"‘Why?’ the lady asks." He leaned closer, his breath hot on her ear. His lips brushed her earlobe when he spoke. "You expose yourself to the hungry eyes of strangers, and you ask me why." His fingers dug into the tender flesh of her back as he held her closer.

Tilting her head so she could see his face, she denied his accusation. "I did not expose myself, and what...." She paused when a dark shadow crossed his face, and his jaws clenched. "Is that why you’re angry with me? My dress?"

"Dress?" He leaned back and gazed down at the creamy tops of her firm young breasts framed by the square décolletage of her dress. "There would be less of you visible if you were in a nightgown."

His eyes softened momentarily while he drank in the loveliness of the unobstructed view. He had a wild urge to bury his face in the valley between those twin peaks. Desire coursed through his veins, fueling his anger at his own weakness. The hurt in her eyes twisted his heart, and he ached to remove the pain he knew his words had caused.

Losing control of his long-held restraint, he leaned forward, lowering his head until his lips were mere inches from hers. Her quickly indrawn breath reminded him they were not alone. A low groan slid past his lips. He buried his face in the vibrant curls beside her ear. With all his heart he wanted to feel her warm sensuous lips beneath his. Even the delicate fragrance of her hair sent waves of desire surging through his body.

He felt her heart set up an insane hammering when his lips brushed the nap of her exposed neck, felt the trembling of her body through his fingertips where his hand still rested against her back. Sanity returned slowly and he whispered shakily in her ear, "I’m sorry, Danny. Forgive me. I went a little crazy tonight, seeing you like this." She struggled to free herself from his arms. "Don’t. Don’t fight me. I know I have no right...."

"Let me go! You’re hurting me." Her body was as rigid as her voice.

Immediately, his arms fell away, releasing her. An emptiness akin to pain at her removal from his embrace raced through him. As he whirled away from her to make his brisk farewells to the other gentlemen, he saw pain mingled with confusion in her eyes. That one brief glimpse was like a physical blow to his gut. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. God alone knew, he hadn’t meant to hurt her.

by

This is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the characters, incidents, and dialogs are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2002 by Priscilla A. Maine

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and review. For information, address NovelBooks, Inc., P.O. Box 661, Douglas, MA 01516 or email publisher@novelbooksinc.com

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Produced in the United States of America.

Original cover illustration by Skip Rowell, Master Artist (www.skiprowell.com); updated by Ariana Overton

Edited by Tara Manderino

ISBN 1-59105-018-9 for electronic version

ISBN 1-59105-043-X for trade paperback

"Papa, what if Alan has changed his mind?" Danielle asked.

Nathaniel Alexander shifted the leather lead lines in his big hands before responding to his daughter’s question. "What if you have, you mean."

"Well, it’s been months since Alan left for California. A lot of things could have happened to make him change his mind about our engagement." Danielle refused to look up at her father, knowing he knew her too well to hide her doubts from him for long.

"If he loves you, no amount of time nor distance will change his feelings." Nathaniel wiped sweat from his brow. "Daughter, it’s normal to have uncertainties. Marriage is a big step and shouldn’t be taken lightly."

When he paused, Danielle glanced up and noticed her father flexing the fingers of his left hand. Moisture beaded his forehead, though the morning wasn’t unduly warm. She also observed the paleness of his skin. "Are you having that pain in your chest again, Papa?"

"Don’t try to change the subject on me, young lady. My health is no cause for concern." Again, he swiped his brow. "You are the one I’m worried about." From his perch on the wagon’s seat, Nathaniel watched his daughter walking beside the team. "Danielle, remember it’s never too late to...."

When her father didn’t finish his sentence, Danielle looked up and saw him clutching his chest, his face a purplish hue and contorted with pain. "Papa! Someone help me!" She grabbed for the reins dangling over the side of the wagon. Her fingers had barely locked about the leather straps when she heard a horse galloping toward her. She turned toward the sound, expecting to find the Wagon Master or another of the men from the train. Instead, the rider was someone she didn’t know. But before she had time to ponder the situation further, her billowing skirts tangled about her legs causing her to stumble, then fall. In a cloud of dust and yards of gingham, her bottom smacked the hard-packed ground, but her fingers still clutched the lines to the horses.

"Are you hurt, ma’am?" a deep, husky voice asked.

Before she could catch her breath to reply, she felt him jerk her skirt-tent away. She looked up into the most striking green eyes she’d ever seen, and they seemed to be devouring her. Even in her distraught condition, those eyes held her captive longer than they should. She felt an unfamiliar tightening in the lower region of her stomach and a flutter in her heart.

"Here, let me help you." Strong hands pulled her to her feet, leaving her only inches from his broad chest. A heady masculine scent filled her nostrils, disturbing her even more. "You all right?"

That baritone voice snatched her to her senses. "Papa." She whirled about, almost losing her balance until strong fingers locked about her upper arm, steadying her. Danielle refused to look into those hypnotic eyes again. "Help him, please."

"What’s going on here?" David Sutton, the Wagon Master, asked, stepping around the end of the wagon. "Why are you stopping?"

"It’s Papa. I think he’s sick," Danielle replied, welcoming the reassuring presence of someone she knew.

"Go get Henry to help me with him," Sutton instructed before turning to the stranger.

Danielle dashed off in search of Henry Logan. Henry, the youngest of three brothers traveling with the wagon train, had been helping Danielle and her father the past two weeks. Ever since the loss of one of the Logan’s own wagons, Nathaniel had hired the young man to spare Danielle from the heavier duties of harnessing and unharnessing the team, and gathering wood for their cookfire. The young man had even started taking his meals with the Alexanders in the evenings. In those passing weeks, Danielle had caught Henry watching her when he thought she wasn’t aware of his presence. She suspected the young man was forming more than a casual interest in her, but had brushed the suspicion aside.

When she and Henry arrived back at the Alexander wagon, they found Nathaniel lying on a folded quilt in the shade of a nearby oak tree. Reassured by the fact her father was now conscious, she whisper his name. "Papa." Kneeling beside the makeshift bed, she took his hand in hers and new alarm raced through her at the heat emanating from his flesh.

"It’s all right, daughter. I just need to rest a bit." The weakness in his voice sent a ripple of fear down her spine.

"You need a doctor," Danielle replied, hoping her voice didn’t reveal the fear she felt. What on earth would she do if anything happened to him? He was the only family she had. Her mother had died when Danielle was nine, her grandparents soon afterward. It had been just her and her father these past ten years. She couldn’t imagine being without him.

"Mr. Riley here has offered to send a doctor out to check on your father, ma’am," the Wagon Master said.

Danielle looked up and, realizing Mr. Sutton was referring to the green-eyed stranger, smiled weakly. "Tell him to hurry please."

"I’ll do that, ma’am," the man said. He tipped his hat and shifted his attention briefly to Henry Logan. He then turned and walked to his horse, gathered up the reins and mounted. "The Depot on Boggy is only two miles west of here. If he’s not out on a call, Doc Fulton should be here within the hour, Mr. Logan."

Danielle wondered why he addressed this information to Henry, though it was only a fleeting thought. Her main concern centered on her father. But in the silence that followed the man’s departure, Danielle found herself wondering if she would ever see him again. Almost immediately she chastised herself. Why should it matter? Yet, she knew it did.

Less than an hour later, Doctor Fulton rode his lathered horse into the circle of wagons. After a quick examination of her father and a few questions, the doctor said, "Mr. Alexander, in my opinion, continuing west in your condition would be foolhardy." He strapped his black leather bag to the pommel of his saddle while he spoke.

"I have no choice," Nathaniel said. "I must get my daughter to her fiancé in California."

"Then let her young man come here," Fulton replied. "If you’re wise, you’ll take my advice and stay put."

"Where?" Nathaniel asked.

"Well, I hear Frank Geary is selling his lease and moving his family back east. The cabin isn’t much, but it would serve your purpose. The place isn’t far from here. I’d look into it if I were you. In plain words, sir, your heart won’t take the strain." The doctor turned to Danielle. "Make him as comfortable as possible, and under no circumstances should he exert himself. His gaze shifted to Nathaniel, then back to Danielle. "Unless you want to bury him here on the banks of Boggy." With that cold announcement, the young doctor mounted his house. "If you need me, you know where to find me. Good day and good luck."

"Then it’s settled," David Sutton said, slapping his leather gloves against his leg. "Young Henry here will stay with you folks until you’re feeling up to travel. Then you can join up with us later. Sorry we can’t stay with you, but you understand that every minute counts if I’m to get these folks over them mountains before the snow falls. Nathaniel, I will get that message off to your daughter’s fiancé when we come to a town with a telegraph office."

"I appreciate that, Sutton," Nathaniel said.

The men had set up a bed under the big oak so Nathaniel would be off the ground and more comfortable. From there the three watched their fellow travelers pull out without them.

Only a thin wisp of dust remained of the wagon train’s departure when Nathaniel called Henry to his bedside. "Saddle up my gray. I want you to ride into that town up ahead and find out about that place the doctor mentioned."

Danielle waited until young Logan rode off before approaching her father. "Papa, what is this all about? What message is Mr. Sutton sending to Alan? And what is this about housing here?" She pushed the thin quilt back a bit and sat on the edge of her father’s bed. "What is it you’re not telling me?"

"Daughter, it’s time you faced the truth," Nathaniel said, taking her hand in his. "I may not be able to continue to California." When Danielle started to object, he silenced her with his uplifted hand. "Just listen to me. Hear me out." His fingers stroked her hand a moment before he continued. "Your safety and welfare are all that matter to me. If for any reason I should have to leave you, I want to know you are settled in a safe place with folks nearby to look after you. I can’t be assured of that if we continue and I should fall ill... or die."

"Papa..."

"You must face that possibility. I have. I’ve asked Sutton to telegraph Alan where to find us."

"Then you have no intention of joining the train later?" Danielle interrupted.

"No. I have sent young Henry to find us a place here, if he can. I have arranged with his brothers to sell them one of our wagons and teams and send Henry on to join them a bit later. You and I will wait here for Alan." When he hesitated, Danielle thought for a moment he would say no more. But he did. "Remember this, daughter, there is no shame in changing one’s mind. If for any reason you should decide that you and Alan...well, just know that I would never want you to keep your betrothal if in your heart you feel it’s not right. Your happiness is all that truly matters. Will you remember that?"

His announcement alarmed Danielle more than she cared to admit. Her own doubts had plagued her ever since her father had sold his newspaper and they had started for California. But for some reason, her father’s words troubled her more than her own uncertainties.

Later that day Henry returned with news that he had found the man wanting to sell his land lease. "Mr. Geary says white settlers can’t own land here in Indian Territory. But they can lease it from the Indians. His place is a one-hundred-sixty-acre plot with a cabin. Mrs. Geary wants to go back east where her family lives. So he’s letting his lease go cheap."

"We’ll take it."

"Papa, you haven’t even seen it!" Danielle objected.

"We’ll take it."

Less than a week later, Danielle and her father were settled in the one-room cabin and Henry Logan had departed. Before leaving, Henry helped Danielle stack the furniture as best they could in the tiny space and chinked the cracks in the log walls with newspaper and rags. The first few days in the cramped room Danielle tried to make order out of the chaos of boxes, trunks, and valises. It proved useless. The third day, after settling her father down for a morning nap, she took a light shawl and strolled across the open meadow behind the cabin.

She hadn’t noticed how long or how far she had walked until she heard the galloping hoofbeats of an approaching horse. Quickly she glanced around and realized she’d come farther than she had intended. She could barely see the small log house in the distance. That fact didn’t actually bother her. In the week since moving in, she hadn’t seen another soul. The sight of the rider coming toward her was one she welcomed instead of feared.

When the rider drew close enough for her to identify him, she felt a flutter race through her stomach and a warmth flood her veins. She self-consciously ran a hand through her tangled hair, then across the wrinkled fabric of her walking skirt as she had neglected her appearance for more than a week.

The green-eyed stranger drew his mount to a halt and tipped his hat.

"Good morning," Danielle said, doing her best to hide the quaver in her voice.

"Ma’am."

His husky statement stroked her taut senses, summoning her first thrust of alarm at being caught alone. Avoiding his eyes as best she could without being obvious, she pulled her shawl about her shoulders and asked, "What brings you by, sir?"

"I hadn’t intended to stop."

His voice took on a gruff quality that surprised Danielle. He appeared upset, but she couldn’t imagine why.

"Do you often wander about without protection?" he snapped, glancing at her hand that still clutched the shawl.

Danielle followed his gaze, and realized he was looking at her emerald betrothal ring. She nudged the golden band with her finger, twisting the set inside the palm of her hand. Now why had she done that? Before she could analyze her action, he spoke again.

"If you were my woman, I wouldn’t allow you out of my sight."

"But I’m not." She ventured a quick glance upward and found his eyes locked on her. It took all her willpower to look away. Why did this man upset her so? What was it about him that caused her to feel so drawn to him while upsetting her at the same time?

"No, you’re not."

When he said that, Danielle thought she saw a fleeting pain cloud his eyes.

"But you should know that this is not the safest place to roam about," he continued. "In fact, this is a very vulnerable location. You folks sit smack in the middle of the main roads headed west. And not all the travelers are law-abiding folk." He paused as if for emphasis. "It is also a favorite of the Plains Indians when they want to raid and plunder."

Danielle looked up at him. A weak smile toyed with the edges of his full lips, and she saw a faint gleam in the depths of his eyes.

"Just a word of caution, ma’am. If your man doesn’t care any more about you than to let you wander alone, at least carry a gun."

How dare he talk to her like that? Who did he think he was? Well, he might have the most luscious eyes and cause her heart to skip a beat with his striking good looks, but she didn’t care a whit for his bossy attitude. Because of that, she didn’t bother explaining that Henry, who he obviously had mistaken for her husband or her intended, was neither. Nor did she tell him that the young man was no longer even there. "I’ll be sure to remember. Good day, sir," she forced the words between her clenched teeth.

As he rode away, Danielle felt as if her knees wouldn’t support her. She collapsed on the carpet of lush prairie grass and contemplated her own sanity. How else could she explain her reactions to this stranger?

That night she wrote Alan a long letter. The next morning she settled her father down for a nap and walked to the Depot on Boggy to post her mail. Riding her father’s big gray mare would have been faster and easier. But Danielle had an ingrained dislike and distrust of horses, so she made the two-mile trek on foot.

When she returned, she found her father dead. Nathaniel Alexander had gone as far west as he would go. She buried him herself in the shade of the lonely oak at the edge of the yard.

Her father’s death left her alone in the heart of the Choctaw and Chickasaw Nation, Indian Territory, Oklahoma, among strangers. Possibly hostile strangers.

Sitting on a grassy knoll, her back against a gigantic oak, Danielle gave free rein to her grief. The past week had been the most strenuous she could remember. A gentle breeze tugged tendrils of her hair loose from the pink ribbon that bound it. Danielle was totally unaware of her surroundings. Tears slid silently, unchecked, down her cheeks. The snapping of a dry twig vibrated through the air like a gunshot. Birds fell silent. Startled, Danielle scanned the nearby area, seeking the source of her distraction.

Lush new clover and a profusion of pink and white buttercups carpeted the valley floor. A bright shaft of morning sun filtered through the treetops, illuminating the clearing below. Shadows hugged the tree line as the spring breeze set the new leaves astir.

Danielle let her gaze return to the shadows where a movement caught her attention. She watched five mahogany-skinned figures emerge into the clearing. Her muscles were as taut as whalebone-stays; air couldn’t escape her tortured lungs. Paralyzed, she watched the buckskin-clad Indians cross the grassy meadow, each step bringing them closer. It was a two-hundred yard dash to the cabin. Too far, her mind screamed.

The group strode forward, stepping from the shadows into the bright, clear sunlight. Four tall, muscular warriors flanked a colorfully clad older man who supported a blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms.

Danielle’s heart pounded like drums in her temples. She waited. Bile rose in her throat. Her mind dredged up all the stories she’d heard about the abduction of white women. Cynthia Ann Parker’s story was engraved in her memory. Everyone back East had heard of how she and her brother, John, had been taken and enslaved by the Comanche. Danielle’s hands frantically searched the ground beside her, seeking an object suitable as a weapon. If she was going to die, she would die fighting. Her trembling fingers gripped a fist-size rock.

Forcing strength into her rubbery legs, Danielle pushed herself upward using the tree trunk as support. The bark dug into her back through the thin fabric of her shirtwaist. A breeze whipped her blue chambray skirt against trembling legs.

Observing the young woman’s actions, the old man smiled to himself. This one has aiyimita, is good, he thought. With a flick of his hand, he signaled for the four behind him to wait. As one, the four, bare-chested young men stopped and stood like granite sentinels with folded arms.

The old Indian walked serenely forward with steps slow and filled with dignity. His once dark locks now resembled cold ashes sprinkled with snow, reminiscent of the untold number of campfires he’d squatted beside and the winter snows he’d survived. His mahogany skin was etched deeply with the lessons of life. Despite his advanced age his buckeye-black eyes saw clearly. They burrowed deeply into the soul.

Clutching the small bundle he carried close to his weathered bony chest, he drew nearer to the frightened young woman on the knoll ahead. Her white knuckles still locked about the stone.

For seven suns, Hunting Hawk had watched this young woman with hair the color of ripened wheat mourn the death of the old man who had brought her here. If his plan worked, neither the lonely young white woman nor the fragile bundle he carried would be alone again.

Offering the traditional greeting of his clan, the old Indian placed his hand across his heart with his palm open toward her indicating an open hand and heart. Then, tapping a bony finger against his concave chest, he announced, "Hunting Hawk bring gift. Hunting Hawk bring life." A toothless smile smoothed his wrinkled face. Extending his arms, he waited.

A mourning dove cooing in the distance caused Danielle’s taut nerves to jerk in reflex to the sound.

With a grunt, the splendidly dressed old man pushed the tiny parcel at Danielle once more. Dropping her gaze, she was amazed to detect movement from the blanket-wrapped gift, followed by gurgling sounds. Before Danielle could react, the squirming bundle was shoved into her arms.

"Is man-child. You need. Boy need, too. See, is good." As though that was all the explanation she needed, the toothless gift-bearer turned to join the vigilant quartet.

"Wait!"

The one-word command brought immediate results from both males. The old man ground to a halt, and the blanket-wrapped infant started wailing, flinging both arms in angry protest to the interruption of his nap. The trade blanket fell away, exposing to Danielle’s gaze an angelic, rosy-cheeked face crowned with a lush thatch of midnight-black hair. Her heart gave a joyful lurch at sight of the tiny puckered face.

"Is good. Boy happy." The old man stood before her once more, a cavernous smile beaming from his nut-brown face. Realizing that he apparently intended her no harm, Danielle allowed her rigid body to relax and the rock to fall to the ground.

Perhaps filled with confidence that his mission was now accomplished, Hunting Hawk stood tall, as if with pride, at least as tall as his weathered frame allowed him to stand. Danielle noticed, belatedly, the old man’s well-dressed appearance. Probably wanting to look his best, he wore deerhide leggings with long delicate fringes, a bright red shirt made of homespun cotton dyed, she suspected, with the juice of the poke berry. His thigh-high moccasins, were new and decorated with dyed quills. A breastplate of turkey bones adorned with eagle feathers and a silk top hat set off his finery. She wondered if the notched raven feather attached to his single braid indicated his status within his tribe, perhaps as a shaman or sub-chief. All together, his attire set him apart from anything Danielle had ever experienced. She turned her attention back to the squirming, squalling infant. "He doesn’t look happy."

"He happy. Has Ishki now." His words were accompanied by a gesture of his bony finger toward Danielle. "Mother."

The word finally registered in Danielle’s befuddled brain. "Mother!"

Nodding his head, the aged shaman turned to leave.

"No! Wait! You can’t leave him here." Danielle raised her voice in order to be heard above the objecting infant. She clutched the ancient one’s arm and drew him to a halt. "You can’t just leave him here. Whose baby is he?"

In answer, the old man calling himself Hunting Hawk only nodded, leaving her to wonder if he understood her.

Once more she tried. "Take him to his mother. He can’t stay here." She pushed the crying bundle toward him.

Shaking his head, he stepped back out of reach. "Is gift. You keep."

A conviction lodged in her mind at his words. Surely, she must be wrong. "He belongs with his mother, I can’t keep him," she pleaded, feeling defeat’s clammy grip closing about her. A faint glimmer of sadness danced across the wrinkled face at her words. She hadn’t meant to offend him, but he must be made to understand.

"No Ishki. You be mother."

"No!"

Removing his silk hat, Hunting Hawk stood idly scratching his balding pate, as if searching for words to explain. "Long story. Take time to tell. Legs old, tired of standing." Placing his hat back on his head, he returned to the huge oak and gently lowered himself to the clover, patting the ground beside him.

Noticing that the sun was nearing its zenith, Danielle followed his lead and joined him in the dappled shade. Her heart even slowed to a more normal pace. In fact, she found it almost pleasant sitting here with the sun warm on her shoulders with this old man who had the manners of any gentleman back home. Amazed at herself, Danielle recalled that only a short time ago she had been convinced he had come to scalp her, or worse.

Cradling the infant snugly against her breast, she crooned softly to him until his protests became sniffles mingled with hiccups. Carefully, she placed the child beside her on the spring grass, then turned expectantly to the elderly man and waited.

In halting English, accompanied with hand gestures, Hunting Hawk told his story.

"Boy’s mother taken in raid on white village far to the south. She squalling baby with sun-red hair. The People raised her, trained her as slave. When she grow strong enough, she fetch wood and water. They teach her to cook, how to work the hides, do quill and bead work.

"Though frail and small, she good with her hands. Her bead work much prized by People. Skills make for a good second wife. But her fiery temper match her hair. No first wife willing to share hearth with waspish tongue." The elderly man smiled warmly at Danielle as if she should understand that reasoning.

"The men willing to take her to their robes for a season, but soon return her to the slave house. None could abide scorpion sting of her words, nor her talon-like scratching. The People call her Scorpion Woman."

He stopped his story as if to consider his next words. Danielle wanted him to hurry and finish his tale.

"Then, two winters ago, she meet a young, married Choctaw youth. She sang at her work, complete her chores without complaint. Her frail frame took on flesh, cheeks rosy. Her hair sparkle like flames. We thought an offer would soon be made for her. Then, soon as it had started, it was over. The Choctaw youth came no more. Rumors said his first wife refused to consider Scorpion Woman as a second mate."

The old man turned his head and looked at the sleeping infant, then frowned. "That she would be a mother soon known. But instead of becoming plump and rounded as the child grew, Scorpion Woman became hollow-eyed, her tongue like skinning knife. Her belly grow full and heavy, her soul grow empty and scared."

His dark coppery skin folded into more wrinkles. Obviously, the story saddened him. "Her time draw near. Women of the village fear for the child and its mother. Before they could voice their fears, grief tore through many families of both the Chickasaw and Choctaw. Word come that wagonload of the white man’s whiskey being brought into our midst. Our two clans joined forces to overtake the wagon and destroy its evil. Betrayal rode out ahead of us. Someone warned the white men of our plan, and instead of being taken by surprise, they delivered one.

"Three young warriors killed and two wounded. The whiskey arrived unharmed." He glanced again at the infant and shook his silver-shot head. "One of the dead was Scorpion Woman’s lover, the Choctaw youth. Within hours of hearing of his death, she birthed son. We buried her at sunset same day. No clan. Boy alone. You take," the old one finished.

Danielle had listened spellbound, and her heart ached for the infant. Even so, she couldn’t keep the child, and the sooner the old man understood the better. "I can’t do as you ask. I just can’t." Her companion’s face remained as expressionless as a boulder. "I’m expecting someone to come for me. I won’t be here long."

"Is good. You keep. When you leave, I come for boy." Pushing himself upward, Hunting Hawk adjusted the silk hat on his head.

Danielle bounded to her feet, slapping violently at the wrinkled folds of her skirt. "You haven’t heard a word I said! I’ve told you, I can’t keep him!" Heat rose in her cheeks. She drew her lips into a narrow line, squared her shoulders, and faced the old man. "I don’t have any way to care for him. Besides, I’ve never cared for a baby. I don’t even know how." Which wasn’t exactly true, but that memory was too painful, and easier to deny.

Bending down, Hunting Hawk scooped up the blanket-wrapped infant and with a finality in his voice that frightened Danielle, he snapped, "Then must kill him. Better than starving."

"You wouldn’t!" she gasped, grabbing for the infant.

His knotty old arm did not release the child. "Is the way of my people. No clan member to care for him, he burden to all. Better kill one than burden all." He held the baby out of Danielle’s reach.

His words sent icy fingers racing up her spine. She had heard rumors that some tribes practiced infanticide, but she hadn’t really believed it. Now, gazing into his unwavering black eyes, she withdrew her doubts.

"I’ll take him," she mumbled, as her mind revealed a picture of the infant in the arms of death. Snatching the baby from his grasp, she clutched him protectively. Then she saw a fleeting twinkle light Hunting Hawk’s eyes as he watched her cradle the infant in her arms. Seeing the spark in those midnight eyes, she realized she’d been played like a fiddle, with an expert hand at the bow. He had gambled on her reaction to his threat, and won. Momentarily, she considered calling his bluff, but knew she dared not run the risk. The stakes were too high.

Stretching forth his hand, Hunting Hawk fondly caressed the child’s head. Slowly, he gazed upward, meeting Danielle’s challenging stance. She could have sworn she saw admiration for her flit across his features.

"Until you leave," he said, salving her pride.

"Only until I leave."

Tugging the blanket free, Danielle gazed at the sleeping child. What would she do with him? How would she care of him? She wasn’t even sure she could take care of herself.

"Grandfather-man help. I bring food. You keep boy, I help you. Grandsons," a bony hand spread four fingers as he spoke. "Many grandsons will be near. They keep, ikaiyubo hatuk, bad people, away. Bring food. I go now."

Before Danielle could find her voice, he was sauntering down the hill. At the tree line, he turned and called back over his shoulder, "I’ll be back, Iskunosi Ishki, Little Mother."

"You better be," Danielle whispered, watching as he disappeared from view with his four grandsons on his heels. "Oh, Alan, please come for me soon," she pleaded silently. "Please hurry."

~*~

The April sun, three hours high, struggled valiantly to burn through the hazy clouds dominating the sky. Danielle drew back on the reins, slowing her team to a more leisurely pace as she entered the fringes of the settlement. She felt the tension in her taut shoulder muscles relax as she took in the rustic beauty of her surroundings.

The Depot on Boggy was obviously a thriving community. From her perch high on the wagon’s seat she had a full view of the wide, rutted street bordered on either side by rough-hewn buildings. She still found the scope of businesses amazing for this wilderness setting. When she had posted that first letter to Alan she had taken a leisurely tour of the town. Still, she couldn’t help taking another quick inventory: three stores, two blacksmith shops, twin livery stables, a small hotel, one-room school house, and an apparently newly constructed, two-story church, which, according to the sign she had read on her earlier trip, also housed on its upper floor the first Masonic Lodge in Indian Territory. The town had its own doctor and apothecary shop, and even a flour mill just two miles north of town. Danielle felt she was at least situated near civilization, of sorts. With a sigh, she slapped the reins across the horses’ backs urging them forward. She had come to the Depot to buy supplies, and to post another letter to Alan. In the boot well of the wagon, the baby rode securely in a quilt-lined wicker clothes basket at her feet. Danielle had decided to name the little boy Nathaniel, after her beloved father. She drew her team to a halt before the general store.

The deeply rutted street was congested with Indians, surging like a tide toward a store two doors down the street. Sitting on the hard, unsprung wagon seat, Danielle clutched the reins in the palms of her sweaty hands. Should she leave? Indecision gripped her.

The crowd ebbed and flowed in an orderly fashion. Men, women, and children, gaily attired in a blend of deerskin leggings, homespun trousers, calico, gingham, moccasins, boots, beads, shells, feathers, and silk ribbons, milled about outside the store like a colony of ants. Deciding the festively dressed Indians presented no overt threat, Danielle tied off the reins and set the brake. Taking young Nathaniel from his basket, she prepared to descend the high wagon seat.

"Looks like you could use an extra pair of hands."

Danielle jumped in reflex at the sound of the familiar voice. Whirling her head about, she found the tall, broad-shouldered stranger propped lazily against the storefront, his arms folded across his muscular chest. Green eyes, heavy-lidded and unreadable, leisurely scanned her from head to toe. A lock of dark chestnut hair lay across his broad forehead. His predatory feline eyes appeared to be memorizing every inch of her body.

Joel Riley was thankful for the support of the building against which he leaned. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so overwhelmed by a woman, and had been ever since he’d first seen her sprawled in the dust with her petticoats over her head. But damn if she wasn’t the most intriguing sight he’d seen in a long time. When a blush rose from the collar of her high-buttoned shirtwaist upward until it flooded her creamy cheeks, he realized he was staring. Reluctantly, he dragged his gaze away from those alluring curves and stepped away from the building, extending his arms.

At her look of vulnerability, Joel softened his expression. The becoming blush emphasized her youth and he felt his chest constrict with a longing he knew he had no right to feel. Attempting to ease the tension they both felt, he asked, "Are you going to sit up there all day?"

Danielle felt her heart thump wildly against her rib cage as she stared down into his ruggedly handsome face. That unnamed tension she always felt in his presence lay between them in the crisp spring air. A soft, gentle breeze set the ribbons of her bonnet to fluttering as erratically as her errant heart. Never in her twenty years had any man looked at her in such a way. Nor had she ever felt such a warm tidal wave of emotions flood her veins. Confusion washed over her. How could she have such thoughts and feelings for a total stranger? What about Alan? She’d promised herself to him, so how could her emotions betray her like this? With a shake of her head, Danielle stammered, "Yes. I mean... no." Her cheeks grew hotter.

His deep, rumbling laugh shattered the tension.

Danielle noticed passing people stop to stare at the big rancher, who gently cradled the infant in his muscular arms. She descended the wagon to stand beside him, her skirts billowing in the morning breeze. Smoothing her skirt and adjusting the drawstring purse dangling from her wrist, she muttered, "Thank you." The brim of her bonnet hid his face from her view. Her arms reached out to retrieve the child, anxious to be away from his disturbing presence.

Reluctant to have the meeting end, Joel heard himself say, "You go ahead and do your shopping or whatever. We’ll wait here on the porch and get acquainted." His own suggestion took him by surprise. He’d had no intention of offering to be a nursemaid. In fact, he was to meet with a cattle buyer from Fort Washita in half an hour. If that meeting went well, he hoped to get a contract to supply beef to the garrison at the fort. He needed that contract desperately.

Four years ago he’d left his home in Georgia and gambled everything he owned on this new territory. The political environment in the South was a hot bed of controversy over the economic structure of the South. Hot heads were breeding hot tempers. The war of words escalated daily and foretold the future to come for those willing to listen. Knowing he could never bear arms against his beloved South, though disagreeing with them in principle, he’d pulled up stakes and headed west. The ensuing years had been hard and lean. After acquiring a lease on a thousand-acre tract just east of the Depot on Boggy, Joel Riley had established new roots here in the heart of the Chickasaw, Choctaw Nation, Indian Territory.

With the aid of hired labor, both Indian and white, he’d set up a sawmill on the banks of Clear Boggy River. They had cut the timber, hewn logs, planed the lumber in the bottomlands, and built a three-story house. The bricks for its double fireplace and chimneys were made from clay collected along the river’s edge and fired in his own kiln.

Danielle waited for the man to saw more, instead his full attention was focussed on the child. She knew it would be easier to shop if she accepted his offer, but she knew so little about him. Still, she watched how tenderly he rocked the baby, how his eyes seemed to smile when Nathaniel’s tiny hand locked about his index finger. "Are you sure? It could take quite awhile."

Her question jolted him back to the present. "Sure, go ahead." He pushed the impending meeting to the back of his mind as he became lost in those golden eyes.

With a swish of her skirts, Danielle turned to enter the store. His voice stopped her.

"What’s its name?"

Glancing over her shoulder, she answered, "Nathaniel. And it’s a he."

A bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside the cool, shadowy interior. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dimly lit room which contained a wide variety of dry goods stacked haphazardly among piles of tanned hides, buckets of honey, baskets of eggs, and bins of vegetables. Pumpkins and winter squash were stacked beneath the tables, long strings of onions, garlic, and other dried herbs hung from open rafters.

A potbellied, cast iron stove, now cold, was ringed with straight-backed, cane-bottomed chairs. White-haired, tobacco-chewing men occupied three of the six chairs, each of whom industriously applied his knife to a short cedar stick. The aromatic pile of shavings at their feet indicated the seriousness of their endeavors. With a steady hand and a sharp eye, they let their knife blades bite rhythmically into the wood. Obviously, whittling was an exact art for this snow-haired trio. They probably gathered here daily to practice their skills and collect the local gossip. Four pairs of eyes inspected Danielle as she stood in the doorway. She noticed the speculative glint in the orbs of the inquisitive group as they sized her up. No doubt the exchange outside between herself and Joel Riley had aroused their interest. Was Mr. Riley known as a loner? If so, then it probably amazed, maybe even amused, them to see him playing nursemaid.

"Yessirree," the looks seemed to say, "this could become interesting."

"Well, now, what can I do for you, little lady?"

The question shattered the silence of the room. Belatedly, Danielle realized she’d been standing in the doorway like a lost child. Withdrawing her list from her handbag, she handed it to the portly man who greeted her.

"I need a few things. I hope you have them." She gave him her warmest smile and waited while he scanned her list.

With a lift of his brow and a wave of his large hand, the man commented, "This is a mighty small order, you must be traveling light. Going far?"

"Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I live just out of town. It’s just...." Her cheeks warmed as she dropped her gaze and clutched her handbag tighter. Lowering her voice, she added, "I don’t need much."

Pride prevented her from uttering the real reason for her small purchase. A shortage of money had never before been a reality for Danielle. Today, her handbag contained barely enough cash to support herself for one month, if she was frugal. The addition of young Nathaniel to her household had caused her to restructure her budget. Her only hope was for Alan to arrive soon.

The man smiled broadly and began gathering her items. A running monologue accompanied his activity. "You the ones bought out the Geary’s lease? Heard tell they headed back east."

"Yes." Danielle suspected that he had studied people long enough to recognize evasion when he confronted it and was attempting to ease her apparent discomfort.

"You folks planning on farming or ranching out there? Good rich bottom land, be good for cotton."

"Neither. I’ll only be here until my fiancé arrives from California."

Danielle didn’t miss the glances exchanged between the whittling trio at her remark. Both they and the storeowner were no doubt intrigued by the possibilities of her statement. She had pulled into town with a baby in her arms and now she was talking about waiting for a fiancé.

"You’re alone out there?" The man’s gaze drifted to the figure on the porch.

"Yes. It’ll only be for a short while, though. I’m sure my fiancé will be here soon," Danielle replied, more to reassure herself than the storekeeper.

"Could be risky. You and the little one out there by your lonesome. The Geary place sets mighty close to the main road. All kinds of folks coming and going. I’d be real careful if I were you."

It was obvious that genuine concern fueled his statement. Danielle glanced quickly out the window at the man who had also warned her about the danger. She heard again his gruff words, ‘It is a well-known fact that the Texas Trail is the main artery of the trek south and west. Both the lawful and the unlawful flow in a steady stream along this timber-lined, double-rutted trail.’ Yes, he had told her, but she hadn’t really listened. Instead, she realized now, she’d focused on his bossy attitude.

"Oh, I will. But I’m sure we’ll be fine." Danielle was uncomfortable with the reminder of her situation, and recalled too, Hunting Hawk’s remark about bad people and sending his grandsons to protect her. In an attempt to hide her own nervousness, she asked, "Do you have muslin? I need two yards." Two yards would never be enough to make the napkins the infant needed. But until she could do better, it would have to do.

Shuffling bolts of yard goods, Silas found the fabric and with swift motions snipped off the requested yardage. Folding it neatly, he asked, "You known Mr. Riley long?"

"Mr. Riley?"

"That big feller on the porch minding your little one. Figured you knew him."

"No, I don’t know him." Her eyes sought the subject of their conversation. She smiled at the sight. As tenderly as any mother, the tall, broad-shouldered man held the squirming infant cradled in his arms, rocking the babe to and fro. A smile softened the sharp angles of his chiseled features, obviously enthralled by his tiny charge.

Turning her gaze away from the window, she commented, "He seems to enjoy children, doesn’t he?"

"A shame, ain’t it?" Silas muttered, as he, too, watched the big rancher caress the tiny hand clutching his finger.

"Why is it a shame?" Confusion fueled her question.

"Man like him ought to have a house full of younguns," Silas answered, gathering up items from the list he still held in his large, square hand. Moving among the tables of wares, he did what he did best. He talked. "Ain’t likely he’ll ever have any of his own though. They say his wife is an invalid. Pretty as an angel, I hear. ‘Course, I ain’t seen her myself." He glanced up as if to be sure he hadn’t lost his audience. In fact, he’d gained three sets of attentive ears. The trio circling the stove had probably heard the story before, but listened now with rapt attention like they hoped to glean new information.

"Blue Bird Woman’s cousin-Blue Bird Woman is my wife’s name," he said by way of explanation. "Her cousin’s girl, Etta, works for the Rileys. Cooking and cleaning, that sort of thing. She says Mrs. Riley stays abed most of the time. Frail little thing, can’t take too much excitement or activity. Says Mr. Riley carries her downstairs and back up again on days she feels up to leaving her room.

"According to Etta, he’s filled all three floors of that big house with the finest furniture to be had. Even had a piano shipped out here for her. Can’t nobody play the thing, but Mrs. Riley had her heart set on owning one." When he shook his shaggy head as if to question the notion of such a thing, both of his chins jiggled.

"Must be lonely for Mr. Riley. Big place like that, filled with a lot of fancy gewgaws and no one but a sickly wife to share it with. ‘Course, he’s got Etta." Then, as if remembering that his listener was a young, unmarried lady, he quickly added, "To do the chores, I mean. A man needs somebody for things like that."

Then he asked, Danielle considered a bit too quickly, "Will that be all, ma’am?" She wondered if he’d said more about the situation than he’d intended? Whatever his reason for the abrupt halt of information on the Riley household, Danielle decided to let it pass. She felt certain the man outside minding Nathaniel wouldn’t appreciate his problems discussed so freely.

"Yes, for today. How much do I owe you?"

Quoting a figure, Silas packed the items in her basket.

Danielle counted out the coins, mentally calculating the balance of her meager funds. Her fingers caressed the metal disks as she placed them one by one on the counter. She was unable to hide the crease of concern she felt puckering her brow.

"We do a goodly amount of trade business, if you ever have a surplus you’d like to bring in." The offer caused Danielle to suspect the man had seen and correctly interpreted her problem.

Pushing the basket toward her, he added, "Don’t know where my manners are. I’m Silas Coogan, ma’am. Welcome to our community."

"Thank you. I’m Danielle Alexander."

"Next time you come in, plan on some extra time. The little woman loves company."

"Thank you, I will. Is it always this active?" Her glance indicated the surge of people outside.

"It’s annuity day. The tribes come in once a month to collect their annuities from the government. Ordinarily it’s pretty quiet around here. They’re a peaceful lot, generally. Once in a while though a few of them will get their hands on some liquor and get a little rambunctious."

Glancing over her shoulder, she replied, "I see. Well, I’d better be going. I fear Mr. Riley may be growing tired by now." Her smile was warm as she stepped into the bright morning sunshine.

Joel Riley turned at the sound of the closing door. Like a starving man at a feast, his eyes devoured the vision before him: tawny eyes framed with a dark fringe of lashes, winged brows etched against the sun-kissed oval of her face, her lips full and rose tinted. Tantalizing lips. The desire to feel those lips beneath his flowed like molten lava through his veins. The pain in his chest reminded him to breathe. He’d held his breath unconsciously as he drank in the sight of her. It had been so long. Too long.

The scene was shattered as tiny fists beat the air in protest to the loss of attention. Soft, mewling-whimpers accented the youngster’s dissatisfaction.

Grateful for the distraction, Danielle placed the basket on the wagon seat and reached to retrieve the squirming infant. "I’ll take him now. Sorry it took so long." Her voice was shaky and so were her arms as his hands brushed hers when he tenderly transferred the child. An unfamiliar warmth flowed through her body at his touch.

"It was my pleasure, ma’am. He’s a fine looking boy. You must be mighty proud of him." The words spilled forth like those of an overanxious schoolboy. He was appalled by his behavior, and helpless against it.

"Yes," Danielle looked down at the infant she cradled against her breast. "I suppose I am. But I think I’d better get him home now. It’s time for his lunch and nap. Thank you again."

"Better let me have him."

"I beg your pardon?" Confusion creased her brow.

"Well, unless you can hold him and climb up to the wagon seat too, you better let me hold him."

A smile softened his chiseled features and set his emerald eyes alight. Danielle could imagine Mr. Coogan and the whittling trio watching their exchange with good-natured nudges and lifted brows.

That night, Danielle wondered how long it would take her letter to reach Alan in California. That infernal question had echoed in her head all day. How long?

She supposed she should have married Alan and gone with him to California last fall as he had wanted. But she hadn’t been willing to leave her widowed father behind. So with a promise to join Alan in the spring, she’d bid him go without her.

By March, her father’s newspaper and farm had been sold, two teams purchased, and two wagons loaded with their possessions outfitted for the cross-country trip. She and her father had left St. Louis with a train of fifty wagons heading west.

Doubts accompanied her.

What if she still wasn’t sure about marrying Alan when he arrived from California? Her father had tried to assure her that all young women had doubts. Danielle hoped her father was right, that her apprehensions were only a case of nerves. But his final remarks about Alan and about her being sure about her decision, prompted Danielle to wonder if her father’s original approval of Alan had declined.

She crossed the short distance between the table, where she was cutting and sewing napkins for Nathaniel, to the bed. There she gazed at the sleeping figure resting peacefully. She silently blessed her father’s forethought in providing her with a home, no matter how humble. Without disturbing the infant, Danielle returned to her task at the table, allowing her mind to drift to those last days with her father.

Danielle straightened the yardage she was working on and glanced about the small room. It would stretch the imagination to call the one-room cabin a house. Shack would be more suitable. Nevertheless, she reasoned, it was home. At least for now.

She had been so confident that her father knew best when he had sold one of his wagons and teams of horses to the Logan brothers. And even when he had used the bulk of their funds to take the lease on this place, she hadn’t objected overly much. After all, it had made sense when her father explained they would need a safe place to stay until Alan came for them. It hadn’t been until he had mentioned her welfare should something happen to him, that her ascendance had faltered. That was, until he explained the difficulties of an unattended twenty-year-old female on a wagon train. On that point, she agreed with him. Though she refused to admit, even to herself, that anything serious could happen to her father.

So, reassured in her own mind that he knew best, she helped Henry Logan chink the cracks in the walls, scrub the floor with creek water and lye soap, and unloaded the last piece of furniture, cramming everything into the one room. Then Henry had ridden off to rejoin his brothers. Danielle had foolishly, she realized now, allowed her father to persuade her that rest was all he needed.

‘Just a little rest,’ he’d said. They would wait right here for Alan to join them and provide escort the remainder of their journey west. Instead, within days of Henry’s departure, her father died.

A soft mewling sound brought Danielle to her feet. She brushed at the tears misting her eyes. Young Nathaniel stirred on the bed as she drew near. Tenderly, she scooped him into her arms and held him tightly to her breast. "It’s okay, little one, I’m here. You’re not alone." Gently, she kissed his soft cheek and rocked him to and fro. A quick check assured her he didn’t need changing. Already, his eyelids were tightly closed in sleep. Apparently he’d only needed a human touch. Sharing the infant’s desire, Danielle perched on the edge of the bed and held her new charge close.

"The one called Hunting Hawk was right, I think. We need each other, you and I." With the back of her hand Danielle swiped at another stray tear. Softly, she crooned a tune she thought long forgotten and recalled aloud the events of the day her father died, leaving her alone. Alone as the child she now held.

"I walked those miles to the Depot to post a letter to Alan. Even though it was two miles, I preferred the long walk to the ordeal of riding Papa’s horse. I knew it would take longer, but that horse terrified me." Her hand caressed the child’s cheek tenderly, as she remembered trudging down that dusty road. Danielle felt tears stain her cheeks again. Less than two weeks, yet it seemed a lifetime.

"If only I’d taken the horse. If only I hadn’t taken time to browse through the small community. If only. Well, ‘if onlys’ are useless, little one. Papa was dead when I got back."

Dead. The word still echoed in her grief-stricken brain. Clutching the infant closer, she whispered, "I managed to bury Papa, but I haven’t been able to bury my grief...or my guilt." Silence draped the small room for a moment before Danielle spoke softly again, "But every day now, since Papa’s death, I force myself to saddle that big, gray mare and ride her at least an hour." A smile tugged the corners of her lip upward. She admitted to herself that while her skill in the saddle had improved somewhat, her terror of riding hadn’t lessened one iota. Nor had she returned to the Depot. Until today.

The sound of snapping twigs interrupted Danielle’s thoughts. She quickly placed the sleeping child on the bed, doused the lamp, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Standing at the window, she let her gaze sweep the surrounding darkness. The night sky winked with starlight like a black, sequined satin cloak. A hazy halo wreathed the moon. Only the shadows were darker than the night.

A sound to her right caused her to shift her gaze. A movement in the shadows prompted her body to tense. In the dim, watery light, a crouched figure was barely visible, making it impossible to tell if the figure was white or red, male or female.

Glancing first at the infant asleep on the bed, she let her hand slide along the rough wall until her fingers encountered the cold steel of her father’s .53 caliber Hawkins. Knowing the chance of hitting any target in the dark was slim, she simply pointed the long rifle out the unshuttered window and squeezed the trigger. The powder flash momentarily blinded her, but her ears detected the startled yelp and scurrying feet of her would-be intruder.

Quiet descended on the area outside. Leaning the Hawkins against the wall, Danielle lit the lamp then, retrieved her weapon. Then with swift, sure dexterity, she reloaded it, thankful for the Wagon Master’s insistence that even women and children on his train learn how to handle firearms.

Danielle had listened in fascination to the tales told by her fellow travelers of the unrest between the Choctaw and Chickasaw tribes, and of the marauding Plains Indians raiding into the territory, stealing stock and terrorizing pioneers and tribal members alike.

She learned that since their removal from their home in Mississippi in the 30’s, the two tribes had been forced to share the same plot of ground. But the Chickasaws were unable to enter their own lands for fear of the tribes of wild Indians already living there. Due to a lack of forts and troops in that area, the government couldn’t provide protection for the Chickasaw. To complicate matters, the Chickasaws were under control of the Choctaw laws as long as they resided on their lands. They weren’t allowed to own any land in the Choctaw Nation, which hampered their attempts to build schools and missions.

Nightly, the campfires had drawn the foot-weary travelers of the wagon train like moths to the flame. City dwellers, shop owners, and farmers, and the common thread among them was their fascination and fear of what lay ahead. In the hope of reassuring, as well as informing, the westward-bound pioneers, the Wagon Master and scout had shared their experiences of previous trips. Those nightly sessions had become a ritual.

Listening to the often grisly tales of the Indian Territory they would be passing through on their way west, Danielle had never dreamed she’d be left behind to live alone in the heart of the Choctaw and Chickasaw Nation.

Wrapping a shawl loosely about her shoulders, she took pen and paper from her lap desk and dashed off another letter to Alan. Her heart flowed from the tip of her pen. Then briefly, she related the evening’s incidents and closed with a plea for his speedy arrival. Pride prevented her from mentioning her financial situation. Sealing the envelope, she couldn’t explain, even to herself, why she made no mention of the mixed-blood child sleeping snugly on her bed.

The sounds of a whippoorwill calling his mate intruded into her thoughts. Propping her sealed letter against a metal button box on the table, Danielle blew out the lamp. "Another trip to town," she muttered to herself. Instantly, she recalled a pair of green eyes and a man she had no right to wish to see again, but she did.

Padding barefoot across the floor, she pulled back the covers and slid into bed beside the sleeping child who reminded her so much of the infant brother she’d lost so many years ago.

Danielle had been only nine years old at the time, but she still remembered the jealousy she’d felt when her parents told her of their expected child. Her jealousy turned to resentment when her mother died giving birth to the unwanted intruder. She had often wished it had been the baby who had died and not her mother. And it hadn’t helped that even in his grief, her father had found solace in his infant son.

Danielle felt robbed of both parents by the tiny interloper. But as the months passed and the child grew, she found her heart possessed by her little brother. When pneumonia claimed him his first winter, Danielle was as devastated as her father at their loss and somehow felt herself to blame for her tiny brother’s death. After all, hadn’t she wished for him to die, instead of her mother?

Danielle glanced down at the child sleeping beside her. "I’m glad I named you Nathaniel, little one. Nathaniel was my papa’s name. I think he’d like you to have his name. He lost a son once...and I lost a mother and a baby brother." She hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat at the remembrance. "You are the second child to be thrust unwanted into my life," she whispered. "I promise not to fail you as I did the first," she vowed, caressing the tiny brown fist clenched tightly in sleep.

Amidst the clatter of harness and squeaking wheels, the wagon rattled into the yard. Tying off the reins, Danielle prepared to descend. A sound to her left caused her to whirl about while fumbling beneath the seat for her rifle. Her fingers encountered cold steel.

"Grandson’s unhappy."

Her body relaxed when she recognized the voice as that of Hunting Hawk. Carefully, she withdrew the Hawkins, then placed it beside her on the seat. "You startled me!" she snapped, untying the ribbons of her bonnet.

"Startled?" Wrinkles creased his brow as he digested the word. Then, "You startle grandson. You shoot at him," he admonished, his arms gesturing in emphasis to his words.

"What are you talking about?" Danielle handed the basket containing the infant down to the old man.

"Grandson come to protect and you shoot." Lines of confusion rode low on his wrinkled brow.

Stepping down and retrieving her basket of supplies, Danielle recalled the incident last night, and from the recesses of her mind, she heard again the words, ‘Grandsons be near to keep bad people away.’

"How was I to know it was one of your grandsons?" she asked. Then a new thought surfaced. "Is he hurt? I mean, did I wound him badly?" The possibility that she may have caused serious injury to someone trying to protect her set fingers of dread racing up her spine. What if she’d killed him? How would this wrinkled old warrior react if she had? A gentle breeze played through the long tresses of her hair. With a jerky motion, she flipped the stray strands over her shoulder and raised her gaze to meet that of the old man.

A mischievous smile tugged the corners of his mouth upward. "Lucky for grandson, Little Mother bad shot." A chuckle rumbled past his dry, weathered lips, followed by a wheezing cough. He pushed the basket containing the child toward her as he doubled over, struggling for breath between chuckles.

Danielle felt as if her arms were being pulled from their sockets, balancing a basket in each hand. His obvious enjoyment at her expense pricked her pride. Squaring her shoulders, she wheeled about and, in a long-legged, unladylike gait, strode toward the cabin. "I’m glad you find my marksmanship amusing."

He must have realized he’d wounded her pride because the old man double-stepped across the yard to join her on the rickety porch. "Joke on grandson. Trousers hanging on bushes to dry. Little Mother get close." His wrinkled hands gestured wildly as he related his grandson’s ire at being shot at by the woman he was supposedly protecting.

