by Connie Mason
“I like your woman, my son,” Singing Rain said shyly. “She is strong. Little Firebird will give you fine sons and daughters. I hope I live to see them.”
Mother, son, and grandfather sat in Yellow Dog’s tipi. The men shared a pipe while Singing Rain merely sat admiring her tall, handsome son. She had begun to decline after her husband’s death, but Blade’s return brought her renewed vigor. She no longer felt at the end of her life.
“You have many years left, Mother,” Blade predicted. “The message sent to me by Pierre Labeau not only told of my father’s death, but hinted that you were in ill health.”
“That all changed the day you returned to our village, my son.” Her dark eyes lavished him with love and pride.
She had aged in the past ten years, Blade saw, yet had lost none of her gentleness. It was one of the qualities his father admired so much in her. Blade thought the fine lines around her mouth and eyes detracted nothing from her beauty.
“Why must you leave so soon?” Singing Rain lamented sadly. “I would like to see you and Little Firebird joined according to our customs. We will hold a ceremony followed by a feast and dancing. There has been too much sadness lately. A celebration will bring our people much joy.”
“I’m sorry, Mother, there is no time. I must rejoin the wagon train and fulfill my obligation to lead them to Fort Laramie. Besides, if and when I marry Shannon Branigan it will be in a white man’s ceremony,” he hedged, unwilling to divulge that he and Shannon would soon part and in all likelihood never see one another again. “But I promise to visit often. Fort Laramie is not so far that I can’t find time to spend with you and Grandfather.”
“You will stay at Fort Laramie?”
“Yes, I have a job to do.”
“And afterwards? Will you come back to your people?”
“Perhaps,” Blade temporized.
Truthfully, he had no idea what course his life would take once he found the gun smugglers and turned them over to the army.
Shannon waited as long as she could for Singing Rain to return to the tipi that night, but exhaustion finally claimed her. It was very late when she awoke abruptly to the sound of rustling clothes.
“Singing Rain?”
The deep male voice that answered jolted her instantly awake. “No, Little Firebird, Singing Rain sleeps tonight in Grandfather’s lodge.”
“Get out of here!” Shannon hissed, pulling the buffalo robe up to her chin.
Blade sighed wearily. He could hardly blame Shannon for wanting him gone. He had certainly acted more like the savage she thought him than an officer and a gentleman. “Relax, Shannon, you’re safe from me tonight. I only want to sleep.”
“Sleep elsewhere.”
“Don’t you think it would look odd for me to sleep elsewhere after declaring before the entire village that you are my woman?” Calmly he unrolled another bedroll he found nearby and lay down close to Shannon.
Shannon froze. Blade hadn’t even touched her, yet her flesh tingled and burned all over. What was wrong with her? How could a half-breed savage affect her that way? What would she do if he reached out to her? The question was moot, for the steady cadence of his breathing told her Blade was already asleep.
They spent one more day and night in Yellow’s Dog’s village. Most of that time Shannon stayed close to Singing Rain while Blade renewed old acquaintences with his friend Jumping Buffalo and other young braves.
Blade had a reason for courting the young men’s friendship. He felt they were the ones who could tell him what Mad Wolf was up to. Thus far he had learned precious little except that Mad Wolf and his renegades were responsible for many raids on settlers, wagon trains, and railroads. According to Jumping Buffalo, Mad Wolf bragged that when he returned to the village, it would be in triumph. The people would hail him as a hero instead of treating him like an outcast.
The next day Shannon and Blade rode away from the village. The skies were overcast and thunder rolled ominously in the distance, but Shannon had few regrets about leaving. Though she had become fond of Singing Rain, Shannon lived in fear that Mad Wolf would return for her despite the council’s decision. Mad Wolf didn’t strike her as one who would let a few old men stop him from getting what he wanted.
