White Dove: Book Nine of Susan Edwards’ White Series
By Susan Edwards
Nebraska Territory, 1859
White Dove’s father has given her until the end of summer to choose a mate, or he will choose one for her. But not just any man will do for the rebellious daughter of Golden Eagle; he must be a strong Sioux brave. A skilled hunter in her own right, White Dove’s pride will accept nothing less. But her heart and body have already decided on a man who is all wrong…
Jeremy Jones will do anything to show he is worthy of White Dove, including leaving behind the white man’s world to train as a Sioux warrior. Though he knows in his heart he is destined to spend his days by her side, he has as much to prove to himself as he does to her…
Book 9 of 12.
Previously published.
94,000 words
Dear Readers,
I am so excited to see my White Series available in digital format and once again available to you, my readers. This series is so close to my heart—each character became my brother, sister, best friend, etc., and to see them republished makes it seem like a long-awaited family reunion. I can’t wait to become reacquainted with each character! Even the villains, for there is nothing like seeing justice served.
I started the first book, White Wind, way back in the ’80s. These two characters just popped into my head one day. I met them at a stream in the wilderness where my honorable (and very virile) hero, Golden Eagle, was determined to rescue a very stubborn heroine named Sarah. It just seemed as though the action stopped as they turned to me and said, “Well? What now?”
Huh? Did they think I was a writer? Not me. Never did any writing at all and had never had any desire to do so. Well, Sarah and Golden Eagle just shook their heads and let me know that despite never having written before, it didn’t matter because I was a storyteller! A vivid imagination, a love of romance and the Native American historical genre were all that were required. Okay, not quite but I got the message.
So I thought, why not? I could write a nice scene or two. Or three. Hey, how about even just a love scene in this wonderful setting that I could see so clearly in my mind? But then I ran into the first problem. What had brought my two willful characters to this stream at the same time? What connected them? Why would this mighty warrior want to claim this white girl? What made him fall in love with her and risk everything for her?
I found that I couldn’t go on until I had answers and that meant, yep, I had to start at the beginning. I learned who they were, what their problems were, and when we once again met at that stream in the wilderness, I just sat back and gave directions, and this time, my characters knew their lines and away we went!
And that, dear readers, was how my writing career began. Once I started, I could not stop. I loved writing about this family. Sarah and Golden Eagle had four children and it just seemed natural to continue the series. I had so many letters begging and, yes, even demanding Jeremy and White Dove’s story in White Dove. And honestly, I was right there with each and every reader, for that was one story that just called to me. So from two people, who met by chance, eleven books were born.
Over the years, I valued each and every reader comment: from the mother who read the books to her dying daughter, to the lonely women who found companionship, and to women who appreciated the bravery and willingness of the heroines and heroes to do whatever it took to overcome adversity.
Each of the White books has a story that means something to me. Jessie in White Wolf is a lot like I was in my youth. I couldn’t accept “no” back then without a good reason, always looking for a chance to rebel. I could go on and on but then I’d be writing a book instead of a letter!
Just writing this letter makes me all teary and homesick, but just as these books will be available once more to my readers, I will become reacquainted with each book and each character. Thinking of reunions, I might just have to plan a White reunion! But for now, I am just so grateful to Carina Press and my editor, Angela James, for once again making this series available.
Sincerely yours,
Susan Edwards
Dedication
For Kathy, Teri, Wendy, Sueann and Joyce: sister writers, treasured friends. Who says hard work isn’t fun?
Thanks for the weekly lunches, Starbucks’ lattes and for all your brainstorming, “telling it like it is,” and the hundreds of “just my two cents!” My penny jar runneth over.
Like an eagle I want to soar above clouds,
Be a friend with the wind and stars.
Like an eagle I want to fly,
Be king of the sky.
Like an eagle I want to swoop and soar,
And watch Earth,
From a tree.
Like an eagle, I want to be free.
—Deanna Edwards
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
Prologue
Nebraska Territory, 1859
Birth swept the land.
Fragile buds dotting barren branches exploded in a frenzy of color. The same beat of spring sped the hearts of squirrels curled into tight balls in their winter nests and lured them from their deep sleep. At the base of tree trunks and across the land, tender shoots of grass pushed through the earth to blanket the ground and pillow small purplish flowers.
Drifting slowly across the azure heavens, Wi, one of four Superior Gods, the all-powerful Great God, defender of bravery, fortitude, generosity and fidelity, warmed the air, casting bright light on a family of prairie dogs scampering and rolling over the soft mats of grass. Dirt flew as new burrows were dug and old tunnels repaired. High-pitched yips filled the air as parents protected their young from curious wolf pups and bear cubs.
Wi’s light moved on, finding its way through a canopy of dark green leaves to illuminate a sleeping owl.
One eye blinked open, then two. Owl, irritated at being woken so early, ruffled snowy-white feathers. What reason do you have to wake me? It is not time for your partner, Hanwi, to show her face.