The mental picture of trousers flapping in the wind to dry forced Danielle to join in his mirth. She shouldered the door open. It hung crookedly on its frame and dragged across the floor unless lifted and pushed in one fluid motion and both her hands were full. "Will you join me for a cup of coffee?" she asked.

"You got sugar?" Hunting Hawk asked, running his tongue across his dry lips.

His question recalled the Wagon Master’s comment about how the Indian’s had acquired a taste for the white man’s sugar, and would even endure the bitter brew called coffee to indulge their craving for the sweet taste.

"Yes, I have some sugar."

"I stay." He smacked his moistened lips in anticipation.

"It’ll only take a minute to heat," she replied, setting the basket of groceries on the table, then placing the other one at her feet. Tenderly, she lifted little Nathaniel and deposited him in the center of her bed. Using pillows, she constructed a barrier about the sleeping infant to prevent him from rolling off the bed.

"Have gift. Wait."

Danielle fed kindling to the banked coals and fanned a tender flame to life, watching him amble across the yard. She wondered if she should lock the door and refuse to let him back in. The last time he’d brought her a gift it was a child. It paid to be leery of this cagey old man’s gifts.

Steam was rising from the coffeepot when Danielle heard the front door open. She filled two mugs to the rim, then placed them on the table and fished the paper-wrapped cone of sugar from the basket. "There, help yourself," she offered, turning to the doorway.

In two strides her guest stood beside her. With a flick of his wrist and a wet plop, he deposited three skinned rabbit carcasses in the center of the table. "Is gift." A broad grin accompanied his declaration.

"Th-thank you," she mumbled, picking up the stiff offerings. A shudder crawled across her shoulders at the touch of the cold, dead flesh. She quickly dropped them in a pan beside the stove, then joined him at the table. She watched as he scraped great quantities of the brown sugar from the solid block. In amazement, she said nothing as repeatedly the broad edge of his hunting knife scraped and scooped sugar. Finally satisfied with the amount of the sweet treat, he pushed the block away from him. "I like sugar."

"I noticed."

The spoon swirled the syrupy brew with a clatter as he dissolved the thick mass in his coffee. Placing the spoon on the table, he seemed confused and glanced curiously about the room.

"Is something wrong?" Danielle inquired, puzzled by his actions.

Rolling his tongue inside his cheek, he placed a gnarled hand over his mouth and withdrew a large, brown wad of tobacco. Before she realized what he intended, he dropped the glob into the palm of her hand. Her stomach lurched in revolt. She swallowed quickly to force the bile out of her throat. Glancing up from the drippy mess, she asked, "What... what is this? Another gift?"

"Gift?" he asked, after slurping some of the sweet brew from his mug. "No gift. Want back." He took another deep swallow before saying, " `baccy bad with sugar."

Hunting Hawk consumed three mugs of coffee-flavored sugar before departing.

"Maybe grandsons come again," he said, with a lopsided grin, retrieving the wad of tobacco from the saucer and plopping it into his mouth.

"Maybe they could let me know when they are here. It would save me ball and powder, and their trousers," she fired back at him.

Twice since the old man’s last visit, Danielle found gifts of wild game deposited on her porch. Two young squirrels, dressed and tied together with whang leather were left dangling from a porch rafter, followed later by a jake turkey. The donations delighted her; they helped stretch her meager funds. But it did give her cause to wonder why, with game apparently plentiful, Hunting Hawk claimed starvation as the reason he placed Nathaniel in her care. He had even implied harm to the infant because of the problem of food shortage. The longer she thought about it, Danielle felt she had guessed right that day when she felt the old shaman had pulled a bluff on her. Though for what purpose she still couldn’t figure out.

During the days that followed her visit from Hunting Hawk, Danielle noted the schedule of her protectors. The changing of the guard, she thought each time she watched in fascination the ritual of brother relieving brother. They rotated shifts of duty with the accuracy of a well-made timepiece, reminding her of the towering grandfather clock that had resided in the hallway of her grandparents’ home. Its mahogany splendor had been her grandmother’s pride. Her every activity had been scheduled by that clock. Its melodious chimes declared each hour had always prompted the same reply from her grandmother, ‘Such a lovely, peaceful sound.’ Observing the young warriors rotate their assigned posts of watch, Danielle half expected to hear the resonant notes of that massive clock.

Without fail the young men now announced their presence with a friendly whoop, accompanied by a shy wave if she were outside.

Danielle had been grateful more than once for the protective presence of the young men concealed in the tree line bordering her property. Located a scant half mile from the Texas Trail, she’d had a variety of unexpected guests. Most simply sought a cool drink of water or land to lease. Honest, hard-working travelers westward bound, grateful for her smile and kindness.

Twice in as many days, she’d had vastly different visitors. Dark shadows walked through her mind and the finger of dread crawled along her spine as she remembered those incidents.

The warm spring sun had neared the center of the sky and shadows were slim. The morning breeze played gently through the loose tresses of Danielle’s hair. Nathaniel nestled comfortably in his wicker basket near the backdoor step. Danielle hummed a lullaby softly to reassure him of her presence while she hung his freshly washed napkins on a rope she’d strung between two trees to form a makeshift clothesline.

Sounds of spring had filled the late morning air. Crickets, katydids, and tree frogs competed shrilly. A quail’s repeated call of ‘bob white, bob white’ announced his presence in the tall grass in the meadow behind the house. Lost in the peacefulness of the morning, Danielle hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps behind her.

"Well, lookee here what I done found." The voice was low, raspy, and frightfully near.

Danielle whirled around and froze, a knot of fear lodged in her throat. Her heart galloped like a racehorse and she was sure the stranger heard the roar in her ears. She swallowed convulsively, attempting to force the knot from her throat. "Wh-what do you want?" The question stumbled from her lips. Assaulted by the odor of unwashed flesh and sweaty garments, her nostrils twitched involuntarily.

Cold, gray eyes set in a square-jawed, bearded face held her with their leering gaze.

Running a dirt-encrusted hand through the stubble on his chin, the stranger scratched absently at the vermin infested growth. His thin lips crawled upward in a smirk, exposing uneven, tobacco-stained teeth. "You’ll do for starters," the raspy voice replied. Leaning his rifle against the side of the house, he slid one suspender from his shoulder as he advanced toward her. Danielle dropped the wet clothes at her feet and took a step backward. Her mind raced. Nathaniel lay unprotected and, so far, unnoticed in his basket near the back steps. Her rifle was inside the house. Perhaps she could distract the stranger, lure him inside, closer to her weapon. That meant leading him past the baby and exposing Nathaniel to danger. But she had to do something. Before she could react, she felt the vise-grip of the man’s dirty hand lock on her wrist. In the same instant, a yelp of surprise and pain exploded from her captor. Realizing her wrist was free, Danielle dashed across the yard and snatched up the basket containing the sleeping infant. Risking a backward glance, she saw her attacker crumpled on the ground. Groans, intermingled with oaths, escaped his clenched teeth as he fumbled wildly for the arrow shaft imbedded in his hip pocket. Danielle dragged her gaze from the pain-twisted figure and scanned the surrounding area. Nothing moved. Silence shrouded the clearing.

Moaning, the man struggled feebly to his knees. Then, with a screech of pain, he lunged to his feet. Arms flung wide, bleary eyed, he staggered toward her. Seemingly from nowhere, an arrow sliced the air and landed between the man’s feet. A cry of terror, followed by a blistering oath, escaped him as he turned and fled, disappearing into the brush beyond the clearing.

The second incident was as terrifying, though involving a different type of predator. Danielle had taken Nathaniel and walked across the meadow to the river. It had been such a lovely day she had put aside her chores in favor of an outing. With Nathaniel lying beside her on a blanket she’d spread beneath the leafy canopy of a live-oak tree, she had relaxed with her favorite volume of poetry.

She read amidst the activity of squirrels scurrying from tree to tree, barking warnings of her intrusion. Raccoon fished for crawdads and perched at the edge of the water like black-masked bandits searching out their prey beneath rocks and waterlogged driftwood. Nearby, a doe with twin fawns grazed in the shadows of the thick timber, ever watchful of Danielle’s presence.

Unexpectedly, silence smothered the peace, drawing Danielle’s attention from her book. Across the clearing a sleek, gray body crouched low in the high grass. Nose to the ground, the coyote advanced steadily toward her and Nathaniel.

Before she could react to the threat posed by the intruder, a shot shattered the silence. The furry, gray body spun a half circle from the impact before collapsing in a crumpled heap.

On neither occasion had Danielle seen her protectors. They were like the wind in a storm; she saw the effects, but not the cause.

Danielle planted her rose clippings and watered them daily, hoping to keep them alive and healthy until Alan arrived to take them both to their new home. But her fears took root faster than her transplanted rose bushes, sprouting doubts daily in the absence of news from Alan. Surely he’d received her letters by now.

During the ensuing long days, she was alone, except for an occasional stray traveler. The three-month-old child was her only companion. Her attachment to the infant grew daily, and his presence filled her otherwise empty days. She often found herself wondering what she would do if he weren’t there. At the same time, she realized how dangerous it was to allow herself to become too attached to him. She spent hours talking to him, the sound of her voice filling the void. She told him of her hopes and dreams. Wondering aloud what her life would be like once Alan arrived and they settled in California.

"Hello," a voice called.

The greeting took Danielle by surprise. She whirled about, nearly losing her balance as her skirts whipped about her long legs. Clutching the armload of dry branches she’d gathered for firewood, she lifted her free hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the midday sun as she sought the owner of the voice. Who could it possibly be? And where were her protectors?

A lone rider was approaching from the northeast, the sun at his back. A hand sliced the air as he repeated his greeting, "Hello."

Recognition caused her heart to race. Her breathing became shallow. She watched as he urged his horse into a trot, covering the short distance between them.

"Looks like you could use some help. Again." His smile was infectious. Danielle felt as if she were swimming in the sea-green eyes gazing down at her.

"You always seem to have your hands full. Here, let me help," Joel Riley offered, dismounting and extending his muscular arms to relieve her of her burden.

Retrieving Nathaniel and his basket, Danielle kept pace with the rancher as they crossed the meadow toward her cabin.

"Where do you want this?" he asked, indicating with a nod the armload of wood.

"Just drop it by the backdoor," she replied, a slight tremble in her voice. Her reaction to his presence unnerved her. At the same time, she found herself reluctant to send him away. Before allowing herself to consider the consequences, she asked, "Can you stay for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure."

"I’ll just go put the pot on. Come on in when you finish." What on earth was she doing encouraging this man to prolong his stay? She deposited Nathaniel on the bed, slapped the coffee pot on the stove, then quickly ran a brush through her hair, all the while trying to convince herself that her invitation was nothing more than a friendly gesture. But recalling the weakness that had invaded her knees at the mere touch of his hand brushing against her arm when he grasped her load of firewood, she knew better.

Loneliness, not to mention his emerald eyes, was playing havoc with her common sense. She dismissed her concerns and pinched a touch of color into her cheeks.

The coffee hot, she placed two heavy, stoneware mugs on the table, then poured the brew just as her visitor joined her.

"Hope you like fish," Joel said, dropping a double handful of filleted crappie into a pan on the drysink and wiping his hands on a dishcloth. "I caught more than I could use."

"Yes, I do. Thank you. Do you take sugar in your coffee?" she asked, placing the meager remains of her supply before him.

"Black is fine."

Wrapping the coarse, brown paper tightly about the cone, Danielle wended her way around the stacks of boxes and furniture and placed the precious contents on a shelf. Making her way back across the crowded room, she felt his eyes watch her every move. Her nerves tightened, and a restless silence veiled the room.

"I suppose since we’re going to be neighbors we should introduce ourselves," he said in an effort to ease the tension and break the silence. "I’m Joel Riley. I live about five miles northeast of here."

"Yes, I know, Mr. Coogan...." A low, throaty laugh interrupted her, and she lifted her gaze to meet his.

Puzzlement marred her lovely features and he rushed to reassure her. "Then you probably know all there is to know about me. Our Mr. Coogan has more news than the Choctaw and Chickasaw Observer."

"He is a nice man." She smiled, remembering the talkative storeowner. "I’m Danielle. What’s the Observer?" she asked hurriedly, hoping to draw his attention away from her and any further questions.

"Our local newspaper. Pretty good one, too. But Silas is cheaper, and gives more detail." Joel took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug. "Are your menfolk about?" Joel asked, noting the lady’s omission of a last name. "I didn’t see either of them when I rode up."

"My father died recently," she replied. She felt no need to give any further details about herself or her circumstances.

"Sorry to hear that," Joel said, genuinely upset by the obvious sadness he saw reflected in her eyes. At the same time, his pulse quickened when she made no mention of the other man. Maybe she wasn’t married to that Henry fellow after all. He looked across the room at the sleeping infant and wondered how that little guy fit in here? Could she be a widow? The thought that she didn’t have a man in her life sent a rush of relief racing through him. Almost immediately, he chided himself. She may not have a husband, but he had a wife.

"Thank you," she muttered, slowly twisting the ring on her left hand. "This newspaper, does it carry ads?" An idea, like a seed in fertile ground, was setting roots and taking growth.

"Sure. What kind of ad did you have in mind?"

"More coffee? I don’t have any pastries to offer." She had his coffee mug refilled before he could answer.

"That’s okay, coffee’s fine," he replied, observing her frenzied motions. Obviously, she wanted to drop the subject. Intrigued and curious, he followed her lead...temporarily.

"You’re pretty crowded here. You folks plan to add rooms on, or build a larger house?" He deliberately worded his question in the plural form, noticing how she continued to twist the ring on her left hand. He sensed she was hiding something.

"Neither." Absently, she continued to toy with the emerald-studded betrothal ring. Her gaze swept the crowded, cramped one-room cabin, seeing it as her guest must see it. Turning back to face the man whose presence disturbed her unaccountably, she added, "I won’t be here long. I’ll make do with this until then." Suddenly, the thought of leaving saddened her. Before she could ponder on why that should be, Nathaniel split the air with a cry for attention. "Excuse me."

"Sure," he replied, wondering at her evasiveness.

Stepping around stacked packing crates, Danielle stood beside her bed where the infant lay, feet and fists assaulting the air in rhythm to his wails of protest.

"Sounds like he needs a change." His voice was directly behind her. Her body tensed.

"You seem to know a lot about babies, Mr. Riley. I wish I did." Stepping back, she glanced up at him. "Will you keep an eye on him while I get a dry napkin from the clothesline?" She was already heading for the door.

"Sure, go ahead. And it’s Joel."

With her hand already on the door latch, Danielle glanced over her shoulder. "What’s Joel?"

"Me. Mr. Riley is my father. I’m just plain Joel."

A renewed burst of protest from the bed broke the silence that had fallen uneasily in the cramped room.

"I’ll be right back," Danielle muttered, dashing out the backdoor. Headed for the clothesline, she scanned the tree line, wondering where the young Indian men were and why Joel Riley had been allowed to pass their shield of protection?

Giddy as a schoolgirl, Danielle snatched a few napkins off the line without bothering to remove the clothespins. The wooden pegs struck the ground with a soft thud. She ignored them and dashed across the yard, folding a snowy square of soft muslin into a triangle. She stepped inside and ground to a halt as she took in the sight across the room.

Joel Riley lay sprawled across her bed with a bare-bottomed Nathaniel laying in the crook of his left arm, while the fingers of his right hand danced rhythmically across the baby’s chest. Squeals of delight bubbled joyfully from the infant. As she stood watching the pair on the bed, Nathaniel grasped an index finger as it tracked across his chest and plunged it into his mouth. Her heart fluttered at the picture of perfect bliss the two of them presented.

"So, you’re hungry, too? Well, we’ll tell mama when she comes back."

The word, coming so easily from his lips, stunned Danielle. The old Indian had referred to her as Little Mother, but somehow she hadn’t expected anyone else to refer to her as a mother. After all, Hunting Hawk knew she wasn’t the child’s mother. It simply hadn’t occurred to her that anyone else might assume that she was. What must this man think of her, unmarried with a child? Then she remembered, he knew nothing about her.

"Sorry I took so long."

"See, I told you she’d be back. Now you can get something to eat besides my dirty finger." With a broad grin lifting the corners of his sensuous mouth, Joel pushed himself upright and stood beside the bed, his gaze still locked on the gurgling infant.

Danielle quickly pinned the three cornered napkin in place and lifted the baby in her arms. Turning, she said, "Thanks for watching him. I haven’t had time to gather the clothes from the line yet."

"No bother. It was my pleasure. I love kids. In fact, I envy you."

"Me? Why on earth would you envy me?"

"Oh, I envy anybody with kids. I don’t have any myself."

A wistfulness filled his voice as he spoke, and an idea struck her. She spoke before she thought. "Perhaps you’d take him when I leave?

A stunned silence choked the air. Her statement shocked them both.

"You don’t understand. I can’t take him with me when I leave, and they’ll kill him if I don’t." Nervously, she paced the narrow space between the table and the backdoor.

"What do you mean you can’t take him? Mothers don’t just abandon their children. I realize I don’t know much about you or your situation, but I can’t imagine anything being serious enough to warrant that. And who is going to kill him?" Joel anxiously watched the young woman clutching the child as though she half expected someone to take him from her.

"Has someone made threats against you and the boy?" He glanced about the small room as though searching for something or someone. "Where is Mr. Logan? Why hasn’t he done something about this?" Confusion and disbelief fired his questions, overriding his normal reluctance to pry. Was she married after all? Had her husband abandoned her and their child?

Twisting the ring on her left hand, Danielle stammered, "He-he isn’t mine. I’m not his mother."

"You’re not his...." Stunned by her statement, Joel dropped onto a nearby chair. "Wait, what...."

"Henry Logan has left to rejoin his brothers and the wagon train," she said, interrupting his questions. "He only stayed long enough to help Papa and me settle in here."

"You’re here alone with a child that isn’t yours?" he asked, his confusion growing.

A nod was her only reply as she continued her restless pacing.

Pushing his chair back from the table, he stepped to her side. Gently, he took her small, trembling hand in his large callused one and said, "Sit down. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’ll understand." He pushed her gently onto a chair. "Here, let me have him." He took the child from her arms and placed him back on the bed, then stepped off the short distance to the cook stove. After filling two mugs with steaming coffee, he rejoined her at the table and waited.

Bit by bit her story came out as she stirred the coffee in her mug and shared the events of the past few months. Their coffee grew cold, but neither of them noticed. She revealed everything; everything except her financial situation.

A low whistle, tinged with admiration, escaped his lips at the conclusion of her tale. At the same time, jealousy gripped his heart at the thought of another man in her life. But what had he expected? Besides, he had no right to let it bother him that she was engaged to anyone. Yet, it did. He forced himself to remain calm as he asked, "So, when is this young man supposed to arrive?"

"I don’t know. Soon."

"I see. In the meantime, you’re still alone here."

"I’ll be fine. It isn’t myself I’m concerned about. It’s him," she replied, indicating with her hand the child on the bed quietly playing with his bare toes. She had come to love the boy very much, but she had doubts about Alan accepting the child. Her first commitment, surely, had to be to her fiancé, didn’t it? As much as the idea saddened her, she must be realistic. Still, she had to be sure Nathaniel would be properly cared for.

Following her gaze, Joel watched the active youngster contentedly amusing himself. "So, that old buzzard convinced you he’d actually harm the boy if you didn’t take him? Crafty old cuss. I’ll wager you couldn’t force him to hurt that child."

"You know him? Hunting Hawk, I mean."

"For four years. Believe me, he won’t harm that youngster."

"How can you be so sure?"

"We’ll go into that later. Right now, I have some things to do." He stood and took his mug of cold coffee to the dry sink. "First off, you need someone around here to do the heavy chores. You need a cow for fresh milk for little Nathaniel there." He raised one finger, then two, tagging his list. "That would be better than waiting for one of the old man’s grandsons to deliver it daily. This way you could have fresh butter, too. Next, you could use someone to help with the child." Another finger joined the other two. "Then...."

"Those things take money," she interrupted. "Besides, I’m doing okay. It’s when I leave that I’m concerned about. What will happen to him then?"

"How much time are we talking about?"

"Any day now... I hope."

Joel noticed her slight hesitation when she answered. "When did you send the first letter?"

"A month ago, just before my father died, then another afterward."

"I see." He was reluctant to offer his opinion, but the time span was sufficient to cause concern. A month was ample time for anyone to make the trip from California. Not wanting to cause her more undue anxiety, he refrained from voicing the other possibility; her intended husband may not return. Watching the worry lines mar her lovely brow, Joel felt an overwhelming urge to throttle her absent fiancé. "Your letters may not have reached him, you know." Though he disliked lying, his words were meant to reassure her. "California is a big place. It could be months before your letters catch up with him. Especially if he’s out somewhere looking for gold."

"I hadn’t thought of that," she said, her words barely a whisper. Her gaze went to the infant on the bed, and her body sagged with dejection. Responsibility set heavily on her shoulders. Pulling her attention from the child, she looked warily about the cramped room. The possibility of remaining months under these conditions was daunting, yet there seemed no help for it. She’d simply have to make the best of it. Squaring her shoulders, she said, "I can wait. But, you haven’t answered my question."

"About the boy?"

"Yes. Will you take him when I leave?"

"You’re not gone yet. Why don’t you see how it goes?"

"I just thought...."

"I know. Look, I’ve got to be going." He stepped around a wooden crate to the door. "I’ve got someone to see." With his hand on the door latch, Joel turned. "I’ll be back in a day or two. Do you need anything from town?"

"I’m fine."

She stood on the porch, watching him ride down the lane. When he disappeared from view, she felt a loneliness like none she’d ever experienced before.

Danielle awoke the next morning dazed and disoriented by the clamorous din outside. Thin shafts of weak sunlight filtered through narrow cracks in the poorly constructed shutters, forming dappled patterns of light and shadow on the patchwork quilt.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she sat up on her bed. Nathaniel continued to sleep serenely, undisturbed by the early morning activity. Leaning forward, she eased the shutter open just far enough for an investigative peek. At first, she didn’t apprehend the meaning of the scene that greeted her.

With comprehension came denial.

Her bare feet nearly flew across the crowded floor. Wrenching the door open, she dashed outside. The mist-laden morning air embraced her with its moist breath. The thin muslin of her gown offered no protection against the nip. Snatching a shawl from a peg near the door, she continued across the rickety porch.

"What are you doing?" Her question was asked of no one in particular, but included everyone in general. The yard just east of her small cabin was a beehive of activity. Felled trees, stripped of their branches, were being notched and stood upright in a rectangular shape. Women industriously wove grass mats. Men cleared the area of tall weeds and underbrush while others lashed split saplings to form a framework to support thatching for the roof. It was evident, even to Danielle’s untrained eyes, that dwellings of some sort were being erected in her front yard. Once more, she attempted to be heard above the noisy crowd. "Will someone tell me what is going on here?" Her words were swallowed up in the melee. Frustration sent her scurrying inside.

The resonant voice of the Hawkins echoed across the meadow. Bronze bodies froze in silence. Crows exploded in a black cloud from nearby treetops. Cradling the muzzleloader, Danielle stepped to the edge of the porch and demanded, "What is going on here?" Her voice quavered as realization dawned. Barefooted, dressed in her nightgown, armed with an empty gun, she was demanding answers from a crowd of buckskin-clad strangers. Having gone this far, she dared not back down. "Answer me! What are you doing?"

Confusion marked the features of each face gazing up at her. Heads nodded, hands waved, and mummers passed among the members of the work crew.

"Man say build. We build." The words were uttered with calm dignity and assurance. Unlike the others who watched apprehensively, the tall, young copper-skinned warrior held Danielle’s unwavering gaze.

"What man? And what are you building?" Confusion tinged her words as her mind raced ahead searching for answers.

Wiping sweat from his brow, the young man stepped forward, his tall, muscular frame outfitted in an odd blend of Indian and white man’s clothing. Warm, brown eyes set above high, broad cheekbones and a narrow, flat-bridged nose held her gaze. With a careless flick of his wrist, he tossed one glossy, black braid over his sweat-sheened shoulder and spoke as though to a child. "The man. He say build houses. We live here now."

"Who?" she insisted.

"Who?"

"Yes, who? Who said build houses on my land? Who lives here now? Who?"

"He-Who-Weeps-Inside say we are to help Little Mother. Build houses. Live here."

"All of you?" Suddenly her arms felt limp, the gun dangled loosely in her numb fingers as she attempted to grasp the meaning of his statement.

A broad grin revealed gleaming white teeth as he shook his head negatively. "Not so many. No." With a sweep of his hand, he motioned toward an older woman in the crowd who stepped forward to stand beside him. "Grandmother and I, we stay. Others go."

"You and your grandmother are going to live here. And the man, He-Who-Weeps-Inside, told you to do this." She wasn’t asking a question; she spoke the words aloud in an attempt to understand.

"Is so," the warrior replied in a rich baritone voice.

"It is not so! You can’t stay here. I want you to tear down those walls, clean up the mess you’ve made and leave. I don’t know who this man is who told you to do this, but he had no right to do so. I’m sure it’s a mistake or a misunderstanding. You were probably supposed to go somewhere else, not here at all."

"No, he say go to Little Mother’s to live and work."

"He said! You keep saying he said. Who is he? I don’t know anyone named He-Who-Cries-Ins -"

"Weeps. Is Weeps-Inside. Not cries...."

"Weeps, cries, what’s the difference? I still don’t know him. Just leave. All of you." Frustration and despair were becoming constant companions of late. Never had she felt so helpless. Being an only child reared by a widowed father and doting grandparents, Danielle had developed an independent streak early in life. Her every wish had been their command. Now, however, she found herself being defeated by a handful of savages, and an unidentified man.

As the door closed behind her, the ring of hammer and ax resumed. Her wishes mattered not at all to these people. Whoever sent them had chosen well, it seemed.

Danielle spent the day confined in the cramped quarters of her cabin, watching surreptitiously as the buildings took shape. The group worked harmoniously. Laughter rang above the sounds of the ax. They seemed to have forgotten her presence completely, which had the curious effect of causing her an acute case of homesickness. Home, where she had been loved, surrounded by friends, and where her safety had never been questioned.

By the time the sun caressed the treetops in the west, the two dwellings were completed. A bed of glowing embers nestled in a rock-lined fire pit where the young man and his grandmother were busily preparing their evening meal. As promised, the others had departed for their own homes, but not before the unused portion of the trees they’d felled were cut, trimmed, and neatly stacked by her backdoor. They wasted nothing.

The sound of the front door dragging across the bare, wooden floor snatched Danielle from sleep, causing a fission of alarm to race along her spine. Yesterday’s tension had left her emotionally drained, and she had slept soundly for the first time since her father’s death. Now, as she lay tensely alert on her feather bed, she cursed herself for her carelessness.

Keeping her eyes closed, feigning sleep, she quickly considered her options, which were less than favorable. Her rifle hung over the door, out of reach. She had forgotten to place it beside her bed last night as was her usual custom. Tiredness had overcome her caution.

Clutching the edges of the quilt, she listened to the soft shuffling of footsteps crossing the floor to the far side of the small room. The sound of a sulfur match scrapping wood sent Danielle upright on her bed. She clutched the quilt protectively beneath her trembling chin.

In the dim glow of the burning match, Danielle watched mutely as the bulky figure touched the glowing flame to the wick of one of the two lamps setting on the table.

The amber glow from the lamp outlined the form beside the table. Danielle watched as the calico-clad figure replaced the globe, adjusted the wick on the lamp, then shuffled toward the cookstove in the corner. One long, silver entwined black braid swung rhythmically to the sway of broad hips.

Danielle realized this was the grandmother of the young man she’d spoken to yesterday, the one now living in her front yard. "What are you doing?" Danielle asked, swinging her legs off the bed.

"Ah, Little Mother awake." A gap-toothed grin beamed at her from the folds of leathery, brown skin. "Hungry?" The plump Indian woman continued her bustling about until she produced a crock-bowl and mixing spoons from a nearby box, seemingly ignoring Danielle’s question.

"I asked what you’re...." Before she could finish, the back door swung open and the old woman’s grandson strode into the room with an armload of split wood. Danielle scrambled frantically beneath the quilt, pulling it once more about her shoulders.

In a tongue she didn’t understand, the two exchanged dialogue intermingled with grunts and arm gestures in her direction. Her patience was stretched to its limits and her temper reaching a slow boil. Especially now that she realized they were no threat.

Whose house was this anyway? Casting proprieties aside, she flung the quilt back and planted her feet squarely on the floor. "Out! Get out of my house!" Anger shook her body. She fumbled into her robe. Stunned silence followed her outburst.

Nathaniel chose that moment to announce his displeasure to one and all at the interruption of his rest. The infant’s outburst released the occupants of the room from the grips of the stupor locked about them. As one, the two women turned to the bed.

"Boy hungry. I feed." Plump, bronze arms reached to take the child.

"He’s mine. I’ll feed him!" Danielle blurted, picking him up. She clutched the squirming, squalling child against her chest.

"Is my job. I feed." Once more the old woman reached for the loudly protesting child.

"Get out! He’s mine. I’ll take care of him."

"Grandmother, let Little Mother feed him." The young man patted the woman’s arm in a reassuring manner. "You can feed me. I’m starved."

Glancing over her shoulder at the dusky figure framed in the arc of sunlight flooding through the open door, then toward Danielle who still clutched the squirming infant protectively, the silver streaked head nodded reluctantly at her grandson. Then with a smile that exposed the wide gap in her front teeth, she shrugged her large shoulders and said, "Corn cakes, I make. Start fire. Fetch eggs."

Clasping Nathaniel closer in an attempt to hush his cries, Danielle stepped away from the bed. "No fire. No corn cakes. No, no, no! I want you out of here. Now!" How dare they ignore her? They acted as if she wasn’t even present, as though they had every right to be there. Danielle fumed silently.

"Man say...."

"I don’t care what the man said!" She forced the words between clenched teeth. Pointing her finger toward the half open doorway, she repeated her command, "I said ‘out!’"

"Hello. Anybody home?"

"Mr. Riley?" Danielle dashed across the room colliding with the figure blocking the doorway.

"Whoa, hold up. What’s going on here?" Strong hands gripped her arms, holding her and the squirming infant close against his muscular chest. Danielle’s breath caught in her constricted throat. Her heart thumped wildly. In sheer relief, she allowed her head to fall forward to rest momentarily on his broad shoulder. The hands gripping her fell away to be replaced by protective arms.

Joel’s hand caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. He felt the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her robe. It felt good to hold someone so close. Someone warm and willing to endure his touch. Running his fingers through the uncombed tresses of her waist-length hair, Joel breathed deeply of her warm, musky scent.

"Thank goodness you’re here. Tell them to leave."

"Leave? But I thought you’d be glad to have their help."

"You sent them?" she asked, faintly recalling his statement about her needing someone to help with the chores. She also remembered denying any such need. He’d deliberately ignored her wishes, taking it upon himself to make decisions for her. Well, alone she may be. Helpless, she was not. She struggled to free herself from the very arms that only moments ago she’d found so comforting.

"Yes," he replied, reluctantly releasing her.

"Why?" she asked, her voice like winter wind.

"Why? I thought you needed help, so I...."

Stepping away from him, Danielle tilted her head and, holding his gaze, said, "You thought? What about what I think? Doesn’t that matter?"

"Of course, it does. I just thought...."

"You’re becoming repetitive, Mr. Riley." The words, like a whiplash, cracked in the narrow space between them.

Baffled by her attack, he stood mutely, gazing into the fiery eyes quietly accessing him. He had only meant to help, but her accusing look said she didn’t want his help. Didn’t she know how dangerous it was for a woman alone to live in such isolation? Who better than he would know just how dangerous, he thought, remembering his own wife, Jenny. The agonizing memories of that fateful day still haunted his dreams. The raw, jagged pain still grated on his conscious. If only he hadn’t left her alone that day.

"I don’t think you understand the danger you’re placing yourself and that child in." His irritation with her became difficult to hide as he tried to break through her defensive barrier. "It’s not just their assistance you need, it’s their presence."

"For what?" she snapped.

"Protection."

"I have protection, thank you. Hunting Hawk’s grandsons are always nearby. They...."

"How long do you think those young bucks are going to be willing to play nursemaid to you while you selfishly expect them to neglect their own families, crops, and businesses to provide your safety?" Running a callused hand through his hair, he glanced at the child cradled in the crook of her arm contentedly sucking his thumb, unaware of the tension surrounding him.

"They stay out of respect for their grandfather. But it’s a burden they don’t need." Joel noticed absently they were now alone. Apparently, his hired help had slipped out quietly during their tirade.

"I guess, I didn’t think.... "

"No, you didn’t." He felt like shaking her; shaking her until-until she threw herself into his arms again as she’d done earlier. He watched her anger melt.

"You needn’t be so smug. I didn’t ask for them, their grandfather offered." She didn’t enjoy being wrong, especially after making such a big fuss about the entire matter, but the fact remained, she didn’t want the Indian couple to stay. She couldn’t afford them, neither their pay, nor their food.

"This is not a battle, and I’m not the enemy," he said, letting his gaze roam from her tousled curls to her bare feet. He wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her of that fact. But she wasn’t his to hold, and the knowledge of that fact cut like a knife. He didn’t want to lose her friendship since that’s all he’d ever have a right to.

In the four years since an unknown assailant had left his wife, Jenny, bound by fear to the life of an invalid unable to tolerate his touch, he had never considered another woman. Until now. He knew that stories to the contrary circulated among the gossips in town, though he’d never bothered to dispute them. It didn’t matter to him what they said or thought. Now, standing with Danielle only inches from him, he almost wished the stories were true. He needed someone. He could feel it building within himself, a desire to feel a woman’s body close to his. A longing to share himself, his hopes, and dreams, with someone. Not just someone, he thought, but this woman. With a negative shake of his head, he pulled his thoughts back into safer territory. There was no need to pursue them. It was out of the question, for many reasons.

The tense silence was broken by a low rumble in his stomach. "Seems everything is growling at me this morning."

They both laughed uneasily. The noise disturbed Nathaniel, who immediately let out a howl of protest.

Joel reached for the child. "Let me have him while you get dressed. Then you can fix breakfast for both of us."

Danielle felt the heat rising to her cheeks at his reminder that she wasn’t properly attired. The combination of their heated argument and his disturbing presence had allowed her to forget the state of her dress. She clutched the front of her robe. "At least have the decency to wait on the porch." Her tone reflected her displeasure with his domineering attitude. She detested even more the unsettling effect his presence had on her.

"I like my eggs sunny side up," he called over his shoulder, pulling the door closed behind him.

Frantically, Danielle searched through her clothes, looking for something not draped in wrinkles. She hadn’t taken notice of her attire until now, but suddenly it was important that she look her best. Tying a bright green ribbon about her freshly combed hair, she called, "I don’t have eggs, will oats do?"

"Beggars can’t be choosers, can they? You need a few chickens," he replied, stepping through the door. At the look on Danielle’s face, he added, "Sorry. I did it again, didn’t I?"

"Yes, you did. Are you always this bossy, or just with strangers?" A smile softened her words as she tried to keep a lighter air, while managing to get her point across.

"We’ve never been strangers." His voice was husky as he held her unwavering gaze. Her golden eyes told him more than she knew. He saw that she, too, felt the attraction between them. "Oats are fine for me. What about this little guy? What does he eat?"

Unsure why his words disturbed her so, she was thankful, nonetheless, that he changed the subject.

"That was delicious. Thank you," Joel said, folding his napkin and pushing his chair back from the table.

"More coffee?" Danielle offered, reluctant for him to leave.

"I’d rather talk." He glanced around the cramped room. "Could we take a walk?"

"If you’d like. It’ll only take a minute for me to dress Nathaniel and I’ll be ready," she answered, puzzled by his quiet, almost pensive manner. He had eaten his meal in silence, his mood thoughtful, and though feeding Nathaniel occupied most of her attention, she couldn’t help noticing his attitude.

"Let Little Raven watch him. I’d like to have your undivided attention when I tell you what I’ve got in mind." Holding his hand up to prevent any interruption, he hurriedly added, "No questions. I want you to hear me out before you ask any questions. Okay?"

"I was only going to ask who is Little Raven?"

He chuckled nervously. "Oh, she’s Cody Blackowl’s grandmother. They’re the couple I hired to... wait, don’t start on that. Let me get Little Raven." He sprinted out the door and across the yard before Danielle had a chance to respond to the touchy subject of his interference in her affairs.

Quickly, she dressed the infant and changed his napkin. At this rate, she’d have to do a tub of wash this afternoon. She dropped the wet napkin into a pail she used for that purpose. She had never considered the total involvement it took to care for a child, until now. Her chores seemed endless, with little or no time left for herself. But then perhaps that was for the best too, since it left her little time to worry about her future.

They made their way across the meadow, the grass still damp with morning dew. She felt the damp hem of her dress dragging against her legs as she strolled beside him. A quail, hidden in the tall grass ahead of them, broke the silence with his plaintive call of ‘bob white’. Danielle waited for Joel to speak. He had said he wanted to talk, yet he hadn’t said a word since leaving the house.

"Spring is my favorite time of the year," Joel finally commented, then glanced speculatively at Danielle before continuing. "I’ve been thinking. You were right, I shouldn’t have interfered. But if you’ll let me, I’ll try to explain why I acted as I did." He waited for her to respond. When she didn’t, he resumed, "I sort of owe Hunting Hawk a favor or two, and what I said this morning about his grandsons neglecting their businesses is true." With the toe of his scuffed boot, he kicked a rock out of his path. She wasn’t making this easy for him. "Anyway, I figured one of them would be enough if he lived here. That meant you would need a female around so you would be comfortable with that arrangement. Cody Blackowl’s grandmother is his responsibility since he’s her only living relative, so she was the perfect choice. Besides, you really could use some help." His rapid-fire monologue had left her no opportunity to say anything, but her persistent silence alarmed him. "Well, say something."

"You’re through, then?"

"Well, no, but...."

"You asked me not to say anything until you were through, remember?" She couldn’t help toying with him. After all, he had interfered and should pay something for it.

He ran his hand across his forehead. "Since when did you follow orders?"

"Orders!"

"Wait. Wrong word... again. Request, how’s that?"

"Much better." Her smile could be contained no longer, and she relaxed, letting it spread to her eyes. She knew she should still be angry with him, but she found it wasn’t easy, especially when she gazed into his sea-green eyes.

"You’re not going to make this easy, are you?" he asked, reveling in the brilliance of her smile.

"Should I?"

"No. I suppose not." He took his handkerchief from his hip pocket and spread it on a moss-covered rock. "Would you like to sit down? I’m doing poorly at this."

"At what?" She took the offered seat.

"Everything it seems." Shoving his hands deep into his pant’s pockets, he turned his back to her, gazing across the span of open meadow, seeking the right words. Words that would convince her without betraying himself at the same time.

"I owe the old man a favor, and if...."

"You’ve said that already."

"So I did," he answered absently, running his fingers through his shoulder-length hair. "Look, you’re only going to be here a short time, so these people probably don’t matter to you. They matter to me. They’ve had it pretty rough. I thought this was the best way to handle it." He turned to face her, judging the effect his words were having on her, if any. Her bland expression told him nothing.

She decided to help him. "Maybe you had better just tell me the whole story. What are you trying to handle?"

Sighing, he took a seat beside the rock where she sat with her feet tucked beneath the long folds of her lavender gown. "Cody, the old man’s grandson, lost his young wife last year. He just sort of withdrew from life after her death. He was very devoted to her. His grandfather felt he would lose him too. Cody didn’t seem to respond to anything or anyone. Then the old woman, Little Raven, took ill." He glanced over his shoulder at Danielle, looked into her golden eyes. "Little Raven is his wife’s grandmother, and according to their beliefs, it is his responsibility to care for her. By some miracle, Cody responded to her need." Pulling a strand of grass between his fingers, Joel sighed deeply, then gazed away. It would be easier to keep his mind on what he needed to say if he weren’t mesmerized by the sight of her. As long as he continued to look into her eyes, he found it difficult to do anything for wanting to take her in his arms and hold her close.

"Hunting Hawk believes Little Raven faked her illness. But no matter, it worked." He tossed the grass stem aside. "Anyway, Cody now has both his own grandfather and his wife’s grandmother to support. He won’t leave the old woman alone, and that limits his choices of what he can do to support them. If, however, they could both stay with you...." He again glanced at her.

"What do you expect of me? I can’t afford to pay them."

"I’ll pay them," he interrupted. "I didn’t intend for you to. If you’ll just let them stay with you. That’s all I’m asking. It won’t be long. Besides, they would be a big help to you. Cody is strong. He would do all the heavy work for you, cut wood, carry water. Little Raven could help with the baby, give you some free time for yourself. Just think about it, will you?"

The pleading in his eyes tore at her heart. She saw his genuine concern for these people. It really mattered to him what happened to them. Somehow, she respected him all the more for that, could even forgive him for interfering in her affairs.

"All right, they can stay. But what about the others?"

"Others? What others?"

"The other grandsons. What about them? Hunting Hawk has told them to protect me. How will they know not to come anymore? I don’t know where he lives...."

"I’ve already told him," he blurted in appreciation of her agreement.

"You’ve alrea...." Her anger flared once more. "You were awfully sure of yourself. What if I’d said no? What would you have done then?" Immediately, she felt her frustration fading as she watched him squirm under her attack.

"I was counting on your generous nature." He smiled and the cleft in his chin deepened, giving his tanned, chiseled features a boyish look.

"You know nothing about my nature, Mr. Riley. Generous or otherwise." She gave him a good-natured shove.

"I hope to, if we’re to become partners."

"What!"

"Partners. I’ve been thinking...."

"Again?" Her smile belied the caustic tone of her voice.

"It pays to think." His smile answered hers and their gazes locked, momentarily causing him to forget his plans.

"You were saying?" Danielle felt the color rising in her cheeks and was certain he could hear her heart thumping against her rib cage.

Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze away from her disturbing beauty. "This place. I want to build a house on it. You would live in it, of course...."

"Have you lost your mind? Why would you build me a house?" Shocked amazement filled her voice. He couldn’t be serious. Nobody did that for someone they barely knew. Suspicion flirted with her reasoning, causing her to wonder at his motive.

"Not a house for you. A hotel for me." He bounced to his feet and paced the ground, trampling the grass in a narrow path in front of the rock where Danielle sat. "A hotel. A stage stop. We’ll need barns for hay and feed and one to shelter the stock. We’ll need corrals too. The well may have to be dug deeper. I’ll have to check on that. And a smokehouse. We’ll definitely need a smokehouse."

"Mr. Riley, will you please tell me what you’re talking about?" Stupefied by his announcement, she barely got the words out.

"Joel."

"What?"

"Call me Joel. We’re going to be partners." He was beaming as he held her gaze.

"You’re not making any sense. I don’t have the faintest idea of what you’re rambling about."

"I just told you." He came to stand near her. "A stage stop. Last week when I was at Fort Washita, I heard talk about a company that’s planning to run a mail and passenger service from St. Louis to San Francisco. They will need stage stops, places for their wagons to change horses, to feed their passengers, to drop off the mail. We are going to be one of those stations."

"I see." She didn’t, but felt certain he was about to enlighten her. She could see this was something he wanted desperately, and she hated to deflate his dream by reminding him she wouldn’t be here long enough to be anybody’s partner.

"I have a sawmill. All I have to do is move it down here and set it up. There’s plenty of timber close by. I can hire workers from the village. Hunting Hawk’s people are great craftsmen. A few even own their own mills. Cody can oversee the work when I can’t be here. Little Raven can cook the meals for the workers."

"What do I do? While all this work is going on, what do I do?" Things were moving too fast for her. She had to get him to slow down, to realize what he was doing. He talked as though she would be here forever.

"Nothing. You do nothing." He couldn’t understand why she wasn’t excited about his plan. Couldn’t she see the potential here? If they got the jump on everyone else, they could have the place ready by the time the first stage rolled through.

"I see."

"You keep saying that."

"What makes you think I want to be part of any of this? Have you given any thought to that? Or as usual, did you forget my wishes?" she asked, her voice calm, devoid of emotion. Her eyes refused to meet his.

Kneeling before her on the dew-dampened grass, he took both her hands in his. "Look at me. Danielle, look at me."

When she lowered her head and allowed her gaze to meet his, she felt her heart lurch at the pleading in his eyes.

"You may be here longer than you think. No, don’t pull away from me. Face it, you should have heard from your young man by now. What if he doesn’t come? What if he can’t? You have to think of yourself and...." The look of fear flooding her lovely features forced him to soften his approach. Even though he meant what he’d said, he hated to hurt her. "When he comes, I’ll buy out your part."

"I don’t have a part." She jerked her hands from his. "I’ll do nothing, remember?" Her voice was icy.

"It’s your land. At least, it’s your lease." He reclaimed her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze of reassurance and smiled broadly, hoping to elicit a returning smile. "I’ll buy your lease...when you leave."

His words were no more than she’d already told herself, yet to hear them spoken aloud evoked more alarm than she’d allowed herself to feel up to now. What if he was right? What if Alan didn’t come, or couldn’t? What would she do then? He was right, of course, she had to start making decisions about her future, hers and Nathaniel’s. "When do we start?"

The young rancher from the south wasted no time putting his plan into operation. With the rising of the sun, Joel escorted wagons loaded with sawmill parts and workmen. With a wave and a smile, he greeted his new partner. Danielle stood on the porch, watching in astonishment as they rode past the house headed for the river where the set would be erected. Her once quiet, secluded home became a maze of wagons rumbling past in great whirls of dust.

It was evident to Danielle that her meager stores of foodstuffs were inadequate to meet the demands of feeding a work crew of this size. Altogether, she had counted eight men. Eight grown men would require more food than she had on hand. Her first priority would be to find a way to feed all these extra people. Mentally, she calculated the few coins remaining in her possession, knowing before she completed her tally that her funds were insufficient. How could she possibly tell Mr. Riley that she couldn’t afford to feed his workers when he paid their wages? She rummaged through boxes, searching for her store of spices. Put simply, she must find a way to pay her share.

Danielle dressed quickly, fed Nathaniel, then went in search of Little Raven. Even though she had fought against the arrangement, she had to admit it would be convenient having the Indian grandmother’s help. She could leave Nathaniel with her while she went into town.

"Sorry, Miss Alexander. Ain’t nothing come for you yet." The postmaster kept his eyes averted, causing Danielle to suspect he regretted having to recount the discouraging news every week. Her forced smile faded despite her best efforts to disguise her disappointment. With as much dignity as she could muster, Danielle thanked the man and left. Hopefully, her next task would be more productive. She crossed the dusty street headed for the general store.

"Mr. Coogan, you mentioned that you take items for trade. I wonder, do you...what I mean is, would you...." She hesitated, took a deep breath. "I have some needlework I’d like to trade." She had studied on the idea for days. Trading her mother’s handmade scarves and chair covers had not been an easy decision. Yet she had to find a way to buy the necessary food to feed the workers Joel Riley had hired, and she had nothing else to trade.

"Well, I don’t know. Ain’t much call for fancy handwork like this." Silas Coogan fingered the delicate stitches of the items she laid on the counter. He glanced up from his inspection of the articles and she smiled weakly, fighting the urge to snatch up her mother’s work and run. Instead, she met and held the big man’s gaze. It surprised her to see her own discomfort reflected in his eyes.

"I think I could use a few though. Might sell a few." Folding the needlework carefully, he asked, "How’s that boy of yours doing?"

Tactfully, he had changed the subject. In that brief moment of eye contact, she knew Silas Coogan had seen and somehow understood her predicament. But he had not dwelled on it, nor had he hesitated to help in his own way. He had rightly guessed her desperate need. She doubted he had the dimmest idea of what he’d do with the fancy items but had let his instinct guide him.

"Fine. He’s fine," she answered absently. No doubt too, Silas’s wife, Blue Bird Woman, would scold him for letting his heart rule his business sense. She hoped that once Blue Bird Woman knew about the Indian child placed in Danielle’s care, she would agree that her husband had done the right thing. "I’ll need a few things today. Could you fill my order and load it in the wagon while I go to the newspaper office?" She handed him her list, and without waiting for his reply, headed for the door before remembering she didn’t know where to find the newspaper office. Turning, she smiled warmly and asked, "Could you tell me where it is?"

"Sure." He chuckled softly. "Newspaper’s two blocks down the street. You can’t miss it. I’ll have your stuff ready before you get back."

"Thank you," she replied, stepping from the cool interior of the store into the bright glare of the morning sun.

Back home in St. Louis, Danielle’s skill with a needle had been matched by none, and she intended to use that skill to her advantage now. Her mothers’ handiwork, so lovingly stitched and stored away for her daughter’s future, wouldn’t last forever. She had to find a way to support herself. She hoped that a newspaper ad would help find her customers in need of her skills with the needle.

The workers constructed crude tables and benches from rough slabs of lumber cut at the newly erected sawmill and placed them in the shade of two gigantic cottonwood trees in the yard. Alternately, the two women tended the huge, black cook pot that hung suspended from a tripod above the newly excavated fire pit.

"I will not sit idle while everyone else does their part. If we’re to be partners, I insist on doing my share of the work or the whole thing’s off." She defiantly thrust a plate filled with steaming food into Joel Riley’s shaking hands.

To his dismay, he knew she meant it. And in the days that followed, Joel noticed that Danielle labored as long and hard as any member of his logging crew.

Preparation of the noon meal consumed her mornings. Danielle watched in silence as Little Raven deposited several handfuls of what appeared to be weeds into the simmering pot; weeds she’d collected from the yard.

When she voiced her concern for the food, Little Raven proceeded to introduce her to the delectable variety of plants found on the forest floor and at the river’s edge. Wild mustard greens, garlic, mushrooms, wild onions, lamb’s-quarters, tender, green shoots of poke, dandelion, purslane, chickweed, and wood sorrel were but a few of the many new foods Danielle discovered. But the most surprising of all was the root of the cattail plant found growing in low, marshy regions. She watched in amazement as the older woman painstakingly peeled away the stringy outer shell of the root then prepared it much the same way you would a potato. Once cooked and seasoned properly it had a very pleasant taste.

Together, she and Little Raven devoted several hours each afternoon, scouring the countryside for edible supplements for their meals. Danielle tagged along on those foraging excursions against the objections of both Little Raven and Joel Riley.

At first, she’d been skeptical of the idea of foraging for food, having never eaten anything which hadn’t come from the local market or her grandfather’s garden. But Little Raven soon taught her how to identify the edible from the non-edible mushrooms and to differentiate wild onions from crow’s-poison.

Danielle discovered quickly that Little Raven’s command of the English language was not as proficient as her young grandson’s. But despite the language barrier, they found ways of communicating with each other. She even found herself enjoying the time spent with the older woman, in spite of sore, aching feet.

Little Raven’s energy level seemed to match her knowledge of plant life, and both appeared boundless to Danielle. If, as Joel Riley had stated, the seemingly robust woman had been at death’s door only recently and in need of her grandson’s care, then she had made a miraculous recovery. For Little Raven was still bustling about long after Danielle collapsed into bed each night, bone-weary, but satisfied from her labors.

Danielle learned that Little Raven started each day with a prayer to Chihowa Nan Atali, the great Creator, and to the Morning Star, followed by a prayer song to Grandfather Sun. Once she completed her morning ritual, she carried an armload of kindling and a fresh bucket of well water into the small cramped cabin and set a pot of coffee to boil. This morning she carried something extra.