Grateful for the loan of a horse and blanket, Shannon rode most of the day beside Blade. Difficult though it was, she tried to ignore his awesome presence and the aura of sensuality that leaped out and overwhelmed her. She hated the man, she tried to tell herself, yet at the same time she was aware of the large debt of gratitude she owed him. Everything about Blade was a contradiction. Nor was there any logic in the way she felt about him.
Blade seemed unaware of Shannon’s rapt perusal. He appeared inordinately interested in the lowering sky and strange bluish-green clouds that swirled overhead. His eyes strayed so often to the unusual phenomenon that Shannon soon noticed his preoccupation with the elements. She thought the abnormal hush that abruptly fell over the land strange, and turned to question Blade about it. The words never left her lips. Suddenly rain began to fall in a great rush of wind-driven sheets, pelting them like a thousand needles.
“Ride! Ride for your life!” Blade shouted above the roar.
“What is it?”
“Tornado!”
The word struck fear in Shannon’s heart. Though she had never experienced one, she’d seen the aftermath of death and destruction wrought by nature’s fury. What would a tornado do out here on the prairie? she wondered as she whipped her pony into a froth. Where does one seek shelter with nothing in sight but grass plains and low hills?
Shannon could see the twisting, churning monster now, spiraling down from the roiling clouds like a devouring snake. Panic seized her as she realized there was no place to hide, no time to escape. “Blade—”
“Up there!” Blade pointed toward a line of lowslung hills rising in the near distance.
The dun-colored hills were nearly obscured by the combination of pouring rain and flying debris, but offered their only hope of finding shelter. If luck was with them there would be a gully or crevice to protect them from the tornado’s onslaught. Blade prayed there would be enough time. He didn’t relish the thought of both of them being swept away in the maelstrom.
The horses were jittery, nearly out of control as Blade and Shannon plunged up the hill. Time was running out. The roaring, swirling monster made talk impossible now. The rough ground beneath them offered nothing but tufts of rain-beaten stubble and brush. No gully, no crevice, no place to escape the tornado’s inevitable and fatal outcome.
“Blade, look!”
Shannon saw it first. Just below them, where years of winter runoff had eroded the earth. The gully wasn’t deep, but it was better than nothing. Reining to a halt, Blade flung himself off Warrior, then reached for Shannon. She scrambled into the gully the moment she hit the ground, flattening herself against the wet earth. Blade had the presence of mind to snatch their bedrolls, canteens and rifle and toss them after her. The minute he loosed the reins the ponies reared in terror and galloped off. The tornado was already roaring down on them when Blade hurled himself atop Shannon, knocking the breath from her lungs. Then the murky dimness changed abruptly to black midnight, and a terrible explosion of noise filled the void around them.
Chapter Eight
A terrible stillness settled around Shannon. It was as if she existed in a void. Was she dead? The inescapable weight pressing her down into the soft earth sent that thought flying from her brain. The rain had stopped—she was certain of that—and it was dusk. But the greatest miracle of all was that she was alive.
“Blade, you can get up now,” she said, gasping for breath.
No answer.
“Blade.”
Still no answer.
“Blade, what’s wrong?”
Growing frantic, Shannon twisted around but could see little except the outline of Blade’s face.
With great difficulty Shannon squirmed from beneath Blade, sitting be
side him a few minutes to catch her breath. She was soaking wet and shivering in the cool night air. Gingerly she turned Blade over, wondering what could have rendered him unconscious. Her hands moved quickly, impersonally over his body, finding nothing amiss. When she reached the back of his head her hand came away sticky. Blood! Had he been injured by flying debris? Remembering the canteens Blade had rescued, she tore off a piece of his shirt, moistened it with water and pressed it against the injury in an effort to stop the bleeding. Blade moaned but did not awaken.
There was nothing more Shannon could do. After covering Blade with the blankets he had the foresight to provide, she sat back on her heels and waited for him to come out of his stupor. When she grew tired, she settled down beside him in order to share his body heat and fell asleep, her arms circling his lean middle.
