by Bobbi Smith
Rori watched almost helplessly as Chance made some remark to Doug and then turned his horse in her direction, coming toward her at a walking pace. Instinct told Rori to avoid him, but she felt unable to move, unable to run. She waited where she was, a captive of his gaze.
"Rori," he greeted her with a slight nod.
"You're back," she replied, keeping her tone flat and trying not to think of how marvelously handsome he looked and of how she suddenly longed to have him greet her as Doug had greeted Nilakla—with a wildly abandoned kiss and embrace.
"Obviously," he drawled as he swung down from the saddle and brushed off some of the trail dust. "I need to talk with you for a few minutes."
"Why?" she challenged, not wanting to be alone with him for any reason. He was too virile . . . too attractive . . . and she remembered too much.
"Rori . . ." His tone held just the slightest hint of annoyance.
"All right." She gave him a resentful glare and got begrudgingly to her feet. Though she had really wanted to stay away from him until he'd gone, she reasoned just talking to him couldn't hurt anything, and it had to be better than the alternative—staying here and listening to talk of babies, baskets, and pots!
"Thanks."
Chance handed his horse over to one of the young boys who vied for the chance to take care of him and then walked with Rori out of the encampment so they could have a few minutes alone to talk.
"I didn't get the opportunity to speak with you before Doug and I left for the mine, and I just wanted to see how you were doing."
"I'm fine," she answered brusquely, not wanting to encourage him. What she did was her business, not his.
"You're sure?" he probed, wanting to be certain.
"Look," Rori turned on him sharply, "why is it that, for some reason, you think you have the right to know everything that goes on in my life?"
"You are my responsibility," Chance countered.
"I thought that was all settled. You thought I should stay here, so I'm stayin' here, and everything's wonderful. Right?"
"That's what I wanted to know, Rori. Is everything working out for you? Do you think you'll be happy here?"
Happy? The word reverberated through her soul, and Rori almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. Happy? Burr was dead, and she had no one but Jake. And she wondered if she'd ever be happy again.
"Of course." Rori kept her expression stoic, deliberately looking away from his probing dark eyes. "Why?"
"I just wanted to make sure," Chance began, noticing how she was avoiding looking at him. He wanted to draw her to him, comfort her, and tell her that things would eventually get easier for her, but there was something in her manner that put him off. She was her usual angry, prickly self, but there was something more . . . an unnatural coldness that troubled him about her. "I'm leaving for Boston tomorrow, Rori, and I needed to know that you were going to be all right here."
She was stricken by his words. He was leaving tomorrow . . . She had never really believed the moment would come. She had never really believed that he'd go, but he was—tomorrow.
Chance thought he saw a fleeting flicker of some emotion—it looked almost like sadness—in her eyes, but it vanished just as quickly as it had come, making him doubt that he'd ever really seen it. Her next words, as brash as ever, served to further convince him that he'd been mistaken.
"Well, rest your conscience, white man. I'm going to be just fine."
"You're sure?"
"What did I say?" Rori challenged, wanting him to just leave her alone. "You go on back where you came from. Jakie and me are real happy here." The lie almost stuck in her throat, but she was willing to say just about anything to get rid of him.
"All right." He backed off, recognizing her hostility and knowing from experience not to push her. "I'll see you sometime tomorrow before I leave."
Rori gave a careless shrug of her shoulders as she started to walk away. "Don't matter to me."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Rori," Chance called after her. He was pensive as he watched her move off, trying to figure out why it bothered him so much that she didn't seem to care even a little bit that he was leaving.
Later that night, curled up with Big Jake in her tipi, Rori mulled over her conversation with Chance and tried to fight down the feeling of desperate panic that threatened. He had seemed so coolly indifferent while they'd talked. It was obvious that he thought it was his obligation to make sure that she was cared for because that was all he'd wanted to talk to her about. At no time had he said anything remotely personal or told her that he was going to miss her.