Danielle still found it perturbing to awaken to find a stranger bustling about her home. Though she had to admit it was pleasant to open her eyes to the smell of coffee wafting through the room. Reaching for her robe, she sat up on the side of her bed searching with her toes for her slippers. Her foot encountered an unfamiliar object, and bending over, she picked up the moccasins. Bewildered, she turned them over in her hands as though seeking an answer to an unspoken question.

"Shoes no good for walk. Need moccasins. They be soft," Little Raven said as she poured two mugs of coffee from the steaming pot.

The thoughtfulness of the Indian woman’s gift overwhelmed Danielle. She had been totally unaware that Little Raven had even noticed her limping. Trudging miles of uneven terrain in search of edible wild plants had left painful blisters on her feet. Carefully, she slipped her feet into the unfamiliar footwear and was amazed at how soft and comfortable they were.

Her new moccasins were crafted from skins tanned and worked to a velvet-like softness, then smoked for water proofing, which gave them a pale lemon hue. Their soft, supple leather hugged her shapely calves like a second skin. Narrow fringe marked the outer seam on each, and their tops were decorated with dyed beads and porcupine quills in Little Raven’s own intricate design, which identified her work as distinctively as a signature.

Impulsively, Danielle crossed the crowded room and threw her arms about the stout woman, then kissed her plump cheek. "Thank you, Little Raven. They feel wonderful on my sore feet. How did you know I have blisters?"

Obviously flustered by Danielle’s actions, Little Raven shrugged her shoulders and ducked her head as though to cover her embarrassment. Danielle had heard that the Choctaw were not given to open expression of their emotions. Even so, when Little Raven looked up and smiled broadly, Danielle decided the woman may have liked the way this particular white woman had shown her appreciation. Danielle watched her pick up her mug and shuffle toward the door where she always sat on the porch and drank her morning coffee. Apparently, an emotional outburst was no reason to upset Little Raven’s daily routine.

"Wait. Please, join me," Danielle invited, pushing a ladder-backed chair toward her. The look of perplexed indecision in the brown eyes gazing back at her told Danielle more than words. The older woman was uncomfortable with her and her invitation. "Never mind, I’ll join you. It’s a beautiful morning to sit outside." She quickly checked to be sure Nathaniel still slept, then followed Little Raven to the porch.

A soft, gentle breeze barely disturbed the mist shrouding the river bottom. In the east, the sun crawled toward the horizon, streaking the sky with strips of scarlet and gold as it burned through the haze.

Even at that early hour, Danielle already felt the humid heat rising. She still wasn’t used to this climate. By midmorning, she knew, her clothes would be sticking to her, though the temperature was still quite mild. She dreaded to think of what summer would be like.

"Surely I won’t still be here by then, though." she muttered, unaware she’d spoken aloud until Little Raven broke her normal silence with a question.

"Little Mother leave?" Big brown eyes searched Danielle’s face.

Danielle wasn’t sure how to answer, to explain her unusual predicament. She gazed out over the meadow, wondering how much of what she said the older woman understood. "Yes, I’m leaving. I should have been gone already."

"Why go? You no like it here?"

Surprised by the sudden breech of silence, Danielle replied, "It isn’t that I don’t like it here. I...." She faltered, unsure of how to continue.

"Little Mother sad. Need man." Then with a sharp nod of her silver-streaked head, she stood up and waddled across the yard toward her dwelling.

Danielle wasn’t sure how to answer that startling announcement. She decided to leave it alone, and went to check on Nathaniel before making another trip to the Depot on Boggy. Surely there would be a letter for her today.

"Are you certain? Maybe it’s been misplaced. Would you look again, please?" Danielle twisted the ring on her left hand as she waited for the postmaster to double check.

"No, ma’am, it ain’t there. Sorry."

Slowly, she made her way across the street to Silas Coogan’s store, unsure of what she’d do if her needlework hadn’t sold yet. She needed more supplies and her money was dwindling fast.

The bell above the door jingled as she stepped into the cool interior of the store. Before her eyes could adjust from the brilliant glare of the sun to the dimly lighted area surrounding her, she was greeted by the owner himself.

"Morning, Miss Alexander. I got good news. Sold every last one of them fancy things you left last week. You got any more, I’ll take them. Bet you didn’t expect that, did you?" His round face beamed. "Truth be told, I didn’t either."

"Yes...no...I mean... no, I don’t have any more made up. But...that’s wonderful!" Exhilaration filled her voice and the smile she gave him.

"Well, you get busy with that needle. I figure I can sell everything you make. Now, what do you need today? Give me your list. I figure we can fill it all this time." The proprietor yammered on, unconscious that his prattle confirmed Danielle’s suspicion of his knowledge of her financial status.

"Here’s my list. If you have any, I’d like to take a look at some embroidery thread."

"Sure thing, right over there on that table. You just help yourself, Miss Alexander. I’ll get started on this list. Wife’s off to the flour mill today. She’ll be sorry she missed you." Silas rambled on as he filled her order.

"I’m sorry, too. But, I really don’t have time to visit this morning. I came in earlier than usual so I could get to the post office. I have to hurry back and get lunch started." Danielle examined the selection of threads.

"You expecting something important, are you?" Silas asked, watching her closely.

"I thought so." Danielle murmured to herself, then aloud, "I guess not."

The whittling trio ringing the pot-bellied stove exchanged knowing glances as they silently took in another tidbit of gossip.

The mill workers had just finished their noon meal and were preparing to leave for work when the rumbling clatter of wagons and numerous horses approaching from the nearby road shattered the noonday quiet. Danielle, standing beneath the shade of a giant cottonwood, wiped her hands on her apron and watched the advancing caravan. In a great swirl of dust the column of men drew to a halt. She saw Joel Riley step forward to confront the new arrivals, then noticed the workers turn back, their guns hanging loosely in their work-harden hands. From that distance, it would be difficult for them to tell if the group was friendly or not. Danielle joined the cluster of mill workers. They all waited silently as Joel approached the group, still engulfed in a cloud of dust. When they saw him shaking hands with one of them, a silent sigh of relief passed among the mill hands, and calmly, they retreated toward the mill set, leaving Danielle alone.

Joel returned to the yard with two of the new arrivals at his heels. Standing before Danielle, he said, "Miss Alexander, let me introduce Colonel Albert Sidney Johnston and Lieutenant Colonel Robert E. Lee. Gentlemen, this is our hostess, Miss Danielle Alexander." Turning back to Danielle, he said, "They’ve ask permission to bivouac here for the night. I told them they’d have to ask you since it’s your land."

Smiling warmly at the two officers, Danielle replied, "Of course, gentlemen. Stay as long as you like." She gestured toward the open meadow nearer the river, assuming they would prefer to be near a ready source of water for their stock. "That area over there should do nicely. Where are you and your troops headed, sir? If I may ask?"

"Texas, ma’am," Colonel Johnston replied, twisting his hat in his hands. "The Second Cavalry’s been assigned to protect the settlers and civilized tribes in the area from the Plains Indians."

"I see. I wasn’t aware there was that much trouble to require military attention." She had heard rumors before leaving St. Louis, of course, but she hadn’t given it much thought since arriving here. There were too many other things to occupy her mind.

"We had hoped to make it to Fort Washita before nightfall, but one of the wagons has developed a bad wheel. As soon as we can repair it, we’ll be on our way," the young Lieutenant Colonel said, joining in the conversation.

"Oh, stay as long as you need." She gazed at Joel Riley before she added, "If you’re free for supper, I’d enjoy your company. It’s rather isolated out here. I’d love to hear the news from wherever you’re coming from. That includes you, Mr. Riley, if you’re free."

"Sure. But right now I need to get back to work." Joel turned toward the two officers. "Gentlemen, I’ll see you this evening."

Danielle sent Cody Blackowl with an invitation for his grandfather to join them that evening. Little Raven sent her own request for several maidens from the village to come and assist in the preparation of the feast she planned to prepare and to care for Nathaniel. Another request was made for men to hunt game for their supper. Little Raven appeared as excited as Danielle about their guests.

While Danielle rummaged through trunks to locate her mother’s linen tablecloths and good dishes, Little Raven rummaged her parfleche bags for dried fruit and berries. She had promised Danielle to treat their guests to a fruit stew with dumplings sweetened with wild honey. The Indian woman had explained to Danielle the importance of having the Second Cavalry stationed nearby. It was the Plains Indians who prevented the Chickasaw from leaving the Choctaw’s land and residing on their own allotment of government-promised lands.

The inability of the Chickasaws to claim their own land had resulted in many problems for both tribes. The Chickasaws resented not being able to build schools and missions. But apparently, the biggest rub was being governed by the Choctaw’s laws. And as long as the Chickasaws remained on the Choctaw’s land, they were prevented from owning property and setting down permanent roots.

At the same time, the Choctaws weren’t all that thrilled at having to share their allotted lands. Though both tribes had once been members of the same clan long ago, there was an uneasy truce over the present situation. To Little Raven’s way of thinking, the sooner the government took control and rid the western lands of the marauding Plains Indians the better.

Danielle gathered from her conversation with Little Raven, that it wasn’t so much that she disliked the Chickasaw, but it was a burden to the land to support so many. Besides sharing the land, the Choctaw were also sharing their schools and churches with their reluctant guests. Danielle learned that, in addition to being taught the fundamentals of reading, writing, and basic sums, the young men of both tribes were taught skills that would enable them to be self-supporting in this new way of life. The young girls were taught the fine art of needlework. Often, visiting missionaries and westward travelers bought the young women’s handiwork as mementos from the Indian Territory. Their work was highly valued for its perfection.

Little Raven worked with great enthusiasm. Danielle supposed she had great hopes for their guest’s success here in the southwest.

The evening was both a success and a disappointment.

Less than an hour after Cody Blackowl’s departure, Danielle’s yard was overflowing with what appeared to be half the Chickasaw Nation. Young men brought deer, elk, quail, turkey, and squirrels. Women and young girls carried baskets of winter squash, green beans, pumpkin, corn, and peas.

With amazing precision, the workers set to preparing additional fire pits, erecting a brush arbor above the tables from which they hung lanterns and torches. Soon pots simmered and meat juices dripped as the meal preparation progressed. The aromas permeated the spring air.

In the midst of the hurried activity, Little Raven shuffled into the cabin with a young Indian woman at her heels. "Holhpokunna Hehi watch boy."

Danielle turned from the dry sink where she stood scrubbing dishes from lunch in preparation for the evening festivities. Soapy suds dripped unheeded from her elbows while Danielle gaped in awe at the young woman. With a gap-tooth smile, Little Raven pushed the young woman forward.

Pride was reflected in her stance as the Indian maiden stood tall, shoulders back and her small chin firmly jutting forward. Her dark, ebony eyes held Danielle’s gaze without wavering. She wore no mixture of clothing, as was the custom of most of her people. Instead, she wore a dress of deerskin worked to a softness of velvet with long fringe dangling from its hem. Beads, bones, and shells decorated the yoke of her dress. A wide, beaded belt of the same soft leather cinched her narrow waist. Hand-beaded moccasins covered her small feet, exposing slender ankles. High cheekbones and a narrow nose set off to advantage the inky eyes framed in dark, winged brows and long, lush lashes. Her beauty was as raw and incomparable as nature.

Self-conscious about her own bedraggled appearance, Danielle belatedly wiped her reddened hands on her apron. "I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What does she want?"

"No. No." Little Raven shook her head. "Holhpokunna Hehi, Dream Singer." Taking the young woman’s arm, she guided her to the basket where Nathaniel slept. Turning to face Danielle, she repeated her earlier message, "Watch boy."

"I see. She... Dream Singer, is that her name?"

Little Raven nodded. "Eagle Spirit bless her with dreams for The People."

"I see," Danielle replied, though she didn’t. Interpreting dreams was an intriguing concept, but time didn’t permit her to delve deeper into the matter now. "She has come to watch Nathaniel?"

Again, the older woman nodded.

"That’s a relief. I wondered how I was going to manage him and get everything else done too. Let me get a change of clothes for him. You can take him to Little Raven’s house." Danielle collected the items she knew he would need. "It will be easier for you to keep him there. She has more room." Danielle smiled warmly at Dream Singer, handing her the clothing for the child she already held in her arms.

In her haste, Danielle barely noticed the misty-eyed appraisal the woman called Dream Singer gave the infant in her arms, as well as the possessive way she clutched him to her bosom as she departed.

Danielle’s guests arrived as the sun slid behind the treetops, casting a rosy glow over the western horizon. Both officers, she noticed, had exchanged their dusty apparel for freshly brushed, full-dress uniforms complete with sash and dress sword. The sheen of their travel-worn boots reflected the effort that had been made with polish and buffing to transform their appearance.

The two men approached the linen-covered tables where Danielle and Little Raven were busy arranging fruit jars brimming with wildflowers. Both men bowed at the waist. Then, with a flourish, Colonel Johnston presented a bottle of brandy to her.

"For after dinner, in appreciation of your generosity, ma’am."

"Why, thank you, sir." Danielle took the bottle, smiling warmly at her guests. Her excitement had mounted all afternoon in anticipation of this evening. At being among people of her own kind once more, of being able to exchange polite conversation.

Earlier, she had plundered her trunks until she had located the dress she sought. Even though it was part of her trousseau, she had justified her choice by telling herself it wasn’t every day she had the opportunity to entertain officers of the Second Cavalry. Besides, Alan should have been here.

The dress was a dusty-rose lawn, sprigged with wine-colored flowers. Its sash accented her narrow waist. The square décolletage exposed her throat and more of her bosom than she was accustomed to. Her hair was pulled back and held in place with rose and wine ribbons intertwined among the cascade of curls, exposing her ears from which pearl drop earrings swung.

At first, she found the matching wine-colored kid slippers awkward after days spent in the comfort of her heel-less moccasins. Her first stumbling attempts on the unaccustomed heels prompted her to consider wearing the more comfortable moccasins, which could be kept hidden beneath the folds of her gown. Feminine vanity won out over comfort, and before long she again mastered the ability of simultaneously walking in heels while controlling yards of delicate skirt.

Joel Riley arrived late. Danielle had never seen him dressed in anything except his work clothes. As he crossed the clearing to join them, the sight of him mesmerized her. His shoulder-length, chestnut hair had been trimmed so that it brushed the collar of his snow white, linen shirt. The thin fabric revealed more than concealed his muscular build. Danielle’s gaze followed each movement that displayed the ripple of muscles across his broad chest and shoulders. The well-tailored shirt tapered to his narrow waist, and Danielle’s gaze followed the smooth line downward to his long legs clad in dark brown trousers and continued on to his highly polished black boots.

Involuntarily, her gaze drifted upward to the strong rugged features of his handsome face. Dark brows and thick lashes framed the emerald pools of his eyes. His full lips were drawn back in a devilish grin, emphasizing the deep cleft in his chin. His high cheekbones gave his chiseled features an overall look of masculine perfection.

Momentarily, the other guests were forgotten as the two of them faced each other in the glow of firelight. As quickly as his smile appeared it vanished. His eyes narrowed and became unreadable as they took in every detail of Danielle’s gown.

"Unless you intend to be the main course, you should take care to cover yourself." His biting retort was a low growl uttered between clenched teeth and served as a slap of cold water to a bewildered Danielle. Forcing a smile, he stepped around his stunned hostess and offered greetings to the other guests.

Hunting Hawk and his Grandson, Cody, heard the caustic remark uttered by the young rancher. The old man smiled. "A man only speaks to a woman in that manner when his heart is involved," Hunting Hawk said.

"Grandfather, a plan is taking root. I see it in your eyes."

"Ah, if He-Who-Weeps-Inside insists on letting his feelings of guilt blind him from the truth, then perhaps it is time for Little Mother to meet our friend’s wife."

"Perhaps, it is time for my Grandfather to put aside his meddling," Cody replied.

"Ah, perhaps."

Hunting Hawk and Cody’s remarks puzzled Danielle. What on earth did they mean? Why should Joel Riley feel guilt? And why did Hunting Hawk think she should meet Jenny Riley? She already had enough to worry about without trying to figure it out now. She forced herself to respond graciously to her guests, though her heart was no longer in it. For her, the evening was ruined. And she hadn’t the vaguest idea of what had prompted Joel’s hurtful remarks.

The food was delicious and abundant. The gentlemen appeared to be enjoying themselves completely. Throughout the meal, Joel refused to meet Danielle’s gaze, though she caught him watching her surreptitiously when he thought she wasn’t aware of him doing so. He directed his conversation to the men about the table, obvious in his reluctance to include her or pay her the slightest attention.

Danielle pushed her food about her plate in an attempt to appear to be eating. She forced a smile and laughed gaily, when all she really wanted to do was cry.

Once the meal was cleared away and the brandy passed around, armloads of wood was thrown on the dying embers of the cook fires. Danielle and her guests watched as members of both tribes gathered and formed separate circles for the Round Dance. Women made up the inner circle with the men forming a symbolic ring of protection about them. Slowly, the night filled with the hypnotic murmur of voices singing to the drone of ancient drums.

Danielle noticed there was no intermingling of the white man’s clothes, as was often done during the day for work. She had learned enough from Hunting Hawk and Little Raven to know that no one would have dared to even consider mingling the two worlds in their dance or songs. The dancers wore the traditional dress of their individual clans. Deerskin leggings and thigh-length tunics elaborately decorated with porcupine quills, shells, animal teeth, and feathers, were an impressive sight as moccasined feet sidestepped clockwise to the rhythmic beat of the dance of their forefathers. This was their history. Their bodies glistened magnificently in the firelight as they danced to a gone but not forgotten past.

Once the dances of the two tribes ended, the various members disbursed to their homes with a promise to return on the morrow to help with the clean up. The mill workers had brought their wives and sweethearts to the impromptu party and now produced fiddles, banjoes, and jews-harps. Once more the fires were fed armloads of wood, and the dancing began again.

Danielle danced with both officers to the lively tunes of the backwoods band. Their music blended with the droning of the locusts and the plaintive call of the whippoorwill. She danced every dance, refusing to give way to the suffering she felt. Yet against her will, she found herself searching for Joel Riley’s tall figure in the firelight.

"Colonel, if you have no objections, I’d like to claim this dance with our hostess." Even as he spoke, Joel took Danielle’s arm, leading her away from the group.

Mortified, Danielle tried to free her arm from his grasp. He hadn’t bothered to ask her to dance. Instead, he had asked the Colonel, who had no claim whatsoever on her. Even as she struggled to free herself, she wondered at his brazen omission.

"Quit fighting it! You feel the same thing I feel. You’ve wanted this all evening, so relax. Let me hold you," he demanded coldly in a dangerously controlled voice. He jerked her against the rock hard muscles of his chest.

Danielle felt numb with shock at his strange behavior.

"Why the sudden silence? You’ve been a veritable chatterbox all evening." He glanced down at her immobile face. "Where’s your smile?" His index finger traced a line at the corner of her lips, trailed along her jawline to her throat. "Surely it’s not so unpleasant to be held in my arms? You certainly had no objection to everyone else’s." With an almost violent jerk, he pulled her even closer against him. He had fumed all night, raging against his better judgment, yet filled with longing to hold her, to feel her in his arms.

Gasping for breath at his nearness, Danielle lifted her gaze and met the emerald hardness of his eyes. She watched the muscle in his jaw clench. He was angry with her. But why? "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice weak and small. He held her so close breathing was difficult.

"‘Why?’ the lady asks." He leaned closer, his breath hot on her ear. His lips brushed her earlobe as he spoke. "You expose yourself to the hungry eyes of strangers, and you ask me why." His fingers dug into the tender flesh of her back as he held her closer.

Tilting her head so she could see his face, she denied his accusation. "I did not expose myself, and what...." She paused when a dark shadow crossed his face, and once more, his jaws clenched. "Is that why you’re angry with me? My dress?"

"Dress?" he hissed in her ear. Then he leaned back and gazed down at the creamy tops of her firm young breasts framed by the square décolletage of her dress. "There would be less of you to see if you were in a nightgown."

His eyes softened momentarily as he drank in the loveliness of the unobstructed view. He had a wild urge to bury his face in the valley between those twin peaks. Desire coursed through his veins, fueling his anger at his own weakness. The hurt in her eyes twisted his heart, and he ached to remove the pain he knew his words had caused.

Losing control of his long-held restraint, he leaned forward, lowering his head until his lips were mere inches from hers. Her quickly indrawn breath reminded him they were not alone. A low groan slid past his lips as he buried his face in the vibrant curls beside her ear. With all his heart he wanted to feel her warm sensuous lips beneath his. The delicate fragrance of her hair sent waves of desire surging through his body.

He felt her heart set up an insane hammering as his lips brushed the nap of her exposed neck. He felt the trembling of her body through his fingertips where his hand still rested against her back. Sanity returned slowly and he whispered shakily in her ear, "I’m sorry, Danny. Forgive me. I went a little crazy tonight, seeing you like this." He felt her struggle to free herself from his arms. "Don’t. Don’t fight me. I know I have no right...."

"Let me go! You’re hurting me." Her body was as rigid as her voice.

Immediately, his arms fell away, releasing her. An emptiness akin to pain at her removal from his embrace raced through him. As he whirled away from her to make his brisk farewells to the other gentlemen, he saw pain mingled with confusion in her eyes. That one brief glimpse was like a physical blow to his gut. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. God alone knew, he hadn’t meant to hurt her.

Almost immediately, the party of guests departed, bidding their hostess a hasty goodnight. More than once, Danielle heard barely concealed speculations on what had transpired between the two during their dance. She also heard others remark on what a lovely couple they made.

Danielle dismissed the Indian women who had stayed to help. "Tomorrow will be soon enough. It’s too late tonight anyway."

She didn’t even bother to stop at Little Raven’s to check on Nathaniel before rushing home to strip off the offending dress. Flinging it into a corner, she fell into bed, a crumpled heap of emotions.

Confusion swirled as she drifted into sleep with Joel Riley’s haunting eyes floating before her, his words ringing in her ears.

She hadn’t thought of Alan all evening.

Troubled by dreams of the night before, Danielle was up before the sun tinted the horizon scarlet and gold. Hurriedly, she dressed and drank a cup of coffee while gathering the latest batch of cross-stitched chair covers to take with her. She wanted to be at the post office when the morning stage arrived.

Her feet flew across the dusty road, covering the two miles in record time. With each step she took she repeated the same plea, "Let there be a letter today." There just had to be. Last night had frightened her more than she cared to admit.

She felt betrayed. Betrayed by her own emotions. Dancing with Alan had never been like that. She had experienced emotions in the arms of Joel Riley that she had never felt for Alan. When Joel had released her, she had felt deprived. Deprived of something she couldn’t name. It alarmed and appalled her. She had no right to feel anything for him. Yet she couldn’t deny that she did.

The stage wasn’t in when she arrived, so she crossed the street to Mr. Coogan’s store. She needed to replenish her supplies after the big dinner last evening.

"Morning, Miss Alexander. You’re out mighty early. Everything all right?"

She had seen Mr. Coogan sweeping the walk in front of his store when she dashed into the post office. No wonder her timing surprised him. Most folks weren’t out and about yet. "Do you think you can sell all of these?" Danielle spread a dozen cross-stitched chair covers across the counter for his inspection.

"Name your price. You’ve been busy. You must sew in your sleep," he said jokingly, attempting to lighten her mood.

"Mr. Coogan, how long do you think it takes for a letter to get from California?"

"Ain’t never had a letter from California myself. You expecting one from there?"

"It shouldn’t take more than a month, should it?" Her eyes kept shifting to glance out the front window toward the post office.

"Well, I reckon a month ought to..."

The rattle of wagon wheels rumbling across the rutted street outside interrupted him. They both glanced toward the window this time and saw the stage pull to a stop. As passengers descended the interior of the stagecoach the driver tossed the mailbag to the street. Before the dust settled where it landed, Danielle murmured, "I’ll be back in a minute."

The bell over the front door jingled behind her before Silas could reply. He watched her wend her way among the crowd gathered about the newly arrived stage. "Little lady sure is in a mighty big hurry for that letter. Now, who would keep a sweet little thing like her waiting?" Silas scratched his balding pate, scanned her list, then commenced to collect the items: coffee, dry beans, yeast, and sugar. "Sure buys a lot of sugar," he commented aloud, tucking the paper-wrapped cone in among the other items.

Silas heard the bell jingle and glanced up. He saw Danielle floating across the bare, wooden floor as gracefully as if she were on a ballroom. A smile tugging at both corners of her rosy lips and a sparkle in her golden eyes told him she must have received the long-awaited letter.

"Get a letter from California?" Silas asked, as he handed her the basket of supplies.

"Yes," she replied, tucking the letter inside the basket with her order. "Will my needlework cover this?"

"Being mighty secretive about that letter," he thought, hating to have his curiosity aroused and left unappeased. "Don’t worry about that. I’m sure it’s more than enough. Might even be some left over."

"You’re sure?" she asked, amazed yet grateful that her work was obviously selling so well.

"Sure, I’m sure. You don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ll keep a tab on it for you. Say, how’s that little fellow of yours doing? Haven’t seen him much lately."

Guilt pricked her as she remembered she hadn’t checked on Nathaniel that morning before rushing off to town. In fact, now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him since the afternoon before. The woman called Dream Singer had taken him to Little Raven’s quarters to tend him while she prepared dinner for the army officers. "He’s fine," Danielle answered, hoping Mr. Coogan hadn’t noticed her hesitation. She certainly didn’t want him to think she wasn’t fit to care for the child. It was bad enough that she had her own doubts. In an effort to cover her own uneasiness about her neglect, she heard herself saying, "I can’t believe how fast he’s growing. He’s trying to crawl already. Of course, all he’s managed so far is to scoot."

Silas chuckled.

Her mind screamed, "Fool!" How could she forget to check on him before considering herself? Then she remembered that he was at Little Raven’s. Nothing would happen to him there. The Indian woman hovered about the boy like a hen with a single chick. She allowed herself to relax with that knowledge.

"I’d better be going. It’ll be time for his breakfast soon." She picked her basket up from the counter and with a warm smile said, "Thank you, Mr. Coogan. You’ve been very helpful."

"Don’t mention it. You take care of that boy and hurry back to see us."

Danielle forced herself to wait until she’d reached the outskirts of the small community before stopping to read her letter. As soon as she found a cleared area, she left the dusty road. She placed her basket on the ground, spread her skirts, made herself comfortable, then pulled the letter out and began to read. Her eyes quickly scanned the missive, seeking a date.

In disbelief she saw it was dated two weeks ago. Two short weeks. What had taken him so long to answer if it only took two weeks for the letter to get here? She recalled the six agonizing weeks she’s waited for him to reply to her numerous letters. Letters filled with pleas for his speedy return for her. Her disbelief quickly turned to anger as she continued to read.

Danielle had to lay the letter aside for a moment. Had he not mentioned her father, she could believe Alan had not received any of her own letters. Letters almost begging him to come for her. Yet so far, he had not mentioned one word of when he would arrive. Not one word to indicate he missed her. Not even a casual mention of their marriage plans. Danielle swatted absently at a persistent gnat flitting about her face, then collected the pages of her missive and continued to read.

She couldn’t help herself. Tears of frustration streamed unchecked down her pale cheeks. She had waited so long to hear from him, sure in her trust of him. Certain he would be on his way to her as soon as her first letter arrived.

With trembling fingers, she swiped her tears away, then shredded the paper into tiny pieces, dropping them into her basket. Pushing herself to her feet, she retraced her steps to the rutted road. Her steps were slow and heavy as she headed home. How long would she have to remain here now?

"Where is he? Where is Nathaniel? " Her voice cracked as she almost shouted the questions at the old woman who merely nodded her head mutely. "Do you understand me?

"No see." Little Raven finally said, when Danielle paused to catch her breath.

Fear was mushrooming as Danielle considered the numerous possibilities. She tried once more to make the Indian woman understand. "When did you see him last? Do you remember when you saw Nathaniel last?" She was repeating herself, but didn’t bother to correct herself. Her only thought was to find Nathaniel.

"See man-child one sun," her clipped words were accented by the one brown finger she lifted as she spoke.

"One sun? You mean one day? You haven’t seen him since yesterday?" Fear was almost choking her. She also hadn’t seen the child since then, allowing herself to become so involved with her own pursuits that she’d neglected her duties. Her mind raced in wild, erratic circles, searching for an answer to the dilemma. Absently, she pushed stray wisps of hair off her brow. Her skirts fluttered in the morning breeze that was steadily becoming brisk. Gray-bellied clouds forming unnoticed on the horizon were a forewarning of a thunderstorm so typical of the season.

Unmindful of the weather, Danielle pursued her quest for information. "Where is the young woman, Dream Singer?" Suddenly, hope replaced despair. "Maybe he’s still with her."

"Gone."

Danielle’s hope faltered at the single word.

"Gone where? When did she leave?"

Little Raven’s reply was a shrug of her shoulders.

"Please, you’ve got to remember. When did she go?"

Another shoulder shrug sent Danielle’s fear soaring. The gray clouds momentarily blocked the sun. An ominous shadow crept across the sky. The air was heavy and moist.

"Little Raven," Danielle pleaded, clasping the old woman’s hands, "was Nathaniel in your cabin last night? Did he and Dream Singer sleep there?" Her eyes searched the woman’s dark orbs, seeking her answer there.

Dread like iron bands squeezed her heart as Little Raven shook her head and whispered, "Nuseka Hehi, keyo nusi chookwa."

Danielle understood the negative shake of the old woman’s head, but not her words.

"Dream Singer no sleep house," Little Raven repeated, sucking her top lip into the gap left by her missing tooth.

If the Indian woman and child had not spent the night at Little Raven’s, where were they? How long had they been gone? Danielle released the other woman’s hands, fearful that somehow she wasn’t being fully understood. Her main concern seemed to be centered on the young woman, Dream Singer. "Little Raven, I’ve got to find her. Go get Cody. He can help us search."

As the old woman shuffled across the yard in search of her grandson, Danielle was already changing into her riding habit and moccasins. Her long blond hair was hastily braided then coiled and pinned in place atop her head. She had just finished checking the load and priming in her Hawkins when a noise on the porch drew her attention. Jerking the door open, she expected to see the young man, Cody Blackowl. Instead, Little Raven stood rigidly before her.

"Where is Cody? I asked you to find him." Danielle nearly screamed in her frustration.

"Gone."

"Gone? Gone where? I need him." Her words were short and sharp.

"Mill. Grandson get flour. Be back soon."

Though Little Raven was never overly talkative, Danielle began to suspect there was more to her unresponsiveness this time.

"Little Raven, look at me," Danielle reached out and touched the older woman’s arm, attempting to get her to respond to her. "What’s wrong?

Her refusal to meet Danielle’s gaze bespoke guilty knowledge. Without hesitation, Danielle blurted out, "You know where she is!" It was a statement, and the tone of her voice demanded an answer.

Still without looking directly at her, Little Raven nodded her head.

Danielle’s heart raced like that of a trapped animal at the admission. "Where?"

"Long way."

Danielle felt like shaking her. Little Raven knew where Dream Singer had gone. Why must she drag information from the woman, one word at a time? Part of her frustration was directed at herself. Herself and Joel Riley. She’d allowed him to dominate her thoughts last evening instead of checking on her son. There had to be an end to this obsession he managed to hold over her. He ruled her thoughts, played havoc with her senses. She had to separate herself from him. "She’s taken Nathaniel with her. You’ve got to tell me where she’s gone."

The silver-streaked head snapped up and Little Raven met Danielle’s gaze squarely. "She no say boy go. Boy home."

"No! You don’t have him. I don’t have him. Dream Singer has taken Nathaniel with her. I have to get him back. Where? Where was she going? " Danielle almost shouted as she persisted in her inquiry.

Turning her head toward the east, Little Raven spoke in soft guttural undertones. Danielle listened intently. One word was repeated numerous times, the only word Danielle knew of their language, Osi.

Hunting Hawk spoke of the eagle often, pronouncing the word ohn-se. Osi, or the eagle, apparently held some great significance for these people. As she continued to watch, and wait impatiently, Little Raven took Danielle by the arm and gestured in a northeasterly direction, then gave a nod. The older woman turned back toward Danielle and with a deep sigh said, "Holoka Noh-wut-ahn Osi, Ka-tuk-ta yakni wananaha." Then, apparently realizing she spoke her native Chickasaw, the Indian woman repeated her words. "Journey of the eagle. Sacred place where ground quivers."

The words were as foreign to Danielle as the Chickasaw had been. The only thing she understood was that Dream Singer had gone where the ground quivered. "Where is this place?" she asked, certain of only one thing. She was going after Nathaniel, regardless of where it was.

"Long way." Little Raven pointed toward the northeast again.

"You’ve already said that." Exasperation put a cold biting edge to her words. "How far? Never mind. I’m going after them." The Indian woman stared gap-mouthed at her as though she spoke an unknown tongue.

When she reached the door, Danielle turned. "Little Raven, will you help me, please?" This time, her words were the soft plea of a mother.

Mutely, Little Raven bobbed her head and did as she was bid. When she finished, she said, "Little Mother say words back."

"Two suns? Two days ride, right? Take the Military Road east after I cross the two Boggy rivers, first Clear Boggy, then Muddy Boggy. The road will veer north toward McGee Creek, which I follow until I reach Potapo Creek. Next is Panther Creek. I turn south and cross McGee Creek once more then follow the creek bank until I enter Boogaboo Canyon."

Little Raven had said it was a two-day ride for a good horseman, which she wasn’t. But she was fixing to become one. The old woman had insisted that Danielle repeat her directions to be sure she had them right. Even though she had dutifully repeated them, she wasn’t at all certain she would be able to follow them.

She was even less certain of her ability to remove Joel Riley from her life. When and if she returned.

The murky waters of Clear Boggy still dripped from the hem of her skirt when the weather fulfilled its promise of rain. Pulling the collar of her riding habit closer about her neck and her borrowed hat lower across her brow, Danielle prodded her horse forward.

The Indian woman, Dream Singer, had a full-day head start on her. She couldn’t afford to slow down. Precious time had been lost gathering the items Little Raven had deemed necessary for the trip and waiting for her to sketch a crude map of the trail she was to follow.

Landmarks were identifiable by the older woman’s remarkably skilled drawings which depicted rivers, creeks, dry creek beds, gullies, noticeable changes in the lay of the land, and rock ridges. Even a couple of small caves were indicated.

As the rain penetrated the layers of Danielle’s clothing, the chill wrapped itself about her shivering body. Even while she forced herself to concentrate on keeping her teeth from chattering, she wondered if Nathaniel was warm. Had Dream Singer thought to provide protection for him against the elements?

Each wet, miserable mile brought fresh memories of the chubby-cheeked little boy. The way he smiled when she tickled his bare feet, that gurgling laughter that burst forth when he drenched them both with his bath. The way he tucked his thumb snugly in his mouth when he was tired and ready for his nap.

He had filled the empty, lonely hours in a dozen ways since his arrival. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he had won her heart. Nathaniel was truly hers. She couldn’t imagine life without him, yet she’d had no intention of becoming so attached to him when Hunting Hawk had deposited him in her arms. It was impossible to believe that had been only one month ago. So much had happened during that month, but Nathaniel was the best. A fleeting glimpse of Joel Riley’s green eyes flickered to the forefront of her memory. She deliberately shoved it aside.

Overhead, roiling thunderclouds laded the gray sky. A quagmire of mud was all that remained of the rutted road, which she found increasingly difficult to follow. Rain slapped her in the face and ran down the neck of her habit, collecting in a thin rivulet between her breasts. Even though she resented the delay, she deemed it wiser to lose time than to risk injury to her horse. Trembling controlled her chilled body as she sought shelter for herself and her mount.

Tethering her horse to a low-hanging branch of a gigantic red oak tree, Danielle pulled the bedroll from behind the saddle and took shelter beneath its leafy canopy of dripping leaves. Unrolling the blanket-wrapped bundle, she first removed the food items Little Raven had packed, then wrapped its folds cloak-like about her rain-soaked body. Drenched and chilled, she collapsed in a sodden heap at the base of the tree, grateful for its meager shelter.

Barely four hours into her trip and already her muscles complained. Her temperamental mare had vigorously protested every mile of the already miserable excursion, leaving her back and leg muscles throbbing from the effort to stay aboard the fractious animal. Her arms felt as though they had been wrenched from their sockets. She realized that not once since mounting up that morning had she given thought to her earlier fear of riding. Her only concern was finding Nathaniel.

Shifting her position on the wet ground, she rummaged the contents of the parfleche beside her, seeking something to pacify her gnawing hunger. She found an apple and a chunk of buttered cornbread, which she washed down with rain water collected in the gourd mug Little Raven had included.

The rain-washed afternoon air vibrated with the harmony of tree frogs and rain-crows plaintively summoning more rain. The overcast skies merged with the deepening shadows of evening, quickly swallowing the meager light, leaving Danielle huddled in watery darkness.

Her thoughts were as turbulent as the weather. Events of the past few months scrambled through her mind, bumping together as she sought answers to how she came to be caught up in her present circumstances.

Until two months ago, she had led a quiet, sheltered existence, caring for her father and managing his household. She had flitted serenely from one social event to another surrounded by friends, swamped with invitations to gala affairs. Her most burdensome problems had been what to wear to the next social function and the weekly menus.

Her main activities had included church and charity work. Life on the frontier and Indians were things she had read about in her father’s newspaper, never dreaming that either would be a part of her life. If Alan hadn’t insisted that the future was in the west, she would no doubt still be comfortably encroached in St. Louis before a cheerful fire roaring in the fireplace instead of huddled in the rain on a dark and lonely night.

Just the thought of Alan’s determination to move west renewed her anger fueled by the cold, impersonal words contained in the letter she had received just that morning. ‘You are safer where you are,’ he had written.

An uncharacteristic oath escaped her trembling lips as she jerked the rain-sodden blanket tighter about her shoulders. Shifting her position once more, she closed her eyes and drifted into a troubled sleep. Green eyes haunted her dreams.

~*~

Ground-fog swirled like smoke from the low-lying bottomland, leaving the moist air heavy. With a groan, Danielle flung the damp blanket back and forced herself to stand on stiff, trembling legs. Her aching body protested the action.

Realizing a search for dry wood would be fruitless, she once again ate a cold meal. Hastily gathering the contents of her bedroll, she crammed them in haphazardly before lashing a leather strap tightly about the misshapen pack. She regretted her haste almost immediately when her precious supplies spilled from both ends of the awkward bundle. In frustration, she dropped to her knees on the muddy ground and meticulously gathered and bundled the bedroll.

Before lashing the leather straps about the bundle this time, she took a small packet of jerked venison and a handful of dried grapes from the parfleche. She stuffed the snack items into the smoked-skin pouch Little Raven had assured her would keep her sulfur matches dry, then placed the packet into the pocket of her skirt. She reasoned it would be easier to just carry a snack. Besides, it also meant not having to stop. And she intended to keep moving.

After a quick check of her rifle and a brief scan of her hand-drawn map to familiarize herself with the landmarks that would guide her to the canyon called ‘Boogaboo’ and Nathaniel, Danielle was ready to resume her trip.

Her progress was agonizingly slow. The heavy rains of the day before had left the normally well-traveled, hard-packed trail a quagmire of red, slippery ooze devoid of traffic. Dense fog restricted visibility, creating an atmosphere of unreality. The overhanging canopy of wet leaves sprayed both horse and rider as they passed beneath their drippy tunnel.

Danielle’s riding habit clung wetly to her bone-weary body. Her hair had long since come free of its restraining braid and whipped limply about her face as she plodded along, humming softly under her breath in a futile attempt to dispel her uneasiness.

She reached the banks of the rain-swollen Muddy Boggy River near midday. Easing her horse into the swirling brown water, she had almost reached the far bank when the mare lost its footing, dumping her into the churning morass.

Coughing and sputtering, Danielle clung to the reins, frantically struggling to maintain her grip. Fear of drowning uppermost in her mind, she fought the pull of the surging water. Just when she thought she’d lost the battle, her feet scraped bottom. She could stand up, though the water gyrated about her chin.

Painstakingly, she dragged herself up the slippery bank then collapsed upon the muddy ground, still clutching the leather reins of her equally weary horse. She lay there, allowing the tension to drain from her body until her rapid breathing slowed and her heart ceased roaring in her ears.

Slowly, she sat up, took stock of her situation, then set to work. First, she stripped off her wet, muddy clothes. With lethargic movements, she returned to the river’s edge where she rinsed the mire from her garments. Before cleansing her moccasins she spread her clothing on the grass beside her. Then with sure-footed caution, she cupped her hands and splashed water on her face and arms, then her feet and legs, until all traces of mud were removed. Padding about barefooted in her camisole and pantalets, she gathered up her laundry and draped it on nearby bushes.

Sitting cross-legged on the wet ground, she checked the priming on her rifle, then satisfied her gnawing hunger with jerky while reviewing her map once more. Weak sunlight dappled the thickly timbered riverbank as the clouds lost their battle with the sun. Danielle reveled in the welcome warmth. Once rested and refreshed, she donned her still-damp clothing and set off on the next leg of her desperate journey.

The sun, so welcome earlier, presented another problem to add to the growing list that Danielle had confronted since starting out. The humidity level climbed with the temperature. As the earth steamed, so did her damp clothing, chafing her tender skin.

She made camp when she could no longer distinguish reality from shadows. The strain of the unaccustomed travel on horseback had taken its toll. She dragged herself from the saddle. Her joints ached, the tender flesh of her inner thighs were raw from clinging to the steamy leather. Her knees sagged under her own weight. Exhaustion gripped her in its claws.

Danielle clung to the pommel of her saddle for support until she was able to haul her stiff, throbbing body upright on her own power. With a groan, she knelt and hobbled her horse securely before collapsing in a crumpled heap.

A short time later, Danielle propelled her tortured body into movement as she searched for firewood. She needed a hot meal and dry clothes.

She got lucky. Apparently, the rain hadn’t been as severe here, and she was able to collect a sizable stack of dry deadfall and dry leaves. Before long, she had a small fire built and a skillet of bacon frying. She poured water from her canteen into the coffeepot and measured coffee into the water, then placed it beside the skillet to boil. While her supper cooked, she removed her damp riding habit and draped it across a fallen log near the fire to dry. Clad only in her underclothes, she finished her supper. The night was warm and it felt good to be rid of the cumbersome weight and confinement of clothing.

She was asleep moments after stretching out on her blanket beside the dying embers of her cook fire. How long she slept she wasn’t sure when the sound of shuffling leaves and snapping twigs interrupted her slumber. Lying very still, she strained to locate the direction of the movement before peeking from lowered lids into the abyss of darkness. Her body tensed and fear lodged in her throat as her gaze encountered two, gleaming, yellow eyes across the bed of hot coals. Her nerves screamed in reflex as a lone coyote let loose a long, wailing howl in the distance. Behind her, in the darkness, the mare snorted loudly and stomped her foot, disturbed also by the night sounds. An uncontrollable trembling gripped her as she waited expectantly for the predator to pounce.

The yellow eyes pivoted from her toward the tethered horse. The eerie call of a screech owl broke the stalemate and Danielle watched in relief as a furry, black-masked raccoon ambled slowly around the dying fire and disappeared into the darkness. A nervous laugh escaped her lips as she scrambled to her feet and tossed armloads of wood on the fire. Once the area was bathed in the light of the leaping flames, Danielle scooped up her rifle and positioned herself with her back to the trunk of a sycamore tree. Drawing her knees tightly against her chest, she prepared to set watch until the safety of dawn.

Exhaustion overpowered her good intentions, and she slept soundly throughout the night.

A hot meal the next morning, dry clothes, and she was on her way. According to her hand-drawn map she was at the halfway mark of her journey.

Danielle forded another of the many streams that crisscrossed the vast terrain as the sun slowly crested the treetops. The trail wound through dense forest of post oak, cottonwood, sycamore, and occasional bull pines, often disappearing into little more than a footpath, difficult to follow.

By midmorning her shirt was damp with perspiration. With her skirt bunched up above her knees, Danielle plodded on beneath the overhanging branches that provided shade but allowed little or no breeze to penetrate. The air was hot and humid. A horde of flying insects buzzed about her bare legs and face, intent, it seemed, on devouring her most tender flesh. She swatted at the pests and dug her knees into the horse’s side, urging her to a faster pace. The wilderness became thicker, wilder, and the trail rougher. She rode hard, pushing both herself and her mount.

Stopping for a light lunch, Danielle refilled her canteen from a clear stream meandering across the trail. She drank deeply of the cool water, then splashed several handfuls on her face and neck, relishing the refreshing water on her hot, prickly skin where already she felt the welts of insect bites. It was too late to wish she had brought something to put on them.

As she sat beside the shallow stream trickling gently over its pebble-lined bottom, Danielle reflected on how different her life had become in such a short space of time. Survival and a half-blood child were her main goals today. Her former life seemed only a dream. An unreal dream. She wondered briefly why she had ever thought that other life satisfying. How had one small, brown-skinned infant worked himself so completely into her life? A child and a married man, she added, damning Joel Riley’s interference in her life.

Shaking her head to dispel her thoughts, she pushed damp tendrils of hair from her hot brow and stood, stretching her back and stiff legs before mounting up and pushing on toward her destination.

Several hours later, she crossed Potapo Creek without incident and headed due east toward Panther Creek. If she continued at her current pace she should enter the canyon by dusk.

Briers and berry vines snagged her trailing skirt as she forced her way deeper into the forbidding timber. Black clouds of gnats swarmed annoyingly about her head. Swatting, ineffectively at the insistent insects, Danielle urged her mount into the rushing water of another nameless stream.

The mare snorted and, to Danielle’s annoyance, halted in mid-stream to drink her fill. Jerking on the reins, she prodded the animal into movement. She, too, was thirsty, but her desire to be rid of the annoying presence of the troublesome insects outweighed her thirst. Urging the reluctant horse up the steep slope of the opposite bank, she hoped to leave the pesky creatures behind.

They had just reached solid ground when she felt the horse shudder. In the same instant, the animal snorted loudly and pranced backward, fighting the restraining reins as Danielle attempted to urge her forward away from the dangerously steep incline of the creek bank.

The horse snorted once more and reared up, front feet pawing the air. In her struggle to control the frightened animal and retain her seat in the saddle, Danielle spotted the snake. The arrowhead shape of its flat head and the coppery tint of its body identified the striking attacker as a copperhead, one of the deadliest of snakes. Her horse continued to paw the air and prance in tight circles while Danielle clamped her knees tightly and gripped the pommel of her saddle with white-knuckled fists. Fear permeated the air, filling her nostrils.

She landed with a thud, and the air left her lungs in a grunt. She watched in anguish as her frightened mount charged blindly through the timber, leaving her behind. "Traitor," she shouted at the animal in frustration.

Experimentally, she stood, testing her limbs for injury. Apparently, her pride was the only causality of the tumble. She quickly scanned the area for the perpetrator of this latest mishap. The reptile, like her unfaithful horse, had apparently departed.

Frustrated and weary, she dropped limply onto a fallen log, removing her moccasins and placing them beside her. Cupping her chin in her palms, she released the pent up tears. Tears of anxiety, disgust, regret, and uncertainty. Like a dam bursting, her emotions gushed forth, leaving her drained and weak with exhaustion.

"Why?" she wondered aloud, "Why can’t I do anything right? I’ve tried so hard, and all I encounter is problems." Angrily, she swiped the salty moisture from her overflowing eyes, then took stock of her situation. Alone, unarmed, afoot, no food, her map gone with her wayward horse. Now here she sat, slumped in defeat, her body tortured with aches, bruises, bites, scratches, and sunburned. Her body had traveled beyond tired hours ago.

Suddenly, she laughed.

"Three days ago, I wore lawn and lace and entertained officers of the Second Cavalry. I wonder what they would think if they could see me now?" She spoke aloud in an effort to dispel the ominous silence that cloaked the creek bank. She plucked the sweat-damp fabric of her riding skirt from her already clammy body. The heat was sweltering, though little sunlight penetrated the overhead canopy of leaves.

She searched the area and found a few wild berries, grapes, and early plums. At least, she wouldn’t starve. She hungrily devoured the welcome fruit, momentarily forgetting the food safely tucked in her skirt pocket.

Absently she wondered how safe Alan would think she was if he could see her now. The thought of her errant fiancé snapped her into action. She would not let him know, now or ever, that she had considered herself defeated. She’d show him. Somehow, some way, she would get out of this mess. She didn’t need him or anyone else. She could manage on her own.

Shoulders squared and jawline taut with determination, Danielle pushed onward. The trail was fraught with dangling grapevines, trumpet vines, and briers. Her arms and face soon became a network of scratches. Blood mingled with sweat as she pressed on, the unrelenting heat her only companion.

Danielle reached the north rim of the canyon just as the last rays of light vanished from the long, arduous day. There was no lingering of light. No sunset. The blackness swallowed even the shadows. She quickly made camp and waited for morning.

Morning and Nathaniel. Surely she would find Dream Singer and Nathaniel tomorrow.

Since the night of the dinner with the officers of the Second Cavalry, Joel had made himself scarce. His own behavior had appalled him, left him shaken by his loss of self-control. The control of his emotions, which he’d practiced so long, had slipped from his grasp and left him exposed. His banked fires of passion had been fanned into raging flames.

The sight of Danielle swathed in yards of rose lawn had snapped the iron bands about his heart. The touch of her curvaceous young body had sent his senses reeling. Joel had fled.

Even the unnecessary trip to Fort Washita yesterday had only proven one thing; he couldn’t stay away from her. Whatever the cost, he must be near her. If he must settle for being only a neighbor, a friend, he would manage somehow to hide his feeling for her as long as he could be near her.

"I was coming for you," Cody Blackowl said, when Joel rode into Danielle’s front yard.

"What’s up?" Joel asked.

"Little Mother has gone alone to find Dream Singer and the boy."

Cody’s words hit Joel like a fist in his gut. "Where? Why?" He forced his questions past his fear.

"Get down and come inside," Cody said, already stepping down from his own mount. "Grandmother will explain."

Joel numbly followed his friend, his mind tormenting him with images from the past. Only this time the battered woman had Danielle’s lovely face.

Hunting Hawk arrived just as they crossed the front porch. Together the three men went inside. Little Raven repeated her story again. Just as she had told it to her grandson, she told it to Joel and Hunting Hawk. "I know... you know," she finished.

"It must be," Hunting Hawk said to his stunned audience. "Little Mother has gone for her son." His calm only agitated Little Raven more as she continued to moan and sway from side to side.

"Where? Where has she gone? And what do you mean, it must be?" Joel asked the old man. "Where has Dream Singer taken Nathaniel?" He knew from experience, that pushing too hard would only confuse the issue and that it was best to wait for the old man to tell them what he knew. Retreating to the stove, he poured a mug of steaming coffee, then retrieved the cone of sugar from the shelf where Danielle kept it stored. Long-legged strides brought him to the table where Hunting Hawk sat.

Scooping great quantities of the sweet treat into the mug of hot liquid, Hunting Hawk declared, "Dream Singer has taken the Journey of the Eagle."

