter. "I should have apologized."

  "You would have, Mother. It's not your fault that this happened."

  Tears welled up in Elizabeth's eyes. The nightmare memories of her last, harsh words to James echoed through her soul, and she would forever bear the guilt of knowing that she'd hurt him that morning. "If only I could believe that. But I know what I said to him . . . and I'm so sorry."

  Cari went to her and held her close. "I'm sure Papa knows."

  "Oh, God, I hope so, Cari."

  After a moment, Cari suggested that she lie down for a while and try to get some sleep. "We still have a few hours before the minister comes," she pointed out.

  "All right," she agreed meekly, too tired to argue.

  Cari stayed by her side until she'd finally fallen into a fitful sleep, then went to her own room to lie down.

  Cari had intended to nap, but the blessed respite of sleep would not come. Memories of her father kept slipping into her thoughts, and a tremendous ache built up within her. She longed to be with him again, to feel his arms around her, and to hear him tell her that he loved her. They'd been apart for so long, and now at last she was home, and . . . and now he was dead. Gone. Lost to her forever.

  The dam she'd erected around her own emotions to help control herself while she was with her mother broke, and she began to cry. Once she started, she couldn't stop. She had never known such painful, intense emotion. It seemed as if the ache in her breast would never ease. A flood of grief poured forth from her soul. Moans of agony mixed with her sobs, and she buried her face against her pillow to muffle the sounds.

  After a time, her weeping eased. Drawing a shaky breath, she sat up to stare around herself with sightless eyes. She felt hollow and empty, as if all her crying had somehow drained her body of all life and soul. Distractedly, Cari thought maybe that was good, for at least the pain had been dulled for the moment.

  Cari felt so very alone. She longed with all her heart for Silver Wolf to come to her. She needed him desperately. She needed the comfort of his arms about her. Elliot had been wonderful and helpful, but Silver Wolf was the man she needed. Cari prayed he'd return to her soon.

  At the sound of horses approaching, Cari got up and rushed to the window. She was hoping it was Silver Wolf, but her hopes were dashed when she saw Sheriff Dixon and a group of men riding toward the house. A chill frissoned down her spine as she realized the sheriff might have news about her father's murderer. Anxious to speak with him, she ran from the room. Elliot was already outside with the lawman when she emerged from the house.

  "We're looking for him now," Dixon was telling Elliot as they stood together out front. The rest of his men had remained in the saddle, but the sheriff had dismounted to speak with him.

  "I just can't believe it . . ." Elliot was obviously stunned.

  "We've got proof. It's just a matter of finding him."

  "Finding who?" Cari asked as she reached them.

  "Why, hello, Miss McCord." The sheriff adroitly avoided her question as he took off his hat and offered his sympathies. "I'm sorry about your pa. He was a good man."

  "Thank you."

  "How's your mother doing?"

  "She's finally resting. It's been a long night."

  "Please give her my condolences."

  "I'll do that." Still wondering what he and Elliot had been talking about, she deliberately asked, "I only heard a part of what you were saying to Elliot about 'having the proof and finding him.' Does that mean you know who killed my father?"

  "We know," he responded tersely.

  Cari was filled with a burning need to know. "Who did it? Who killed him?"

  "Cari . . ." Elliot said her name gently, trying to discourage her from pursuing it, but she would have none of it.

  The hair on the back of Cari's neck rose as she sensed she was close to finding out the truth. She turned back to the sheriff. "This is my father's murderer we're talking about! My father! I have a right to know!"

  The sheriff could see no way to avoid telling her, and so he answered her bluntly. "The medicine bag that was found with your father was identified as belonging to Daniel Marshall. It looks like he's the one who killed your pa."

  "No . . ." Cari was shocked to the depths of her soul. She turned frantically to Elliot. "That's ridiculous. He and my father were friends. Good friends."

  Dixon snorted derisively at her words. "It's time you learned that you can't be friends with Indians, Miss McCord. They're nothing but bloodthirsty, thieving savages. We've been trying to tell your pa that for years, but he wouldn't listen. And now . . ."

  "It looks like the Larsons were right, Cari," Elliot added. "And Lord Anthony is missing."

  The sheriff continued. "Near as I can figure it, your pa must have caught Marshall stealing the Hereford, and Marshall killed him. Of course, there may have been more to it than that."

  "What do you mean?" Cari had no idea what he was talking about.