It seemed to Rori that Chance was acting as if their two nights of ecstatic lovemaking had never happened or, if they had, they had been supremely unimportant in the scheme of his life. To him, those encounters had meant nothing. To Rori, they would be what she built the rest of her life on.
Rori couldn't believe that Chance was actually leaving forever, and she found she was miserable at the thought. Though she had told herself over and over not to care for him, that he had used her and that he would never love her, she had failed miserably. Every time she set eyes upon him, she was reminded of the ecstasy of his touch and their passionate lovemaking, and she wanted him again.
Rori was angry with herself for her weakness where he was concerned. Perhaps if he had never kissed her or touched her, she might have been able to banish him from her thoughts, but now she doubted that that would ever happen. It was almost as if Chance had become a part of her . . . a part that after tomorrow would be missing. As much as she'd been wanting him to go, deep in her heart Rori wasn't sure if that was good or bad.
"I don't know what to do, Jakie . . ." she murmured to her lifelong friend as she contemplated her dilemma. "I don't want to want him, Jakie, but I do . . . I really do . . ."
Despite the activity of the day, Chance was surprised to find that he could not sleep that night. He felt restless and troubled, and he wasn't sure why. Somehow in the back of his mind, he connected his disquiet to Rori, but he couldn't put a name to the reason for his misgivings.
Chance rolled to his back on the hard mat and folded his arms beneath his head. Through the small hole at the top of the tipi, he could see a small patch of star-spangled night sky. He stared up at it, not really seeing its beauty as his thoughts centered on Rori and the mystery of his uneasiness.
Chance didn't understand his sudden concern for her. He had done everything he'd promised Burr he'd do. He'd assured her future with the tribe, and it was obvious to him, judging from her reaction, that she was content in the village. Hell, he swore to himself, she'd told him so straight to his face!
Chance knew Rori wasn't a shy, retiring miss who would keep her mouth shut if something was bothering her. If she'd been upset about anything, he was certain she would have let him know it. He found himself grinning at the thought. Rori certainly did have a knack for speaking her mind.
For the first time, Chance actually admitted to himself that he was going to miss her. Though Rori had meant nothing but trouble for him since the beginning, he'd come to enjoy that trouble. Since Burr's death, though, except for their few mildly aggravating discussions, she'd been very subdued.
Chance realized that she'd never really mourned her grandfather's passing. She'd been distraught when he'd first been shot, but he hadn't seen her shed a tear since, not even when they'd buried him. He knew it wasn't healthy to keep grief bottled up inside, but he could think of no tactful way to broach the subject to her. Rori seemed inordinately pleased that he was leaving, and he feared she would just erupt with anger should he "try to stick his nose in her business" again.
It occurred to Chance that he rarely saw Rori anything but angry. The first time they'd met she'd been fighting those boys in town. She'd turned her fury on him then for "not mindin' his own business," and they'd been fighting each other ever since . . . except for those two glorious times when they'd made love.
The realization that he thought their
encounters glorious shocked him. He'd tried to convince himself all along that lust was the only thing he was feeling when he'd made love to Rori. But Chance knew that lust was quickly satisfied and eventually faded with the passing of time. To his consternation, he was beginning to recognize that what he was feeling for Rori seemed to be growing and thriving, and that unnerved him.
He shouldn't care about her, he told himself. But he did, his conscience answered, and not just as an inherited responsibility. Chance recalled the last time they were together, and heat flooded his loins, leaving him heavy with his need for her. In agitation, he rolled over onto his stomach and fought to bring his surging desire for her under control. He couldn't deny that he wanted her, but he would deny himself the right to take her. He would protect her . . . even from himself.
Chance knew that this was Rori's one opportunity for a happy future, and he wanted her to have that. He wanted her to fall in love and marry and have children. He wanted her to have a good life.