Clenching his fist about the brim of his hat, Joel waited as Hunting Hawk swirled the spoon to dissolve the sugar, then took a deep, satisfying drink. Licking his withered lips to retrieve the last delicious drop, the old man glanced up at the three anxious faces and smiled. "It will be well. Dream Singer has gone into the canyon of the spirits as the Eagle Spirit has shown her. She has the man-child." He took another deep drink of the hot brew and smiled his appreciation. "It is well. Little Mother has proven herself."

"Grandfather, you do not mean Boogaboo Canyon? It is very dangerous for the white woman to go there. Dream Singer will know the way, but what of Little Mother?"

"I make map." Little Raven said to no one in particular. "Little Mother not wait for help. I make map."

"You knew where she was going? How could you let her go alone?" Joel almost shouted the questions at the poor woman as he paced the crowded room. Nothing was making sense. If Little Raven knew where Danielle had gone, why was she so upset? "Little Raven, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that I’m trying to understand." Joel twisted the hat in his rough hands and held her gaze as he continued. "You say you made Danielle a map, that you knew where she was going. Then why are you so upset? What is it you’re not telling us?"

Dropping her gaze from the penetrating eyes of the big rancher known to her people as He-Who-Weeps-Inside, Little Raven spoke so softly they all had to strain to hear her words. "Dream Singer has boy. Eagle Spirit say she keep. Little Mother upset, boy belong her. Will be bad. Will be very bad."

"Women!" Hunting Hawk spat the word as though it left a bitter taste on his lips. "Ignore the prattle of old women. They do not know!"

"Grandfather! The canyon. What about that?" Cody insisted, helping his mother’s mother onto a nearby chair.

"Ah, canyon. You and He-Who-Weeps-Inside...." The old man stopped to take another drink of his sweet brew. "Follow. Woman not get far."

By then, it was already dark, too late to leave. But first light found the two young men in pursuit of the women. Each man harbored his own fear and concern for a different woman.

Both, Joel and Cody Blackowl were seasoned horsemen and familiar with the territory they traveled. It had been relatively simple to pick up Danielle’s trail. It was obvious she had made no attempt to prevent anyone from following her. But Joel still had trouble contemplating her reasons for taking off on such an undertaking alone. Didn’t the little fool have any idea of what could happen to her out here alone?

At sundown, the men reluctantly made camp at the same site Danielle had used her second night out. Her presence was evident. The bed of ashes from her fire indicated it had been one larger than needed for cooking. Both men silently speculated on the need for a fire of such obvious proportion. Neither man slept much as they contemplated what lay ahead.

Danielle, stiff from sleeping on the ground without even a thin blanket to protect her from the night dampness, was eager to be on her way. Last evening, before curling up beside a fallen log for protection against the wind, she had found the forgotten food stashed in her pocket. Hoping to make it last longer, she rationed it into small portions. She ate as she traveled. Stuffing the dry, tasteless meat into her mouth, she tried to pretend it was a nice, thick slice of smoked ham. It didn’t improve the taste of the jerky, but it did cause her mouth to water, helping to soften it a bit.

Danielle found she was actually making better time traveling afoot than she had with the mare. The timber grew increasingly thicker and she often found herself crawling through layers of scrub brush and plant life. Her horse would never have been able to travel through such rough terrain.

About midmorning, Danielle caught the aroma of food drifting on the air. Food meant fire. Stopping to investigate, she determined that the smell was just ahead of her, but she could not locate any telltale smoke. Following the scent, she pushed through the tangle of grapevines and sumac, hoping it wasn’t poison sumac.

Abruptly, she found herself standing at the edge of a broad, flat meadow devoid of trees and carpeted with lush, green grass. After miles of wilderness, she feared it was a mirage. She allowed her gaze to roam across the open expanse, drinking in the raw, untamed beauty, and fought the urge to run barefoot through the tender, young grass.

Lost in the wonder of such a place being in the center of this vast expanse of wilderness, she at first didn’t see the woman and child. Her eyes were making their second pass across the meadow when it registered what she was seeing. Part of the mirage? She stood transfixed, gaping at the unexpected sight. But before she could decide her next move, she heard a sound behind her. Footsteps.

Whirling about, she spotted movement at the edge of the timberline. Glancing back at the woman she’d followed for days, she saw that Dream Singer, too, had heard the noise. The problem of how to announce her arrival was solved as she once more heard the ominous footsteps in the shadows. Danielle turned and fled across the exposed span of meadow. As she ran, she saw Dream Singer snatch up the infant and scramble up the rock ledge behind her, neglecting to douse her smokeless fire. Danielle reached the vacated area and started to follow when her gaze rested on the leather pack and bow, forgotten by the retreating woman in her haste. Without conscious thought, Danielle stooped and seized both before following Dream Singer’s lead and scurrying up the rocky outcrop above her.

She nearly overran the woman huddled protectively about the child in her arms. Dream Singer had taken cover behind the largest boulder and made no sound as Danielle stumbled and nearly fell in her attempt to put distance between herself and whatever, or whoever, was on the other side of the meadow.

With a silent gasp, Danielle squatted beside Dream Singer and opened her mouth to ask a question. With an index finger to her pursed lips, Dream Singer silenced the comment, revealing no outward sign of surprise at Danielle’s sudden appearance.

Shoulder-to-shoulder the two women waited, their gazes sweeping the open space below. They heard the snapping of twigs followed by a muffled voice. The words were lost by the distance that separated them, but it was clearly the voice of a man.

A blanket of silence lay over the area. Even the breeze seemed to be waiting.

Danielle wondered why they were hiding, but she didn’t dare ask. Dream Singer’s attitude, transmitted by the tenseness of her body, relayed itself to Danielle and she remained silent. Even Nathaniel, snug and secure in his cradleboard, seemed to sense the tension surrounding him.

"It was a woman, I tell you. I seen her."

"Shut up, big mouth!" A voice answered the first.

"Why? It’s just a woman. I ain’t had me no woman in...."

"I told you to shut up! Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. She may not be alone," the second man counseled. The words were as clear as their implication to the two women concealed behind the rocks. Moving only her eyes, Dream Singer scouted the area across from the meadow. Slowly, she placed the infant in Danielle’s arms, being careful to make no noise. Retrieving her bow, she slid across the moss-covered rock to an opening in the ledge. Quietly, she removed an arrow from the quiver on her back and noched it in the bowstring in readiness.

"Hell! You’ve let her get away."

"She ain’t going nowhere. Be quite and keep moving."

"I say we rush her. I never seen no woman I can’t catch."

"You better hope she ain’t got a man around somewhere when you catch her." A third voice chimed in. "Either one of you see any sign of her?"

"I ain’t scared of no man!" The first voice insisted, ignoring the question.

Out of the corner of her eye, Danielle detected movement. Listening to the exchange between the three men, she realized they thought she was alone. An idea formed in her mind and before she could consider the consequences she acted. Placing Nathaniel carefully on the rock beside her, making sure he was wedged in so he wouldn’t fall, she stood up, then moved two steps away from the infant. She wanted to be sure she could be seen by the men across the meadow.

Dream Singer saw her action and smiled to herself. Hunting Hawk is right, she thought. This woman has aiyimita. Dragging her attention back to the situation at hand, the Indian woman silently drew the notched arrow tautly against the bowstring. She didn’t have long to wait.

"There she is!"

"We ain’t blind, stupid. We can see her. Wait...."

"I ain’t waiting for nothing!" the first voice shouted before the warning was completed. He broke through the heavy timber and sprinted onto the open meadow. He hid the ground with a thud and a scream. "Damn it, I’m hit! Help me."

The wounded man’s companions remained silent and out of sight as he thrashed about on the grassy meadow moaning in his pain, clutching the shaft of the arrow buried deeply in his thigh.

The women waited.

"Hey! Can you hear me?" A gruff voice called from the dense timber.

"I hear, white dog," Dream Singer replied, contempt filling her voice.

"Let us get our friend and we’ll be on our way."

"Take your dog vomit." Dream Singer shouted to the man hidden from view. Together the women watched as two figures cautiously emerged from the shadowy timberline.

Like the injured man they supported between them, the bearded pair wore grease-spotted leather clothing. They kept glancing over their shoulders as they departed the open meadow and disappeared into the safety of the thick cover of timber.

The two women hastily retreated farther up the ledge, putting distance between themselves and the unsavory trio they had just encountered.

Glancing over her shoulder at Danielle, Dream Singer whispered, "Tushpa!" The blank expression on Danielle’s face reminded her that she had spoken in her native tongue and she quickly repeated, "Hurry!"

Nodding her head in response, Danielle picked up her pace, being careful to protect Nathaniel as they proceeded in their flight.

They left the rocky ledge and entered the dense timber of the canyon floor. Danielle wondered if Dream Singer knew where she was going, but didn’t waste time asking. She sensed that their situation was still desperate and that she must trust the other woman’s judgment and knowledge of this wilderness area.

The terrain was rough and the heat oppressive. Danielle felt moisture trickling down her sides. Her travel-wary muscles protested every step she took. Dream Singer never slackened her pace but kept moving, pushing her way through the tangle of underbrush. Just when Danielle felt she could go no further, the young Indian woman called a halt. She produced a skin-bag containing water and indicated for Danielle to drink. Danielle gladly took the bag. Searching in her pocket, she found a handkerchief and poured a small quantity on one end, then offered the moistened cloth to Nathaniel.

Dream Singer smiled to herself as she watched approvingly the other woman’s action.

Danielle risked asking the questions that were troubling her, "Where are we going? Do you think those men followed us?"

"Tali chiluk. Eeh." The Indian woman replied, then took a deep drink of the tepid water from the bag.

"I don’t...."

"Cave. Yes," Dream Singer interrupted.

Danielle noticed that the Indian woman always reverted to her native tongue when excited.

"They follow. I know cave. We be safe."

"Are you sure?" Danielle asked, her uncertainty evident by her question.

"No."

Dream Singer finally found a cave at the base of a gigantic multi-colored, sandstone ledge, a place where the three of them could spend the night. The entrance faced east, high above the valley floor. Atop the ledge’s swirling rose and beige contours, lichen formed ghostly green-gray patterns on its northwest side. Best of all, the back of the cave had a stone floor covered in thick, green moss which could serve as a comfortable bed for Nathaniel. First, Danielle had to scrap away scat and brush out dry twigs and leaves. She wondered what wild creature had last occupied the space.

The sun already nestled above the treetops on its westward track. With only a few hours of light left, questions and answers would have to wait. The two women made preparations for the fast approaching night, gathering deadfall and pine needles for a small cook fire.

Dream Singer rigged a trap for small game, then filled her skin bag with fresh, cool water from a nearby spring. Water bubbled to the surface at the base of a huge, moss-covered rock. Its emerald-green current flowed west over pebbles in a stream of liquid jewels, filled with goggle eye and sun perch. The late afternoon sun reflected off the water in shimmering brilliance.

Hickory, scrub oak, dogwood, blackjack, bull and yellow pine trees populated the area. A thick layer of pine needles carpeted the ground. Tall, reed-like sage grass rippled in the gentle breeze that played over the valley’s floor.

No longer able to make excuses for avoiding the issue, the two women sat opposite the small, smokeless fire where a young, tender cottontail rabbit sizzled above the dancing flames. The silence was uncomfortable: neither knew what to say; both realized they must say something.

Drawing her courage tightly about her, Danielle blurted the question uppermost in her troubled mind. "Why? Why did you take him?"

In a voice so low Danielle had to lean forward to hear, Dream Singer replied, "I thought he was to be mine." She kept her eyes down, not once looking at Danielle.

"Yours? How could you think such a thing? Hunting Hawk gave Nathaniel to me. He is mine!" Realizing her speech had risen in volume, she took a deep breath, seeking a calm she didn’t have at the moment. Lowering her voice, she persisted, "Do you understand? Mine!"

Slowly, the young Indian woman raised her head and focused her vision on Danielle. Across the leaping flames, Danielle was astonished to see great, glistening tears slide down Dream Singer’s face. "I understand...now. He is yours." Her words were very clear and precise.

Softened by the unexpected tears, Danielle spoke softer as she asked, "Then why did you take him? I don’t understand."

Silence echoed in the narrow entrance of the cave while Dream Singer looked almost wistfully across the meadow below. Tears, unchecked, continued to stream down her cheeks.

Danielle waited. Finally, the young woman lifted her gaze toward the fiery red-gold sunset.

Danielle followed her gaze and watched as an eagle left the safety of its nest high atop a craggy summit and hurled itself upon the wind. The sovereign of the sky spread its regal plumage and rode the currents sweeping up from the narrow gorge far below, gliding gracefully down from the cliffs. It dipped, soared, circled, and darted, and ruled all it surveyed. Slowly, the large bird made sweeping circles above them, its shadow momentarily blocking the fading sunlight. The impressive bird seemed to soar effortlessly on the air currents. It made three wide loops then shattered the fragile silence with its eerie high-pitched call. Whee-he-he! Whee-he-he!

Danielle realized she was holding her breath as she watched the wondrous sight, and before she could take in air, the golden eagle dived toward the cave, issuing another of its high pitched cries. Just when Danielle was certain the bird would crash into them, it pulled out of its dive and ascended heavenward. As the two women watched the bird rise majestically above the rose-tinted clouds, a single feather drifted earthward and landed at the mouth of the cave.

With a smothered cry, Dream Singer sprang forward and retrieved the dark plume. Returning to the cave, she placed the feather in Danielle’s hand and closed her fingers about it. Without a word, Dream Singer resumed her seat. For a few minutes, Danielle felt the other woman had forgotten her presence. Danielle waited expectantly.

Dream Singer sat up straight, her shoulders back and her head held high. Then she swiped hot tears from her coffee brown eyes and looked across the flames. "I saw three eagles." She held Danielle’s gaze, her voice was soft, yet strong. "One circled low above its nest containing one eaglet. The other two eagles soared high in the sky, their wings spread wide and dark, shadowing the nest below.

"Then suddenly, the one eagle died. I cried out and watched as she plunged to the earth below where she became a sparrow. The young eaglet in his nest high on the rock ledge cried out for his mother and I wept for him."

Dream Singer paused and turned her glance toward the sleeping child, then with a slight quaver in her voice, she continued. "The two eagles above continued to circle, one dropping lower, closer to the orphaned chick. Protectively, she hovered closer, listening to his cries. While I watched, that eagle became a red-tailed hawk.

"Then a voice instructed the remaining eagle to take the young eaglet, to teach him to be strong and free, to know the ways of his people. But first, she must take him from the hawk and make the Journey of the Eagle, to the sacred place of the trembling grounds. There she would be instructed further by the great Eagle Spirit."

Dream Singer paused and glanced once more at the young half-blood child. Creases marred her lovely countenance as she remembered the rest of the dream.

Turning back to Danielle, she resumed. "I stared into the leaping flames and rejoiced. The Spirit Dream was answering my prayers. I was the remaining eagle. I was to care for the child, be his teacher. He was mine now."

Danielle waited for the woman to continue, sharp talons of fear ripping at her heart. What did Dream Singer mean, the child was hers? Hunting Hawk said....

Dream Singer interrupted her ruminations, "The great eagle has spoken." She pointed to the eagle feather Danielle still unconsciously clutched in her clenched fist. Sliding across the sandy floor of the cave, the Indian woman gently picked up the sleeping infant, then scooted back to her place beside the fire.

Danielle felt certain that Dream Singer’s weak smile belied the ache in the woman’s heart.

Dream Singer caressed the tiny hand clutching her finger before lifting her misty gaze to meet Danielle’s. "He is not mine. You are his mother. I may only be his teacher." Tears again flooded her eyes, cascading down her cheeks as she tenderly kissed the infant in her arms before handing him to Danielle. The agony of that moment was like a searing pain, ripping through Dream Singer’s heart. She had been so sure, so positive that the dream had meant the child was to be hers.

Not since the golden eagle had become her spiritual guide had she misinterpreted her dreams. She was respected among her people for her ability to understand her Messenger. This time, though, she had abused her gift of dreams. She had allowed her desires for a child to fill the void left by the loss of her own son to cloud her understanding. Her empty arms had ached so much.

Both women sat in silence, watching the infant sleep, undisturbed by their emotional turmoil. The sound of rushing water from the nearby spring formed a peaceful backdrop to their silence.

An eerie scream splintered the night. A scream that sounded human.

Danielle went rigid. "What was that?" she whispered, protectively clutching the child closer to her breast.

"Koi. Panther." Dream Singer replied, her eyes scanning the area. "Something has disturbed Koi. It is too early for him to be on the prowl for food." Snatching up her bow, she quickly notched an arrow in readiness.

"What...."

A finger to her lips, Dream Singer indicated that Danielle should be silent. She slipped quietly from the cave, motioning for the other woman to stay where she was.

Danielle placed Nathaniel back on his moss-covered bed, out of harms way, and returned to the fire. Without conscious thought, she rotated the rabbit above the flames and placed another small piece of wood on the fire. They had forgotten their supper, and she noticed that the outer skin of the rabbit was charred. It didn’t matter, she was no longer hungry anyway.

Outside the cave, Danielle heard a muffled sound and strained her ears to determine from which direction it came. She thought she heard a voice but couldn’t be sure, so she waited, her body tense. Even the flesh of her scalp prickled. Her nerves were silently screaming. Something was wrong. Dream Singer should be back by now. Where had she gone? Should she call her?

"She can’t be too far ahead of us. She doesn’t know the area well enough to travel too fast." Joel’s statement was meant to reassure himself more than his companion. He softly stroked the walnut stock of Danielle’s weapon.

Cody Blackowl grunted in response to the rancher’s words while he anxiously searched for signs of the missing white woman.

Ever since the two men had found her riderless gray mare grazing peacefully beside a creek, her Hawkins still in the saddle boot, they had been searching for clues of what could have happened to Danielle.

They had discovered where she had been thrown from her horse, then two miles farther on, they found her mount. From there it had been difficult to follow her trail.

Cody scanned the ground and nearby brush for any sign of Danielle’s whereabouts or her condition. "Almost like an Indian, she travels with no trace of her passing,"

Joel nodded but said nothing. She could be injured or.... He refused to allow his mind to follow that direction. But he couldn’t deny the fact that about an hour earlier, they had come across another set of tracks. The footprints, clearly those of white men, followed parallel to those of Danielle.

"Any sign yet?" Joel’s voice was hoarse with thinly concealed emotions. He watched the Choctaw youth as he squatted beside a cluster of tall grass, examining the crushed stems. Joel didn’t wait for an answer. He dismounted and joined Cody.

"She travel faster without horse." The Indian youth stood, wiped the dust from his hands on the leg of his leather leggings, then pointed east. "She go there." Without wasting words, Cody led his mustang and the riderless mare to a small clearing. Then using a strip of leather carried for that purpose, he hobbled the horses. Joel followed the Indian youth’s lead and did the same with his own mount. Satisfied the animals were secured, they set off on foot into the dense forest, following the footprints.

The dread that had filled Joel since hearing of Danielle’s flight was growing. He found himself uttering a silent prayer for her safety. If she didn’t know the danger she could possibly be in, he certainly did. "How does she think she can find Dream Singer?" Joel asked. As expected, he didn’t receive an answer. "I’ve heard Boogaboo is close to ten thousand acres of unexplored wild wilderness. She could travel in circles for days out here and never find the woman and child." Risking a glance at the young man beside him, he continued, "For that matter, how will we find either of them?"

"We find." Cody’s confidence was infectious and for an hour or so, Joel believed him.

Then they found the meadow. And the blood. They also discovered the dying embers of Dream Singer’s fire, its ashes still warm. The trio of tracks was visible to even Joel Riley’s untrained eye.

"Jehoshaphat!" His mind reeled at the sight of blood surrounded by men’s footprints. "What happened here?"

"Well, lookee here, boys. Supper’s all cooked. Looks like the little ladies were expecting us."

The unsavory trio they had encountered earlier stood less than fifty yards from the cave. One had a bloody bandage tied about his upper thigh and held Dream Singer clutched protectively before him, her arm twisted cruelly behind her back. He leered at Danielle speculatively. The other two, with guns drawn and pointed toward Danielle, were no less threatening.

"Don’t ‘ppear she got any manners, boys," the red-haired man jeered, rolling a quid of tobacco from one jaw to the other. "Ain’t you gonna invite us to eat?" His laugh was coarse, his eyes small and black like a weasel’s.

Danielle swallowed hard around the lump lodged in her throat. Her gaze sought Dream Singer’s, and as their eyes met, Danielle saw open defiance blazing like flames in those dark orbs. She drew courage from it. If Dream Singer could find hope in defiance, then so could she.

Hoping to stall until she could think of something to do that would help the other woman, Danielle asked, "What do you want? We have nothing of value."

"Don’t play dumb, little lady. You know what we want. You might fool these other two, but don’t even try with me." The impact of his implied threat propelled Danielle backward. The muscles of her throat constricted involuntarily against the bitter bile she felt rising upward from her knotted stomach. She took another step backward. The heat from the fire drew her attention, causing her to glance downward. Her head snapped around and she met deep, brown eyes almost smiling at her with approval.

Acting quickly, before her nerve failed her, Danielle forced control in her voice. "Why don’t we eat?" Her knees wobbled and she had to physically force herself to remain motionless. Every fiber in her being screamed, flee! "We can talk later."

"Mighty nice of you to ask," the red-haired bandit replied. With a deep chuckle, he smiled broadly, revealing tobacco stained teeth. He drawled, "It’ll give us more energy to enjoy you two later. Come on boys, supper’s served." Like a pack of hungry wolves the three bolted toward the fire and the promise of food.

Danielle squatted beside the flames and waited. When the lead man was close enough, she grabbed the spitted rabbit and tossed it toward him.

With a howl of pain, the grimy man flung the sizzling meat into the air. Pandemonium followed as the greedy men scuffled among themselves over the charred rabbit that was too hot to handle.

Dream Singer, forgotten in the melee, followed Danielle who had already retrieved Nathaniel and was making a run for safety. The women almost collided with the two men charging toward them. With a small cry of thankfulness, Danielle fell against the strong chest of Joel Riley, sobbing in relief.

He pushed her aside and motioned toward the timberline as he barely broke stride before continuing toward the cave. Without hesitation, she followed his silent order. In unison, the women hiked their skirts above their knees and dashed wildly toward the protective shelter within the thick underbrush.

Sounds of gunshots ripped across the canyon, followed by screams mingled with curses. The women huddled together, forming a barrier to the child.

Within minutes that rivaled hours, they realized the shooting and shouting had ceased. The silence was ominous. What had happened? Who had survived? The cord of tension entwined about Danielle’s chest threatened to strangle her. Despite her fear, she remained crouched beside Dream Singer. What if something had happened to Joel?

At the sound of his familiar voice, Danielle’s head snapped up. With measured strides, Joel strolled toward their hiding place. An ominous look filled his green eyes. In bewilderment, Danielle watched his approach and wondered why his face resembled a thundercloud.

"You can come out now," he said dryly.

Still confused by his attitude, Danielle crawled from the cover of brush then reached out to take Nathaniel while Dream Singer followed.

Turning toward her rescuer, she babbled, "I was never so glad to.... " She halted in mid-sentence. His eyes resembled a spring storm or green fire, and she watched as a nerve jerked in his tightly clenched jaw. Nervously, she pushed her damp hair off her forehead.

He continued to study her silently. Then in a voice as cold as icicles, he announced, "I just killed two men because of your irresponsible behavior. Maybe you should learn to think before you act."

She opened her mouth to reply. His cold, hard glare silenced her. Her gaze fell away from his unrelenting scowl, and she nervously twisted the ring on her left hand.

"You can drop the innocent act," he snapped, his voice like a whip crack. "Cody probably has the mess cleaned up by now. See if you can stay out of trouble long enough to find your way back to the cave." He whirled about, leaving the two women in shock at his attitude. Danielle noticed that he carried her rifle. At that moment, she dared not ask if he had also found her horse.

The small fire lay scattered about in smoldering, hot embers. She saw no sign of the offensive trio, only the seared remains of the rabbit that lay trampled in the dirt.

Cody joined them without comment. He produced a pair of fox squirrels and three quail, already dressed and ready to cook for their supper. The women busied themselves gathering remnants of their earlier fire, placing handfuls of dry grass and branches on the salvaged coals until they coaxed a blaze sufficient to cook the game for their evening meal. Danielle was only too glad of the opportunity to busy herself away from Joel Riley’s uncomfortable presence.

Laughter drew her attention from her tasks. The rancher and the Choctaw youth were both reclined on the grassy patch of ground in front of the cave with Nathaniel sheltered between them. What a paradox he was. Joel tenderly cuddled and teased the boy, his face now relaxed and filled with smiles. She watched in fascination. The man, who minutes before had behaved so rudely to her, now had the tot chuckling aloud.

As though sensing her attention on him, Joel turned and met her gaze. Fleetingly, his eyes softened. He promptly turned away, speaking to the Indian woman. "Dream Singer, join us. Mistress Alexander can watch that." Turning his gaze back toward her, he asked, "You can cook over a campfire, can’t you?"

Danielle whirled about, refusing to answer his impertinent question. What she would like to do was cook his ego. Nonetheless, she managed to stay close enough to listen. She heard him questioning the young Indian woman and strained to hear the reply, desperate for understanding. Dream Singer remained silent so long Danielle was certain the woman didn’t intend to speak. Then she lifted her head, straightened her slender shoulders, and glancing first at Danielle then back to the rancher, she spoke, her voice firm but low. She related the dream just as she had told it earlier to Danielle, never faltering. Danielle became so engrossed in the tale she almost burned the delicate birds she was supposed to be tending.

When Dream Singer completed her story, she stood and brushed the dust from her skirt. "I lost both my husband and child the day Jettic was born." She turned her head and met Danielle’s gaze. "The dream said I was to care for the boy, to love him as though he were mine. I did what the Messenger said. I thought...." Her voice caught on a dry sob and she paused, then turned slowly and walked into the descending darkness. Cody Blackowl followed.

Not knowing what to say, Danielle remained silent. She busied herself feeding and changing Nathaniel, trying to avoid Joel’s attention. She cuddled the small child and spoke softly to him. His small hand explored her face, causing an almost physical ache in her heart. She had missed him so. The infant gurgled as if with joy when Danielle nibbled at the finger he poked into her mouth. She wanted to believe his squeals were in response to her presence, that he knew her.

Joel poured a cup of steaming coffee, then leaned back on his elbows and watched Danielle play with the bronze-skinned child. Her laughter wrenched his heart. Only minutes before, he had wanted to shake her for her irresponsible behavior, for traveling alone on such a trip as she had undertaken. Though in fairness he had to admit, if only to himself, she had managed far better than he would have expected.

Watching her now with the child, all he wanted was to take her in his arms, to beg her forgiveness for his earlier actions. She was so lovely, so innocent, so... someone else’s, he thought, realizing the track his thoughts were taking. He sat up, pitched the remainder of the now cold coffee into the darkness and wondered where Cody and Dream Singer had drifted off to. Then almost as if his thoughts had summoned them, the wandering pair returned to camp. But they gave no explanation for their absence.

The evening meal was consumed in uneasy silence.

Hunkered near the small fire, Danielle let her mind wander once more to Dream Singer’s troubling dream vision. She could almost see the vista of three eagles soaring on the wind currents above the nest containing the lone eaglet, hear its helpless cry, feel its loneliness. She knew about loneliness, about being alone.

Though still unsure she understood the full significance of the dream, she was certain of one thing, the young Indian woman felt deeply about the child, as deeply as she. A chilled breeze brushed across her bare arms, drawing her back to the present. Gazing through lowered lashes, Danielle appraised the faces of those gathered in a crude circle about the fire. They were all strangers to her. A month ago, she hadn’t known any of them. Yet at least one of them held answers she needed.

"Who was the hawk?" Danielle’s voice was small, and she wasn’t sure anyone had heard her. Glancing up, she gazed across the fire at Dream Singer and repeated her question. "Who was the hawk?"

Coffee-brown eyes met and held her gaze, "Iskunosi Ishki. Yohawku. You, Little Mother."

"And the lone eagle?" Danielle inquired, groping for understanding.

"I."

Danielle already knew who the sparrow was. Hunting Hawk had described Nathaniel’s natural mother well. She had no trouble visualizing the white captive as the sparrow. But the hawk? What did it mean? She thought a moment before finally asking, "The hawk.... She hesitated, not certain how to word her question.

"Is a bird of prey." Joel Riley joined the conversation for the first time since the two women had started their strained exchange. "A worthy bird, deserving of respect as an opponent."

Unsure of his intentions, Danielle glanced at him but said nothing. His earlier attitude still disturbed her.

Joel picked up a small piece of wood and tossed it into the fire, causing sparks to fly into the night sky. Glancing toward Dream Singer, he added, "The Indians have a great respect for the hawk, second only to the great, majestic eagle." Tossing another stick of wood onto the fire, he added, "Am I right, Dream Singer?"

"Yes," she replied, returning his look. "It is often a spiritual guide also."

Leaning back on an elbow, gazing at the dancing, amber flames, Joel mumbled, "Um... the hawk and the eagle. Interesting." A distant rumble accented his musings.

Thunder, louder and closer, followed by a crack of lightning, jolted the disquieted group from their private reflections.

"Might as well bed down," Joel declared, exchanging glances with Cody. "It’s late and we need to get an early start tomorrow."

Dream Singer checked on Nathaniel, who lay sleeping on the moss-covered rock at the back of the cave. Danielle watched the men gather pine boughs, then fashion makeshift beds, using the branches for padding. Her troubled eyes locked on Joel as he sauntered leisurely toward her. When he placed a blanket on the ground beside hers, she drew her courage tightly about herself and asked, "Where are you going to sleep?"

"Me?" His green eyes widened in mock innocence. "Why, right here." He sat down on the wool pallet and removed his boots. "Next to you." Dimples creased his suntanned cheeks. His smile spread as he watched her face suffuse with color.

"I... uh...," she stammered, then glanced away. Another peel of thunder shook the ground. Lightning streaked across the sky.

"Unless you want to bed down outside in the rain." Once more he patted the place beside him. Her look of sheer terror tugged at his heart. He had been angry with her, had felt like shaking her. But that look reminded him of how precious she was to him. Softening his voice, he coaxed, "You’ll be safe here." Her look of disbelief prompted him to add, "Honest."

Danielle glanced about and saw that Cody and Dream Singer were already resting on their blankets, side by side. Dropping her gaze, she crawled slowly toward the makeshift bed and felt her heart leap in response to his nearness. It would be a long, sleepless night.

Danielle awoke to total darkness, chilled and disoriented. The reassuring sound of muffled breathing quickly dispelled her distress. In her semi-wakeful state, she assumed it was Nathaniel, sleeping nearby, that she heard. She rolled over and snuggled closer to the warm body, then pulled her blanket closer. The rhythmic pelting of raindrops and the serene breathing helped her drift back to sleep.

Danielle’s movements disturbed Joel from his restless slumber. He lay unmoving when he felt her slide closer then nestle into the protective curve of his arm. Taking advantage of the innocent move, he slid closer and curled up beside her, wrapping his arms about her in an intimate manner he knew she would never permit if she were awake.

He lay there cherishing the warmth of her slender body next to his. Breathing deeply, he filled his nostrils with her delicate fragrance. Her essence sent waves of desire surging through his body. His mind tormented him with images of spending the rest of his life holding her as he was at that moment. Knowing it could never be, he resolved to steal those precious moments to savor later on, during dark lonely nights in his empty bed.

Danielle moaned in her sleep and he gently caressed her until she was free of whatever had disturbed her slumber. He drew her sleeping form even closer, thinking how soft and warm she was. So desirable. So deserving of more than he could ever offer her. His body ached with the unreleased tensions her nearness caused him, but he refused to release her. He might never have this chance again.

A misty fog, like a gray, wet blanket hung over the valley. Joel and Cody Blackowl walked to the stream to wash and collect water for coffee. Last night the current had been narrow enough to leap across, but the evening’s downpour had pushed it from its narrow banks. Now the freshet rushed in torrents, carrying debris from upstream. "Storm scare horses," Cody commented, filling his water bag. "Maybe leave."

"We hobbled them good." Joel splashed cold water on his face in a futile attempt to refresh himself after his restless night. "I doubt they could go far." He looked around at the mist-shrouded valley. "We better get started though. It looks like it could start raining again."

The young Indian followed his friend’s gaze and grunted his agreement. Low, gray clouds roiled across the sky. The sun was pale and weak, the air laden with moisture.

As the men headed toward the cave where the women were moving about, Cody asked, "Think other man come back?"

"You mean that coward who fled without waiting to see if his partners needed help? I doubt he’s even slowed down. His kind don’t usually stand and fight when the odds are even."

"I hope you’re right."

Joel knew Cody, too, was thinking about the two women and the child in their care.

Cody suggested they take an alternate route back to where they had staked out their horses. "Longer, but safer," he muttered, as if more to himself than the others. Joel suspected his friend still wasn’t satisfied that the third outlaw had departed for good. If Cody felt they should take a different trail out, Joel wasn’t about to argue about it.

Both men kept an eye on the churning, low hanging clouds. The small party exchanged few words. The women were disquieted by the events of the past few days, each still unsure of the other.

Mist shrouded the dense forest, enveloping them in moisture as they crossed the carpet of leaves in muffled silence. The singing birds and chattering squirrels created the only sound as they traveled through the canyon’s raw beauty.

The scenery was one of constant change. Copious forest gave way to rocky, moss-covered ledges, pocked with caves of varying size and shape. One in particular caught Danielle’s attention and set her imagination reeling. Berry vines almost obscured its entrance. In fact, she suspected they would have passed it without notice had it not been for the putrid odor of death wafting on an icy breath from the cave’s mouth. Sandstone boulders the size of small cabins lay scattered about the surface as though the earth had spewed them forth in anger, or disgust.

Trees, twisted and warped by lightning and fire, ignored their damaged condition and fought for their place along the canyon floor. Small, furry animals scampered across their path, seemingly unperturbed by the humans. Huckleberry bushes grew profusely among the hardwood trees. The scent of pine duff filled the damp air.

Cody, apparently noticing Danielle’s absorption with her surroundings, directed her attention to such attractions as Cabbage Head Rock, Balancing Rock, and the remarkable, life-like profile of an Indian’s head etched in the red sandstone ledge overlooking the valley below, giving the sensation of watchfulness.

The natural phenomena amazed Danielle, but it disappointed her to find that as she drew closer to the likeness, it reverted to just another ragged-edged ledge, as nondescript as those shouldered against it. She soon became lost in the beauty of her surroundings and only vaguely aware of the passage of time, or of the weather.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing toward a sea of lush, green ferns. The verdant fronds were out of place in this wilderness of hardwood. Intrigued by the tropical foliage, Danielle pushed her way through the dense underbrush to investigate closer.

"No!"

The command rang out just as Danielle stepped among the head-high ferns. Her momentum carried her several feet into the leafy fronds before she felt the ground beneath her quiver and felt moisture seeping through the soles of her moccasins. She immediately reversed her steps on the spongy soil, which trembled with each hesitant step, causing the stunted trees nearby to sway as if buffeted by a high wind.

"Is this the bog Little Raven mentioned?" Danielle called over her shoulder as she continued to back out of the colossal ferns.

Without warning, someone jerked her back to solid ground. "Don’t you ever think before you act?"

The biting words put strength into her trembling knees. Whirling about, she pushed the restraining hand from her arm. "You are not my father nor my husband." Her voice was steel, and her eyes skewered Joel like amber flames.

"We should eat. Jettic is hungry." Dream Singer’s voice shattered the static silence.

Turning away from Joel’s emerald glare, Danielle retreated to a nearby dead log. Removing her soaked moccasins, she placed them beside her, then dried her feet on the hem of her riding habit.

"It’s a long way home."

She refused to acknowledge the scowling figure who had stalked her every step from the bog. When he didn’t leave, she risked a peek from beneath her lashes. She saw Joel twisting his hat between his work-worn hands. The mere sight of his hands softened her. "What do you want?"

"A truce?"

Hesitating several heartbeats, Danielle reached for her moccasins, then tugged them on before replying. "If you can keep your opinions, and your hands, to yourself." She stood, brushed the loose bark from her skirt, and started toward the others.

"There you go again! You make it sound as if... as if...."

His words stopped her.

Remembering the feel of her in his arms while she slept, innocent of his intimate contact, caused him to stutter his objection. How could she be so warm and soft when unaware of his presence and so cold and indifferent when he confronted her? He watched her eyes narrow, her lips form a thin line beneath her slender, sunburned nose.

"As if you have a right to order me around?" One hand on her hip, she tilted her head until she met his gaze. "Mr. Riley, you don’t like the way I dress. You don’t like where I go. You don’t like what I do. I think it would be fair to say, you don’t like me at all." She whirled about before firing a parting volley. "Let’s leave it that way! I believe I would be far more comfortable with your dislike than your protective patronage." Even as she stomped away from him, Danielle admitted to herself that in spite of the recent harsh scene, the man still fascinated and frustrated her.

She deliberately distanced herself from Joel’s disturbing presence by joining Dream Singer. Together, they fed and changed Nathaniel. Danielle took advantage of the moment and questioned the young woman about the bog. "I’ve never seen ferns that large. Why did the trees sway when I walked out there?"

"I have heard the white settlers say there is no bedrock in the bog. The trees have nothing to hold their roots while they grow." The Indian woman turned toward the area while she spoke. "That is why there are no large trees in the spongy earth. They get top-heavy and topple under their own weight."

"It’s an amazing spot. Tell me more, please."

"My people say it is a sacred place, that the spirits linger here. The grandfathers tell of another place where the ground quivers. Your people call it Tennessee."

Her interest genuine, Danielle prodded, "And?"

"The spirits led us to this place when we were moved from our homes across the big muddy. They tell of floating islands near here, also."

"Floating islands?" Amazement filled Danielle’s voice. "How can that be?" She listened intently as the Indian woman described the mysterious phenomenon of Boogaboo Canyon.

"I only know that the islands drift or shift, leaving no landmarks. It is dangerous to those who do not know the area well."

The tale fascinated Danielle and she regretted the interruption when Cody roused them from their rest to resume their journey.

The walk proved long and exhausting. Danielle’s moccasins grew thin, her feet bruised and blistered from treading on pebbles, briers, and dead branches. But she stubbornly refused to admit her discomfort, suspecting her green-eyed neighbor would have some sarcastic remark to make.

By mid-afternoon they found the horses. Danielle felt she would cry with relief at the sight. Her feet were raw, her back ached, and she had developed a mild headache. Still, she offered no resistance when Cody suggested that Dream Singer ride the mare. After all, the Indian woman carried the child on her back in his cradleboard. But it was with a twinge of misgiving that she allowed a grim-faced Joel Riley to assist her onto the saddle in front of him.

The shadow from three days growth of beard on his rugged face matched the dark overhanging clouds. Danielle sat rigidly, refusing to relax against him. An occasional whimper from Nathaniel and the soft clip-clop of the horse’s hooves were the only sound echoing through the dense forest as the group proceeded homeward.

Just as the last glimmer of light faded from the western sky the thundershower arrived. Gust of rain-washed wind lashed the trees, forcing the group to seek shelter. Cody found a cave similar to the one they had shared the night before. While the young Indian male searched for deadfall for a fire, Joel led the trio of horses to a bull pine about forty feet from the cave’s entrance. The storm gained force. To be sure the animals were secured, Joel ground-staked each, then cross-lined them, using strips of rawhide tied to a forehoof then to an opposite leg. The women hastily prepared a meal before spreading the bedrolls.

Wrapping her hands about the steaming cup of coffee, Danielle noticed the smoke-blackened ceiling and guessed that others before them had sought refuge here as well. She kept to herself, avoiding the eyes of the man across the small fire. She listened as Joel chatted comfortably with Dream Singer and wished she, too, could be part of the group. But for some reason, Joel Riley had managed to leave the impression that he had no patience with her, so she chose to keep distance between herself and his ire. She watched through the fringe of her lashes and saw him reach for Nathaniel.

"You must be tired, Dream Singer. Let me have Nathaniel. Get yourself a cup of coffee."

"Jettic," the young woman corrected, transferring the child to Joel’s large, capable hands. "He was born during the Moon Of Ice In the Lodge. The name means ice and snow."

"Jettic, huh? I like it." Joel tossed the boy gently above his head, enticing a string of giggles. He lowered the tot to his lap. "So, young man, are you to be Jettic or Nathaniel?"

Danielle watched without appearing to do so. She saw Nathaniel’s small, brown hand clutch Joel’s shirt front, then pull forward until he his black thatched head rested against Joel’s chest. She wished she could do the same thing, place her own head on that broad chest, close enough to hear his heartbeat.

"The Eagle Spirit named him Jettic."

Dream Singer’s voice shattered Danielle’s fantasy. What was she doing? One minute she felt like clawing that grin from his face and the next she’s daydreaming of snuggling close to him. Heaven help her, she must be losing her mind. She forced her attention to Dream Singer. Once more she saw a mirror image of her own love for the child reflected in those warm, brown eyes.

As long as Nathaniel was healthy and safe, the matter of name was the least of Danielle’s concerns. It was the proud, spirited young woman sitting beside Joel Riley that caused her anxiety. What was she to do? Turning the situation over in her mind, Danielle watched the pair engaged in idle conversation. She would have to think of something, something to satisfy both her own and Dream Singer’s need. Something that would be best for Nathaniel. Surely, they could work this out. Finally, she set her cup beside the fire, then carefully removed her travel-worn moccasins. She cupped one, aching foot in the palm of her hands and massaged it.

Without appearing to do so, Joel observed Danielle throughout the evening. Her lovely hair had long since escaped its confining braid and curled damply about the drawn features of her face. Smudges of soot traced the path where she continually swept stray wisps of hair from her brow. To him, the smear of grime only emphasized her appeal. His eyes traveled the length of her slumped form. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her bloody, tattered feet.

Not once had she complained or fallen behind during their trek through the miles of wilderness. Yet her lacerated feet gave evidence of the suffering she had surely endured. Endured silently, he reflected. Raising his gaze to her smudged face, he once more felt a tug in the region of his heart. She was impetuous and impulsive, but tough as wang leather. He saw her wince when she tried to wash her battered foot with a strip of cloth she had used to sponge Nathaniel. Joel passed the sleeping infant to Dream Singer and moved to Danielle’s side.

"Let me." He took the bloodstained fabric from her hand.

"Never mind, I can...." The objection died on her lips when her eyes met his. The unexpected tenderness she saw there silenced her. She relaxed and allowed him to bath her feet. Neither spoke. The intimate contact catapulted them into a private world where the two of them existed alone. Even the turbulent elements failed to penetrate their awareness.

He gently washed away the dried blood. Then searched his saddlebags until he found a clean pair of socks. With the tenderness of a loving father, he slipped the bulky, wool socks onto her sore feet. "Better?"

Fearing her voice would betray her, Danielle whispered, "Yes." She let her gaze fall from his penetrating eyes to her lap, where the fingers of her right hand idly twisted the ring on her left. "Thank you. I didn’t mean to be a bother."

"A bother?" He hesitated, the defenseless look in those golden eyes causing him to bite back the retort already on his lips. She had the ability to make him want to shake her while at the same time she created a desire within him to kiss her senseless. He did neither. Fleetingly, the face of his wife intruded into his thoughts and he damned his own weakness. A weakness that bound him to a woman he should never have married. But how could he have known?

Within a month of their marriage, he realized his young bride had no comprehension of what it meant to be a wife. Her goddess-like body hid the schoolgirl lurking behind those tempting curves. Jenny had expected to remain with her family, still Daddy’s little girl, while her new husband continued to call on her, to escort her to parties and balls, but nothing more. The reality of marriage revolted her, yet something within himself refused to admit defeat even when it stared him in the face.

That same weakness, he could call it nothing else, drew him to Danielle, a woman engaged to another man. "Get some sleep." Guilt filled his voice with a gruffness that matched the rumble of thunder roiling across the night sky.

Danielle drifted off to sleep wondering if she would ever understand that complex man.

Songbirds piercing the morning air awakened Danielle. A pale blush of rose-gold streaked the far horizon. Nearby a fire provided a welcome warmth to the chilled interior of the cave, combating the dampness that had penetrated to the core of her being during the thunderstorm. Danielle stretched lazily, a secretive smile on her lips. She felt alive and wonderful for the first time in months. A sound to her right caused her to twist her head to investigate.

"Good morning."

Joel’s voice, low and husky, caused a ripple of excitement to race along her skin. He lay propped on one elbow, a devilish gleam filling those emerald eyes that traced the outline of her prone form beside him.

"What are you doing here?" Her own voice husky with emotion, she pushed loose tendrils of hair from her forehead.

"Same thing you are," he teased, noticing the faint blush creeping up the slender column of her throat. Without thinking, he reached out and lightly traced the rising color from her jawline to the collar of her wrinkled blouse.

"Stop that!" Her hand clasped his as she spoke, halting his exploration.

"What?"

The innocence of his tone did wild things to her breathing. She felt a band about her heaving chest, choking off her protest. Pulling away, she sat up, searching distractedly for her moccasins, forgetting for the moment that he had tossed the worn fragments into the fire last night.

His warm hand on her arm deterred her search. Glancing up, she met his gaze. Her breath caught in her constricted throat. She floated in the liquid fire of his eyes as he held her immobile with his penetrating gaze. Glancing about, she noticed they were alone in the cave, causing her to momentarily forget their intimate interlude.

"Where are the others? Nathaniel?"

"Relax. The boy’s fine. He’s with Dream Singer."

Panic raced alone her spine. "Relax?" Forcibly she pulled her gaze from his hypnotic eyes. It was impossible for her to think clearly when he looked at her that way.

"I have to find him!" she almost shouted. Dread clutched her heart as she recalled the Indian woman’s abduction of the child the last time he had been left in her care. Had she come so far only to lose him again?

Correctly interrupting her wan features, Joel sought to reassure her. "They’re with Cody, checking his snares." Seeing doubt still mirrored in those golden eyes, he added, "She’ll be back."

"How can you be sure?" Her voice felt hollow. She feared to allow herself to trust him, or the Indian woman, when it came to Nathaniel.

"She said so."

"And you believe her?"

"Yes, and you will too, once you get to know her." Running a hand across the dark stubble shadowing the lower half of his face, he searched for words. Words to expel the doubt lodged in those haunting, golden eyes. The traces of terror dancing across her pale features prompted him to add, "She’ll be back. I promise."

Could she trust him? Her eyes searched the timberline for sign of the others. What if they were gone with Nathaniel again? What if... no, she wouldn’t allow her thoughts to follow that negative path. With a gentle toss of her head, she turned toward the tall man and smiled shyly, realizing she must trust someone, sometime.

He watched the tension drain from her body. "The boy means a lot to you, doesn’t he?" He waited for her reply.

Danielle futilely brushed at the wrinkles in her clothing, avoiding his eyes. "More than you can know." Her voice carried all the emotion her heart felt. She even momentarily forgot that less than a month ago she had asked Joel to take Nathaniel when she left. Today, she wouldn’t consider such an action. Giving the child up now was no longer an option.

"Maybe not." He removed his hand from her arm and held it out to her as he stood. "Let me help you."

"Never mind. I can manage on my own." She stood without aid and hobbled to the mouth of the cave.

Joel pulled on his boots and watched as she stood with her back to him scanning the area beyond their small retreat. She rubbed her arms as if to dispel a chill, despite the warm morning air. Pride filled her stance, and he ached to hold her close, to reassure her. Instead, he filled a mug with steaming coffee and carried it to her. "Here, this will warm you."

She reached for the cup without turning and muttered, "Thanks." After taking a sip, she asked, "When will they be back?" Before he could reply she spotted them.

Cody carried a pair of cotton-tailed rabbits slung over his broad shoulder. Dream Singer, the cradleboard strapped to her slender back, kept pace with his long-legged stride. Her laughter, like bubbles, floated on the spring air.

Joel felt a momentary envy of the young man crossing the meadow in the company of a woman attentive to his presence. He pushed the thought aside and called a greeting to the pair as Danielle dashed out to meet them.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful. The two women shared the responsibility of carrying the child. Few words were exchanged among the members of the small group. Each of them, for different reasons, was reluctant to reach their destination.

Activity swirled about them like a dust devil as they approached Danielle’s cabin. Smoke from the cook stove hovered just above the rooftop, carrying the aroma of roasting meat.

Saddle sore and exhausted, Danielle dismounted. Massaging the muscles of her lower back, she scanned the area surrounding her small home. The rhythmic sounds of labor swirled in the late afternoon air and a tangy fragrance of resin teased the senses. She was amazed at the amount of work accomplished in her absence. The barn, corral, and smokehouse were complete. Excavation of a well was in process, evident by the mound of fresh dirt. Her one-room cabin appeared more ragged than ever in comparison to the newly erected buildings.

Shouts of welcome to the returning party by the mill workers and builders, both red and white, interrupted her musings. An air of celebration surrounded them.

Little Raven stood on the porch, her plump arms wrapped about a crock filled with fry bread batter. A huge smile smoothed the wrinkles from her radiant, nut-brown face, exposing the gap in her teeth. Hunting Hawk joined the plump woman on the porch.

The last rays of the setting sun outlined the skeletal frame of the barn. Hand-made bricks awaiting the kiln were stacked neatly beneath the whispering canopy of a large cottonwood tree. Resin from the fresh piles of rough-hewn lumber mingled with the aroma of roasting meat produced a pleasing odor, and Danielle realized she was glad to be home. The thought startled her. Until this moment, she had never considered it home, yet the thought brought comfort.

Creaking groans from the porch planks drew her attention. She turned and watched Little Raven and Hunting Hawk, lopsided grins on their faces, rushing forward to welcome the small party.

Danielle hardly noticed as small brown fingers took the reins from her hand and led the dapple-gray mare away to be rubbed down and fed. She soon found herself seated on a cane-bottomed chair with a plate piled high with steaming food in her hands. Little Raven clucked like a mother hen as she forced plates of food and glasses of fresh buttermilk into the hands of each member of the returning group. Hunting Hawk hovered in the background, rocking the sleeping infant in his bony arms, a secretive smile hidden by the network of wrinkles on his face.

Danielle devoured the contents of her plate. Food had never tasted so good. Jerked venison and pemmican had been the staple of her diet for so long she’d nearly forgotten what real food tasted like.

Midway into her second plate of food, she realized that Joel Riley had not joined them. Wiping the crumbs from her hands, she stood and set her plate beside her chair. Slowly, as though in a dream, she searched for his tall, lean frame among the workers milling about in the yard.

"Gone."

Danielle winced in response to the voice beside her.

"Wife sick." Hunting Hawk held her gaze as if searching for something.

She nodded absently, wondering why he had departed without saying anything to her.

"He return."

"I suppose," she muttered, trying to push aside her disappointment. She returned to her chair and the remainder of her food only to find she’d lost her appetite. She pushed the food about her plate idly, watching those about her.

Little Raven fed Nathaniel, then tucked him into bed. Danielle soon noticed the extra attention the silver-haired woman showered on Hunting Hawk. She refilled his plate, padding back and forth, offering special tidbits from the laden table. Once his plate was empty, she produced his favorite, a steaming cup of coffee-flavored sugar.

When had this developed? Danielle wondered, watching the stout frame hovering almost reverently beside the old man’s chair.

Hunting Hawk gave no outward indication that Danielle could detect of being aware of the special attention, other than an occasional approving grunt. Self-consciously, Danielle drew her gaze away from the pair, envious of the silent adoration she had observed in Little Raven’s eyes. She mumbled an excuse and left the porch, leaving the older couple to their own pursuits.