The relentless stab of sunlight against his lids awakened Blade. His mouth was dry, his head throbbed painfully, and his limbs felt leaden and useless. Then he remembered the tornado and their close brush with death.
“Shannon!”
A weight on his chest made him glance down. Shannon’s bright head was resting on his chest. A wave of something so unspeakably tender shuddered through him that he couldn’t resist the urge to rest his hand protectively on that tangled mass of chestnut curls. The thought that she might be injured—or worse—sent his emotions spinning crazily.
“Blade?”
Shannon stirred, raising her head to find Blade staring back at her with a strange look on his face.
“Thank God you’re all right.” The prayer was a breathless sigh that moved Blade profoundly.
“Are you hurt, Little Firebird?”
“No, I’m fine. I must have fallen asleep. How is your head?”
“Hurts like hell,” Blade complained. “What happened?”
“You must have been struck by something churned up by the tornado. You were out for hours.”
Blade tried to rise, groaned, and braced his hands on the ground.
“Blade, what’s wrong?”
“Dizzy.”
“Is your injury serious?”
“I don’t think so. Concussion, I suspect.”
“Perhaps you should lie back down.”
“Do you see the horses nearby?”
Shannon scanned the prairie and surrounding hills in all directions. The air was crisp and clear, the sun a bright ball in the sky. What they had gone through the day before seemed incredible in the golden daylight. “I don’t see anything. Either the horses have run off or they are dead.”
“Damnation!” Blade cursed, wincing from pain. “Looks like we have a long walk ahead of us.”
The sun blazed down with relentless fury. The prairie was endless, and the tall grass reached nearly to Shannon’s waist, making walking difficult. For the first few miles Blade was unsteady on his feet, stopping often when dizziness made his head whirl. In addition to his rifle, Blade carried his blanket and canteen, leaving another blanket and canteen for Shannon to tote. As the day progressed, Blade’s strength returned while Shannon drooped from exhaustion and hunger. They’d had nothing to eat that day except for berries they found growing beside a stream, and wild onions.
It was nearly dusk when Blade called a halt beside a creek feeding into the North Platte River. If not for last night’s deluge, its bed would have been bone dry, but now a few feet of water lapped at the bank. Having traveled north from Ogallala, they were now following the south bank of the North Platte.
“Rest here, Shannon, while I hunt us up something to eat,” Blade said after refreshing himself in the stream.
Once Blade left, Shannon removed her doeskin dress and washed thoroughly in the stream. If she had had a piece of soap she would have washed her hair, but she made do with drenching her long tresses, then running, her fingers through them to smooth out the tangles. Then she plaited them into a long braid. Next she turned her attention to her dress. She shook it out and brushed it with her hands to rid it of splattered mud and sand.
Blade returned a short time later, grinning and holding a rabbit aloft in each hand. He quickly skinned and gutted the animals, built a fire and arranged them on a spit while Shannon watched, her stomach growling hungrily. Then, slanting Shannon an oblique look, Blade proceeded to strip.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes grew wide with alarm.
“I’m going to bathe,” Blade said, “do you mind?”
“Oh.” Shannon said in a small voice.
She promptly turned her head, pretending great interest in the cooking rabbits. Yet despite her best efforts, she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to the perfect symmetry from his impossibly wide shoulders to his slim hips and long legs. Her cheeks burned when she recalled that powerful body poised above her, claiming her in the most intimate way. He had transported her to heights she never knew existed.
Unabashed, Blade waded naked into the shallow stream, aware that Shannon wasn’t nearly as disinterested as she pretended. He wondered if he affected her in the same way she affected him. He’d bedded many women in the past, some beautiful, some intelligent, some both, but none as spellbinding as Shannon Branigan. It occurred to him that she was too good for him, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her again—and again—until he was sated with the taste and sweetness of her. Though he seriously doubted such a state could be achieved.