  "Well, Nettie Jones came into the office and reported that the night of the dance she saw your mother and Marshall have a fight right out in public. She said your pa got real mad and went storming out of the hall looking for him right afterward. Nobody knows what happened after that, but now that James was found dead holding Marshall's medicine bag, it doesn't look good for the breed."

  "This can't be true . . ."

  "Well, Miss McCord, it's a known fact that Cheyenne warriors keep their medicine bags with them all the time. They're supposed to bring them good luck or something." The sheriff gave a dry laugh. "It looks like Marshall's luck just ran out."

  Cari realized how damning everything seemed. Her first response had been that there was no connection between any of it, and then she remembered the ugliness of her mother's words to Silver Wolf at the stream. Cari's thoughts were in turmoil as she tried to come to grips with everything the sheriff had told her. The horrible possibility occurred to her that her father had met with Silver Wolf and that they'd had a terrible argument.

  With all her heart, Cari wanted to believe Silver Wolf was innocent. She wanted to believe that he was the same man she knew to be honest and forthright.

  "What do you intend to do, Sheriff?" Elliot asked.

  "We're looking for him now. I stopped here so I could let you folks know what was going on. I figured you'd be worried."

  "Thanks for keeping us informed."

  "You can rest easy. We won't be back until we get him. We'll see that he pays for what he's done."

  Cari heard the fierce determination in the lawman's voice and went pale. The Silver Wolf he described was a cold-blooded killer. The Silver Wolf she thought she knew was honest and kind. He'd held her in his arms and made love to her. Which man was he? Would she ever learn the truth? Though she didn't speak, her torment was mirrored on her ashen features.

  Elliot saw her distress and slipped a supportive arm about her waist.

  "We'll be waiting to hear from you," he told Dixon.

  He and Cari watched as the sheriff and his posse rode away.

  "None of this is true," Cari said in an agonized tone as she turned to face Elliot. She was clinging desperately to her faith in her warrior. "Silver Wolf would never have hurt my father."

  Elliot didn't want to be the one to force her to face reality, but he knew someone had to. "Cari, they found his medicine bag in your father's hand. If he didn't do it, how did his bag get there?"

  She lifted her agonized gaze to his. "I don't know, Elliot. I don't know."

  "What are you going to tell your mother?" Elliot asked as they started back indoors.

  Cari was about to answer when Elizabeth spoke.

  "She won't have to tell me anything," Elizabeth said in a flat voice. "I heard ev
erything Sheriff Dixon said."

  "Mother, I . . ."

  "Do you see now, Cari? I was right about Silver Wolf," she said slowly, the weight of her torment evident in her tone. "Your father convinced me the other morning that I was wrong, and I believed him. But now the truth is out. I was right . . ." She gave a choking laugh. "I was right about him the whole time! How I wish to God I hadn't been . . ." Elizabeth didn't say another word, but disappeared inside.

  Cari wanted to cry out, "No! You're wrong!" But the words wouldn't come. On Elliot's arm, she followed her mother inside.

  Four hours later, Cari stood next to her mother, listening as the minister intoned the final prayer and blessing over her father's grave. Since the sheriff's visit, Cari had fallen to the depths of despair. She didn't want to believe a word of what he'd told them, and yet she knew what he'd said was true—Silver Wolf never went anywhere without his medicine bag. The evidence was damning, but even as she faced the facts, her heart railed against them.

  "Amen," the minister pronounced.

  Cari, Elizabeth, Elliot, and the neighbors who'd heard of James's death and come for the funeral responded together, "Amen."

  The preacher closed his Bible and sought out Elizabeth and Cari.

  "Mrs. McCord, I'm so sorry about your loss. It's such a senseless tragedy. If you need anything, anything at all, just let me know," he told her sympathetically.

  Elizabeth tore her gaze away from her husband's grave and looked up at the clergyman. Her pain was evident in her expression. She wanted to tell him that there was something she needed . . . she needed her husband back, but she knew it would do no good. For all his heartfelt kindness and prayers, the minister couldn't bring James back to life . . . no one could. Instead, she simply thanked him. There was no point in saying any more.

  Everyone began to move toward the house, everyone except Cari. She remained behind, wanting to spend a few minutes alone with her father.

  When the others had gone, Cari stood over the fresh grave, listening to the sounds of silence. She closed her eyes and remembered the big hug he'd given her at the train station when she'd returned from school. She let her thoughts drift back through the years then, recalling his laughter and all the joy he'd taken in her accomplishments—large and small. She remembered all too clearly the day she and her mother had left to go back to Philadelphia, and how he'd contacted Silver Wolf for her so they could see each other one more time before she had to leave.