Stepping around stacks of rough-edged lumber and hand-fashioned clay bricks, she sauntered aimlessly across the cluttered yard where she noticed Cody and Dream Singer deep in conversation. Danielle’s attention riveted on the leather pouch slung across the young woman’s back. It was the same pouch Dream Singer had carried on her journey into the canyon. Apparently, the woman was leaving. From the solemn expression on his face and his worried hand motions, Danielle assumed that Cody was attempting to persuade her to stay.

An unknown panic gripped her at the thought of the young woman departing and she knew she must act. The plan had been born on the return trip from the canyon. She had meant to discuss it with Joel first. But he was already gone. And if she didn’t act soon, Dream Singer would be too. Picking up her long skirt, she dashed toward the couple. "Wait, please."

The pair turned in unison at her approach. Fleetingly, Danielle saw hope reflected in the brown eyes of the tall young man and realized she had an ally.

The couple waited for her to speak. Danielle swallowed deeply. Moistening her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, she blurted her request. "Stay, please. I need you." There, she had said it. She had admitted aloud the words she had refused to admit to herself, until now. And surprisingly, she felt better once the words were out. She had struggled with her decision ever since hearing of Dream Singer’s vision.

She didn’t want to need anyone, she wanted to stand on her own for once in her life, to be self-sufficient. But she knew that was a selfish desire. She had watched this young woman with Nathaniel and knew she couldn’t separate them. It was right that she stay.

Cody turned toward the beautiful young widow beside him, waiting for her reply. Briefly, his brown eyes met Danielle’s and she read approval in their depths.

On the porch, watching with approval, Hunting Hawk cleared his throat and muttered to the stout woman beside him, "Is well. Boy have two mothers now."

Little Raven swallowed the moist lump in her throat. Unable to speak, she simply nodded her agreement and smiled broadly at the old warrior.

"That ad you put in the Observer sure is generating business. You got several requests already." As usual, Silas wasted no time on pleasantries. Instead, he waded right into the business at hand. She wondered if her long absence had caused him concern. He may even have thought she had already left for California. At any rate, he appeared pleased to have good news for her. Danielle had taken quite a liking for the portly man and his wife and regretted the thought that she might be a source of worry to either of them. Unexpectedly, the thought of leaving these new friends saddened her. Perhaps the sales from her sewing would prolong her departure. At least the orders would go a long way in easing her circumstances.

Silas bustled about collecting items from her list. The trio circling the pot-bellied heater wielded their knives industriously to the sticks of aromatic cedar.

"It’s kind of you, Mr. Coogan, to let folks leave their orders here. I appreciate it." Danielle busied herself with a selection of lace.

"Nonsense, glad to help. Say, you sure you want this flour? It’s cheaper if you get it at the mill." He looked at the slip of paper, then ran his hand across the front of his apron. "It’s just a mile or two north of town."

Danielle noticed the whittlers exchange glances. She suspected they were thinking the same thing she was, that Silas was cutting his profits by sending his customer to the mill. "Leave it off. I’ll ask Cody to pick it up."

She looked again at the list before selecting several skeins of embroidery thread. "Have you heard how Mrs. Riley is doing?" She continued examining the yarns, hoping her question appeared casual. A week had passed since their return from Boogaboo Canyon and still there had been no word from Joel Riley. Every instinct warned her to leave it alone, it was no concern of hers. Even so, she couldn’t put him out of her mind.

When the soft whisper of cedar shavings ceased, Danielle knew without turning around that the snow-haired trio was again exchanging glances. No doubt their ears were eagerly waiting to glean new gossip. When she risked looking up, she found all eyes directed on her.

"Ain’t heard a word. But it’s mighty nice of you to inquire about a neighbor’s health." Silas’ voice had a cutting edge she had never heard before. His tone surprised her. She already knew that Mr. Coogan was a good source of gossip himself. But for some reason he apparently had reluctance for her to be involved in any. She watched him turn his full attention on the occupants of the cane-bottomed chairs, saw him narrow his gray eyes and hold their gaze.

"Some folks are more concerned with other people’s business than their well being." He turned back to Danielle. "You oughta take that boy of yours and drop in on Mrs. Riley." His voice had softened. "She don’t get much company, I’d wager."

Danielle wished now she hadn’t brought up the subject and hastened to divert attention away from the matter. "Perhaps. Do you have any cloves?"

"Sure do." Silas smiled broadly as if applauding her tactics. "I’ll get them."

Danielle busied herself with the yard goods, avoiding eye contact with the onlookers.

"You want me to send one of the boys to the post office for you? They’re out back playing."

Did everyone observe her habitual trips to the post office? Despite his earlier efforts to protect her from idle speculation, Danielle suspected his own curiosity prompted his offer. How else would Mr. Coogan know she hadn’t already been? Shaken by this awareness, Danielle replied quickly. Maybe too quickly. "No." She couldn’t help being aware that she had again drawn the attention of the three circling the stove. "Thank you. It’s kind of you to offer." In case there still wasn’t a letter, Danielle didn’t want everyone else to know it. "I’ll go by later."

Danielle collected her supplies and said goodbye to Silas, nodded in the direction of the whittlers, then departed. All the way across the rutted street she chided herself. If Mr. Coogan hadn’t mentioned it, she wouldn’t have remembered to check the post. Somehow, the urgency to hear from Alan had been replaced. Her thoughts and energy were now fully occupied with Nathaniel and survival. Those concerns left little time for an errant fiancé. She refused to admit there could be another reason for her forgetfulness.

Work at the mill progressed under the watchful eye of Cody Blackowl. The well had been completed, the stacks of hand-made bricks grew daily. And still her business partner failed to appear.

Danielle kept busy; dividing her time between Nathaniel, helping Little Raven prepare meals for the mill hands, and sewing. Each night she stumbled into bed exhausted. But she welcomed the tiredness that robbed her of the troubling thoughts of haunting green eyes.

Hunting Hawk visited daily now and Danielle felt sure it was Little Raven he came to see as much as Nathaniel. He always brought a gift of wild game, which she welcomed. Indeed it helped feed the many workers she fed daily. Her visitor would sit for hours, sipping great quantities of sweetened coffee and watching the widow cook.

One afternoon after the noon dishes were cleaned and Danielle rested beside him on the front porch, Hunting Hawk announced, "Little Mother work too much. Need have fun."

She smiled. "I have no time for fun. I have a child to support. Remember?"

"Boy fine. Mother not so fine." The old Shaman looked at her, his brows furrowed as though in deep thought. Then he slapped his knee a resounding smack. "Ball game. You come. Fine idea. Yes!"

"Ball game? What are you talking about?"

"We play ball. Have fun. You see." A satisfied grin smoothed the wrinkles of his aged face. "Be ready two suns. We go."

Danielle couldn’t help smiling with him, though she had no idea of what he was babbling about.

Hunting Hawk was convinced there was more to the sadness in her golden eyes than work and concern for the young boy, and though he suspected he knew the reason, he couldn’t help her with this one. Or could he? He smiled to himself, then cut a hunk from a twist of tobacco and placed it in his mouth. Waiting a few minutes for the lump to soften, he watched Little Mother. He enjoyed watching her nimble fingers manipulate the needle with such skill.

Speaking around the wad of tobacco, he chose his words carefully. "White Medicine Man go to ranch house,"

Danielle paused in her work, then gazed out across the meadow to the northeast. "Is someone sick?" Danielle knew which ranch he meant without asking. While she waited for the old man to reply, tightness like iron bands clamped about her heart.

"He-Who-Weeps-Inside’s woman. You should visit. Take boy. Children good for lonely people. Make them laugh." Hunting Hawk watched her out of the corner of his eye. Maybe if Little Mother saw for herself what the big rancher’s life was like.... He let his thoughts end there. Spitting a stream of brown tobacco juice across the porch, he watched as it splattered in the dust of the barren yard. White people were so complicated. But he had planted a seed. He would watch it grow and develop.

Pushing himself forward on the chair, Hunting Hawk rose slowly. Placing his withered claw-like hand gently on Danielle’s shoulder, he patted it reassuringly. "Two suns, we go ball game." He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he shuffled off the porch and ambled across the yard toward Little Raven’s house.

Lonely. The old Shaman had said lonely, not sick. Was it just a language problem or was he implying something else?

Dream Singer placed the wicker clothes basket on the porch. "Clothes are hung. With this breeze they’ll be dry before I am." With the hem of her apron, she mopped her moist brow.

Danielle said nothing. In fact, she appeared not to have heard, or to even be aware of Dream Singer.

"Is something wrong?" Dream Singer placed a hand on Danielle’s knee. "Are you all right?"

"Would you go with me to visit Mrs. Riley?" Danielle refused to meet Dream Singer’s eyes for fear her own would reveal more than she was ready to admit, even to herself.

"If you wish it."

Before Dream Singer had even met Danielle, she had been prepared to dislike her. But in the short time Dream Singer had shared the care of Jettic, she had come to respect this young white woman. She admired her determination and grit. Not many people, including members of her own clan, would go into Boogaboo Canyon without a guide. Yet this woman had not hesitated to follow Dream Singer into that unknown valley to find the child that had been taken from her.

Dream Singer had watched daily as the woman worked uncomplaining beside Little Raven and herself. She knew that the woman’s fingers were raw from plying her needle endlessly. Yes, she had great respect for this woman who was determined to stand on her own. She no longer resented her because of the child she called Nathaniel. Together the two of them cared for the young boy and Dream Singer knew a happiness she had not known since the loss of her husband and newborn son several months earlier.

Danielle rose from her chair, disturbing Dream Singer’s ruminations.

"We can go tomorrow after the noon meal." Danielle smiled softly at Dream Singer and turned toward the front door. "I think I’ll make a pie to take with us."

Dream Singer mopped her brow once more and wondered if Danielle had any idea of what she could be letting herself in for. She had heard the many stories about the wife of He-Who-Weeps-Inside. Stories that were never repeated outside the clan.

Etta Strawhand knew she should obey the rule of her mistress and send the women away. Jennifer Riley had issued specific orders in regard to visitors: there would be none. But a messenger from Hunting Hawk had arrived yesterday saying she was to allow the white woman to see Mrs. Riley. To disobey a clan elder was far worse than disobeying her employer. Besides, her own curiosity begged satisfaction and she knew how to handle her mistress. Years of patience and quite acceptance of verbal abuse had taught Etta many useful things about the pampered woman in the bedroom upstairs. Etta knew things about Mrs. Riley that even her handsome young husband didn’t know. Things she would keep secret as long as it suited her purpose.

Etta led the young white woman and her companion through the vast foyer into the sitting room, then indicated they be seated.

Before taking the offered seat, Danielle held out a covered basket. "I baked this pie this morning. I thought Mrs. Riley might enjoy it." A tangy aroma of fruit and spices wafted from beneath the linen cover.

Etta took the basket and deposited it on a nearby table. "I’ll send a maid to collect it." The whisper of silk petticoats followed her hasty departure from the room.

Etta’s normal confidence had been shaken by the unexpected presence of the Dreamer. The messenger had made no mention that she would accompany the visitor. The Dreamer’s appearance troubled Etta, left her unsure of controlling the impending meeting between the two white women. How much could the Dreamer see in her dreams?

Back in the sitting room, Danielle straightened her bonnet and smoothed her dusty skirts in a futile attempt to remove the wrinkles from their folds. She reached for Nathaniel. Dream Singer gently handed him over, then made a few adjustments to her own garments before joining Danielle on the brocade settee. "Nice." Dream Singer spoke in hushed tones.

Danielle’s gaze followed the other woman’s perusal of the room. "Yes, it is," Danielle replied, her gaze taking in every minute detail of the richly furnished room.

Aubusson rugs in shades of blue lay scattered about the parquet floor. Deep blue velvet drapes framed the French windows. Fresh flowers spilled from Dresden china vases resting on the numerous cherry-wood tables. Gilt-edged frames held prints of what Danielle suspected were ancestors. A massive piano occupied a place of prominence before a double bank of windows. A hand-carved cherry-wood mantle topped an enormous fireplace. Wing-backed chairs of apricot brocade complimented the furnishings. The obviously feminine room held no discernible sign of Joel Riley. Yet something was vaguely familiar. But what? Her eyes scanned the room once more.

"Those scarves!" Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. The hand-made scarves on the tabletops and mantle, the only articles in the room with that soft patina of age, were her mother’s. How could that be?

"Are you okay?"

Dream Singer’s voice seemed to come from far away. The doilies brought back memories. She recalled how she had forced herself to part with these heirlooms to buy food for Nathaniel and herself, selling them had stretched her meager funds in the only way she could at the time. Danielle compelled strength into her trembling legs and slowly crossed the room to the nearest table. Her fingers gently, lovingly traced the delicate lace. "These were my mother’s."

"How did they get here?"

The soft question merged with Danielle’s own. How indeed? Unless....

"Follow me, ma’am." Etta’s voice shattered Danielle’s ruminations. She whirled about as though caught attempting to steal the delicate lace-trimmed scarf. Danielle straightened her shoulders regaining control of her slipped composure. After all, she had nothing to feel guilty about. This situation she would deal with later. She turned and joined the young woman in the doorway.

Dream Singer followed in Danielle’s wake, disturbed by the look in her friend’s golden eyes. Her intuition told her she had just missed something. But what? She watched Etta’s keen eyes sweep Danielle from crown to toe in an appraising manner. Obviously, Etta Strawhand considered herself above the station of those she’d left behind in the villages scraping the ground for a living or waiting for the government’s handouts. Etta had found employment with a wealthy white woman, and by cunning and avarice, she had a well-paying job.

Dream Singer knew by the rumors that Mrs. Riley was generous to a fault when it came to Etta, giving the Indian woman her many cast-off dresses, shoes, and undergarments. Dream Singer fought to hide a smile. According to gossip, Etta considered the frilly bloomers useless and burned them immediately. Not so the taffeta petticoats, for Etta was said to like the sound they made as she walked, like leaves blowing in a gentle wind.

Etta liked to brag that she ate her meals at the kitchen table with the cook and housemaid, instead of squatted beside a fire outside a rough-hewn log shelter in all kinds of weather. Yes, Etta knew a good thing when she found it. And no doubt she intended to keep it.

Glancing briefly at Dream Singer, Danielle followed the Indian maid as she led them up the carpeted stairway.

Memories of another time caused a twinge of momentary envy as Danielle recalled living in a home such as this. But that was before her father’s problems had overtaken him, causing him to lose nearly everything. The loss had convinced him to sell what he had left and relocate to California.

Only after her father’s death had Danielle began to piece the fragments together, to suspect the real reason for her father’s reversal in his opinion of the man she had promised to marry. Her father’s objections to Alan’s suit for Danielle’s hand had ceased only after his business failure. He had even agreed to accompany her west to join the prospective groom. Never once had Nathaniel Alexander mentioned his financial troubles to either his daughter or Alan. Danielle sighed, pushing those futile thoughts from her mind.

They were passing an open door when Danielle’s steps faltered, then stopped. Taking a step backward, she stood in the open doorway of what appeared to be a game room. Chairs stood grouped about small parquet-topped tables, each holding a different game; chess, backgammon, and a deck of piquet cards. But it was the chair covers that drew her attention. Each cover was cross-stitched in soft springtime pastels, her favorite shades. She had chosen each design carefully, deliberately, for her own home.

The scarves downstairs, the chair-covers here. She no longer needed to guess how they had gotten here, she knew. She had refused Joel’s offer of assistance, but apparently he thought she couldn’t take care of herself. So he had found a way around her objections and handled the situation himself. As usual. Danielle felt the color drain from her cheeks.

"What is it, Danielle? What is wrong?" Dream Singer asked. "Maybe we should go and come back another time."

Slowly, Danielle turned from the door. "No. I’m fine. We’ll finish our visit." Her arms tighten unconsciously about Nathaniel as she joined the others.

Etta paused before a closed door. "Wait here." She entered the room without knocking.

Danielle looked at Dream Singer, who only shrugged a shoulder. With her free hand, Danielle smoothed the hair at her temples and adjusted her bonnet while they waited. Dream Singer reached to take the sleeping infant from her arms. Smiling warmly, Danielle shook her head and clutched him tighter.

She was straightening his blankets when the door swung open and Etta motioned them inside, then sidestepped around them and departed.

The cloying fragrance of French perfume assaulted her nostrils. Danielle was accustomed to luxury. She had once been surrounded by the best her father and grandparents could provide. But she was in no way prepared for the opulent wealth that filled the room.

The pale yellow velvet drapes were closed, leaving the room in semi-darkness. Cut-crystal kerosene lamps burned brightly as though it were midnight instead of mid-afternoon. Wall-to-wall carpet in robin’s-egg-blue covered the floor. A massive four-poster bed of burl walnut with yards of sea-green silk billowing from each of its carved post dominated the room. Marble-topped nightstands stood on either side of the bed. One held a porcelain basin and pitcher, the other a lamp with painted yellow roses on its glass bowl. Placed strategically about the room were beveled glass mirrors.

Danielle’s gaze finally came to rest on a petite blonde swathed in sheer lace, dwarfed by mounds of pillows. Jennifer Riley lay sprawled atop the thickest comforter Danielle had ever seen.

As if unaware of her guests, the lace-bedecked figure continued to nibble a chocolate eclair, never even raising her eyes from the pages of the book she appeared to be devouring.

The ticking of the ornate mantel clock swelled, filling the silent room. Danielle chanced a glance at Dream Singer, who only shrugged her shoulders.

Danielle cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should go." Her jaw clenched but she forced herself to remain calm in spite of the obvious snide. "We didn’t intend to disturb you."

"Oh, never mind." The book slid to the carpeted floor with a muted thump as the petite blonde repositioned herself on the feather bed. "You’re here now." Undisguised venom laced her words. "Well, be seated for goodness sake!" She straightened the lace at her throat. "You may as well be comfortable... now that you’re here."

Ignoring the brocade settee, Danielle replied, "If this is a bad time...."

"It’s always a bad time for me, confined to this bed the way I am." The lace flounced and ruffles bounced as the woman bemoaned her fate. "But then, you wouldn’t know about that, would you?"

"No, I...."

"Well, go then!"

A light rap sounded on the door, then it swung inward. Etta Strawhand entered the tension-filled bedroom carrying a silver tray laden with teapot, china cups, and warm scones. Gliding gracefully across the room, she deposited her burden on an octagon table.

"Etta, I told you refreshments aren’t necessary."

Danielle glanced at the young woman beside her before turning and walking swiftly toward the open door.

"Danielle, wait!"

Danielle whirled about. Was it her imagination or had Etta deliberately used her first name? Had it also been a deliberate omission that she had not announced her by name earlier? Did she for some reason expect Mrs. Riley to recognize it?

"I’m sure Mrs. Riley didn’t mean what she said. She hasn’t had a good day."

At Danielle’s hesitancy, Etta glanced toward the woman on the bed, then back to Danielle. "Why don’t you show her the boy?"

"Danielle? You are Danielle?"

Confused by the abrupt turn of events, Danielle was even more bewildered by Mrs. Riley’s reaction. Danielle could only nod.

"Etta, why didn’t you tell me?" Without waiting for a reply, Jenny motioned toward the settee. "Please, do sit down. Etta, bring the tea service closer. I’ll pour."

While Jennifer prepared the tea, Danielle attempted to sort out and make sense of what had just transpired. Clutching Nathaniel closer, she joined Dream Singer, pressing her shoulder into the puckered settee and waited while the teacups were passed around. She felt she had entered a dream, where nothing was real.

Taking her own cup from the tray, the lovely Mrs. Riley raised her cup in a salute. "To Danielle! The woman of my husband’s dreams."

Tea splashed from the rim of Danielle’s cup as she set the fragile container back in the saucer, she glanced about for a place to set it.

"Mrs. Riley, I think we should go...."

"Jenny. You may as well call me by my first name, as Joel does. No wonder he’s so smitten with you. You’re quite his type."

Danielle watched in horror as the woman’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared her smile genuine and sadistic.

"I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Mrs. Riley, but I don’t appreciate this conversation. If this is some type of joke, I can’t say I’m enjoying it."

"Oh, it’s no joke, my dear, Danielle. I assure you." Jenny Riley lifted one blonde eyebrow. "So, you don’t like to be faced with the facts? What’s the matter, doesn’t your Indian maid know about you and my husband? I’m surprised. They seem to know everything." Setting her teacup aside, she pushed back the thick comforter, letting it slide to the floor. Jennifer pulled the sheet to her waist. She brushed at the wrinkles in the fabric with both hands, drawing the material tautly against her skin .

It was while Mrs. Riley fussed and tugged at the bedding that Danielle caught a flutter of movement beneath the thin muslin. The shift, though slight, triggered a memory, something Danielle knew she should recall. But before she could focus on why it should matter, her gaze fell on what lay beneath the discarded spread. Danielle’s breath caught in her throat and the questions about the extent of damage to Jennifer Rice’s legs fled her mind.

"My mother’s spread." Danielle’s voice was hollow, empty of life. As empty as she herself felt at the moment. "Where did you get it?"

"It would seem I have a great many of your belongings and handiwork cluttering up my house." With a tilt of one brow, she watched Danielle as though awaiting her reaction. Apparently satisfied, the smile on her pale face widened. Then running a slender finger about the edge of the delicate work, she said, "With the exception of this, I find the rest rather trashy."

She lifted her gaze to meet Danielle’s. "You are all I hear about lately. You and that brat of yours. By the way, I haven’t seen the little bastard yet."

Leaning forward, she motioned to Etta, "Bring it here. I want to see if it resembles him?"

Etta didn’t move. She had baited her mistress with stories about this woman and child, but she had never expected her rage to reach these proportions. Of course, she had deliberately omitted the child’s parentage when she spoke of him. She had used Joel Riley’s own actions to her advantage. His purchase of the woman’s needlework, his trip to bring her and the child safely back from that foolish trip into Boogaboo Canyon. The fact that he’d moved his sawmill operation to Danielle’s property had played into her hands, too.

Joel Riley had refused her open offers to share his empty bed. She could have taken away the lost, lonely look that haunted his eyes. She knew ways to make a man forget a pampered unforgiving wife. Had her plan worked, she could have had complete control of him too. Instead, he had turned her down, pretending not to understand. When the idea had first come to her to flaunt this woman and child to Joel’s wife, she had thought it a good way to add to his misery. But watching her mistress now, Etta doubted the wisdom of her plan.

"That’s quite enough!" Danielle said through clenched teeth. "Your implications have gone beyond the bounds. This child has nothing to do with your husband, and neither do I."

Clapping her hands almost gleefully, Jenny Riley laughed. "Terrific act. You should have gone on the stage, Miss Alexander. I’m sure you would have done far better as an actress than as a seamstress. So, how much is this little bundle going to cost me?"

"I-I beg your pardon?" In disbelief, Danielle could only stammer.

"Money. How much? That is why you’ve brought your brat, isn’t it? I’m supposed to gaze upon the misfortunate, innocent child, get all weepy-eyed and sentimental over a child you think I can’t give him. He dances, I pay the fiddler?" Her ice-blue eyes darkened to indigo, her nostrils flared, her slender fingers dug claw-like at the bedclothes.

Neither visitor moved when the barrage of accusations ended.

"You’re shocked." Jenny’s full lips curled upward in a sneering smile. "You thought your playmate was wealthy. My dear, you’ve been romping in the haystack with a penniless dreamer."

Danielle’s silence seemed to fuel Jenny’s rage.

"Were it not for my money," the wild-eyed woman continued. "Your lover would be living in a sod house, tending his precious cattle. But thanks to my generous inheritance, I’ve been uprooted from my home and friends, forced to endure this savage-infested wilderness." A torrent of tears rushed down her pale cheeks as the anguish of her misery flooded her tormented soul.

Danielle’s anger receded at sight of the unexpected tears. Regardless of the injustice of her words, it was obvious her distress was real. Stepping forward, Danielle said, "Please, look at the child. Put your mind at peace."

"I don’t care to look at him," Jenny gulped between sobs, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. "My mind won’t be at peace until I’m gone from this horrible place. I hate it here. I hate Joel for dragging me here against my wishes."

"I’m sorry about...."

"You’re not sorry about anything!" Jenny’s pink tongue moistened her cupid-bow lips. "Breed like one of his precious cows. Give my loving husband all the bastard sons he desires."

Ice-blue eyes held Danielle immobile as the tirade continued.

"He will never be free! You will never be his wife!" Jenny swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I’ll outlive you both. Count on it!"

Danielle blinked, frozen in place by shock. A moment later she felt a shudder shake her entire frame. Even Dream Singer stood transfixed, impaled by the verbal attack.

Jennifer Riley’s rage had traversed topics unrelated to reality or truth as one roams a forest path unmindful of the surroundings or the danger.

Danielle studied the woman on the massive bed and felt herself lost to reason. The cloying fragrance choked the warm, stale air, intensifying the sense of unreality. How was it possible to have so much, yet have so little?

The face of an angel belied her true nature. Beneath that thin veneer of beauty was a cold-hearted woman with the tongue of a shrew.

By her own admission, Jenny Riley possessed wealth, was surrounded by it, married an adoring man. Yet she was devoid of life or happiness, wrapped in a cocoon of self-pity.

A cacophony of sounds and dust choked the air. Dirt stirred by hundreds of bare feet churning across the ball field in the mid-afternoon heat.

The sight of so many near-naked sweating bodies awed Danielle. The Indians frolicked about with webbed sticks chasing a skin-covered ball stuffed with hair.

As promised, Hunting Hawk had arrived at dawn to escort Danielle and the members of her household to her first ball game. The game took place north of the river at Etoh-ha, which in English was pronounced Atoka. In the Choctaw language Etoh-ha meant ‘a ball ground’. The field had been named in honor of Captain Etoh-ha, a sub-chief of the Choctaw, and an avid ball player.

Cody, Hunting Hawk’s grandson, had hitched the horses to the wagon and driven them the sixteen or so miles to the field. An air of celebration rode with them.

Dream Singer had joined Cody on the wagon seat, cradling Nathaniel lovingly in her arms. Ever since their return from Boogaboo Canyon, she had insisted on calling the child Jettic, as instructed by the Eagle Spirit.

Danielle noticed the subtle exchange of shy smiles between the two and joined Hunting Hawk and Little Raven in the back of the wagon.

Fortunately, the quilts thrown across boughs of pine and cedar laid across the wagon bed absorbed the worst of the bumps in the deeply rutted road.

The two elders laughed and chatted in their native tongue, ignoring the younger members of the group. Danielle squirmed, seeking a more comfortable place to rest her back, listening to the guttural exchanges between the two and reflecting on the gaiety of these people she had only recently met.

Laughter and joy always seemed to be present in their voices and on their faces. She couldn’t help but compare the differences between them and the bitter young wife of Joel Riley. Their exchange two days ago still bothered her. And she found her dreams filled with haunting green eyes.

How would she react when she saw him again? His deception still upset her. He had purchased the entire stock of her needlework without a word to her. Of course, she realized that the items were for sale to anyone. But that he had been the one to buy them bothered her. He had to have figured out her financial status. Otherwise, why would he have purchased all her work. She felt stripped, having him know that she was sewing to support herself and the others who now depended on her for their livelihood.

He probably thought her destitute and felt pity for her circumstances. Knowing that was very nearly the case did nothing for her pride. She would not accept anyone’s pity, especially his.

A sharp, bony elbow gouging her in the ribs interrupted her musings. She turned sharply, intending to correct such rude behavior only to find Hunting Hawk standing beside her. Having gained her attention, he began explaining the finer points of the game.

"Must topple fish from pole to score," her instructor explained, waving his hands for emphasis. "You hit pole above line get seven points. Much fun."

Danielle found his excitement contagious. She felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. She actually enjoyed watching the players tussle for the hair-stuffed ball.

"Why do the women use their hands?" After several minutes of play, she had noticed that the men used twin sticks, catching the ball in its webbing to make their throw, while the women used their hands.

"Women not strong."

"Oh." Danielle chose not to elaborate on the comment. After having observed the women of his clan carrying babies in cradleboards on their back while hoeing corn or carrying wood, she failed to understand how he could justify such a statement.

"You make bet now?" Hunting Hawk asked.

"Bet?"

"Wager. You bet for player to win." A smile wreathed his wrinkled face as he explained the process of wagering for tribal favorites.

"I’ve never gambled."

"No gamble. Wait, I make bet for you."

He ambled off before Danielle could object. She soon forgot the old man and his intentions as she became involved in the process of the game. Each time a score was made a mark was drawn in the dirt. Play was intense and furious, yet friendly.

"You win big, I bet." Hunting Hawk said as he rejoined her beneath the shade of an oak.

Her jaw went slack and her eyes widened. "What did you do? I have nothing to bet with."

"You got horse."

"You didn’t... not my...."

He smiled broadly, nodding his head. "Bet horse. Not to worry."

Her mind reeled. How could he wager her horse? How would she manage without it? What could she do about it now? Questions raced through her befuddled mind. Answers evaded her.

"Afternoon, folks. Enjoying yourselves?"

Joel’s familiar voice jerked Danielle back to her surroundings. She turned slowly to face the man beside her. Her heart pound wildly. She had dreaded, yet longed, for this moment.

"He wagered my horse." Her voice sounded distant, lost, reflecting her inner turmoil.

Green eyes swiveled toward her companion. "What is she talking about, old friend?"

Danielle watched the exchange between the two men. How could he be so calm? Obviously, he didn’t understand the situation. Absently, she twisted the ring on her left hand.

A roar of excitement erupted from the crowd, causing Danielle to flinch inwardly. Who had scored? Her team she hoped

"Is sure thing. Our team always win." Taking the younger man’s arm, Hunting Hawk tugged him aside. Glancing once at Little Mother, he spoke softly, so only the man beside him heard his words. "Little mother sad. Need fun. Need man." With a nudge to Joel’s ribs, Hunting Hawk nodded his head as if to say, you know what I mean.

Joel’s green eyes bored into the old man, a frown creased his brow. What was this old buzzard up to now? He had known him too long to take the remark at face value. What did he know or suspect?

"What about her horse?"

"Nothing. She win. Have two horses."

"If she loses, she has none." Joel countered.

"No lose. Sure thing."

"Sure. Sure thing. Come on, let’s not keep the lady waiting and wondering. She looks like a stray dog in a cat fight."

The elder Chickasaw howled with laughter, slapping his bony knee. They turned and rejoined Danielle.

The crowd cheered once again and Danielle wondered if she was winning or losing. Even before he spoke, Danielle felt Joel’s presence. Her knees trembled and her stomach knotted. Why did his nearness affect her so?

"Come, let’s get something to eat. You look as though you’re about to faint." Placing his hand on her arm, he guided her away from the crowd of spectators. His fingers tingled as they came in contact with her warm flesh. Danielle followed him without comment.

He led her to a grassy knoll a short distance from the ball field. A lone sycamore dominated the slope providing a welcome shade from the afternoon sun. "Wait here. I’ll get you a plate." His voice was husky with barely controlled emotions.

At his bidding, Danielle seated herself at the base of the tree. She watched his long-legged stride carry him away from her toward tables laden with food. She felt bereaved, lost, and alone. Shaking her head to dispel the feeling, she arranged her full skirts about her feet. Then she leaned back against the tree, closed her eyes, and tried to sort out her feelings for this strange man. A man she had no right to think about, no right to feel anything for. Yet she couldn’t deny the obvious; she did think of him. His mere presence did wild things to her emotions. She must leave here. Soon. She must take Nathaniel and leave. But where would she go?

"A penny."

"What?" Her eyes flew open to find him beside her on the soft cushion of grass, a plate brimming with food balanced in his work-worn hand and a dangerous smile in his emerald eyes.

"For your thoughts."

"They aren’t worth that much." She forced a smile to her trembling lips.

Placing the plate on the ground, Joel spread his legs out before him and turned to face her. Taking her hands in his, he said, "We have to talk."

Refusing to meet his eyes, Danielle turned her head toward the cheering crowd. "Why?" she asked, her voice a near whisper.

"You know why." Cupping her chin in his callused hand, he forced her to face him. His eyes caressed the delicate features of her face.

She was swimming in the twin pools of green, drowning. Her defenses lost.

His breath was warm on her ear, her cheek as he sought, then found her lips, claiming her soul in a kiss that melted her resistance. A low groan slid past his lips. Drawing away slightly, he whispered, "That’s why."

Danielle opened her mouth to object. His lips sealed her protest. Common sense fled with the breeze ruffling her hair, and she responded to his kiss. His lips were moving, probing in a kiss that was lazily coaxing.

She drew away. "We can’t." Her words were weak even to her own ears.

She felt her blood flowing in her veins. She was raw nerve endings all over her body. Pulling herself from his embrace, she forced the words out. Words she knew must be said. "We can’t."

"You’ve said that." His finger traced the delicate line from her jaw to her lips. "Why did you come to the house?"

The unexpected shift of the conversation was like ice water thrown in her face. Pulling herself free of his arms, she whispered, "What difference does it make? I went. I shouldn’t have." Fumbling with her skirts, she tried to rise, to separate herself from his nearness.

A huge hand held her in place. "Why?"

"Why, what!" She couldn’t look at him, and it angered her that he pushed the issue.

"She is what she is. I should never have brought her here. Don’t judge her too harshly."

His words brought the vivid image of Jennifer Riley kicking aside the bed covers, of her taunting, hurtful accusations. And once again, Danielle felt that odd sensation she had missed something. Something important. But what? She forced herself to look up, to meet his gaze.

His eyes begged her understanding. "It’s my fault she’s the way she is."

Confusion wrapped its tentacles about her mind. What was he doing? Playing with her? Toying with her emotions? First he kisses her, then talks about his wife. Her mind reeled. An aching emptiness resided in the hollow of her stomach. "Stop it! I don’t want to hear this." She placed her trembling hands over her ears and looked away. "What do you want from me?"

"Look at me." His voice was close to her ear. She felt his breath, warm and gentle, against her hair, as he implored her to listen.

"When we returned from the canyon, I resolved never to see you again. I stayed away. I made a trip to Fort Washita, a trip my foreman could have made. I spent extra time with Jenny."

He saw a fleeting look of pain cross her flawless features, he rushed on. "I tried. Honestly, I tried." Gently, he stroked her arm. The touch sent currents of heat through his fingertips. "I have no right to ask it. We both have commitments to others. But I can’t go on without being near you. Grant me that? Just to be near you. I promise not to ask any more of you than that."

"What good would that do? Either of us?" She forced the words past the lump in her throat, afraid of losing the scant control she had on her emotions. "Besides, I’ll leave soon."

The plaintive sigh of the wind was the only sound as the reminder caused a sharp stab of pain to pierce his heart. "All the more reason. Let me share that time with you."

With trembling fingers, she brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. Her eyes sought his. Gazing into their depths, she recalled the cold, accusing face of Jenny Riley, heard the accusations ringing in her ears. What would it hurt? They were both lonely. It would only be for a short time after all.

Her head said no. Her heart wasn’t listening.

Danielle tightened her grip on the reins, causing her horse to slow its gait. For a brief moment, she savored the now-familiar sight of the Depot on Boggy. In her short time here, she already felt at home in the small community.

The tang-tang of hammer against iron rang through the morning air, drawing Danielle’s attention to the blacksmith shop. Two muscular, bronze figures glanced up from the red-hot forge, their broad backs glistened with sweat. Smoke gushed from the square hole in the roof as the bellows whispered. First, running forearms across their sweat-sheened faces, both men lifted their hands in greeting when Danielle rode past.

Dream Singer had told Danielle about the brothers, members of the Chickasaw clan. According to what she had been told, they were of mixed blood themselves, and knew what it meant to be neither red nor white knew how confusing and lonely it was to exist without belonging. Dream Singer had explained that Danielle’s story was well known, that her devotion to the half-blood child was talked about by members of both clans residing in the region of the three Boggy Rivers. Because of that, for Spotted Horse and his brother, Clay Pipe, Danielle had more than their respect, she had their love. Danielle returned the men’s greeting, though it embarrassed her to have such devotion showered on her.

Even before Danielle reached the store she saw the cloud of dust. Silas Coogan swung his broom with enthusiasm, sweeping the boardwalk in front of his store. Danielle smiled when she spotted a pan of sudsy water resting on a bench beneath the sparkling window, evidence that Mr. Coogan took pride in his establishment.

"Nice looking horse." Silas’ booming voice greeted Danielle when she dismounted to the rutted street. "Trade that big dapple-gray for it?"

Danielle felt the heat rising to her face. She tied the reins to the hitching post before answering. "I won her." Her words were muffled as she dropped her head to avoid eye contact with the inquisitive proprietor. She shook the wrinkles and trail dust from her brown, linen riding skirt, waiting for his reaction to her proclamation.

"Won it, huh?" A throaty laugh punctuated his statement.

Glancing up, Danielle nodded. She wanted to hide when she saw the ever-present quiescent trio from inside joining Silas on the porch. They scrutinized the paint mare with silent devotion, nodding with apparent satisfaction as they inspected the mare’s hooves, teeth, and chest.

Running his big callused hand across its withers, Silas commented. "I’d say you did all right. She’s a magnificent animal." He raised up, then patted the mare’s rump. "Wouldn’t have taken you for a betting woman though."

Danielle took a deep breath; she straightened her spine and resolved to put the matter to rest once and for all. It mattered little that she hadn’t placed the bet, the mare was hers now. She would simply have to be more careful when dealing with Hunting Hawk and the unfamiliar customs of her new neighbors.

"Neither would I." She forced a smile. "But I’m learning. I had no idea one could attend a ball game with one horse and leave with two. It seems...."

Boisterous laughter halted her explanation. In confusion, she gazed at the braying quartet.

Wiping moisture from the corners of his eyes, Silas slapped his canvas-clad thigh with unrestrained glee. "So you attended one of the famous ball games, huh? Reckon we all been to at least one of those, huh, boys?"

In unison the trine nodded, a broad smile plastered on their faces.

Puzzled by their response, Danielle replied, "I don’t understand."

Taking her arm, Silas guided her inside and pointed a stubby finger at a nearby chair. "Take a seat, little lady. We ain’t laughing at you." He glanced toward the whittlers before continuing. "No, we’re laughing at us all."

Nods from the threesome confirmed his statement.

Storing his broom behind the counter, Silas handed her a mug. Then with the tail of his spotless apron, he grasped the handle of a blue enameled coffeepot. "You might as well join us in a cup of coffee. It’s fresh and hot."

Danielle couldn’t hide her bewilderment. He filled her mug, set the soot-stained coffeepot on the counter, and then straddled a ladder-back chair.

"You see, the Indian’s take their games serious. It ain’t uncommon for them to stake all of their possessions on their favorite team. Household goods, clothing, tools, horses, everything they own will be stacked on the pile, as proof of confidence in their team." Rubbing his large thumb up the side of the warm cup, Silas looked at Danielle. "Tell us, how did you get induced into their little game of chance? Don’t mind me asking, what did you wager?"

Danielle noticed there was no longer any pretense from the whittling threesome. They wanted her interpretation of events leading to her ownership of the horse tied out front. She had their full attention.

Shyly, she glanced at each man in turn. Their eyes met hers boldly. Finding no censor in their looks, she found herself relating the episode in detail, ending with, "He was beaming broadly, a set of reins in each hand. When he passed me the reins of my gray, he chuckled and said, ‘Little Mother owns two horses."

The jingling bell announced a customer, interrupting their laughter. Danielle was shocked to realize how much time had elapsed since the exchange of stories had begun. Shadows marking the counter top showed it was nearing the noon hour and she still had shopping to do. Placing her long-empty cup on the floor beside her chair, she rose to her feet. Before turning toward the door as the others had done, she shook the wrinkles from her skirt.

Joel Riley’s tall, lean figure filled the doorway, silently regarding the group.

Joel removed his hat, slapped it against his leg to rid it of dust, then smiled. When his eyes took in Danielle’s flushed cheeks, he stepped forward, his eyes sweeping each occupant of the room in turn.

Finally, he broke their stunned silence. "Little Raven said you left early." When he spoke, he held Danielle’s gaze with his own. "She sent me to look for you." Joel feared his voice betrayed his own emotional turmoil: joy that she was all right, confusion that she appeared to be comfortably encroached with this group. He had never known the trinity of whittlers to include anyone into their midst.

"I didn’t mean to worry anybody." To still the trembling she felt starting in her knees, Danielle gripped the back of the chair tightly until her knuckles went white. "I lost track of time." Danielle turned toward the portly man beside her. "I better get my supplies now."

"Sure thing, Miss Alexander."

Danielle turned toward the rhythmic cadence of blades’ biting wood. "Thank you so much. I’ve enjoyed our visit. Perhaps, we could do it again?"

Each snow-haired gentleman clasped Danielle’s hand in a friendly shake. Their leathery faces wore a shy grin.

"Let me help." Joel was anxious to be gone from this circle of admirers. He glanced at her list, then grabbed the items nearest to him, depositing them on the counter.

As he selected the required purchases, he gained enthusiasm for the task at hand. He picked up several morsels of his own choice, dropping them among the others. "Say, how about a fresh pie? Can you bake, Miss Alexander?"

His baritone voice shattered the silence in the room.

With her back toward him, Danielle only nodded. The can of tomatoes she held slipped to the floor. She squatted between the barrels and crates, fumbling to retrieve the tin. Why did she act like a silly child every time he came near? She placed the can among her purchases and hoped the others hadn’t noticed, or understood, her actions.

Using a strip of leather, Joel tied the bag of provisions to the saddle horn and waited while Danielle bid her final farewells.

Once they cleared the edge of town, Joel turned toward Danielle. She sat atop her mare, head erect, spine straight, silently watching the rutted road ahead as though it held some great mystery. He smiled to himself at her obvious discomfort as well as her gallant efforts to conceal it. Old Hunting Hawk was right. She’s got courage.

"It’s too late to make it back in time for lunch. Let’s have a picnic."

She turned her head slowly, one brow lifted in inquiry and held his gaze.

A broad smile creased his tanned features. "I’m starving."

The innocence of his remark eased her tensions. With a smile, she nodded, prodding her mare with her heel. Her laughter spilled behind her when the horse broke into a full gallop. She left a stunned Joel Riley stranded in the center of the road, watching her disappear in a cloud of dust. In that brief moment, she felt as free as the breeze caressing her cheeks.

Somehow, she had gained greater confidence in handling the paint mare than she ever had with the gray. Perhaps it was the size of the Indian pony, who was shorter by two hands than the other horse. Or perhaps, she had gained confidence in herself, she thought, rounding a bend in the road.

Pushing her mount, Danielle cut across the open meadow to her left toward the riverbank. She knew a perfect place for a picnic. She had lost the ribbon from her hair miles back, but she didn’t care. She let her hair whip free in the wind, guiding her mount with her knees, relaxed and easy.

She drew rein and dismounted in the shade of a cottonwood tree. For the moment, nothing mattered but the here and now. Everything and everybody else were forgotten.

Sunlight speckled the ground sheet Joel spread on the carpet of grass. He insisted that she make herself comfortable while he set out their lunch, so from a moss-splattered boulder, she watched him retrieve the bag tied to his saddle horn. With obvious care he searched the contents of the bag and removed the chosen items. Then he deftly arranged the delicacies to his satisfaction. She smiled to herself when he rocked back on his boot heels and regarded his efforts.

With a flourish he doffed his hat and swivelled to face her. "Come, my lady. Your banquet awaits you." Pleasure limned his green eyes. For the first time since she’d known him, she didn’t see the shadow of sorrow in his eyes.

He crossed the short distance separating them and offered her his arm. Joining his mood of gaiety, she placed her hand on his outstretched arm and allowed him to escort her to the ground sheet spread in the shade of a gigantic sycamore tree. Even through his shirt sleeve, she felt the warmth of his skin. It was a comforting sensation.

She chose to sit on a section of the sheet nearest the giant tree. Its scaly bark clung to the soft fabric of her shirtwaist. Without a word Joel removed a knife from his pocket and set to removing the lid from a large tin of peaches. She glanced at the other items spread about the cloth. Their meal consisted of crackers, hard cheese, plus the can of sweet, golden fruit. Obviously, he had prepared for the picnic while helping her shop, so it hadn’t been a spur of the moment decision as he had let on. Instead of being upset by that discovery she found it endearing.

With a flick of his knife Joel removed the lid and placed the container in the center of the spread. He glanced up at her and smiled. "There, we’re all set. No...Wait."

Danielle watched in mild surprise as he sprinted across the open meadow then disappeared from her view. Only moments later he reappeared, arms behind his back and a broad grin stretching his mobile features.

"For you," he said, placing a fistful of pink buttercups in her lap.

Momentarily, a cloud of doubt skidded across her earlier pleasure. Should she allow herself to be drawn in by his charm? Was it wise to be here at all? Where would it lead?

As though he could read her thoughts, he placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her head. His emerald gaze held her immobile. "I thought we settled that." His brow lifted in inquiry as if to remind her.

"I only ask to be allowed to spend time with you. Nothing more." Still bracing her chin with his finger, he smiled warmly. "Agreed?"

The sunshine of his smile chased away the cloud of her doubts. With a slight inclination of her head, she returned his smile. "Agreed."

They had just shared the last peach in the can when they heard the sound of pounding hooves approaching. With slow, easy grace, Joel pushed himself to his feet. Using his hand to shade his eyes against the glare of the sun, he scanned the shadows of the distant tree line.

Danielle remained seated, watching his chiseled profile. She had managed to lose herself in his company, to forget everything. For a brief time, she had been carefree and young again. She had even averted all thoughts of Jenny Riley from her mind.

"Something’s wrong." His lean frame sprang into action. With quick sure motions, he collected the remnants of their meal and stuffed them in a bag. "That’s Cody. He wouldn’t be looking for me if it wasn’t."

She noticed that the lines of strain and tension were once more etched deeply into his tanned features. "How do you know he’s looking for you? Maybe he’s just out riding." But she knew, somehow, that he had already withdrawn from her.

"He’s looking for me. Cody would never ride an animal like that if it wasn’t necessary." His voice was caustic.

"Maybe he’s looking for me." It was a ridiculous statement, of course. Cody had no idea of her whereabouts.

Nervously, Joel pushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead, a weak grin tugging at his lips. "Nice try." His gaze swept the remains of their picnic spread at his feet then returned to encompass her rigid form. "Perhaps we could do this again sometime. I...." Without finishing, he wheeled about and mounted his horse. Tipping his hat in her direction, he spurred his mount toward the approaching rider.

Danielle slumped backward, bracing her back against the scaly bark of the sycamore. Her fingers trembled as she retrieved the wilted bundle of pink buttercups. It had been an impossible dream. What had she expected? After all, she knew he was married. Hadn’t she any better sense than to expect such as this? Through a mist she watched him disappear.

With determined resolve, she tied the bag with the others on her saddle horn. She would simply have to guard against becoming emotionally involved. It only required willpower and determination. There was no reason why she couldn’t continue to enjoy his company. She merely had to remember to keep her common sense and her heart from becoming entwined.

Joel hadn’t been at all surprised by Cody’s arrival. Over the past four years he couldn’t count the times he’d been summoned in such a manner. In fact, he no longer ventured far from home without his foreman knowing exactly how to find him. He had learned the hard way, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

Guilt was a burdensome companion and one he’d never become comfortable with.

After instructing the Indian youth to stay with Danielle and see that she reached home safely, Joel raced his mount homeward. His memories rode with him.

The South had been steeped in rumors of war for as long as Joel could remember. He had grown up listening to the debates, the pros and cons of slavery verses freedom. With maturity, came understanding. The threat of war wasn’t based on either. It was money. It was power. Therein lay the real issues between North and South.

His homeland teetered on the brink of war. Tensions ran high, and war must surely follow such emotions. He couldn’t take part in such a conflict. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to participate in the shedding of blood of his fellow man in a battle for economic power.

Though young, his future was financially secure. Besides the plantation he would inherit, his young bride had her own inheritance. He should have been happy. But the thunderclouds of hostility had built daily, threatening a storm he feared the south couldn’t endure.

His decision to depart for the West before the hotbed of tempers erupted into a full-scale battle brought wrath from all quarters. It also meant he would forfeit his inheritance to his younger brother, leaving him with only his share of the stock to call his own. Though small, his herd would give him a start. It had been his new bride that caused him the most doubts about his decision. Jenny had been inconsolable in her grief over leaving her home and family. Her travels had never taken her beyond the borders of their native Georgia. The perils of starting a new life in the wilds of Oklahoma, Indian Territory terrified her. Against all odds, and the wishes of his young wife, Joel remained adamant.

He lived to regret it. Not for himself. He loved the wilderness beauty of his new home. But his wife, Jenny, had paid a dear price for his determination. Memories flashed in chilling sequence through his troubled mind as he pushed his swift mount to the limit of its endurance, while he prayed to reach home in time.

Cody’s message had only said that Jenny needed him. Sweat moistened his forehead in spite of the breeze whipping his face. It had been more than six months since she’d summoned him in this manner. Surely it must be urgent.

Only four short years had passed since that fateful day, yet it often seemed a lifetime. He had gone to town to pick up supplies, leaving Jenny alone. When he returned, he had found his bride huddled in the corner of the barn, that being the only building he’d been able to complete. The stock had to be protected from the elements and from theft he had reasoned. He could build their home later.

At any rate, he found her there in a pile of hay, her clothes ripped and stained, her arms and legs covered in blood from the many scratches they bore. Straw clung to her blond, rumpled hair. Her eyes were filled with a wildness he’d never witnessed before and hoped never to again. She hadn’t been crying or screaming. In fact, she’d made no sound at all. She had simply stared past him as though he were not present.

Two days passed without her touching food or water, staring sightlessly at the doorway as though expecting someone to appear there. He hadn’t needed to be told what had happened, the evidence spoke for itself. Jenny had been raped. By whom, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. What had happened to her was his fault. He should never have brought her here. He should never have left her alone. If he hadn’t been thinking only of himself, he would have realized that. Then that terrible thing would never have happened.

Time healed Jenny’s scratches and bruises. Her eyes even lost their faraway look. She appeared quite normal. She wasn’t. His young, beautiful wife couldn’t walk. Fear paralysis the doctor called it. There was nothing physically wrong with her legs or back, no medical reason for her inability to walk. Yet she couldn’t, and it was his fault.

Tirelessly, he had worked to make life better for her. Trying to make up for what had happened to her because of him. He built a two-story house and filled it with the best his money could have shipped to the territory, including a piano that no one could play. But Jenny had wanted it. On more than one occasion, he had heard her say she wanted to learn. She never so much as looked at the piano, never even touched it. He drove himself to the brink of debt with the house and its furnishings. He hired two Indian women from the nearby village to cook, clean, and care for his invalid wife.

Now he had to make the ranch pay or he was sunk. There was nowhere else to go if he couldn’t make it here. His homeland was a hotbed of emotions and his family lost to him.

Frustrations followed Joel Riley daily, nipping at his boot heels. There was never enough time to get all the necessary work done. Never enough of anything it seemed. He pushed himself beyond the limit so he wouldn’t have time to think, to remember that he had no one to share his dream with. His wife never asked about the ranch, never wanted to know what he was doing. Though she never spoke a word of reproach against him for what happened, he felt her reproach nonetheless.