When the rabbit was cooked, they ate in silence, savoring the tasty feast Blade had provided. Blade watched, mesmerized, as Shannon licked every bit of grease from her fingers, the sight of her tongue gliding over her flesh producing powerful erotic fantasies that nearly unmanned him.
“I don’t know when I’ve eaten anything that tasted so good,” Shannon sighed, replete.
Blade wanted to say that her sweet flesh was a tastier feast, but didn’t dare. “Nor I,” he agreed.
Rising nearly in unison, they walked to the stream and washed their hands and faces, then returned to the fire. An awkward silence ensued, until Blade fetched the blankets and spread them out.
“Its time we bedded down. We’ve a long walk ahead of us.”
“Do you think we’ll find the horses?”
“I doubt it.” Blade said slowly, unwilling to give hope where none existed. “We’re fortunate Fort Laramie isn’t too far away.” He stretched out on the blanket, wrapping it around himself like a cocoon.
Shannon did the same, tired enough to sleep but too aware of Blade’s daunting presence to close her eyes. After listening to her tossing restlessly for some minutes, Blade dared to ask, “Can’t you sleep either?”
“N-no,” Shannon stammered. She had no idea that she had disturbed him. “I can’t seem to relax.”
“I know of a way to relax you,” Blade said. Shannon could hear the smile in his voice and tried to ignore his blatant hint. “Perhaps I could show you.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Let me make love to you, Little Firebird.”
“I’ll not let you seduce me again, Blade,” Shannon declared. “You have my gratitude for getting me out of a terrible situation, but that’s as far as I’m prepared to go.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it, for I’m experienced enough to know better.”
“That’s beside the point,” Shannon argued. “Suffice it to say it will never happen again. Go to sleep. You’re still recovering from your head injury.”
“Your reluctance wouldn’t have anything to do with my being a half-breed, would it?” Blade asked tightly.
Shannon deliberately withheld her answer, unwilling to give Blade the satisfaction of knowing his heritage had nothing to do with her decision. What she couldn’t tolerate was the shameful way he made her feel. Her upbringing forbade what was happening between them. Such intense feelings were reserved for married couples who loved one another. She blamed inexperience and lust on the wanton way she had responded to Blade’s expert caresses and erotic seduction. Just thinking about it made her tremble with repressed longin
g. She’d give her soul to feel his arms around her, his mouth exploring her body, thrusting into her until she cried out in wild abandon.
“I thought so,” Blade said, disgust making his voice harsh. When Shannon failed to reply he assumed her silence meant she agreed with his reasoning. “Relax, I won’t ask you to dirty yourself with an Indian. Good-night, Miss Branigan.”
Shannon winced, his words cutting her deeply. She’d always prided herself on her ability to judge a man on his merit, but Blade was a man like none other. He might be an Indian, but he was more man than any she’d ever known. Unfortunately she couldn’t tell him how she felt. It was best for all concerned to let him think she despised him for what he was rather than let him know how deeply and quickly he had gotten under her skin. Besides, he was much too arrogant for her taste.
The next day was a repeat of the first. They walked until their legs gave out, rested, then walked some more. They spoke sparingly, saving their energy to propel them forward, one step at a time. The sun became their enemy, blazing down on them with relentless fury. Shannon had lost her sunbonnet, and her face and arms turned a dull red. The freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out in stark relief, which privately Blade thought endearing. They stopped frequently to pick berries, then trudged on.
“How much farther, Blade?” Shannon asked, breaking the long silence. She couldn’t bear their not speaking when they were the only humans around for miles.
Blade started violently, Shannon’s lilting voice a welcome relief from the profound stillness surrounding them. “Two, three more days,” he estimated, squinting toward the western horizon. “See that tall limestone shaft in the distance? That’s Chimney Rock. Beyond that’s Scott’s Bluff. Fort Laramie lies a short distance from Scott’s Bluff.”