Why then, he wondered in annoyance, did he feel so downright miserable over the thought of her marrying another man? Completely baffled, Chance refused to even think about it anymore. Closing his eyes, he sought rest, but the throbbing hunger in his body left no doubt in his mind that it would be a long and sleepless night.
Chapter Twenty-two
Chance was leaving . . . Chance was leaving . . . Chance was leaving . . . The refrain played in Rori's mind as she watched the sun crest the eastern horizon. The night had been long, lonely, and dark for her, and despite the bright sunlight, the day promised to be even more so.
Rori was listless as she left her lodge and wandered through the still quiet village down to the edge of the small creek that ran nearby. She sat down on the bank and stared out across the water, her thoughts ajumble. Confusion reined supreme in her mind. Conflicting emotions tore at her, and she wasn't sure what she was really feeling anymore. All she did know was that Chance was at the center of it all.
He was going home, back to Boston and to the woman he'd spoken of so often—Bethany. Jealousy ripped through Rori at the thought of him with another woman. She was certain that Bethany was beautiful. A woman would have to be to capture the interest of a man like Chance.
Rori realized then that she had never really done anything to improve on her own looks. She was still wearing her buckskins, still pulling her long hair back in two braids, and she hadn't had a bath since that time with Chance. The water's edge beckoned, and Rori moved down to it to gaze at her reflection. To her dismay, she looked exactly the same as she always had. She looked like a boy. No wonder Chance was eager to leave and go back to Bethany.
The thought of Bethany waiting back home for him was sour in her mind, and Rori found herself wondering just how lovely Bethany really was. She glanced down at herself again, staring at her wide eyes and raven hair, and she challenged herself to try to look her best for just one day.
Not that she really cared what Chance thought or about his women back in Boston, Rori told herself, but she knew she'd get a great sense of satisfaction out of showing him just how good she could look, how very womanly she could be, if she put her mind to it. When a quick look around affirmed that she was alone, Rori stripped off her well-worn clothes and stepped into the water. She unbraided her hair and then slipped beneath the surface to wet it down. She hurriedly washed as best she could and then emerged from the stream to tug her clothing back on.
Dawn Blossom had given Rori a traditional Pima cloth skirt and blouse to wear when she'd first learned that she was going to be staying with them. Until this moment Rori had disdained the thought of ever wearing the garments. She'd cast them indifferently aside after putting on a show of thanking the woman. Now, she couldn't wait to don them. She was going to show Chance Broderick! He might never think of her again after he left today, but at least once he was going to see her looking like a woman.
For a moment, Rori tried to understand why it even mattered to her. It seemed almost silly to even care what he thought. He was leaving, and she wanted him to leave and never come back . . . didn't she? Exasperated by her inability to sort it all out, Rori did the only thing she could if she was to have any peace of mind. She stopped thinking about it. She set her sights instead on the goal of looking the best she possibly could when she went to tell him their final good-bye later that day.
Chance moved to take Nilakla in his arms and plant a brotherly kiss upon her cheek. "You're a beautiful woman, Nilakla, and Doug's lucky to have you."
The Indian woman flushed with pleasure at his compliments as she gazed up at her husband adoringly. "I'm the lucky one to have Doug for my husband and you for my husband's brother."
"Take care of him."
"I will," she promised.
"And come to Boston as soon as you can."
Nilakla's spirits plummeted, but she hid her upset behind a wide smile. "I would like that," she answered, really meaning it.
Chance looked around, ready to say good-bye to Rori. He hadn't seen her all morning, and now that he and Doug were packed and ready to ride out, he was worried that he was going to miss her entirely.
"Has anybody seen Rori?" he asked.
"She was in her tipi earlier," Nilakla answered. "I'll go see if she's still there." Just as she started to go after her, Rori came out of her lodge with Big Jake at her side. "Here she comes now."