Jenny had not shared his bed since that incident four years ago. At first, he had understood her reluctance and fears, but with time, he felt she would respond to him again. She hadn’t. The doctor said her inability to walk would pose no problem with her being a wife to him. But something had. He worked himself into oblivion so when he returned to the house at night, he was tired enough he could sleep without remembering what was missing from his life.

That one mistake four years ago had cost him dearly. No wife, no children, no future. He, and he alone, was responsible. He would carry the blame and the burden forever. Though he was no longer sure he loved her, Jenny was, nevertheless, his responsibility. That much, at least, he owed her. He had been brought up to believe in the sacredness of marriage and would fulfill his obligation.

Eventually, he had begun to make an occasional trip to Fort Washita where there were women to take care of his physical needs. He hated himself each time he made the trip, even though he always made sure Jenny was well protected in his absence.

With a jerk he halted his lathered mount and swung down from the saddle. His legs ate up the distance between the yard and the front door. Fear rode his stooped shoulders as he pushed the door open.

"What’s wrong with Jenny?" His baritone voice vibrated off the silent walls.

Etta Strawhand whirled at the sound of his voice and smiled. Her smile didn’t reach her dark eyes. With a saucy swish of her ruffled skirt, she returned to her dusting, casting her reply over her shoulder. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Weariness creased his features. He sailed his hat onto a nearby chair. Surely the pattern wasn’t beginning again?

It had been a long time, but he remembered how it had been after her attack. Regardless of what needed his attention, if he was gone from the house longer than a few hours, Jenny sent for him, claiming she feared to be alone. Even though people surrounded her, she seemed to want him always in her sight. He thought that was behind them.

Then a thought occurred to him. What if Jenny knew about Danielle? Of course, there was nothing to know, was there? A quiet inner voice reminded him there was nothing only because the young woman in question refused to let there be. Left to his own desires, he couldn’t be so sure. He had never felt this way about any other woman. Not even Jenny. And certainly not about any of the occasional women he found release with at the fort. With a silent curse, he ridiculed himself for such thoughts.

Etta’s voice penetrated his mind wandering and he stared at her, speechless for a moment.

"She wants to what?"

"I said," the young Indian woman stood, arms akimbo, head high, almost defiantly. "Miss Jenny wants to go take the healing waters." Etta’s dark eyes held his. She enjoyed the startled expression on his face. With pleasure, she watched his jaw tighten and guessed at the restraint he was forcibly maintaining.

It had been her idea for her mistress to travel to the place of the healing springs. With his invalid wife out of the way no telling what mischief Mr. Uppity might get himself into.

"But that’s in Arkansas Territory." He ran a hand through his hair. "She can’t walk. How will she travel?" His confusion was complete. Never had Jenny traveled, not even the short distance to the Depot on Boggy. He had attempted numerous times to convince her to accompany him. Where in the name of heaven had she come up with this idea?

Even without speaking to her, Joel knew that if Jenny had decided to make this trip, he would consent. She had never made a request of him since her attack that he hadn’t done his best to fulfill. Though he wondered how he could possibly be gone for any length of time from the ranch. Money was tight. He needed to be here to oversee the daily operation of his business. He had that contract with the fort to fulfill. There were so many things he needed to be here for.

Etta’s voice terminated his thoughts. "The stage comes through tomorrow. We’ll be on it."

"You’re going, too?"

"Who else?" Her smile widened. "Her trunks are packed, if you’ll have them taken to the road in the morning. I’ve made arrangements for the stage to stop and pick us up there. That way we won’t have to go to the Depot. It comes by here anyway."

Joel watched in amazement as the stagecoach pulled away in a cloud of dust. He still couldn’t believe Jenny was actually making this trip on her own. She had even refused his offer to accompanying her.

He insisted that three of his ranch hands travel with the coach for added protection. They would remain with the two women for the duration of their stay at the hot springs.

Whatever had prompted Jenny’s trip, perhaps she would be helped by it. At least he could hope.

For a time, Danielle managed to elude her business partner. When he rode away from the picnic, she vowed to put as much distance between them as possible. Failing that, to at least be sure she was never alone with him. But when she heard that Jennifer Riley had left with her Indian maid for a trip to Arkansas Territory, it caused her more than a little concern. Why, if the woman was an invalid, would she undertake such an arduous journey? Did it have anything to do with her? That’s when the suspicion Danielle had fought to suppress since her first meeting with Joel’s wife refused denial any longer. Dream Singer’s words came back to her. ‘You know what you saw.’ Yes, she knew. Mrs. Riley had rolled from her stomach to her back, causing the comforter to fall aside. For one brief moment her legs were revealed, and Danielle had seen a flutter of movement before Jennifer yanked the bedsheet across herself. But that meant... what? To Danielle the answer was unthinkable. Only a few days ago Silas Coogan’s wife, Blue Bird Woman, had told Danielle what she knew about Jennifer Riley’s terrible ordeal. Even knowing the horror the woman must have endured didn’t justify what that unguarded reflective leg movement implied. Surely no wife could be so cruel as to let a husband blame himself for a condition that didn’t even exist. Wouldn’t it be enough to know he blamed himself for the attack without faking paralysis? Was Jenny Riley capable of laying a burden of guilt that heavy on her husband? Danielle longed to question Joel about her suspicions, but fought that temptation.

Ever since Jenny’s departure, Joel arrived at the building site early each morning, spending the day with his workers. The sight of his muscular arms straining against the fabric of his work shirt caused a knot in the pit of Danielle’s stomach. She could no more deny herself the sight of him than she could refuse to breathe. Even when she did her best to stay busy, she caught herself glancing in his direction far too often.

Still, she did try. Together with Little Raven and Dream Singer, she worked daily to prepare the noon meal for the laborers. Ever since Joel’s remark about her ability to bake, Danielle contrived a special delicacy each day, spending hours gathering fresh fruits to entice the palate. It was her one means of pleasing him without singling him out.

Mealtime became a favorite for Nathaniel. Now that he could crawl, his dimpled knees churned the red dust. He made a wide path among the workers while they ate their lunch. As if he knew each plate held a delight, he eagerly explored and sampled from each in turn. Without fail he saved Joel for last, apparently already knowing the big rancher would take him upon his lap where he could eat his fill.

Once the plate no longer held any crumbs to entice the youngster, Joel would thank Little Raven for the meal and dessert. Danielle knew that he knew full well she prepared the pies and cakes he consumed daily. But she stubbornly refused to confront him with her knowledge.

Then, almost like a ritual, he would announce, "Jettic and I are going for our walk now." And with a whoop swing the chubby boy onto his shoulder and in his long-legged stride stroll beneath the trees, humming a lullaby.

Even Joel, she noticed, had taken to calling the boy Jettic, the name Dream Singer had called Nathaniel while they were still in Boogaboo Canyon. Later, Hunting Hawk had explained that the child had been born during the Moon of Popping Trees and Jettic translated to ice and snow. It was his clan name. Danielle stubbornly clung to the name she had given him. Though in truth, Nathaniel answered to either.

It wasn’t a handful of minutes until the child was fast asleep. Joel deposited him on a buffalo robe in the shade before joining his workers.

Watching the pair in her peripheral vision, Danielle smiled. Those two were good for each other. What a shame they didn’t have more time together. She gazed at the man and child and pondered the fate that had placed them both in her life.

Weeks became a month, and Danielle’s resolve grew weak. What did she hope to prove by denying herself Joel’s company?

Still, it bothered her. Somehow, she had never considered herself in such a position. All her life she had dreamed of the day she would become a wife, then a mother. The idea of being involved with a married man or of being a mother without a husband had never even remotely been considered.

In the midst of her indecision, confusion galloped unbridled through the region.

On June twenty-second, a treaty dissolved the union between the Chickasaw and Choctaw. Long sought and argued over, at last an agreement had been reached. By putting together bits and pieces of information from Hunting Hawk, Cody, Little Raven, and Dream Singer, Danielle soon had a blurry picture of the situation. The best she understood, it was an imperfect arrangement. For though the Chickasaw would be allowed to live in either allotted area they would be required to abide by the laws of the Choctaw Council. In order to write their own laws, the Chickasaw must relocate to the west where they still dreaded the presence of hostile Plains Indians.

She learned that already two-thirds of the Chickasaw clan lived on their own land. But for those who remained in the southeastern region near the Depot on Boggy, it would be a wrenching experience. Many of them were intermarried with members of the Choctaw tribe. Still others owned businesses and farms. In or near the Depot, the Chickasaw owned and operated three cotton gins, a horse-mill for grinding corn, a grist mill located on Boggy River run by water power, a blacksmith shop, as well as a sawmill. Their crops produced enough so that they sold their surplus to the garrison at Fort Washita.

Hunting Hawk claimed that even the great flood of 1844, when many of them living near the rivers and streams lost heavily, hadn’t caused the anguish this new treaty was causing. As the old Shaman put it, these Chickasaws were settled. But this business of complying with the Choctaw laws disturbed many, including him.

Before long, the new treaty affected Danielle’s household directly. Through blood and marriage, Cody Blackowl had ties to both the Choctaw and Chickasaw. For even though his wife had died nearly a year ago, his Clan ties remained with his deceased wife’s Choctaw grandmother, Little Raven. While his grandfather, Hunting Hawk was a member of the Chickasaw Clan. It wouldn’t be an easy decision. Besides that, Danielle suspected he had no desire to leave Dream Singer, who was also Choctaw.

In her front yard, fires burned long into the night. They hadn’t invited Danielle to join their group, nor did they include her in their discussions. For the first time since Hunting Hawk and the others had intruded into her life, Danielle truly felt like an outsider.

In the evenings, after putting Nathaniel to bed, she gathered her sewing and sat on the porch. By the golden glow of her lamp she stitched and watched, yet too far removed to be able to hear. Her heart grew heavy. What would she do if her Indian friends left her? She mentally tossed that disturbing thought aside. She didn’t have enough money saved to undertake a trip back to St. Louis. Her situation was precarious at best. For the first time in weeks, she wondered where Alan was.

In her preoccupation, she let her guard slip. When Joel approached her after the noon meal and suggested a fishing trip for her and Jettic, she consented. He swiveled about casually and rejoined the laborers, promising to come for her after work that afternoon.

It was easier than she’d thought to put aside her doubts in his presence. In fact, she found herself looking forward to their fishing trips and refused to consider what Alan would think of her unescorted excursions.

Nathaniel, too, quickly adjusted to the new activities. As soon as the rancher stepped into view his chubby arms stretched upward in anticipation of the piggyback ride he knew would be forthcoming. Once they reached the water’s edge, Joel would remove the restricting clothing from the small boy and set him on the grass, then anchor their cane poles in the soft soil of the riverbank. Most afternoons, they took a picnic basket loaded with food and had their supper there beside the water. Often, they were lucky enough to catch their meal. Danielle wouldn’t have cared if she ate or not. She meant to enjoy whatever time together they had.

Nathaniel’s plump body grew brown as an acorn. Danielle noticed that her own complexion now had a warm apricot hue also. This she credited to her recent preference for wearing Dream Singer’s skirts on their outings. It was far more comfortable than any of her own, though it had taken some getting used to. Especially the soft, buttery-colored leather skirt which was split to above the knee on both sides for ease of movement.

She ran her fingers down the long fringe edging the bottom, then traced the decorative pattern of beads at the slits. She recalled Dream Singer’s account of how the leather had been worked to a velvety texture, then smoked for waterproofing. Wearing her borrowed attire, her hair pulled back and secured with a narrow strip of leather and her skin warmed by the sun, Danielle could almost pass as Dream Singer’s sister, except for her sun-bleached hair.

Joel found it difficult to keep his eyes off her. And more difficult to restrain his desires. And the native garments did nothing to ease his plight. Yet he mastered his avidness, determined to abide by her wishes rather than risk losing her completely.

A warm gentle breeze stirred stray tendrils of hair, brushing them across Danielle’s face. With the back of her hand, she thrust them aside. Afternoon sunlight stippled the porch where she and Dream Singer sat, putting the finishing touches on a dress for one of their many customers.

"We have decided to stay," the young woman spoke quietly, biting off a loose thread.

"That’s wonderful. Does that include Hunting Hawk and Cody?" Danielle deftly threaded her needle.

Sounds from the building site punctuated the silence.

"Yes."

"I’m so glad. I’ve become quite attached to them both, to all of you."

Loud voices caused both women to turn. Across the way, the workers were hoisting material to the roof with the help of pulleys and mules.

"They will have your house finished soon?"

"I suppose."

"You do not seem happy about it. May I ask why?"

"You have to ask?"

"Sometimes Little Mother confuses Dream Singer with her notions." Dream Singer plunged her needle through a button, attaching it to the bodice. "It is the custom of my people to find joy in all things. I don’t understand many of the white man’s ways." She glanced up and looked at Danielle. "Many of your actions appear to be guided by guilt or blame. Yes, I must ask."

"I can’t pay for it." Danielle shook the folds from the skirt in her lap, avoiding Dream Singer’s eyes.

"Pay? I don’t understand. He-Who-Weeps-Inside has said you are his partner. He does not expect you to pay."

"I know."

Dream Singer searched the face of her friend. "I think there is more than cost on your mind."

Knotting her thread, Danielle thrust her needle into the gingham skirt. "Now that you are all staying, I think we should have a celebration, don’t you?" She doubted her tactic fooled the watchful and knowing Dream Singer, but she did not wish to continue this particular discussion.

"Weddings are usually cause for celebration."

"Who? When? Where?" The forgotten dress slid from Danielle’s lap and lay on the porch at her feet.

"Slow that pony to a walk and I’ll tell you," the young Choctaw woman said, then chuckled. "It is good to see life in your face again."

"Well?" Danielle prodded. "Who’s wedding?"

"Hunting Hawk has given ponies to Cody, and he accepted them."

"So?"

"It is our custom. When a man wants a woman, he gives ponies to her father, or in this case, to her nearest relative. Little Raven will marry Hunting Hawk," she explained.

"Oh." Obviously bewildered by the news, Danielle asked, "Then Cody’s grandfather will marry his grandmother?"

"Yes. Cody’s father was the son of Hunting Hawk. Little Raven’s daughter was the mother of Cody’s wife. But because our clans are matriarchal, Cody lived with his wife’s clan."

Danielle almost felt the veil of confusion lifting.

"Now Cody will be able to care for them both since Hunting Hawk will come to live with his bride."

"That will be handy for him. And for them also, I suppose. They both are obviously very fond of their grandson." Then a new thought occurred to Danielle. "Where will you stay?"

Ever since their return from the canyon, Dream Singer had made her home with Little Raven in order to be closer to her charge and his new mother. Dream Singer’s gaze drifted to her lap. Idly, she toyed with a loose thread. She swallowed hard, then lifted her head and tilted her chin upward a notch. Amber eyes watched her closely. "I will live with Cody."

"Two weddings! Why didn’t you say so? Oh, that’s terrific news."

"Only one wedding."

"But...."

"I will live with Cody, not marry him." Dream Singer held Danielle’s gaze as if refusing to relent now that she had committed herself. "I am not ready to marry again. My body yearns for a man, but my heart mourns my loss still."

Danielle said nothing, wondering how Dream Singer could speak of such things so openly?

"You are shocked." Batting the air with her hand, she halted Danielle’s objection. "I see it in your eyes. They do not lie."

Reaching out, she grasped Danielle’s hand and held it tightly, still holding her gaze. "I am honest with myself; therefore, I am honest with the world. I do not hide in the dark what I crave in the light. I want him. I will find joy in him. Perhaps, my sorrow will leave if I drown it in life." She gently squeezed her friend’s fingers. "Cody knows how I feel. He will wait to seek marriage. There is no need that he should wait to seek pleasure."

Her thumb stroked the back of Danielle’s hand, offering comfort with her touch. "We should always be honest with ourselves. Little Mother should learn to be honest with herself. Take joy where, and when, you find it. Life on Mother Earth is short at best. We should never waste a precious day of it."

Danielle’s hand pulled away a bit, but Dream Singer gripped it tighter, preventing the withdrawal. "Think about it. He-Who-Weeps-Inside follows your every move with his eyes." She leaned closer. "Walk in his soul while you can. There may never be another chance for happiness. Why risk it? You are both lonely. Comfort each other." Slowly, she released Danielle’s hand. "You have not once mentioned Jennifer Riley since our visit. But I know you saw the lie. Guilt prevents her husband from seeing it. What blinds you from the truth?"

"I don’t know...."

"But you do," Dream Singer interrupted. "You saw it. I know you did." She reached out and touched Danielle’s hand. "When you recognize and admit to yourself what you saw, the truth will free you both. He needs you. But our friend is not a man to walk away from his responsibilities. No, he will never leave his wife. Even though he no longer loves her, he feels bound by obligations and vows he made before his God." She squeezed Danielle’s fingers, forcing her to look up, to meet her eyes.

"His unbending principles bind him to a woman who does not love him and who will destroy him with her shameful secret." Dream Singer released her grip on Danielle’s hand. "Think about it. Even if you do not love him, do this as a friend. Free him from her lie." With that, Dream Singer stepped off the porch and headed for the building site.

Danielle watched her go. Jennifer didn’t love her husband? Joel no longer loved his wife? What lie? What shameful secret? What had she seen, really? Why couldn’t Dream Singer have told her instead of speaking in riddles?

July, the Moon of Black Cherries.

To celebrate Independence Day, Danielle and the members of her extended household journeyed to the ball field at Etoh-ha. Joel gave the mill workers the day off, and they, too, attended the festivities. The signing of the Declaration of Independence had little meaning for the Chickasaws and Choctaws, but that didn’t prevent them from taking advantage of the opportunity to have a celebration. They were by nature a fun-loving people. Any day was a good day to put aside work, to gather for games, singing, and dancing.

It appeared as though the entire community of the Depot was attending the shindig. Partygoers congested the sixteen-mile stretch of corduroy road. Some rode horses, others walked, still others piled into wagons loaded with baskets of food. All along the dusty thoroughfare, good-natured greetings were exchanged.

Danielle had trouble keeping her mind and gaze off the lone figure riding beside their wagon. His tall, lean frame kept pulling her attention. She tried to tell herself it was Nathaniel, clasped in Joel’s strong arms, that she watched.

Her mind would accept that lie, but her heart refused to deny the truth.

Following Dream Singer’s advice, Danielle had relaxed her vigil, allowing herself to enjoy Joel’s company. And Joel had kept his word and not taken advantage of the situation. Together, they had explored the nearby countryside, seeing sights she would never have found on her own. She relished their time together. Nathaniel always accompanied them on their outings, and it was becoming more evident each day that the boy’s attachment to Joel was serious. Whenever it came time for Joel to leave them, Nathaniel always set up a fuss. And Danielle felt like joining him in his protest. Her better judgment and best of intentions aside, Danielle loved Joel Riley. When it had happened, she couldn’t say. But she also couldn’t deny it. What would come of her love she dared not guess, though the possibilities were never far from her mind. Nor was Dream Singer’s story about a wife with a shameful secret.

"Where did they all come from?" Danielle asked, brushing the rumples from her dress. Like a red and white tide, people surged across the open meadow of the ball field. Long boards rested on upturned barrels, forming tables now laden with food. Tantalizing aromas wafted from the dishes, enticing the crowd.

Thrusting a basket into her hands, Little Raven smiled. "The smell of good food will bring even a bear out of his cave." Her warm brown eyes encompassed the surging crowd, then shrugging her broad shoulders, she said, "Is good. Many people, much food, and games. Wanka Tanka smiles on us today." Her arms loaded, she shuffled toward the already groaning makeshift tables.

Batting deer flies from her arms, Danielle followed the retreating figure, wondering where Joel and Nathaniel had disappeared to. Though she wondered, she didn’t worry. She knew the child was perfectly safe wherever they were.

"Miss Alexander, over here."

Danielle whirled about in response to the summons. Beneath the sheltering canopy of a giant sycamore, she spotted Silas Coogan. He beckoned her to join him. She smiled and lifted her basket so he could see it and motioned toward the tables. Placing her basket beside the others, she glanced down the length of the planks. The variety of dishes astonished her. In various types of containers were peas, string beans, golden ears of corn roasted in their husks, new potatoes, swimming in fresh-churned butter, baked squash, stewed pumpkin, baked ham, chunks of cornbread, jugs of molasses and honey, pies, cakes, custards, and a few dishes Danielle didn’t recognize. There were also a wide variety of fruits: plums, grapes, dried persimmons, and wild strawberries drizzled with fresh cream and honey.

Turning from the tempting array of foods, she spied a group clustered about fire pits. Spitted deer carcasses hung above giant beds of smoldering coals. Nearby, great slabs of bear steaks were being fed into a huge pot of boiling fat rendered from the same animal. Danielle was awkwardly aware of the absence of buffalo to the menu. The fate of the majestic animal was a topic of great concern to Hunting Hawk and his family. Until meeting these wonderful people, Danielle had not known how much of their existence depended on the buffalo. It pained her to know her own race was deliberately destroying the shaggy beasts.

She thrust the troubling thoughts from her and joined Silas Coogan and his family.

It was a day of laughter. She ate until she was ashamed of the amount of food she consumed. But there were so many things to sample, each of her new friends insisting that she try this or that. She had even tried squirrel brains brazed in butter without flinching only to find it quite tasty.

"We’ll make a native of you yet," Joel commented, watching her savor the unusual treat. He had rejoined her shortly after their arrival and had not been far from her side the remainder of the day. Danielle wasn’t sure she had a right to be so happy.

Then destiny galloped in on a paint horse. Joel’s ranch foreman had sent a rider to deliver a message. Jenny Riley had returned home. Without a word, Joel passed the sleeping child to Danielle. In a fluid motion, he retrieved his hat, mounted the paint horse and rode away. The ranch hand would return on Joel’s horse after eating and watching the ball game.

Through a mist, Danielle saw Dream Singer approaching. She struggled to control the tears threatening to flow. It had been too much to hope that it would last. After all, she had known that the day would come when he would once more be summoned home... by his wife.

She clutched the youngster closer to her heaving chest for comfort. At least Nathaniel hadn’t been taken from her.

Without a word, Dream Singer joined Danielle on the grassy knoll. Her slender brown arms coiled about Danielle and held her close. "It will pass." Dream Singer whispered. "Come, we go home."

Danielle dragged her gaze away from the figure disappearing in the distance. Slowly, she drew a steadying breath, scrutinizing the other woman’s features. She saw eyes warmed with sensitivity and emotions. Nervously, she pushed a stray wisp of hair off her cheek, grimly fighting back hot tears. What could she say to this woman? For that matter, what could she say to herself?

She swallowed to force the hot bile of fear back down her throat. Fear of her own emotions, fear of the future, fear of- "No!" She mentally cast the thoughts aside, refusing to be ruled by fear. With a slight tilt of her head, Danielle gestured toward the ball field where the game was already in progress. Then with forced gaiety and sheer force of willpower, she quipped, "And miss a chance to wager my horse again?"

Dream Singer patted Danielle’s trembling shoulders affectionately, as though encouraged by the feeble attempt at lightness. Then, as if acting before Danielle’s fragile composure could crumble, Dream Singer sprang to her feet, dragging Danielle with her. "Come, we will post our bet now. I saw a prime string of horses earlier, they will be easy pickings."

Her excitement was contagious. Danielle’s gaze flew to the remuda staked in the shade at the far side of the playing area.

Reckless laughter bubbled to the surface at the thought of risking such a wager. Her eyes still moist, Danielle dropped Nathaniel onto her hip. "What are we waiting for?"

Hunting Hawk watched Little Mother from a distance. He had seen the ranch hand come for He-Who-Weeps-Inside. Concern for the young woman had prompted him to stay nearby. In bewilderment, he observed the two young women engaged in a heated discussion with the man taking bets on both teams. His bewilderment grew when Little Mother dashed across the meadow and returned leading her paint pony by its reins, which she placed in the man’s hand.

Before the day wound down, Hunting Hawk watched the wheat-haired young woman collect three horses, her own paint and two spotted-rump, Appaloosa mares. His nut-brown face crinkled with mirth. Chortling loudly, he slapped his thigh and shuffled off to join the victor. To think that earlier in the day he had been concerned for her frail state of affairs. He should have known she was a survivor. Come what may, this one would endure. She had the instincts of the hawk.

The Moon of Plums Ripening produced new dilemmas for Danielle.

It saw the near completion of the building that would serve as Danielle’s home and, hopefully, headquarters for a stage stop for the proposed Butterfield Overland Mail.

Although Joel hadn’t received any word on his contract application with the transcontinental stage line, he remained confident of their chances. Continuation of work on the seventy-five by twenty foot building was the proof of his surety.

Once completed, the two-story structure would be fifteen hundred feet of empty floor space encompassed by double porches on either side with twin chimneys embracing each end. Danielle’s living quarters would be on the upper floor along with guest rooms for overnight travelers. The lower floor consisted of the common room where travelers could wait while the teams were changed, a large dining room, kitchen, pantry, and a storeroom with stairs leading to a thirty by eighteen-foot cellar.

The massive building left Danielle nearly speechless. How on earth was she to furnish it? Her own meager store of furniture would barely provide for her own needs. But she had already accepted more charity from her business partner than she was comfortable with. No, finding a way to furnish their business establishment would be her problem. Somehow, she must find a way.

"It reminds me of the Academy. I hope it won’t be as cold in the winter though." Danielle halted midway down the stairway and glanced at Dream Singer. "Academy?"

"The Chickasaw Academy. I attended school there when I was young. Like this place, it was huge. In fact, I still remember how frightened I was when my parents left me there. I thought I would get lost in its maze of rooms." She laughed. "I would leave a trail of crumbs from the dining room to the bedchamber shared with the other girls so I wouldn’t become lost."

"I didn’t know you attended school." Momentarily, Danielle forgot the problems of furniture and focused her attention on the Indian woman. "Who taught you and what did they teach?"

"Missionaries. We were all taught to speak English and to read and to do sums. The boys were taught trade skills, such as tool and furniture making, blacksmithing. We girls were taught needle skills. Often, our handwork was sold or traded to travelers or visiting government workers."

"Will we send Nathaniel to such a school?" Danielle found it increasingly natural to defer to the other woman’s judgment when it came to dealing with the child.

"When the time comes Jettic should attend the Academy, yes."

Dream Singer persisted in calling the child by his Indian name, and Danielle complied, even finding herself calling him Jettic at times.

"Then I agree."

Dream Singer flipped a warm smile at her and Danielle felt a renewed kinship with the Indian woman. In a few short months, they had dealt with their differences and become as sisters despite their different cultures.

Dream Singer mopped moisture from her brow and tugged at the damp fabric of her blouse. "Since Jettic won’t leave for the Academy today, we have time for a swim." She hiked her skirt above her knees and dashed around the piles of sawdust, wood shavings, and the scrap lumber headed toward the open door.

Danielle wasted no time before following her friend.

On the heels of the August heat, came a swarm of immigrants headed west. Danielle’s meadow was soon overrun with wagons, livestock, and strangers. Whether it was the sight of the massive building going up in the middle of the wilderness or the accessibility of water and grass only a short distance from the Depot that drew them, Danielle didn’t know.

Whatever the reason, the travelers provided a welcome diversion.

From dawn till dusk, the meadow was a beehive of activity. Men made repairs to their wagons, visited with the locals, gleaning information on the hazards ahead of them, swapped tales between themselves, and rested when they could. Women collected their laundry and congregated at the riverbank. Their skirts tied above their knees, waist-deep in the cool, murky waters, they washed away miles of trail dust from both their clothes and their weary bodies while exchanging hopes and fears of what lay ahead.

Grimy-faced children, free of the confines of their rolling, temporary homes, dashed across the meadow like young hellions, terrorizing everything in sight.

Little Raven’s chickens were soon relieved of their tail feathers, and her small herd of hogs hid out in the thickets, refusing to remain near the rambunctious children running wild in their midst.

Other than the unaccustomed din and clamor of the youngsters, Danielle enjoyed the visitors. Along with the company they provided, they also afforded an unexpected source of sales for her needlework. Without exception, the women were eager to purchase her articles to replace those already worn out on this leg of their journey.

In addition, her oven produced fresh bread, cakes, and pies for the weary travelers already tired of hardtack and beans. She and Dream Singer collected and sold fresh fruits and wild vegetables, such as onions, garlic, and mustard greens. Cody brought baskets of produce from gardens in his village. Together, they supplied the occupants of the wagons headed west. It was a busy time for everyone. At the same time it was proving to be profitable as well.

Jettic was always occupied by one or another of the young girls eager to mother him, wagging him on their hip from place to place. He loved every minute of this newly found attention.

Hunting Hawk, on the other hand, avoided the area as much as possible. He found the undisciplined gaggle worrisome and only joined the others after dark when he was certain to find peace and quite.

During this melee, Danielle saw little of Joel except during the noon meal or from a distance as he worked with his laborers or helped the men from the wagons. He, too, was kept busier than usual with the new and constant arrivals. Danielle watched during the day, hoping for a glimpse of his tall, lean frame among the milling crowd surrounding the meadow. Secretly, she missed their time together and wondered if he did.

"Gives me a chance to get out of the store," Silas Coogan said. He tied the reins to a post before taking Danielle’s supplies off the horse. Ever since the travelers began to arrive, Silas had taken to riding out once or twice a week. "Business has been brisk this month." He plopped the bag on the porch. "I need an excuse to get away now and then."

Danielle watched Silas glance around the small group gathered in the twilight. When he spotted the chubby figure squatted in the dust beside the porch, she saw him smile.

"Besides, I miss that youngun. You been too busy to bring him to the Depot, so I figure if I want to see him, I’ll have to come here." A stream of brown tobacco juice splattered the dust at his feet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he stepped off the distance between himself and the child. Scooping the toddler, Silas hefted him to his broad shoulder then returned to take a seat on the top step.

"Would you care for a cup of coffee?" Danielle rose from her chair and took up the bag of supplies, she knew Silas never turned down food. "I have fresh berry cobbler to go with it."

"Don’t mind if I do. I tucked in an extra bag of sugar."

Danielle started to object, but Silas lifted his hand to halt her. "My treat. I been puttin’ away more than my share of them pies lately. Won’t hurt me to chip in a bit of sweetener."

"That isn’t necessary. You’re always welcome to eat with us. Besides, I haven’t paid you to deliver way out here."

"No need." Running his thick finger beneath Jettic’s chin until he received a chuckle, he said, "I get my pay out of watchin’ this little fellow grow."

Jettic, clothed only in a thin layer of red-gold dust, snuggled closer to the bear-like man and plopped his thumb into his mouth content as always to be in Silas’ broad lap. Danielle had long since given up trying to keep clothes on the toddler in this heat. Every time she dressed him, Dream Singer or Little Raven promptly removed them saying it was too hot, and unnecessary anyway. She had given in to their wisdom, wishing at times that she, too, could remove at least part of her own clothing in this stifling, damp heat.

Turning to the others, she asked, "Would anyone else like coffee or cobbler?"

"I have kooffe with sugar," Hunting Hawk declared.

Danielle smiled to herself as she entered the sweltering cabin. She would need the extra supply of sugar Silas brought to keep the old man’s sweet tooth satisfied.

Before dishing up the cobbler, Danielle glanced quickly into the bag Silas had brought. She knew, without asking that Silas was checking the post for her mail. As usual, there wasn’t any. Pushing the bag aside, she poured steaming coffee into two mugs then dipped up a generous helping of berry cobbler.

She hadn’t really expected to have a letter anyway. By now, it was a matter of habit. In fact, she couldn’t remember when she’d last heard from Alan. Somehow, it didn’t bother her anymore as it once had, and that did bother her. But she didn’t want to dwell on that tonight. Placing the pot back on the stove, she gathered up the tray and rejoined the others on the front porch in the cool evening breeze.

The little group sat on the porch, exchanging gossip while a gold slab of moon rose in a clear sky. In the distance the strings of fiddle music drifted from the circle of wagons. It reminded Danielle of her childhood when her grandfather had played his fiddle, her grandmother played the piano, and her mother sang while Danielle and her father listened. Of course, that had been before the new baby arrived. Everything had been so perfect and she had been happy. Then she had a new brother, and no mother. Guilt stirred in her soul and she turned quickly to seek Nathaniel out. She found him sleeping peacefully in Silas’ arms.

She had managed for months to keep that memory at bay. Why had she remembered that painful part of her past now? In fact, since Nathaniel had come into her life, she had almost forgotten the tiny brother she hadn’t wanted to live. Her guilt over his death had eased somewhat with the arrival of the half-blood child.

Icy fingers crawled up her spine. Why had it surfaced tonight?

Weightless as mist, Danielle floated above the canyon floor.

Just ahead of her an eagle soared, tilting its body to the left in a wide arcing turn. There, high above the craggy summit the majestic bird caught and rode the air current effortlessly before tossing its white head in rapid succession to the right three or four times. Instinctively, Danielle knew the eagle was proclaiming his territorial domain when the ritual head tossing ceased and his high-pitched cry pierced the silence.

She stirred, restlessly kicking the damp, tangled sheet aside, the dream undisturbed by the discomfort of her body caused by the close confines of the sultry cabin.

Her gaze drifted downward toward a narrow path winding endlessly through a dense forest. A lone figure, with a child strapped in a cradleboard slung on her back, struggled forward. Danielle’s gaze shifted slightly. Farther down the path, a figure followed, less confident of her surroundings, determination alone propelling her onward.

A cry of recognition lodged in her throat just as a great shadow fell on the distant forms. Without glancing up, Danielle knew it was the great eagle. Then, out of nowhere, a hawk appeared. A red-tail hawk. Remembrance tugged at her subconscious and she stirred restlessly in her troubled sleep. A soft moan escaped her lips as the vista below unfolded before her.

Boogaboo Canyon. Dream Singer and Nathaniel. She was following them. Nathaniel was hers. She must catch up with the other woman.

Of course, it was her journey months ago when she had gone to rescue the child. The journey of the eagle, Dream Singer had called it. But wait... they were disappearing in a mist. She couldn’t see them anymore. The shrill cry of the eagle drew her gaze upward.

Above her, the majestic bird soared. In his wake, the red-tail hawk kept vigil over the canyon floor. Once more, the eagle’s cry sounded, and the hawk dived downward as though beckoning her to follow.

Alone in the tangled wilderness just north of nowhere and slightly south of the unknown, she tensed, waiting. Where was she? A chill of uncloaked fear wrapped itself about her. Shadows stippled the scruffy woodlands.

Hesitantly, she shuffled forward with no destination in mind. One foot in front of the other. Slowly. Cautiously. Wings churned the air and she ducked as the red-tail soared past, then circled twice. She hiked up her skirt and wasted no time as she followed the familiar bird.

She squinted into the bright sunlight. Her winged guide had led her to a clearing carpeted with lush green grass sprinkled with wild ferns. She released her skirt, brushing idly at the rumples.

Sunlight filled the vast clearing. Surely this was the way home, though she saw no obvious trail. Off to her right, she spotted a narrow, brier-filled path. Sheltered by overhanging branches, murky shadows saturated the crowded corridor. Wide wings fluttered softly, drawing her attention to the hawk now perched precariously on a dangling branch above the dark, forbidding entrance. Glancing quickly from the shadowy path to the bright clearing, Danielle made her decision.

A fistful of minutes later, Danielle felt the ground beneath her quiver. Moisture seeped into her soft-soled shoes. Above, the red-tail circled in frenzied flight.

Swooping low then diving upward to return once more. Each time, the hawk flew into the dusky passageway. She glanced hesitantly toward the bird, then felt a faint ripple of movement pass through the soles of her feet. Ignoring the bird, Danielle quickened her stride, forcing her way through the shoulder-high ferns, unable to see her feet in their lushness.

Thirst pushed her onward. Sunlight pelted her uncovered head forcing her to seek shelter beneath a scrawny elm. In her exhaustion, she stumbled against the tree and felt its trunk quake from the slight pressure. In shocked silence, she watched as across the clearing the other trees shuddered as well. Curiously, she purposely bumped the stunted tree again. And just as before, the meager collection of saplings vibrated. What kind of place was this?

Fear pushed her away from the gnarled tree trunk and she forced her way forward. Heat drained her energy and she was once more forced to seek shade. Careful of disturbing the tree, she hunkered in its shelter, wiping moisture from her brow. Its branches offered scanty protection from the heat. She felt limp as a wet rag. Exhaustion tempted her to remain where she was.

Then a slight movement in the leafy ferns drew her attention and she tensed. Slowly, the foliage parted. Danielle felt her body stiffen, then go rigid as she stared into a pair of yellow eyes that held her captive.

Koi.

She recalled the word Dream Singer used for the animal. A tawny panther, broad shoulders hunched, ready to pounce. Its lips were curled back, exposing sharp fangs glistening in the diffused light. Danielle’s skin prickled. Sweat slid between her breasts, trickled down her sides, soaking her dress. Her gaze locked on the unblinking orbs glaring at her.

Immobilized by fear, she braced herself for the attack she was certain would come. Hot bile of fear rose in her throat. She swallowed convulsively, forcing the acrid lump downward. Sweat drenched her body, causing the thin fabric of her blouse to cling to her rigid frame. Yellow eyes pinned her in place. She felt the scratchy bark of the scrub oak gouging the tender flesh of her back.

A flash of movement drew her gaze upward, momentarily. The red-tailed hawk soared past in a blur before reversing directions to dive earthward like an arrow. Mesmerized, Danielle held her breath as the hawk dived toward the stalking predator. Limp with relief, she watched as the great cat pounced from sight and the hawk disappeared into the brier-covered passageway. When the bird failed to return, she glanced about quickly, then followed her protector.

The forbidding exterior gave way to reveal a comfortable chamber. Sunlight speckled the soft, musty soil beneath her trembling feet. A gentle breeze cooled her heated flesh. Slowly, her breathing took on a normal cadence and she felt her body relax. The fragrance of honeysuckle and tuberose permeated the air.

When her eyes finally adjusted to the dimness, she let out a soft cry of delight. Delicate cream and yellow blossoms draped the walls of the passageway while the white, lily-like tuberoses bordered its length.

After the bright sunlight and heat of the meadow, it was like heaven here. Her gaze drifted, taking in the wonder of the place. A gentle sound, so soft that at first she thought she must have imagined it, drew her attention toward the exit of her haven.

Her breath caught in her constricted throat. A lone figure stood outlined in brilliant sunlight, his arm extended toward her, beckoning her to....

Her sweat-drenched body writhed on the narrow bed. The damp muslin of her gown was twisted about her frame, strangling her movements. She fought against the restraint. What did the figure want of her? Who was it? Her fingers battled the damp fabric, seeking release. Her frenzied movements brought her fully awake and she stared into the darkness of the room. The fragrance of honeysuckle clung to the stifling air. Her body trembled as she recalled her dream.

Never one to be superstitious, Danielle nevertheless, made a mental note to ask Dream Singer about her dream. Wide awake now, she rose from the bed, checked on Nathaniel, then changed into a fresh gown.

Even before the fabric fell in folds about her ankles, she heard swift footsteps approaching her door. Her body tensed, the dream still fresh in her mind. Automatically, she moved toward the wall where her rifle rested.

"Danielle! Danielle, wake up! You must come with me." The familiar voice set her in motion.

Dream Singer nearly fell through the door when Danielle jerked it open. Usually so calm and rational, the young woman was a frenzy of motion, throwing Danielle’s skirt to her. "Jettic can stay with Little Raven." She already had the child in her arms, headed toward the open door as she talked. Glancing over her shoulder, she ordered, "Hurry! There is no time to waste."

Stupefied, Danielle could only clutch her garment close and ask, "Where are we going?" She stifled a yawn with her hand before she stepped into the soft, leather skirt. The room vibrated with silence. Danielle glanced up and saw Dream Singer’s retreating back. She was leaving and taking Nathaniel with her. Danielle yanked her skirt up about her waist and dashed for the door.

"Wait!" She snatched her blouse and moccasins from the chair where she’d left them the night before. Barefoot, she tugged on the blouse and dashed to catch up with the Indian woman.

Danielle reached Little Raven’s dwelling on the other woman’s heels. Grabbing her by the shoulders, Danielle insisted, "Where’s the fire?"

"It’s worse than fire!"

In the soft glow of the moon, Danielle glimpsed her new friend’s face and drew back in shock. She saw fear etched in her delicate bronze face. Those gentle brown eyes, normally so serene, now brimmed with unleashed terror.

"What is it, dear friend, that frightens you so?" Beneath her fingers, Danielle felt a shudder race through the woman’s body. Dream Singer’s fear was transferring itself, she felt it rampage through her fingertips. She forced the woman to meet her eyes. "What?"

"Death rides among us."

Danielle waited in silence, frozen in place by the words. She watched the childless, young widow clutch Nathaniel closer to her breasts before she bent her dark head and gently placed a kiss on his forehead. Then lifting her face, Dream Singer whispered, "The white man’s sickness. A child in one of the wagons is stricken. We must go there. The sickness must be stopped, or all will die."

Danielle’s knees buckled. How often had she heard stories of the sickness, the most dreaded of terrors among the natives? Hunting Hawk and Little Raven were relentless on the subject, often repeating the horror of the losses among their clans to the sickness brought to their people by the white man. She knew from their accounts that few ever survived.

From her depths, Danielle dragged the words to ask the question she almost dreaded to have answered. "Which child?"

"Clemmie Anderson." The Indian woman refused to meet Danielle’s eyes.

They both knew what the other feared. The Anderson girl was Nathaniel’s favorite playmate. Clemmie fought for the privilege of wagging the toddler on her hip. It was her special duty to be his mama, while Danielle and Dream Singer were occupied elsewhere.

"What do we do now?" The words were hollow, like the place in her heart. Danielle’s hand reached out and stroked the tiny hand of her adopted son.

"Pray."

It was a hot, lazy day. One of those days that if you didn’t just have to do a thing, you didn’t do a thing. Silas had moved the cane-bottomed chairs to the dusty planks of the boardwalk. There, he and the trio of whittlers sat, their chairs propped on two legs against the building, doing their best to glean the benefit from the thin remnant of shade.

The droning hum of an annoying horsefly was the only sound in the midday heat. Even the wind was silent.

Heat waves danced across the western horizon, silhouetting a lone rider in its hazy ripple. Silas flapped the tail of his apron in a futile effort to stir a breath of air before wiping his sweaty brow on the underside of the garment. He allowed a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brilliance, just to be sure the figure was there. Travelers arrived at the Depot from every direction, except the west. Seemed like in the past few years everybody was headed west, in search of their dream. Scant few ever returned; even those who didn’t attain the goal that drove them.

Once more, the white apron fanned the humid air. "Rider comin’."

It was an unnecessary statement. The woodcrafters had already spotted the figure. Probably in the same instant Silas had.

As one, the foursome leaned forward. Their chairs settled silently on the planks.

"Lost."

Shifting his bottom to a more comfortable position, his companion on the right mumbled, "Nope." Brown liquid formed a soft splat in the dust of the street. A wad of tobacco was shifted to the other cheek.

Silas waited, patiently. Communication between the trio was an art form. They were stingy with their words. Being a talker himself, it amazed Silas how few words they used.

"Greenhorn."

That tidbit was offered by the chap on the left as another tan stream of tobacco juice hit the dust. Without turning to consult the other, they nodded in unison.

Silas’ gaze shifted to the approaching image in the distance to discern their reasoning. Three words and the stranger was already pegged.

As the figure drew closer, Silas nodded silent agreement with their judgment. It was obvious, even from this distance, that the horse was favoring its right foreleg. Anyone with the sense of a piss-ant could see the animal was lame. Yet the rider plodded onward, seemingly unaware of his mount’s discomfort.

Even though the mercury was past the century mark, the newcomer wore the matching coat to his dust-covered suit. An unknotted tie hung limply about his neck. With another nod of his head, Silas mopped his brow, then leaned his chair back against the wall. Might as well be comfortable while he waited, because it was as certain as flies on dead meat that the newcomer wasn’t. Not in them duds. In this heat. On a lame horse.

"I’m looking for the Alexander spread."

Not one word of greeting, just that bare-assed statement.

"Who’s asking?" Silas was the spokesman for the silent group watching the dandy in dust-coated finery.

"I’m not here to meet the local yokels. Just point me toward the Alexander ranch and I’ll be on my way." The newcomer’s cold, steel-gray eyes narrowed into slits as he barked his demand.

Suspicion crawled into the recesses of his mind as Silas measured the stranger on the lame horse. Could this be Miss Danielle’s long-absent fiancé? This peacock in sweat-soaked broadcloth. He hoped not. "Ain’t no Alexander spread around here, mister."

Apparently taken aback, the man wiped his hand across his sunburned brow while he digested this bit of information.

"This is the Depot on Boggy, isn’t it?"

"Yep." For once Silas took delight in watching the discomfort of another. If this arrogant individual was who he suspected he was, then the young man had a few things to learn. First off, when asking for information, you aren’t rude. Second... well, never mind the other reasons, Silas simply didn’t like the man’s looks, nor his attitude. But that wouldn’t keep him from having a bit of fun with the fellow.

"There must be some mistake." The assurance of moments before disappeared as the stranger fumbled about, searching the inside pocket of his dusty coat. Then with a flourish, he withdrew a crumpled letter, scanned the postmark before shaking the article at the quadrant on the rough planked boardwalk. "This is postmarked only three months ago. Surely you must know her."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Silas let his gaze drift to the trio beside him. As he suspected, they, too, were enjoying the exchange. "Who is this her I’m supposed to know?"

"I just told you. Miss Alexander. Danielle Alexander. She wrote that her father had bought a place at the Depot on Boggy before he died. She’s waiting there for me."

"Oh, that Alexander." Silas let fly with a stream of tobacco juice. Wiping his mouth with the back of his huge hand, he noticed two figures leaving the blacksmith shop. He could almost have predicted their appearance. A lame animal didn’t pass their shop without one, or both, of the brothers noticing and taking interest in its welfare. Silas turned his attention back to the dandy, dismissing the pair approaching from down the street.

"Then you do know her?"

"Yep."

Returning the travel-stained letter to his coat pocket, those gunmetal eyes never strayed from the storekeeper’s face. "Do you suppose you could tell me how to find her spread? That is if it wouldn’t be too much trouble."

Silas noticed arrogance again in the fellow’s voice as he prodded for information. "Ain’t no trouble. Ain’t no spread."

"You just said... what the hell?" The newcomer jerked his mount backward out of reach of the man who stood beside him, running his hand down the mare’s foreleg. "Get your hands off my horse!"

"Horse lame. I maybe fix."

Silas watched Spotted Horse hunker down for a closer look at the leg the horse favored. Just like Silas thought, Spotted Horse and his brother, Clay Pipe, had seen the stranger ride into town and come to offer their assistance.

Sawing roughly on the reins, the dusty man backed the mare out of reach once more. Silas watched the man’s gaze lock on the bare-chested men and knew, to the instant, the copper tint of their skin and their braided hair, when the brother’s nationality registered on the stranger. His eyes narrowed and his lips drew thin in a sneer. "I don’t need help from any breed."

Both brothers drew back from the animal and rider. They had only meant to help. It had been a long time since anyone in or around the Depot had remarked on their mixed heritage. Most travelers were simply glad of their abilities and skills without regard to the color of their skin. Silas watched sadly as the stunned pair joined the group in the shade, then squatted beside them to observe the crude individual.

Silas had watched the exchange silently, and he felt a renewed dislike for the new arrival.

Returning his attention to the group seated on the porch, the stranger asked, "I don’t suppose there is such a thing as a bath house in this hell hole, is there?" Dismounting, he tied the reins to the hitching post, then removed his hat and slapped it against the leg of his dusty trousers. "I need a change of clothes too," he added, putting his hat back on. Without a word, Silas Coogan vacated his chair and entered the store, knowing the stranger would follow.

Silas offered no assistance as the man made his choice from among the selections available, noticing that he chose only the best, most expensive items.

"My funds will be transferred here shortly from my bank in California. So for now, just put these on Miss Alexander’s bill."

"The lady doesn’t have a bill." Silas knew Danielle’s financial situation well by now. After all, it was he who took the orders for her needlework. He had often doctored her receipts just so she could buy the needed necessities for those in her care. The stranger’s callous attitude rubbed Silas the wrong way, especially since he had no way of knowing whether or not Danielle could cover the costs of the items he’d just purchased.

"Then start her one."

"What name do I put down here?" Silas hoped he had guessed wrong about the man’s identity.

Alan was going over in his mind what the storekeeper had said. It was even better than he’d thought. If Danielle didn’t have a bill that could only mean she had the means to pay in cash. He knew he’d been right all along about her old man having money. He’d probably left Danielle a small fortune. Hadn’t Danielle written that her father had bought a place just before he died? The situation reeked of cash and he had every intention of collecting the inheritance.

"I’ll need to say who charged these things," Silas prodded.

"Alan Self, Miss Alexander’s fiancé. We’ll be getting married soon."

His pronouncement was made with such confidence as though daring anyone to deny the fact.

"Don’t say?" Silas clenched his jaws to prevent the wrath he felt from flowing forth. Even the man’s name bespoke his attitude. Self. A fitting handle for one so self-centered. "Lots’a things can change in five months. Especially with women. Or so I’m told. Mayhap you’d best check with the lady before sending for the parson."

It did Silas a world of good to watch the color drain from that arrogant young face. At least it would give Mr. Self something to gnaw on for a bit. Before the shock wore off, Silas took the man by the arm and propelled him toward the open door. "As to bathing facilities, the only bath house this hell hole has is about a mile down the road. Just be careful of the water moccasins."

"Water... you mean snakes, sir?"

Once more, the color drained from those sunburned cheeks.

"What kind of establishment is this place, anyway?"

"Ain’t no establishment, mister. It’s a river. We yokels call it Boggy. And it’s fair crawling with them slippery varmints. Enjoy your bath, and be sure and give my regards to the bride-to-be."

Amidst chuckles and smirky grins, Alan Self mounted his lame mare and headed out of town before remembering he still didn’t know exactly where to find Danielle.

Turning in the saddle, he glanced back at the grinning group in front of the store. They were all pointing northeast. Well, it couldn’t be that hard to find, could it?

With as much dignity as he could muster, Alan prodded the mare, putting as much distance between himself and the jeering crowd as possible, wondering what the man had meant about checking with the lady. What could possibly have changed? After all, who else would look after Danielle now that her father was dead? She had no one else. Of course she would be waiting for him.

Long before daybreak, the rattle and clank of wagons departing the meadow could be heard above Clemmie Anderson’s moans.

Fear made cowards of the strongest among them. Fear of the known and the unknown. There wasn’t a man or woman in that wagon train who didn’t know about sickness. Especially the unfamiliar ones. Whole families had been wiped out in a handful of days by a malady no one knew anything about. There were enough risks ahead of them without staying here taking chances they didn’t have to take.

For more than seventy-two hours Danielle, and Dream Singer worked side by side with the mother of the sick girl, fighting against all odds to save her life.

Now with the night giving birth to a new dawn, Clemmie Anderson thrashed wildly about on the feather-filled tick mattress, her fever soaring. While Danielle bathed the girl’s body in a futile attempt to lower her temperature and ease her discomfort, Dream Singer was busy coaxing life into the dying embers in the fire pit outside. In the murky light of predawn, Dream Singer had gathered willow branches to brew a tea for the girl’s pain and to relieve the fever consuming her frail body.