Wi trailed her finger of light downward. Look. He comes.
Below her, Owl spotted the white man moving with long strides along the stream and into the tall stand of cottonwood. He didn’t stop to appreciate the new growth, the miracle of life. His booted feet crushed spring grass the same shade as his eyes. He glanced up into the tree but never saw her.
From a thick brush to his right, a mother deer jumped out in front of him and fled back across the stream, leaving her twin babies hunkered still and silent beneath thick shrubs. The man strode past, pushing his way through bushes, breaking branches, tearing leaves. A neatly constructed nest fell onto the ground. Two tiny white eggs rolled beneath the scattered leaves. Owl lifted her golden eyes to Wi and beyond, seeking council of Waka
n Tanka, the Chief God, Great Spirit and Creator.
He cannot be the one.
Watch over him. The voice came from nowhere and everywhere, a command from the one who was considered wakan. Holy.
The withdrawal of Wi told Owl that she felt as Owl did. Blinking against the enormous task that lay ahead of her, she spread her wings and took to the sky to seek council with Skan, the Superior God of the sky. He sat in judgment of all gods and spirits—all but Wakan Tanka, who was all. From what she’d just witnessed, the white man had much to learn. She’d need help from her sisters and brothers.
Chapter One
Winding his way through the thick stand of trees, Jeremy Jones paid little heed to the owl circling above, his attention focused on the tree tops in the distance. He quickened his steps, eager to find the beehive. Following, a young boy carrying two pails struggled to keep up, crashing with an awkward gait through the forest.
Jeremy stopped and waited for Runs Slowly to catch up. The boy of ten stumbled, his deformed foot catching on a stone. Stepping forward, Jeremy held out his hand. “Let me carry those.” He indicated the boy’s burden.
Runs Slowly pulled the pails close and shook his head, his face tight with determination. “No. I carry for Jer-m-ee.”
“All right.” Jeremy respected the boy’s need to be useful, so he slowed his gait as he continued onward, kicking the larger rocks and fallen branches out of the path to make the boy’s passage easier.
“Where is honey, Jer-m-ee?”
Jeremy stopped and searched the tree tops. “Should be somewhere around here. Ah, there it is.” He pointed to a tall cottonwood to his left. Anticipation hummed through him, leaving him quivering from the tip of his head to his toes. His fingers, wrapped loosely around the smooth wood of his new bow, itched to hurry and claim his prize but, for just a moment, he let his gaze savor the sweet sight before him.
Dangling high above, a large beehive buzzed with activity as its inhabitants returned home laden with pollen to make honey—Jeremy’s favorite food. A gentle breeze caressed his face, the breath of a lover’s whisper and just as sweet. Behind him, the stream fed by melting snow rushed and slapped against rocks, muting the distant sound of children playing. Eyeing the sun’s rays angling through the tree tops, Jeremy figured he had a good two hours before supper—plenty of time to accomplish this mission.
“Okay, kid, let’s go get it.” The boy’s happy shout made Jeremy smile. Of all the Sioux children spending the winter at his sister’s boarding school, Runs Slowly was his favorite. Simple, trusting and loving, the boy just wanted to please.
He waited while Runs Slowly shuffled forward to set one large pail beneath a tree, then hurried back to Jeremy’s side. The other pail, which held two smoking sticks, sat on Jeremy’s right side.
“Hur-ry, Jer-m-ee.”
Ruffling the boy’s shiny black hair, Jeremy grinned. “Patience, kid.” He led the boy a few more feet back then checked his bow, running his hands lovingly along the smooth curve, the wood worn smooth from daily use over the long winter months. “Don’t let me down, Rosie.” Jeremy ignored the snicker that came from the young boy squatting beside him. The Sioux children who attended his sister and brother-in-law’s boarding school found vastly amusing the fact that he’d given his bow a woman’s name.
Gripping the bow in his left hand, he reached into the nearly empty quiver dangling from his belt with his right. Pulling one arrow out, he held it up and inspected it for flaws. Finding none, he kissed it for luck—which earned him another scornful snicker. He ignored the boy and fit the nocked end to taut sinew. “Perfect.”
“Hungry, Jer-m-ee.” Runs Slowly rubbed his belly and licked his lips. “Want honey.”
Jeremy chuckled, his own mouth watering. “Me too, kid. Me too.” The little boy stared into the branches high above. Jeremy followed the path of the boy’s gaze and swallowed a moan of desire. Just the thought of slathering a thick layer of that rich, golden syrup across a steaming biscuit, then sinking his teeth into the moist, sweet center left him feeling as weak as the morning after a night of passion down at the old saloon back home.
Narrowing his gaze, Jeremy gauged the distance, debating whether he needed to move closer. He did, until he felt confident the hive was well within his range, yet far enough to avoid the vengeance of soon-to-be-furious bees.
“Brilliant,” he chuckled, drawing back his arm and taking aim. Easy. “Watch, Runs Slowly. We’re gonna do this in one shot.” At least Jeremy hoped so. He was down to the last two of a dozen arrows his brother-in-law, White Wolf, had given him for Christmas.