Chance looked up, his gaze seeking Rori out, and he stared at her in disbelief, not quite sure it was really her. Rori looked stunning . . . she actually looked like a woman . . . Her ebony hair was unbound and hung, shiny and silken, down past her shoulders. The sleek raven tresses seemed to beg for a man's touch, and Chance remembered, against his will, just how wonderful they had felt beneath his hands. She wore a loose-fitting light-colored blouse that was scoop-necked in style, and a dark, full skirt that came just to her ankles.
Chance knew as he watched her move toward him that no one could have mistaken her for a boy now. She looked lovely. She was a beautiful woman. Somehow being forced to admit that to himself made Chance realize how much he still desired Rori physically. He didn't want to feel this way about her; he'd fought it every inch of the way, but to no avail. He did want her.
Though Rori gave the impression of walking toward him with a confident stride, in truth there was nothing confident about her. She was quaking inside at the thought that this would be the last time she would see him—ever.
Her gaze clung to him, committing to memory everything about the way he looked. He was wearing a black shirt and pants that fit his muscular physique perfectly. His dark hair gleamed in the brightness of the noonday sun, and his teeth flashed whitely against his tanned face when he smiled in her direction.
Rori felt her knees go weak when Chance smiled. She wanted to believe that that smile had been just for her, but logic told her she was wrong. If he was so glad to see her, why was he leaving? The only reason he was smiling, she told herself, was because he was happy about going home. Still, her pulse quickened as she drew nearer to him, and her heart began to pound in an erratic rhythm. Dismally, Rori wondered if she would ever get over him once he'd gone away.
They probably would have continued to stare at each other without speaking had Big Jake not broken the deadlock. With a loud, happy woof, he charged forward to greet Chance, his tail wagging forty miles a minute.
Happily distracted, Chance dropped to one knee to say good-bye to the big, oafish hound. "You're a good boy, Jakie, and you stay that way," he told him as he ruffled his golden coat. "You take care of Rori now, you hear?"
Jakie gave a sharp bark, making it almost seem like he knew what Chance had said to him. Chance gave him one final pat on the head and then got back to his feet. As he straightened up, his eyes met Rori's and, again, he saw mirrored in the emerald depths of her gaze a flare of emotion that he couldn't quite identify. As if sensing that he had seen too much, Rori quickly shuttered her expression. Chance was left to puzzle over what he thought he had or ha
d not seen. Because he believed she couldn't stand the sight of him, he had expected her to be joyful at the thought of him leaving. But the emotion he'd seen reflected in her eyes had been far from happy, and he wondered . . .
"The traditional dress suits you," he finally spoke up.
"It does, Rori. You look lovely," Nilakla told her friend, unaware of the fine thread of tension between Chance and Rori.
"Thanks. Dawn Blossom gave them to me," she replied. "I thought it was time I dressed like a Pima, since I'll be one of them from now on."
Perversely, Chance found himself trying to imagine which young buck from the tribe was finally going to win her heart. He'd have bet quite a few would be more than willing to try to impress her once they got a good look at her dressed this way.
"You take care of yourself," Rori said with a casualness she wasn't feeling. On one hand, she was wishing he would just hurry up and go—get it over with; yet, on the other, she was wishing he would stay so they'd never have to be parted.
"You, too, and be sure to keep Jakie out of trouble." Chance felt awkward, like a damned fool. Here they were, standing around like strangers making idle talk, when all he really wanted to do was to take Rori in his arms and kiss her senseless.
Trouble was, Chance knew he couldn't do it. Rori deserved better than that. What they'd shared had been a fleeting thing, a brief fiery flare of passion that led nowhere and would have to be forgotten. He had his future, and she had hers. Still . . .
Almost as if drawn to her magnetically, Chance took a step closer. With the utmost of tender care he cupped her face with both his hands and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Rori trembled as his lips touched her, and she bit back a sob of anguish. How was she ever going to live through this? First, Burr had left her, and now Chance was going, too? How was she ever going to survive without them . . . without him?