Throughout the long days and even longer nights, the Anderson girl had endured alternating bouts of vomiting and diarrhea further weakening her already fever-ravaged body.

Exhausted, Mrs. Anderson lay sleeping beside her daughter, clutching her hand even in her sleep. Her distraught husband had taken their two younger children a short distance from their wagon and bedded them down while he paced, awaiting word of his daughter’s condition.

In spite of their best efforts, they were losing the battle, and Danielle and Dream Singer both knew it. Just as the last star twinkled out and disappeared in the morning light, Clemmie Anderson slipped away from her torment and misery and departed quietly into death. Together, the two women who had fought so diligently to save the young girl, bathed and dressed her, then combed her sweat-matted hair before waking the exhausted mother.

Mrs. Anderson’s wailing informed the other members of her family of their loss.

Samuel and Mary Anderson, along with their young sons, pulled out to resume their trek west before the sun reached its zenith. In the sheltering folds of a weeping willow, the Anderson’s left their young daughter. A simple wooden cross bearing Clemmie’s name, along with her date of birth and death carved in the raw wood, marked her resting place. The only reminder of their passing was a mound of moist dirt and a fistful of late-blooming wildflowers.

Danielle and Dream Singer watched the departing family until they were out of sight before turning sadly toward Danielle’s cabin.

Dream Singer’s steps lagged behind, a dread filling the crevices of her bones. She knew she courted destiny, still she couldn’t force the premonition of disaster from her thoughts. Clemmie Anderson had spent a great deal of time with Jettic. Whatever had made the girl ill had no doubt been in her system for some time. That meant, whatever it was, Jettic had been exposed to it. She must purify herself and make prayers to Wanka Tanka. Nothing must happen to the child she loved so dearly.

Danielle was halfway across the yard when she felt his presence. He had neither spoken nor made a sound by his approach, yet she knew Joel Riley was behind her. Exhaustion robbed her of the ability to wonder how she knew. It was enough, at the moment, that she knew. Her pace slowed, allowing him to fall into step beside her. His presence alone brought her comfort. She tilted her face toward him and smiled shyly, but did not speak.

"You look awful." His words were pushed past the tightness in his chest caused by the sight of her sleep-starved body. He wanted to place his arms protectively about her, to hold her close. To let her draw strength from him. Instead, he forced himself to walk beside her, seemingly unaffected by her weariness.

"Thanks. I knew I could count on you to cheer me up." Moments ago, his presence had brought her comfort and already she was sniping at him. Why couldn’t she simply enjoy his company? She ran her fingers through the tangled mass of her uncombed hair.

"Don’t start. You know what I mean. Sorry about the Anderson girl."

"Me too. We did all we...." Her voice trailed off and she felt her body spiraling earthward. Then she felt warm, strong arms encircling her as she descended into an abyss of blackness.

"What’s the meaning of this?" Venom filled the question. Joel turned toward the speaker and his gaze locked with a pair of cold, steel-gray eyes. He didn’t like what he saw. Nor did he care for the looks of the man himself. Without hesitation, Joel Riley fired his own query. "Who’s asking?" Still supporting the slight weight of Danielle’s body in his strong arms, he turned and continued toward the cabin without waiting for an answer.

"The lady’s fiancé."

The pronouncement halted Joel’s steps. Slowly, he turned to face the stranger. He had dreaded this moment for months. In fact, as time passed with no word of the elusive man who was to be Danielle’s husband, he had dared to hope the man would never appear. Knowing, even as he hoped, he had no right to deprive Danielle of a life of her own, even if that life included marrying someone else. Nevertheless, he had hoped.

Now he stood face to face with reality. This was the man who would possess the delicate body he cradled in his arms. A man who was free to make her his wife. Even so, the thought caused him anguish. With a deliberate effort, Joel forced his face to remain placid, his voice steady.

"She fainted from exhaustion. I was taking her inside out of the heat." His gaze drifted to the woman in his arms. Her golden tresses tumbled across his arm, her head nestled against his chest. Lifting his gaze, he met the inquisitive glare of the other man. "You could help by opening the door for me."

Gently, Joel placed his precious bundle in the center of the bed. Without thinking about his actions, he leaned down and withdrew the moccasins from her slender feet then began to slowly massage them.

"I’ll do that, if you don’t mind. After all, I’m to be her husband."

The sharp tone jerked Joel to his senses. "Yes, of course." Joel hadn’t felt this foolish since the age of eleven when his father had caught him in the barn kissing the neighbor’s daughter.

"Mama. Mama."

Both men turned as one at the sound of the child’s voice calling his mother. Joel Riley smiled at the toddler crawling toward him and held out his arms. Nathaniel wore only a smile. Danielle’s exasperation with his preference for removing his clothing had failed to prevent the youngster from doing so as soon as he was out of her sight. Joel chuckled silently, recalling the many battles she had lost over the remedy of Nathaniel’s clothing.

The toddler snagged the leg of Joel’s denim pants and pulled himself upward. Joel scooped him into his arms and hugged him affectionately. The warm honey of the child’s skin bespoke his dual heritage.

"Whose breed?" The crude question interrupted their exchange of greetings. Joel felt his entire body go rigid, but all he moved were his eyes.

"I’ve seen enough of those mixed-blood brats to know when I spot one."

The hostility and rudeness of the remark rankled Joel. Children were innocent of their parentage, and to hear the crude label applied to this child fired his already frayed aggressions at this stranger. But before he could reply, Nathaniel, apparently spotted the object of his search on the bed.

"Mama." His chubby arms reached for Danielle.

The color drained from the man’s face and his head whipped about as if to be certain he had not mistaken the child’s intent. Joel watched, amused by his reaction. The boy had called Danielle "Mama." There could be no misunderstanding that. Without giving thought to the possible consequences for Danielle, Joel prodded the coal of agitation sparked by the child’s innocent words. "Your mother is resting now. We mustn’t bother her." Then before the other man could find his voice, Joel stepped to the open door and called out, "Little Raven, can you keep an eye on Jettic for a little while?" He deliberately used the toddler’s Indian name, knowing it would add more confusion to the addled state of the other man’s mind.

A moan from the bed drew both men’s attention. Danielle aroused from her faint, turned her head toward where they stood, rubbed at her eyes. "Alan! Is it really you?" Then remembering her earlier concern, she turned her amber eyes to search the small room. Alarm raced through her tired body as she tried to sit up.

"Joel, where is Jettic? She struggled to put on her moccasins. "Is he all right?" In her concern for the child, she forgot her fiancé. "Where is he? I have to find him, make sure he isn’t ill. He could have the same sickness that took the Anderson girl."

"He’s fine. He’s with Little Raven." Joel gently eased her back down on the mattress.

"Don’t worry about the boy, I’ll see that he’s taken care of."

Apparently, hearing that Nathaniel was well and being cared for pushed the reality of Alan’s presence from her sleep-fogged mind, for she was asleep before Joel even draped the sheet over her. He turned. "I think we should let her rest now, Mister.... Sorry, I don’t believe I got your name."

"Self. Alan Self." The words were pushed between the thin, hard lines of his mouth. "And yours?"

Joel thought the name appropriate. The man’s demeanor certainly implied a bend toward self. "Riley. Joel Riley."

Joel Riley considered himself a fair-minded man, normally not prone to harsh judgment of others. He knew all too well the frailty of mankind and usually reserved calling a verdict on any man. But there was something about this Alan Self that rubbed against his natural grain. He couldn’t put his finger on a specific, just yet. But it was there, that immediate dislike, that intuitive gnawing at his gut. This individual rankled him. "I must have missed the questions." He knew his voice contained all the warnings that those who knew him well would have noticed already. But he didn’t attempt to alter his tone. "Let’s step outside. There’s no need to disturb Danielle." Joel didn’t wait for a reply. He navigated the distance from the bed to the porch with controlled ease.

"Just what are your relations with Danielle?" Alan asked, following closely behind Joel. "And who is the father of that half-breed brat?" Alan ran a finger around the tight collar of his shirt, easing the restrictive fabric a bit. He wasn’t used to being in such a delicate situation. But by damn, if Danielle had been unfaithful to him, he wanted to know. His own indiscretions mattered not at all. After all he was a man. It was expected that a man would sow his oats in a strange pasture now and then. But he’d not abide such latitude for his bride-to-be. Perhaps he’d underestimated her. Well, he’d soon have his answer or damn well know why.

"Which question did you want answered first?"

"Don’t push me, Mr. Riley."

"Push? Is that what you call it? I only wanted to cooperate with you and be sure I answered the right question." Noticing the man’s jaws clench and his nostrils flair, Joel continued. "Well, now, if I recollect right, the boy’s father was a Choctaw Indian. Unfortunately, he was killed before seeing his heir. The boy’s mother grieved sorely over his death." He didn’t bother elaborating on the child’s mother, he’d just let Mr. Self make his own deductions there. "As to my relationship to Danielle, well, let’s just say I’m a friend of the family." Eyeing the other man’s discomfort, he gouged a bit deeper. "I’m also her business partner."

Joel strolled to the open door and glanced quickly at the sleeping form who was the topic of their conversation. Satisfied Danielle was resting, he pushed his hat firmly down on his head and stepped off the porch, tossing a parting shot as he left. "Danielle sets great store on that boy. I’d watch calling him a breed in her presence. Mothers are protective of their young. Even against fiancés, I hear."

Streaks of violet mingled with rosy gold lanced the predawn sky, triggering protests from the nocturnal hunters. The protesting yip and howl of the coyotes and wolves called Danielle from sleep. Where in her first days alone here, those mournful cries had sent alarm racing along her spine, she now found it akin to music.

Momentarily dazed and disoriented, Danielle lay listening to the yowling choir in the distance, while outside her window, songbirds greeted the new day. A thought, a memory, something faint, kept nudging her to wakefulness. But whatever it was kept eluding her. She stretched lazily, then sat up on the side of the bed.

She slipped on her soft moccasins. She needed a cup of hot coffee. It wasn’t until she reached for her robe that she realized she was fully dressed. Bewilderment caused her to crease her brow while her mind raced frantically.

Then, like the waters of a spring flood, memories swirled. Alan. Had she dreamed it or.... She couldn’t complete the questions in her mind. Her gaze swept the room. There was no sign of him or anything to show he had been here. Her fingers raked through her hair. Surely she must have imagined him. She definitely needed a cup of coffee.

A sound from the porch halted her progress toward the coffeepot. With slow languid steps, she approached the closed door. Something akin to dread gripped her heart as she jerked the door open.

"Alan!" Her mouth formed the word but her mind took longer to grasp the fact. At her feet Alan lay huddled in a blanket to ward off the chill of the autumn air.

Strangers exchanged a more relaxed greeting.

Danielle handed Alan a steaming cup of black coffee. His unwavering gaze set her nerves on edge. Her hands trembled, causing her to slosh the hot liquid onto his hand. "Sorry. Here let me get a towel."

"Never mind," he snapped, wiping his hand on the leg of his rumpled pants.

"I am sorry. Would you like some breakfast?" She ran her hand across the front of her wrinkled dress, wishing she’d had an opportunity to change before confronting her guest. Since finding him unexpectedly on her doorstep, she’d been unable to think of him in any other term than a guest. His attitude and his appearance troubled her deeply.

"What I want are answers!" His unrelenting glare riveted Danielle in place.

Unconsciously, she twisted the ring on her left hand. "What sort of answers?" Her voice was weak, almost as weak as her knees. She poured herself another cup of coffee, more to have something to wrap her trembling hands about than a desire for the drink itself. Even though Alan’s gunmetal glare narrowed, she forced herself to hide her growing discomfort. She pulled out a chair and almost collapsed on it.

"What the hell’s been going on here since your father died?

The question hit her like a physical blow.

"First, you bombard me with letters, whining that you are alone, afraid. You need me to rush here and rescue you."

Danielle’s fingers locked about the cup, her jaw tightened, but she remained silent.

"Yet I arrive and find you surrounded by people who are obviously providing ample protection for you, and heaven only knows what else." His gaze swept the cramped room, lingering on the rumpled, unmade bed.

"You certainly don’t appear to be alone, nor afraid, judging from the tender little scene I witnessed yesterday when I arrived. In fact, you appeared quite comfortable in that man’s arms." It still rankled Alan when he recalled the sight of the tall, lean stranger cradling Danielle against his chest as if he had every right to do so. He damn well wanted to know just what part this man played in his fiancée’s life. Just what had she been doing while she waited for him to arrive? Or had she waited? He was glad now he’d arrived unannounced.

The malevolent tone of his words stunned Danielle. In silence she pondered the man to whom she was betrothed. Had he always been this belligerent or had something happened during his absence to change him so?

"Your silence is damning, my dear."

Danielle’s confusion became anger. "My silence is shock." Her hands shook until she had to place her cup on the table or drop it. "By what right do you come in here, months after I first summoned you, making accusations? Just what do you think has been going go?" Her chair scraped loudly on the bare wood as she pushed herself away from the table. "Never mind, I don’t think I’d be interested in your answer."

Her attitude surprised Alan, he’d never seen her like this. In St. Louis, she’d always been soft-spoken and serene, he’d never seen her unruffled by anything. His skepticism broadened, but he wasn’t about to let her old man’s fortune slip away from him so easily. After all, he’d invested too many years cultivating his way into Nathaniel Alexander’s trust. Now that the old man was out of the way, he wanted what he had worked for. Perhaps he should ease off a bit. Once they were married and the money his, she would be at his mercy. He could wait. With a forced smile, Alan held out his cup. "Got any more of that coffee?"

His question threw her off balance. She dutifully refilled his cup, but wondered what he was up to.

"Aren’t you going to join me?"

Danielle noticed that the smile on his thin lips didn’t reach his eyes, but before she could reply, she heard a familiar sound outside the open door and turned, expectantly. Nathaniel appeared in the shaft of sunlight lancing the doorway. As was his custom lately, he’d shed his restrictive clothing. Danielle automatically reached for the toddler, a smile of joy replacing the earlier tenseness of her features. "Good morning, Jettic."

Momentarily, she recalled her earlier concern over his exposure to whatever illness had taken the life of the Anderson girl. She must remember later to discuss with Dream Singer the precautions they might take to safeguard his health, though at the moment he looked perfectly healthy. "Ishka, impa." Though his vocabulary was limited, Nathaniel Jettic Alexander was already bilingual.

Danielle found that her own grasp of the Chickasaw language was growing along with that of her young charge so that when she responded to the youngster in that tongue she did so unconsciously. "Minti chumpolee chepotanugnee. Impache."

The verbal exchange between the two snapped the fragile rein of Alan’s self-control rekindling his fiery temper. "My Heaven! You even speak these heathens’ language." He pushed himself away from the table, causing the chair to overturn and crash to the floor.

The sudden movement and violent outburst sent Jettic scampering to Danielle’s protective arms. Danielle cradled the trembling child close to her chest. Nervously, she pushed her hair off her forehead, then drew a steadying breath and contemplated the man she was to marry.

A bobwhite’s plaintive call floated across the meadow, filtering into the tension-filled cabin. It reminded Danielle of the peacefulness she’d known here in the past few months. She had waited so long for this man to arrive, so certain that his mere presence would fill her with joy and delight. And instead of solving her problems, he was creating more.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Danielle replied, forcing the words around the knot in her throat, fiercely fighting back tears.

"What?" he shouted. "For starters, who does the breed belong to?"

His crudely worded question set Danielle’s nerves on edge and stiffened her resolve. Without a qualm, she replied in a tightly controlled voice, "Mine." It gave her a small measure of satisfaction when Alan blanched visibly.

"Yours? If that brat belongs to you, you were carrying him before I left St. Louis. What were you doing, seeing one of those young bucks that hung around the wharf?" he asked, contemptuously.

Danielle’s entire body snapped into rigidity. "I think you had best leave," she said, dryly. "I made a mistake sending for you."

"You made a mistake all right." His steel-gray eyes narrowed into slits as he studied her and the child. By sheer force of will, he softened his gaze as well as his voice, remembering this could still work to his advantage. After all, he reasoned, she still needed someone to take care of her. He could find a way to get rid of the breed later. "Well, I suppose until I know more about this situation I should wait to pass judgment."

"Judgment! You waltz in here five months after I wrote you that I was alone and needed you. And you want to pass judgment? How dare you? Just who do you intend to sit in judgment of? Me? This child? Who do you think you are, God?" she shouted, her simmering fury fast approaching a roiling boil.

"Okay, so maybe I spoke out of turn." He ran a hand through his hair and forced a smile. "You’ll have to admit, this is quite a shock for a man." He knew by the stubborn tilt of her chin he’d better talk fast and diffuse her temper quick or all was lost to him. "Is that offer of breakfast still good?"

Danielle drew a steadying breath and warily contemplated her fiancé. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders and nodded agreement. Surely it was the long, arduous journey that caused his words to be so caustic. She must remember he had traveled a great distance to come to her aid. Once he’d had a chance to rest from his tedious trip, he’d be the Alan she remembered. Then she’d explain the situation of Nathaniel to him. He’d be sure to understand once he was rested, she reasoned.

They both turned toward the door at the sound of approaching footsteps. Nathaniel scooted off Danielle’s lap and tottered for the door, yammering as he went. Danielle knew instinctively who was coming. Only Hunting Hawk or Joel Riley evoked such a response from the child, and it was too early for Joel.

She rose from the table and retrieved a cup and saucer from the shelf above the stove, then poured a half cup of the steaming liquid from the coffeepot. Long practice had taught her to leave ample room for the sugar the old man loved so dearly. She placed the saucer beside the cup.

Alan’s gaze drifted from the doorway to watch Danielle. She had changed so much. Her skin, once pale, now glowed with a warmth like new honey. There was a brightness to her golden eyes he’d never noticed before. And her figure had ripened in just the right places, prompting a desire to wrap his hands around those luscious mounds. Even her lips were fuller, more inviting than he remembered. A shadow fell across the table, drawing his thoughts away from her delectable figure. Irritated by the distraction, Alan turned.

Hunting Hawk’s regal frame filled the doorway as he waited, giving the youngster his full attention. Not until he had scooped the boy into his arms did the old man take notice of the other occupants of the room. An almost indiscernible frown creased his withered brow when he observed the new arrival.

Hunting Hawk needed no introduction to know who the steely-eyed man was. He knew Little Mother expected this man to come and take her away to the new land in the west. The place where the white man had found the yellow stones.

Seduced by the stones, the miners ripped and tore at the heart of Mother Earth, leaving in their wake destruction and waste with no regard for the sanctity of the land. The same stones they were willing to kill for.

With the passing of each moon he had doubted the probability of the unknown man’s return and secretly hoped he was right.

Squeezing the chubby body in his arms closer, almost protectively, Hunting Hawk advanced into the room. His gaze never wavered from the man who threatened all his plans.

Something about his eyes disturbed the old sage. The depth of their gray resembled the eyes of a stalking animal. The old man could almost smell evil lurking in the man’s glance. This man would bear watching.

The aroma of coffee pulled his thoughts from the white man.

"Who the hell is this?" Alan shouted, pushing his chair away from the table. "Are these heathens free to roam at will around here?" His hand reached for the gun concealed beneath his jacket. "Don’t they belong on a reservation or something?"

Sensing Alan’s intent, Danielle stepped between the two men and placed her hand on the bulge where Alan’s hand rested.

Hunting Hawk ignored the exchange and the offending words. He had met many such men in his time and no doubt would meet more. He silently shook his head in consummate weariness at the futility of arrogance and ignorance in mankind. "Ah, kuffi. Hunting Hawk stay."

He no longer waited for an invitation, but took a seat at the small table. Placing the child on his lap, he carefully removed the moist wad of tobacco from his mouth, then deposited it on the saucer before reaching for the container of his much-favored sugar. Nathaniel snuggled against the old man’s chest and plopped his thumb in his mouth.

"Alan, this is Hunting Hawk." Danielle handed her new guest a spoon then turned toward her fiancé. She chose her words carefully, emphasizing each one. "He and his people own this land. They have been gracious enough to lease it to me for a short time." She glanced at the old shaman who was busy scooping sugar into his mug and she smiled, broadly. "You might say he is my landlord."

"Heaven help us. Indians owning land! What’s the world coming to?"

"What indeed?"

Everyone in the room turned toward the voice.

Joel chuckled openly at the startled expressions on their faces. He had arrived in time to hear the crude remarks of Mr. Alan Self and felt his earlier assessment of him justified. The man was a first-class heel, and Joel couldn’t help enjoying his momentary discomfort. Never mind that he had no right to Danielle’s affections nor any claim to her, he couldn’t help but resent the man who did.

"Good morning, Mr. Self. I trust you slept well?" He knew better. Little Raven had already told him the white man had spent the night on the porch. That bit of news greatly improved Joel Riley’s mood. He tossed his hat across the room and watched it settle in the middle of Danielle’s unmade bed. Then he winked slyly at Hunting Hawk and ran a finger beneath Jettic’s chin, enticing a giggle. He turned a chair around and straddled it facing Danielle’s intended.

"Come, sir, you surely have an opinion on what we, as God-fearing Christians, should do with these uneducated heathens." He was thoroughly enjoying himself as he watched the other man’s jaws clench, forcing his lips into a thin, taut line.

"Let’s see, to date, we’ve herded them from one end of the country to the other, like cattle. We’ve forced them from their homes and hunting grounds...."

"We paid good American dollars for that land," Alan interrupted.

"Indeed, we did. I suppose that justifies everything, doesn’t it? For enough money, they should be willing to abandon their homes, their culture, and their freedom. After all, it’s in their best interest, isn’t it? You do agree that our government had their best interest in mind when they forced their will on these people, don’t you?" Without waiting for an answer, Joel turned his attention in another direction. "How about a cup of that delicious smelling coffee, sweetheart?" A smile spread across his face when Danielle turned white with suppressed rage.

"Get it yourself!" Danielle snapped, ripping an apron from the peg near the stove. Then with jerky movements, she tied the strings about her waist. "I have work to do. If you gentlemen will excuse me." With a flounce of her rumpled skirt, she fled the room, fiercely fighting to regain a semblance of composure.

What on earth did Joel Riley think he was doing calling her sweetheart? And in front of Alan at that? How dare he? Didn’t she have enough to worry about without him adding to her problems? Alan wasn’t helping any either. When had he changed so? She could understand his confusion about the situation he found her in. But instead of giving her a chance to explain, he continued to fire accusations at her. Now she also had to deal with Joel’s unwarranted behavior. Men. Sometimes she wondered why women found them so appealing. Right now, she found them, one and all, infuriating.

Even though she had escaped the confines of the tension-filled cabin, Alan’s voice followed her. "Be ready to leave by the end of the week. I don’t intend to waste any more of my time in this uncivilized huddle."

Danielle ignored his comments, though they caused a band of fear to grip her heart. Three days. How could she possibly be ready by then?

"Did you hear me?" Alan’s question floated to her amidst the haze of doubts forming in her troubled mind.

Somehow, Danielle managed to get through the day. She forced herself to stay busy, delaying the confrontation she knew would come. Sooner or later, Alan would demand answers. But how was she to answer his questions when she couldn’t even answer her own?

So many things had changed since her first missive beseeching Alan to come for her. Then she had been alone and afraid, certain, too, that her future was tied to his. They were engaged to be married. Wasn’t it natural for her to assume he would rush to her side in her time of need? But he hadn’t been there for her, and in the ensuing months, she had developed a sense of her own abilities to care for herself. There was also Nathaniel to consider. She loved the boy. What was she to do if Alan refused to accept the child?

She massaged her throbbing temples as she cast about for a solution to her dilemma. So far she hadn’t dealt with her own misgivings and doubts about Alan, or her confusing attachment for her handsome neighbor, Joel Riley.

Male voices drew Danielle’s attention and she glanced up from her work. She saw Joel, Alan in tow, touring the construction sight of their proposed stage stop. For the moment at least, the two men appeared amiable enough. Perhaps their earlier animosity had passed. She sincerely hoped so. Right now she had far more important things to deal with than the male ego.

"What will you do now?" Dream Singer’s voice intruded into Danielle’s musing.

"I wish I knew." With a half-smile, Danielle glanced at the young woman whom she now considered her friend. Often, she found herself wishing she could adopt the Indian woman’s simplistic view of life. Then with a mental shrug, Danielle dismissed the thought, realizing even as she wished it, her cultural background was too deeply embedded to disregard so easily.

Her gaze drifted back to the two men complicating her life. An aching emptiness invaded her body as she watched them stepping around the haphazard stacks of handmade bricks as they continued their inspection of the building site. Her gaze drifted beyond the pair. Hunting Hawk was helping Little Raven set up the planks that served as tables for the noonday meal. The pair laughed as they worked.

Something was missing from the scene.

Jettic!

She’d completely forgotten the child in the midst of her own misery. Quickly, she scanned the area. He was nowhere in sight.

"Dream Singer, have you seen Jettic? He was with Hunting Hawk when I left the house but, he’s not with him now." Panic raced through her body. It wasn’t like the toddler to not be with one of the adults. He normally stayed close by, never far from the loving attention showered on him.

"I haven’t seen him since early this morning. You look in the cabin. I’ll look at Little Raven’s. He can’t be too far away."

Dream Singer fought to keep the alarm she felt from growing. There was no need to borrow trouble.

When Danielle found the boy asleep in her bed, his thumb in his mouth, clutching the tattered remnant of the blanket he claimed as his own, a wave of relieve flooded her. She reached out to brush a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead. But her fingers faltered when she touched his flesh. His delicate skin was much too warm. She explored further and noticed that perspiration bathed his body. Fear clutched her heart. She recalled the Anderson girl and the unknown illness that had claimed her life. Dear Lord, not Nathaniel, she prayed, dashing to the open doorway and yelling for Dream Singer.

In less than a handful of minutes Dream Singer and Little Raven stood beside Danielle gazing at the sleeping child.

Their unspoken fears set the women to work. Little Raven fled to find her husband while Dream Singer went to gather her herbal remedies. Cody was dispatched to the depot to fetch the doctor. Danielle bathed the toddler’s body in an attempt to reduce his fever.

The tiny cabin soon swarmed with activity. Today, the laborers would have to fend for themselves for their lunch. The women had no thought other than the welfare of the sick child.

Morning slid into afternoon and afternoon slipped effortlessly into evening, and still the toddler failed to respond to their care. The three women took turns sitting with the feverish boy.

With the first rosy glow of dawn Nathaniel awoke. Danielle watched, hopefully, as he drained the small glass of water she offered him. He needed the fluid to replace that lost to the fever. She was about to awaken the others when she realized he had drifted back into his fever-induced sleep. That abruptly doused her brief flicker of hope. She walked wearily to the window. It somehow renewed her strength to watch the sun crawl above the treetops, reminding her that a new day brought with it the possibility of new hope.

Cody had been unable to find Doctor Fulsom the day before. Perhaps the doctor would arrive today. Mrs. Fulsom could only tell Cody that the doctor was on a call. She didn’t know when to expect him. Danielle uttered a silent prayer that the doctor would come soon. She was at a loss to know what else to do for the child. The doctor was her only hope.

A scraping noise beneath the window drew Danielle’s attention away from her prayer. Her gaze dropped to the porch. She saw Alan struggling to his feet. The tangled blanket made his progress difficult.

With an oath, Alan flung the offending object away from him. His boot heel caught in the blanket’s edge and nearly knocked him off balance.

Alan’s frenzied motions of frustration reminded Danielle of the ugly scene he had created last night. With everyone’s attention on the sick child, no one had given any thought to mealtime or to themselves. But apparently the same could not be said of the man being ignored by everyone present, including his fiancé.

"What do I have to do to be fed around here, put on a loincloth and feathers? I can’t believe you’re more concerned for that brat than you are for my needs. I’m glad your father’s not alive to see how rude your manners have become since living with these savages."

His caustic sarcasm about her father not being alive had struck Danielle cruelly, but she had forced her personal feelings aside, dreading a further display of his contemptible behavior. Even so, she had not been quite able to control her response to his rudeness completely. "Alan, you are a guest in my home. As such, you would normally be entitled to more consideration than I have been able to display.

"However, as you can see, I have a sick child that needs my attention far more than you do at the moment. And since I don’t see you attempting to be of any assistance in our efforts to treat his illness, I suggest you make yourself useful and fix your own meal or do without, whichever suits your needs."

She had watched him storm from the sickroom, mumbling about her loss of social graces. To be honest, until this moment, she hadn’t given him another thought. That did cause her a momentary twinge of conscious. Glancing quickly at the child resting peacefully on the bed, then at the two women asleep on blankets nearby, she decided to try to make amends. She ran her fingers through her tangled mass of curls, then tiptoed to the door.

Alan turned at the sound of wood scraping wood. The sight of her disheveled appearance renewed his resentment. She should be dressed in her best frock, her hair coiffured to perfection, eager to please him. Yet she stood there wearing the same bedraggled dress she’d worn since his arrival, her hair still uncombed. And by damn, she wore leather moccasins, like a squaw. Even so, he had to admit she was quite fetching. He wasn’t, however, about to let her off so easily after her behavior of last evening.

"Well, I see you’ve left the breed. Dare I assume it’s on my behalf?"

Danielle flinched inwardly at his crude remark. Despite his behavior, she felt she must try to be understanding of his feelings. If only for the sake of what he had once meant to her. Her mind halted abruptly as she realized the emphasis she had placed on the word once. For it was true, he no longer meant the same thing to her now. How long had she known, in her heart, that she didn’t love him? Maybe never had?

Alan cleared his throat as though to draw her attention back to him.

Danielle forced her eyes to meet his. Nervously, she pushed her hair off her forehead, then swallowed dryly and drew a steadying breath. "Alan, I’m sorry...."

"You should be." Sweeping his hat from the rocking chair, Alan clamped it firmly on his head, running his gaze up and down her frame. "You haven’t given me a moment of your time since I arrived. Even though I’ve ridden thousands of miles to get to you." He swept his arm toward the door, his index finger pointed accusingly. "I’ve been ignored because of a half-breed."

Then as if he’d just remembered something else, his eyes narrowed to slits and he held her with their hard glare. "I think it’s about time you explained your relationship to that kid, don’t you?"

Danielle felt her jaw tighten. Her fingers balled into tight fists in the folds of her skirt. Then, in a dangerously controlled voice, she replied, "I’ve told you. He’s mine. That’s all the explanation I feel necessary." She wheeled about intending to return to the cabin. His voice stalled her progress.

"Perhaps I should leave. It’s apparent that misbegotten spawn and your Indian friends, not to mention your business partner, mean more to you than I do."

"That is entirely up to you," she countered, icily. Two could play his game. If he thought a threat to leave would cause her to abandon her responsibility to Nathaniel, then he was sadly mistaken. Besides, she didn’t think he really meant it. Although she had seen a look in his eyes when he’d issued his ultimatum, a cold, calculating look, something she’d never noticed about him before. There seemed to be a lot about him she’d failed to notice.

"I surely hate to intrude on this tender little moment, but how’s our boy doing?"

Together Danielle and Alan wheeled toward the husky voice. Danielle was caught off guard by the sight of Joel Riley standing on the bottom step, a smile on his lips and a devilish gleam in his emerald eyes.

With a slight inclination of his head, Joel acknowledged her presence, then glanced at the rumpled man beside her.

"It would seem you had a rough night, my friend." Joel’s smile grew wider at Alan Self’s obvious discomfort.

"I am not your friend. And my comfort is no concern of yours." Alan nearly shouted his words. In an attempt to disregard the man’s presence, Alan turned to Danielle. "Since it appears I won’t be getting anything here for breakfast, I am going to that quaint little store down the road and see if I can get a bite to eat there."

He hazarded a quick glance at the infuriating man who still watched him. "You know, that place they call a community, though it hardly resembles more than a wide hole in the road." With a smirk, he dismissed Mr. Riley and returned his attentions to Danielle.

"Can I bring you back anything? Something to prepare for lunch, perhaps? I’ll just have the storekeeper charge it to your account as I did before."

"Charge?" The words struggled past the knot of rage in Danielle’s throat. "Silas let you charge purchases to me?" Disbelief filled her voice.

"Only after I informed him of whom I was. At first, he tried to tell me you didn’t have an account there." He stepped off the porch as he talked, apparently satisfied with himself. He glanced back as he added, "Of course, I told him that couldn’t be true. With your money, I knew you’d have a tab. Why else does one have money if not to be able to buy what one wants and pay for it later. That’s how I always do. The poor man must have taken me for a simpleton."

Danielle stood in shocked silence as Alan saddled his horse and rode off across the meadow toward the depot.

"Generous man, your fiancé," Joel said, mounting the steps to stand beside her. "Haven’t you told him yet?"

Shaking her head, Danielle glanced at Joel absently still stunned by Alan’s audacity. "Told him? What?"

"That there is no money. No inheritance, my dear. The man obviously thinks you have a bundle just waiting for him to get his hands on."

The reality of his words finally registered. "How do you know what my finances are?" she asked, her expression guarded.

"How I know isn’t important, is it? But I do know that you don’t have the kind of money Mr. Self believes you have."

"How long have you known?" She didn’t bother denying the truth of his statement. Self-consciously, she brushed at the wrinkles in her dress, only now aware of how awful she must look with her dress draped in wrinkles and her hair uncombed. All the time she had been talking with Alan she hadn’t been concerned about her appearance. Why did it suddenly matter now?

"Since the first day we met." His eyes held hers, refusing to allow her to look away. "But it didn’t matter to me that you were destitute. It wasn’t your money, nor the lack of it, I found fascinating." He smiled broadly and reached for her hand.

"Danielle, he’s not for you. You must know that. The man’s so self-centered he can’t see beyond his own selfish desires. Otherwise, he’d have seen by how you live here that you’re not wallowing in wealth." He squeezed her hand. "Admit it, and send him on his way."

His words had a ring of truth to them Danielle couldn’t deny, yet it troubled her that Joel, of all people, was aware of it. The gleam in his green eyes did wild things to her heartbeat. It was also difficult to breathe with him so near. She looked away from his ruggedly handsome profile. With a tug, she pulled free of his strong, capable hands. She must remove herself from his blatantly virile grasp. Even his eyes appeared to caress her. It would be dangerous to remain here alone in his presence. Before she could step away, his arms locked about her and pulled her against his hard frame. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. "Send him away, Danielle."

His voice was barely a whisper in her ear. His hand stroked the back of her neck, drawing her closer. Closer to those sensual lips that even now brushed against her forehead, her nose, her cheek. She felt the solid muscles of his chest beneath her hands, those hands that should be pushing him away. Instead, they remained between them, unresisting.

When he didn’t say anything else, she dared to raise her gaze to meet his, and met his lips as they descended on hers.

His lips were moving and probing in a kiss that was lazily coaxing. She felt marked by his kiss, marked permanently as his possession. Slowly, she felt the rigid tension leave her body, and she melted against his chest.

Sheltered in his warm embrace, she drew a deep breath to calm the erratic beating of her heart. His essence filled her nostrils, scents of leather, wood shavings, and the warm fragrance of his flesh. She felt his heart against her cheek, beating as rapidly as her own.

It felt so right here in his arms. Just for a moment, she allowed herself to forget, to flow with the feeling that she belonged in these strong, reassuring arms.

"Send him away, Danielle. You should be with someone who appreciates you. Someone who loves you." His voice was husky with emotion as he whispered his plea against her ear, as he nibbled at the lob, causing her to draw in her breath in a gasp. It was so tempting.

"I love you, Danielle. Heaven knows, I’ve tried not to, but there it is. I love you."

His words were like cold water doused in her face; reality intruded. He’d finally said the words she’d dreamed of hearing, words she knew she had no right to hear and he had no right to say. With sheer force of will, she forced his arms to release her. Then she stepped back from his reach. It was madness to remain too near the temptation he presented. One of them had to remember that neither of them was free.

Softly, she cleared her throat, trying to rid herself of the weakness his kiss had created in her body, hoping to put conviction she didn’t truly feel in her voice. "I am engaged to Alan. You have no right to speak like that. It is for me to decide who I send away." With the back of her hand she shaded her eyes and glanced into the distance at the figure disappearing in the tree line. In her heart she knew he was right. Alan wasn’t the man for her. And this man could never be hers. She didn’t tell him she had already decided she could not marry Alan. Nothing would be served by telling him. It would change nothing.

She did resolve to face Alan with her decision to end their engagement as soon as he returned. That much she owed him. Honesty.

Though she didn’t glance in his direction, she knew Joel watched her, waiting. In that moment, she made another decision. She must leave this... this man, somehow, some way. Her heart belonged to Joel already, but his marriage meant she never would. She kept her back to him, fearing to face him. Fear that if she looked into those green eyes, her resolve would melt away.

Without comment, Joel watched both his beloved and the departing man who didn’t deserve her loyalty. Then with a shrug of his shoulders, he stepped off the porch, mounted his horse and rode off. Perhaps he’d pushed her too hard, too soon. Perhaps she didn’t return his love.

An hour past the sun’s zenith, Nathaniel’s fever soared. He refused all food and no longer even accepted the water they offered him. He drifted in and out of consciousness, whimpering softly in his restless, fever-induced sleep.

Danielle was only faintly aware when the sounds of labor at the building site vanished. She guessed Joel had sent the workers home with orders not to return until the child recovered. He probably hoped the cessation of hammers and saws would allow the youngster to rest. It was a futile effort, but he no doubt had felt compelled to try anything at that point. It seemed his every thought and deed was for her and Nathaniel’s benefit.

Alan returned from the depot with his saddlebags laden with food, charged to her, no doubt. In an obvious attempt to cause her discomfort with an additional load of guilt, he set about preparing his own meal. Amidst the rattle of pans and oaths, Joel approached him with an unexpected offer.

"Mr. Self, I’ve been remiss in my manners. I should have thought of it sooner, but with Nathaniel being sick...well, I’m certain you understand." Joel ran a callused hand through his hair as he sought to control his voice. It went against all he stood for to offer hospitality to such a man as Alan Self, but if it would ease Danielle’s burden, he would force himself to do what he could. Glancing quickly at the sick child on the bed and the young woman seated on a chair, her shoulders slumped from fatigue, he swallowed his indignation and continued. "I’m offering you the hospitality of my home, sir. As I said, I should have thought of it sooner. I have servants who will gladly see to your comforts."

Alan opened his mouth as if to speak and was halted by Joel’s rush of words as he hastened to stall any protest. "It’s a large house. You’ll have the run of the place. My wife will be glad to welcome you. She doesn’t see too many people."

Joel glanced quickly in Danielle’s direction after mentioning Jenny. He hated the necessity of reminding her of his marital status. She had no way of knowing his marriage had ceased being a real marriage more than four years before. In all that time, he’d never felt the need or desire to make a change in his situation. He felt that now, both the need and desire. Especially, the desire.

"You see, she’s an invalid. In fact, you’d be doing me a favor if you’d accept my offer. I don’t like leaving her alone there."

The speed with which Alan accepted Joel’s offer shocked Danielle. But at least it would free her of his constant bickering and demands. It also meant there would be no time to speak with Alan about her decision to end their engagement.

Alan left within the hour. When he rode out of the yard, he called back over his shoulder, "This doesn’t alter my plans. Two days, that’s all the time I intend to waste here."

Joel sent word by Alan to his foreman to send him a change of clothes and to post extra guards about the main house. He wouldn’t be returning home until the crisis here was past. He didn’t dare stop to consider what Jenny would think of his absence. At the moment, he didn’t care. That realization troubled him only briefly. For now, his only concern was the small boy who had captured his heart as completely as the young woman who claimed the child as her own despite his dual-heritage. Fleetingly, Joel tried to imagine his own wife giving of herself so selflessly. But even in imagination, the picture wouldn’t fit Jenny Riley.

Danielle’s brain was numb with worry and fatigue. The days and nights she’d spent with the Anderson girl had left her drained just when she needed her strength most. She couldn’t remember when she’d eaten last, nor did it seem to matter any longer. Her own discomfort was secondary to that of her young son.

A brief glance about the silent room revealed that she and Nathaniel were alone, but before she had time to wonder where the others were, she heard the front door scraping against the bare floor. She turned to find Hunting Hawk framed in the doorway. His normally erect body slumped wearily as he quietly entered the room and stood beside the bed where the boy lay.

"Soul off balance, make boy sick." His clipped words were pronounced slowly, carefully.

Confused, Danielle glanced from the aged shaman to the sick child. "I don’t understand. What has his soul to do with his being ill?"

"You have cheekily kuffi?"

"Of course, I’ll get you a cup."

Danielle retrieved a mug from the shelf, then poured coffee to the halfway mark, leaving plenty of room for the old man’s beloved sugar.

"Come. Drink your coffee and explain what you meant about his soul being out of balance." She placed the cup and cone of sugar on the table and waited while Hunting Hawk shuffled across the bare plank floor.

With a groan, he seated himself, then flipped her a weak smile. His knotty fingers grasped the cone of sugar and held it firm while he scrapped a generous amount of the delicacy into the black, bitter liquid in the cup. Danielle waited until the ritual was complete before prompting him for the meaning of his earlier statement.

"Now will you tell me?" she prodded.

"While Grandfather Sun blessed the day with light, I prayed. Man-child’s spirit grieves. He hear tension in those he loves. No laughter, only sadness. Is bad medicine."

"He’s only a child. How...."

With a gesture of his knobby hand, Hunting Hawk halted her inquiry. "All things know love. All things know fear. The number of summers and winters matter not, they are known even in the womb." His nut-brown face turned toward the bed where the child lay and Danielle noticed the slight frown that creased his brow as he studied the tiny form.

Without glancing away, he continued, "My people know and understand balance. Mother Earth gives us life. We live with land, not off it. We are Keepers of Land. When we take from her, we give back and say ‘thank you’ to Great Spirit. Is same with people." He shifted his position on the hard chair, then let his gaze drift to the young woman he’d learned to respect.

"Man must give of self to others. Cannot always take. Must give something back. Balance. Even child understand. But his life no more balanced. He hears anger and bitterness in the voices around him. He fears."

There was no denying the truth of his words. The past week had been sheer chaos, even Danielle had felt the strain. But she’d had no idea Nathaniel felt it also. Her own weakened condition after the ordeal with the Anderson girl had left her snappish. Alan’s unannounced arrival with his barely veiled innuendoes and the friction between Alan and Joel, she had seen schoolboys exhibit more control than those two. It was enough to cause an imbalance in anyone. Even so, she wasn’t fully convinced that was the cause of Nathaniel’s illness.

At the same time, she couldn’t totally dismiss the possibilities either.

Raking her fingers through the mass of curls falling about her shoulders, she prodded deeper. "How do we restore this balance you speak of?"

Slowly, Hunting Hawk ran a bony finger around the bottom of the empty cup seeking any stray granule of sugar he may have missed. He smiled when he found the grainy texture he sought. His smile became broader as he plopped the finger containing the meager droplets into his mouth. Licking his lips, he gave a resounding smack in appreciation, then his features became serious once more.

"I pray for power. First I fast and purify myself." He glanced quickly at the toddler, then continued. "Will take time. Cannot rush. Be worse for boy if spirits angered by careless haste. I go now. You stay close. Jettic know, even in sleep, when love is near." The old shaman rose slowly, allowing his rheumatic knees to grow accustomed to his weight.

Danielle heard the snap and crack of his aged bones.

The day seemed endless; the night even more so.

Nathaniel showed no sign of improvement. Danielle consoled herself with the fact that he also had not worsened.

Throughout the night, she sought to sort out the dilemma in which she found herself embroiled.

Her emotions were battling over two men, very different in nature, temperament, and availability. Yet each, in his own way, held a claim on her.

Joel Riley was beyond her reach. There was no denying the fact of his marriage. No simple thing, in and of itself, but his wife was also an invalid. Even if he were the type to leave his wife, and she knew without asking he wasn’t, there was no way she could bring herself to consider such a thing. Though in her heart, she knew without question he was unhappy in his marriage. His wife, nevertheless, had first claim to him. There were too many obstacles between them.

Then, of course, there was Alan. She had committed herself months ago to marrying him. It had been her father’s desire to see the two of them wed. At that time, it hadn’t seemed to matter, one way or the other. After all, she liked Alan. So in the end, she had respected her father’s wish by agreeing to his choice. Now, however, she had serious doubts as to the wisdom of that decision made so long ago. What did she really know about Alan? His behavior since his arrival had displayed a side of him she’d never seen before. And in all honesty, she couldn’t say she cared for what she’d seen.

She kept recalling the moment when he’d issued his ultimatum concerning his intentions to depart within a few days. There had been something about him that reminded her frightfully of the panther in her dream. It was his eyes, their normal silver-gray were limned with a strange yellow color.

But what of her commitment? Would it be honorable at this late date to break her vow? The sharp talons of indecision clawed deeply into her consciousness throughout the endless hours of darkness.

Toward dawn, Danielle drifted into a troubled sleep, having made a firm decision about her situation. Honorable or not, she knew she couldn’t marry Alan. She would follow her earlier plans and leave here. Where she would go, she had no idea. Nor how.

Nathaniel’s soft whimpers awoke her. His hot, clammy flesh renewed her alarm. Hastily, she turned up the wick on the lamp. In its bright glow she searched his feverish body, hoping to find no evidence of the disease so dreaded by the Indians. Smallpox. She had heard many stories of its horrible destruction of whole clans. While smallpox was a fearsome foe to the whites, it was fatal to the Indians, who apparently had no natural immunity to its ravaging effects.

Satisfied when she found no telltale signs, she rocked him until it mollified his restlessness and he drifted off to sleep again.

It was while putting him to bed she heard Hunting Hawk and his grandson, Cody Blackowl, greeting the morning with their prayer song.

Over the months she had become accustomed to this daily ritual. But this morning there was something different about the singsong chant. It was not the joyful greeting offered to the Great Spirit. Instead, the prayer had a mournful wail in its tone.

Curious, Danielle opened the shutters and glanced out. It surprised her to find the two men seated before a newly erected dwelling in the front yard. The skin-draped mound had only a small opening which faced east. Before the odd shaped structure a fire burned brightly in a shallow fire pit where small stones heated in the flames.

Fascinated, Danielle watched, clutching the thin robe about her body against the chill of the predawn air.

Once the prayer ended Hunting Hawk stood up slowly, allowing the kinks in his knotted muscles to free themselves after the prolonged cramped position of prayer.

It was no longer an easy matter to rise from his prayers. His body protested vigorously.

He waited patiently for the rigid tension to depart his leg muscles. Then he dropped the buffalo robe from his shoulders and stood naked in the glow of the fire, his arms raised toward the golden orb in the east.

Danielle felt no shame at the sight of the naked form beside the fire. Instead, there was something masterful and regal about the movements of the aged man bathed in the glow of the rising sun and the firelight.

She watched as he dropped a fistful of sweet grass onto the flickering flames. As the swirl of smoke rose from the smoldering grasses, the nude figure stepped closer to the rising cloud. Using both hands, he reached out as though to grasp the fragile wisps. With cupped hands, he proceeded to bathe his entire body in the fragrant breath of the sacred smoke.

Mesmerized by the ritual, Danielle was certain she had never witnessed such a moving sight. And though she wasn’t certain of its purpose or meaning, she felt deeply moved as though she were witnessing something holy.

Once he completed the symbolic bath, Hunting Hawk bent forward and entered the skin-draped mound. Danielle was further mystified when Cody began passing the heated stones into the shelter, using two short sticks like tongs to accomplish the feat. After all of the stones were removed from the fire pit, Cody brought skins of water to the opening of the odd looking lodge. Never once did he enter, he only went as far as the skin-draped doorway to deposit his burden, then retreated a short distance where he hunkered down to wait.

Danielle noticed small pockets of vapor escaping around the edges of some of the skins. She wondered what Hunting Hawk was doing in there. Feeling guilty for watching without their knowledge, she quietly closed the wooden shutters.

She glanced about the crowded room, then at her reflection in the small scrape of a broken mirror tacked to the wall. Her eyes held the reflected image: gaunt-faced, hollow eyed, matted uncombed hair. She hardly recognized herself, but the sight was enough to spur her into action. Now while she was still alone, she would make an effort to at least make herself look presentable.

Once her toilette was complete, Danielle made a fresh pot of coffee. While she waited for the brew to boil, she checked on Nathaniel. He still slept, though restlessly, tossing his small head from side to side, whimpering softly.

Surely the doctor would arrive soon.

Danielle poured herself a mug of coffee and went out to sit in the morning sunshine on her favorite rocker. No sooner had she taken her seat than she noticed Hunting Hawk departing toward the river, still naked.

Within moments of Hunting Hawk’s departure, Dream Singer arrived with a tray of hot fry-bread and pumpkin soup. Danielle followed her inside. "You must eat," her friend declared, placing the meal on the table.

Without comment, Danielle filled a plate. Her empty stomach grumbled loudly in response to the tempting aroma of the food. Both women laughed softly, breaking the silence. While Danielle ate, Dream Singer fed small sticks of wood to the glowing embers in the stove, then slid the coffeepot over the dancing flames to heat. Once the liquid was bubbling, she filled two mugs and joined her friend.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"What?"

"Whatever is bothering you. And I don’t mean Jettic’s illness. You do not hide your emotions well."

"I had a dream." She took a sip of coffee, wondering how to explain the strange illusions she’d seen.

"I know."

"How could you know? I haven’t mentioned it to anyone."

"I do not ask how. It is why I am called Dream Singer. I have dream visions. It is a gift I did not seek. And often, one I wish I did not have." The young, Indian woman glanced away to gaze out the open window. The dawn had changed the brooding night clouds to airy lavender wisps, brightening the treetops with bronze and radiant gold. Dream Singer turned from the view. Her hand reached out and clasped Danielle’s in reassurance. "The People believe dreams are like songs: as long as you sing, as long as someone knows the songs and sings the songs, the world will not die." She smiled and lifted her shoulders, "I am their dream-singer. I do not always understand the visions given to me. Even so, I do not doubt the reality of the signs from the other world given through dreams. It is rare, but not unheard of, to share another’s message. I have waited for you to mention yours."

"I don’t understand how that can be."

"Neither do I. But you want to know what it means, right?"

Danielle nodded.

"I have given much thought to the events you saw and have sought answers from the Eagle Spirit who is my spirit guide. The explanation is quite simple. You have a choice to make."

Dream Singer rose from her seat and stepped away from the table and the other woman. Concentration marred her brow, creasing it with wrinkles. Her words must be chosen with care. "In your dream, you were shown two paths. One appeared serene, barrier-free. The other, filled with nettles and obstacles. You took the grassy, flower-filled meadow, instead of the brier-covered passageway. You, like most who are not of The People, ignored the spirit guide sent to show you the way."

"The red-tailed hawk! I remember now. He kept circling overhead, then diving toward a brier thicket."

"What else do you remember?"

Danielle stood, glanced quickly toward the sleeping infant, then paced the small area between the table and the stove. Something eluded her. What? She refilled her mug with the brew that was now too bitter to enjoy.

"The man!" Coffee sloshed from Danielle’s cup at her sudden movement, she ignored it. "In the meadow, I met Koi, a beautiful, golden panther who would have pounced on me but for the hawk. But inside the copse of brambles there was a man standing in the light, beckoning me. I felt I would be safe if only I could get to him and the light." With a thud, her coffee mug hit the table. "Dream Singer, what does it mean? Koi and the man in the light."

"They are your future. Your dream is telling you that what appears the safe, simple way is not always what it appears. Often, we must take risks to attain true happiness."