The remaining arrows in his quiver were his own pathetic attempts at arrow-making. He’d learned the hard way that it took patience to fashion arrows that flew straight and true. Unfortunately, patience was not something of which he possessed a great quantity. He grimaced. According to his sister, he had none.
He winked at the boy. “Ready?”
Runs Slowly nodded, his dark eyes bright with excitement.
Jeremy took a deep breath and pulled the bowstring back slowly, his arms steady. “Come on, baby, nice and straight.”
The arrow flew true and hit its mark. The hive shuddered, then released its hold on the branch from which it hung, and fell. A split second later, the sweet, loud clang of the hive smashing into the pail resounded.
“Bull’s-eye!” Jeremy shouted, gleefully pleased with himself. “Wait until Dove sees this,” he said.
“Dove likes honey,” Runs Slowly said, his gaze locked on the swarming cloud of bees.
Jeremy couldn’t wait to present the honey to his sister and show White Dove, his brother-in-law’s sister, the proof of his growing skill with a bow. Too bad she hadn’t been here to witness his perfect shot. All winter long he’d endured her superior airs when she proved her own skill by outshooting him with her bow. At least when it came to rifles, they were pretty evenly skilled. But still, her smug disdain over his lack of warrior skills had begun to wear on him. The fact that she made him feel inferior just made him all that much more determined to prove himself.
Glancing over his shoulder, he scanned the area. No sign of Miss High-and-Mighty-Female-Warrior. “Good.” Now to get the honey and deliver it to his sister before Dove showed up and tried to tell him how to do it.
Impatiently he waited for the bees to settle over the smashed hive, then wrapped a cloth around his neck and jammed his hat on snugly. Pulling on worn leather gloves to keep the bee stings to a minimum, he grabbed a short piece of wood from the second pail and a match from his shirt pocket. Striking a flame, he held it up to the oil-soaked rags tied to one end of the sticks. After a few minutes, he had two smoking torches. He handed one to Runs Slowly.
“Ready?” At the boy’s nod, Jeremy set off. “First one there gets first taste.”
The boy waved his smoking torch in front of him to ward off the angry bees and surged ahead. Jeremy gave him a head start. With the torch in one hand and the empty pail in the other, he followed. He’d never gathered honey, but knew from his sister that smoke made bees drowsy. At least he hoped so! Jessie had been in charge of keeping their honey pot filled when they’d lived in Westport. “Not so hard.” He grinned, pleased with his results. He drew circles and shapes in the air with his torch. “We’ll surprise Jessie, won’t we, Runs Slowly?”
“And Dove too, Jer-m-ee.” Runs Slowly waved his smoking torch in the air.
Jeremy chuckled. “And Dove too.” Once more, he checked behind him to be sure they were alone. Dove had an irritating habit of showing up unexpectedly. “There should be a law against a person walking so silently,” he muttered. Still, there was no sign of her. Turning to catch up with the boy, his heart slammed against his chest.
Two small cubs, drawn by the sweet scent of honey, had broken through a wall of thick bushes behind the tree where the hive had
once hung.
He cursed. Where there were cubs, one could count on finding a protective mama nearby. Everyone knew that—except Runs Slowly. The boy suffered not only from being slow physically, but also mentally. The boy was running toward the hive as fast as his deformed leg would allow, shouting and waving his smoking torch.
Jeremy took off after him. “Runs Slowly, get back here!” Reaching the Indian boy, Jeremy grabbed his arm. “Jesus, kid. We gotta get out of here.”
A furious roar from the stream to his right warned it was too late. To his horror, an enormous brown bear crashed through the brush. He and Runs Slowly were smack in between mother and cubs.
“Damn, damn, damn.” There was no way he’d be able to outrun the charging bear, and Runs Slowly had far less hope of it. Praying, Jeremy snatched up another arrow—his last good one—and stepped in front of his young friend. With trembling hands, he took aim.
He could do this. After months of practicing, of hitting nearly anything he aimed at—including the hive—he could kill the bear. A bead of sweat slid down the side of his face as he waited for her to get closer. Fifteen feet. Still too far; he couldn’t get a fix on the eye and he only had one chance. If he missed—
He shuddered and held his position.
Ten feet. His heart pounded painfully as the distance closed. Damn, he wished she’d stop. Six feet, far too close for comfort. The bear skidded to a halt in front of her cubs and glared at him from ferally glowing eyes. She meant to kill him. He took aim. Now! “Don’t let me down,” he breathed, but the frightened cry of the cubs intruded, took his attention away from his target. From the corner of his eye, he saw them. Tiny bundles of fur with their snouts pointed up as they whined at their mother.
He hesitated. How could he kill this mother bear? If he killed her, the cubs would be orphaned, sentenced to death as surely as if he’d killed them, too.
In his split second of indecision, the mother bear lunged forward.
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