"Now you’re speaking in riddles."

"Let your heart guide you. You have seen and felt the danger. You have also felt safe and secure. It is up to you to choose the path you will pursue. Do not be afraid to follow your heart, even when the pathway may appear impossible." Without further comment, Dream Singer collected the tray and departed.

Danielle felt more confused than ever.

For the rising and setting of four suns, Hunting Hawk refused food, taking only an occasional sip of water. When Danielle voiced her concern for his health, Little Raven explained.

"No worry. While he prays, he fasts. Must clean body. Free impurities so his spirit can speak with Great Spirit, make sacrifices. Mind and heart must be pure."

Danielle walked through those days in a haze of confusion.

While Joel Riley’s foreman sent word daily that all was well at the ranch and that his houseguest was still present, Alan had not returned, nor had he sent her any word.

She was left to wonder, though fleetingly, about his plans for departure. Each new day brought fear of his sudden arrival, demanding that she leave with him. Her relief at his extended absence caused her only brief moments of guilt. For her decision was made and final, she would not go with Alan.

She would leave, of course. When Nathaniel was well, she would take him and find a new place for them to live. Nathaniel was truly and completely hers and no one could force her to give him up. She would find a way to support herself and the child alone. After all, hadn’t she already done so for months without Alan’s aid?

Shortly after noon of the fifth day of Nathaniel’s illness, Doctor Fulsom finally arrived. After careful examination, he pronounced the child free of any known disease but had no explanation for his condition.

Danielle’s offer of payment caused the doctor’s brow to lift slightly. "Young Woman, you amaze me. I know, and so does most of the community at the Depot on Boggy, that you take in sewing to support yourself and that child over there." The doctor looked toward the bed. "In spite of Hunting Hawk’s trickery." He faced Danielle again. "You know, most of us, both white and red, speculated on how you would handle that matter. Most of us assumed that sooner or later you would return or just abandon the mix-blood child." He rubbed the tips of his fingers over his forehead. "Over the months when you not only kept the infant, but cared for him as though he were your own by birth, you gained respect from members of both communities."

"That’s...."

"Wait," Doctor Fulsom, said, "Money is a commodity in short supply in this household if I’m any judge of the situation. That little fellow is mighty blessed he lives in a house so wealthy in love. I’d much rather have a mug of that coffee, if you don’t mind. It’s been a long night. I came here straight from the Levi place. Haven’t even had time for a cup of my favorite brew."

More than a little embarrassed by the doctor’s remarks, she filled a mug with steaming coffee. "Then you haven’t had lunch. Let me fix you a plate."

"Coffee is fine. If I eat now, I wouldn’t be able to sleep, and I intend to fall into bed as soon as I get home," Doctor Fulsom replied, accepting the mug. He glanced again at the bed where Nathaniel lay. "If he gets worse, send Blackowl for me immediately. I wish there was more I could tell you about his condition, but even we doctors don’t know everything."

The doctor was taking his leave when Joel Riley stepped into the room.

Removing his hat, he extended his hand in greeting. "Howdy, Doc, how’s the boy?"

Doctor Fulsom’s obvious surprise at seeing the rancher here caused him to falter in his response. He coughed lightly, to cover his lapse. "No change, Joel. Sorry, I can’t be more specific, but I have no idea what ails the boy. I’ve instructed Miss Alexander to send for me if there’s any change. How’s your missus? She hasn’t sent for me in some time now. I hope she’s well?"

Joel fumbled with his hat, refusing to meet the doctor’s gaze. "She’s fine, Doc. Went away to them hot springs in Arkansas Territory a few months back."

"Oh, I hadn’t heard you’d been away. Business keeps me so busy I never know what’s going on around here half the time. Did you enjoy your trip?"

"No, I mean," Joel looked from the doctor to Danielle, then back again. "I didn’t go."

At the doctor’s quizzical expression, Joel hastily explained, "Her maid went with her. It was her wish, you understand."

"I see. But considering that unfortunate incident four years ago, I’d never have thought Jennifer would make such a long trip without you beside her. Perhaps she is improving at last."

Danielle noticed Joel’s obvious discomfort with the doctor’s conversation. No doubt he didn’t want his wife’s history discussed in Danielle’s presence. Or did he, too, have suspicions about Jennifer’s condition?

"Well, folks, I must be on my way. I hear my bed calling me." Doctor Fulsom shook hands with Joel and tipped his hat to Danielle, then departed.

Together, they watched him ride off on a horse that appeared as bone-weary as the man he carried. As the doctor disappeared into the tree line, Danielle asked, "What’s really wrong with your wife?"

Stunned by her question, Joel shrugged his shoulders before he found his voice to reply, "She can’t walk."

Danielle moved to the stove, lifted the burner cap, added a small stick of wood to the wood box, then placed the coffeepot on the burner. "I know that much. But why can’t she walk? Danielle realized she was prying, but she needed to know. "What if she ca...."

"Don’t heat any coffee for me. I have to ride in and get a few supplies. I noticed you’re low on sugar and when Hunting Hawk ends his fast, he’s going to want to treat himself." Without waiting for her to reply, Joel turned and fled the small room.

Danielle’s unfinished question rang like a steeple bell in the silence he left behind.

What if—

Amidst the clip-clop of the departing hoofbeats, a new sound penetrated Danielle’s awareness. She stepped to the open door and saw Hunting Hawk, arrayed in his finest leather leggings, beaded moccasins, and turkey-bone breastplate. A notched raven feather adorned one slender braid of his gunmetal hair. A bear-claw necklace hung about his wrinkled neck.

As Danielle stood wondering at his fine dress, she saw him pick up a fur-wrapped bundle near his feet. Then with gentle, almost reverent motions, he carefully unrolled the parcel. He lay the fur wrap aside and withdrew a long-stemmed pipe. Even from that distance, she saw the elaborate carving on the stem. Twin eagle feathers swung from a leather thong tied at the base of the pipe bowl. Fascinated, Danielle watched.

From another leather case, the old shaman withdrew a packet. With great care, he released the thong holding the pouch closed, then reached inside. He held his hand over the fire and released fine strands of tobacco into the flames. Again, he withdrew a pinch of tobacco and tossed it to the four sacred corners of the universe. Only then did he fill the pipe’s bowl. Danielle watched him pull a twig from the fire pit, then hold it to the bowl of the pipe. Once puffs of smoke rose from the carved bowl, he tossed the brand back into the hot coals and turned toward the house.

Self-conscious at being caught spying on him, Danielle whirled about and busied herself with useless tasks. Well aware of when he entered the room, she, nonetheless, waited for him to speak before she turned around.

"I smoke pipe for man-child. Medicine pipe sacred to The People. Pipe’s Spirits chase off evil that bring sickness to his soul."

He made his pronouncement solemnly as though expecting objections from her. But how could she object? The doctor hadn’t been able to help. What harm could smoking a pipe over him do?

Danielle nodded her assent as she stepped out of his way unaware of the singular honor he had bestowed on her by not asking her to leave while the ceremony was performed.

First, Hunting Hawk bent over the child’s prone figure then spoke softly to him. His words failed to reach Danielle. He then held the elaborately carved, red stone pipe above the bed, its stem pointed toward the heavens as he chanted a prayer. Then drawing deeply on the pipe, the shaman expelled the sacred smoke as he pointed the pipe stem in the four sacred directions.

From the thong about his waist, he withdrew an eagle feather fan and waved it above the sleeping child, chanting as he did so.

Then to Danielle’s surprise, Hunting Hawk turned toward her, the pipe in his outstretched hands. "Little Mother join me in prayer."

Uncertain of what he meant, she stepped closer. Hunting Hawk took her hand in his and wrapped her trembling fingers about the warm bowl of the pipe. His eyes held her gaze as though searching for something. Then, as though satisfied with what he saw in her eyes, he nodded and smiled broadly.

"You pray now. Great Spirit hear."

Danielle held his unwavering gaze and did as he instructed. She prayed.

Before she uttered more than half a dozen words, she felt a warmth from the pipe enter her hands then travel upward into her arms until the warmth filled her chest. Her head felt light; her body weightless as peace flooded her being. She was only slightly aware that her prayer had become one with his. Though she didn’t know his language, she was nonetheless praying in his tongue. There was an unearthly quality about the ceremony she couldn’t explain. Nor did she care to at the moment, she felt as though she were in the presence of something holy.

Still smiling, Hunting Hawk glanced at the young boy on the bed then back at Danielle. "You rest now. Jettic be hungry when he wakes up."

As he turned to leave, he gently rubbed his stomach and chuckled. "Me hungry now. I go find Little Raven."

Dream Singer arrived soon after the old man’s departure.

"You rest. I’ll sit with Jettic. Hunting Hawk says his spirit will heal now."

Emotionally drained, Danielle did as she was bid. She removed her moccasins and lay down beside the beloved child and soon drifted into a peaceful sleep.

It was nearing four o’clock when the hoofbeats of a fast approaching horse awakened her. She scrambled from her bed, and together, she and Dream Singer raced to the open doorway. They watched as Joel Riley sprinted into the yard on his lathered horse.

Without bothering to tether the animal, he leaped up the front steps to the porch waving an envelope in his hand.

"It arrived. It’s finally official. We have the contract for the Butterfield Stage stop." With a whoop, he scooped Danielle up in his arms and twirled her about. "Partner, we’re in business." His arms clasped her closer. "How’s our boy?"

His body pressed so close to hers caused Danielle’s heart to beat like a thunder drum. "Joel, put me down." He gently set her on her feet and grinned broadly at her obvious discomfort. Avoiding his knowing eyes, she said, "Nathaniel is resting now. His fever broke."

"That’s great!" Glancing around at Dream Singer, he smiled at her weakly, then turned his attention back to Danielle. "Well, aren’t you excited?"

"Yes, of course, I am. I’m proud for you." Her hand brushed feebly at the wrinkles in her skirt. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

"For me?" he asked, astonished by her nonchalant attitude. "It’s for you, too."

"I’ll be leaving soon. You know that."

Dream Singer silently stepped around the couple, leaving them alone to work out their problems. If she stayed, she’d be tempted to sway her friend into listening to the rancher. It was obvious to everyone but Danielle that he was in love with her.

"Leaving?" Joel removed his hat and ran a hand around the brim as he studied her. "You mean you’re going through with it? You’re actually going to marry that pompous ass?" He swung away from her, gazing out over the grassy meadow in the distance. He stood like that a moment, then shook his head and turned back to face her.

"Danielle, I thought you’d seen your Mr. Self for what he really is. He’s filled with his own self-importance, he thinks only of himself. What of Nathaniel? Will you leave him behind? Alan Self will never consent to...."

"Stop it!" Danielle interrupted his rapidly fired questions. "You have no right to make my decisions for me." Daring to meet his gaze, she lifted her head. "What of Jenny?"

He flinched visibly at her question.

In his excitement about the contract, which would solve Danielle’s financial difficulties, he had indeed forgotten his own marital status and obligations. She was right, of course, to remind him he wasn’t free. It momentarily pained him that he’d needed the reminder.

Before either of them could break the strained silence that nearly choked them, they heard the pounding of hoofbeats approaching at a fast pace.

As one, they turned toward the sound, uncertain which one of them welcomed the distraction most.

Danielle shaded her eyes with the back of her hand trying to identify the rider. Because of the flapping skirts, she was able to detect that the person was female. "Who is it?"

"We’ll know in a minute, I suppose." Joel slapped his hat on his head and stepped off the porch to await the approaching rider.

Moments later, he muttered, "It’s Etta. Now what’s wrong?" Joel swore softly as he watched his wife’s maid drawing closer.

The innocence of his words caused a knot in the pit of Danielle’s stomach. Somehow, she wished he hadn’t asked.

"What do you mean, she’s gone? Gone where?"

Etta backed up, putting distance between them. Never, in the four years she’d been in his employee, had Joel Riley raised his voice to her in either anger or rage. But she saw those twin passions battling for dominance now.

Danielle could only watch in stunned silence.

Obviously still wrestling with his emotions, Joel tied the reins of Etta’s horse to one of the porch posts. He patted the animal on its rump then turned toward the frightened Indian woman. Forcibly, he controlled the tremor in his voice. "Etta, exactly what happened? You’re rambling like a hysterical female."

Danielle didn’t envy Etta. In fact, she felt a touch of sympathy for the Indian maiden. She wondered, briefly, if the young woman recalled their previous meeting. Her flighty attitude had matched Jennifer’s. Etta had obviously enjoyed hers and Dream Singer’s discomfort that day. Still, Danielle couldn’t help but wish she could somehow come to the young woman’s aid.

Etta took a deep breath before plunging into her tale again. She watched the towering figure before her and felt a rare fear in his presence, causing her to lapse into her native tongue.

Though Joel knew the Muskhogean language of the Chickasaw and Choctaw people, he still had difficulty when it was spoken rapidly, as Etta was doing now. In mid-sentence, he halted the affrighted maiden with an upraised hand. "Little Raven!" he called, seeing the elderly woman crossing the yard. He waved her forward when she responded to his summons.

Danielle glanced quickly into the cabin to make certain Nathaniel was still resting peacefully while they waited for the woman to join them.

Hunting Hawk, hearing his friend’s voice, stepped from his dwelling to greet him. The scene that met his gaze prompted him forward and soon his steps were matching those of his wife. Together, they approached the trio.

Custom demanded that proper greetings be exchanged before proceeding with the business at hand. Joel held a tight grip on the reins of his emotional intolerance with the delay, but was unable to mask his distress from his facial features.

Noticing the younger man’s scowling countenance, Hunting Hawk remarked, "You need blackberry root tea soon." The old man was rewarded with a fragile smile from his friend. Joel, well aware of the Indians use of blackberry root tea for loose bowels often initiated by severe trauma or a spell of nerves, smiled in spite of his frustration.

With the frown diminished, the Chickasaw elder turned his attention toward the young Indian woman who stood to one side of the assembled group.

Etta kept her eyes averted, hoping to dispel her employer’s wrath. She wouldn’t be in this situation if only her mistress had listened to her and took her along.

Besides, she didn’t trust Alan Self. Why couldn’t Jenny see what, to Etta at least, was obvious. Mr. Self was concerned with only one thing, himself. But it was exactly that pronouncement that convinced Jenny to leave her behind. So involved in the man’s rhetoric, Jenny had refused to see beyond what she wanted to see.

Hunting Hawk’s whip-like voice jerked Etta’s head upward and she focused on the old man’s face. She failed to find his normally jovial expression. Instead, her gaze met and clashed with the narrow slits of his determined eyes. It was obvious she would receive no help from that quarter. Quickly, she glanced toward Little Raven, but her countenance matched that of her husband. Etta felt her shoulders droop in resignation. There would be no help forthcoming from her own people.

Hunting Hawk sharply repeated his earlier question, this time speaking in English and instructing the frightened young woman to do the same.

Etta sucked in a deep breath, drew her shoulders up and stiffened her spine. Let them deal with the facts. After all, this wasn’t her problem. And even though they were certain not to like her news, they couldn’t kill her for being the messenger. In fact, it just might be entertaining to watch the proud man’s reaction to the truth. She had waited three years to deliver a staggering blow to his self-esteem. A blow to match the one he had dealt her when she had offered herself to him those many years ago. She would even have the extra satisfaction of his downfall being witnessed by others.

"Mrs. Riley left."

Joel fired questions at the defiant young woman. Hunting Hawk quickly restored order with a soft guttural command that the confused young husband didn’t understand, though he recognized the authoritative tone of his friend’s voice.

"Finish story, woman." The tribal shaman held the young woman’s gaze as he concluded his order, "If words false, you answer to me."

An involuntary shutter passed through Etta’s body. "I do not lie, Grandfather-man," Etta replied, using the customary title given to all older male members of a clan.

"Speak!"

"It is as I said." The young woman glanced quickly at the white man before finishing. "Mrs. Riley packed her bags, then rode off with her escort. She said she go home."

"That’s crazy! Jenny hasn’t been able to ride since the...." Joel’s voice faltered. Almost forgetting that he and Etta weren’t alone he’d nearly said too much. He coughed lightly to cover the sudden pause in his speech. "Besides, even if she could ride, she’d never leave alone."

"She isn’t alone." All eyes turned toward Danielle. She finished, lamely. "You heard Etta. She has an escort." Danielle turned her attention to the young Indian woman. "When did they leave, Etta? Did either of them leave a message, or perhaps a note?"

Before Etta could reply, Joel argued, "You can’t possibly believe this wild story?"

Glancing across his shoulder at his wife’s young Indian maid, Joel prodded her with more questions of his own. "What exactly do you expect to gain with this little farce of yours?"

"She speaks true." The Chickasaw elder had watched Etta closely while she told her tale. Her eyes had not wavered, nor had her voice. Whatever else there was to tell, Hunting Hawk was convinced the maiden spoke the truth, or at least as much of it as she knew.

"Hunting Hawk, you know as well as I, Jenny can’t ride. Etta’s got to be lying."

The gunmetal head nodded in the negative as Hunting Hawk turned his attention back to Etta. "When leave?"

"One sunrise."

"Yesterday! Why have you waited until now to come tell me?" Joel found it difficult to control his frustrations.

"They told me there were men outside who would kill me if they saw me leave before today." Etta had regained some of her lost confidence and was once more enjoying the discomfort of her employer.

"And you believed that?"

"Yes."

"Of course you did." Sarcasm tainted his words. "Now, explain just how my wife rode off when we both know she can’t ride."

It was going to be even better than she’d hoped. Etta’s gaze locked on his chiseled features, and she allowed a smile to curl the corners of her stoic lips. "She walks."

"Enough!" Like a whip, Joel’s voice cracked the air as he rushed toward the offensive woman.

Hunting Hawk’s voice stopped him. "Let her speak."

Narrowing his eyes, Joel glanced from his old friend to the young woman he’d known almost as long. He felt his jaw clench as he pushed the words through his clamped teeth. "Go ahead then, speak."

A gloating smile still on her face, Etta spoke softly, so softly those present had to lean forward to hear her words.

"She has always been able to walk. You are the only one who didn’t know. She used to laugh behind your back at how easy it was to fool you. Especially when you carried her up and down that long flight of stairs. She would say she controlled you completely and she intended to continue for as long as it pleased her. It was her way of making you pay for taking her away from her home. When...."

"Lies! All lies. Why are you doing this?" Joel felt he would choke on the knot forming in his constricted throat. It had to be lies. He ran a trembling hand across his forehead in an effort to force the ugly possibilities from his mind. It didn’t help.

"I do not lie, Mr. Riley. If you will think about it, you will know I speak the truth. Did the doctor ever confirm the attack Mrs. Riley claimed happened to her? Was there ever anyone found who had seen strangers near the ranch that day?" Etta halted her questions to give her employer time to consider them. Slowly, she saw doubt creep around his eyes as he thought on what she’d just said.

"Her wounds that day, were they those a man would inflict? Or were they more like what a woman could inflict on herself without leaving deep, lasting scars? You know Miss Jenny would never have wanted scars, would she?"

She waited only a moment before rushing on with her litany of damming evidence. "You do remember that day, sir?" Etta hid her smile when Joel Riley flinched. Of course, he remembered. "You had a bitter argument that morning, didn’t you? She wanted to go with you to the fort. You said it wasn’t safe. I remember her telling you it wasn’t safe anywhere in Indian Territory, but that hadn’t kept you from dragging her away from her beloved home, to live like a squatter in a barn. Isn’t that what she said, sir?" Etta deliberately let irony tinge her pronouncement of sir.

Joel was too befuddled by memories to catch the verbal slur or her smug expression.

Hunting Hawk caught them both. "You shame yourself and your family with that talk. You forget the ways of The People. We no carry tales like the squawking crow." His voice strong and clear, he admonished the young woman who stood defiantly before the small group.

"I speak only the truth, old man, and he knows...."

Little Raven administered a swift blow to the side of Etta’s head.

At the sound of flesh contacting with flesh, Joel appeared to become aware of his surroundings once more. Reaching for Little Raven’s still outstretched hand, he spoke softly, holding her gaze with his own. "Please...."

Little Raven lowered her head as if she were personally responsible for his pain-filled eyes.

Joel glanced briefly in Danielle’s direction to judge her reaction to Etta’s words. The sight of her burnished gold hair brushing against her cheeks filled him with desire, an emotion he wasn’t unaccustomed to. Four years of self-imposed celibacy had provided him almost complete dominance over his emotions. Until Danielle arrived. He shook his head, frustrated with his wayward thoughts. He turned his attention back to the messenger.

"Go ahead."

Etta tossed her hair over her shoulder and drew herself up to her full height. She pressed her lips tightly together in a thin, firm line. Her nostrils flared in her attempt to regain a measure of control over her raging resentments. It wasn’t fair. She could have given this man so much. Much more than his insipid wife had ever given him. Quickly, her eyes sought the target of her additional resentment, Danielle. That one presented a different problem altogether. Still, she had one more chance.

"Your wife was never attacked. There were no strangers at the house that day." The Indian woman paused for emphases to her next statement. "Mrs. Uppity found out quickly enough that your workers were too loyal to play her game. Men had rejected her twice in one day. And she thought she knew so much about men."

A sharp, harsh laugh escaped her thin lips. "She knew nothing." Her words were sharp and clipped as she spoke, emphasizing each one slowly. "She learned fast though. A few suggestions from me, and she was in complete control."

Etta watched the small assembled group lean forward, awaiting her next words. She halted, letting them wait, baiting them with her silence.

"Finish, woman!" Hunting Hawk’s command startled the hushed group, causing them to flinch at the bark of his voice.

Danielle’s discomfort at the startling revelations had grown steadily. She took this disruption as an opportunity to excuse herself. "I must check on Nathaniel." Her voice, though quiet, seemed to boom in her own ears. She felt a warm flush rushing upward from her collar to her forehead. Joel turned slowly toward her, then stretched his hand out to her. "Stay."

His eyes spoke what he couldn’t vocalize. Danielle stepped up beside him and gently took his callused hand in hers.

Her smile was warm and filled with... what? Joel wondered, as their gaze met and held.

Whatever it was, it caused his heart to thump loudly in his ears and his knees to grow weak. He could become lost in that look, in those amber eyes. Forcibly, he dragged his gaze away from hers. He nodded at the Indian maiden.

"She lied."

"What!"

Danielle remained silent. She was the only one present who did.

"There was no attack. Your wife can walk. She meant to punish you. She hoped you’d take her home because of what she said had happened to her. Once she got home, she would recover the use of her legs." The young Indian woman glanced about at those listening to her tale, then gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "You didn’t respond as she had expected, so she let you continue to think her story was true."

Silence fell with a thud as the assemblage absorbed the fantastic revelation. But by the look on their faces, Danielle suspected none of this was news to Hunting Hawk and Little Raven.

Finally, the betrayed young husband found his voice. Clasping Danielle’s hand tighter in his own, Joel asked one last question. "Where has she gone?"

"Home."

Turning to Danielle, Joel held her locked in his emerald gaze, beseeching her to understand. "Wait for me? I don’t know how much of this is true. But I have to find out." His eyes caressed her. "Regardless of what I learn, I’ll find a way for us to be together. You, me and Nathaniel."

Danielle’s mouth opened to speak, but his words stopped her. "I love you, Danielle. Give me a chance to work this out and I’ll prove it to you. I promise. But first, I must find her before trouble does."

"She has protection."

The entire group swiveled to confront Etta.

"What else haven’t you told me?" Joel felt the fragile rein of his temper slipping from his grasp.

Etta raised her chin proudly, defiantly, before she delivered her final volley. If possible, she would enjoy this more than the first. She watched her imagined rival’s face while she spoke. "She left with her man," Etta said, pointing toward Danielle with her chin.

Satisfaction rippled through her young body as the other woman’s face revealed her shocked surprise and disbelief.

Joel tightened his grip on Danielle’s trembling hand in reassurance. "You’re certain of that?" This time his voice was hollow, cold, without emotion.

The young Indian woman lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "Very certain."

His temper roiled from a slow simmer to a bubbling boil in the face of Etta’s arrogance and obvious enjoyment at Danielle’s expense.

"Once more, when did they leave?"

Etta heard the whip-crack in his voice and had the good sense to lower her chin and eyes when she answered, realizing she had reached the tether of her luck. "One sun."

"Yesterday?" Joel released Danielle’s hand without thought as he advanced toward the object of his distaste. "Why has it taken you this long to notify me? And let me warn you, I don’t for one minute believe your story of fearing a threat on your life. Not when you were surrounded by my own men. Explain your delay!" His knuckles turned white while he waited for Etta to reply.

Hunting Hawk sensed that his young friend was capable of losing control of his normal restraint and that for the moment, at least, he poised a potential threat to his friend’s daughter. Not that he didn’t agree that she deserved what she was receiving. Still, it wasn’t right that he stand by and allow another to correct a member of The People.

"My friend." The old man spoke softly as he approached the lean frame of the young rancher, watching the rigid set of his jaw. "Let me talk with her. Another needs you."

Hunting Hawk’s onyx eyes flicked quickly toward Danielle. The sight of her slumped shoulders and blurry eyes caused his aged heart to ache for her. Already in her young life she had experienced so much pain, and now to have even more tossed in her lap without warning seemed unfair to the old man.

Yet, his people believed that crisis served to weed out the weak from the strong, since the weak folded with the pressure, while the strong grew stronger.

His faith in her staunched the flow of doubts swishing about in his mind. Hadn’t she already proven her meddle? In the ensuing silence gripping the group, Joel followed Hunting Hawk’s gaze. His own reaction to the incredible tale of his wife’s four-year deception and ultimate betrayal had leaped like a rock skimming across still water, from shocked disbelief, to denial, then to rage. Danielle’s pale features confirmed the old Indian’s astute observation.

Emerald and onyx eyes met and acknowledged the concern each found reflected in the other’s.

With a brief nod, Joel wrapped his arm protectively about the young woman who held his heart and guided her toward the one-room cabin. They exchanged no words as they left the others behind to deal with Etta.

Danielle wasn’t sure she was capable of speech at the moment. Without conscious thought, she allowed her head to lean into Joel’s broad shoulder, finding comfort there. At the same time, the thought raced unbidden through her befuddled mind that somehow she belonged here in his arms.

Thunder rumbled across the September sky followed by bolts of lightning piercing the silence that lay like a shroud about the young couple whose lives had abruptly been altered by the events of the morning.

Danielle flinched at the violent vibrations of nature that intruded into her dazed consciousness, causing her to become aware of where she was.

Joel quietly led her to the cabin. They stood on the porch, his arm locked about her shoulders. She felt his warm, callused hand glide up and down her arm in a comforting motion.

"How did this happen?" Danielle whispered, as she disengaged herself from Joel’s strong, protective embrace. Immediately, she felt bereaved by the loss of his closeness and the protection of his arm. But it was too late for regrets now. She couldn’t possibly return to her former position without appearing obvious. Her own arms locked about her body in a futile attempt at comfort.

"If what Etta says is true, I’ve been played the fool a long time. There is a lot I need to explain to you. But until I see and hear the full of it all for myself, I wouldn’t even know where to start."

He looked away from her a moment and Danielle wondered what he thought.

"Perhaps it’s for the best," Joel replied, putting his hat on.

"Best? How can you...."

"Because, I love you," he interrupted. "Surely that has been obvious for some time." His hand batted the hot, storm-tinged air, halting her protest. "Danielle, my marriage has been over a long time. Though until today, I wouldn’t let myself admit it. That’s why I’ve never declared my feelings before. I felt I had no right to say those words when I had nothing to offer you."

His admission both frightened and delighted her, simultaneously. But at least one of them had to remain sane in the midst of this insanity. "You still have no right! We have no right." Her voice faltered momentarily, "What about Jennifer and... Alan?"

"I-we have every right! They gave us that right when they rode off together."

"We don’t know...."

"We do know, Danielle." He paused, watching her face as he spoke. "I know Jennifer well." He laughed, softly. "Well, at least I thought I did. How well do you think you know Alan? How long did it take for him to get here after you sent for him? Was he concerned for your safety? Has he shown one ounce of sympathy for you or your plight since his arrival? Has he demonstrated, by word or deed, any enthusiasm, any passion for being near you?"

When she just stared at him blankly, he reached out and shook her slightly to refocus her attention on him. "Danielle, it’s been all I could do these past months to keep my hands off you. To be near you without being able to touch you has been pure torture."

Danielle was in his arms without realizing how it happened.

He pulled her against his chest and held her close, brushing his lips along her cheek, longing to kiss her, to keep her in his arms indefinitely. He felt her body tremble in his embrace and wondered at the cause. "Guilt," he whispered.

The one word fell heavily between them, then lay there like a tossed stick of dynamite, waiting.

"Guilt?" she asked, her voice muffled by the closeness of his chest.

"Yes, guilt!" He forced the words past his lips, frustration gnawing at his strained patience. Gently, he pushed her away from him. His green gaze held her captive while he spoke. "Guilt is a damnable thing to live with. Believe me. I’ve lived four long years with blame as my constant companion. My only companion. Yes, guilt." He fell silent in reflection. Behind them the elements continued to dance across the heat-laden sky.

"Blast it! I’ve wasted four years of my life in penitence based on a lie. That’s enough, don’t you think?" His gaze dropped to meet hers. "You asked what about Jennifer and Alan? What about us? Do you think for one minute they gave us a thought?" His hands gently caressed her back. "Guilt makes for a cold bed partner, Danielle."

"Joel...."

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a soft noise behind them. They both whirled around.

Nathaniel stood naked in the doorway, his blanket clutched in one chubby fist while the other hand was buried thumb-deep in his rosy mouth. "Ishki. Papa."

Danielle and Joel exchanged glances. Joel couldn’t hide the grin spreading across his face as the creases of concern and doubt darkened her eyes at the youngster’s address. He forced the smile aside and gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. "Remember, it was his idea. I just happen to agree with him. I’d like nothing better than to be his inki. I love his, ishki, mother."

Danielle’s heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird in flight. Whether at Joel’s words or the sight of the toddler miraculously risen from his sickbed, she couldn’t have said. To cover the telltale evidence his remark caused her, Danielle rushed forward and scooped the naked child into her arms, wrapping the end of his blanket about his bare bottom. She needed the time to calm her racing heart and the joy heating her face.

"Darling, you had us so worried," she crooned, clasping the toddler’s squirming body to her breast. "Will you get Little Raven and Hunting Hawk, please?" she asked, stepping through the open doorway. "They will want to know he’s better."

Joel sauntered off the porch and across the yard to do Danielle’s bidding. But his thoughts traveled a different path. He had just told Danielle he loved her, had opened the vein of his emotions, pouring out his soul to her. And instead of reciprocating his feelings, she sent him on an errand. To say the least, her response confused him. Had he been wrong to assume she shared his devotion? Was he so starved for a woman’s love and affection he had misinterpreted that look in her eyes, her smile? Surely he hadn’t repeated his own history by giving his heart to another woman who didn’t want it?

Well, it was turning out to be a day filled with revelations. Most of which Joel decided he could have done without. The only bright spot so far was Nathaniel’s rallying health.

Little Raven had a pot of coffee brewing. Hunting Hawk sent word to his village for food to be prepared and brought at once. Other members of his clan were gathering wood for the sacred fire where they would dance and offer prayers to Wanka-Tanka, the Great Spirit, for the boy’s healing.

Soon the one-room cabin vibrated with the joyous voices of those who gathered there to celebrate the child’s recovery. No mention was made of Etta or the two departed lovers.

Already weakened from lack of sleep and exhaustion from Nathaniel’s prolonged illness, Danielle swayed on her feet while the activity flowed about her. She felt a light touch on her arm and turned to find her dear friend, Dream Singer, at her side.

Danielle smiled warmly at the young woman she loved as a sister, then voiced her concern. "How on earth are we to feed them all?"

"Do not worry about such things," Dream Singer said, returning her smile. "You have more important matters to deal with." She gestured toward the figure framed in the doorway. "Go, Little Sister, you have a decision to make. Remember your dream. Follow your heart."

Danielle’s glance bounced from Joel Riley’s lean form to Dream Singer. Dread and desire started a tug of war in the pit of her stomach.

"Go. He-Who-Weeps-Inside waits for you. Do not play the foolish white woman. Grab what is within your reach. A man such as he comes only once into your life." With a gentle push, Dream Singer propelled her friend into motion.

Danielle felt herself moving on unsteady feet, her nerve ends tingling with unsuppressed joy. The gleam in his emerald eyes mesmerized her as she glided toward him, his desire undeniable in the set of his chiseled features.

Merciful heaven, what was she doing? Even as she pondered the question she continued her journey forward.

Behind him, she saw rain splashing onto the bare plank boards of the porch floor, splattering the accumulation of red dust. When had it started to rain? She’d been so busy and preoccupied, she had failed to notice that the storm clouds formed earlier in the day had at last delivered their promised rain. They needed the precious moisture. It would also relieve the smothering, unrelenting heat that had enveloped them for weeks. Joel’s eyes never wavered from her as she approached him. Like a magnet, his eyes drew her forward. Beckoned her closer. His callused hand reached out and drew her to his side.

"Let’s go for a walk."

"I can’t. Nathaniel might need me," she protested.

Joel glanced at the crowd behind her, and smiled. "I doubt that. He has more nursemaids in there than any child could ever need." He held out his hand. "Come, Danielle. Nathaniel doesn’t need you, but I do."

Danielle glanced back at the buzzing humanity overflowing her cabin. Her gaze fell on Dream Singer. The two women communicated without words across the sea of bodies surging between them. With a slight nod, Dream Singer prodded her forward. She felt herself being gently ushered from the porch into the rain-splattered yard. "Where are we going?"

Without answering, the tall, imposing figure guided her across the grounds to a giant oak tree. For several moments that seemed like an eternity, they stood silently in the shelter of the oak’s massive canopy of branches.

"Danielle, I’ve stated my feelings for you as plainly as I know how." He removed his hat, shook off the accumulation of moisture, waiting for her to reply.

She remained silent, her gaze focused in the direction of the Texas Trail. Joel was almost certain he knew what she was thinking.

"They’re gone, Danielle. As painful as that is to our pride, we have to admit it. They left us." Saddened by her lack of response, he slapped his hat back on his head to free his hands and grasped her by her shoulders, turning her to face him. "Are you listening to me? I love you! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?"

He watched tears form in her amber eyes, then spill over and run down her tawny cheeks. He felt his heart would break with the pain he saw reflected in her eyes. If only she’d let him, he’d do his best to remove that pain, to make her happy.

With the back of her hand, she swiped at the flow of tears before nodding her head slowly. "Of course, it matters. But...." She paused a moment before she could finish. At the look of defeat in his eyes, she rushed on in reassurance. "Joel, I’m not crying for Alan."

"Then what?" He all but shouted the question, a rush of hope racing through his chest.

"You’re still married. That hasn’t changed and until it does we are not free to feel as we do." Danielle glanced away before answering him. "I’m crying for what we can never have."

"Then you do love me?"

His voice sounded small, almost timid, and she recognized it as fear.

"Yes." Danielle replied, without hesitation. "Oh, yes! I love you." The gleam in his eyes prompted her to say the rest of what must be said. "Joel, I can’t... I won’t be your...." She simply couldn’t get the word out.

Her eyes beseeched him to understand.

He did.

"I never intended that. You should know me better. If I have you... and I will... it will be as my wife, not as my mistress."

Relief surged through her at his declaration. How could she have doubted his intentions? She leaned against his strong, firm chest.

For several minutes they stood in the circle of each other’s arms, drawing strength from one another. Then, Joel drew away from her warmth, and Danielle felt a cold, unnamed fear form a knot in the pit of her stomach as she gazed into his haunted eyes.

"What?" she whispered, in response to their silent plea.

"I have to go after them."

"Why? You said you were going, but I don’t understand why."

"Rumors at the Depot are flying like gnats about trouble with the Plains Indians between here and the Arkansas River. They may run into trouble." He ran his index finger along the side of her face, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Don’t look at me that way. You know Alan isn’t capable of taking care of them if they run into a bunch like that."

His voice was gentle, but firm. Danielle sensed it would be useless to protest against his plan. "What will you do when you find them?"

Joel smiled knowingly at her question. "I’ll escort them safely to Fort Smith, apply for a divorce, then rush straight back to you, and our son."

Relief gushed through her tense body at his reassurance and his ready acceptance of Nathaniel. "When will you leave?"

"Now. I’ll stop at the ranch for a bedroll and supplies, then try to pick up their trail. If Alan has any sense at all, he will stay on the main road. But if they are trying to cover their trail... well, let’s hope I can find them before trouble does."

"What if you run into trouble first?" She couldn’t hide her concern for his safety.

"I’ll take Cody with me. He’s better at reading signs than I am anyway, and it never hurts to have an extra gun." He wiped a single tear from the corner of her eye. "Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I want you to take care of yourself and Nathaniel." His fingers caressed her face like a lover’s kiss, lingering on the side of her neck. His thumb rotated along the vein pulsing erratically beneath it.

"I don’t want anything to happen to you now that you’re almost mine." He tried to lighten the mood of gloom hanging in the air beneath their leafy shelter.

Danielle couldn’t hide her disappointment at his sudden departure. They had just made the biggest decision of their lives, and before she had time to savor the reality of that declaration, he was riding off to find his erring wife, leaving her alone to fend for herself and Nathaniel much as Alan had done. Silently she chided herself for the thought, but couldn’t erase it from her mind.

Dropping her gaze, Danielle swirled about to hide the threatening tears she felt building behind her eyelids and almost collided with Hunting Hawk. With a gasp of surprise, she swiped at the hot tears already sliding down her cheeks.

Rain dripped from his graying hair onto the soft leather of his quill-decorated shirt.

The aged warrior’s hands reached out and steadied her trembling form. He glanced quickly from the young woman to the tall, lean man behind her. His knowing eyes took in the situation at a glance. Raindrops splattered the red dust at his feet as he shook his head at the grim looking young couple standing so rigidly before him. He chose to divert matters to a more neutral subject than the one he suspected he had unintentionally interrupted.

"Jettic well. Spirit in balance." Fearing the young couple didn’t understand his message, he tried again. "Boy fear disruption. Fear make spirit sick."

Danielle watched his coppery hand bat the hot, moist air. "Strange man come, say ishki, mother, must leave. Boy hear discord."

"Are you saying that Nathaniel thought I was going to leave without him and that’s what made him sick?" Disbelief filled Danielle’s voice.

"Fear." The old man nodded his head vigorously as he confirmed her statement. "Fear powerful bad medicine."

"That’s ridiculous. Nathaniel’s too young to understand what...."

"Spirit not young. Boy know."

"But...."

"Hunting Hawk not lie to iskunosi ishki. When boy get sick?" The old warrior quizzed the young woman as he tried to make her see the reality of the situation. So few white people were willing to see the things of the spirit, believing only those things that they could see with their eyes. Hunting Hawk had sensed a difference in Danielle since his first glimpse of her those many moons ago. He simply had to find a way to let her see through the untrained eyes of her spirit.

Danielle felt the blood rush from her head, leaving her weak with the truth of his statement. Nathaniel had been sick ever since Alan’s arrival. She recalled the numerous disagreements they’d had. Alan wanted her to leave Nathaniel with, as he put it, those of his own kind. Never once had Danielle considered that Nathaniel understood what they were saying. But if what the old man said was true, then it was her fault.

Joel saw self-blame settling on her slender shoulders and rushed to brush it aside. "It isn’t important now what caused the boy’s illness. He’s recovering. That’s what we should concentrate on."

Seeing the young man’s tactic, Hunting Hawk quickly agreed. He hadn’t meant his pronouncement to be considered as laying fault, he’d only meant to distract the pair. The distraught old man sought to erase the error he’d made with his ill-chosen words. "Age not always make wisdom."

"Nor does youth always make right," Joel sighed, hoping to ease the pain he saw in both their eyes. He’d come to love the aged Chickasaw as dearly as a grandfather. And the amber-eyed beauty beside him had stolen his heart and senses from the first moment he’d seen her. She had been sprawled in the dust beside her wagon. He even remembered how the morning sunlight turned her wheat-colored hair into a golden halo about her head. He’d known in that moment he’d never be free of her presence or his desire for her. At all cost he must protect these two.

"My friend," Joel said, putting his hand on Hunting Hawk’s arm, "I need a favor. I need you to keep an eye on Danielle and Nathaniel. I have to leave for a short time." Glancing quickly at Danielle, he added, "I want no harm to come to them in my absence."

"Is done. Count on it."

"I do. And you might as well be the first to know, we’re getting married when I return. So take good care of them for me." He turned, with the sound of Hunting Hawk’s soft laughter filling his ears, to find Danielle blushing. She looked so lovely standing there with the moist breeze whipping her skirt about her legs. He crossed the short distance between them in one long stride and without preambles scooped her into his arms and kissed her with all the passion his heart contained, not caring that they weren’t alone.

Danielle felt almost dizzy in the ecstasy of his embrace. Her knees became fluid as his kiss deepened, sweeping away any lingering doubts about the rightness of their being together. This was where she belonged and where she desperately wanted to be, forever.

Abruptly, Joel drew away from her. He had a mission to complete before he could make her his completely, and the sooner he left the quicker that would happen. He leaned forward and gently placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. "I’ll be back as soon as I can. And don’t you dare forget, I love you."

The sadness in her eyes threatened to destroy his resolve to go after his betraying wife and the fool accompanying her. In his opinion, Alan Self, or any man, for that matter, must be a fool to leave a woman like Danielle. But then, he owed the fool a favor; the man’s stupidity fulfilled his own dream of having Danielle for his wife. So before he weakened and sank into the depths of her tear-brimmed eyes, he pushed her toward the old man who silently watched them.

"Pa - pa!"

The trio beneath the oak’s damp canopy turned as one at the youngster’s greeting.

Danielle rushed into the rain-washed yard and scooped the naked boy into her arms, hugging him close to her.

Behind her the two men watched silently for a moment, then the tall rancher slapped the older man’s back affectionately, "Take care of them. They are my life."

The old man’s joy was boundless at the younger man’s statement. "Is done. Journey with the eagle, my friend." All had gone as he’d foreseen those many months ago. And though he knew it was dangerous to interfere with the will of the spirits, he had felt justified in the risk he’d taken. He knew loneliness firsthand. Now none of them were lonely. He had Little Raven, his Grandson, Cody, had Dream Singer, and now Little Mother had He-Who-Weeps-Inside, and Jettic had parents who loved him. All was well. But his young friend, He-Who-Weeps-Inside, would now require a new name. He would seek a vision for his friend’s new status.

Danielle heard footsteps approaching and glanced over her shoulder. Little Raven and Dream Singer were crossing the muddy yard toward her. She brushed away her tears and smiled a greeting at the women. Her sagging spirit and confidence lifted somewhat as she recalled all these two had taught her over the past months. In the short span of time it took them to join her, Danielle resolved several of her most troubling problems. If she was to become a wife and part owner of a new business, there was a lot of work to be done, but she’d need the assistance and advice of these two.

Dream Singer hugged Danielle tightly and whispered in her ear, "Soon Jettic will have a playmate."

At Danielle’s look of surprise, the young woman smiled broadly, rubbing her stomach. "We can have a double wedding when our men return. My son will need a father and I am now ready to be a wife."

"Cody is a good man. I’m happy for you both."

Little Raven grunted softly. "Both good men."

Danielle couldn’t agree more. She hugged both women in turn to express her own happiness.

The three women turned at the sound of a horse galloping across the open meadow and watched Joel’s tall, lean figure disappear into the mist-draped tree line.

Warm tears spilled from Danielle’s eyes and cascaded down her face. She clutched the young child closer and whispered in his ear, "Your father will come back for us. And we’ll be waiting for him, won’t we, son?"

For the tenth time in as many minutes, Danielle looked at the mantel clock. The brass hands didn’t appear to have moved since her last glance. She sighed, then swung her gaze to encompass the large room. Everything was as ready as she could make it. The table was set, food stood ready in the warming oven, washbasins, water, soap, and towels were outside the back door. There was little else she could do until the stage arrived.

She rubbed the small of her back and waddled out to the front porch. With her hand she shaded her eyes and searched the road. All she saw was a long-legged Chaparral, dashing across the dusty roadway.

Children’s voices and laughter drew her attention to the huge oak beside the smokehouse. Danielle smiled when she spotted the three youngsters at play. They were all still young enough to be ignorant of the differences between them. And from this distance, even she had to rely on size to distinguish one from the other. Cody and Dream Singer’s two-year-old son, Little Wolf, and three-year-old Nathaniel, with his dual heritage, and her and Joel’s twenty-month-old daughter, Natalie, all nut brown from constant exposure to the elements could easily pass as siblings. She watched them a moment longer until a kick beneath her ribs forced her to seek a more comfortable position. She maneuvered her bulk across the floorboards and lowered herself onto a rocker. Joel had made the chair for her during her pregnancy with Natalie. Once settled, she elevated her puffy ankles onto a stool and gently rubbed her bulging stomach. Almost immediately the unborn infant quieted down and stopped its restless movements. This one had to be a boy, Natalie had never been this active in the womb.

Even though Joel swore it didn’t matter to him whether the baby was a boy or a girl as long as it was healthy, Danielle, nevertheless, wanted to give Joel a son of his own. The babe was already two weeks late and she longed to be rid of the extra weight she carried, of the swelling, and to be able to get up and down without difficulty or assistance. Most of all, she longed to hold her new child in her arms, to nurse it at her breasts.

She leaned back and closed her eyes. Normally when the children went down in the afternoon for their nap, she joined them. There had been no time for that luxury today. Everybody had been up since long before daylight. They had waited three years for this day and now that it had arrived, they all wanted it to be perfect, a day to remember.

"A penny."

That familiar and beloved voice brought her head upright. She opened her eyes and smiled at her husband. "Today, they are worth much more than a mere copper penny." Danielle reached out and took Joel’s callused hand in hers and squeezed it.

"Oh? And what, dear wife," Joel leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Could be worth more than that?"

"The children, our home, the business, our dear and loyal friends. But most of all, you." She tugged gently on his hand. "Help me up, please."

Instead of doing as she asked, Joel hunkered beside her chair. "How about if I join you down here and you stay off your feet?" He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. "Have I told you today I love you, Mrs. Riley?"

"Yes, but you may tell me again." She took his hand from her face, turned it over and kissed its palm. "I never tire of hearing you say it."

Joel leaned forward until his lips caressed hers. "I love you, Danielle Riley." He kissed her long and well.

Danielle returned his kiss hungrily. "I love you, too, my husband."

"Oh, Danielle, Danielle," Joel leaned back a little and held her face in his hands, looking directly into her eyes. "You have given me more than I ever dreamed possible." He kissed her again. His love for her went beyond words, and he never ceased to be amazed at the feelings she stirred in his heart and body. He couldn’t imagine now how he ever survived without her. And what would he do after having known such love if anything should happen to cause him to lose it. "Any regrets, my love?"

"Yes, since you asked." The look that flashed across his face and lodged in his emerald green eyes tore at Danielle’s heart and she instantly regretted her intended jest. Danielle studied him a moment longer, wishing with all her heart to replace that lost almost fearful look. Would this man ever accept her love and devotion to him as his forever, not something that would vanish with the wind or a new day? Jennifer Riley’s deception had scarred him deeply. But Danielle vowed to love him until he forgot that pain. "Oh, my darling, I have only one regret, that I didn’t meet you first." She pulled his face close and kissed him with all the passion she possessed, hoping to wipe away any traces of Jennifer or Alan Self.

When her lips left his, Joel leaned back on his boot heels, but kept her hand in his. "Woman, you test my strengths."

"I certainly hope so."

The rumble of wheels, the clatter of harness, and horses’ hooves pounding down the rutted, dusty road interrupted them. Joel and Danielle both turned in time to see the first of John Butterfield’s Overland Mail coaches racing toward them.

"Mark my place, I’ll be back to finish what I started as soon as I get that coach on its way." His hand trailed down her face, her throat, across her breasts, and lay lovingly on her protruding abdomen.

"I’ll hold you to that." Danielle smiled up at him. "Give me a hand up?"

Danielle watched her husband dash across the yard toward the approaching mail coach. They had come a long way in the past three and a half years since they met, and not all of it business related. She recalled how they squabbled constantly those first months, snipping and snapping at each other like children. Thinking back on it now, she couldn’t even remember when that had changed. But it must have been sometime after their return from Boogaboo Canyon. Even knowing the journey meant she must conquer her anxiety of horses, she rode after Dream Singer into that wilderness, determined to reclaim Nathaniel.

Danielle glanced toward the children clustered now about the hitching rail. She smiled then, recalling how Hunting Hawk, a Chickasaw shaman, had offered the boy as a gift. He had even implied the child would be killed if she refused to take him. Only later had she learned the wise old Indian never had any intention of harming the boy. By then it hadn’t mattered that she had been bamboozled by an old man wearing leather clothes and a silk top hat. She loved the mixed blood infant like her own.

During that trip into the wilds of Boogaboo, she had faced and conquered much. She had also lost her heart, though it had taken months for her to admit that even to herself. It helped that from the very beginning, Joel loved Nathaniel unconditionally. Their shared affection for the youngster had buffered more than a few rough spots between them. Yes, they had indeed traveled a long path in a short time.

She sought her husband out in the group surrounding the stage. His tall, lean frame was easy to spot. Funny how she no longer found his protective attitude bossy, and he, more often than not, consulted her opinion before deciding on a particular plan of action.

Danielle shuffled inside just ahead of the first passenger, her thoughts already anticipating the evening. The evening and Joel’s lovemaking.

About the author of Journey of the Eagle

A hopeless romantic, Priscilla has spent the best forty-two years of her life married to her hero, Russell. While raising their two children, she put aside her dream of writing. Yet through those years, characters, plots, and dialogue filled her nightly dreams. She promised herself someday she would transfer those images to paper, breathe life into them, and let their stories unfolded. When the fourth grandchild arrived, she knew her someday had arrived. Since that momentous day she has written three manuscripts and is currently working on the fourth.

Born and raised in Atoka County, Oklahoma instilled a love for its rich history in her. It is no accident that this area provides the setting for her historians. She lives near Ten Mile Creek in the foothills of the Kiamichi Mountains. Both the Texas Military Road and the Butterfield Stage route run through the area. She has trekked the wilds of Boogaboo Canyon, walked in the past surrounded by the whispered voices of Captain Atoka and Eliza Flack. She has also visited with moon shiners, and the now-abandoned sites of their stills. This firs-hand knowledge allows her to deliver a strong, distinctive sense of place, giving readers a unique view of this region and its history.

She is an active member of Women Writing the West, EPIC, EPPRO, EQUILD, Oklahoma Writers Federation, Inc., McWriters and a graduate of Writer’s Digest School. One of her short stories, To Hell and Back, was published in a collection of works by native writers, funded by the Lannan Foundation, for the Chickasaw National Library. She has published in Better Homes and Gardens, Calico Trails, Trends for Victims, Women Writing the West, and ReadTheWest.com.

ANGELS UNAWARE, her first book-length publication, was a 2000 Frankfurt Award nominee.

"My great-grandmothers came west with a wagon load of dreams. They birthed and buried their infants alone, plowed fields, outlived husbands, survived dust-bowls and the Great Depression. It is their hardships, tragedies and triumphs that inspire my writing."

~Priscilla A. Maine

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